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SVee An Independent Democratic Journal. CARTERSVILLE, - GEORGIA. The Work of A'aralrjmen. Colonel A. G. Brackett, Third Cav alry, read a paper before the Military Service Institute on “Onr Cavalry: Its Duties, Hardships and Necessities at Our Frontier Posts. ” “This arm of the service,” he said, “had grown apace of late years, and though it is very costly, may be safely said to have paid for itself over and over again in the safety it has furnished to the frontier settlers and the immense benefit it has been to the nation in opening the highways and by ways of the interior of the North Ameri can continent. The duties are some what changed of late, in that the trooper is called upon to shield the red men from the cupidity of the border settlers, instead of crowding him, as formerly, to the wall; and it is, after all, only a question of time when the wave of civil ization will swell over the boundary lines and occupy the lands which the red men now call their own. Asa general thing our soldiers wear their fatigue uniform and work at almost anything except sol diering. They build houses, make roads, cut wood, burn brush, clear up land, and, in fact, do pretty much every thing except attend to the duties they are supposed to have enlisted to perform. The trooper often steals food for his horse, and in many cases shares his scant ration of bread with him. “There are very few cavalry men who have served any considerable length of time on the frontier who have not been turned out by an alarm of Indians. Usually some farmer comes riding in on horseback in his shirt sleeves, laboring under the greatest excitement, hallooing ‘lndians! Indians!’ and, after he has become sufficiently cooled down to tell his story, unfolds a sickening tale of the manner in which some of his relatives have been butchered in cold blood by the savages, or his horses and cows killed so as to leave him completely im. poverished. Then there is hur*ying to and fro in the little fort—rations have to be drawn and put up in bundles, the pack mules saddled and loaded, and then the cavalry horses themselves have to be saddled and made ready for the field. Just at nightfall, perhaps, the motley cavalcade moves out over hill and dale in search of the trail of the savages. After scouting from seven to ten days no enemy is seen, no trail discovered and the Indians themselves have van ished like the veriest phantoms of the mountains. Not one scouting party in twenty finds Indians, the greater num ber of scouts rendering unsatisfactory results. “There is an ever increasing desire on the part of young officers to carry the luxuries of the age to the frontier pest, and this gives rise to many so-called hardships. We see the most incongru ous things at times, and many a young bride has been taken to a frontier fort who pines for the beautiful things she left in her father’s home in the East. Still she holds on to some things, and a Turkish rug frequently covers a dirt floor and a grand piano becomes soiled by the mud of sun-dried bricks, I pre sume most old officers have seen a man put on a good many airs because lie was the fortunate possessor of a cabbage or a mess of potatoes, while others had none of these toothsome comestibles. . It does not take much to make an aristo crat.” Fancy the Bride’s Feelings. At the Church of St. John Nepomnk there was an occurrence of singular, and, to most people, awful solemnity, says the St Louis Republican. At eight o’clock there was a high mass celebrated, at whioh were married a young couple. When the ceremony was nearing its close, the bride and groom, with their attending bridesmaids and groomsmen kneeling on the steps of the altar, and the churoh crowded with friends and relatives, the ohurch bell pealed forth, not the merry marriage chime, but the slow and dolorous toll for the dead. To the door of the ohurch there oame a hearse, and into the middle aisle, down whioh the newly-wedded ones were compelled to pass, there was brought the long bier with all its somber display. When they had received the blessing of the priest, the bride and groom turned, and in moving to the door of the church, had to separate and pass one on either side of death’s pedestal. In the choir the organ trembled with the joy ous strains of the “Wedding March;” in the belfry the iron throats belched forth the monody of death; at the door, in place of the ooaoh whioh was to convey those who had just been made one to the festive joys of a wedding breakfast, there stood the vehicle which conveys all that is left of man after dissolution to the dark and narrow house. The New Time. In order to give its readers an idea of the proposed system of reckoning time by enumerating the hours from 1 to 24 without regard to a. m. and p. m., the Detroit Evening Journal printed it' is sue of November 17th, throughout as if that system had been actually adopted. Accordingly the readers of that journal were somewhat startled at the headlines, “14 o'clock edition,” “15 o’clock edi tion,” and “17 o’clock edition,” and to observe that matinees at theatres would begin at 14 o’clock, that the musical en tertainment on the preceding day be ginning at 20:30 was a delightful affair, that a furious fire broke out in South Chicago that dav at 15 o’clock, etc A Musuoojr voung man has married his aunt. Now let some paragraphs be gin calling the man uncle to himself, brother-in-law to his own mother, and •on-in-law to his own grandmother. A SCHOOL-DAY. •‘Now, John,” the district teacher lays, With frown that scarce can hide The dimpling smiles around her month, Where Cupid’s hosts abide, "What have you done to Mary Ann, That she is crying so ? Don’t say ’twas ‘nothing’—don’t, I say, For, John, that can’t be so; "For Mary Ann would never <' r y At nothing, I am sure; And if you’ve wounded justice, John, You know the only cure Is punishment! So, come, stand up; Transgression must abide The pain attendant on the scheme That makes it justified.” So John steps forth, with sun-burnt face, And hair all in a tumble, His laughing eyes a contrast to His drooping mouth so humble. "Now, Mary, you must tell me all— I see that John will not, And if lie’s been unkind or rude, I’ll whip him on the spot.” "W—we were p—playin’ p—pris’ner’e b— base. An’ h—he is s—such a t—tease, An’ w—when I w—wasn’t I—lookin',1 —lookin', m— ma'am, H —he k — kissed me —if you please !” Upon the teacher’s face the smiles Have triumphed o’er the frown, A pleasant thought runs through her mind, The stick comes harmless down. But outraged law must be avenged ! Begone, ye smiles, begone! Away, j e little dreams of love, Come on, ye frowns, come onj! "I think I’ll have to whip you, John, Such conduct breaks the rule; No boy, except a naughty one, Would kiss a girl—at school.” 'Again the teacher’s rod is raised, A Nemesis she stands— A premium were put on sin, If punished by such hands ! As when the bee explores the rose We see the petals tremble, So trembled Mary’s rose-bud lips— • Her heart would not dissemble. "I wouldn’t whip him very hard”— Tlio stick stops in its fall— "It wasn’t right to do it, but— It didn't hurt at all!” "What made you cry, then, Mary Ann?”— The school’s noise makes a pause. And out upon the listening air, From Mary comes—" Because !” Will F. McSparran, in Our Continent. FIELD, FORT AND FLEET. THE MISSION OF FIELD ARTILLERY, Some Blrikinsr Examples of “Grape and Canister.” "Bring up the guns !” Let the order be heard by a regiment of infantry crowding to the rear in a panic and it will halt the men in their tracks and make fighters of them again. There is something in the companion ship of a field battery that makes a foot soldier braver than when his regiment fights alone. The guns may be wasting ammunition as they roar and crash, bat it seems to the regiments on flank or in rear that every discharge is driving great gaps through the enemy’s lines. So long as the battery remains the sup ports will remain. Even when the order is given to double-shot the guns and the infantry can see that half the horses have been shot down he still carries the feeling that grape and canister will win the victory. The loss of horses, wagons and small arms is lightly mentioned in official reports and the losers feel no degradation, but let a brigade lose a single gun from one of its batteries, and every soldier feels the shame. It is next to losing the flag presented to a regiment as it marohed from home. AT MECHANICSVTLLE. When McClellan, in his change of base, took position at Mechanicsville, his left rested near Ellison’s mill. For three hundred yards in front the ground was open, a part of it being a plowed field. Two hundred feet in front of the Federal lines ran the mill-race, which then had perpendicular banks and con tained four feet of water. Thirty feet back from the race the Federals had made an abattis of rails, tree-tops, limbs and sharpened stakes. Then came more than thirty field-pieces in line, and be hind them on the slopes were infantry supports three lines deep. Pender’s brigade, of D. H. Hill’s com mand, advanced alone to assault this position, intending it as a flank move ment to turn the Federal left. They had no sooner moved out into the open ground than the artillery had a fall sweep at them. Grape, canister and short-fused shell were hurled at them almost by the ton, and in five minutes the four regiments which had left cover in beautiful order were little better than a mob. However, instead of retreating in a panic, the men dropped to the ground, tmd began a sharp musketry fire. This was answered by volleys from beyond the mill-race, which liter ally plowed tbe ground. Pender hung until the assault became a butchery, and then the order was given to retire. Pender’s brigade numbered less than 3,000 men, and yet in twenty five minutes its loss was nearly one-sixth of its strength. It was an exception to find a man who could not show, bullet holes through his clothing, and some of the wounded were hit three and four times. Those who buried the dead said that of tho 200 or more killed by tbe artillery file at least 175 were so torn and muti lated as to be little better than a bloody mass. As Pender was driven back he met Ripley’s brigade, of the same command coming to his support. Lee knew the position, but he must carry it to turn the Federal left. This second brigade had less than two thonsand four hun dred men, and, united with Pender, the total strength was not over five thou sand. Four times that number could not have made an impression npon that position. When Pender had rallied his men, the two brigades advanced in column of as sault, breaking cover with a cheer and on the double quick. The Federal guns were worked with terrible energy, but under cover of the smoke, and by crawl ing npon hands and knees, the Oonfed ates reached the mill-race. Indeed, several hundred of them crossed it, Then, for forty minutes, there was a ter tifio struggle. So fierce was the Federal infantry fire over aod through the abattis that it was gradually whittled away. Limbs as large as a man’s arm were barked, chipped and splintered as if lightning had played over them, and the surface of the mill-race was covered with splinters, twigs and leaves. Pender and Ripley could not advance beyond the canal in force. They could not long maintain their lines where they were. The fire from the Federals searched every foot of ground, and every minute their lines were melting away. When the order was given to fall back, the artillery raked them again as they crossed the open ground, and when the men •finally reached oover, the loss of each regiment had beoome amaz ing. For instance, the Forty-fourth Georgia, whioh numbered only about 700 men, lost 338 officers and men. Every field officer was killed, and of the ten captains and twenty lieutenants, only twelve remained. It was the same with the Third North Carolina and other regiments. AT FRAZIER’S FARM. At Frazier’s Farm, during this same eventful week, Randall’s battery of six pieces was on McClellan’s right, and supported by the Fourth Pennsylvania. The front was an old field, devoid of shelter, and the battery was playing into the woods half a mile beyond. This battery so annoyed the Confederates that a brigade was ordered to charge it. The Eleventh Alabama had the lead, and was to be closely supported by the other tliree regiments. Through some blunder the Alabamians, numbering about seven hundred and fifty, were per mitted to advance alone. They were seen as soon as they broke cover, and more than one hundred of them were killed by the artillery as they advanced across the field. The men were thrown into disorder one moment to be rallied the next, and, finally, with muskets at a trail and caps swinging in the air, they made a rush straight upon the guns. As they came near the Penn sylvanians rose up and delivered two or three volleys right into them. These were returned, and then the final rush was made. In a minute a wild mob was swirling ’round and ’round the guns— bayonets drinking blood—clubbed mus kets felling men—the wounded stagger ing up to clutch an enemy and pull him down. The guns were won. The Fourth was pushed slowly back, but as the cheers of the Alabamians drowned the noise of the battle to the right and left, the Seventh Pennsylvania came to the sup port of the Fourth. The fight which now took place was witnessed by at least two generals and half a dozen colonels, outside of the hundreds in the ranks. It was two regiments to one, but the Alabamians had won the guns and were determined to hold them. Not a single company formed in line— not an officer had a command. Two thousand mad and infuriated men rushed at each other with murder in their hearts. No one asked for quarter —no one gave it. At the end of twenty minutes the Pennsylvanians gave way, not overpow ered by numbers but pressed back by such dare devil fighting as nobody had ever witnessed 'ore. The guns had been taken, but tnere were no horses to draw them away. The captors were making arrangements to draw them away when there was a rally on the part of the Federals. The smallness of the Confederate force suddenly became plain as the smoke lifted, and before a gun could be moved hot fire was opened from a whole brigade, followed by a charge. The Alabamians were picked up and hurled back in a broken mass, and the last of them had not reached the woods before the guns were again playing upon them. The loss of the Confederate regiment was over 150 men, 100 of whom, including eight company commanders, died aronnd the battery. THE REPULSE AT KENNESAW. The day after the repulse of the Fif teenth Corps at Kennesaw Mountain the Fortieth and Fifty-seventh Indiana, Ninety-seventh and Twenty-sixth Ohio, Twenty-eigth Kentucky, and One hundreth Illinois regiments, each num bering about 800 men, were seleoted to make an assault on a ridge 300 yards in their front. The lines were formed in regimental divisions, and while the front was only the width of two com panies the depth was thirty lines of men in open order. It was in fact a giant wedge of flesh and blood and steel which was to drive itself through the Confederate lines. As the men stood in line their officers explained to them in low and earnest tones what was planned and what was hoped for. It was a forlorn hope indeed. Every man must have realized that there would be a terrible loss of life even be fore the salient was reached, but each one seemed to nerve himself for what was to come. During the twenty min utes’ interval between forming and the order to advance there was almost dead silence in the ianks. The men leaned npon tbeir muskets and peered through the forest in their front which hid the Confederate position, and the supports on the flanks moved up and into position as if fearing that their footsteps would disturb tbe dead of the day before. It was not positively known to the Federals that the salient was defended by cannon. The hope that it was not gave the men more spirit, as the lay of the ground—forest, thicket and ridge— furnished fair shelter from musketry fire. Soon after 8 o’olock a single iow spoken order brought every man to a front face. The moment had corns. As the column had formed under cover it was hoped to take the defenders of the salient by surprise. The lines were dressed, and in a moment more were moving through the woods. From the valleys at the base of the Kennesaw, Lost or Pine Mountains to their crests there is scarcely a level spot. The sides are covered with forest*} and thicket, and the gronnd is almost a suc cession of rocky terraces. Over this difficult gronnd the great bine wedge forced its way at a rapid pace, but no cheer was heard —no shouts were given. “Crack! crack ! crack !” It is the alarm from the Confederate skirmishers, who have crept, down id most to the base of the mountain. They are posted behind great rooks and hid den behind ledges. They cannot retreat; they must surrender or fight it out They choose the latter course. Nine out of every ten hold their positions un til the point of the blue wedge reaches them aud brings a savage death with it All along the sides of the grim moun tain the skirmishers bar the way, seek ing to detain the wedge and alarm the defenders of the salient. Here and there a Federal throws up his hands and falls back, but the column makes no halt. Up, up, up, and now an officer in front waves his sword as the slopes of the parapet come into sight. Here the cover suddenly ends. From the bushes to the salient, a disTanoe of 200 feet, the ground has been swept bare of tree and bush, and rocks have been rolled aside. At the foot of tne parapet is a palisade —outside of that an abattis. Behind the works are a thousand muskets—a thou sand Confederates with fingers on trig gers. At regular intervals along this line —250 feet front—are six field pieces, each one loaded with grape and canister. The men within are waiting, Not an order is given nor a head appears in sight until the first line of blue is out of cover. Now, as if one finger had pressed the thousand triggers, a great sheet of flame leaps forth and scorches and blisters and shrivels the advance. The second line crowds up over the dead and dying, the third and fourth cheer as they come. Now, with a crash as if a volcano was breaking through the crest of the moun tain, the six guns belch their contents into that mass of men sixty deep. The effect was horrible. What were men a moment ago are now bloody shreds blown against the rocks and scat tered far over the gronnd. Some of the gory fragments fall upon tlie lines yet half-way up the slope. The advance halts in confusion—the rear lines crowd up. There is another bloody feast ready as soon as the cannon can be charged. Then comes the order to break lines and divide to the right and left to get out of range of the artillery. The men rush forward to tlie abattis— some lie flat down—others take cover behind rocks. For fifteen minutes heroic carnage holds them before the salient. The Con federates have them at their mercy. Men take deliberate aim and send a bullet through the heads of the living targets. When the burial party comes to do its work it will find that seven out of every ten Federals lying before that abattis has been killed stone dead by a single bullet. The fire of musketry might have checked the assault, but aided by artil lery the check became a butchery. Grape and canister Searched out spots secure from bullets, and men in the very rear ranks, who did not even catch sight of the abattis were struck down by the iron missiles. No assault could have brought out more nerve and hero ism, but it was the wave dashing against a rocky cliff. When the men had fallen back to their original positions the roll of dead and wounded was a shock to those who had escaped. No one had blimdered. John ston’s lines were there, and they must be carried by assault. Sherman was looking for a weak spot to drive a wedge into. That salient was one of the strongest points on the Confederate line. M. Quad. The Father’s Search, No sadder story was ever told in the pages of romance than that of the cruel abduction of little Charlie Ross and the wanderings of the unhappy father, who has been dragging his sorrows aboul from place to place for nine weary years in a vain search for his lost child. Every new clue, while it brings with it hope, tears open the wounds of the parent’s heart and they bleed afresh. Every new disappointment i*eca!ls the anguish of the first wretched hours of bereavement. Now the search leads to the far West, where a brother of Mosher, the supposed abductor of the child, was recently lynched for murder. Before he died he dropped hints prompting the belief that Charlie had been carried out to Wyom ing Territory, and the father hastens to Cheyenne to investigate the story. We fear the search is destined to end as so many others have done before it. If the child could be found and re stored to his parent all the world would rejoice. Every heart would breathe a silent prayer of thankfulness and joy. But even then there would be a touch of sadness mingled with the bliss of re union. Poor Charlie when stolen from his parents was a little four-year-old prattler, with bright eyes and golden hair and merry laugh. The father will never again take the lost child to his heart as he was in those days. To wholly heal the wounds he has received it would be necessary to set back the hand of time to enable him to fondle with the golden locks —to hear the childish voice lisp its joy—to kiss the fresh young lips as they used to be kissed in the happy days before the terrible sorrow fell upon the family circle. This can never be. Little Charlie is gone forever. The child if found will be a lad of thirteen or fourteen years, tried by adversity, probably without a memory of his past history—of those who have suffered such anguish for his loss. No; there can be no thorough healing of the parent’s sor row in this sad case. But every heart vriii send up a sincere wish that he may Groover his son and that his weary search may at last be succeeded by such happiness as he can yet enjoy. —New York World, Innocent. — A doctor oharged with malpraotioa has committed suicide in England. What renders the matter peculiarly melancholy is that the evi dence seems to point to his innocence, i THE HUMOROUS PAPERS. WHAT WE FIND IN THEM TO LAUGH OVER. THAT DANGEROUS DIMPLE. But oh, that dimple in your chin ! I'm sure my heart lies buried there. In such a pit ’twere sooth no sin To fall. Your eyes were beacons fair; I drank the fragrance of your hair; You digged the pit, I tumbled in, And then you did not seem to care. But oh, that dimple in your chin ! I’m sure ray heart lies buried there; Nor prince, nor peer, nor paladin Had e’er a tomb so rosy rare— So white without, so pink within— To kiss that sepulchre I dare ? But oh, that dimple in your chin ! —Puck. AU FAIT IN EVERYTHING. “What kind of a man is he ?” asked a gentleman about a youDg society man. “Oh, he’s mighty popular with the women. ” “Is he intelligent?” “No, not particularly. You see, there’s not much demand for intelligence in society.” “Does be dance?” “Of course.” “Knows what’s going on in theatricals, music, etc. ?” “Of course.” “Au fait in everything, I presume ?” “Well, I don’t know whether he owes Fay or not, but I know ho owes about every man of my acquaintance. "Who is Fay? I’ll look him up and see if he doesn’t owe him too. I’ll bet he does.” —Merchant Traveler. GLADYS M 'NULTY S LAMENT. “God pity me 1” Gladys McNulty, usually so proud and composed, and who moved about in the little world of those who knew her with the stately grace of a New York Post editorial, sank on a fauteuil as she ut tered these words, and sobbed as if her shoestrings would break. In the lindens that lined the entrance lo Brierton Villa the robin redbreasts were thrilling their merriest lays, while over by the woodshed the haggard out line of an abandoned hoopskirt through which the daisies were peeping showed that spring, the most pulmonary and beautiful season of the year, had ar rived. In the broad fields that stretched away to the westward the farmers were preparing the ground for the seed which, nourished in the bosom of Mother Earth and warmed by the genial rays of the sun, would soon become the ripened grain, yielding to its owner a bounteous harvest, and enabling him to play against the bunco when he visits Chicago in the fall. A ruddy-faced boy, picking seed burrs from between his toes, flecks the horizon and lends an added beauty tc the enchantment of the scene. And yet, lying there on the fauteuil, whose velvety surface is not more soft than her cheek, Gladys McNulty is sob bing away the hours of this beautiful June morning, and ever and anon there oomes from between her white lips a low, despairing moan that is pitiful iu its sad intensity. But Anally the con vulsive sobs that are racking her dress waist grow fainter, and in a little while she sits up, the pink suffusion of a blush telling all too plainly which side she had been lying on. And as she sits there gazing listlessly into the middle of next week her mother, a pleasant-faced woman without corsets, entered the room. “Why are you weeping, Gladys ?” she asks. The girl does not answer, and strive as she may to keep down the sobs that are welling up from her heart the eftcrt is in vain, and again the pretty face is bedewed with tears. But an instant later she has conquered her emotions and looks bravely up at her mother. “I will tell you, mamma,” she says, “the cause of my sorrow. I was crying to think that you cannot go to the mat inee to-morrow.” “And why may I not go?” “Because,” answers Gladys, in a voice that is hoarse with agony, “I have con cluded to take it in myself.” AT THK STAMP WINDOW. ‘Has postage been reduced to two cents?” “Yes’m.” ‘ ‘For letter ?” “Yes’m. ” “Then a two cent stamp will actually carry a letter ?” “It will.” “And there’s no need of putting on three cents ?” “Not a bit. ” “Do you know Mrs. Blank?” “No’m.” “She says it’s two cents in the city.” “It is two cents anywhere in the coun try.” “She says she sent a letter to her hus band in Chicago with a two cent stamp on it and he never got it.” “I can’t help that, ma’am.” “Then two cents is enough?” “Plenty.” “And her husband probably got the letter and didn’t answer it?” “Prob ably.” “Well, I’ll take a two-cent stamp, but if there is any doubt about the matter, I’d as soon pay more. It will go, will it?” “Yes’m.” “Go right out to-day?” “Yes’m.” “Well, I hope so, for it’s a very im portant letter. You know Mrs. D , who lives on street ?” “No’m.” “Well, it s for her. She lives in Buf falo now. She asked me for tho best way to pickle mixed .” The woman had to stand aside for two or three min utes, but as soon as the window was clear she returned to say: “I’ve got the stamp on.” “Yes’m.” “Two cents.” “I see ” X BCO. “And it’ll go?” “It will.” “If it don’t 1” And she probably didn’t sleep a wink fast night. — Detroit Free Press. As they who, for every slight infirm ity, take physic to repair their health, do rather impair it; so they, who for every trifle, are eager to vindicate thcri character, do rather weaken it A QUEER MARRIED COUPLE THE STORY OF TWO WOMEN WHO PRETENDED TO BE MAN AND WIFE. One a Once Fnmonn lluntrrM of the Nfw York and Pfnn*y!? n ntn Woods and the Other a fJmdnate of a Boston School- Their Wandertnas and A4retarei. The singular case reported from Wau pun, Wis., of the marriage of one woman to another, has a parallel in a case which was discovered in Stroudsburg, Pa., some years ago. A local correspondent writes to the Sun as follows: In the spring of 1869 there appeared in the town of Barrett, in the western part of Monroe county, a couple calling them selves the Rev. Joseph Israel Lobdell and wife. The man was of medium height, dressed in tattered hunting garb, and carried a long single-barrel rifle. He wore no hat, and his head was covered with thick black curly hair, streaked with gray. The woman was taller than the man, and was meanly clad. She was fine looking, wore spectacles, and her conversation showed that she was educated and intelligent. For two years the strange couple roamed about the township, living most of the time in the woods, but frequently making their ap pearance in the village, where the man would deliver wild and incoherent harangues on religion, and both would beg for food and shelter. In 1871 they had become such a nuisance to the in habitants that they were arrested on a charge of vagrancy, and committed to jail in Stroudsburg. While in prison the discovery was made that they were both women. Soon afterward it was lenrned that they had together left the almshouse of Delaware county, N. Y., a short time before their appearance in this county. The poorhouse authorities of Barrett thereupon took them back to Delhi, where the following straight his tory of th© pair was learned: In 1854, Lucy Ann Lobdell, the 17- year-old daughter of an old lumberman living at Long Eddy, on the Delaware river, was married to George Slater. She was known far and wide as an ex pert shot with the rifle, not only at the target, but in bunting the wild game for which that part of the valley was then famous. A fter a year of married life, Slater deserted his wife, leaving her iu destitute circumstances, with an in fant two months old. Her parents were very poor, and unable to give her a home. They were willing to relieve her (f the care of her child, however, and she finally placed it in their charge. She then dressed herself in male attire and disappeared. Soon afterward, a young man of pre possessing appearance opened a singing school in the village of Bethany, Wayne county, Pa. He gave his name as Joseph Lobdell, and became a great favorite among the young women of the village, nearly all of wdiom joined his singing class. He was a good singer and violinist, and had a fair knowledge of music. Before the term of his school was over he became engaged to one of kis pupils, the daughter of a leading citizen of Bethany. The day was set for the wedding. News of the presence of the young singing master in Bethany reached Long Eddy, pid suspicion was aroused there that he was the missing Lucy Ann Slater, whose musical accomplishments were well known in her native place. In vestigation proved that the suspicion was correct. The information was ob tained by a young man of Bethany, who had been a rival of the music teacher for the hand of the young lady. He told the secret to a few companions, aud they planned to capture the teacher on a certain night and tar and feather tier. This became known in some way to the girl Lobdell was to marry, and, notwithstanding her mortification, she wanted the teacher of her danger so , nut she escaped from tne town by ight and returned to Long Eddy, where she assumed female attire for a short time. Early in 1556 she again put on male attire, and for eight years lived the life >f a hunter, roaming the forest of Sulli van, Delaware, Wajne, and Pike coun ties. She rarely came into the settle wiits, and then to exchange game and furs for ammunition and necessary sup plies. According to her subsequent statements, her wild life was one of thrilling adventure and privation. Her narrow escapes in contests with wild an imals and her sufferings from cold, hunger, and sickness during her career in the woods she recorded in a book en titled “The Life and Adventures of Lucy Ann Lobdell, the Female Hunter of Long Eddy. ” She returned to Long Eddy in 1864, broken in mind and body. Her child had been placed in the poor house at Delhi. She once more as sumed the habiliments of her sex, and, after wandering about the valley for a year or two, an object of pity and char ity, she also sought the shelter of the almshouse. 0 In the summer of 1868 a young woman giving the name of Marie Louise Perry, became an inmate of the poorhouse at Delhi. She was in poor nealth, a stranger in the county, and evidently well educated. She declined to give any account of herself, but it was learned a few months afterward that =<he was the daughter of well-to-do pa rents in a Massachusetts village, and was a graduate of a school in Bee ton, It was rumored that she had run away from home, married a man to whom her parents objected, and been deserted by him. This rumor she neither denied nor admitted to be true. An intimacy grew np between Miss Perry and Lucy Ann Lobdell. They became strongly attached to one another, although their habits, character, and antecedents were so widely different. Learning that the almshouse authorities had informed heir parents of her where abouts. the girl resolved to leave the in stitution, and Lucy Ann Lobdell ac companied her. They were not heard of again in Delaware connty until they wero discovered in the Strawsbury jail, masquerading m man and ife* and were returned to the Delhi poorhouse They remained there but a short tin*, and then left the place again, and re sumed their roaming life in the woods insisting on every occasion that they were man and wife. A marriage oeremony between them had been performed in ]B€9 by a Wayne county Justice of the Peace, he being ignorant of the fact that the parties were both women. In 1876 they ap peared in Honesdale, Wayne county The “husband,” it was then seen, was violently insane, but the “wife” clung to him with an affection that was remark able. For the good of both, the luna tic was placed in jail. The grief of the other 8t the separation was pitiful, and she begged to be allowed to share'her “husband’s” cell. There is now on the court records of Wayne county a document which was drawn by the unfortunate companion of Lucy Ann Lobdell at this time. It was a petition for the release of her “husband, Joseph I. Lobdell,” from jail, on account of his failing health. It was written with a split stick for a pen, with ink made from the juice of poke berries. It reviewed the case of the “Female Hunter” from a psychological standpoint. The language used was clear, correct and logical, showing that the writer, though a voluntary outcast, was a person of superior education. “Joseph I. Lobdell” was finally re leased from jail, and tbe couple then took up their residence on a small farm m Damascus townsmp, Wayne county, where they lived peaceably until 1880, w'hen the “husband” wandered awav, and finally became an inmate of the Delhi poorhouse again. She is now in the Willard Asylum for the Insaue. The “wife” still lives on the Damascus iarm, and insists that her name is Mrs. Joseph I. Lobdell. Modern Courtship Scene. “ And yon really love me dearly?” Ha asked as he coiled his arm about her wasp-like system. “And you’ll always love me so ?” “ Always, Frederick; ever so,” “ And you pledge me to sew but—” “Sir!” “ You pledge me to so beautify my life that it will always be as happy as now ?” “ With my last breath, Frederick. * “And, darling, you will mend my stock—” “ Your what, sir?” “ You will mend my stock of knowl edge and draw me upward and onward to a better existence ?” “It will be the pride of my life so to ilo, Frederick. I wili sacrifice all for your complete happiness.” “ I know that, sweetheart. But sup pose in the fullness of time some acci dents should happen to— to —say the Iron—” “ You forget yourself, sir. To the what ?’* “To the trousseau; would it defer the >our that makes you mine ?” “Never, Frederick. lam yours, mina oid heart, and naught can separate us.” “And you will care for me ever, my •r.nl, and I fr you ; for though I may ... vtr Lave a shir ” “Enough 1 Leave me forever.” “But listen. Though I may never have a shirking disposition, I shall some times, perhaps, iu the struggle of life, >rget the plain duty ” And so on. That’s modern courtship. Lois of abstract swash, but a manifest lisinclinatiou to contemplate such con veniences as buttons, socks, browsers r.d shirts.— Chicago Tribune. a siren’s song. “Do you love me truly, Harold ?” Lurline Neversink was even more beautiful than usual as she stood in the soft, mellow light that streamed from the ohandelier overhead and looked down fondly upon her George W. Simp son. Bending tenderly over the girl, he kisses her in a chaste, New Haven, Conn., manner, but does not trust him self to answer in words the fateful ques tion she has asked. And then they pass into the music room, which is separated from the hall by a 'portiere of navy blue velvet. The windows of the room are shaded by curtains of the same rich color, and the wall* between them are covered with paintings. Statues of Mozart, Beethoven and Guido filled niches, while over the low mantel hung a full- length portrait of Maud S. No word was spoken until Lurline had seated herself at the piano. Lurline began to sing. Carried away by the inspiration of the moment, she sang on and on, until at last she paused from sheer exhaustion. And then, see ing that George was not at her side, she turned to the fauteuil at her left. There he lay—dead—in all the proud grandeur of his glorious manhood. The mellow light from the chandelier stole into the hushed chamber of death and wandered over his stately form, that lay powerless and stricken, over his noble, handsome face, telling, even in death, of the death less love he bore her. He had forgotten to plug up his ears, —Chicago Tribune. THE WRONG PARTY. “You know Blank, don’t you ?’ quer ied a citizen as he entered a Griswold street office yesterday. “Yes.” “Have you any influence with him “Well; I may have.” ‘‘Then you are the man to go to him. He has a son about sixteen years old !” “Yes.” “That boy is on the road to ruin be cause his father is tbc good-natured and too much wrapped up in business. Seems to me it is your duty to go to that man and tell him in a friendly way that he must exercise more government or his boy will be lost.” “I don’t think I’m the man,” replied the other as he chewed at a blotting-pad and gazed out of the window. “But why ?” ‘ Well, I’ve got a boy about the same age, and I’m just goiDg up to the Police Court to pay a fine of S2O for him smash ing up saloon furniture ! Try the ne*t.” —Detrgit Free Frees,