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IN THE TWILIGHT.
Aii we grow old our yester Jays
8c< m very dim end distant;
%> grope an thole in darkened way*
Thro »U that in cxistant,
J3nt far-off days seem bright and fleer
With mine that long have failed,
And face* dead aeem Ktrai gely near
To (hose Hitt iife has shaded.
An we grow old our tears are few
For friends moat lately taken.
®nt fall as falls the summer dew
From roses lightly shaken,
"When worne chance word of idle strain,
TTie chords of memory sweeping.
Unlocks the flood gates of onr pain
For those who taught uk weeping.
,<M me grow old our smiles are rare
To those who greet ns daily ;
Or, if some tender faces wear
The bs* that beamed so gayly
From eyes tong closed, and we should smile
In answer to their wooing,
Yin but the past that shines the while—
Onr power to amile renewing.
A* we grow old oor dreams at night
Are never of the morrow;
They come with baniahed pleasures bright,
Or dark with olden sorrow;
And when we wake the names we say
Are not of «tny mortals,
gilt those who in some long dead day
I‘neutc.1 thro* life’s sunset portals.
"Widow Lockery
TiV ANGELINR TEAT,.
I made tier acquaintance at an Old
Settlers’ reunion. The club, which
bcid its yearly meetings at Gorshcm,
■was composed of the surviving pioneers
nf 1839. All persons who, either as
-Adults or children, hod settled in the
the district covered by the organization
previous to or within that year were en¬
titled to enrollment.
A group of men were discussing wheat
’pruHpect*. They seemed to belong to
Ihat classin whom the uncertainty of
the fanner's hope had bred a condition
of chronic foreboding. One would said all the be
nrhcst was too strong, and
"“lodged” before harvest. Another
tiiotigVt the recent rains would produce
“rustdi»the stalk.” A third predicted a
**ot. dry time, that would cause it
in “Tire at the root.”
Old Beth Householder had been a re
snarkably good shot in his time. We
ipouK-d in our saunter to hear him tell
About it, fie was a grotesque old man,
with yellowish curling hair calico hanging
astw the collar of his clean shirt.
“I presume tiler's a good many old
fellers here,” said he, “that minds about
the doggery Hunk Hloan kep' over on
the old Btato road. He kep’ a little
stock of grocery, too, and about once a
fortm’t tieM hev a shootin’-mateh. He’d
tie up liiindlos of tea and terbackcr and
sugar, and we'd slusit fer ’em. Well,
cue afternoon in the tieginnin’ November, of winter
—it was the thirty-first had of shoot. Ther' if I
mind right—Hank a
-was just yievonty-three when match of them pook
sges. and the was out, and
Hank told ’em over, all but four was
marked ‘8. Householder.’ Yus, that
mrm rather fair ahootin’. I toll you,
gentlemen, it’s all in the optic nerve of
’Sic eye. Ther's whare it lays.”
The band began multitude playing moved on the ros
tnwi, And the toward
the music.
•* Should «ili! seqnsintsnoo tie forgot
And never mill'd to mind ?
Should *ukl acquaintance Is- forgot
And the day* of su'd 1 *«k syne V
The sweet herns seemed to speak the
wery wordsl
Then* was mil-call, answered to in
voices varying from the robust, mellow
ftonoH of middle age to the feebler quaver
of the octogenarian. A brief biographi¬
cal obituary of a Into member was rend.
Then the orator of the day was intro¬
duced. After the speech came the bus¬
hel dinner under the trees. The after¬
noon was devoted to nitisio and story
helling. An aged farmer named Man¬
tling ttH.nl:
“1 was the first white settler in Deer
lark Township. 'long Things What was middlin'
oalisady at first. ’ud folks
think wow of driving thirty miles for a
tbog of seed wheat and two plow-pints ?
1 did that in ”17 druv it with oxen 1
too. It was powerful hard heavy work clenrin
ap niytand—tnnlier ho and help
mo scarce. I had one hired man that did
anc a heap of good. 11c was only a ta>y,
i»nt he whs a good one, shop strong-fisted and
keen-witted. He’d all day and
•truly his books till ton o’clock at night.
He’s here to-day, friends, and mavis
«sn« of you knows who I mean. It's
Judge Tazewell, there on the platform.
He i|ilit«ii(lfii(l clearin'. up the rails that fenced
my first He's been to Con¬
gress since, slid I'm proud to say he's
as Inmost «v law-maker ns he was a fence
rmaker. I propose three cheers tor the
**>I-«plitter of the old Tenth district.”
They were given with energy, and
Judge Tazewell came down and shook
hand* with Lucie Eli Manning.
The pn»'ident of the club then asked
how many >‘.i the assembly had unv per¬
sonal recollection of a two-days’ hunt
tfor a tost child in the autumn of '41.
he, “Answer Sunday-school dozen fashion," said
ami about half a hands went
ap.
“Is the Widow Lockery here?” he
next inquired. site is," the in
“I reckon came answer
a woman’s voice from somewhere in the
-crowd.
'•Mrs. Iiockerv," continued the presi
<ksnt, “found the lost child, and if she
•will toll us all about it, 1, for one, will
be much pleasixl. I have a vague im
•pression of the terror which the hunt
produoxl and the excitement it aroused
in my childish mind; but I do not ro
WKwaVsT that 1 ever heard the occurrence
tally described by any one who took part
. is tbe search. ”
He gt sliced again in the direction
-arbenee come that prompt response, and
down.
A t*U. straight woman rose from her
walked slowly down the aisle be
■iweeii tbe rude benches, and took a po¬
sition facing the people. She but seemed delilv in
»o hour to ta'gin her story,
■• ro tdj look off her starched bonnet and
bkl it on tbe gross beside her, She
tbe most remarkable personage I
had seen that day. Though fully
seventy years old, she was erect as
an Indian, and gave one the impression
of hair great physical low power. her forehead, Her iron-gray and
grew over
watt gathered into a great, rough-look¬
ing knot at the back of her head, and se¬
cured in it« place by a brass comb. Her
complexion was swarthy, and her dark
eyes were shaded by darker brows which
almost met above her prominent aquil¬
ine nose. Her lips closed firmly, and
her whole face had an expression of un¬
speakable sadness.
“Friends and neigldiorB,” she liegan;
and all at once I found myself smiling,
as I observed many others doing. quickly Never
before did human countenance so
transform its expression, The dark
eyes twinkled, the corners of the mouth
gave a humorous curl, the lips parted m
speech revealed a double row of perfect
natural teeth, gleaming changed with drollery,
was the whole physiognomy
and laughter-provoking.
“Friends and neighbors; Seein’ashow
Mr. Evans lias sort o’ give out that I’m
the hero wine o’ this tale o’ terror, maybe
it would sound lietter for someone else
to tell it. So much by way of preface.
“It was Benjamin Nyfer’s child that
was lost. Ben started one mornin’ in
October to get some grindin’ dene.
There was no mill nearer than the one
on Taylor’s Fork, twe lve miles off, and
the way roads was then, it would take
him away ’long into the night to get
homo. That little boy o’ his’n, just five
year old, took a notion to go ’long, but
bis I’a wouldn’t let him. Ho whipped
the jioor little fellow in the mornin’ for
errin’ to go; but when he started the
child just follered the wagon and bawled
to lie took in. The other young ones
told me that; and that precious mother
o’ his’n, instead of coaxin’ him into the
house and fryin’ him a dough horse, and
twistin’ him five or six yards of tow
string for drivin’-lines, just went on
about her work, and paid no ’tention to
him till he vm clean out o’sight. ’Long
toward noon Mary Ann Nyfer, lookin’ the oldest
gal, came over to my house, real
soairt. and said Sammv was lost. He’d
follered Pa a ways in the mornin’ and
hadn’t came back. I says right away;
(I t He's all right. Your father’s give
in to his veilin’ and took him ’long.’
“But the gal shook her head, and re¬
marked:
“ ‘Father never gives in to nuthin’.
lie’s druv him back, and Hammy’s lost.’
“I went home with her, and found
Luke Wilson there. We three families
lived purty cloast—all within a mile.
Luke thought just as I did, that Nyfer
had took the boy along, but the mother
and Mary Ann seemed to doubt it.
Wilson said he'd go down the rood, and
stop at Fell’s and Harder’s—maybe little
Ham had stopped to play. Well, lie
didn't find him, and the good feller hoofed
it on till he met Nyfer, Fork. three or four
miles this side of the There was
no Hammy with him. He said the child
had turned back at the big shingle-troo
stump, about a mile from home.
“When Ben druv up to his house,
there was quite a company of the neigh¬
bors there waitin’ to see if he had the
boy. A Hureli was started that night
with lanterns and kep’ up till mornin'.
Word was s out fur an near, and before
noon the the hunt. next day Horns three townships Mowed, were bells
on was
rung, and the poor baby's name called
in hundreds of voices. The woods and
swamps was scoured and every brush
heap and holler log peeked into.
“The sarcli lasted another uight nnd
another day, till in the afternoon
some begun to give out, myself among
the uumlier. I went home and throwed
myself onto my bed with my clothes on,
and slept as I’d never slept before.
About ten o’clock that evenin’ I woke up
sudden, just as wide awake as I am this
minute. Mv mind seemed onoommon
clear and quick. thought. ‘That ‘He’s child can’t with lie
fur away,’ 1 lieen
the rest to the huckleberry swamp this
summer. Tho trail leadin’ to the swamp
leave* tho main road not fur from the
shingle tree stiimp. I'd often heard
that lost children would never answer
when called, but at night, when
every liing was quiet, seemed thqy’d though cry and the
make a noise. It as
hull kentry had been well sarched, but I
still tadioved he was stiekin’somewhere*
in that huckleberry marsh.
“Now, I don’t want anvbody to think
l was a lierowine, for I wasn’t. I think
I felt moro’n common sorrv for Rachel
Nyfer, because I’d had a dislike to her
for quite a spell It growed out. of an
egg trade. I wanted a settin’ of goose
eggs; she had some, and said slic’d tot
tue have a dozen for two dozen hen*’
eggs. Well, we traded, and I s’jxieed it
was all right, till one day she come over
and said she thought she orter liave
about another half-dozen eggs; for she’d
opened a goose-egg shell and then broke
two hens’ eggs intoit, nud it wasn’t quite
bill. 'Twould have held easy half an¬
other egg! I counted out six eggs, nnd
she lugged ’em home; then I told Miss
Luke Wilson and one or two other
women that 1 was purty thick with, and
we made no end of fun utamtit whenever
we got together. general
"I didn't like the make up of
the woman. She had five purty children,
out she didn’t seem to take no kind o'
comfort with 'em: just pushed 'em one
tide and druv ahead with her work.
She and Nyfer both seemed to think all
the duty they owed their young ones
was to make "'em mind from the word
go. and dig away like all possess, to
make property for'em. But I was there
thnt evenin’ when Ben came home with
out the boy, and I saw ’em stand and
look in each other's faces, like the end of
the world had come, and neither one
could help the other. Then she wont
alxmt puttin' a bit of supper onto the
table; but when she set out Sam's little
tin plate and mug, all the mother iu her
broke loose, and she flung herself down,
shudderin' and Bobbin’ iu a way I'll
never forgit. Well, sooin' as for how havin’ T
kinder misjudged pushed the creetur make
lio heart. I felt to one
more try for that poor lost kid o' hern:
so I jumped right up and sunt out loud:
“ ‘With the Lord's help. I’ll find him
yet!’ "I lit lantern and shaded it it
my so
let just a little light down onto the
ground. Then I went over the road,
list as I guessed the boy had done,
turnin’ off on the trail at the big red
iik stnnip. and right down to the swamp.
There I stopped and listened, still as
death. Sure os there’s mercy for us all
above. I heard him almost right away. Then
“ ‘Oli, nu !’ Such a pitiful call!
lie cried and whimpered, very weak,
like his breath was 'most followed gone* and that his
heart ’most broke, I
sound and found him easy, He was
mired to his arm-pits in mud and water.
I couldn’t at first see how I was to get to
him. There was the body of a big wal
nnt tree lyin’ back on the hard ground,
and the bark was loose. I pulled it off
in slabs and throwed ’em onto the hum¬
mocks, and so bridged my way stinggled out to
that little valler head. He
wild when I first pulled him out; carried then
gave up in a kind of faint. I
him home in a hurry. There was still a
good many people at Nyfer’s. Th:y
made some milk warm and put a taste
of liquor in it, and forced a few drops
down his throat, as you’ve done to He a
shilled lamb on a winter’s mornin’.
was bathed and rubbed and wrapped in
soft tin mi in and laid in the baby’s warm
nest afore the fire. Nyfer and his wife
stood lookin’ down at him.
if i Raich,’ said he—and she looked up,
her black eyes a-swimmin’ and her face
all a-tremble. Then he took her into his
arms and held her cloast—‘Raich, we
hain’t loved one another enough, and
we hain’t loved onr children enough.
There’s that that’s better’n money, arm
land, and for the rest of our lives we’ll
try and keep holt of it.’
“And I believe they did. The litth
boy had a fever, but he came out all
right at last. Miss Nyfer died about
five years after that, and he took the
family and went back East. Of course,
T wouldn’t have told this story just as I
iiave if any of ’em had been around. ”
The people had listened closely, and
when Mrs. Lockery put on her bonnet
and resumed her seat the hush was so
profound that we could hear, high above
our heads, the twittering clamor of a
nest of young tanagers, to whom the
mother-bird had brought a worm.
The next to address the assembly was
a noble-looking old man with Wilson, silvery
white hair. It was Mr. Luke
or ’Squire Wilson, ns he intellectual was generally head,
called. He had afirm.
and when he spoke his language was
correct and well sr>oken.
“The Widow ljoekery,” he began,
“has disclaimed all right to the title of
heroine. Do uot let the verdict be ren¬
dered till I have finished what I am about
to forty relate. My friend and neighbor if for I
years will, I know, pardon me
for once lift the veil from a passage of
her experience to which she seldom al¬
ludes, and of which many in this audi¬
ence have never heard. Nothing has
lieen told here to-day, nothing coaid be
told, more strongly illustrative Of the
eovrage and endurance of the pioneer
spirit, at least of the spirit of one brave
pioneer.
“One winter evening, many yenrs
ago, a Htranger presented himself at the
cabin of Thomas and Rnth Lockery,
and be egged a night’s lodging. He was
a Can odian. , completely tired out, and
far from well. Neither Lockery nor his
wife had it in them to turn a sick stranger
trom their door; so they gave him sup¬
per and a lied. The next day he wns
unable to rise, and liefore night he
broke out with smqll-pox.
“The following morning when I went
out to feed my cattle I happened to look
toward Loekery's, and saw on a sharp
rise of ground, about half wav between
the two houses, a woman standing and
beckoning to me. It. was my neighbor
here. I went toward her, but while I
was some distance away she halted me
and told me in a few words about the
man with the small-pox, and charged
me to wuteli the road and warn the com¬
munity. She said she had been inocu¬
lated, and would not take tho disease,
but she feared for her husband and
children. That day I rode eleven mill's
to the nearest doctor. His wife cried,
and would not let him go. He read his
books for an lionr, while my horse
rested, then he made up a package of
medicines for me and I started back. I
left the medicines and stimulants on the
scrub-oak hill, and Tom came and got
them,
“As Until had feared, her husband
and two children were token down.
Several out of the nearer families then
offered to take all risks and help her
nurse her sick, but she firmly refused
their assistance.
“ ‘I can get along alone,’ she would
say from her post on the hill. 'The
Lord giv<>s mo strength tor all I have to
do, and this horror must not spread.’
Everything promptly and she abundantly, needed was and furnished this is all
site wonld suffer ns to do. Tbe stranger
had the disease in its mildest form, but
Lockery and the little boys, Amos and
Willy, first." were hopelessly bad from the
Oue morning the poor woman
called to me that both the children were
dead, and told me to have two eofiim
brought to the hill that evening at dark.
George Gilt's and I dug a short, wide
grave at a spot on the place where she
designated; and that night she took
those coffins to her cabin, put her chil¬
dren into them, and buried them with
her own hands ! One morning, some
three weeks later, as 1 went out of my
house just at daybreak, Tsaw Mrs. Loek
rrv waiting on the hill. She looked
changed and and flying bent, in the and wind. her hair was
loose I can see'
it all now. The she sky was snch a clear.
pale gray, and looked so dark and
wild against it! I ran to my old post,
trom which I had hailed her daily lor
weeks.
“‘Thomas died at midnight,’ ^ ^ she
called. ‘ Make bis coffin as light as pos
sible to have it strong enough.’
“Then I shouted back :
“ ‘ Ruth Lockerv, yon have done
enough Giles and I will come to-day
and bury your dead. At this she threw
>H' ber ar ms and uttered an awful
cry.
“ ‘Don't do it, for the love of God '
Fvo gone place through need this all alone, that n<
other be desolated as mim
has been. Don’t let it be for nothing,
It shall not lie for nothing ! If man or
woman dan's to come near that awful
house. I'll draw my rifle on them V
“The Canadian was by this time well
enough to render her some assistance
and together they coffined and buried
poor Tom. They drew the body on a
stone-sled over *he snow, and laid it iu the
new grave beside the other. The next
day we saw a red flame shoot up through
the timber, and we knew Ruth had tired
her cabin with all the little effects it
contained. There wasn’t much, to l>e
sure—nothing that she valued after what
had gone before. We left a pound of
sulphur and two suits of clothing on the
hill by her orders. The stranger got
into hts fresh garments after Bath had
smoked them well. Then she cut his
hair short, and rubbed his head with
sulphur till, she said afterward, she
knew he’d carry the scent into the next
world with him. He took a gun and a
pouch of provisions and went away,
promising solemnly to enter no human
habitation for at least a month.
‘ ‘The weather had turned very mild—
it was the last of March—and Mrs. Lock
' ry begged ns not to ask her in for a
little while longer. She built herself a
wigwam of poles and bark; we took
her some bedding, and for three weeks
she lived out of doors. Then she changed
her clothing again and came among us,
pure enough, we thought, to mingle
with the angels of heaven. The people
got together and built her another house,
and furnished it with everything for her
comfort. She lived alone for years, a
then brave, she cheerful, adopted actively friend helpfu^^jfH
a
whom who is she reared h married, to won.a^
now wi
Mr-. and Lockery jit in her old 1 ' a^H
’a','
The Delights of ( ountrB
“Hello, Mr. Spivkins, movV
“Yes, you seo me i.ere
of a onee happy home,”
loll-. “lint my wife called
so [ or.i' '* 1 ti:s oom-o-utilc^l
van. 'i'll- twins mid th
IV•mini' ith t!.<- 1 .ad. iigB jH
“il-el: lising 111 lists
the news man.
“( )li, no ! Flats are not -fl
now. want, d My .lac- wife grew the aml.j^H -lli.fl
a | in
>i fun . ■, i.mm-o n..,io
Swiss eoitm/e, -able 1
mansions, with every
ienee would am! be free lots from of i tie- [m- nsiy^B
of the city, have plenty of
eggs, fresh air and a goat for
dren. ”
“And you had a goat?” m ™
"Oh, yes, we had several; one wasn’t
enough.”
“How’s that?”
“Why, keep all it was too exhausting neighbor¬ upon one
to the trees in the
hood barked, eat up all the old boots,
hoop-skirts and tramp down all the ad¬
joining gardens, and not liking to show
any partiality among neighbors, or I prej¬
udice against this particular goat, got
several to assist him.”
“And the butter and eggs? You had
plenty, I suppose ?”
“Plenty, yes! kept all the dogs in the
neighborhood lean trying to suck them
as fast as the hens laid them. ”
“Did your hens lay so fast ?”
“Oh, no, not my hens—no, these were
the their groceryman’s hands fnll hens—my Why, hens I had had
of setting.
one hen that sat for four weeks under
a liarrel, in a tub of water, that never
laid an egg in her life. Another sat on
a screw-driver and a monkey-wrench in
a horse trough for a fortnight, and so de¬
termined was she to become a mother
that six roosters with a peck of corn
couldn’t tempt her to move. We finally
concluded it was cheaper and more con¬
venient to buy eggs than to wait for an¬
other generation of chickens, so the
groceryman was called in. To really en¬
joy country life and get health, pure
air and lots of mud, a man never wants
to go beyond the suburbs. He must
keep within hearing of the street car
driver’s whistle and the tin peddler’s
voice. He must cany home a market
basket every night, and occasionally a
bundle of brooms and a ham; and then,
« hen be sits down on the liaek porch at
eve, with a towel over his bald head to
keep the mosquitoes off, he will think
with fondness unimaginable of those
tcn-dollar-apiece roasting-ears and three
dollar tomatoes that his wife and flie
gardener are going to raise next summer,
if his purse holds out. Have you bought
your ticket to the Gymnasium yet!”
“No.”
“Well, don’t do it; go buy a place in
the suburbs.”
A Philadelphia Her*.
Readers will rememlier Charles
Reade’s hero, who saved many lives
from drowning, and in whose behalf the
warm-hearted novelist addressed the
American public nearly ten years ago.
But in Philadelphia they have jnst dis¬
covered a modest young man of about
thirty measured who, if his exploits are to lie
simply by tbe number of lives
he hag wived, is a greater hero than
James Lainliert. “Reddy” Shannon,
who is a hard-working stevedore in
Philadelphia, living in an humble frame
tenement in “Crooked-alley," near tbe
wharves, is accredited with an astonish¬
ing number of rescues—of no less than
one hundred and sixty-three men and
boys. He says he never “got a woman”
in liis life, which is partly to be account¬
ed for by the fact that his life-saving about
work seems to have been done the
wharves. He began when he was ten
years old, and has been at it ever since,
because, as he said modestly to a re
porter: “It’s my nature to drop in if I
sees anylnxlv in trouble, and I have
pulled ont a "tidy few. “It ” looks But he remarked though
dcprecatingly : making fuss about as noth
somebody was always tumbling a in about
j n g. They are “and I
here,” he said, never get more
than thank you from any of them, and
sometimes I don't even get that. The
tirst tlnng a man does when he's brought
ashore is to shout for his hat.” He ex
plained that they were usually poor men
and he wanted nothing. It was a strange
irony of fortune that Shannon, who
saved so many from the water, lost his
six-year old son by drowning. The boy
seemed to have inherited his father’s lik
ing for the water, but got hundred beyond his
depth, and drowned with a men
and boys looking on who dki not realize
that he was not in sport. Congressman
O’Neill is interesting himself to obtain
a Government medal for Shannon, who
is modestly grateful for this and other
attentions, but seems disposed to think
that the chance to earn more than $1‘2 a
week for his wife and four children,
would be a pleasanter reward than many
medals.
A CHILD’S Pit AYER.
Ilowit Melted the Henrt of .llissonri’s Act
lug Ciovernor.
Governor Campbell lias issued a par¬
don to Eli Burnett, of Bates county,
Mo., who was at the July term, 1882,
sentenced to three years in the Peniten¬
tiary for grand larceny. The pardon was out
granted upon a petition which sets
that the crime was Burnett’s first offense,
and that the law having been sufficiently
vindicated by a year’s imprisonment, if
given his liberty he wonld lead an honest
life; and, further, he is the father of a
little motherless, sickly girl, who is
thrown upon the world and who needs a
father’s care and attention. The peti¬
tion is signed by the prosecuting wit¬ and
nesses, prosecuting attorney, sheriff
recorder of the county, ex-State Sena¬
tor Bradley and a large number of prom¬
inent citizens of Butler county, among
whom are bankers, attorneys, physicians, and other
merchants, ministers, farmers,
trades and professions. fol
The Go vernor’s order recites as
Z4h'^"r---
six
lie tis
|omj fe Gov- a
b little
kl, Iream- at
Ime
by
id
It
le
id
;o
‘g
sr
las
low
w
...
P^nn..;.Jy what he could tild
see
do for her by morning. When she left
she took his hand and said:
“Pleaselet me have my papa.”
In the morning the sister and child
again called on the Governor, and the
child renewed her pleadings for her
father's release. The Governor, not
having decided on granting the pardon,
told the little one she could go home
and he would send word what he would
do, but she replied: without
‘ ‘I cannot go home again my
papa. ”
Following this they took their depar¬
ture and went out to the Penitentiary.
About an hour later the Governor came
to the conclusion that the circumstances
of the case, the strong recommendations
and particularly the need of the child
for a protector, warranted executive
clemency, and ordered the pardon. Im¬
mediately upon its being signed he dis¬
patched a messenger to the prison with
it, so the little one’s heart might be
made glad and her burden of sorrow re¬
moved as soon as possible.
The sister of the prisoner says never a
day has passed since the imprisonment
of Burnett that the little girl has not
wept for her loss and fretted for his re¬
turn .—Jefferson City Letter.
The Windmill Cow.
A few days since a well-known De
tri iter, who is a bit of a wag, visited a
friend who resides in one of Michigan’s
young, growing and aspiring villages.
A tour of the place was made, the resi¬
dent calling the Detroiter’s attention to
every two-story house and all the places
of business, the new ehnrcli, the spot
where a fire engine house is going to be
built and all the other village lions.
After the round had been made, lie
turned upon the Detroiter and inquired:
“How do you like our town? Give us
a candid answer!”
"If seems to me to be a wide-awake,
stirring kind of a village.”
“Wide awake ? You bet it is ! Stir¬
ring? There’s more git up and git here
than in any other place of ten times its
size in the State. We will be a city
when the next Legislature meets, and
I’m going to run for Mayor. What do
yon think of our streets ?”
" They are of fair width, and when
graded and paved, you will have some
very pretty drives, especially if you set
out shade trees.”
“ We are going to pave them all, sir,
every one of them, and not have muddy
back streets as the old-fogy cities do.
How do von like onr mercantile estab
lishments»” Vour
“Some of shops and stores ap
pear to lie well stocked, and I should
judge vour wants can be all supplied
„<™,g point,,.
We are entirely independent of every
body and evervthing. Whenever we
discover a want, some energetic man of
business stens right in and supplies it.
No matter what business a man may be
engaged in here, his market is right
here, and all that he needs to make his
msiness profitable is at his hand.”
“I am satisfied that such is the fact,
for I have seen many evidences thereof
this afternoon. Here, directly opposite,
z s; ih “ ,ijc ■” ““
And the Detroiter pointed to a large
windmill for pumping water, beneath
the revolving arms of which stood a cov
ered delivery wagon, upon the sides of
which was inscribed
• ‘rt-KE DAISY FARM Mins.”
—Detroit Free Prets
The Meadows.— Just now is the best
time of the year to replenish the mea¬
dows. The fall rains will carry into
the soil whatever manure or fertilizers
are given to them. Tbe fresh seed sown
will be started into growth and the old
roots will be invigorated. Root growth
does not stop in the fall, but goes on all
the winter when it has the needed nutri¬
ment to encourage their growth, so that
the new growth the from the fresh seed will
take hold of soil and the old growth
will be strengthened. In the spring the
herbage will start with vigor, and, mak¬
ing an early growth, will make a strong
and sure one, even in a dry and unfavor¬
able season.
FAMOUS ESCAPES.
INTERESTING ACCOUNTS OF ESCAPES
FROM THE INDIANS.
-Some Notable Stories of Life in the Coloniea
Many Years Affo.
Dr. Edward Eggleston’s illustrated on“In
paper in the September Century
dian War in the Colonies,” recounts the
following exploits: “Stories of marvel¬
ous and ingenious escapes were the ro¬
mance of the colonies, and such adven¬
tures date back to the earliest Indian
war in Virginia, where a man and his
wife, who had been spared in opportunity the whole¬
sale slaughter, found their
while the Indians were dancing for joy
over the acquisition of a white man’s
boat tliat had drifted ashore. These
captives got into a canoe, and soon after¬
ward surprised their friends in the set¬
tlements, who had believed them to be
dead. Very like this was the escape of
Anthony Bracket and his wife in Maine.
They were left to follow on after their
captors, who were eager to reach a plun¬
dering party in time to share broken in thjl
spoil. Brackers wife found a
bark eanoe, which she mended with a
needle and thread; the whole family
then put to sea in this rickety craft, and
at length reached Black Point, where
they got on board a vessel. A little lad
of eleven years named Eames. taken in
Philip’s war, made his way thirty miles
or more to the settlements, Two sons
of. the famous Hannah Bradley, effected
an ingenious escape, lying all the first
day in a hollow log and using their pro¬
visions to make friends with the dogs
that had tracked them. They journeyed
in extreme peril and suffering for nine
days, and one of them fell down with
exhaustion just as they were girl entering Mas¬ a
white settlement. A young in
sachusetts, after three weeks of captivity,
made a bridle of bark, and after catch¬
ing a horse rode all night through the
woods to Concord. Mrs. Dean, taken at
Oyster river in 1694, was left, with her
daughter, in charge of an old Indian
while the others finished their work of
destruction. The old fellow asked his
prisoner what wonld cure a pain in his
head. She recommended him to drink
some rum taken from her house. This
put him to sleep, and the woman and
child got away. Another down-east
captive with the fitting name of Too
good, while his captor during an attack
on a settlement was disentangling a
piece of string with which to tie him,
jerked the Indian’s gun from under his
arm and, leveling it at his head, got safely
away. captives endured
“Escaping Bard, taken in extreme Penn¬
hardships. One
sylvania, lived nine days on a few buds
and four snakes. Mrs. Inglis, captured
in the valley of Virginia, escaped in com¬
pany with a German woman from a place
far down the Ohioriver. After narrowly
avoiding discovery and recapture, they
succeeded in ascending hundreds the south bank
of the Ohio for some of miles.
When within a few days’ travel of settle¬
ments, they were so reduced by famine
that the German woman, enraged that
she had been persuaded and crazed to desert with hunger, the In¬
dian flesh-pots, unsuccessful attack her
made an on com¬
panion with cannibal intentions.
“The most famous of all the escape^
of New England Mary captives Neff, was and that boy, of
Hannah Dnston, a
Samnel Leonardson. These three were
carried off, with many others, in 1697,
iu the attack on Haverhill, Mrs. Dos
ton’s child having been killed by the In¬
dians. When the captors had separated,
the party to whom the two women and
the boy were assigned encamped on an
island in the Merrimac river. At mid¬
night, the captives secured hatchets and
killed ten Indians—two men, two women
and six children—one favorite boy, whom
they meant to spare, and one badly
wounded the woman, escaping. the fugitives After they
had left camp, remem¬
bered that nobody in the settlements
would believe, without evidence, that
they had performed so redoubtable an
action; they therefore returned and
scalped the Indians, after which they
scuttled all the canoes on the island but
one, and in this they escaped down the
Merrimac, and finally reached Haver¬
hill. This was such an exploit as made
the actors immediately famous in that
bloody time. The Massachusetts Gen¬
eral Court gave Mrs. Duston twenty-five
pounds and granted half that amount to
each of her companions. The story of
t heir daring deed was carried far to the
southward, and Governor Nicholson, of
Maryland, sent a valuable present to the
escaped prisoners.”
The Little Stockings.
The Q _ neen of , Ital ,, , J is . very fond , , of .
children, and seldom takes a walk with
put stopping to chat with one or two of
bel ' y° ut hful subjects, especia y l t,
P rote |, ee: And what 18 I our father > my
dear •
M ,, Ff^^ , , , , . „
slnc f ie y re ?,
of My father Rep , .. ,,
seven—- ( is a. ’
- ber Majesty studiously avoids thia
a °°.
silk - 1L sackings , , •
S lrl t 0 1 ™* her a pair of
9 s a birthday . gilt, and gave her twenty
bre tlle ™ aten f- b
fl,r 2 ot tbe circumstance till her birthday ?£&
rStai
and the m^er s best WiSiies.
to be outdone, Queen Marg
P air tobe F young fnend. ^ ’
oue stockingbeing full 0 ^ I
tbe otber of bon-bors. They were ac
companied by a little:note: “Tell me, my
dear, whrch you liked best.
A reply reached the palace next day:
“Dearest Queen—Both the stockings
have made me shed many bitter tears.
Papa took the one with the money, and
my brother took the other.
It was at the close of the wedding
breakfast. One of the guests arose, and,
class in hand, said: “I drink to the
health of the bridegroom. May he rt: see
many days like this!” The intention
was good, but the tuide looked up as
if something displeased her.
Flowers are the sweetest thing that
God ever made and forgot to put a soul
into.