.,... W. k M. n,” W...” . .. f at It F‘s. nine o’clock. Published every Tuesday morning at NEW YORK, MAY 21, 1870. SATURDAY JOURNAL can be had of any Nervggealer in the United States or Cumulus. Per- sona remote from a Newsdealer, or those wishing to subscribe and receive their papers direct-from om office b mail, willbe supplied at the followmg rates, invariably in advance. Terms to Subscribers: One copy, six months, . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..$ “ ‘ one year,. .. . . Five copies, “ “ . Ten 5 u u Terms to News Agentoj. h Wholesale Dealers . . . . . . . . . . cen s eac , Retail Dealers . . . . . . . . . . . . ":359’ cents ego}: ' ' ~s su gcst that when a News ea er l5 cogggnflgffilstgillers %vill obtain tins paper with per- fect regularity by leaving their names With such deal- er ‘ n a u ' svuxnfl'rons.--All contributions renutted m'tl‘ef’t biofnlly prepaid, and also stumps7 incl-used for thelMS.return, if it is not available. 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Many things unavailable to us are well worthy of use elsewhere—All ex- perienced and popular writers will find us ever ready to give bheil' offerings curly attention.— Correspondents must look to this column for all information in regard to contributions. We can not. write letters except in special cases. “RIGHT AT LAST ” we can use, but we must ask the author hereafter to write more openly. His lines are so crowded as to leave no space for necessary revision. Compositors always grum- ble at such “ copy.” . “ How rm war A Bums” we will try and make place for. R. R. O. returns us MS. and prepays postage, four cents. This brings the package to our Of— fice fully paid. Yet he says this same package cost him fifteen cents, at the Brooklyn P. 0., in its remission from this office, and asks why P We answer: the law is perfectly explicit—all, “ book MB.“ passes tin: mulls atrium mm: of WW.) cents fOr each four ounces. If it was charged more the postmaster took the liberty of pro- nouncing it not a “ book MS "—a liberty he had no more right to take than to alter the law it- self. To avoid any question, authors should leave one end of the MS. open for insgection; and never should send any thing but M . in the package. Any letter incloscd subjects the whole to letter postage. Always inclosc your letters in separate envelopes. “ A PAIR OF GHOSTS " is very good but quite too long for the space at our disposal for such sketches. Besides, the first person narrative is not a popular style unless the story told is of a very dramatic and exciting nature. Author of the Nicotine Rhapsody can send in the MS. for examination. “ EARLY MORNING " is available. Captain Howrard‘s “ HUNTER’S PLEDGE” and “ WHITE CANOE” available. The captain wields a graphic pen. Will use ballads by J. G. M., Jr. 'A good bal- lad is always “ available.” “ RESPECTFULLY DECLINED” is a fair shot at the editorial chair; and “fair play” demands that we give the author a chance. Who is hit? “ SAUOY SUSAN SOMERS" is good enough to be better. The author should understand that many things which can be said or spoken in confidential conversation do not look well in print. Only “ set down ” what is really and truly pertinent. to the story proper. “ FAIR ITALY. ” Can not make use of it. rather hard poetry on so bright a theme. “FOLLOWED UP.” Evidently is by a raw hand. It lacks the verve which is essential to all con- tinued stories, and the whole composition needs careful weeding. “ CON LEARY‘S CARDS ” is a pretty good Irish story, but quite imperfect as a manuscript. Be- sides, it reads so much like other Irish stories which our papers are all the while copying from English and Irish periodicals, that we should he charged with having used reprint mat- ter. We prefer that. writers should confine themselves to American themes, as far as possi- ble, in their contributions to the SATURDAY JOURNAL. ‘ “SCRAPS” by Mrs. E. D. D. Can not make available. It is better fitted for Godey's or R. M'son's magazines than fora popular paper. 1 «Foolscap Papers. .__.._———. 'At Church. I SOLEMNLY enter the church and take a seat in the first vacant pew, where I remain, providing the pew does not belong to any body. How quiet every thing is! I only hear the light ripple of silks, or perhaps a subdued cough behind a hand somewhere, with a diamond ring on it. Then, on a sud- den, the organ, from some nook over the back of my head, breaks out in musical triumph, followed by voices that have no visible bodies. This causes a general turn- ing of pretty faces in front of me. Touched by the harmony, I lift my thoughts and eyes reverentially on high, and am imme- diately lost in the sublime contemplation of that fine centerpiece on the ceiling. I come down with the music; and the preacher, who does not hold that the order was—"Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to every living creature, for twenty thousand dollars a year,” begins his able discourse. It is His' voice is unusually fine. Looking straight at him while he pictures in tlmnder the situation of some poor sinner, for whom I feel very sorry but don’t desire to change places with, I see a. flutter in the corner of my right eye, and looking around, find it was caused by that gold-mounted fan in the hand of Miss Aerial Trifles. It must have cost a heathenish sum of money; but then how grateful is its sandal-wood breath. to the fainting soul. Fearful that I am for- getting the sermon, with a great effort I turn and fix my eyes and ears again upon the preacher, whose picture of the lost realm grows quite sulphurous, and as I am wish- ing that my neighbor was only here to get the benefit of all this, something glows like fire in the corner of my left eye, and look- ing round, I find the cause of it to be that crimson sack which contains deacon Jones’ daughter. How faultless is the fit of it l How finely trimmed with bugles and lace! I wonder what it cost! What a beautiful and fashionable garment, or covering, a peni— tcnt heart may wear! Finding I am gets ting lost again, I jerk my eyes back to their proper place, and again heed the words and u gestures of the speaker, which are now quite animated, as he paints the blissful state of the perfect man, which causes me to feel very, very much at. rest; when my eyes suddenly drop on the bonnet and'back-hair of the lady in the next pew to me but one. .That bonnet is the finest thing I have seen this season ; and how small! Indeed it is scarcely larger than the little spot of world- liness on the mind beneath it. What beau- tiful and serenevrepose is in that anointed and contrite hair! The only question is, how long did she work at arranging it this mOrning, getting out of humility and pa- tience, and scolding her maid, who is even now crying to herself as she sweeps at home, and wonders how many minutes of listening to the Gospel atone for a whole morning of ill-nature. Thinking I may have something myself to atone for if I run on thinking in this digressive manner, I pinch myself, and call my attention back to the preacher, who is fulmiuating against the uncharitablencss of the present day, to such an extent that it consoles me to think I put two cents into the contribution-plate, for the benefit of the poor of the parish, when Charles Henry, in the next pew, squeezes Lucinda’s glove, which has her hand in, so unconsciously hard that it causes her to jerk it away with a start that attracts my eyes and completely banishes the peaceful repose of my thoughts. Lucinda blushes and looks ‘reverently down. Charles looks in two directions for Sunday, and finally at thepreacher. I do likewise, and while I listen to some well-pointed re- marks on Christians who slumber, I look at the Old gentleman in the next pew to the left, who half an hourvsince showed some signs of sleep. and find. that 11.6 has left the preacher’s words entirely to those who need sits on his right, being excessively mad at a blue silk dress across the aisle, does not no- tice him. His head wobbles round as if hunting for its pillow, and not finding it, occasionally brings up with a lurch, which sets two little boys near by to laughing, and their father to frowuiug them into quiet— nose. I listen for the old gentleman to snore or ask his wife for more of the blanket, when, happily, she observes his state,and brings him back to this cold, unfecling world with a tramp on his corns. He looks around, and finding that no one has noticed him, he fixes his eye on the pulpit with a dim recol- lection of where he is, and with but little concern of where he will or might be here'— after. Seeing that my thoughts are so easily led away from their duty, I close my eyes, that I may hear the remainder of the sermon ; but I am instantly, as it seems, shaken by some one, and opening my eyes, the sexton tells me he wants to close up, and I find the congregation have been gone half an hour. WASHINGTON WHITEHORN. P. S.—I have decided that the next time I go to church, I will firmly wear my Spec» tacles on my ears, and will not look to see even humility in sack—cloth (velvet) and ashes (of roses). W. W. Early Marrlages. ONE of the most disagreeable features of the fast way of livingdor which Americans are noted, is early marriages. They are a national characteristic. We are told that in England more women marry after they are twenty—five years old than under that age. In this country more. are married while in their teens than at any other age. Of late the disposition to marry young seems to be increasing. Every newspaper one takes up chronicles the fact of one or more marriages, where the bride is fourteen or fifteen, and the bridegroom eighteen or nineteen years of age—mere children in fact. , . Looking at the subject in one light it is ludicrous; in another it is melancholy. In these youthful marriages is to be, found the key to the cause of so many divorces, so many ill-trained and depraved children, and so many overflowing poor~houses. llow little do such children know of the realities of life—how poorly are they fitted to be good husbands and wives, and pa- rents! They, funny for what they imagine to be love, but what in ninetymine cases in every hundred proves to be nothing but a childish fancy; in the remaininghundredth it is worn out and turned to bitterness, be- cause youth, and lack of judgment and ex-y sibllity of {their position. These youthful matches are most common among the labor- ing class: Frequently the girl “ works . Out ;" the boy is some farmer's son,or works " for a living, at fifteen or twenty dollars per month; she is tired of going out at service, and he begins to feel himself a man, and wants a wife—~they are both in love (lb-- und So they hasten to consummate their misery by getting married. They are young -they are poorv‘they are deficient in judgment according to their youth—and they generally ham: 9. very miserable time of it. If they could only see beforehand! But they are in love! And so hundreds rush blindly on to matrimony, and half a dozen tow-headed children every your lead a life of misery, untuught and untrained to fight the battle of life, utterly unfitted to fill any useful sphere; and frequently to help to crowd the already overflowing public prisons. LETTIE ARTLEY IRONS. WHAT HAS HE MADE? The New York Herold says that during the last twenty years William B. Astor has so managed a fortune of twenty millions as to roll it into sixty millions. Suppose he has, what then? What has he made by the operation, except increased worriment to keep the run of his increased wealth ?' Astor, with sixty millions, eats no more oysters, quail, woodcock and boned turkey, than he did when he was worth ten millions. He dresses no better and has a thousand times less fun. We beat him on the sleep, and have no law-suits with tenants and trespassers. Robbers lay for Astor every time he goes outdoors after dark. They don't think of usl Astor, with sixty millions of dollars, has sixty millions of troubles. To keep the run of his rents, bonds and real estate keeps Astor in work fourteen hours a. day, and yet Astor gets three square meals a day, which is just what we obtain without any millions, any tenants, any real estate, and only work eight hours per day. ‘ If men’s happiness increased with , their money, everybody would be justified in worshiping the Golden Calf. The happi- ness increases with their earnings up too certain point—the point necessary to secure them the comforts of life, say two thousand dollars a year. All beyond this is super— fluous. Being superfluous, it is productive of no good whatever. The richer the man, the greater is the probability that his sons will live on billiards and die in the iuebriute asylum. With contentment and two thou- sand dollars a year a man may be as happy as a prince. Without contentment you will be miserable, even if your wealth equal the rent-rolls of Croesus. them, and sleeps practically. His wife, who pericncejunfit its possessors for the respon- , BLUSHES. GonTuE was in company with a mother and daughter, when the latter being reproved for something, blushed and burst into tears. He said to the mother :—-—“ How beautiful your reproach has made your daughter. That crimson hue and those silvery tears become her much better than any ornament of gold or pearls; those may be hung on the neck of any woman; these are ever blown flower sprinkled with purest hue is not so beautiful as this child blushingbe- neath her parent’s displeasure, and shedding tears of sorrow for her fault. A blush is the sign which nature hangs outto show where chastity and honor dwell.” RESULT OF APPLICATION. ‘ SEEK to acquire the power of continuous application, without which you can not ex- pect success. If you do this, you will soon be able to perceive the distance which it creates between you and those who have not such habits. You will not count your— self, nor will they count you, as one of them. Thus you will find yourself emerging into the higher regions of intellectual and. earnest men—men'who are capable of making a place for themselves, instead of standing idly gaping, desiring a place without the power to command it. Keep on striving to accomplish more and more every day, and thus enlarge constantly the range of your intellectual ability. If you learn to do as much work in one day as you used to do in two or three days, you are as good as two or tllrcersuch men as you Ibnnerly were, boiled down to one. ' ‘ A Star Love Story! We will soon commence a new and-highly ex- citing novelette from the pen of a great public favorite, viz: THE SHADOWED HEART ; on, _ The Ill-Starred Marriage. BY MRS. MARY REED CROWELL, AUTHOR OF “EBON MASK,” “SCARLET onus- CEN'r,” “INJURED WIFE,” ETC. That the ” course of true love never did run smooth ” is strikingly exemplified in this well- told talc. In a well-devised plot, the writer has introduced characters and situations well cal— culated to excite and deeply interest. Baffled purposes; sacrificing to duty; loving in spite of impassable barriers, are leading elements in the rapidly changing chapters of this absorbing heart and life romance. It is another of our series of brilliant Short Serials, which will be one of the What; of the SATURDAY JOURNAL, THE MODEL PAPER OF AMERICA! seen connected with moral purity. A full- _ ART HAPPY: 3v cum woos“. , - 0‘ V ~ — . _, u 4;.- Lady thou’rt clad in velvete. , An jewels bcdeck my brow; - Thine arms are bound with diamonds White as the crystal snow; Thy carriagci‘s sort and luxurious. Thy horses the purest blood, , And homage from hearts that are loyal, * Is thine in a generous flood; , - I Bldg, art happy? Pray tell me; T era’s care in thy brilliant e e-.-— * smile only plays on the sur ace a lightning leaps over the sky; I The blush on thy check is not nature, The tone of th voice is constrained, ' And the curve 0 thy beautiful red lips, A shadow of grieving has gained. Go on, lift thy head in thy beauty, And toss up thy ringlets of jet—— Therels a depth unfilled in thy bosom, A grief thou must never forget! I thee, daughter of splendor, ’ th all thy jewelrI and gains l 1 value my heart of contentment More worth than the crown diademel City Life Sketches. RED-CAP, , The Soldier Messenger. BY AGILE PENNE. - “ HERE, Red-Cap l” cried a tall, well-built. gentleman, standing on the steps of the Me- tropolitan Hotel, one fine May evening in the year 1869. The man addressed as “ Red-Cap,” was sauntering slowly by the hotel. ~ His garb of faded blue——his red cap, and the empty right sleeve of hiscoat told that he was a dis- abled soldier. One who had fought for \Un— cle Sam and had left his trusty rl ht arm on some southern battle-field. An now, the soldier who had marched tothc quickstep of the Union and sealed, his loyalty with his blood, was reduced to earning a scanty sub- slstence as a “ Soldier Messenger ”-——a carrier of letters and parcels, eager to do any errand to ain him bread. ‘ hey say that Republics are ungrateful; that the Soldier Messenger Corps exist, proves the truth of the saying. “ Oh! I have had so much trouble,” the woman, cried, despairingly. “ My husband now, is lying on his (lest i—ibed, I fear; I was seeking some friends for assistance. Robe ert l" exclaimed the woman, looking into his face with her soft blue eyes, ‘f can - «you for- ge: the est and aid me now in my hourot able ‘ “ Willineg i" cried the soldier, impulsive 1y. “ What do you wish me to do ’ I , “ Come with me to my wretched home, and see if any thing can be done to aid at husband,” the woman replied. ' ' x “ Yes, 1'11 0 at once}? , “ I’ll’go With out" exclaimed the major, perceiving clear y that there was some mys« tery connected with the woman and the sol- dier messengcr’s relatiOns in the past. The woman whom the Red-Cap had call- ed A ’ es Rapiye led the way, while the one- armeglD Soldier and the major followed. “ The woman—or girl rather, for she seems to be quite young—48 an Old acquaintance of yours, ‘ the major said. “ Yes,” replied Amos, “in ’62 she almost broke my heart; and in ’65 her husband cost me m right arm. Through her and him my w role lifehas been ruined.” The major stared in astonishment as these strange words fell upon his ear. The woman led the way to a tenement- house in Mulberry street. The house was situated in the rear and was one of the worst of its class. The stairs and entryeways were rocking with filth. Contagion lurked in the air. The :woman led the two to a room at the ve top of the house. n a dirty mattress extended upon the bare floor lay a man evidently nigh unto death. The bloated and swollen features told that the demon, Rum, had had much to do with the advent of the Dark Angel, who even now was flapping his Wings over the head of the death-stricken man. The major, though used to scenes of car- nage, shuddered at this sight. “Is there any hope?” asked the woman, ea erly. he major shook his head. _ “ I will not attempt to deceive you,” he said, slowl . “ I do not think he will live an hour.’ “ Oh, if he would but speak before he dies,” the wife moaned, sadly. “He has some se- The soldier turned , at the call, and ad- vanced to the man on the steps. In person, the soldier was a. good-looking fellow of, perhaps, five and twenty; with a frank, honest. face. The short, black hair—~— mustache of the same hue, and a certain in- dependent carriage of the head—hard to de- scribe, but once seen, not easily forgotten- told plainly that he was a New York boy. “ Will you carry a letter for me to Fifth avenue ‘1’” asked the gentleman on the steps, as the soldier came up to him. ‘ “ Yes, sir,” replied the messenger, in a full, manly voice. - The stranger on the steps started as-the tones of the soldier’s voice fell upon his ear. Eagerly he looked into the other’s face. “Haven’t I met you before?” he asked, quickly. ' ’ ‘ ‘ ' A moment the soldier looked at the face of the gentleman before replying; then he shook his head. , .. “ I think not, sir,” he said, “ although your face does seem familiar to me ” “ I am Major Whitton, of the Twenty— ninth.” The soldier touched his cap, respectfully, at the announcement of the other's rank. “ I don’t remember the name, sir,” the Red- Cap said. “ What regiment were on in?” “ The Fifty-first New ork.” “ Do you remember, at Fl'cderlcksburg, a captain of the Sixth Maine, shot through the shoulder and lying helpless on the field, when the signal for retreat was given?” * “ Yes, sir,” replied the soldier. “ You took the helpless man in your arms and carried him to the rear—placed him in an ambulance and thus saved his life.” “ Yes, I remember it,” said the soldier, rather “astonished at the knowledge of the other. “ I only did what was right~nothlng more. But I don’t understand how it is that you know the circumstances of the affair.” “ That is easily ex lained,” replied the other with a Smile, “ am the man whose life you saved. The Maine captain is now a major .in the regular army. I knew your voice the momentyou spoke. Give me your hand, comrade.” The soldier hesitated. ‘ “ Why, major, I‘m only 9. Wm worthless devil—” ~ ‘ “The badge of your worth is there, my friend,” and the major laid his finger, gently, upon the soldier‘s empty sleeve, “ and it is a black spot upon our honor as a nation, that we let our disabled soldiers almost starve in the streets, while'we waste millions on ice- bergs and earthquakes, in the shape of new territory." " “ Com is a big country, major. Uncle Sam has probably forgotten us poor fellows, though we didn’t forget. him in the hour of dan er," said the soldier, cheerfully. ' “ Iy name is Whitton; what may I call yours?" asked the major. f‘ Amos—Robert Amos,” replied the sole dier. “ I am a shipwright by trade. I work- ed at a yard near Greenpoint, before the war.” A shrill scream ringing out on the atill evening air attracted the attention of the two. The scream came from a woman’s lips. In crossing Broadway the woman had been knOcked down by an omnibus, and had fallen right in front of the horses. Quickly‘the soldier and Whitton sprung to her assistance. The omnibus driver had luckily pulled his horses up upon perceivizt g the woman in front of him, so that beyond the bruises caused by bet-fall, she had escaped injury. The two men assisted the Wroclaw-who, though clad in wretched garments, was both young and pretty-to the sidewalk. .“ Are you hurt, mu’am ?” asked the sol— (hcr messenger. “ No, thank you; on] a slight bruise,” re- plied thc woman, in a ; Ow, sweet voice, “ I was more frightened than bur .” «I Amos started with surprise as the [woman spoke, and anxiously he looked into her face. “ fgm Replye l” he cried, in "astuuish- men . , ‘ _ “ What ‘2” exclaimed-the woman, amazed “ do on know me ‘3” ‘ a, “ ave you for otten Robert Antes i” th soldier asked, a s ight huskiness perceptible - in his voice. “ You Robert Amos?” the woman exclaim- ed, as if unable to believe her hearing. “, Yes; I am the Robert Amos that you once knew,” the soldier said. “ I have changed a great deal since ’61, but you have changed more than 1.” Sad was the tone of the speaker. L cret upon his mind—something that concerns m happiness, so he said. He was about to tell me just before this uttac .” ‘ “ Then he has not spoken since?" u No.” “ Possibly- some brandy might revive him so that he can speak. Will you go for some ‘9” The major gave her a greenback, and quickly she departed. - The Red-Cap gazed long and earnestly at. the face. of the helpless man. “ You know him i" asked the major. “Yes; he was once my rival for the love of the woman who has just left. us—A nee,” the soldier said. “ His name is illiam Raplye. He and I were boys together—- lived in the same street-went to the same school, and then, when we became men, on- tered the same shipyard and worked side by side. -- He was a handsome fellow—eye“ wouldn’t think it to look-at him now-what he was always fond of drink and devilment, and I see ithas proved the ruin of him; not only his ruin, but here, too—the girl, major, that I once loved better than I (ii any thing else in the world. I‘ll tell you the whole story—- that is, if you’d like to hear it.” “ Certainly; I feel quite a curiosity." “ While Bill Replye and I were working together side by side in the same yard, we both got acquainted with Agnes. She was an orphan, without a relative in the world, andworked in a millinery store on Division street. She boarded just two doors from 111 house. Well, Agnes theu—-this was in ’6 , just before the war—~was as pretty 9. girl as a man would want to look at, and she was as good, too, as she was pretty. Both Bill Raplye and myself fell in love with and courted her at the same time. She liked me the best, although Bill was a much better—look- ing fellow than I. Well, at; last Agnes gave me her promise to be my wife. Rapl e took the matter in a good~natured way. e said, ‘ It’s been a fair field~ll0 favor, and the best man has won; and'if she does like you bet.- ter than she does me, that‘s no reassign Why we should be enemies.’ And so affairs were when the war broke out. I don’t know ex- actly how it was, but it seemed to me that I ought to shoulder a musket and fight for my government, and so I enlisted. 5 “ After I got to Virginia, I received letters regularly from Agnes; and if ever a woman’s letters were a comfort to a man, then her let- ters were a comfort to me. They Seemed to come right from her heart. Then, all of a sudden, and without any reason, her letters stopped. I wrote three times, but no answer com 3. Then we advanced, and in a skirmish I was wounded, and was confined to the hos- pital for about six weeks. After I recovered and came out, I met a friend from New York, and from him I learned that my Agnes had married Bill Replye. Major, when I heard that news I sat down and cried like a child. I didn‘t want to live—I wanted to die. The next. fight I went into, I fought like a devil; but it. wasn’t any use; the bullet wasn’t cast that was to kill me. “ 80 things went on till ’65. Iliad reaen- listed and was a veteran. In the s uggle at Petersburg, afterwe had made the {tuck in the night, and been repulsed—rjust as we were falling back. with the Confeds right on top of us, I stumbled across a woundedgfiran. I picked lnm up, and, to my astonishment, it was Bill Rapiye; just asI recognized him a squad of the enemy charged upon u I saw a saber uplifted to cut Rapiye down threw upmy arm, received the saber-cut wrist—saved the life of Bill Replye—thc man who had married the girl I loved~—at the cost of my right arm. In the skirmish : 1 at fol- lowed-- or a party of our boys rattle" ' to m rescue—I lost sight of Raplye, and I have never seen him from that time till my eyes fell upon him to—night.” “ Amos, many a man has been called a hero for domg less than you have done. His- tory has written the deeds Of our great men, but the unwritten deeds of our privates grams plenty on ughosg shoulders blazon the enera ’s s are. ut ave on no ' ' this irl betrayed you ?” y idea Why “ one in the least,” answered the Red- ~ Sgwlyzi} -“ (llh, majglrl I feel that I lovecl‘igf' ‘ w, - on 1 cars ave case . " ' avg didflsf y l3 d, as, I , , moan mm the sick man attract :tctlentxon of the two. They hastenedch till: L 1 c. The glazed eyes of the d imr man ‘ fixedly at the face of the soldiei‘B-messensgael'ed “ Bob Amos l’_’ murmured the sick logo in a husk , broken voice, “ I’m glad you’re here. want you to forgiveme before I die. I stole the letters you Wrote to Agneswforged , . ’ a t, it