Valley Virginian

We have space for but few words. The situation grows interesting, and the organ of the President says "more is coming." Andrew Johnson has, at last, "shown his teeth." He publishes a confession of "Sanford Conover," or "Charles A. Dunham," a "convicted perjurer," which implicates Holt, Butler and Ashley, in a conspiracy to impeach the President, by suborning witnesses. The letters of these men, Holt, Butler and Ashley, are on file, and the whole confession bears internal evidence of its truth. It has fallen like a bomb-shell in the Radical camp, and is the most glaring record of double-distilled villainy ever published. We regret our inability to publish it in full this week, and can only say that Andrew Johnson has made a "ten strike."

This astounding development of corruption in high places; this expose of the utter want of principle on the part of prominent Radical leaders must have a wonderful effect North and hurl that party from power. In the meantime, it becomes our people, more than ever, to work, to watch and to wait. "When rogues fall out honest men get their dues."

The Rev. Dr. Willets has been lecturing on this subject, and gives off some sensible [unclear] especially on the [unclear] to be maintained by a model "domestic wife" and her duties, which we commend to our lady readers. We think we know one or two.

The modesty of woman's nature causes us to overlook her influences on mankind, because they are silent, like the moisture which nourishes the flower and the tree. And how the world fails to see this. Mankind only looks at that which makes a noise and fuss in the world; and too few recognize the worth of a good woman. That sweet spirit presiding over the home, is an object of reverence. It is a significant fact that the most complete picture of the Bible is the portraiture of a model wife which is beautifully portrayed in the Book of Proverbs. In that picture, there is no mention of idleness; she is industrious; she not only attends to her duties, but she sets the example of industry. A foolish and pernicious idea has crept into society that work should be done only by the common people. Now a-days young ladies try to look like the lily; and like the lily, "they toil not, neither do they spin, yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."

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There is such a thing as industry without good management. There are those who are busy from morning to night, and yet fail in the essential elements of a well regulated household. A learned Judge comprehended the idea of proper management in the kitchen, when he had inscribed on his wife's tombstone, "She was an excellent woman and a good cook." And the old deacon who attended a religious convention, caught the spirit of the same idea, for on being questioned as to what kind of time he had, said, "Very good; and such puddings." I like to hear a man brag about the manner in which his wife can get up things for the table. It shows that she has the faculty of gumption, by which she can accomplish wonders. A woman may have all the ologies, and music, and French, and if she have not gumption, she don't amount to much. A good wife sees that her household are producers; and her husband does not have to do a dishonorable thing to meet the expenses which accrue from her carelessness. A despondent man finds, in her cheerful co-operations, just the sympathy which he needs, and he is not wise who does not counsel with her in matters of importance. If he is threatened with reverses, why should he not confide in her who can more fully understand him than any one else? She is but his other half. Women have an instinct judgement. God has given them an intuitive perception. Yet some men say, "what do women know about business? Let them attend to the babies!"

A good wife stretches out her hand to the afflicted poor. This diamond of mercy is the central jewel in the coronet of goodness. The most unnatural thing in the world is a woman who, having the means, does not relieve the poor. In this sphere of charity she can compare with man. It was not woman who slept in the garden of Gethsemane; it was not woman who refused to follow Christ to the cross; but it was woman who poured out her tears and washed his feet with the hair of her head.

It is important to take care of the tongue and temper. We should see twice as much as we say. Some wives' tongues, however, are like race horses, the lighter the load the faster they run. And by this continual fretting, they make men's lives burdens to them; and when death puts the seal of silence upon them, husbands can say with the bereaved clergyman who preached his better half's funeral sermon; pointing to the coffin, said he: "There the wicked cease from troubling;" and then placing his hand on his heart, "here the weary are at rest." Others may not be veritable scolds, and yet they make homes uncomfortable by fretting. Nothing is more repulsive than an unruly tongue. Nature is changed by sunshine; so a kind word from a woman has a wonderful charm. Her sphere is home, and there is the real throne of her power. In the retired realms of the domestic life, character is formed, and heaven has given to her the mission of taking the whole world, in its infancy, and shaping it. God has created her to the highest sphere in the world; and infinite goodness pillows the infant's head upon its mother's breast. The fruit of this is the honor of the household; and from high places come back praises to her.

There are some who think that they should leave home and take the stump. But, oh, what a mistake. All great and good men have had domestic mothers, whose presence has been the controlling power of their after lives. When John Adams was minister to Hague, he took his son, John Quincy Adams, then a lad of great promise, with him. At a dinner party, some one of the dignitaries arose and toasted John Quincy for his wonderful talents. The father arose to his feet, and, in response, with eyes filled with tears, replied, "Gentlemen I thank you for the respect shown my son; John Quincy has a mother! he has a mother!" And that mother in a letter to her boy, actually shaped and developed his great life; and no man knew that so well as he.

The last words of Henry Clay, as death was stealing over him, were, "Mother--mother--mother," She had died fifty years before; but her name was the first on his lips in childhood, and the last in death. And so woman is the morning and evening star of life.

I sit in melancholy mood
And strain my eyes across the bay,
Tow'rd where she dwells whom once I woo'd
What time I wore the rebel grey.

I know I'm somewhat better clad,
My dress is perfect, I may say,
But ah! my heart was not so sad
What time I wore the rebel grey.

Her robe was linsey-woolsey when
I saw her first; 'tis silk to-day,
But she's no fairer now than then,
What time I wore the rebel grey.

Nay, she was fairer then than now,
One charm has faded quite away,
For truth shone cloudless on her brow,
What time I wore the rebel grey.

She has forgotten: who has not?
What men do calmly every day,
It had been treason to have thought
What time I wore the rebel grey.

They say, "our bitterness and pride
Are quite absurd." I hate that "they."
I am absurd; I should have died
What time I wore the rebel grey.

But I must rise and take my crutch,
The wind blows chill across the bay;
Wounds, somehow, did not hurt so much,
What time I wore the rebel grey.
Unipes.