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The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, September 10, 1874, Image 1

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AT MY
ORA VE.
MOTHER'S
BY GEORGE D. rUKTIC'
The tmnblinr dew drop fU , ,
t'po j th huttjnr tlowrn li' " "
Tiie Ur hinr KloriouIJ- MU all,
Save ok, ia bleat.
Mother' IlnTethTjrave!
Th- vinlt-t. wi'ti tlw bi-oKom blue anil mild,
Wv-ao'-r liiv hcn'i -when ahull it wave
Abort- thy ctiild
'Tin awert Howt y-t nmst
lr lirirhi lemvm to llir r iniinp l'mpw how,
IH-mr ni'iihT 'u. I time riutil. m ml
Ud Ui; kowl
AlJ'l I COtll 1 1Y l 1ic
To i-mv- uuumnl hlr'g 'iH-k, hitter MiTimiij
15 Uu-e, a rnt 10 chiKlhotxl, li",
And ihue thy drt-anut.
And must I lin-rhere
To ntain the iiliini. tr" l nir ninWa year.
And mourn 4hi- hi- I niiildliood diar
$
At mn4 I lior h-ro.
Aml lom ly lran'-.h njon a Misted tn-p,
jce U-M Ira I Ut, untiim-lv lute,
W rnldourn will) (hit
OH from lif-'a wittV-red linTrr,
Id ull communion with the pint I turn.
And mune on ttiev, tbe ouly llvwcr :
in nvniory'e urn.
And wlwn the evi-nine ile
Itows like a mourner on tin- ilim, Idue wave
1 oil ay to hcarthe miflit wiuila wall
Around thy grave.
Where in thv spirit flown ?
I razi atiove thy look U iniaiteil there
I ImUn, and thy R rule tone
Is on the air.
Oh, oome whilst here I press
My brow upon the (crave and. In those mild
And thrilling lone ot iendrrnmp, ,
liU-tw, Lies tbjr cuildl . x
Yea, lileaa thy weeninp child, - .
And o'er thy um r-li(ri..n ' holiest ahrine
Uh, gire hi nnrit und-llled v '
To bli-o i with thine.
k struggle for life.
BY T. BAILEY ALDRICH.
Oxk morning, as I was passing through
Boston Commons, which lies between my
home and my office, I met a gentleman
lounging along the iiihII. I am generally
prccupied when walking, and often
tread my way through crowded streets
without distinctly observing any one.
Itat this man's face forced itself upon me
and a singular face it was. His eyes
were fadl. and his hair, which lie wore
long, was flicked with grav. His hairand
ryes, it I may say so, were sixty years old,
the rest of liim not thirty. The youth
fulness of his figure, the elasticity of hi
gait, and the venerable. ajjearance of his
head were incongruities that threw more
than one pair of curious eyes toward him.
He had excited in me the painful suspic
ion that he had either pot somebody else's
head or somebody else's body. He was
evidently an American, at least so far as
the upper part ot him was concerned the
New England cut of countenance is un
mistakable evidently a man who had seen
something of the world, but strangely
young and old.
Before reaching the Park street grate, I
liad taken up the thread of my thought
which he had unconsciously broken ; yet
iln-oughout the day this old-young man.
with bis wrinkled browand silvered locks,
glided in like a phantom between mc and
invluties.
The next morning I again encountered
liini on the mail. He was resting lazily
on the green rails, watching two little
sloops in distress, which two ragged ship
owners had consigned to the mimic perils
of the pond. The vessels lav becalmed in
the miilille of the ocean. displayinsra tanta
lizing lack of sympathy with the frantic
helplessness of the owners on shore. As
the gentleman observed their dilemma a
light came into his failed eyes, then died
out, leaving them drearier than In-fore. I
wondered if he too, in his time, had suit
out ship that drifted and drift-d and nev--r
mine to port ; and if these poor toys
Wen- to 1 tl ill types of his own lo-ses.
I hat in in has a story, and 1 should
like to know it," I said aloud, halting in
one of ihnstt winding paths which branch
oil" from the pastoral quietness of the pond,
sind rnd in the rush and tumult of Tre
inont Street.
"Would you?"' exclaimed a voice at my
vide. I turned and faced Mr. II. .a
neighbor of mine, who laughed heartily
sit finding me talking to myself. "Well,'1 ,
lie added, refleetingly, "1 can tell you this
man's story, and if you will match the
narrative with anything as curious, I shall
be glad to hea'it."
"You know him. then?"
"Yes and no. That is to say, I do not
know him personally; but I know a sin
gular passage in his life. I happened to
lie in Paris when he was buried."
"Huried?"
"Well, strictly speaking, not buried ;
lint something "quite like, it," continued
tnv friend II . "We'll sit on this
Ih-iicIi, and 111 tell you of an affair that
made some noise in Paris a couple ot
years ago. The gentleman himself, stand
ing yonder, will serve as a sort of frontis
piece to the romance a full-page illustra
tion, as it were."
The following pages contain the story
which M r. II related to me. While he
was telling it a gentle wind arose; the
ininiaUire sloops drifted feebly about the
ocean ; the wretched owners tlew from
point to point, as the detn-ptive breeze
promised to waft the barks to each shore;
the early robins trilled now and then from
the newly-fringed elms; and the old
young man leaned on the rail in the sun
shine, little dreaming that two gossips
were discusing his aflairs within twenty
yards of him.
Three people were sitting in a chanilMr
whose one large window overlooked the
Place Vendouie. M. Dorine, with his
back half turned on the other two occu
pants of the apartment, was reading the
Journal d's Dcbatt in an alcove, pausing
lroni time to time to wipe his glasses, and
taking scrupulous pains not to glance to
wards the lounge at Ins right, tin which
were seated Mile. IKirine and a young
American gentleman, whose handsome
face frankly told his position in the fam
ily. There was not a happier man in Pa
ris that afternoon, than Philip Went
worth. Life had liecome so delicious to
him that he shrunk from looking beyond
to-dav. What could the future add to
his full heart ? What might it not take
away? The deepest joy has something
of melancholy in it "a presentiment, a
fleeting sadness, a feeling without a name.
Wcntwortb was conscious of this subtle
shadow thut night, when he rose from the
lounge and thoughtfully held Julia's hand
to his lip for a moment before parting
A careless observer would not have
thought him, as he was, the happiest man
in Pans.
M. 1 orine laid down his paper, and came
forward. "If the house." he said, "is
such as M. Cherbonneau describes it, lad-
vise vou to close with him at once. I
would accompany voiu-Philip, but the
truth is I am too sad at losing this little
bird to assist vou iu seloTTing a cage for her,
Ileinemtx-r, the last train for town leaves
at 5. lie sure not to miss it : lor we have
seats for Sardou's new comedy to-inor-row
night. Hy to-morrow," he added.
laughingly, - "little Julia here will bean
old lady it is such an age from now until
then.
The next morning the train bore Thilip
to one ot the loveliest spots within thirty
miles ot 1 ans. An hours walk throug
green lanes brought him to M. Cherbon
neau's estate. iu a kind of dream the
young man wandered from room to roonr.
inspecting the conservatory, the stables
the lawns, the strip of woodland through
which a merry nrook sang to itseir con
tinually : and, after dinner with M. Cher-
IxMineau. completed the purchase, and
turned his steps toward the station just in
time to catch the express intin.
As Paris stretched out before him with its
lights twinkling iu the early dusk, and its
spares and domes melting into the evening
air, it seemed to him as it years had elapsed
since he left the city. On reaching Paris
he drove to the hotel, where he found
several letters Jving on the table.. - He
did not -trouble "himself even to glance at
their superscriptions as he threw aside his
traveling surtout lor a more appropriate
wardnflie.
If. in his impatknee to return to Mile.
Dorine, the cars had apjK-ared to walk, the
liacre which he liad secured at the station
seemed to creep. At hist it turned into
the Place Vendome, and drew up before
M. I Hirine's hotel. The door 0ened as
Philip's foot toudural the first step. The
servant silently took his hat and cloak,
with a speci il defen-noe, Philip thought;
but was he not now one of the fkiuilvf
" M. Iorine," aid the nervant, giowlv,
"is unable to see Mensienr at present.
He wishes Mousieur to be shown uj) to the
salon."
WRITTEN
L7
VOLUME I.
" Is Mademoiselle "
. " Yes, Monsieur.".
, Alone V
' Alone, Monsieur," repeated the man.
looking curiously at Philip, who could
scarcely repress an exclamation of pleas
ure. It was the first time such a privilege had
been accorded him. His interviews had
always taken place in the presence of M.
Iorihe. or some member of the household.
A well -bred Parisian girl has but a for
mal acquaintance with her lver.
Philip did not ling- r on the stair-case ;
wilh a lisrht heart he went up the steps.
two at a time, hastened through the sot ly
lighted hall, in which he detected the faiut
scent of his. favorite flowers, and stealthily
opened the door of the ealon.
The room was darkened. Underneath
the chandelier stood a slim casket on tres
tles.; A lighted candle, a crucifix, and
some white flowers were on a table near
by. Julia Iorine was dead.
When M. Iorine heard the sudden cry
tj,r roniv ttir-mitrh tlit. Client tmilfio lie
hhurried from thefibrary, and found Phil
ip standing like a ghost in the middle ot
the chamber.
It was not until long afterwards that
Wentworth learned the details of the ca
lamity that had in-fallen him. On the
previous night Mile. Dorine had retired to
her room in seemingly perfect health, and
had dismissed her maid with & request to ,
be awakened early the next morning. At
the appointed hour the girl entered the
chamber. Mile. Dorine was Bitting in an
arm-chair apparently asleep. The candle
in the bougeoir had burned down to the
socket; a book lay half open on the carpet
at her feet. Tlie girl started when she
saw that the bed had not been occupied,
and that her mistress still wore an eve
ning dress. She rushed to the voung
lady's side. It was not slumber; it was
death.
Two messages were at once dis
patched to Philip, one to the station at
ii , the other to his hotel. Th first
missed him on the road, the other he had
neglected to ojien. On his arrival at M.
Dorine's house, the valet, under the sup
position that Wentworth had been. advised
of Mile. Dorine's death, broke the intelli
gence with awkward cruelty, by show
ing him directly to the salon where she
lay
Mile. Dorine's wealth, her beauty, the
suddenniws of her death, and the romance
that had iu some way attached itself to
her love for the young American, drew
crowds to witness the luneral ceremonies
which took place in the church in the rue
d'Agucsscau. . The body was to be laid in
M. "Dorine's tomb, in the Cemetery ot
Montmartre.
This tomb requires a few words of de-'
scription. Fir.-t, there was a grating ot
liligrand iron ; through this you looked
into a small vestibule or hall, at the end of
which was a massive door of oak opening
upon a short flight of stone steps descend
ing into the tomb. The vault was fifteen
or twenty feet square, ingeniously ventila
ted from'the ceiling, but unlighted. It
contained two sarcophagi ; the first held
the remains of Madame Dorine, long since
dead ; the other was new, and bore on one
side the letters J. D., in monogram, inter
woven with fleurs-de-lis.
The funeral train stopped at the gate ot
the small garden that inclosed the place 01
burial, only the immediate relatives fol
lowing the bearers into the tomb. A
slender wix candle, such as is used in Cath
olic churches, burned at the foot of the un
covered sarcophagus, casting a dim glow
over the center of the apartment,, and
di-cppning the shadows which seemed to
huddle together in me corners. ity lis
flickering light the cotnu was placed in its
granite shell, the heavy slab laid over it
reverently, and tin; open door revolved on
its dusty hinges, shutting out the uncer
.ain ray" that had ventured to peep in on
the darkness.
M Dorine. muffled in his cloak, threw
himself on the back seat of the landau, too
abstracted in his grief to notice that he was
the only occupant of the vehicle. There
was a sound of wlieels grating on the
graveled avenue, and then all was silence
again in the tjenietery 01 iMontmarrre. ai
the main entrance the carnages parted
company, dashing off into various streets
at a pace that seemed to express a sense ot
relief.
The rattle of wheels had died out on the
air when Philip opened his eves, bewilder
ed like a man abruptly aroused from slum-
Ikt. He raised himself on one arm and
stared into the surrounding darkness.
Where was he? In a second the truth
flashed uiKin him. While kneeling on the
further side of the stone box, perhaps, he
he had fainted, and during the last solemn
rites his absence had been unnoticed.
His first emotion was one of natural ter
ror, litit -tins passed as quu-tiy hs it
came. - Life had ceased to be so very pre
cious to him ; nd if it were his fate to die
at Julia's side, was not that the ful
fillment of the desire which he had ex
pressed to himself a hundred times that
morning? What did it matter a few years
sooner or later? He must lay down the
burden at last. Why not then ? A pang
of self-reproach followed the thought.
Could ho so lightly throw aside the love
that had bent over his cradle i i he sacred
name of mother rose involuntarily to his
lips. Was it not cowardly to the life
which be should guard tor her sake ? Was
it not his duty to the living and the dead
to face the difficulties f his position, and
overcome them if it were within human
power 5
With an organization as delicate as a
woman's he had that spirit which, how
ever sluggish in repose, leaps with a kind
of exultation to measure itself with disas
ter. The vague fear of the supernatural
that would affect most men in a similar
situation found no room in his heart. He
was simply shut in a chamber from which
it was necessary that ke should obtain re
lease within a given period. "That this
chamber contained the body of the woman
he loved, so far from adding to the terror
of the case, was a circumstance from
which he drew consolation. She was a
beautiful white statue now. Her soul was
far hence; and if that pure spirit could re
turn, would it not be to shield him with
her love? It was impossible that the place
should not engender some thought of the
kind. He did not put the thought entirely
from him as he rose to his feet and stretch
ed out his hands in the darkness : but his
mind was too healthy and practical to in
dulge loBg iu such speculations.
Philip being" a smoker, chanced to have
in his pocket a box of allumcttes. After
several iuetlectuAl essay", he succeeded in
igniting one against the darks wall, and by
its momentary glare perceived that the
candle had been left in the tomb. This
would serve him iu examining the fasten
ings of the vault. If ho could force the
inner door bv any means and reach the
grating, of which he had an indistinct re
collection, be might hope to make himself
heard. But the oaken door was immova
ble, as solid as the vault itself, iuto which
it fitted air-tight. Even if he had the re
quisite tools, there were no fastenings that
could be removed ; the hinges were set on
the ouWde.-
Having ascertained tins, Philip, re
placed the candle on the floor and leaned
against the wall, thoughtfully watching
me cu ue ian 01 name that wavered to ana
fro, threatening to detach iteelf from the
wick. "At all events," he thought, "the
place is ventilated." Suddenly be sprang
forward and extinguished the light,
His existence depended upon the can
dle. :- ' , v .-
He had read somewhere," in some' ac
count of a shipwreck, how the survivors
had lived for days upon a few candles
which one of the passengers had insanely
thrown into the Ion? boat.. And here he
liiad heen iiiniincr awav his very life.
By the transient illumination of one of
the tapers, he looked at nis which, i t "-u
stopped at eleven but eleven that day or
the previous night? u The funeral. -he
knew, ltad left the church at ten. I low
many bwrs. had passed since then? Of
it was no longer possible for him to niens
ure thnrc hours which crawl like snails hy
the wretched, and fly like the swallows
over the happy.
He picked up the candle, and seated
himself on the stone steps. He wa a
sanguine man, but as he weighed the
chances of escape, the prospect appalled
him. Of course he would be missed. His
disappearance under the circumstances
would surely alarm his friends ; they
would instigate a search for him ; but who
would think of searching for him in the
Cemetery of Montmarire? The Prefect of
Police could set a hundred intelligences
at worn to find him ; the Seine might be
dragged; Us misernbUt turned over at
the morgues ; a minute description of him
would be placed in every detective's hand ;
and he in M. Dorine's family tomb !
Yet, on the other hand, it was here he
was last seen ; from this point a kcm de
tective would naturally work up the case.
Then might not the undertaker return for
the candlestick, probably not left by de
sign ? Or, again, might not 31. Dorine
send fresh wreaths of flowers, to take the
place of those which now diffused the
pu -gent, aromatic odor throughout the
chamber! Ah! what unlikely chances!
But, if none of these things did happen,
how long could he keep life in himself ?
With his pocket-knife Wtntworth cut
the half-burned candle into -four equal
parts.
"To-night," he meditated, "I will e:it
the first of these pieces ; to morrow, the
second ; to-morrow evening, the third ;
the next day, the fourth ; and then I'll
wait !"
He had taken no breakfast that morn
ing, unless a cup of coft'ee can be called
a breakfast. He was ravenously hungry
now. But he postponed the meal as long
as practicable. It must have been near
midnight, according to his calculation,
when he determined to try the lirt of
his four singular repasts. The bit of
white wax was tasteless ; but it served its
purpose.
His appetite for the first time appeased,
he found a new discomfort. The humidi
ty of the walls, and the wind that crept
through the unseen ventilator, chilled
him to the bone. To keep walking was
his only resource. A kind of drowsiness,
too, occasionally came oyer him. It took
all his will to tight it off. To sleep, he felt,
was to die ; and he had made up his mind
to live.
The strangest fancies flitted through his
head as he groped up and down the stone
floor of the dungeon, feeling his way
along the wall to avoid the sepulchers.
Voices that had long been silent spoke
words that had lon been forgotten ; faces
that he had known in childhood grew pal
pable against the dark. His whole life in
detail was unrolled before him like a pano
rama ; the changes of a year, with its bur
dens of love and death, its sweets and bit
terness, were epitomized in a single
second. The desire to sleep had left him,
but the keen hunger came auain.
It must lie near morning now, he
mused; perhaps the sun is just gilding
the pinnacles and domes of the city; or,
may be, a dull, drizzling rain is beating on
Paris, sobbing on this mound above me.
Paris ! it seems like a dream. Did I ever
walk in its gay boulevards, in the golden
air? Oi. the delight, and pain, and passion
of that sweet human life !
Philip became conscious that the
gloom, the silence" and the cold were
gradually conquering him. The fever
ish activity of his brain brought on a
reaction, "flc grew lethargic; he sank
down on the steps, and thought of noth
ing. His hand fell by chance on one of
the pieces of candle; he grasped it and
devoured it mechanically. This revived
tii in. "How strange," he thought. -that
I am not thirsty. Is it possible that the
dampness of tlie walls, which I must in
hale with every breath, has supplied the
need of water ? Not a drop has passed my
lips for two days, and still I experience
no thirst. The drowsiness, thank heaven,
lias gone. I think I never was wide awake
until this hour. It would be an anodyne
like poison that could weigh down uiy
eyelids. Xo doubt that the dread of sleep
has something to do with this."
The minutes were like hours. Now
he walked as briskly as he dared up and
down the tomb; now he rested against
the door. More than once he was tempted
to throw himself upon the stone coffin
that held Julia, aud . make no further
struggle for his life.
Only one piece of candle remained. He
had eaten the third portion, not to satisfy
hunger, but from a precautionary mo
tive. He had taken it as a man takes
some disagreeable drug, upon the result
of which hangs safety. The time was rap-
Idly approaching when even this poor sub
stitute for nourishment would he ex
hausted. He delayed that moment. He
rave himself a long fast this time. I lie
half-inch of candle which he held in his
hand was a sacred thing to him. It was
his last defense against death.
At length, with such a sinking at heart
as he had not known before, he raised it to
his lips. Then he paused ; then he hurled
the fragment across the tomb; then the
oaken door was flung open, and Philip,
wrh dazzled eyes, saw M. Dorine's lor in
sharply defined against the dark blue sky.
i i . P i.: i. ., i r
twieniuey leu nun uui, imu loiiiuen.
into the broad daylight, 31. Uonne no
ticed that Philip's hair, which a short
tune since was as black as a crow's win
had actually turned gray in plaors. The
man's eves, too, had failed ; the darkness
dimmed their luster.
' And how long was he really confined
in thattomDY ' i asKeu,as .sir. ii con
cluded his story.
"Just one hour and twentr-five min
utes !"' replied 31r. 11 , smiling bland
ly. " ; '' 7
Ashe spoke the Lilliputian sloops, with
their sails all blown out like white roses,
came floating bravely into port ; Philip
Wentworth lounged by us, wearily, in
tin pleasant April sunshine.
Mr. 11 s narrative haunted me. Here
was a man who had undergone a strange
ordeal. Here was a man whose sufferings
were unique. His was no threadbare ex
perience, tighty-tivc minutes had seem
ed I ke two days to him ! If he had real
ly been immured two days in the tomb,
the story would have lost its tragic ele
ment. After this it was hut natural I should re
gard 31 r. Wentworth with deep curiosity.
As I met him from day to day passing
through the Common with that same in
trospective air, there was something in his
loneliness which touched me. I wonder
ed that I had not read before in his pale,
meditative face some such sad history as
3Ir. II had contidinl to me. 1 formed
the resolution of speaking to him, though
with no very lucid purpose. One morn
ing we came face to face at the intersection
of two paths. He halted courteously to
allow me the precedence.
" 3Ir. Wentworth," I began, " I have "
ne interrupted me.
ily name, sir," he said, in an off hand
wav. "is Jones."
""Jo-Jo-Jones!" I gasped.
" No, not Joseph Jones," he returned,
with a clacial air. " but Frederick."
A dim light, in which the perfidy of my
mend li was necomiiig uisccimuic,
heran to break UDOn n)V mind.
It will probably be a standing wonder to
Mr. Frederick Jones wny a sirange man
accosted him one morning on the Common
!ls Mr. Wentworth." and then dashed
madly down the nearest footpath and dis
appeared Jn the crowd.
The fact is, I had been duped by Mr.
II , who is a gentleman of literary pro
clivities, and has, it is whispered, become
somewhat demented in brooding over the
Great American Novel not yet hatched.
He had actually tried the effect of one of
his chapters on me !
31y hero, as I subsequently learned, is a
commonplace young man. who has some
connection. do not know what, with the
building of that graceful granite bridge
which spans tlie eroked eilver lake in the
Public Garden. .''.
When I think of the readiness with w hich
LAN
MILAN, GIBSON COUNTY, TENNESSEE, SEPTEMBER 10, 1874.
Mr. II built up his airv fabric on my
credulity, I feel half inclined to laugh,
though "I am deeply mortified at having
been the unresisting victim of his Black
Art.
THE PEUILS OF PEAK-CLIMBLVG.
An Adventure on Pike'H Penli-tos-Inic
the Trail in m Blinding Know
Slorm-Rooolfnic on Hitrk over a
'hMUi 2,000 Feet Deep-Kescued at
I.at.
Henry 31. 3Iorris is the name of the gen
tleman who, as already reported, so nar
rowly escaped a violent death on Pike's
Peak, the latter part of last week. 3Ir.
31orris, who, with his invalid wife, has
been stopping at 3Iauitou for a few days,
mounted a horse, Thursday, and started
alone to the ieak, expecting to return that
evening. The ascent was "made without
accident, and he reached the tip-top at
noon and telegraphed his wife an "all
well." After taking in the sights, which,
from common report, are as marvelous as
human eye ever gazed upou, and chatting
awhile with the observers for the signal
service, 3Ir. 3Iorris started to descend to
where his horse was hitched, near the timber-line.
Suddenly a huge black cloud,
which, a few minutes before, had been
tumbling about to the westward, settled
down around the peak, and the snow com
menced to fall. 31 orris, fearing to stop
lest he should be belated and prevented
from reaching 3Ianitou that evening, and
thinking he could soon get below the
range of the storm, quickened his footsteps
down tlie mountain. But the fall of snow
increased, and the wind, strong at first,
became a tempest, with a keen touch of
winter in it. 3Iorris, blinded by the snow,
which beat against him in perfect clouds
nearly taking his breath, took the wrong
trail, the one leading to the brink of the
crater, a chasm second only to that of
Yosemite. Peaching a pile of bowlders,
where the trail seemed to be lost, he com
menced to clamber over them, when he
slipped and rolled and dropped -twenty
five feet, striking on a shelving rock, three
feet wide and eight feet long. His head
was gashed iu two places, his body covered
with bruises, and the blood poured freely
from his wounds. He was stunned by the
fall, but, recovering his consciousness, and
fearing to move, he bunched himself
against the rock at his back, and awaited
abatement of the storm. When the wind
lowered, and the snow ceased falling, and
the sun shone again, Morris snwatagliinee
the awfulness of his situation. Above
him, and on both sides of him. the rocks
seemed almost perpendicular. Below him,
just over the shelf upon which he lay, wa
a chasm 2,000 feet deep, the sight of which
appalled his senses, and he clung to the
rocks with a sickening dread, as any hu
man would.
3Ir 3Iorris, however, is a man of calm
judgment, and, as soon as he recovered
from the first shock, he decided to make
the best of the situation, come what would.
He divided his luncheon, consisting ol
sandwiches and cake, into nine parts, cal
culating to eat one part every day, and so
prolong life at least nine days, lie saw no
one on the mountain that afternoon.
That night a terrific wind and hail storm
occurred. The wind chilled him to the
marrow, and his suffering was intense.
After tlie storm the hail-stones were three
inches deep against his back. Taking from
his pocket a bottle, from which the whisky
had been spilled in the fall,-he filled it with
hail, and thus secured a small quantity ol
water. On Friday, about noon, he saw
two men climbing a trail, and called to
them with all his stiength, but, after list
ening a moment, they passed on, and dis
appeared behind a ledge of rocks. Those
were the only persons lie saw mat uay.
That night the clouds poured out a tor
rent of rain. The rocks at his back afford
ed him no shelter, and he wa wet to the
skin, and very cold besides. He feared he
might become delirious and jump off" into
that awful gorge. So all through t nday
night he rubbed his legs and swung bis
arms about his head. He knew that to fall
asleep was death.
Saturday morning about 8 o'clock three
men appeared on a point of rocks a short
distance from where Morris was sitting.
One of the men was Dick Templeman, a
famous Pike's Peuk guide, and the others
were Seiicer Harris and lteubcn Healey.
residents of Manitou, and well acquainted
with mountain trails. Dick Templeman,
leader of the searching party, had left
Mai i i tou in the conviction that 3Iorris
would be found, it found at all, some
where about the brink of the crater, as it
is called. When Slorris saw them he called
to them. They heard him and answered.
But his voice, instead of coming straight
to them, split into a thousand echoes, and
they were at a loss to locate him. r many,
after a fruitlesssearch with the eyes, lem
nleman hallooed to 3lorris to wave his
handkerchief, and to keep it in motion,
and in this wav his exact whereabouts was
detected. 3Iorris asked it thev had a root'
and being answered that they had not, he
despairingly threw up his hands, and, in a
low voice, which was but faintly conveyed
to them in echoes, said : " I on can't save
me without a rope." But they rescued
him, nevertheless, and without a roe,
though only by the hardest work. The
men,' with Templeman in the lead, worked
their way down to within a few feet of
31orris, and, by the aid of his long linen
coat, which he twisted and fastened un
der his arms, they succeeded in lifting
and dragging him up over the precipice.
They helied him along to the trail, and
tied hi m to the back of a horse, and started
down tiie mountain. Four times on the
way down they lifted him off and let him
sleep awhile. When brought to the 3lan
itou hotel, alive and as well as could be
expected, there was great commotion
among the people, for nobody dreamed
that he could survive two such nights as
Thursday and Friday. 3Iorris has been
confined "to his bed since Saturday, but is
doing nieely, and is expected soon in this
city, where he is well and favorably
known. Denver News.
Too Much Physicking.
There is nothing respecting which man
kind is more credulous than the effect of
medicines indiscriminately administered
to their own species and to domestic aui
mals. If poultry are sick they are dosed
with the first thing that somebody recom
mends, without endeavoring to ascertain
what the ailment really is. Then if, in
spite of the drugs the bird gets well, the
medicine gets the credit, and acquaintances
are advised to administer blue-pill, jalap.
colchicum, cayenne, carbolic acid, or
whatever it happens to be. But if the
fowl dies under treatment, it was not the
fault of the drug, but tlie bird was too far
gone before treatment, that's all. "Na
ture did it." We do not condemn all doc
toring of pouliry. We hope that in all
instances where it will pay it will be in
telligently performed. Biit it will not
pay in ordinary instances to fuss with a
sick fowl, liecause of its small value, even
when the disease and the appropriate rem
edy are both clearly understood, it tne
medicine can be mixed with the food so as
to dose the whole flock at once, but little
painstaking is required. But where there
is one patient, and it must be caught and
held by one person while another forces a
pill down its throat, better off with its
head and have done with i Still, this
method, though convenient, is not very
scientific, and will not be popular with
those poultry keeper? who have speci
mens, in these days of rare breeds and
high prices, worth $10 to $100 each.
When fowls are worth as much as sheep
or cattle, it will pay to spend as much
time doctoring the one as the other. But
let ns go s'owly and surely, and not drug
until we know" what the complaint is. and
what effect the medicine will produce.
The notion that the prescription will do
no harm if it fails to do good, is mis
chievons, because apt to be false. Ex
change. -
Balloons do not cost much ; they are
made for ascent.
lExCHANGE.
The Eyes and Spectacles.
An old writer, living before the days of
illuminating gas and kerose.ie, remarks
that tlie " first sign of the need of spec
tacles is a tendency to bless the man who
invented snuffers." In this age we should
say that the first sign is to find one scold
ing about the publisher of Lis daily news
paper, who is charged with filling his
columns with type growing every day
more diminutive and indistinct. When a
man or woman reaches the age of forty
five or fifty, it is generally found that some
aid to natural vision is required. The dis
covery of this want is very liable not to be
made soon enough, and the eyes suffer
greatly in consequence. There is also a
foolish pride which prevents some people
from adopting sectacles after the discov
ery is made. 1 here is no truth relating
to vision more important, and which
therefore should be more clearly under
stood,, than this : That in evwry case of
defective eyesight, whether it proceeds
from advancing age or from congenital
causes or from accident, artificial aids
shouid be resorted to without delay. The
tendency is in all, or nearly all, cases to
wards irreparable injury, when this aid is
withheld. It is true, bad or ill-adapted
spectacles may and do cause injury, and
so do improper medicines, or injudicious
food or regimen. If proper care is used
in selectiug glasses, and the right ones are
obtaiued, they strengthen vision, and the
vigor of all the functions of the organs
concerned in the phenomena of sight is
increased. A child discovered to be
-near-sighted'' should be promptly fur
nished with appropriate glasses, and they
should be selected if possible under the
advice of a competent medical man or op
tician. In the case of persons who have
passed middle life, as soon as it is roticed
that the best artificial light is sought, or
that letters grow apparently smaller or less
distinct, or that the near point at which one
can see distinctly is more than eight inches
from the eye. the time for spectacles has
arrived. In adopting them under these
circumstmces, we place an artificial lens
outside of the eye to supplement the nat
ural change of that within the eye, and by
so doing we add to the power and normal
action of the whole optical apparatus. The
use of spectacles enables the eyes to work
comfortably without fatigue ; and they
should always be strong enough to effect
this object. "It is difficult to give any rules
for selecting glasses, as there are many ex
ceptions to be considered. The natural
changes in vision come on gradually, and
glasses need to be changed to meet the
modification as age advaiices. At first the
change is slight, and may not, for several
years after it commences, be so marked as
to become positively annoying. In tlie
early periods of decay of sight, glasses
having a focal length of sixty inches will
usually suffice ; later in life they must le
changed for those of forty or even of ten
inches.
Glasses of a focal length of sixty inches
will require one to hold the object looked
at a distance of fourteen inches. If at four
teen inches the letters of a book are seen
most distinctly, the focal length of the
glass is usually well adapted to those whose
vision is slightly impaired. The distance
should be quite accurately measured, as
glasses of ten inch focal length require a
modification of tlie reading distance, of
only about three inches less. The first
spectacles should at first only be used for
reading in tlie evening; and when no
longer sufficient they may be superseded
for evening work by others, and the first
,nir reserved for reading by daylight, or for
writing, which requires less critical vision,
especially if i"k be used that flows black
from the pen.
Short-sightedness is a malformation of a
somewhat serious nature, as shoit-sighted
eyes are diseased eyes, and they re
quire special treatment. Never allow a
child or a friend thus afflicted to fall
into the hands of "traveling quacks," or
those who make loud claims to optical
knowledge.
In this, as in all large cities, there are
reputable medical gentlemen who make a(
speciality of the treatment of eye affec
tions, and they are the proper persons to
consult. It cannot be too universally
known that short sight tends to increase ;
and that if it increase at all rapidly it tends
also to destructive changes, and therefore
it is an affection which requires prompt
attention.
Perfection of eyesight is essential to our
welfare and happiness, and any one who
neglects those precautions upon the ob
servance of which its preservation depends
will find cause for deep repentance in later
life. Young men and young women who
suffer themselves to fall into tlie habit of
reading by fire-light, or at a window by
the waning light of evening, or at a con
siderable distance from lamps and gas
burners, are guilty of acts for which they
must suffer. Parents should promptly in
terfere to prevent the formation of such
dangerous habits.
In the use of glasses, the tendency is to
wards those which are held in place by a
spring pressing upon the nose. This form
is convenient, and will do very well for
purposes other than for reading or writing,
when prolonged use is required. The nip
Upon tlie nose is oiieu pauuui .um tic.iu-5
uneasiness; and besides the focus is liable
to become disarranged. For these reasons
and others, the glasses held in place by
bows passing behind the ears are the best
and most safe for reading or study. The
lenses should be of the best construction,
ami pure crown-glass affords a material
better than "Brazilian" or other "pebbles."
Avoid purchasiHg of any optician who
claims that his lenses are constructed of
pebbles, or crystal stones. If his claims
were not false, he should be distrusted.
The frames of spectacles should be of blue
steel, light, strong, and perfectly fitted to
the wearer. They should be kept perfect
ly clean, and this should be accomplished
by the use of soft wash-leather, and not by
linen handkerchiefs, which are apt to
scratch the lenses by the small particles ol
silicious or other hard substances which
they hold. Journal of Chemistry.
A Monster War Vessel in Mock Action,
The river Clyde was the scene of an in
teresting affair during a recent visit there
of the channel fleet of the British navy.
All the movements, possible and probable.
in the case of "actual conflict, were exe
cuted on board the great war ship, the
Devastation, and are described as follows :
"All the men, from captain to tne low
est erode, were under orders to be on
board bv 9 a.m. At 9:150 the drum beat
to ouarters. it being understood that in the
pilot tower an enemy's ship had been sig
naled in the distance. The captain took
his post within the shell-proof tower, and
gave his commands through speaking-
tubes. The turrets were manned by their
full complement of men twenty-lour to
each gun, eleven taking inside and thir
teen outside position in working each
From the turrets down to the magazines
every trap-hole was manned. On the
word being given to ' load guns,' the seven
hundred pound shells were within a
minute brought out, hoisted on the pulley
carriage, run down to the gun's mouth,
and the nin loaded and run out. The
distance to the enemy being given, the
fiTin was raised to the proper level, and
discharged within the second minute.
" The enemy being supposed to have
escaped, bore down on the Devastation,
and boats put off to board her. The bugle
sounded to arms to repel the boarders,
when two-thirds of the men of the crew
comprising 100 men in each division flew
Uy arms, and with swords and guns ran
up to the boarding-deck, the third division
remaining below to protect the magazines
and as a reserve. The boats being re
pulsed, it was supposed that the enemy
had returned to their guns, and that a
shell having burst had set fire to the De
! vastation. "On this three bells were rung
and tlie men were ordered to the hose.
Four hose were set in operation n the
i sounding of the bugle, and the forepart of
the ship was deluged with water at the
rate of about three tons per minute.
" The imaginary tire being got under,
the bugle sounded to return to post, the
enemy's ship still approaching. The or
der was next given to ' rani ' her. All the
men returned to the breastwork deck, and
lying down with their heads forward, pre
pared for the shock. The imaginary ene
my being pierced, the drum again beat to
quarters, guns were reloaded, and, after
backing out from the supposed disabled
ship, a broadside of four guns poured into
her. This act was supposed to have de
stroyed the enemy, and the bugle sounded
to secure the guns. On the captain re
ceiving reports that everything was se
cured the bugle sounded dismissal."'
A Warning Against ihe Pursuit of
Office-Seeking by Young Men.
The Hon. Albert G. Brown, of Missis
sippi, recently wrote a letter to a young
friend, wherein he lamcuts that he ever
made a political speech or held an office.
Ex-Governor Brown was for thirty-three
years, previous to 1S03. continually in high
official and political station, and would
therefore seem to have had as extensive
and favorable an experience as any of his
contemporaries and associates. We quote
as follows :
True, as you say, I held many offices.
Indeed. I may say that 1 never knew de
feat in any of my aspirations. And it is
just because I had success which people
call wonderful, that I feel competent to
administer a word of "caution" to the
young men of this generation. 3Iy young
friend, do not be deceived by the glitter of
office. I am now pat my three-score
years, and am fast traveling into the ten.
1 have held almost every office in the gift
of the people, and I can truly say with the
preacher, "it is all vanity and vexation of
spirit."
Looking back over a long, and I hope
not unsuccessful life, I can say, with a
clear conscience, my greatest regret is
that I ever made a political speech or held
an office.
There is a fascination in office which be
guiles mun, but be assured my young
friend, it is the fascination of a serpent ;
or to change the figure, it is the ignis
fatuus which coaxes you on to inevitable
ruin.
I speak of that which I do know. If
my young friends will be governed
by my advice, I have this to say, after
ail my successes as a public man, now,
when" my head is blossoming for the
grave, I feel that it would have been
better for me if I had followed the
occupation of my father, and been a
farmer.
The mechanical arts are all honorable.
To be a blacksmith, a carpenter or an ar
tizan of any sort is no discredit to any
man. Better than to be a jack-leg law
yer, a quack doctor, a counter-hopper,
or worse still, a wretched seeker after
office.
Of all pursuits in life that of a farmer is
the most respectable. It may have its
trials and its disappointments, so do all
others. The mechanic may lose the wa
ges of his labor, the professional man
his fees; the editor may weep over delin
quent subscribers, but the honest, indus
trious farmer is morally certain of a fair
return for his labor.
True, "Paul may plant and Appollos wa
ter, but God must give the increase."
But where is the faithful cultivator of the
soil, God's heritage to man, who ever yet
suffered for bread?
Allow me again to "caution" my young
friends against the beguiling influence of
office, and to advise them most earnestly
to stick to mother earth.
A Duel Not in Dead Earnest.
Harvey Newell, of Freehold, N. J., has
been paying attention for some months
past to an American lady of Irish descent,
living about a mile and a half out of town.
All went well until an aspiring youth,
named William Sanders, appeared upon
the scene, and succeeded so well in his ad
dresses that the jealous Newell tired a pis
tol at him one evening when he was found
trespassing upon forbidden ground, the
resuit being that Sanders came home
through the cornfields at a more rapid rate
than he hail ever showed before.
When he learned who fired the shot, he
sent a peremptory challenge to Newell to
mortal combat, which was promptly ac
cepted, and the preliminaries for the hos
tile meeting were speedily arranged. 3Ir.
K. L. Cowart acted as the second ot Jew
ell, and Robert F. Stockton for Sanders.
The hour was 9 o'clock last Thursday
evening, and the place the grounds of the
Freehold Base Ball Club
Promptly at the hour principals and
seconds were on hand, and some half a
hundred spectators. 3Ir. Stockton meas
ured off fifteen paces with the coolness of
old Commodore Stockton himself, and
then, stepping back, called out in a clear,
ringing voice, "One two three !"
The lat word was scarcely uttered when
the two pistols were fired simultaneously,
and Sanders fell. His second ran to him,
tore open his coat, and called out, " Run
for a surgeon, quick !" The terrified New
ell threw down his pistol and ran but not
for a physician. Down the embankment
he leaped, and made his way home, where
he remained until the next day, when to
his inexpressible relief, he learned that his
antagonist, Sanders, was not dead, and in
fact was not hurt at all.
The truth of it was the seconds, 3Iessrs.
Stockton and Cowart, took particular care
to load the pistols with blank cartridges,
letting Sanders into the secret, whose sud
den fall was arranged beforehand. The
whole thing, although a dead earnest affair
to one, was the hugest kind of a joke to
all else, and has created more amusement
in Freehold than anything of the kind
tiiat has occurred for years.
The " Tendency to Sadness " Plea.
3Ir. Thomas Collins, a gentleman not
unknown to fame, apiH-ared yesterday be
fore his Honor, the " Big Judge," on the
charge of striking Billy Patterson with a
beer mug. In reply to the question if he
had anything to say, Mr. Collins addressed
the court as follows : "I inherit a tendency
to sadness the remains in me of positive
hypochondria in my father and grandfath
er : and in certain moods of reaction the
world becomes black and I see very des
pairingly. If I were iu such a mood to
speak as I feel, I should give false colors
and exaggerated proportions to every
thing. This nianitestation is in such con
trast to the hopefulness and courage which
I experience in ordinary times that none
but those intimate with me would suspect
one so lull of overflowing spirits and eager
eladsomeness to have within him acave oi
gloom. 3Iy confidential friend, Mr. Billy
Patterson, understood this, and at times
earnestly reproved me for indulging in it.
It happened that when in one of my des
moods I struck my confidential
friend. Mr. Billy Patterson, with a beer
mug, because he wouldn't set 'em up,
and with this statement I submit my
ruse."
The "Big Judge" looked at his prisoner
over his glasses, under his glasses, then
through his glasses, and then without his
triasses. and. finally, seeing that lie had a
man of genius to deal witheserved his de
cision till some future time. 3Ir. Collins
retired to his country place at Pigskill. to
escape the hay fever, and Mr. Patterson
seek3 rest and recreation at the Lookout
House. Cincinnati Commercial.
Seeklng of kleptomania, Burleigh, the
correspondent of the Boston Journal, says
a w. ll.known man of Brooklyn a man
of property, and quite an exhorter in re
ligious meetings nas tne uisease uan. lie
will take his basket on his arm. walk down
one of the avenues, slyly chuck in a potato,
a beet, an onion, or an apple into his basket
a3 he passes along. In due time his bill
comes in."
NUMBER 28.
The Courier! of Hie Czar.
The Russian couriers, or ponyexpress
men, or mail-carriers, as vou may choose
to call them, travel neither on foot nor on
horseback. You will find that, in thi
matter, as in almost every custom and
habit of every people, nature compels man
to alter his arrangements to suit her con
ditions. In Tartary they have line horse:
great wide deserts" and splendid road
and. naturally, the couriers are mounted ;
in England, where the roads are bad,
running through bogs ami nnrdies, th'
old couriers were footmen; in Russia.
where snow lies on the ground nearly th
whole year, sleighs are us-d tv the couri
ers. 1 lie "Couriers ol met zar, as mi
mail-carriers are called, travel with great
rapidity. Fresh horses and drivers an
ready at stations every twenty miles apart ;
but the couriers themselves sleep in th
sleighs, and travel from one end of a mail
route to the other. SiM-ci.-d messengers ot
the Czar, on public business, travel by
these same routes, and with even greater
rapidity than the mail-carriers. During
the Crimean war there occurred an inci
dent illustrating the severity of this ser
vice. The Russian general. Prince Ment
chikoff, who defended Sebastopol, had oc
casion, during the siege of that city to
send an important message to the Czar at
St. Petersburg; and ordered a faithful offi
cer to be his messenger, giving him direc
tions not to halt or delay until lie stood
before the Czar, and above all not to lose
sight of the precious message which he
bore. Away went tlie officer in a sleigh
belonging to the Czar's couriers. At the
end of each twenty miles he found fre.-h
horses awaiting him; these were quickly
harnessed to his sleigh, in place of the
weary animals, and the servants and sti-ble-inen
would cry out :
" Your Excellency, the horses are
ready."
"A wav then!" the officer would say
to the driver; and off he would go again
at the most rapid pace of which the horses
were capabie. Riding in this way for sev
eral days and nights, suffering with cold,
and pursued by wolves in the forests, the
officer, weary with watching his dis
patches day and night, at length reached
the palace ot the czar, and was immedi
ately ushered into his presence, lie had
no sooner handed the Emperor the letter
of the General than the messenger sank
into a chair and fell fast asleep in the roy
al presence-an offense which, in some
ages, would have been punishable with in
stant death. When he had finished read
ing the dispatch, the Czar wished to ask
the officer a question, but found he could
not awaken him. Tlie attendants called
to him, touched and shook him, all in vain ;
and at last one declared the poor fellow
was dead. The Czar was much grieved
thereat, and went to the officer and exam
ined his pulse, put his ear down to his
side, and declared he could hear his heart
thumping. He was only asleep. But he
soon found that the exhausted officer could
not be roused by the usual means. At
length the Czar, stooping down, cried in
his ears :
" Your Excellency, the horses are
ready."
At the sound of these words, which he
had heard every twenty miles of his jour
ney, and the only ones which l.e had lis
tened to for days." the faithful officer sprang
to his feet and cried :
"Away then !"
Instead of driver and horses, he found
the Czar before him, laughing hear. ily at
his confusion and dismay. You m:iy be
sure his offense was forgotten ; instead of
being punished for sleeping when his
work was done, the ollieerwas rewarded
for his faithfulness. From "The Puny
Express,''' in St. Nicholas for September.
Ben Spinner Relates His Dream.
There was an argument last night by
father and by Uncle Ben about the tire-
crackers, which my Lncle Ben said he had
read in a Detroit paper that the Aliolitioii-
Icte wia n-ninrr to ilik nwnv with tlielll Oil
tiie holiitaysron account of their dangi-r-ousness
about lire. Then I heard my fa
ther say he, for one, was sorry, because
tie was a boy once tnmseii, ami Knew now
it went : and my Lncle Ben, which it is
always iust like him, said he. for another
one, was glad. I would a given jest then
all the money I have got saved up if I
could of slipped a whole pac k under his
heels behind him. It was ihv had pick
for to be named for niv uncle when I was
small, and I don't like it. but it is one of
that kind o' things that nobody can help;
mid neither can I. and so what is the- u
to fret? But. anv how. the more I s-e of
the cross ways of a certain kinfolks that I
have got the greater I would like to have
some other name than Beiiiauim if you
please. That's what kind of si hair-pin I
am. lint they Kept on a laiKing aooiu
tire-crackers and things, and 1 had a little
loose time afore bed-time to listen. I knew
well enough that it was no put in of my
oar, but there was no objection it I kept
mv ears open, if I did have to keep my
chin still : and so my uncle he talked out
ward through his noe and got worked up
so desperate red-hot that I thought surely
he would go off' into some spasms about
nothing. I don't like to see people have
fits, but I wish he had iust a few. It wa
i trifling firecracker, he said, as mimed up
Portland and 31emphis and dead loads ot
other cities and towns : and they wou
keep on a burning up places till the whole
United Stares would ne an in ine country
again like it was when Christopher Col
umbus lived here. But. finally, father got
tired of that sort of music and told him he
had better take some vermifuge for his
worms and go to bed ; and I thought so
too. and so I got cooked out and went to
bedmvself; but I chdn t take no vermi
fuge in mine. So Maid in bed and thought
over what i ncie ien sain aoom a nrc
cracker would some day burn up Louis
ville; which I would only like to see it
tried on while the Watkins and the Gillis
and the Leech and the Levi and tlie rest of
the engines, also the hooks and ladders
are around. It sounded to n.e like that
kind of talk was all stuffed nonsens
Butbvandbvl went into a hard sleep
and dreamed "that 1 had gone into a store
for to buy a Roman candle and some rock
ets, and wa in such a dreadful hurry to
fire the candle that it went oil atore 1 got
out of doors, and set tire to a box of tor
pedoes and a Darrei oi serpents, ami a uig
powder can; then the whole business
blowed up and sent me ten times higher'n
the City Hall clock; and when I came
down I was wide awake. But I was lying
with my shoulders on the floor and my
legs in bed all tangled up in the 'squito
bar, and my nose was skinned tireadiui
where I had scraped it against ine oeu-
nosr. But it was fun enough while it last
ed, and all right but the noise, and just so
.. ' . t .,!;.... :m i ...;. l,,L rtf
tne A0OIU1OII1SU5 Will R11- 111- II iram:
the lire-cracker business I don t care a
M,nt Ben SPLXXER. Louisville Courier-
Journal.
St. Petersburg, the capital of Russia,
is the haven for children who have a pro
pensity for making mud and sand pies. In
many oi tne smaii puDiicpams ui iu vij
there are. here and there, large open spaces
covered with gravel. ' Every morning in
each of these spaces may be seen a large
nilo of rvl cone-snaDeo. aooui 4 ieei liisju
and fi fret in diameter at the base. After
breakfast all the children of the neighbor
hood, equipped with little spades, hatchets
and wagons, repair to these cones and em-
nlov themselves in digging them down
and scattering the material, according to
their fancy, over the gravel spaces, 'llie
next morning the cones are all ready for
another assault. The result of this simple
plan is that the children acquire a fondness
tor exercise and labor, and get mat neaim
ful niien-nir amusement so essential to then
vitality in a city. Perhaps they always
ret the usual maternal spanking for soiling
their clothing, but this is one of the sweets
of the halcvou dav3 of childhood, that can
be looked "back to in after years without
revengeful feelings.
PU3GEMT PARAGRAPHS.
A ritRos of a poor hotel In the country
said everything he obtained there wa cold
but the water, and everything was sour
but the pickles.
" Goor liquor hear, no snaks furnished
for boo's," is the assuring announcement
scrawled on a shingle over the door of a
German shoemaker and publican within
hail of the town of U nion. X . J .
A parting at a Chicago railroad depot :
" IK not forget me or cease to lo-e me
murmured the husband. " Never, never "
sobN-d the wife, and she pulled o.it her
handkerchief and tied a knot in it, that she
might remember.
Hitherto worn-out straw hats have
been considered things utterly beyoud
utilization. The world advances, howev
er, and now a profound American econo
mist proposes to chop them up by ma
chinery and feed horses with them.
Ax Eastern newspaper is astonished at
the statement that grasshoppers chew to
bacco. There is a colony ot co kroaches
in this office who nconly eat all the cigars
they can find, but devour the vcnphos
phorus on our matches. The most rave
nous grasshopper that ever sang in a .Min
nesota w heat-field would blush to see a
Louisville cockroach at his meals. Courier-Journal.
DrRixo the present season, when the
body is weary with the heat of summer,
ami the niimi longs for something sooth
ing and mildly stimulating, we cannot re
commend a better hook than " The Pan
bashendusekliara of Nagojibhatta." It is
one of the most interesting works we have
read in Sanscrit. It can easily be mas
tered by aid of a step ladder, a tooth ex
tractor," and a porous plasterapplied to the
back ot the neck. Inter-Ocean.
Tiik Yorkshire (England) Mirror tells
the following story about the Archbishop
of York and a smart little Yorkshire
urchin. The Archbishop distributed the
prizes at a Li-eds ragged school, and sub
sequently, when riding in the vicinity, he
came across a youngster collecting road
dirt whom he thought he recognized.
Thereupon the following conversation en
sued : Archbishop -Boy, I know your
face; you were at the Leeds Ragged
School, and obtained a prize for drawing?
I'rchin Y'a. mon, I were. Archbishop
I hope vou still keep up your studies in
that art"! I'rchin Y'a, mon, I do look
you yeere (pointing to a model made ot
the material he was collecting). Arch
bishop (with astonishment) What do you
call that? Urchin Ah. mon, that's a
model of a church ; and them's the pews,
and there's the vestry, and that's the pool
pit. Archbishop (smiling) Very clever.
1 declare; but where is the parson?
Urchin A've, mon. it takes a deal o' muck
to make a pa'son. The Archbishop rode
on.
Building Houses.
Every man who contemplates building
a dwelling lor tilinsell, win mane n ;i
home, a hospital or a grave lor his laniiiy.
according to his plan. 1 lie uncsi iiousc
are the healthiest, nence tnose iun "i
wood are the best : they are more name to
complete destruction by fire, but not more
complete than iron or granite. Brielf
houses are the least injured oy "re. id
ealise they neither melt, scale nor crum
ble. The damages to WIllcll iney are lia
ble mav be prevented bv two expedients.
By placing a layer of "slate or stone be
tween layers of brick about a foot aliove
the ground, the dampness from the earth
is arrested, as brick soaks up water like a
sponge.
The outer walls may be protected
against the absorption of rain and log
thus : Dissolve three-quarters of a pound
of mottled soap in one gallon of boiling
water, and with a flat bruh spread it over
the outer surface of the brick wall while
hot, without allowing it to lather, in clear
dry weather; next day dissolve a quarter
of a pound of alum in two gallons of wa
ter, and paint it over tlie soaj coating;
the two combine and form a film of var
nish which the rain cannot penetrate.
There should be a space of about an inch
between the brick and the plaster. The
old-fashioned comb-roots are best, as they
shed water more raj)idly, ami give a gar
ret, which protects the upjier rooms from
the heat of the summer sun. If possible,
let the house stand east and west, the
front facing the south, thus exposing
three sides to the sun ; ami let the family
room and all the habitually oceujiied
chandlers face the south, so as to have
all the advantages of the warming, drying
and cheering influences ot the sundiine.
Tlie house should be on an elevation, to
allow the water to drain off in every di
rection. Plastered walls are cleaner than
those papered ; perhaps varnish is l tter
than either, and is not so readily soiled,
and is more easily dusted and cleaned
from stains or grea-e spots.
Bare walls are dreary and barn-like.
They can be ornamented with pictures
and engravings and tliu l- made instruc
tive, amusing and diverting to a very high
degree, if frames are jireferred, a very
neat and cheap pattern can be made by
getting a piece of pasteboard and a glass
the size of the picture, which should be
placed between the two, and a rim made
to answer the purpose of a frame, as well
as to keep all in place, by doubling over
the edges a ribbon or strip of velvet. r
namentition may go still further, and Ik?
made to afford quite as. much pleasure to
the eve as paintings, by simply placing a
handful of heads of wheat in a vase ot
water. Each grain sends out bright
green leaflets, and continues to replenish
the falling ones for weeks together.
An exquisite transparency may be made
by arranging pressed ferns, grasses, and
autumn leaves on a pane of window glass,
laying another pane of the same size over
it, and binding the edges with ribbon,
leaving the grouj) imjrionel between. It
is well to secure a narrow striji of paper
under the ribbon. The binding should be
gummed all around the edge of the first
Iane, and dried, before the leaves, ferns,
etc., are arranged ; then it can be folded
over the second pane without difficulty.
To form the loop for hanging the trans
parency paste a binding of gi.lloon along
the edge, leaving a two-inch loop free in
the center, afterward to be pulled through
a little slit in the final binding. These
transparencies may be hung before the
window, or it preferred, secured against a
pane in the sash. In halls a beautiful ef
fect is produced bv placing them against
the side-lights of the hall door. W here
the side-lights are each of only a single
pane, it is well worm wnue io piace a sin
gle transparency against each, filling up
the entire space, thus affording ample
scope lor a tree arrangement ui icrn.-,
grasses, and leaves, while the effect of thr
liht parsing tnrougn ine ncn auuuinmi
colors is very fine. Leaves so arranged
will preserve tneir Deauty during mc.
whole of the winter. Screens of this kind
have lately been advertised in w hich the
ferns, etc.. prepared by a iH!Culiar process,
are guaranteed to retain their verdure for
years.
Tlie water-closets and drains of a dwell
ing are second in importance to no other
consideration, for It is now found that
typhoid and other low tonus oi lever are
caused by what comes out of the bodies ot
other persons ; in other words, are diseases
of filth of uncleanliness. A case ot
typhoid fever cannot originate in a clean
house, it is impossible. If water-clo-ets
must be under the same roof with the
dwelling, which need not be except in
lartre towns, thev should be located in the
corner of the house, because then the win
dows can open directly out of doors, and
thus keep them thorougmy venuiaun.aiiu
in addition, the pipe can pass directly out
through the wall in communication with
the leader which conveys the water from
the roof, thus washing everything away.
An unwise practice is to have the water
closet so located that there is no window
in it, and its contents pass down an iron pipe
into the drain in the cellar ; if this iron
pipe is behind the plastering, so that ir it
should become defective at the joints or
elsewhere it would not be detected, and
filthy matters, solid, fluid, and gaseou3 es
cape, they will send out insidious poisons,
undermining the health and shortening the
lives of the whole household forever tak
ing medicine and forever unwell, since tlie
cause of the sickness remains in operation.
It is not surprising that in so many cases
there Is a marvelous improvement in health
by going into the country for even a few
days. For similar reasons the waste of the
house should be conveyed outside of it by
the most direct route possible into the
great drain of the street. The authorities
of all our cities and large towns might pro
fitably direct their attention to this ut
ject, and compel an arrangement for sewer
age of private dwellings which would ac
complish the results above indicated.
Hall's Journal of Health.

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