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The Warner weekly sun. (Warner, Brown Co., Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1885, November 17, 1883, Image 4

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away.
“Unfurl the flags, lor-guard?"
“Now forward, do
“Colonel, we’re not levied yet!”
i A laugh runs along the line as, at the
command “Load at will—load” the ram
rods make their merry music, and at once
the word is given. “Forward, doable
quick!” and the line sweeps up that rising
ground with banners gayly flying, and
cheers that rend the air—a sight once seen,
never to be forgotten.
We drummer boys sit on our drums, and
watch the line going in with cheers. Forth
with we get a smart shelling, for there is
evidently somebody else watching that ad
vancing line besides aurselves; hut they
have elevated their guns a little tod much,
so that every shell passes quite over the line
and Mows np the meadow sod abont ns in
1:; all directions.
Laying aside our knapsacks, we go to the
seminary, now rapidly filling with the
wounded. This the enemy surely cannot
know, or they wouldn’t shell tt% building
so hard 1 We get stretchers at the ambu
lances, and start out for the Hue of battle.
We can just see our regimental colors wav
ing in the orchard, near a log house about
|IK three hundred ahead, yards and we start
•ui for it—l on the lead and Daney behind.
There is one of our battories drawn up to,
our left a short dlstanoe as we run. It is
engaged in a sharp artillery duel with one
of the enemy's, whioh we cannot see, al
though we can hear it plainly enough, and
straight between the two our road lies. So
we go, Daney and I, at a lively trot, dodg
ing the shells as best we can, till, panting
for breath, we set down our stretcher un
der an apple tree in the orohard, in which
under the brow of the hill we find the regi
ment lying, one or two skirmish linos
ahead.
I count six men of Go. G lying youder in
the grass—kil’ed, they say by a single shell.
Andy oalls me away for a moment to look
after some poor fellow whose arm is off at
the shoulder; and it was just time I got
away, too. fox immediately a shell plunged
into the sod where] I had been sitting tears
ing my stretcher to tatters and plowing up
great furrow under one of the boys who
had been sitting immediately behind me,
and who thinks “That was rather close sha
w.ng, wasn’t it now?” The bullets whis
tling overhead make pretty music with
their ever-varying “zi-p! zi-p"l and we
could imagine them so many bees, only they
have such a terrible sbatp sting. They tell
me, too, of a certain cavalry man (Dennis
Unokley, 6th Michigan cavalry it was, as I
afterward learned—let history perserve the
t rave boy's name) who, having had his
\oese shot under him, and seeing that ftrst
n&med shell explode in Go. G with suoh
disaster, exclaimed, “That is the company
»er He remained with the regiment
ull day, doing gsied service with his carbine
'“Here they come, boys; we will have to
i|fc*ein at them on a charge I gu***!* Or#ep
og dose around the comar of the log
| ''aPtiiKiMwlilor .jy. 'tV ' w
THE SOLO.
I gaze oo the blazoned windows,
The oolurans ashy and cold,
Thn fjSttSd frrr»ir inrri
The ceiling of azure &Dd gold.
The organ shudders and muttere
Like a monster dyine in pain
The chorus has wailod its parting,
Lamenting, and repenting in vain
Then out of the sadness rises
An angel whose wings are furled
You lift your voice in the solo,
And I dv from a stricken world.
I traverse the shining oceans
Where melody ritns the skies,
And I paos the islands of glory,
And the headlands of l aradise.
You bear me, I care not whither,
8u long as I hear you sing,
For toil and grief are forgotten,
And life is a heavenly thing.
The music ends, and I shiver,
Fot my soul has returned to earth,
And the silence falls like a sorrow
Whica blanches the face of mirth.
—Harper for February,
THE FIIWT DAY AT GETTYSBURG.
From Harry M. KiefTer’s “Recollections of a
Drummer Boy,” in January Bt. Nicholaa.
“Colonel, close up your men and move
on as rapidly us possible.”
It is the morning of July 1, and we are
crossing a bridge over a stream, as the staff
officer, having delivered this order for us,
dashes down tlqe line to hurry up the regi
ments in the rear. We get up on a high
range of hills, from which we have a mag
nificent view. The day is bright, the air is
fresh and sweet, and the sun shines out of
an almost cloudless sky, and as we gaze
away off yonder down the valley to the left
—look! Do you see that! A puff of smoke
in mid-air! Very small and miles away, as
the faint and long-homing “boom” of the
exploding shell indicates, but it means that
something is going on yonder away down in
the valley, in which, perhaps, we may have
a hand before the day is done. See! An
other, and another! Faint and far away
comes the delayed “boom!” “boom?” echo
ing over the hills as the staff officer dashes
along the lines with orders to “double
quick! double-quick!”
Four miles of ulmoet constant double
quioking is no light work at any time,
least of all on such n day as this memor
able first day of July, for it is hot and
dusty. But we are in our own stite now,
boys, and the battle is opening ahead, and
it is no time to save breath. On we go,
now up a hill, now over a stream, now
checking onr headlong rush for a moment,
for we most breathe a little. But the word
oomes along the line again, “double-quick,”
and we settle down to it with a right-good
will, while the cannon ahead seem to be
getting nearer and louder. There’s little
said in the ranks, for there is little breath
for talking, though every man is busy
enough thinking. We all feel, somehow'
that our day has come at last—as indeed it
has!
We get in threugh the outskirts of Get
tysburg, tearing down the fences of the
town lots and ontlying gardens ns we go;
we pass a battery of brass guns drawn up
beside the seminary, some hundred yards
in front of which building, in a strip of
meadow-laud, we bait, and rapidly form
the line of battle.
"General, shall we unsling knapsacks?"
shouts some one down the line to onr di
vision-general, as he is dashing by.
"Never mind the knapsacks, boys; it’s
the state now!”
And he plnnges his spurs up to the row
els in the flanks of his horse, as he takes
the stake-and-rider fence at a leap and is
“Keep back, my boy; no use exposing
yourself in that way.”
As I get back behind the house and look
around, an old man is seen approaching
our line through the orchard in the rear.
He is dressed in a long, blue, swallow
tailed coat and high silk hut, and coming
up to the oolonel, he asks:
“Would you let an old chap like me have
a chance to fight in your ranks, colonel?”
“Can you shoot?” inquires the colonel.
“Oh, yes, I can shoot, I reckon,” said
he.
“But where are your cartridges?”
“I’ve got’em here,” says the old man,
slapping his hand on his pantaloons
P °And‘so, “old John Burns,” of whom
every school-boy has heard takes his place
in the line and loads uud fires with the best
of them, and is left wounded and insensible
ou the field when the day is done.
Reclining there under a tree while the
skirmishing is going on in front and the
shells are tearing up the sod around. us, I
observe how evidently hard-pressed is that
battery yonder in the edge of the wood,
about 50 yards to our right. The enemy’s
batteries have excellent range on the poor
fellows serving it. And when the smoke
lifts or rolls awav in areat clouds for a mo
ment, we can see the men running ami
ramming and sighting and firing and swab
bing and changing position every few min
utes to throw the enemy’s guns out of range
a little. The men are becoming terribly
few, but nevertheless their guns, with a
rapidity that seems unabated, belch forth
great clouds of smoke and send the shells
shrieking over the plain.
Meanwhile, events occur which give us
something more to think of than mere skir
mishing and shelling. Our beloved brig
adier general, stepping out a moment to
reconnoiter the enemy’s position and move
ments, is seen by some sharp-shooters oft
in a tree, and is carried severely wounded
into the barn. Our colonel assumes com
mand of the brigade. Our regiment facing
westward, while the line on our right faces
to the north, is observed to be exposed to
an enfilading tire from the enemy’s guns, as
well as from the long line of gray now ap
pearing in full sight on our right. So our
regiment must form in line and change
front forward, in order to come in line with
the other regiments. Accomplished swiftly,
this new movement brings our line at once
face to face with the enemy’s, which ad
vances to within fifty yards, and exchanges
a few v olleys, but is soon checked and stag
gered by our fire.
Yet now, see! Away to our left, and con
sequently #n our flank, a new line appears,
rapidly advancirg out of the woods a half
mile away, and there must be some sharp
work done now, boys, or between tie old
foes in front and the new ones on our flank,
we shall be To cleur us of
these old assailants in front before the new
line can sweep dowD on our flank, our
brave oolonel in a ringing command, orders
a charge along the whole line. Then, be
fore the gleaming and glistening bayonets
of our “Bucktail" brigade, as it yells and
cheers, sweeping resistlessly over the field,
the enemy gives way and flies in oonfusion.
But there is little time to watch them fly,
for that new line on our left is advancing at
a rapid pace; and, with shells falling thick
and fast into our ranks, and men dropping
everywhere, our regiment must reverse the
former movement by “changing front to
rear, ” and to resume its original position
facing westward, for the enemy’s new line
is approaching from that direction, and if it
takes us in flank we are done for.
To “change front to rear” is a difficult
movement to execute even on drill, execute
more so under severe fire: but it is hum
ed now steadily and without oonfusion, yet
not a minuto too soon! For the new line
of gray is upon ns in a mad tempest of lead,
supported by a oruel artillery fire, almost
before our line can steady itself to receive
the shock. However, partially protected
by a post-and-rail fence, we answer fierce
ly, and with efltect so terrific that the ene
my’s lines wavers, and at length moves off
by the right flank, giving ns a breathing
space for a time.
Daring this struggle there had been many
an exciting scene all along the line as it
swayed backward and forward over the field
scenes which we have had no time to
mention yet.
See yonder, where the colors of the reg
iment on onr right—onr sister regiment, the
149th—have been advanced a little to draw
the enemy’s fire, while onr line sweeps on
to the charge. There ensues about, the
flag a wild melee and close hand-to-hand
enconni >r. Some of the enemy have seized
the colors and are making off with them in
trinmph, shouting victory. But a squad of
our own regiment dashes out, and amid
yells and cheers and smoke, you see the
battle flags rise and fall, and sway hither
and thither upon the surging mass, as if
tossed on the billows of a tempest, until,
wrenched away by strong arms, they are
borne back in trinmph to the line of the
149th. I
See yonder, again! Our colonel is clapping
bis hand to his cheek, from whioh a red
stream is pouring; our lieutenant oolonel
is kneeling on the ground, And is having
his handkerchief tied tightly around his
arm at the shoulder; the major and adju
tant both lie low, pierced with balls through
the chest; one lieutenant is waving his
sword to his men, althongh his leg is
crushed at the knee; three other officers of
the line are lying over there, motionless
now forever. All over the field are strewn
men wounded ox dead, and comrades pause
a moment in the mad rash to catoh the last
words of the dying. Incidents such as these
the reader must imagine for himself, to fill
in these swift sketches of how the day was
won—and lost!
Aye, lost! For the balls whioh have so
far come mainly from onr front, being now
to sing in from our left and right, which
moans that we are being flanked. Some
how, away off to our right, a half-mile or
so, our line has given way and is already
on retreat through the town, while our left
is being driven in, and we ourselves may
shortly be surrendered and crushed—and
so the retreat is sounded.
Back now along the railroad cut we go,or
through the orchard and the narrov strip of
woods behind it, with our dead scattered
around on all sides, and the wounded cry
ing piteously for help.
“Harry! Ham!" It is a faint cry of a
| dying man yonder in the grass, and I must
see who it is:
“Why, Willie! Tell me where you are
1 hurt?” I ask. kneeling down beside him,
| and I see the words come hard, for he is
fast dying.
1 “Here mmy side, Harry. Tell mother—
| mother
Poor fellow, he oan say no more. His
1 head falls back, and Willie Black is at rest
forever! _ j*i- -■
On, now, through that strip of woods, at
r*. Yfkfa r i' > 'jj WljjkjS, j , -*£l '■ ' 7 ". - . • \\
the other edge of which, with my back
against a stout oak, I stop and look at a
beautiful and thrilling sight. Some reserves
are being brought up; infantry in the cen
tre; the colors flying and officers shouting;
cavalry on the right with sabres flashing
and horses on the trot; artillery on the left
with guns at full gallop sweeping into po
sition to check the headlong pursuit— It is
a grand sight and a line rally, but a vain one,
for in an hour we are swept off the)field and
are in full retreat through the town.
Up through the streets hurries the rem
nant of our shattered corps, while the ene
my is pouring into the town, only a few
squares away from us. Theie is a tempest
of shrieking shells and whistling balls about
our ears. The guns of that battery by the
woods we have dragged along, all the horses
being disabled. The artillerymen load af
we go, double charging with grape and can
ister.
“Make way there, men! is the cry, and
the surging mass crowds close up on the
sidewalks to right and left, leaving a long
lane down the centre of the street, through
which the grape and c mister go rattling in
to the ranks of the enemy’s advance guard.
And so, amid scenes which T have n*ithei
space nor power to describe, weguin Ceme
tery Ridge toward sunset, and throw our
selves down by the road in a tumult of ex
citement and grief, having lost the da\
through the overwhelming force of numbers
and yet somehow having gained it, too
(although as yet we knew it not), for the
sacrifice of our corps has saved the position
for the rest of the army, which had been
marching all day, and which comes pouring
in over Cemetery Ridge all night long.
Aye, the position is saved—but where is
our corps. Well may our div sion general,
who early in the dny succeeded to the com
mand when oar brave Reynolds had fallen,
shed tears of grief as he sits there on his
horse and looks over the shattered remains
of that first army corps, for there is but a
handful of it left. Of the 550 men that
marched under our regimental colors in
the morning, but 100 remain. All our field
aud staff officers are gone. Of some twen
ty captains and lieutenants, but one is left
without a scratch, while one of my own
company only 13 out of 54 sleep that night
on Cemetery llidge, under the open cano
py of heav°n.
l>o Dogs Understand Our Lan
guage?
From a Letter to the Boston Journal.
An article in a recent number of tbe
journal on this subject was a reminder
to me of quite a number of incidents in
my experience with this useful and in
teresting animal. When quite young,
i>eing very fond of hunting, I procured
a brace of fox hounds, calling one of
them Buck and the other Mountain.
They were both well trained for the
chase, and upon a frosty day in Decem
ber they had a fox on a large open
meadow of some fifty acres, oblong in
shape, and were pressing him hard
when I came up ana got a good shot at
him, but failed to bring him down.
The fox, when hard pressed, will often
make a circuit around a hill or meadow
two or three times, and by his move
ments I thought he was going to do so
in tiiis instance. When the dogs came
up I said to Mountain: “The fox is
coming here ag-iin; head him off across
lots.” He at once stopped his baying
and started in a cross-lot course, while
Buck pressed him hard in the rear with
his usual noise and vigor. In a few
minutes all was over with Reynard, he
running almost directly into the dog’s
mouth, who, m good hound style, fin
ished him at once. During the winter
evenings following my neighbors would
call in. When I would relate to them
the feat of this dog, Mountain would at
once jump from the floor, putting his
paws into my lap, looking me in the
face, seeming to say, “Did I not do it in
good style?’ 7 At the same time Buck
aid not pay the least attention to the
conversation, but lie quietly on the
floor.
Later on in life it became my duty to
assist in taking the grand list in my na
tive town, at a time when dogs were put
into the list at $2 each. I had taken the
list ofa neighbor of mine, when I saw a
fine-looking dog lying on the floor, and
on inquiry found be owned him. I then
told him it was my duty to put the dog
into his list at $2. He said he was not
able to pay the tax, aud was not aware
that there was such a law, and would
kill the dog that night. The dog left that
night and went to a son of his present
master in a neighboring town and could
never be persuaded to return to his form
er home. After this I owned a little
pet dog called Cass, who used to go with
me in my trips with a *team from town
to town, until he got quite old, and I
used to shut him up to prevent his go
ing with me, telling him he was too old:
but one morning no Cass was to be found
on the premises, and I started on my
trip over the hills. When
away about two miles 1 noticed some
thing unusual under my buggy seat, and
on inspection found it to be my pet dog
Cass. I called him a very bad dog, ana
told him to come out and get a good
whipping. He left the carriage at once,
and through the entire day kept him
self at a good distance from me. The
next morning when I was getting my
leam out to make one of my trips, Cass
was not to be found on the premises. I
started, but in passing a long row of
sheds attached to a church edifice near
my place, out jumped the dog from his
hiding place, and with a few jumps
placed himself in the carrifme beside me.
Who says dogs do not understand our
language?
A club whose members call themselves
“The Unfortunate Lovers” has been organ
ized in an English town, its benefits being
confined to those who have been disap
pointed in love. An elderly bachelor,
whom an almost incalculable number of re
fusals has not thoroughly depress ed, ia
president, and the meetings are said to be
extren el 7 interesting and convivial. Any
person who has had “No” for an answer to
a matrimonial suit is eligible to member-,
ship, althongh, owing to the club house not
having unlimited accommodations, en
trance is not allowed to those whose unhap
piness dates from the time they were ao-
Five children of a Mr. Roberts living
near Ashton ride eight miles morning
1 and evening to attend school.
■ v /- .TglfffiTT
THE WOODEN WEDDING.
•‘Suke, do you’know that a week from
to-morrow will be the timber anniver
sary of that dear connubial day, when
Cupid, hovering over the altar, tied the
hymeneal knot which made us twain?”
Ben delivered the above fine bit of
oratory, not in the effective, off-hand
manner which proves the impromptu,
but with a halting precision which be
trayed the effort it had cost to formulate
and remember it; nor was it the fine
speech I have heard delivered with an
effort.
“I suppose you moan our wooden
wedding,” I replied.
“Yes, but doesn’t timber mean wood,
I’d like to know? Now I’ll tell you what
I’ve been thinking. I want to celebrate
it. A celebration of that sort would be
a new thing in this neck of woods, you
see, and I think it would take big.* It
wouldn’t cost much, and there is no tell
ing the useful things which our friends
might bring us. The milk, eggs, butter,
meat, fruit and flour we have in plenty
now, and, according to my figuring, ten
dollars for sweets and other jim-cracks
would furnish a sumptuous supper for
fifty or more persons. I read the other
day about an old fellow of eighty mar
ried his fourth wife, who celebrated his
wooden wedding, and his friends who
attended the supper brought them just
poodles of things, among the rest a set of
parlor furniture and a nice top buggy. I
believe it pays to celebrate one’s wood
en wedding, to say nothing of the pleas
ant occasion of meeting one’s friends.
I’ll fix up the back porch for them to
pile the heavy furniture on,
and if any one should bring
a new reaper or a top buggy it can
just be left in tbe door-yard. Those
who bring “precious goods in small
packages” can put them ou the parlor
table. I have written out tbe invitation
card, which I will read to you: “We
the undersigned, have concluded to
surprise our friends, and give them an
opportunity of showing their apprecia
tion of us, bv celebrating our wooden
wedding on date . All who re
ceive a duplicate of this card are cordi
ally requested to come and bring a good
appetite and whatever other valuable
piece of furniture his or her generosity
may suggest.—Benjamin and Sukey.”
There, if you will allow me, I think
that’s straight to the point, and flatter
myself if it is somewhat original.”
“For mercy’s sake Ben, stop and take
breath and let me speak. It is very
easy to talk about entertaining and fur
nishing supper for fifty or more guests,
but not so easv to make the needed ar
rangements. How do you suppose lam
going to get through such an affair, and
no help to be had this side of Africa,
that I know of? Here is a bit of wis
dom I want you to stow away for future
reference too. The good appetites
brought to celebrations of the kind you
desire to make, generally ou f number all
other valuable pieces of furniture pro
duced for the occasion.”
“Now Suke, don’t go and spoil all my
nice plans with a big wet blanket. My
heart is so set on this celebration. You
know a fellow cannot have but one wood
en wedding, unless —unless he —marries
again, and somehow I just feel it in my
bones that we will have a jolly time, and
our friends will do a nice thing by us, in
the way of presents, you know. I’ll
heip cook.”
“The next two days Ben spent writing
out the invitations, then the cooking be
gan in earnest, and Ben beat the eggs
and I stirred batter and kneaded dough
till mv head grew dizzy.
At fast the evening of the important
day arrived, and leaving the culinary
department for an hour or two in care
of Belinda Jones, Ben and I arrayed in
our best bib and tucker, stood at the hall
door to receive our guests, Ben holding
a tablet on which he kept tally of each
arrival.
“Sixty-five gueatn and thirty-one par
cels,” sighed Ben, as the clock tollea off
the stroke of eight. “Suke, what do you
suppose is in all those queer looking
little wads which they have been piling
up on the parlor table?”
“Precious goods in small parcels,”
whispered I, “but I haven’t heard any
deposits on the back poiw.”
“No,” answered Ben, “they have all
come straight in from the front gate to
the hall door, and the presents, what
ever thev are, are in that conglomera
tion on the table. I most begin to wish
that we had not celebrated it.”
Just then Melinda poked her head in
at the opposite door, and gave me a sig
nificant wink, and I hurried into the
kitenen to find that her youngest hope
ful had managed to push” the cover off
the ice-cream, and had filled the vessel
containing it to overflowing by thrusting
into it young Fletcher Bigbee’s new ul
ster, which the meddlesome cherub had
managed to puli down from the clothes
rack in the hall. Of course Melinda was
almost in hysterics, and I had to smoth
er my own regrets to comfort her, while
George Washington washed out the
coat and hung it behind the stove to
dry. Then I had to extract Ben from
the sitting-room and explain the mis
hap to him, which was a sore disap
pointment, for he had prided himself
no little on the preparation of that ice
cream.
The next mishap was the breaking
down of the parlor sofa, then young Prim
rose Fleming caught his feet in Miss Tulip
Springer's train, and fell forward into
the dressing-case glass and shivered it to
atoms.
During supper I heard Mrs. Bigbee
remark to Col. Fleming that she thought
it looked real little not to have ice cream.
At last the supper was over, and the
cakes and goodies which were not eaten
were stowed in baskets by loving moth
ers who had promised their waiting
darlings that if tney would be good they
would bring them some. Melinda took a
basket full, and Sally Grub and severa
others took a basket full, and even Mrs.
Bigbee took a slice of jelly cake for her
little Teddy.
Supper is gone—the guests are gone—
Ben and I stand face to face for a mo
ment; I know that I look tired, for I
feel so. Ben looks glum, and silently
we turn and fall to examining our
presents.
Snmmary -Six cheap walking-sticks;
seven wooden tobacco-pipes; three
bootjacks; one carved cigar box, var
nished; four rolling-pins; five potato
mashers; one bunch tooth-picks, aud
Hie balance in butter paddles, or ladles
if you prefer the name.
“Suke.” in a hollow mournful tone,
“I am tired, awful tired.”
“So am I.”
“I am almost sick, too.”
“So am I.”
“And I am—disappointed.”
“So am not I.”
I was just opening my lips to say “I
told you so,” but he looked fo doleful I
resolutely closed them again, and silent
ly we laid us down to spend the small
hours between us and day in fitful slum
ber. If Ben and I should live to see
our diamond wedding we shall never
celebrate another.
Mere Mention of Noted Persons.
Col. John A. Cockerill.the well-known
ournalist, is said to be engaged to Miss
Millicent Puterbaugh, daughter of a
wealthy pork-packer of Cincinnati. The
two met during the June season of the
3t. Louis coaching club, of which Col.
Cocke rill is the president, and the ac
quaintance speedily ripened into love.
I'he union of the couple will be !solemn
ized, it is said, during the Christmas hol
idays.
Mr. Walker, the colored lawyer,whom
Ltov. Butler has nominated for justice of
the Charleston District Court, is said to
be very popular among the "Irish-Amer
icans at Charlestown. He is a Roman
Catholic, and a member of the choir at
the church of SS. Vincent and Paul. Mrs.
Walker is a white woman, and her
friends say a very estimable one.
Joe Jefferson believes.in spiritualism.
Mgr. Capel thinks the Boston people
would be very nice were it not for their
devotion to beans and Sullivan.
A sensible American, who has seen
Miss Chamberlain, whose beauty has
turned the heads of the Londoners, says
she would not be regarded as particular
ly handsome in this country, where
beautiful women are plenty, but in Eng
land the article is so scarce that it is
not strange people are upset by her
good looks. Ten to one he is exactly
right.
The eldest son cf the late Congress
man Orth, of Indiana who was left out
in the cold by his father’s will, intends
to contest lor a share in the estate.
Rev. Dr. Stephen H. Tyng is disin
clined to return to the pulpit, and will
probably go into mercantile life.
It looks bad for Mr. William Lewis,
the lover of the late Rose Ambler, who
was murdered near Stratford, Conn. The
detectives have some clues, and thev
are working hard for the $5,000 reward.
Lord Otto Russell, while calling upon
Prince Bismarck a short time ago,
asked him how he managed to rid him
self of that class of unfortunate visitors
whom he could not well refuse to see,
but whose room he found preferable to
their company. “Oh,” replied the
Chancellor, “f have a very simple
method. My wife knows them pretty
well, and when she sees they are with
me she generally contrives to come in
and call me away' upon some pretext oi
another.” He had scarcely finished
speaking when the Princess put her
head in at the door and said: “Otto,
you must come and take your medicine.
You ought to have had it ten minutes
ago.”
And now the Jersey Lily’s lawyer
comes out and says that she last sum
mer planked down SBI,OOO for invest
ment in New York city real estate all at
once, although Mr. Freddy Gebhard
knew nothing about it. For a stone
mansion on Fifty-third street she gave
$45,000; for another an Eighth avenue,
$20,000, and for one on the same high
way, “further up town,” $16,000. She
had the deeds made in the name of
Emilie Charlotte Langtry, Island of
Jersey.”
Hunnibal Hamlin proposes to present
the town of Paris, Me., his native place
with a clock, to be placed in the tower
of the Baptist churcn.
The widow of the Rev. Elkanah Walk
er is probably the sole survivor of the
women who rode across the plains to
Oregon on horseback in the early days.
She resides at Forest Grove, in that
state, and is still in good health. The
saddle on which she rode across the
plains forty-five years ago is still in her
possession. Her son, C. H. Walker, the
oldest white person born in Oregpn, was
with her in Portland on the day of the
recent railroad parade.
General Crook i§ now living at Fort
Whipple, near Prescott, Ariz. His home
is a pleasant, roomy house oftwostcrir;*,
surrounded by piazzas, and commanding
a fine view of hill and valley.
Solid and Gaseous Fuels,
A writer in a London journal,discussing
the question of the economy of gaseous
as compared with solid fuel, asserts that
when combustion takes place, the quan
tity of oxygen required by the carbon
does not by any means correspond with
that required by the hydrogen, and, as
these elements are not generally sepa
rated, a certain quantity of one or the
other must be burnt to waste. Tbe car
bon can only combine with the quantity
of oxygen necessary to form carbonic
acid, and the hydrogen takes up only
that which will produce aqueous vapor;
thus the former of these elements al
ways absorbs more oxygen than the lat
ter, supposing that there is sufficient to
insure complete combination. When!
solid fuel is employed, it is not only
necessary to provide the supply of oxy
gen required for combustion, but also to
convey into the furnace sufficient air to
drive off the products of that combus
tion, by insuring the contact of th j oxy-
Sen with the whole surface of the com
ustible material. In practice, it is
found that nearly twice the quantity of
air theoretically required has to be pro
vided—-this, of course, doubling the vol
ume of the gases that have to be heated.
It may thus be assumed that half the
air admitted into the furnace does not
serve for combustion, and this access of
air naturally carries off a considerable
quantity of heat.
P&o/K&St&Ihlfe . *3 ..a

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