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The Warner weekly sun. (Warner, Brown Co., Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1885, December 07, 1883, Image 5

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn2001063566/1883-12-07/ed-1/seq-5/

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J—fiAN INCIDENT
Far out at re a. it waa TuanksgiTing Day,
And we were off G >od H.op°;
The wind blew afcrilly orr ot Table Bay,
And strained were spar and rope.
On deck we saw (he bustling captain come,
With face of anxious care;
For cu ward bound, he sighed to think of
home,
And dear reunions there.
‘We’ve little to be thankiul for,” he said,
In seaman’s fretful tone;
The p»*wHPe long, the ocean gales ahead,
Naught else our voyage has shown.”
His little daughter olimbed the bulwarks
high,
And o’er the surge that roared.
Her sweet laueh rang, when, 10l the fearful
cry,
‘ The child is overboard!”
“Down helm, down helm! and lay the yard
aback!”
The captaia’s sturdy arm
Is struggling in the vessel's foamy track.
Above the sea’s alarm.
Saved! saved! he stood upon the deck,
Beside bis child; and then,
“What though all else,” he said, “were gone
to wreck?
Thank God with me, my men!”
— - -=r
Mr. Flintshire’s Marriage.
liY HENRY LAHOUCUEUK.
Mr. Flintshire retired from the Indian
Civil at the age of fifty, re
turned to England with the fixed men
tion of marrying for money. Being a
bachelor his pension was more than suf
ficient for his wants, and his savings
amounted to a considerable fortune. But
he was a very careful man, to say at
least, and he had always cherished the
idea of marrying a rich wife who would
keep him. Hitherto he had been un
successful, because he had to a limited
extent, allowed sentiment to interfere
with his choice. But now that his in
come had diminished in consequence of
his retirement, he resolved to be guided
entirely by expediency, and to permit
neither age or any other disqualification
to balk his design.
It is hardly surprising that with such
broad views as this he hadcomparitively
little, difficulty in discovering his oppor
tunity He was chatting one day with
his doctor in rather a despondent mood,
in consequence of the unsatisfactory
state if his liver, when the medical gen
tleman, to cheer him, remarked.
“My dear sir, you need not feel un
easy. You will be weli in a month, and
you will liye to he as brisk and lively at
eighty-four as old Mrs. Mumblewood.”
“Who is Mrs. Mumblewood?”inquired
Mr. Flintshire.
“A patient of mine— a wondetful lady.
As I tell you she h eiglity-four, and yet
comes to see me in an omnibus to save
a cab fare,” said the doctor, laughing.
“You will hardiy believe it when I tell
you she is enormously wealthy.”
“Is she a widow?” inquired Mr. Flint
shire, pr.eking up his ears.
“Yes. Her husbahd was old Mum
blewood, the contractor, who died
worth, as they say, a quarter of a mil
lion. The old fellow came from noth
ing, but the widow is a shrewd, clever
sld lady,ss brisk as you or I.”
“She can't last lunch longer, I sup
pose?” remarked Mr. Flintshire, ab
sently.
“Well, that is a professional secret,”
said the doctor laughing again. “Howev
er, it is safe to predict that she has lived
the best pare of her life.”
“I should like to see her,” sulci Mr.
Flintshire,in quite o henrty tone for him.
“The sight ol her will do one more good
than a course of medicine.”
“It will be cheaper, at uny rate,” said
the doctor, with unconscious irony.
“Let me see —I should like to have a
look at you next week. Now, Tuesday
morning at twelve o’clock is old Mrs.
Mumplewood’s hour, and you might ar
range your visit accordingly.”
Probably the doctor had no other de
sign in his mind than the wish to secure
another fee, and in this he succeeded,
for Mr. Flintshire at once undertook to
call on the day and at the hour men
tioned.
It seems incredible that any man
should seriously think of paying court
to an old lady "of eighty-four. Yet Mr.
Flintshire was quite prepared to do so
if it turned out that Mrs. Mumblewood
was anything like as rich as was sup
posed, "and .he made the appointment
with the most delibe%te attentions
He had no difficulty in learning all
about the old lady, who resided in
Sloane street and was well known in the
neighborhood. The result of his inqui
ries was highly satisfactory, for though
the deceased contractor had not left
anything like a quarter of a million, the
widow nad inherited a large fortune,
which must have considera
bly increased in consequence of
her penurious habits. She lived in a
small house, attended by two old serv
ants who had been, respectively, cook
and butler to her late husband. Bhe
could hardly be spending £SOO a year,
to judge from the stories that were told
about tier, and the natural inference
was that her savings must aloi.e amount
to a fortune.
Under these circumstances Mr. Flint
shire did not fail to keep his appoint
ment. He considered the widow an ex
cellent chance, and though her miserly
nropensities rather interfered with his
original design of being supported free
of expense, this drawback was counter
balanced by the probability other speedy
demise. He therefore quite made up bis
mind to marry her. nor did his purpose
waver when he found Mrs. Mumble
wood an illiterate old lady, with a skin
parchment, a face that might have been
carved from a block of wood, and a
tongue that was constantly saying bitter
y The meeting at the doctor's house,
which was their tirst introduction, soon
ripened into intimacy. Singular as it
may appear in an old lady of eighty-four,
Mrs. Mumblewood was evidently flat
tered by bis attentions, and though she
soon intimitated to him that she suspec ,
ted he bad designs on her fortune, she
""
iMlKffv" Wf: iw m
resduy a- copted his assurance that his
pomene«s arp-e from pure friendship.
Before long, Mr. F.intstiire got into the
habit of calling nearly every day. and
though the hospitality he received was
of a very meagre kind, he could not help
admiring the strict economy which the
widow practiced in her domestic arrange
ments.
It was only natural, however, that the
old proverb about the course of true love
never 'unuing s nooth should have been
exemplified in Mr. Flintshire’s case. If
the widow received his attentions with
compiaceucy: he was much less favora
bly regarded by another member of the
household. He perceived tint he had
an enemy in the butler from the first
moment that ancient retailer opened the
door to him, This individual was a sur
ly, not overelean individual of sixty, or
thereabouts, whose chief duties appeared
to be to keep off intruders from his mis
tress, since he apparently discharged no
other functions. It was perfectly obvious
that old Numb was jealous of every one
who ontered the hou-e, aud, probably,
had an eye on his mistress’s fortune.
He was never polite to Mr. Flintshire,
who did not intend to be refused when
he made his proposal ot marriage, real
ized that he must not leave Mr. Numb
out of his calculations. The consequeuce
was that, after mature delioeratton, he
one day aske 1 the butler to give him a
few words in private, and thus delivered
himself:
“Mr. Numb,,’ he said mysteriously,
“has the possibility of your mistress
marrying again ever occurred to you?”
“No, it hain’t” ,saidt he man, shortly.
“Well, Mr. Numb,” perhaps not,
though you hardly have ima/ined that l
could see so much of that excellent lady
as I have done lately without conceiving
a very great regard for her. Now, sup
posing,” said Mr. Flintshire,quite jocose
ly .“supposing I were to aspire to gaiu
your mistress’s hand, what would you
say?”
“I should say, don’t you wish you
may get it,” returned Numb, calmly.
“I am quite serious,’, said Mr. Flint
shire frowning a little. “Of course, I
know it is not usual for a gentleman to
consult a lady’s butler before proposing
marriage to her. Indeed, the idea is
ridiculous. But you have lived in your
mistress’s service so long that she re
gards you as a friend and adviser, and
under the circumstances I think it only
right to mention the matter to you.
A word from you, Mr. Numb, might
prove very useful.”
“Very likely,” said Mr. Numb, and in
oracular tone.
“Well, now, come, Mr. Nuub. Just
consider. I atn not a foolish and ex
travagant man who would play ducks
and drakes with your mistress’s money.
On the contrary, I am a careful man,
und not a poor one either. I think we
should like a little belter, Numb, if I
were master here; your wages might be
raieed; and—and—well Numb, on my
wedding day I dare say I might give
you a five pound note. What do you
say to that?”
Mr. Flintshire spoke in his most earn
est and persuasive tone, but failed tc
move a muscle of Mr. Numb’s stolid face.
“Or—or ten. Shall we say ten Numb?”
said Mr. Flintshire, eagerly.
“Make it fifty,” said the butler with
a perfectly impassive countenance:
“Fifty! Bless my soul. Ahem! It’s a
"'ery large sum,” gaspe i Mr. Flintshire,
“Can’t we split the <1 fference and meet
half way—say twenty or twenty :five?”
“Fifty,” reneated Numb stubbornly.
“Well, Well! fiity then,” said Mr.
Flintshire with resignation. “It is a
large sura, but . However say fifty.”
The butler said fifty, apparently rath
er to oolige Mr. Flintshire than from
any interest he felt in the discussion —
judging at least from his tone and man
ner. Nothing more passed at this re
markable interview, but the next day
Vlr. Flintshire proposed to Mrs, Mum
ble wood and was immediately accepted.
Vter this matters went smoothly
enough, and though Mr. Flintshire fret
ted a great deal about the fiity pounds
he had promised Numb, he did not con
sider the m mey thrown away. The
alacrity with which Mrs. Mumble wood
had accepted him plainly revealed that
he owed his success to ttie butler’s in
terference. When once he was married
he flattered himself that Mr. Numb’s
dominion would soon come to an end.
Meanwhile it was prudent to be polite
to him, for, since he acted as the old
lady’s confidential adviser, he might
make hims If disagreeable by suggest
ing settlements and other undesirable
complications.
Nothing of the kind occurred, howev
er, and the marriage was performed in a
neighboring church without fu»s or cer
emony. Mr. Numb received his fifty
pounds, together with a promise of a
rise in his which M#. Flint
«hire intended in his own mind as a pre
liminary to dismissing him. The wed
ding banquet and the auspicious event
in no way disturbed the even tenor of
the household. The only change that
occurred was that from hencetOrtti Mr.
FliD’shire was promoted to the dignity
of paymaster of the establishment, the
widow stopping ali supplies with promp
titude the moment she had changed her
name.
Mr. Flintshire did not trouble to an
nounce bis wedding in the papers.
There was nothing to be gained by do
ing so, and his wife did not appear to
desire it. He settled down readily
enough to his new state of life, and de
voted himself to ministering to bis wife’s
comfort in a very laudible rninner. The
chief aim he had is view was to prevent
her from making a will. He strongly
suspected that she had made one before
her marriage, in which the name of Mr.
Numb figured conspicuously; but that
document was now null ana void by op
eration of law. If hie wife, therefore
did not make a fresh one, !he would, at
her death, inherit everything as her
husband, and he was, accordingly, quite
content to leave matters where they
were at?present
If Mr. Flintshire deserved domestic
happiness as a reward for his persever
ance, he certainly did not attain that de
sirable consummation. To begin with,
his wife was crotchety and fractious, as
old people generally are, but, in addi
tion to these failings, she possessed a re
markably vigorous temper. Mr. Flint
shire, to serve his own purposes, stayed
by her side from morning till night, and
she made a perfect slave of him. Being
morbidly fearful of offending her, he
’ '*• fJTj ,

■I”"* "
dared not venture to reflate, and
never wan an unhappy husband more
henpecked than he. Another .source of
annoyance was that the whole house
hold seemed to be in league to plan ter
him. The simple domestic arrange
ments which had suffered when the old
lady held the purse were no louder suf
ficient.. His wife was the first to pro
pose a more liberal table, and Mr. Numb
manifested a perfectly fiendish ingenu
ity in suggesting costly little dishes for
her. In a word, the housekeeping ex
pense increased to an enormous extent,
and all attempts at introducing economy
proved unavailing.
The last but not the least of the bride
groom’s troubles was the presence in
the house of Numb, the butler. So long
as this raau remained, Mr. Flintshire
felt that lie was only the nominal head
of the establishment. Mr. Numb did
precisely as he pleased, and his resi
dence with his mistress showed no
signs of diminishing. Yet Mr. Flintshire
did not see his way to getting rid of him.
If he attempted to exercise his authori
ty, his wife might be driven to ta!:e
some desperate course. He ventured
on one occasion to hint that Numb’s
services mig..t with advantage be dis
pensed with, but the suggestion called
forth such a torreut of reproaches and
invectives, that Mr. Flintshire trembled
at his temerity. Numb stayed on, and
haunted him like a veritable Old Alan of
the Sea, drawing high wages, increasing
the weekly bills, and, what was tar
wor.-e, enjoying the larger share of his
wife’s confidence.
The one bright spot in the midst of
Mr. Flintshire’s tribalition was that his
wife evinced no desire to make a will.
He therefore felt toleraoly secure about
ihe future, wh ! ch was a great consola
tion to hit*. Nevertheless
a year of this anxious
life so undermined his const tution, that
in all probability another twelvemon h
would have either killed him or ren
dered him hopele sly imbecil o . Fortu
nately for him, these dreadful contin
gencies were averted by the sudden
death of the old lady, who expired
in her sleep without having given the
slightest indication of her approaching
end.
The sad event had much the same ef
fect upon the bereaved husband as a
summer shower has upon a parched gar
den. It revived him instantly and
ailed forth all his former energy and
vitality. His first step to make a
minute and careful examination of tne
deceased lady’s effects, without, as he
had anticipated, finding a trace of a will.
The precaution was hardly necessary,
for he was certain she had not made
one, but the search satisfied his mind,
and he lost n® time in venting his re
vengeful feelings against Mr. Numb. He
nursed his resentment until the day of
tj6 funeral, but immediately upon his
return irom following his wife to the
grave he summoned the butler to his
presence. The man shuffled to the room
with a hang dog look, as though he anti
cipated his fate but Mr. Flintshire re
marked that his expression was insolent
and defiant.
“Numb,” said his master, sharply;
“you will be good enough to leave this
house within an hour. I won’t stand
any more ol vour insolence, and it was
only only out of consideration for the
poor iady who has gone that I have
borne with you so long. I will pay you
a month’s wages, and I warn you not to
attempt to make off with any of my
property.”
“Two can play at that game,” snarled
the butler, fumbling in his pocket, a d
producing a document. “Suppose this
house and everything in it was my prop
erty, and I was to ask you to clear out;
what would you say then?”
“It is a perfectly idle proposition,”
siid Mr. Flintshire, loltily. “What is
that paper?”
“It is a copy of the old lady’s will.
My lawyer has the original.”
“Is it dated since my marriage?” in
quired Mr. Flintshire, with a shade of
anxietv.
“O.ij no!—long before,” answered the
butler, with a grin.
“Then it is not worth the paper it is
written on,” said Mr, Flintshire, waiving
aside the document. “I don’t want to
see it. It is of no consequence what
ever.”
“I shouldn’t be too sure if I were
you,” returned Numb, maliciously, as
be put the paper hack in his pocket.
“I fancy you will laugh the other side
of your mouth before the day is out.”
“Got out of my sight this instant!”
cried Mr. Flintshire, losing his temper.
“If you have not left the house within
an hour, I shall send for tho police.”
The butler appeared quite unmoved
by his threat, and disappeared with
perfect self-possession. His confidant
air troubled Mr. Flintshire a little,
though he hardly knew why. It was
obvious that the man did not believe
that the will he spoke of was vo'd, but
that was only his ignorance. Neverthe
less Mr. Flintshire resolved to call im
mediately upon the firm of solicitors
who Lad been in the habit of acting as
his wile’s legal advisers, and according
ly he hailed a passing hansom, and
drove to Lincoln’s Inn.
“Are you Mr. Flintshire?” inquired
the senior member of the firm —“the
gentleman who recently married our
late client, Mrs. —Mrs. Mumblewood?”
“ Yes,” answered Mr. Flintshire,struck
with uneasiness at something strange in
the lawyer’s tone and manner. “Pos
sibly you are aware of our marriage.”
“I never heard of it till to-day. I re
gret to say I have to make almost extra
ordinary and painful communication to
vou,” said the lawyer, speaking as
though he could hardly realize what he
was about to say. “I have had Mr.
Numb here this morning, and it was
from|him I'heard of your—marriage.”
“Good heavens what is the matter?”
gasped Mr. Flintshire, beside himself
with nervous apprehension.
“I really hardly like to break the
news to you, but the fact is our late
client was secretly married to this Mr.
Numb some years ago. I had no idea of
it till this morning. It is the most ex
traordinary state of things I ever heard
oi in my life,” said the lawyer, lean ing
back in his chair.
“It’s a lie—a base, infamous conspira
cy!” cried Mr. Flintshire, foaming at
the mouth.
“I am afraid it is true. In fact, since
seeing Mr. Numb I have inspected the
' ,; -Y Vv- ... - iKyNWsFi'' i ' a
marriage registry at Somerset House,' 1
-aid the lawyer. “The most startling
thing is that this o’d lady, whose mean
ness amounted to a mania, deliberately
committed bigamy wi h her husband's
•omuirence in order tc save money.”
“If it is true he shall bang for it! He
shall refund every farthing and pay me
damages. I will inform against him by
fore the nearest magistrate,” cried Mr
Flintshire, gesticulating wildly, and
looking very odd and excited.
He did not carry out any of these
threats, however, for the melancholy
reason that he straightwav went laving
mud.
A Romance of Los Angeles.
“H. H.’s” striking “Echoes from the
City of the Angels,” in the December
Century contains the following romance:
“Of all Don Antonio’s graphic nsriatives
of the olden times none is more interest
ing than those which describe his adven
tures during the aiys of this contest. On
one of the first approaches made by tho
Americans to Los Angeles be went out
with his little haphazard company of
m6n and boys to meet them. He had
but one cannon, a small one, tied by
ropes on a cart axle. He had but one
small keg of powder which was good for
anything; all the re9t was bad, would
merely go off‘pouf, pouf,'the senorasaid,
and the ball would pop down near the
mouth of the cannon. With this bad
powder he fired his shots. The Amer
ieans laughed: this is child’s play, they
sit’d, and pushed on closer. Then came
a good shot, with the good powder,tear
ing into their ranks and knocking them
right and left; another and another
‘Then the Americans began to think
these are no pouf balls; and
when a few more were killed, they ran
away and left their flag behind them.
Amf if they had only known it. tho Cal
ifornians had only one more charge left
of the good powder, and the next min
ute it would have been the Californians
that would have had to run away them
selves,’ merrily laughed the senora, as
she told the tale.
This captured flag, with important pa
pers, were entrusted to Don Antonio to
carry to the Mexican lieadquarters at
Sonora. He set off with an escort of
soldiers, his horse decked with silver
tappings, his sword, pistols—all of the
finest; a proud beginning of a journey
destined to end in a ditterent fashion.
It was in winter time; cold rains were
falling; by night he was drenched to the
skin, and stopped at a friendly Indian’s
tent to change his clothes. Hardly had
he got them off when the sound of
horses’ hoofs was heard. The Indian
flung himself down, put his ear to the
ground, and exclaimed, ‘Americanos!
Americanos!’ Almost at the same sec
ond they were at the tent’s door. As
they halted, Don Antonio clad only in
his drawers and stockings, crawled out
at the back part of the tent, and creep
ing on all fours reached a tree, up which
he climbed, and sat safe hidden in the
darkness among the branches listening
while bis pursuers cross questioned the
Indian and at last rode away with his
horse. Luckily he had carried into the
tent the precious papers and the cap
tured flag. These he entrusted to an
Indian t> take to Sonora, it being evi
dently of no use for him to cross the
country thus closely pursued by his en
emies.
“All night he lay hidden; the next
day he walked twelve miles across the
mountains to an Indian vil age where
he hoped to get a horse. It was dark
when he reached it. Cautiously he op
ened the door of the hut of one whom
he knew well. The Indian was prepar
ing poisoned arrows; fixing one on a
string and aiming at the door, he called
out, angrily, ‘VVno is there?’
“‘lt is I, Antonio/
“‘Dou’tmake a sound/ whispered
the Indian, throwing down his arrow,
springing to the door, coming out and
closing it softly. He then proceeded to
tell him that the Americans had offered
a reward for his head, and that some ol
the Indians in the rancheria were ready
to betray or kill him. While thev were
yet talking, agaiu came the sound of the
Americans’ horses' hoofs galloping in
the distance. This time there seemed
no escape. Suddenly Don Antonio,
throwing himself on his stomach, wrig
gled into a cactus patch near by. Only
one who has seen California cactus
thickets can realize the desperate ness of
this act. But it succeeded. The Indian
threw over the cac us plants an old
blanket and some refuse stalks and
reeds; and there once more, within
hearing of all his baffled pursuers said,
the hunted man lay, safe, thanks tc
Indian friendship. The crafty Indian
assented to all the Americans proposed,
said that Don Antonio would be sure to
be caught in a few days, advised them
to search in a certain rancheria which
he described, a few miles off, and in an
opposite direction from the way
in which he intended to guide Don
Antonio. As soon as the Ameri
cans had gone, he bouni op Antonio’s
feet in strips of raw hide, gave him a
blanket and an old tattered hat, the best
his stores afforded, and then led him by
a long and difficult trail to a spot high
up in the mountains where the old
women of the band were gathering
acorns. By the time they reached this
place, blood was trickling down Anton
io’s feet and legs, and he was well nigh
fainting with fatigue and excitement.
Tears rolled down the old women’s
cheeks when they saw him. One
brought gruel; another bathed bis feet;
others ran in search of healing leaves of
different sorts. Bruising these in a
stone mortar, they rubbed him from
head to foot with the wet fiber. All his
pain and weariness vanished as by mag
ic. His wounds healed, and in a day he
was ready to set off for home. There
was but one pony in the old women’s
camp. This was old, vicious, blind of
one eye, and with one ear cropped
short; but it looked to Don Antouio far
more beautiful than the gay steed on
which he had ridden away from
Los Angeles three days before.
There was one pair cf ragged shoes of
enormous eize among the old women’s
possessions. These were strapped on
his feet by leathern thongs, and a bit
of old sheep skin was tied around the
pony’s hedy Thus accountered and
mounted, shivering in his drawsrs un
Jer his singfo blanket, the captain and
flag-bearer turned his face homeward.
At the first friend’s house bo reached
l stopped and beg cd for food, fclorao
lr*ed meat was given to him, and a
stool on the porch offered to him. It was
►the bouse of a d**ar friend, and the
friend’s sister was his sweetheart. As he
sat there eating his i*oatthey eved him
curiously. One said to the other, “How
much lie looks like Antonio!”
“At last the sweetheart, coming near
er; asked hmif he were ‘any relation
of Don Antonio?”
“No,' he said, just at that moment his
friend rode up, gave one glance at the
pitiful beggar silting on his porch,
shouted his name, dashed toward him,
and seized him in his arms. There waa
a great laughing and half- for it
had been rumored that he h«d been
taken prisoner by the Amercans.
“From this friend he received a wel
come gift of a pair of trowsers. many in
ches too short for his legs. At the next
house his friend was as much too tall,
and his second pair of giit trowsers had
to be rolled up in thick folds around his
ankles.”
“Finally, he reached Los Angeles in
««fety. Halting m a grove outside the
town, he waited till twilight before en
tering. Having disguised himself in the
rags which he had worn from the In
dian village, he rode boldly up to the
porch of his father’s house, and in an
impudent tone called for brandy. The
terrified women began to scream; but
bis youngest sister, fixing one piercing
glance on liis face, laughed out gladly,
and cried:
‘ You can’t tool me: yon are An
tonio.”
HE •
A Grim Cauadiau Humorist.
The Toronto Globe gives the follow
ing will of the late Mr. Dunlop:
“In the name of God, amen. I, Wil
liam Dunlop of Garibraid, in the town
ship of Culbtrne, and district of Huron,
Western Canada, esquire, being in sound |
health and my mind just as usual, which
my fiiends who flatter me say is no
great shakes at the best times, do make
my last will and testament as follows:
Revoking of coarse, ail former wills, I
leave the property of Garibraid and all
other landed prqperty I mav be pos
sessed of to twoof my sisters, Ellen Boyle
Story and Elizabeth Boyle Dunlop, the
former because she is married to a min
ister whom (God help) she henpecks,
the latter because she is
married to nobody, nor is
she likely to be, for she is an old maid,
and not market ripe; aud*also I leave
to them and their heirs my share of the
stock and i i plements of the farm; pro
vided always that the inclosure around
ray brother’s grave to be reserved; and
if either should die without issue, then
tho other to inherit the whole. I leave
to my sister-in-law, Louisa Dunlop, all
my share of the household furniture
and such traps, with the exceptions
hereinafter mentioned. I leave my sil
ver tankard to the eldest son of old
John, as the representative of the father,
I would leave it to old John himself, but
he would melt it down to make temper
ance medals, and that would be sacril
ege ; however, I leave my big horn snuff
box to him; he can only make
temperance horn spoons' with
that. 1 leave my sister Jen- ■
nie my bible, formerly the property of
my great-gran J mother, Bertha Hamil
ton of Woodln.ll; and when she knows
as much of the spirit as she d jes of the
letter she will be a better Christian than
she is. I also leave my late brother’s
watch to my brother »Sa«dy, exhorting
him at the same time to give up Whig
gery, radicalism and all other sins that
do most easily beset him. I leave my
brother Allen my big snuff-box, as I am
informed that he is rather a decent
Christian and a jolly face. I leave Par
son Cheva ssie (Maggie’s husband) the
small box got from the Sarnia militia, as
a small token of gratitude of the service
he has done the family in taking a sisWr
that no man of taste would have taken. I
leave Jo h n Cadden a silver teapot, to
the end that he may drink tea there
from to comfort him under the afflic
tunofa slatternly wife. I leave my
booi-sto my brother Andrew, because
he ha.* been so long a jangly wallen,
that lie may learn to read with them.
I give my silver cup, with a sovereign
m it, to Janet Dunlop, because she is an
old maid and pious, and therefore will
necessarily take to horning, and also my
granny’s enutt-shell, as it looks decent
to see an old worn in taking snuff. In
witness whereof I have hereunto set my
seal, the 31st day of August in the year
of our Lord one thousand eight hun
dred and forty two. “ W. Dvmlop.”
fir Hats in* Washington.
; I
Correspondence New York World.
This administration may m# make an
impression in a general way, but it will
leave a record in history in one way, at
least. This is the peculiar style of hats
worn, of such original shape as if some
principal were involved in this eccen
tricity. The president, in the first place,
has a hat made on a block of bis own
fashioning. The crown is about four
inches higher than the prevailing styles
in silk hats, while the brim is fiat and
very wide. He has a white cassimcre
felt made on the block for summer wear.
The president is so tall that his hat elon
gates him in a most distressm.' way He
loves an old hat. He is still wearing
his old summer hat, although
its ghostly whiteness these cold fall
days gives one a chill. He and Fred
Douglass are the last men in Washing
ton who are base enough to still wear a
white hat. Even Brewster has given
up the pirati al yellow fur hat and its
mourning band with which he enter
tained the people at the eastern water
ing places this summer. Folger has
worn a litrie white straw hat all sum
mer and occasionally wears it yet, vary
ing it with an old soft black hat ten
years old or a hard Derby hat of the
style of the last century. Frelingbuy
sen, great in'his deportment, wears a
black silk the year through. He keeps
ud to within three years of the style.
Lincoln wears new and fashionable hats.
Chandler wears bats no respectable
junk-dealer would buy. Gresham wears
a silk hat with the nap carefully brushed
granger .asbion—all the wrong way
while Teller smashes a soft, seedy black
hat down over his sharp hawk's face.

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