Daily globe. [volume], January 20, 1878, Image 2

About Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884

Image provided by: Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

                
THE CURSED RIFL E.
BY W. W. FAY.
JPtom the New York Mercnry.
It was at the battle of San Jacinto that
the rifle came to my notice. "We Texans,
having gained advantage over the Mexi
canswhose first discharge had been aim
ed too highrushed on while our enemies
paused to reload their guns. Each one
reserved his fire for some individual, so
that the struggle was less a uattle than a
succession of duels. Without bayonets,
we broke our rifles against their heads,
and, without pistol or bowie-knife in hand
trampled down the dying men, plunging
our blades into the breasts of the few who
opposed us, into the backs of those who
fled.
We were still full of momories of the
Alamo. Never could we forget how the
Mexicans had slaughtered every human
being within its walls, save threea wo
man, a child, and a negroand afterward
burned the bleeding bodies in one horri
ble pile.
The war-cry of our band had been:
-Fight for your lives and remember the
Alamo and the poor Mexicans, who
were, after all, but the slaves of
a blood-thirsty tyrant, thought of
it also, and moaned as they fell: "Me
no Alamo 1 Me no Alamo!" hoping to
establish a claim for mercy on the plea
that they had no hand in that horrible af
fair.
In the midst of this conflict I saw my
college chum, Howard Rath bone, in inand
stant peril. I rushed to his aid. Having
broken his gun over the head of one
Mexican, he found himself beset by an
ather, who cried out that he would avenge
his brother's blood. As they grappled,
the Mexican tried to use his rifle as mydinner.
chum had used his. I was in vain.
Howard was the stronger. In a faw moing.
ments he gained possession!"of the other's
weapon, and struck him a blinding blow.
Then, his hands being free, he drew his
bowie-knife and plunged it into the Mex
ican's heart. Meanwhile the savage tide
of fighting men poured past. This was a
little conflict by itself. Hardly any one
noticed it, there were so many others.
But as he fell, the dying Mexican clutched
the cloth of the soldier's coat in the grip
of death, and dragged him down upon his
breast, where for a moment he lay as one
who had cast himself upon the breast of
a friend. Only a moment but ere he
had freed himself these words had been
hisbed into his ears:
I curse the gun! May it prove the
curse of your life!"
As the Texan struggled to his feet,
wrenching the dead clutch from his
jacket, he felt inclined to cast the rifle
upon the ground. At the moment it was
too necessary to him. The next he was a
tiger again, beset by other tigers.
'Me no Alamo!" moaned the bleeding
Mexican.
He struck him down.
''Mother!" cried a boy, into whose
breast he had plunged his blade.
For answer he drove his iron heel into
the face that was hardly more than a
child's.
Seventeen years had passed since the
battle of San Jacinto, when I .went to the
house of a former chum to see
hisgo
daughter marry. Soon came the rustic
supper, the music of two fiddles, danc
ing, and plenty of drinkingtoo much
by far, but it is the custom of the coun
try. At last the bridegroom's father,
standing beside the father of the bride,
glanced up at the rifle hanging over the
chimney-piece.
"Some of the relics of your fighting
times, I leckon," said he.
"Yes, said Rathbone, "yes, I took
that from a Mexican rascal at San Ja
cinto."
"Well, well," said the other, regarding
the weapon with curiosity. "Sort of sin
gular looking, ain't it? I never saw a
Mexican rifle before. Can't see much of
it nowit's so high up."
He had been drinking a good deal and
was in high spirits. The same might
have been said of the old soldier.
"I'll have it down," said he, "and let
you see it."
He mounted on a chair and took the
weapon in his hands, the thongs by which
it was slung remaining on the nails.
"Here you are, friend," said he, "And
now you've got in your hand a rifle that
may have been the death of many a
brave fellow at the Alamo. It's seven
teen years since it was in anybody's hands
and its last shot, mayhap, was fired as a
kind of salute to my girl, your boy's
bride, who camo into the world on that
day, her mother not knowing whether she
was a widow or not. Eh, mother?"
"Ah! that's a day to remember," said
the wife.
"Pa has got his gun down," cried the
bride. "Sam, I never saw that gun
down before."
As she spoke the other man gave the
rifle "back into Rathbone's hands, and he
stood holding it.
"You don't dare to shoot me," cried
the bride. "Ah! pa, you're not as brave
a you used to be. You don't dare aim
at me."
"Yes, shoot us," laughed half a dozen
wild Texan girls. "Shoot usshoot us,
shoot us!''
"Then I will, my pretty robins," cried
the father. "One, two, three,flyaway or
I fire!"
He aimed the weapon that had hung
useless on the wall for seventeen years
the gun the Mexican had cursedat his
daughter. I was just as safe a thing to
do in one's opinion, as if it had been a
broomstick.
"Who's afraid?" cried the girl.
Now, then one, two, three," said the
soldier. "Bang!"
As he uttered the childish imitation of
the sound of fire-arms, it was drowned in
a real explosion. The gun went off, and
the bride dropped to the floor with a
scream. A bullet had entered her tem
ple. She was dead when they lifted her
in their arms. I was plain that seven
teen years before, the Mexican who had
owned it had not fired after reloading.
His dying words had been fulfilled.
His gun had proved a curse to its captor.
But how?
I am not willing to admit supernatural
agency. I mantain the gun exploded in
accordance with the laws of loading and
of friction. If men would only try to
trace mysterious events to their source,
superstition would soon cease. For one,
I believe nothing ever occurred which
could not be explained. That this is not
the common opinion the narrator is well
aware.
But amid all this agony and remorse,
my old chum persisted in one statement.
He had not pulled the trigger. Those
who had watched him closely veterans
expert in the use of firearms, declared
that he had not, that the rifle seemed to
fire itself off. All that the father could
say was: "The gun is cursed. The devil
of a Mexican cursed the gun."
To comfort him we all agreed it was so.
Indeed, lam not sure but they all thought
it. Inwardly I resolved to ferret out the
mystery.
The horrible accident nearly broke his
heart. He had been a fine looking, up
right, middle-aged man when his daugh
ter's wedding day when he arose from
his bed on which along and terrible ill
ness laid him, he was bent like a patriarch
of ninety, and his hair, from being brown
and rich, was thin and white as snow.
As for the gun the Mexican had cursed,
the soldier had never seen since that day.
Strong in her tenderness for the father,
even in her grief for her child, the moth
er had overcome her horror of the dread
ful thing, and had carried it to the great
garret. There she hid it in a lumber
closet, so that it might not trouble her
unhappy husband should his eyes ever
look upon the things of this world again.
He had never asked about it he believed
it had been destroyed. He did not know
that the powder-horn and the shot-bag
trungbeside it.
Again 1 was making my annual visit
at the old homestead. It was a warm day,
my former chum had been afield
since dawn. At noon his job was done,
and the boys who had toiled with him fol
lowed him home, full of glee that their
work was over.
"I shall take a nap, lads," he said, after
"As for you, you can do
thecherubim
same if you like, or you might go a fish
There's plenty of trout in the kill,
I'm told."
And so the boys both cried aloud that
fishing was their choice, their father sinil
ed upon them.
"Whatever troubles we've had, mother,"
he said, "we've two fine boys."
And he went to take his nap with a
lighter heart than he had often had since
the fatal marriage day.
But when he had fallen asleep he bereeds,
gan to dream strange, troubled dreams.
He was at the battle of San Jacinto, and
the Mexican's lips were at his ear.
"I cursed the gun." He heard again:
"May it prove a curse to you."
Other guns were tiring all about them
he heard the noise, he smelt the smoke.
Suddenly he awokethe noise of the re
port of firearms was actually in his ears
and he detected the odor of gunpowder.
He saw his wife on her knees in
theso
middle of the room.
"What has happened?" he cried.
"I do not know," sobbed the poor wo
man. "I heard the noiseI am frighten
ed!"
They then rushed together to the gar
ret, whence came a sound of groans.
Meanwhile I had heard the boys go past
my room and go up the garret stairs,
probably in search of fishing tackle. I
called them back.
Be careful, boys." I cautioned them,
about the lumber closet. There is an
old gun in it that may be loaded. Don't
near it."'
"All right," said Charlie "come on
Will."
Feeling I had done my duty, I settled
back to finnish an article for the Mercury.
"Fishing is very well said the elder,
but I'd like shooting better. What a
pity father wont let us have guns."
He crossed the garret and opened the
door of the lumber clost.
Yes, there the old thing is. I don't
believe its loaded. What if it is? Reckon
I know how to manage a gun!"
"Let's take it on the sly," said his
brother. Let it out of the window, and
I'll carry it to the woods. There is the
powder-flask and bullet-pouch, too. We
can get some caps at the store, Charlie."
"A good idea," said Charlie, advancing
toward the closet from which his brother
came, trailing the gun after him. Nei
ther of them guessed it was the gun that
had caused their sister's death. "Let'#
have it, Will," said he, and he took it.
Suddenly there was a flash,a report, and a
horrible scream from the little fellow,who
fell forward on his face at the feet of the
elder. His prostrate form was what his
parents saw as we three rushed into the
old garret.
The other boy stood utterly unable to
move, clutching the weapon that had
caused all this.
May God have mercy on us, ic is
the cursed rifle again!" cried the fa
ther.
Then the boy found words.
"I swear I did not load it!" he said.
"And I swear that I did not touch the
trigger!"
And still his brother lay dead at hisChild
feet.
On the night before I had seen a sight
that might have prophesied this tragedy.
Would heaven I had told of it.
The kitchen clock was striking eleven
In a country house like that people go to
bed early. The family had been to sleep
an hour. I was reading, but paused to
listen to the striking of the loud mouthed
clock. As it ceased I fancied I heard a
footfall upon the stairs. I opened the
door. Slowly the noise came nearer. I
had the sound that can come only from
a bare foot. The next second I saw my
host, Rathbone, approaching me.
"You'll catch cold, old fellow,'' said I.
"Put on your coat."
To my surprise he answered not at all
but came slowly on.
Then I saw, for the first time, a sum
nambulist.
For a moment I hesitated whether to
awaken him. He was easily mortified
and my catching him in such a plight
would prove disagreeable to us both. So
I simply followed him.
He wrent
on, past my door, and up the
stairs. At the garret entrance he stopped
a second, then lifted the latch and entered.
I was close behind.
Without the least hesitation lie advanc
ed to the lumber closet. I did not know
the old rifle was there, and again I fol
lowed. The moonlight streaming in
through the chinks in the eaves and
broken window, mad
the dreary place
quite light.
He turned the wooden bottom of the
closet door, and then drew out a powder
horn. Then he brought out a bag of shot
And then, the fatal gun.
At once I remembered it. Who, in
deed, that had ever seen it could forget
the heavily chased mountings of silver,
the grotesquely carved butt, the enormous
barrel? With the recollection there
1
DEFECTIVE PAGE
flashed upon me .such a horror as I had
never felt.
Still I was powerless to move. I tried
to cry out. My tongue refused.
At last I found utterance. But in the
brief moment I had thought of the con
sequences that must follow awaking him.
Here evidently was the precious secret
kept so longthe clue to his daughter's
death. No doubt the gun had been load
ed before the fatal bridal day, in theduties,
same manner, and by the same man, in
the same condition of somnambulism, as
I saw it being loaded now. The father
was unconscious that he was really the
murderer of his daughter. He knew the
gun had gone off in his hands, but had
ascribed it to the Mexican's curse. Why
should I undeceive him? So I let him
be. Shuddering, I saw him ram home a
charge, then put the rifle back.
Was I not right? Is there any event
so seemingly supernatural, so clothed in
mystery, that chance cannot make it plain
as any page of Nature's laws?
The old rifle is mine. I is gleaming
at me even now.J
The Frost Child.
It was a Christmas night, and from
his high northern home, where he sits
alone on a glittering throne by the side
of his father, King Winter, the Frost
Child descended into the milder zone to
roam through the cities of the world and
gaze in at windows draped for the holi
days. Though he came from the cold,
he was not cold. Over the yellow of his
hair he wore a coronet that shone with the
eternal brightness of a diamond, Two
luminous rings rose to the level of
hiswhat
crowned head like the pinions of the
in the pictmes of old time. In
his hand he bore a wand that he had
brought out of his father's realm, and as
he waved it before him the air filled
with myriads of frost flakes the little
laughing rivulet ceased her dancing and
became a sheet of pearl. Fine, etherial
transparent as a veil, the breath of the
Frost Child diffused itself and made an
atmosphere about him as he flew. The
branches of the cypress showed a glitter,
ing coat of mail when qe went by, and
grasses and tender shrubs glittered
beneath the treasure he scattered.
He stopped before the palace of a great
lady. "1 will tell her some tales of my
father's kingdom," he said and, forth
with he fell to tracing blossoming ferns
and glowing stars over all her window
panes. On all her laurel bushes he hung
wreaths of frost-flowers, aud decorating
her house and grounds he wrought all
night, but in the morning vanished away,
that when the lady asked "Where is
the exquisite artist?" no one was able to
tell.
He stood at last within a large and
brilliant city. From many a church
spire, silver bells rang in the happy
Christmas Eve. Waxen tapers sparkled
on the altars and windows. The shop
windows flashed with forms of costly
beauty, ablaze of jewels. Every-where
were merry groups of men, women and
children hurrying to and fio. Christmas
trees showed through half-open doors,
and gayety and good will filled the
streets. The Frost Child saw some
wanderers that he did not like but being
a Frost Child and a son of Kbtg Winter's
he could not understand that they were
pooi and suffering, and blamed them for
their sadness whiLe all around were glad.
Flashing in his jewels, unseen himself, he
mingled with the throng playing many a
trick, touching with his wand the beard
of some young man and fringing it with
white. On the cheek of beauty he froze
the tear ere it could fall he tingled the
finger-tips that were wrapped in sealskin,
and gave many a child a slap on theis
already too red cheek. With his wand he
drove some old men and women fiercely
over the ice of the pavements. He stop
ped to gaze in at the windows, always
leaving his pictures, stars, and ferns blos
soming all delicately fair on the smooth
table of crystal.
At last he waited before a window well
lighted in a shop of the second or third
grade, very pretty, but mostly in it were
displayed articles of use. This child
could not understand pain, hunger or cold
No emotion had ever kindled within or
warmed the heart of the Frost Child. A
beautiful Italian girl was looking in wist
fully at a tippet of gown, a bright red
flannel petticoat, a hood and a pair of
shoes. The extreme fever of exhaustion
had settled like a red rose leaf on each
cheek her feverish lips were slightly par
ted her breathing was hurried and quick.
A soiled bouquet was in her hand, the
last remnant of her day's labor. The Frost
Child breathed upon it it shriveled and
collapsed. A few small coins were in her
hand also but not enough to buy shoes,
tippet or hood. Unseen himself, the Frost
drew yet nearer to her heart his
coronet of brightness touched her bosom.
She shivered a little, trembled, and
walked up. The Frost Child followed,
now near and now afar off, but ever keep
ing her in sight. The two passed on up
the winding way of the city.
"She is more beautitul than-the bright
ness of my father's throne," whispered the
Frost Child to himself, "I will steal her
away, and she shall be with me and my fa
her alone in that solitary kingdom of
light."
"I can go no farther," sighed the Italian
girl "I am weary and must sleep."
She sat upon the great cathedral's step,
and laying one arm on the next step
above, she rested on it her weary head.
The jubilant notes of the organ exult
antly sang the songs of May and the stars.
They seemed to flood the church, and issu
ing therefrom to surge and roll above her
drooping form like billows of fire lor she
was no longer cold. The Frost Child
stood beside her unseen but the .shining
nimbus of his person enveloped both,
Languor and sweetness, ease and rest
possessed her. So fell the Italian girl in
to a lpng, long dream. The gay crowd of
the church passed outgirls in dresser of
gleaming satin, and matrons in velvets
and diamonds but none tamed to see the
girl who had fallen asleep on the fair
Christmas night, The Frost Child waited
by her side more luminous his starry eyes
grew through the darkness of the Christ
mas night, and sparkled like blades of
fine Damascus, the coronet set in the yel
low brightness of his hair. He waved nis
wand three times above the head of the
sleeping girl her form shriveled, and only
a little bit of pale white clay was left in
her place, for the wraith of the Italian
flower girl, out of the nimbus that snr
roundedbofh, arose fairer than any Christ
mas light, and with the Frost Child float
ed away.New York Graphic.
Little Things.
Every one is conscious how daily life
is governed and influenced by them.
Look over the events that go to make up
the whole of life, and notice how the
great things are few and far between
not even frequent enough to be mile
stones on life's highway. It is the mi
nutia of existence, the trivial round of
the little sorrows, the small pleas
ures, that, evei interweaving, form the
fabric of our lives. We admire the
exquisite commingling of colors, the
varied tints of mosaic work and the
pavements, like that of the Spanish
Alhambra. Yet how few remember, as
they gaze on them, that their beauty is
entirely derived from little pieces of
many colored woods, marbles and pre
cious stones, which viewed separately
often possess no remarkable beauty, but
artistically combined makes up a most
glorious whole. So in the hands of the
great Master Artist, all thine s, even the
smallest, are links in the grand chain that
shall compass His glorylittle threads in
the pattern that He has designed and
given us to work out in our daily lives,
though while working on it we only get a
glimps of its perfect symmetry and
beauty. Hultum in parvo is a fit deseript
ion of much in real life. The small
pleasures often bring more real joy to us
than the greater once, and the little gor
rows and troubles of life are often the
hardest to bear. All of us know well
how a little thing coming from a loved
one is full of significance to us. Onlv a
look from the eyes that we love, but our
hearts beat, our cheeks flush and our eyes
glow! A word, a clasp of the hand,
joy does it not give us! A world
of meaniDg lies beneath the common
courtesies of life. Mrs. Hemans says:
The road to home happiness lies over
little stepping-stones." Srange, that onee
learning the weight of significace these
little things can and do bear, we should
ever again carelessly fling them away or
use them lightly:
It is the little rift within the lute
That by-and-by will make the music mute,
And, ever widening, slowly silence all."
In society, little things have much
more influence than we are wont to im
agine. Solitude in a crowd is the worst
kind of solitude. To listen to the hum oi
happy voices and the peals of merry
laughter, aud yet have the consciousness
of beiDg out in the cold, on the outside
of it all, gives much the same sensation
as a begger feels when, staning out in
the rain and cold, from amidst his woe
and want, he looks in upon some cheerful,
fire-lighted room, where warmth and
plenty exist. For there is starvation of
soul, as well as of body, and we often
miss our opportunities of doing good in
this way. A kindly word will cost us
nothing. It is only a little thing, but its
eflect will be more than worth the spar
ing of a few minutes from our own pleas
ure. There are so many trifles, the omiss
ion of which may be no actual breach of
etiquette, but the performance of wich
will add much to the happines of others.
Miss Alcott beautifully says: "For in
these lives of ours, tender little acts do
more to bind hearts together than
great deeds or heroic words since these
are like the dear daily bread none can
live without the latter but an occasional
feast, beautiful and memorable in its ways
but not possible to all. To many of us,
great thiDgrf will never be given us to do.
What we can accomplish must always,
lie in the line of trifles, but we may be
encouraged by that expressive quotation,
"Refection is the sum of trifle." And
highest inspiration of all, "Be thou faith
ful over a few things and I will make
thee ruler over many things." "He that
faithful in that which is least, is faith
ful also in much.''Anna E. S. Beard, in
Interior.
The Story of a "Hired Girl."
A Wheeling (W. Va.) correspondent of
the Detroit Free Press tells the following
story: One day last summer a friend of
mine called upon me, informing me that
her girl wished to see me in regard to
taking mu.sic lessons. Of course, I was
somewhat surprised at the idea of a hired
girl wanting to take music lessons. Mrs.
her employer, seemed to look
upon her with the greatest respect. The
children, from baby Lucy up to big Tom,
placed all confidence in her, and would
run to Tillie with their little troubles in
preference to mamma, sometimes. After
seeing Tillie, and making the necessary
arrangements, it was her desire to come
for her lessons in the evening, when she
was free from her day's work. Mrs.
had given her the use of the
piano for an hour or so in the afternoon.
I was struck with her promptness and
lady-like manners, and could but think
her ambition was quite natural. All the
autumn and winter she came out untir
ingly, perhaps her eveniug would pass
and she would not come, but as sure as
the next day came, with it came a neat
note excusing herself on the ground that
"the ironing was so large," or "Mr.
came in so late for supper," but
I always missed the bright, sunny face
when she failed to come. How I used
to watch those poor red,stiff hands toiling
o\ er the kegs. "Music and kitchen work
do not agree very well, but I love my mu
ic so, it makes my task lighter in the
itchen," she would say cheerfully. Can
it be, I would think, that she is to be
looked down on simply because she was
compelled to slave for somebody? Ah,
no, she was doing her duty. It "was the
mission God had set out for herand
reward would come by and by. One
evening Tillie handed me a letter saying:
"I want you to read the offer of another
situation I have had." I little guessed
the contents as I took it from her. To
my astonishment and pleasure it was a
manly, noble heart, pleading for her life
to be placed in his keeping. Every word
spoke the true man, nothing sickly or
sentimental just such a letter as I would
want tv receive under similar circum
stances, and the writer, I knew the name
well, and knew him to be a perfect man.
I could but say as I handed back the let
ter, "I hope you accepted." "Yes," and
there was a wealth of happiness in thewhisper,
clear blue eyes, and some tears, too, I
imagined. "I never knew whas it was to
live before. Just the thought that there
is one person in the world to care for me
is such happiness." Then she told me
how, after receiving his letter, she wrote
to him telling him she was but a poor
girl, it would be better for them not to
meet"he came in a few evenings telling
me he knew exactly how poor was, he
asked me for nothing but my heart and
handcould I refuse?" Blessings on
the'stSS" ^vo?ed1i
to m?ric wd *WalIS,Wher
t'hf ^C
i
P^JS1: 8
presides over a pleasant little home all
her own. and looks up to her handsome
lord wondering like the old woman
"Can it be If"
DRIFTING
My soul to-dav is far awav,
Sailing the Vesuvian Bay
My winged boat, a bird afloat.
Swings round -the purple peaks remote:
Round purple peaks it sails, and seeks
Blue inlets and their crystal creeks,
Where high rocks throw through deeps below
A duplicated golden glow.
I heed not, if my rippling skiff
Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff
ith dreamful eyes my spirist lies
nder the walls of Paradise.
fall
an
6we,l
The bay's deep breast at intervals
At peace I lie, blown softly by,
A cloud upon this liquid sky
Over the rail my hand I trail
Within the shadow of the sail
A joy intense, the cooling sense
Glides down my drowsy nidolenee.
With dreamful eyes my spirit lies
here summer sings aud never dies
O'erveiled with vines, she. glows and chines
Among her future oil and wines.
No more, No more the worldly shore
Upbraids me with its loud uproar'
With dreamful eyes mv spirit lies
nder the wall-, of Paradise!
T. Buchanan Head.
.Miscellaneous Paragraphs.
If some men were measured bv theance
size ot their hearts and souls, a mn-patc
would make them a suit of clothes, in
cluding an Ulster overcoat.J)errick.
"What's the difference, asked the teach
er in arithmetic, "between one yard and
two yards?" "A fence!" said Tommy
Beales. Then Tommy sat on the ruler
fourteen times.
We were shown a verv beautifully-dec
orated piece of pottery, yesterday. Jt was
a deep red on the outside, and "the inside
was decorated with two quarts of beans
and a half pound of pork.
The Orientals are very trusting to each
other- 'Are you not afraid to go away
from your shop without lockin." it?" a
traveler asked an Egyptian up the river.
'Oh, no, answered the man coolly, there
is not a Christian within three miles'."
"Never hug a girl in tight-fitting cor-
sets," is the warning of theElmira Gazttte.
1 es, to be sure, but then vou knower
erhow is a fellow to know, you know,
JU8terwell,
how do you find" how thev
fat before you begin hugging, anyhow?
Jlmck-Eyc.
A passenger-train on an Irish railway,
a few days since, ran an intoxicated fellow
on the track. He was so insensible to the
magnitude of his misfortune as to remark
to the guard, as he looked at his own lac
erated limbs, "Arrah,now, this is too bad
1 didn't mean to stop the train."
"I don't know what you mean by being
an Irishman," said a gentleman wuo was
about hiring a boy, "but you were born in
Ireland." Oeh, your honor, if that's all."
said the boy, "small blame to that: sup
pose your cat was to have kitten:, in the
oven, would they be loaves of bread
"Mama, where do the cows get the
milk*" asked Willie, looking up from the
foaming pan of milk which he had been
intently regarding. "Where do you get
your tears, was the answer. After" a
thoughtful siience, he again broke out.
"Mama, do the. cows have to be spanked'."
A Harvard student was called to ac
count tor having publicly styed the pro
fessor of Hebrew "a first-class mule."
He admitted having made the remark,
but said he intended it as a compliment.
"Explain yourself." said the professor.
"Why, a first-class mule is necessarily a
good 'He-bray-it.'
Spurgeon says he has often thought,
when hearing certaia preachers of a high
order speaking to the. young, that they
must have understood "the Lori to say
"Feed my cameleopards," instead of "Feed
my lambs," for nothing but giraffes could
reach any spiritual food froLi die loity
rack on which they place it.
He was so drunk that he could no
walkcould scarcely move and only par
tially articulate. A friend of his came
up and upbraided him. "If I were in
your place," said the friend, "I'd go out
in the woods and hang myself.'1
"If ih'.c)
you were ihio in my place, how (hie the
deuce (hie) would you get to (hio the
woods?" was the Squelching inquiry.
The following recipe for doing up shirts
will be found of use to many housewives:
Take two ounces of gum arabic powder
put it into a pitcher and pour on it a piut
or so of water and then, having coveied
it up, let it stand all night. In the morn
iug pour it carefully from the dregs into
a clearf bottle, and cork it anb keep it for
nse. A tablespoonful of gum water stir
red into a pint of starch, made in the usu
al manner will give to the lawns, either
white or printed, a look of newness when
nothing else can restoie them, after they
have be nwashed.
Usefulness of Old Maids.
CI-ACOK KAYNOIt.
People who exist in this latter half of
the nineteenth century are wont to dis
cuss the question of the availability of
ancient maidens for useful purposes, "with
the most absurd gravity a,-, if celibacy
might, of itself, unfit one for the ordinary
duties of life, and as if marriage were
the only gate to the land of usefulness.
But, stiitoge as it may seem, it has been
proved that old maids can do a great
many things very well. It is evident to
all close observers, that woman has been
known to cook, sweep, scrubin short, to
perform all the labors and duties of a
housekeeper, and that in the best man
ner, without ever having visited the mat
rimonial altar. It has also been clearly
shown that she can be a first-class milli
ner, tailor, sales-woman, teacher, book
keeper, telegraph-operator and has shown
herself efficient in many other ways that
"time would fail me to'tell of," without
ever saying over, even to herself in a
the marriage formula.
That old maids can win a royal posi
tion in literature and art, there "is more
than a hint in the names of Alice and
Phoebe Cary, Frederika Bremer, Char
lotte Oushman, Rosa Bonheur. Harriet
Hosmer, and very many others.'
And yet there are those who, in the
face of the record that single women
have made in all the past, will ever and
anon raise the solemn inquiry, "Is there
any place for old maids in the social
economy? Is there any way to utilize
wh
thi
WU
I
as
Th6
liSh3yrWiniD
?*?T*. the old maid
were anew kind of bug or animal, dis
covered very recently,"and with haunts
and habits wholly unknown.
But perhaps, with them, the question is
whether old maids will have a usefulness
peculiar to themselves. In other words
do they subserve any purpose which, a*
married women, they could not
The case seems a little doubtful, but
let us see. There has been much written
apout the self-sacrificing old maid who
yields herself up a willing victim to the
demands of numerous brothers, sisters
and their little ones, and o manages to
annul her natural worthlessncs. 'well
some of them do that way, and some of
them do not, and besides a widowed sis
ter or aunt might do just as effective serv
ice in the martyr enterprise, so that does
i not prove anything.
I can think of but two branches of
business ot which old maids have the mo
nopoly, and it takes two kinds of spinsters
to attend to those. The hatchet-faced
vinegary piece of antiquity may be Use
ful in driving weak, timid souls into mat
rimony from a fear of being, some dav
like unto her while the gentle, sweet
faced, .serene specimens serve to encour
age others to be true to their own woman
ly instincts and walk bravely through a
solitary life, rather than do violence to
their natures by a marriage based upon
anything else than pure affection.
1 know ol no other mission peculiar to
old maids but as there is such abundant
testimony to the variety of import
of their work, it seems rather unfair
to ask that they do everything that other
women do, and a very great deal besides,
to prove their right to "life, liberty, and
the pursuits of happiness." And when
we ponder the fact that old maids have
even trained up children to a maturity of
honor and usefulness, it does seriously
suggest the idea of an essay or two upon
the "usefulness of married women, as
such."
His Dog and His Bride.
From tb Burlington Havrkeyo.
On Wednesday a bridal party boarded
the train at Elizabeth, New Jersey. I
heard laughter and weeping, and I knew
that laughter and weeping never went
well together, except at weddings. I saw
the bridegroom, happy, laughing, fussy as
an old hen with her" last lone chicken,
holding a black-and-tan dog tenderly in
his arms, and duelling his bride by the el
bow, to help her on the car. The brake
man shouted:
"Hold on take that dog to the baggage
car." Dismay, consternatiMi, terror, came
out and sat all over that young man's
face, but it brightened up again with a
happy thought. He dropped hi* bride's
arm, and folded both arms about the
dog of his heart.
"No you don't," he shouted: "no you don't.
I've got letters lor that dog. "l've got
a letter for that dog from the superinten
dent of the division. This dog goes with
me.
Ami he danced up and down the plat
form with excitement, while the brake
man helped his bride on the train, and
then the \oung husband followed, cling
ing to the precious dog.
But when the party came back into the
sleeper, then there was a scene. The por
ter looked at the dog uneasily, and said
he "allowed it was kind ot on regular, tot
in' dogs into de parlor cars." Whatever
missgivings fie may have hayl on the sub
ject were speedily cleared by a passenger.'
a testy oid gentleman with a back as
broad as a county atlas, and a breath
short that he breathed thice limes in
speaking a wont ot two syllables, an old
gent with the baldest head that ever
mocked hair oil, ahead with a fringe of
upright, bristly hair all around it.
His bare feet spread out on the floor,
his Mispenders dangled down behind him,
his fat face glowed with rage, and he
roared out to the porter:
"Out with that dog. No dogs sleep
where I do. I ain't used to it, and I
won't have it. Trundle him out."
"Hold on there,'' cried the confident
husband, "thnt dog's all right. I've got
letters''
"Blast your letters." roared the party.
"The whole United States Post Office De
partment can't crowd a dog in on Ut?.
teH you, young man, it "ain't right, it
ain't decent, and, by gum, it .in't safe.
Body of a man in the baggage car now,
on this very train, that was bit by a lap
dog two weeks ago while he was asleep,
and died just t-leven days afterward.
Country's lull of mad dogs.
This wis a lie about the dead man, but
it woke everybody in the car, set all the
women to screaming, and armed public
sentiment against the dog.
"But I tell you the dog isn't mad," per
sisted the owner, "and he'll have to stay
in here. I have letters from the superin
tendent of the division"
"Blast the superintendent" roared the
asthmatic passenger, triumphantly. He's
got nothing to do with the sleeping car.
Take the dog into a day coach and shut
him up in a wood box." Throw him over
board. I don't care what vou do with
him, but he can't stay here."
"But. my dear sir," pleaded the young
man.
"Don't want to hear nothing!" yelled
the fat passenger. I dont travel with a
menagerie. Nobody wants your dog in
here!"
"No. Nobody! Nobody wants him!"
came in hearty, fearless chorus from the
other berths, the chorus carefully and
modestly keeping itself out of sight, so as
not to detract from the power of the solo
who was gasping out the most terrific de-'
nunciations of all dogs in general, and
especially this one particular dog.
"But my dog," the young man would
lead.
"Divil take your dog, sir," the old pas
senger weuld gasp. "What is your dog
or any man's dog to my comfort? I say
I shan't sleep with him in this car. He
can't stay here."
Well, the upshot of it was, the dog had
to emigrate into a day coach, and it is a
gosbel fact that that" man. just marrid,
with the prettist bride that has been seen
in this coontry (since eight years ago)
didn't know whether to sit in the day
coach and hold his dog all night or stay
back in the sleeper with his wife.
He trotted in and out from one car to the
other untill nearly midnight, keeping
everybody in a fidget.
JIfdieal Hlntf*.
Disinfectant.Liqht, air and cleanliness are
the three greatest disinfectants known to med
ical men. With these and no medicine, it
said that small-pox has been most successfully
treated both in Europe and here.