The Russellville Democrat. [volume], May 13, 1880, Image 1

About The Russellville Democrat. [volume] (Russellville, Ark.) 1875-1898

Image provided by: Arkansas State Archives

                
VOL VI.RUSSELLVILLE, POPE COUNTY, ARKANSAS, THURSDAY, MAY 13, 1880. NO. 16.
LINES IN AN ALBUM.
BRET HARIS, IN THE CALIFORNIAN.
Sweet Mary—maid of San Andreas—
Upon her natal day,
Procured an album, double gilt,
bln titled, 'The Bouquet."
But what Its purpose ww, beyond
ltd name, sue could not guess;
And so between its gilded leaves
The flower he gave she’d press.
Vet. blame her not, poetic youth,
Nor deem too great the wron>;
she knew not Hawthorne’s bloom, uor loved
Macauly’s flowers of soug.
Her hymn-book was the total sum
Of poetic lore:
And, having read through Dr. Watts,
She did not ask for Moore.
Blit when she ope’d her book again,
How great wan her surprise
To find the leaves, on either side,
Stained deep with crimson dyys.
And that rose—his latest gift—
A shapeless form she views;
Its fragrance sped, its beauty fled,
Aud vanished all its dews.
Oh Mary—maid of San Andreas—
Too sad wus your mistake;
Vet, one, methinks, that wiser folks
Are very apt to make /
Who ’twixt these leaves would fix the shapes
That Lore aud Truth assume,
Will And they keep, like Mary’s rose,
The stain, and not the bloom.
. . . M .
WANTED.
Marlin Woodbridgc—her name was
Martha, but no one called her so—lived
on the outskirts of a small village.
Her father was a farmer, but not a
prosperous one. Nature, with her frosts
and draughts, wus always getting the
upper band of him, and the crops which
he raised were sure to be those which
brought the lowest price in the market.
The canker worm stripped his apple
tree, and a late frost blighted the corn
and oats. He had the misfortune to hnv
a cow which introduced the cattle dis
ease into the farm-yard, and Creamer,
Spotty and Whitefuce—the three cows
flint always tilled their pails the fullest
end made the most golden butter—sick
ened and died.
This was the question which Martie
puzzeled over from day to day, coming
at last to the conclusion that she must
try her luck in the big world which she
had seen so little of outside of her own
small village. She would go to London,
and, it possible, find there a situation as
governess, in which she eould at least
provide for her ow n support.
Her mother let fall a few quiet tears
«ver the plan, and smiling patiently
through them said:
"Ask your father.”
Mr. Wood bridge said "No” at first; but
having lain awake all night over his
difficulties, he called Martie to him,
kissed her solemnly, give a weary sigh,
and with it bis consent.
So it came to pass that on a cool, crisp
October morning, when the woods were
at their brightest autumn flush, and the
frost had stiffened tlis grass into little
silvery blades and spears, and made the
few pale flowers that lingered by the
roadside hang their heads, Martie put on
her bravest smile, made hopeful, com
forting little speeches, kissed them all
good bye at home—the dear old home,
so full of joys and troubles—and started
for London, to put into that great, hur
rying, driving, jostling market the
modest wares bIh* had to offer.
Martie was eager and full of hope; but
alas! how much eagerness and hopeful
ness go down to death every day, m the
frantic rush and scramble for the good
things going. Martie in the great city,
looking for work to do, seemed like a
quiet little wren trying to pick up a
worm or a crumb where hawks and vul
tures were snatching and clawing for
plunder.
Matie was met the moment she step
ped from the train by an old friend of
the family, who bad kindly promised to
receive her at her house, and do what
she eould to assist her.
The next day, early in the morning, a
modest, unpretending little advertise
ment was sent to one of the daily news
papers. What a stupendous affair it
seemed to Martie, and how her unsoph
isticated little heart beat at the thought
of it! Nothing could come of it that
day, however; and while she goes out
with Mrs. Allen to do a little shopping,
and stare at a few of the city lions, let us
take a look at the quarters she has fallen
Into.
Mrs. Allen kept n small private lodg
ing-house, very select and very genteel.
Its iumates were the leurned i*rof. Big
wig and family, from whose presence a
certian literary aroma was supposed to
pervade the atmosphere; the brilliant
(k>l. Boreas, hero—according to his own
account—of numberless battles: a rising
young lawyer, with his pretty, blush
ing girl-wife, all fresh and lovely in her
new bridal toilet, a rich w idow and her
still richer daughter, who, it is said, was
soon to become the helpmate of the cleri
cal member of the household, the Kev.
Paul Apollot, and last, though not leant,
the representative of the tine arts, Mr.
Raymond, an artist, whose pictures had
won golden praises from critics and con
noisseurs and golden prices from pur
chasers.
Mr. Raymond was Martie’s left-hand
neighbor at the table. With the first
glance at his dark face, iron-gray hair
und mustache and deep-set gray eyes,
she felt rather inclined to be afraid of
him. When he smiled she liked him
better, und thought the gray eyes looked
kind; and as she felt very shy and lone
some among all these strange faces, she
was glad to have him talk a little to her,
and Like care that she was provided with
all she wanted.
_ CJ* the second morning after her ar
rival in the city Murtie’s advertisement
appeared. Mrs. Allen sent a paper un
to her room before she was out of bed,
so that almost as soon as her eyes were
open she had begun to hope, and to lie
afraid, and to wonder it, out of so many
people who she supposed would come to
tee her, any one of them would think
well enough of her to want her ser
vices.
Martie was very painstaking with her
toilet that morning. She wanted to look
her best. She s]tent twice the usual time
over her wavy, gold-brown hair, and she
had put on her pretty gray dress—the
gray dress for morning, and the black
silk lor afternoons—and fastened the
. dainty spotless eol’ar und cuff's, she
dallied fully five minutes over her little
stock of ribbons, trying this one and
that, and went down at lust to breaktast,
looking, to Mr. Raymond’s artist eyes,
which took her in at a glance, like a wild
rose just out of a thicket, with the dewy
morning brightness brimming in her
brown eyes, the pink of rose petals in
her cheeks, und soil, warm, shimmering
sunbeumN woven into the ripple of iter
brown hair. How his artist fingers
I longed for canvas and colors, to give his
beloved St. Agnes that beautiful hair!
But the wild rose might as weil have
been blooming in her native thicket. In
vain Martie peeped from the front win
dows, and held her breath when the
door bell rang. No one came to see the
gray dress that morning.
1 lie black dress fared better. It was
called upon; and Martie went down to
the jiarlor, with her heart in her mouth,
to meet the grand lady whose carriage
ami dashing horses she had watched as
they drew' up in splendid style before
the house. But, alas! Martie was not
experienced, and Martie was too young,
and, though inadame did not say so,
Marty was too pretty, for there was a
grown up son in the" family, and to set
youth and beauty before" him in the
shape, of a young goverress would be
tempting Providence. Madame was very
sorry, hoped this and that, and swept
gracefully out to her carriage, while
Martie monnted with rather a slow step
to her little four-story room, to watch
and wait, and wonder if everybody
would find her too voung. She was not
to blame for it, anyhow, she said to her
self, trying to coax a laugh.
No one else came ttiat day, but the
next morning there was an "early call
for “ the lady who advertised." Martie
was glad she had on the gray dress; per
haps she looked older in it. But gray
or black was all the same ; she was again
weighed iti the balace und found want
ing—not in years this time, but in Ger
man ; and as one weary hour after
another went by, and no other appli
cants appeared, Martie grew heavy
hearted. Her adveitisement was to
apjiear for three days. Two had already
passed, resulting only in disappointment,
Mrs. Allen tried to encourage her, but
when night came, ardthe six o’clock
flinner Mwrtip fplf an l i otvl Iwimouiolr
“ I hope no one has made arrange
ments to carry you ofl just yet,” Mr.
Raymond said, as he took a seat beside
her at their end of the long table.
“ No,” said Martie. “ No one wants
me. I’m too young, and I don’t know
German.” And a big round tear rolled
over into her teacup.
*■ There’s no cause for discouragement
in that, I assure you,” said Mr. Ray
mond. “ I know people who would not
find fault with you on either score.”
Then he went on talking to her in such
a pleasant way that she soon became in
terested, forgot her troubles and the
tears in her teacup, and was as merry as
though she bad been older and had
known German.
Mr. Raymond stayed down stairs until
10 o’clock, read aloud an old-time fire
side story, and kept the ball of conver
sation rolling in such pleasant channels
that the evening was gone before Martie
knew it, and in spite ol all her disap
pointment it had somehow been the
pleasancest one she had spent there.
The next morning a lady same to see
Martie in behalf of her mother-in-law,
and Martie engaged to go on the follow
ing day to see the place and jieojde.
There was no poetry about Mrs. My
rick. She was pure, unadulterated;
wanted her girls to have a good, strong
education—no jimcracks, no furrin lan
guage to jabber in. She was willing to
pay good wages—would give a governess
£20 a year and her board; but she
mustn't expect much waiting on. They
didn’t keep any servants—didn’t neecl
any, a pity 'twould be if two hearty girls
like hers couldn’t do their own work.
Poor Martie. She would not say no at
once, because this was, thus far, her
only chance; so she promised to give an
answer soon, and went back to her room
praying heaven to send her something
better.
She thought her prayer was answered
when a gentleman called that evening,
talked with her about his three little
girls, and seemed well satisfied with the
modest account she gave of herself. He
was very particular about music, how
ever, and would be very glad to hear
Miss Woodbridge play. Their interview
hud taken place in the kindly shelter of
the quiet little reception room; but the
piano was in the big parlor, and in tlieir
the professor and the Rev. Paul Apollos
wore discussing earth and heaven. The
Colonel was stalking about, showing off
his martial figure; the young bride, by
uie siue ui nor new lorn, w as non line
court in tlie midst of a lively circle of
callers.
Shy, bashful Martie! bow could she
play before all these people? Poor, timid
little wren, that had just crept from un
der the mother-wing and flown out of
her nest. Could she show what sweet
music she knew how to make with a
crowd of listeners?
There were none of the airs and graces
of tlie music-pouiiding young woman
about Martie, as she dropped down upon
the piano stool and took a moment’s
grace before entering upon tlie dreadful
ordeal. ’Twas no use waiting, but oh,
if the gentleman would but sit down!
Why will he stand beside her and watch
her poor frightened fingers, as they trip
and stumble, give a wild jump for a dis
tant note, miss it, make a dive lor one
octave and light on another, and at last
lose their way altogether and go on chas-'
ing their wav up and down the keyi
board. Martie knows tlie piece she is
trying to play as well as she knows her
name, but it all flies out of her head and
slips away from her fingers, and she ends
at last with a finale of her own impro
vising, feeling her hair stand up straight
on her head as she does it.
The gentleman was “much obliged,”
left almost immediately, and Martie, in
a state of grief and mortification, was
rushing through the halt, exclaiming,
with a sob, as she covered her face with
her hands, “What shall 1 do?” when she
was suddenly stopped at the foot of the
stairs by Mr. Raymond.
“My dear child,” said he, “don’t take
it so to heart. I’ve heard you play that
piece before, ami thought now well you
did it; but of course you couldn’t play
with all those people staring and listen
ing. The man was a brute to ask you to
do it.”
“Oh, no; it’s 1 who am such a simple
ton,” said Martie, “but you are very
good to me;" and she hurried up stairs,
longing to get where nobody could see
I her, but feeling comforted a little, even
1 then, by the tender sympathy which
had done its best to console her.
Once in her room the floodgates were
opened, ami Martie cried over what she
called her disgraceful failure, until she
had succeeded in getting up a raging
headache. Then she went to bed with
the determination of writing in the
morning to Mrs. My rick, informing that
lady tnat she was ready to accept her
offer and enter upon the “eddication” of
her daughters. Hut before she had time
to carry her resolution into effect Mrs.
Myrick herself appeared, having made
I up her mind that Martie would not do
for them. She hadn't been brought in
their ways, and was like to lie too per
tickler.
ThuH vanished all hopes of success from
advertising. Mrs. Allen next advised
that Martie should try one of the educa
tional agencies in this city, and an ap
plication was accordingly’ made. Then
followed more days of a"i. i*us waiting
and of hopes deferred, resulting at last
in a visit and a generous offer from a
lady who won Martie’s heart from the
outset with her pleasant face and win
ning ways and her gentle, motherly talk
al>oht the little boy and the two little
girls at home for whom she wanted a
teacher and companion. But, alas ! that
home lay hundreds of miles away.
It seemed to Martie like going’ to the
ends of the earth. She had twenty-four
hours in which to decide; spent half the
time in wavering between yes and no—
between the courage to go and the home
sickness that crept over her at the very
thought of it. Then scolding herself for
a genuine coward, she made up her mind
that go she must and go she would.
“What?” exclaimed Mr. Raymond in a
tone of surprise. “Have you really made
up your nund to go so far from hftine and
all vour friends?”
“Yes, I must go,” said Martie, with a
little quiver in her voice. “Please don’t
say anything to discourage me."
“I wouldn’t for the world,” returned
Mr. Raymond, “only that I know of a
situation nearer home which you can
have if you will accept it. Come into
the reception-room and 1 will tell you
about it.”
Martie was all eagerness now. How
delightfhl if, after all, she should not be
obliged to make an exile of herself.
“It is a companion, not a teacher, that
is wanted,” Mr. Raymond continued.
“ Would you be willing to take a situa
tion as companion?”
Martie’s face fell a little, but she an
swerfifl:
“I should be very glad to take such a
situation, if I could till it. Do yoa think
I could?”
"I'm sure you could."
"Do you know a person who wants a
companion?"
“Yes."
“Who is it?”
“Myself.”
“Yourself! How—what—” The ex
act question which Martie intended ask
ing just here must be left to the imagi
nation, since she did not seem to be
quite clear about it herself.
Mr. Raymond continued: “Yes, it is
I, Martie. I want you for my compan
ion, my wife.” The gray eyes twinkled
as he asked, "will you take my situa
tion?”
An hour later Mrs. Allen entered the
room exclaiming, “Bless my soul!” as
she stumbled upon an unmistakable pair
of lovers.
“My dear Mrs. Allen,” said Mr. Ray
mond, taking his blushing “companion”
by the hand, and leading her to the as
tonished old lady, "I know you will be
glad to hear that Martie will'not now be
aple to make an engagement with that
lady; she has already made one with
ine.”
Joe Pitroong’ Adventure.
Philadelphia Tim*g.
Joe Parsons was a Baltimore boy, and
a little rough, but withal a good-hearted
fellow and a brave soldier. He got
badly wounded at Antietam, and thus
laconically described the occurance and
what followed to some people who visit
ed the hospital:
“What is your name?”
“Joe Parsons.”
“What is the matter?"
“Blind us a bat. sir; both eyes shot
out.”
“At what battle?”
“Antietam.”
“ljow did it happen?”
“1 was hit und knocked down, and
had to lie all night on the battle field.
The fight was renewed next day, and I
was under fire. I could stand tne pain,
but could not see. 1 wanted to see or
get out ei the lire. 1 waited and listened
and presently heard a man groan ueur
me.
“ ‘Hello!’ says I.
" ‘Hello yourself,’ says he.
“ ‘Who be you?’ says 1.
“ ‘Who be you?’ says he.
“ ‘A Yankee,' says I.
“ ‘Well, I’m a Reb,’ says he.
“ 'What’s the matter?’ says I.
* 1V,6 ° nuiomicii, dpv n uc.
“ ‘Cuu you walk?” says I.
“ ‘No,’ says he.
“ ‘Can you see?’ says I.
“ ‘Yes, says he.
“ ‘Well.’ says I, ‘you’re* rebel, but I'll
do you a little favor.’
“ ‘What’s that?’ says he.
“ ‘My eyes are shot out,’ says I, ‘and
if you’ll snow me the way I’ll carry you
out,’ says I.
“ ‘All right,’ says he.
“ ‘Crawl over here,’ says I; aud he
did.
“ ‘Now, old Butternut,’ says I, ‘get on
my back;’ and he did.
“ ‘Go ahead,’ says he.
“ ‘Pint the way, says I, ‘for I can’t see
11 blessed thing.’
“ ‘Straight ahead,’ ” says he.
“The halls were a flying, all round
und 1 trotted otf and was soon out ot
range.
“ ‘Bully for you,’ says he, ‘but you’ve
shook my leg almost off.’
“ ‘Take a drink,’ says he, holding up
bis canteen, and I took a nip.
“ ‘Now, let us go on,’ says he, ’kind o’
slowly,’ and I took him up, und he did
the navigation and J dul the walkin’.
After i had carried him nearly a mile,
and was almost dead, he said:
“ ‘Here we are; let me down.’
Just then a voice said:
“ Hello, Billy; where did you get that
Yank?*
“ ‘Where are we?’ suys 1.
“ ‘In the rebel camp, of course,’ says
lie; and <1-n my buttons if that rebel
hadn't ridden me a mile straight into
the rebel camp. Next day McClellan’s
army advanced and took us both in, and
then we shook hands and made it up;
but it was a mean trick of him, don't
you tliink so?”
Mark Twain in Hadau-Hadaji
“It is an inane town, filled with sham
and petty fraud and snobbery, but the
baths arc good. 1 spoke with muny
people, and they all agreed in that. 1
(tad twinges of rheumatism unceasingly
for three years, but the last one departed
after a fortnight’s bathing there, and 1
have never had one since. I fully be
lieve I left my rheumatism in Baden
Baden. Buden- Baden is welcome to it.
It was little but it was all I had to give.
I would have preferred to give some
thing that was catching, hut It was not
in my jiower."
FACTS FOR FARMERS.
Omw and Hacks—Interesting Notes.
GKK8K AND DUCKS.
In selecting geese, choose from the
Toulouse, Bremen or Chinese varieties.
The Toulouse and Chinese are gray, f.h»
Bremen white. Geese do not object to
the snow in the winter ii it be not deep;
but they should be allowed the shed or
other inclosure in severe weather. They
require only moderate feeding. We
prefer allowing the geese to incubate
their own eggs. When the goslings are
hatched, retain them until about a week
old. Feed them a little bread or meal,
but they will live chiefly on grass and
water. The water shouta be placed in a
shallow dish sunk in the earth until the
top ia level with the ground. The dish
requires to be shallow. We had a friend
who lost five young goslings by having a
bucket sunk as above. The'old bubs
splashed about half of the water out, and
tne young birds going in were drowned.
When a week old allow them to go until
fall, when they should be fattened the
same as turkeys. When picking a goose,
submerge the bird in water almost boil
ing hot, then wrap it coarse linen and
place near the fire to dry. This is much
better, easier and quicker than removing
the feathers by the old method. Bring
your goose in a nice condition to market.
The favorite varieties ot ducks are
Aylesbury, Rouen and Pekin. The
Aylesbury and Pekin are white, the
Rouen gray. Ducks require much the
same winter management as geese, but
cannot stand the cold as well. When
they begin laying they must be shut in
every night. If this be not done it be
comes a difficult matter to find their eggs,
as they are suspicious and change their
nests very often. But, as they invariably
lay early'in the morning, the eggs are
easily gathered by shutting them in each
night. It is best* to set their eggs under
a nen. Wiien the young birds are
uaicueu, jeeu uiem uie ssme oh me
young turkeys, only we would not give
them the onion tope. Arrange for them
the water dish which the goslings have
left. If any appear weak, give them a
little new milk to drink. They require
but little care in the summer. In the
fall they should be fattened the Bame as
geese and turkeys. Pick the same
as the geese, and be sure and have them
looking their best when taken to mar
ket.—Farmert’ Advocate.
INTERESTING NOTES.
In the absence of bamvard manure,
plaster or gypsum is the cheapest fertil
izer for clover after it has come up, if
applied at the rate of 100 pounds to the
acre.
Canary grass has been raised with con
siderable profit in California, but we
cannot learn that much success has at
tended its trial at the East. It would
probably do best in the middle and
southern States.
Corn smut is not poisonous like rye
ergot. Analysis by Prof. W. K. Kedzie,
of Kansas, showed that it had no starch,
nor any deleterious constituents. Cows
fed on it at the rate of six ounces a day,
mixed with meal, were not injured; the
one with wet food gained in flesh ; the
one with dry meal lost flesh—showing
that the injury caused by it was the want
of moisture, in the same way that ani
mals lose when fed on hard and dry
cornstalks, from a want of digestible
food and nutriment.
Speaking of the best plan to rid a
home of ants a lady writes : 1 have used
tartar emetic, mixed with white sugar.
For the quantity of sugar that a small
saucc-plate would bold, put in as much
tartar emetic as you could put upon the
point of a large penknife blade. After
it is mixed, moisten it with water to pre
vent the ants from nrrvtnff it. nff and
place it where
never known it ,
ments of the pest. It is simple and
effective.
Salt is so soluble in water that it makes
very little difference in what way it is
applied, whether on plowed or grass
land, on the surface or otherwise. If ou
the surface, it is soon dissolved by rains,
or by the moisture of the soil with which
it is in contact. Even if slightly buried,
the water of the soil soon effects its solu
tion, and it is held and gradually diffused
through it. The more common practice,
however, is to spread it in spring on the
surface, and allow the rains to carry it
down into the soil. Experiments are
limited as to its effects on different
crops, no Jar, tney lavor us us* cnicny
for wheat. Sometimes, perhaps, from
peculiarities of soil, it has little effect.
AatnlttM of OMM-tMkm.
Courier-Journal.
There are a number of applicants here
who seek to All the place occupied bv
the late J udge Hays. One of the aspir
ants was in Washington when he re
ceived the news of the vacancy at a late
hour on the evening of Monday. About
midnight a member of Congress and his
wile were aroused by a thundering rap
at their door. A note was handed to the
halt-awake member. He read:
“Judge Hays is dead; advise me
promptly what to do to secure the
place."
The answer was:
“Better not disturb the President to
night; it will be a little more decent to
wait until after the funeral."
Such scrambles for office are so dis
gusting that it is strange that gentlemen
will so demean themselves.
There is a story told of a man who
was promised the first vacancy in the
Post-office Department. One day while
lastly sauntering near the river, he saw
a dead man dragged ashore. He looked
at the face and recognised a clerk whom
he had known in the Post-office. He ran
all the way to the department, rushed
into the presence of the Postmaster-Gen
eral an<l demanded his appointment.
“I only promised you a place when
there was a vacancy," said the Post
master-General.
“There is one,” said the excited indi-4
vidual. “I saw the dead body of John
Jones dragged out of the river.”
Slowly the Postmaster-!ieneral enun
ciated the following words:
“You are too late. One hour ago the
place was given to the man who saw
John Jones when he fell into the
river."
-,—^
Two Torrtbio Dull.
London Telegiaph.
A horrible story of a duel between
'wo inhabitants of Morocco is rejiorted
from Oran. The two principlas, both
occupying a good position, were enam
ored ol the same beauty, and agreed to
tight for her possession. The combut
unts met at a short distance from Me
nuinei, each being armed with a carbine
a revolver and a hunting knife, and
mounted ou horseback. The dualists
rushed at one another at full speed,
which resulted in one of the horses be
ing killed, and the light was continued
on foot. Alter the itwo men had re
ceived several bullets in different parts
of their bodies they closed and com
! sagged a voilent and horrilne struggle
with their knives. One of the men
thrust his knile into the other’s throat
and received a cut from his enemy wtiich
opened the whole of his chest. Too
weak to use their arms, the dving men
took to biting one another, and expired,
the one with liis teeth closing on the
other’s cheek, who gave up his last
breath in endeavoring to rip open his
adversary’s body.
The object of the encounter was thus
gained, as each prevented the other ob
taining the hand of the girl, who must
in future endeavor only to captivate
one admirer at a time if she wishes to
secure a husband.
After all, this is child's play compared
with a desperate encounter described by
the impartial of Madrid as taking place
at Valparaiso. A quarrel between two
rival professors of music led to a chal
lenge, the instrument selected being
neither pen nor sword, but the piano.
The conditions of the “encounter” were
that neither party should eat or drink
until honor had been declared duly satis
fied, and that no waltzes or other lively
airs should be indulged in. Seconds were
appointed Hnd the duel proceeded with
out intermission for forty-eight hours, at
the end of which time one of the musi
cians, after playing a “Miserere” for the
160th time, fell forward and sunk ex
hausted on the floor. He was taken up
a corpse. His adversary had been litter
ally transformed into an “enraged musi
cian.” and was in that state removed to
the hospital. The seconds themselves
gave signs of being seriously “touched.”
and each of the pianos was’ found to be
in a hoplessly crazy condition. Such, at
least, is the result of the medical exam
ination.
a iiAitirinitmi nminunfliinir
n vwn v ivi o uunmitruii l .
Five Dollar* for Ireland’* Poor from a
Prisoner.
Philadelphia Press.
Warden Townsend of the Eastern Pen
itentiary of Pennsylvania was asked a
curious request some weeks ago by a
prisoner under his charge. Learning of
the terrible sufferings of the poor in Ire
land, Prisoner “No. 94,” as he is known
to the officials, inquired of the Warden
as to the sum that stood to his credit on
the prison books for extra work. He
was told that n little over $5 was the
amount, and he requested of the War
den to obtain for him a draft on Ireland
for £1, payable to the order of Sister
Mary Frances Clare, the nun of Ken
mare. This was done, and in a letter
written by the donor the charitable gift
was inclosed and mailed to the country
in which the poor fellow was born. A
few weeks elapsed and the nun of Ken
mare’s answer was received, winch is as
follows:
Convent of Pooh Clares, Kbnmark, 1
County Kerry, March 3,1880. 1
My Dear Poor Fellow—For a long
time I did not receive a letter that nf
fected mo so deeply as yours, written as
it was from your prison cell, and from
the thinking of the sufferings of others,
forgetful of your own, and sending me
the sum of £1 from your own
hard earnings to relieve the distress of
others. All I can sav is, that the head
and heart that has done this generous
act cannot be a bad one, and wiiatever
act you have committed to oblige the
law to punish you must indeed have been
done in a thoughtles* hour. May our good
and merciftil Hod look down upon you
this ilay with eyes of mercy and compas
sion, comfort and console you, and give
you the great grace of resignation to His
most holy will.
1 wish you would write again and tell
me all about yourself, and thank the
good kind Warden who has allowed you
to write.
I am sending you a little book by this
post. Read a page of it every dav, and
we will not forget you in our prayers.
Sr. M. F. Clare.
Warden Townsend opened and read
the letter aad then delivered it to “No.
94,” “for,” said he yesterday, “when
once the iron doors of this place are
opened to receive a convict, the name by
which he is known in the outside world
is left behind him. and with the clank
ing of the prison gates all memory of liis
former position in life is forgotten and
the number of the cell in which he is
incarcerated, is used to designate both
the iiihii mill tlu> f m'i 'in in lit WKpii Hid
generous fellow was handed the kind
letter from the famine-stricken country,
he burst into tears us soon as be had fin
ished reading the missive. The man
was touched by the hopes held out for
him and it was some hours before he re
gained his accustomed composure and
quietness. He has been in prison now
about eighteen months and has two
months more to serve before his time is
up. Since his imurisoninent he has con
ducted himself with m ire than usual
good behavior. He was sent here con
victed of a burglary, committed in the
southern portion of the city. I know it
was not Ins fault, as he was led into it
by evil associations, for ho is a young
mail, unmarried, and about thirty years
of age, and as he says himself he dates
his downfall from acquaintances picked
up in bar-rooms. The way he obtained
the money which he sent to Ireland was
by working extra, in making shoes at
night, while many of the other prison
ers pass their spare time, from 6:30 to 9
p. m., in reading or idling. It takes a
tong while for a man to earn $5 by extra j
work, as the Htate only allows him Irom !
five to ten cents for the extru task which
he is willing to perform, und half of this
goes to the county as a sort of recom
pense, so the poor fellow Iioh had to work
hard for his gift. ‘No. 94’ is a man I’m
sure will never return to this place, and
since he has been here he lias won the
conlideuce and merited the resiiect ol )
all the keepers, for he is polite and obe- |
dient at all times, ami does not belong'
to that criminal class which necessitates j
the keeping of such an institution as the
Eastern Penitentiary.’’
These days no one is sale from the
charge of plagiarism. Brown went to
church last Sunday—a thing unusual— j
and upon being asked bis opinion of the j
clergyman, said, “Ob, his sermons are j
very good, but that prayer, begining with
‘Our Father,’ I think he stole entire. I
know I have heard something some- i
where that it was strangely like.—Button '
Tranteripl.
..■ — «♦»
The biggest rat in Georgia was killed
a few days since in a house at Columbus.
It was killed by u little negro, and when
weighed kicked the beaut at six pounds.
The littlo negro sold its skin for twenty
five cents. This is a true story.
A NEW YORK SCANDAL.
The Marital 1 roubles of the I>rainatlr
News Rditor.
N. Y. Times.
Louis Timian, a broker, in 1869 mar
ried a young girl sixteen or seventeen
years of age, named Laura E. Jennings.
He was a consumptive, broken down in
health, as well as in pocket. Shortly
after their marriage, Charles A. Byrne, a
reporter on some obscene paper, saw
and fell in love with the wife. He en
treated her to leave her husband and
live with him as his wife. He resorted
fo all devices to break up the relations
of husband and wife l>etween Timian
and Mrs. Timian. His hostility extend
ed so far as the maltreatment of the
woman with Mows, and in orderto drive
Timian and his wife from the various
boarding bouses in which they lived, he
visited the places in Timian’s absence,
destroyed the furniture, even upsetting
stoves with burning coals in them, and
otherwise made it impossible for re
spectable landladies to keep them in their
houses. Personal encounters were fre
quent between Bvme and Timian, until
the latter left this country for lear of
Byrne, thus abandoning bis wife.
Subsequently Byrne made a civil con
tract of marriage between himself and
Laura Timian, drawing an elaborate
Contract, and two years later, in 1873.
upon his lurnisbing her proof of Timi
an’s death, they were married at St.
Ann’s Church, by Father Lake, Mr.
Byrne’s mother being the principal wit
ness of the marriage. Since the mar
riage the woman has largely supported
Byrne, chiefly by keeping boarders. She
saved up a few hundred dollars, and in
vested it with a theatrical manager
known as Josh Hart, in a weekly paper,
which, after a considerable struggle for
existence, finally became remunerative.
The means employed to make the paper
successful were of the most disreputable
character. The editor became known
and was generally denounced as a black
mailer.
About a year ago Byrne became ac
quainted with Dr. Merrill, a dentist in
VV'est Thirty-second street, who had a
wife ambitious to go on the stage. Byrne
betrayed her, and Ur. Merrill brougnt a
suit for divorce on the ground of her
criminal intimacy with Byrne. It was
granted by Judge Donohue about six
weeks ago. The wife, Mrs. Timian
Byrnc, on the proof of her husband’s
conduct, refused any longer to live with
him. As a part owner of the piper al
luded to she demanded a settlement
witli Josh Hart. A pretended settle
ment resulted not only in depriving her
of her half interest in the paper, but
also in the institution of divorce pro
ceedings by her against her husband.
This was for the purpose, as Mrs. Byrne
discovered, of enabling Charles A. Byrne
to marry Alfa Merrill, who had been di
vorced from her husband on account of
her infidelity. On discovering this, Mrs.
Byrne dismissed her lawyer, A. H. Hum
mel, employed John D. Townsend, and
stopped the divorce proceedings. She
also began a suit for the. recovery of her
property on the pajier alluded to.
About three weeks ago Charles A.
Byrne and Alfa Merrill, accompanied by
Charles W. Brooke and Mav llart, alias
Mrs. John Saville, went to Niagara Falls
crossed the new susjiension bridge, and
registered at the Prospect House as
Charles W. Brooke and wile, Charles A.
Byrne and Miss A. Humphreys, “Rice’s
Surprise Party.” The same day they
went to the town clerk at Drutnmonu
ville, Canada, to obtain a marriage li
cense. Mr. Byrne made affidavits to
the effect that he was a bachelor and
that Miss A. Humphrey was a spinster.
He thus obtained a license, witli which
lie went to the residence of the Rev. Mr.
Ingles, and asked to be married. The
clergyman refused to marry them in the
house, and the party went to the
church.
In the course of the ceremony Mr.
Byrne was asked several questions,
among others was the lady a spinster;
and lie replied: “Yes; a spinster.” “Oh,
no!” said the ex-Mrs. Merrill; “1 have
been married before.” “Oh. said the
uiisusjiecUng clergyman, “a widow.”
“Yes,” said she, "a widow.” The cere
mony was then performed and the party
departed, returning to this city und liv
ing present on January 20 at the open
ing of the Hunipty Dumpty performance
at Booth’s theater.
The commission of this bigamy became
known about a week and a half later.
Mr. Charles W. Brooke, being asked if
it were true that he and Mrs. Saville
stolid up with the persons, denied that
he was present. The lawyers of Mrs.
Byrne, however, employed a gentleman I
♦ n nldu!n nrtutfu uiwl lit* truiuwl (hn I
party to Drummondville, obtained a rec
ord of the marriage, and brought the
clergyman to New York. Affidavits
were drawn up by Messrs. Townsend
and Weed, reciting these general facts,
and warrants were issued by Justioe
Duffy against Charles A. Byrne for biga
my and Alfa Merrill or Humphreys for
felony. Orders were given to the officers
to secure Byrne at once, although the
warrants were issued at n late hour,
hut not to disturb the woman until
morning.
Byrue evaded arrest the same day by
inducing an office clerk named Louis
Post to personate him. When the war
rant was served it was discovered that
the officers tiad the wrong man. But
the officers, not to lie defeated, traced
Byrne to his home. His residence up
ti) a few days ago hail lieen No. 333 West
Ninety-second street, but it having been
reported to the police as a disreputable
house, the occupants hud to remove.
Byrne thereupon tiad taken a tint at No.
82V Seventh avenue, along with his pur
amour, where he was arrested by two ]
officers. Byrne ami Mrs. Merrill were
arraigned yesterday morning ut Joffer- j
son Market Police Court before Justice
Dully, The charge against him was big
amy] preferred by Laura E. Byrne, his
wile, and against Alfa Merrill thut of
felony.
Bail to the amount of $1,500 for each
prisoner was given.
.- -
Ouida,
Philadelphia Pre«»a.
Ouida has no longer the uppeuranee of
youth. She is stout, and dresses neatly;
is luxurious in 1 er tastes, hut is not now
and never could have been pretty. She
has nothing courteous nor sympathetic
in her manner. To her guests she is
severely jiolite, but prefers listeiAig to
talking. She never condescends To dis
cuss her looks with women, as she does
not consider them capuble of compre
hending her. Ouida is not content with
being thought only a clever writer, her
higher ambition is to he considered a
great artist, and her vilki is adorned with
pictures which she has painted in those
hours when she has laid aside pen and
paper for canvass and brush. Her pa
ings are much more moral than
books, but her novels ure more arti
than tier paintings.
--♦— ,
Huprame Court aud Sunday I .aw*.
St. I.ouis Republican.
The Supreme Court of Michigan
the Supreme (Jourt of Maine have la
wrestled witli the Sunday laws in t
respective States, and made const
tions and decisions in two cases'
fiabbath-breakiug of different charm
The law in each of the States is al
the same. In Michigan a Metho
minister one Sunday appealed for mo
and subscriptions of money to buil
church. A church-memPer suhsrri •
125, but afterward reconsidered bis
erality and refused to pay the ainot jj1
He was sued, and pleaded that
promise to pay was a business tran
tiou, and having liecn made on Sun *
was illegal and void and could not
enforced. The statutes of the S
prohibit, under penalty, "any manue
Labor, business or work on Sunday,
cept only works of necessity and cl
itv.” The subscriber claimed that
was work to write his name, and b
ness to promise to pay money, and t
the acts were not those of necessity
charity. The court differed with i
defendant in reference to charity, i ,
was of opinion that all work eonnec ,
with religious worship is work of cl
ity, else under the law the organist co
not play or the parson preach. T,
looks like bending the law lor the ben
of church business, for, as a general n j
the organist does not play nor the nc
ister preach for charity, but for a salar
u certain sum of money for a cert
kind and amount of work. Pome of 1 1
preachers get well pail, too, and tl
go where they get best paid, and tl
would not like to have it charger! uj
them that they lived on charity. Uni
this construction of the Sunday law,
church, and even religion itself, are
down as paupers, and beg their hv
of the people. The court decided t;
the defendant must give the mot
which he subscribed on Sunday
charity. ' i
In the other case the question wi
Ta it In n-ful n man nrollr 4
highways in Maine on Sunday for ex .
rise? A man walked out oneSunday •
Portland, and, by reason of a defect 1
sidewalk, he fell and sustained bod
injury. He sued the city for damag ,
and the cause was carried up to t ,
Supreme Court. The complainant v
walking confessedly for recreation, a
went into a saloon and took a glass >
beer for refreshment. After this he 1
on the sidewalk and broke his leg. T
Sunday law of Maine also exempts fr<
prohibition works «f charity or necessi
The city of Portland claimed that wa
ing for fresh air and exercise on Sund
is not a necessity, and that, on such
walk, breaking a leg is Babbath-breakii
The court decided that it is not unlaw
to walk out in Maine on a Sunday i
exercise. Stopping for a glass of lx
was a violation of the statute, but t
court held that one glass of beer was r
sufficient to contribute to the disash :
The pavement was at fault, and Portia
will have to pay for the broken leg.
~ TheNobllltjr.
N. Y. Ttnu*.
Now, to what does all this tend? '
the paradox that a real nobility isathi:
belonging to a republic rather than to
monarchy. Experience proves it. Row
Venire, Berne, Ragusa were the seats
nobility in the highest sense. su«h nob
ity as France or Spain, as Austria
Sweden have no claim to rival. Ai
why? In a monarchic State nobility
the gilt of the king. He cannot, indee
give noble forefathers, but lie can gr
noble rank and title. He cun, ut h
caprice, lift the beggar from the dungh
and Bet him among princes. In Eustei
despotisms, where tnis is literally don
there is no nobility; there can be non
Western kings seldom played such e
treirie tricks. So, under them a inoditu
nobility existed. But for nobility, pu;
and simple, nobility absolutely untoucl ’
ed, not owing to the caprice of any sing
man, but dependent simply on descei
from noble forefathers, we must go i
the commonwealth. I had almost sai
to the aristocrat’s commonwealth, hi
we may extend the saying to the demi ,
cratic commonwealth also. For, as thei
may be uobility without title, «*> thei
may be nobili'y without political priv
lege. The vote of an Athenian eupatn
went for no more in the Athenian Asseu
blv tbull the vote of his npiirhlsir. th
.sausage seller. But the eupairid was noil
the less noble, and he was, by virtu
of his nobility, |far, more likely thn
the sausage-seller to be raised to tli
high offices of the commonwealth. I
the pure democracies of Schuyz an
UlaruH. where no man, no family, ha
any legal privilege above another, me
of the noble houses of Rediug an
Tschudi were placed, year after year, a
the head of the State by the free vote
of the people. As long as Koine was rt
publican ate kept her nobility, and th
simple though elaborate system of fam'l
nomenclature which expressed it. Un
der the early empire, nomenclature be
came confused; under the Inter empirt
men took to being dukes and counts, t
lieing called ‘•honorable” anti “ illustn
ous,” just as in later times.
•300 Reward—Catarrh Cure.
Some people would rather be humbugge.
than to get “ value received ” for thei
money. Hence it is that such persons rut
after this and that pretended cure fo
catarrh, forgetting that Dr. Sage’s t'atarrl
Remedy is so |>oeitive in its effects that it
former proprietor advertised it for year
throughout the United States under a posi
tive guarantee, offering $600 reward for at
incurable case and was never called upoi
to pay this reward except in two cast's
This remedy lias acquired such a fame tha
a branch office lias been established in I-on
don, England, to supply the foreign demuni
for it. Sold by druggists at 50 cents.
UNAULK TO BKKATHK THBOCOH NOSK.
Pobti.annviLiK, Iowa, March 11, 1879.
Da. R. V. I’ikki k: Deab Sib—-Some tim
ago I bought a Douche, some of you
Dr. Sage’s Catarrh Remedy and Holder
Medical Discovery and commenced to us
them. The aches and pains as wel
as sore throat and catarrh from whicl
I have been for so long a ti mu a sufferer
have entirely loft me with their use. 1 fee
like a new man. as well as look like one
Fur four years 1 was unable to breath
through my nose. From the use of tin
Catarrh Remedy 1 can now do so ireeiy
Your medicines 1 know to tie all that they
are represented. Long live Dr. Pierce an<
the gentlemen connected with him. (Irate
fully yours, Watson Smith.
. ■ ---
Notwithstanding that the seating o
thirteen persons at table is considered i
fatal omen, the calling of that mimin'
“a linker’s dozen" has no reference ti
cremation.