The Russellville Democrat. [volume], May 27, 1880, Image 1

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

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DEVOTED TO LOCAL, POLITICAL, COMMERCIAL, AGRICULTURAL AND LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.
VOL. VI. RUSSELLVILLE, POPE COUNTY, ARKANSAS, THURSDAY. MAY 27.1880. — NO. 18.
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SLAIN BY THE GREAT FAMINE.
I.
Is it the moan of the northern wind
Through the hearts of trees,
The tremulous trees;
Or the pleading plaint ofthe wounded hind
That faints on the breeze?
II.
it the dirge Die sad sea sings,
The querulous sea,
old white-haired sen;
Or the bun-ting heart the torrent flings
j>o\\u recklessly!
Hi.
• is it the wail t»f a spirit lost,
So startlingly sad,
Sounding so sad;
Ox Die midnight shriek of unburied ghost,
Sorrow gone mad?
IV.
ii,[ *Tis the mother’s heart-broken ery
(>’er her only child,
Her pale dead child;
( rushed when the toot of famine swept by
Where plenty once smiled.
v.
Hut swift on the wings ot the western breeze,
America’s heart,
Her grand, warm heart.
Sends greeting and cheer across the seas
To still death’s dart.
VI.
Thus will we bind in one strong strand
The old world and new,
0 Old loves to the new;
And Ireland's sons in this free land
A fresh life shall woo.
—New York Mercury.
HIS ONE DARK HOIR.
It was a fair, starlit evening in June,
early evening, for the purple brooding
tw ilight had not yet deepened into night,
A few miles out from the busy city a
train was steaming along stopping so
often at little way stations to deposit
passengers, that it had no chance to get
up more than a medium rate of speed.
One car contained now onlv thrpe oo
cupants, two gentlemen who were con
‘ versing together in quite loud tones,
and another, who sat in a corner of the
ear, with his hat down over his fore
head. His hair was iron gray, and there
was something peculiarly suggestive
about him. Every now and then he
would start up and glance through the
window at the objects still discernable
in the twilight. He did not seem to be
paying much attention to the remarks
of the other occupants, until this frag
ment struck his ear:
“Yes, she was married last week—
made a brilliant match they say.”
“How long has she been a widow?”
“Al)OUt five years. Her husband was
one of the passengers in the ill-fated
“Sarnia.”
“Sad affair, that, wasn’t it?” remarked
the other. "1 had a nephew on it. His
mother never got over the loss, died of a
broken heart.”
At the word “Sarnia,” the man started
violently, and there was a strange pained
look upon his face. He was evidently
affected strangely, hut his hack was to
wards the others, and they took no no
tice of him.
The train halted again, and the con
ductor called out “Mapleside.” Then
the gentleman arose, and grasping a
small valise, walked out with unsteady
steps half leaning on the seats for sup
port, as he passed along. He had a
strongly-made frame, which was, how
ever, considei ’ ’ stooped, and now
•hat he had up his hat, one
could see that his face had a history
written upon it, a painful one. evidently.
The other two got off also, and the
train puffed on again. The two in com
pany moved off brisklv in the direction
of the village, as though they expected
a home welcome. The solitary one
stood a few moments on the platform
looking around, as if he were a stranger
there, and then struck into a quiet street
that led over a hill. On one side was a
grove of tall trees, distilling their balsa
mic ouors upon the night, on the other
were several handsome suburban resi
dences at intervals, standing in the
midst of well-kept grounds, and suggest
ing home comfort and happiness. l'he
gentleman was Kyan Pheljw, returning
to his home after having been 11 urned
as dead, for five years by his iends.
lie had been a passenger on hoard the
“Sarnia,” and on the terrible night when
she went down, he had clung to a piece
of the wreck with a wonderful power of
endurance, Riid had been washed ashore
upon an island. One, only, the first
mate, had been providentially picked
t__ s -1 ■ _: l ^
one but himself had survived. But
Ryan Phelps had lived on the island for
nearly five years keeping lite within
him by the subsistance it afforded, and
watching day by day, Enoch Arden like,
for a triendly sail. But tbeugh he sig
nalled many, none answered the lonely
exile, until the sickness born of hope de
ferred, and lonliess, nnd longings for the
dear ones left nt home, seemed to be
surely sapping the strong vigorous life
that had buoyed him up when he had
embarked on the voyage. But at last
his waiting was rewarded, Iris signal was
answered from a friendly homeward
bound ship which took him on board,
and in a few weeks he once more set his
foot upon his native shores. He lost no
time, but having made himself, with the
aid of barber and tailor once more pre
sentable in civilised life, he sought his
home. He bad left behind a young and
beautiful wife, the bride of one short
happy year, hoping for a speedy return
as soon as the business that had called
him to Europe was transacted. And
now be was returning to lier with a
thousand tears, and dark forbodings
chasing each other through his mind.
She bad believed him dead, had she
formed new ties? And the fears that
had haunted him, had been confirmed
in a measure by the scrap of conversa
tion lie bad heard in the car. It might
not be her to whom they referred.
There had been more than a score of
widows left by that disaster, but they
had stopped at Mapleside, and he did
not, know of any one but himself who
bad gone from there. Nevertheless he
pushed bis way onward with a dogged
determination to know the worst. He
bad not encountered any one be knew
since his return, and he had shrunk
from making himself known or asking
questions. As he walked along the fa
miliar scenes began to grow upon him.
There had been little dmnge evidently
since hi' hiut left. Mapleside had always
been a sort of “Sleepy Hollow,” and the
onward march of progress had seemed
to affect it little. The principal inhabi
tants were rather exclusive and aristo
cratic, and had no desire to have its
sacred precincts invaded. It they wanted
excitement, they could steam into the
city in twenty-five minutes, and mingle
in it. His eyes wandered around hun
grily, restingUpon each familiar oblect
as seen in the clear light of the stars
those ever constant silent sentioeb
which he had watched night after night
ns they came out above hie lonely island,
reminding him of the dear home which
he might never see again, which bn had
little hope of peeing. There was the
maple grove nn the hillside; the lake
I ydng cR'ni and placid in its setting of al
ufcrs reflecting now, the sweet saintly
I night; the gently flowing river issuing
from it, and meandering peacefully along
the base of the hill, with a lulling mur
muring sound. The night air was laden
with freshly distilled odors, and the
dreamy hum of crickets and ether in
sects sounded on his ear. What a sweet
home-coming it would be he thought, if
only he was sure of meeting with a wel
come. But how could his heart leap in
joyful recognition of each dear familiar
scene, when the horrible fear was haunt
ing him, that perhaps he would not be
welcome, that another might be reign
ing "lord of his rights,” and that the
wife who bad loved him once, might
now regard him as a bar to her future
happiness. With a strange shriLking of
heart, and wavering uncertain footsteps,
he pressed on, uncertain as to what
I course he should pursue, but with a hun
gry longing to look upon her face again.
At last he entered the precincts of his
; own domain—the home which had been
his father’s, and which had been to him
j to scene of one short happy year of
1 wedded life. He walked up the dim
i avenue of trees that led to the house,
and soon he saw it looming up fair and
stately against the deep background of
the sky. How his heart leaped and
throbbed with intense longing! It he
should find her there unchanged! If
she were free to renew the close union
of hearts, for which his waiting-starved
soul yearned unutterably, w hat an ecstat
ic moment this coming home might be!
The fountains were playing with musical
murmurs as of old, and yonder was the
| summer-house where he had often sat
wun * lonne ana pictured me coming
years. The nearer he approached, the
more nervous he became. He wished,
yet dreaded to know tl.e worsf, what
ever it might be. “Can it be possible?"
he thought, “that I, the mns’.er here, cm
moving along stealthily, as a thief might
do who fears detection?” The front
piazza was embowered in shrubbery,
through which the white pillars showed
here and there in the dim light. The
scent of sweet briar mingled with the
perfume of innumerable roses, made the
dewy air heavy with fragrance. It was
a moment of such supreme hope and
fear, and to the end of life, Ryan could
never inhale the odor of summer’s
sweetest fl iwers without a pang. There
was no lights in front below stairs, but
the windows were open, and above, he
could see that the room that used to be
their chamber was brightly lighted. He
shunned the front entrance, he. had not
courage to enter boldly, and stole around
to the back of the house. He preferred
the torture of suspense for a time, to the
certainty that might be a death blow to
his happiness, lie heard the sound of
voices somewhere above him, and
crunched low behind a clump of bushes
which were a mass of bloom and fra
grance. There was the rustle of woman’s
garments, and then the couple stepped
through one of the low windows to the
balcony which ran around the second
story. It was a lady and gentleman,
who commenced a slow promenade along
the bulcony. From his hiding place he
peered upward, his heart beating with
great heavy throbs. He could make out
the lady’s figure distinctly; it was—ves,
it was liis wife. That was her tall, slen
der, graceful figure dimly outlined in the
semi-gloom. She was leaning on her
companion’s arm, and his face was bent
very near to hers. But if he could be
mistaken in the form he could not doubt
that it was her voice, whose clear caden
ces fell upon his ear as if they came to
wards him. The prespiration started to
his forehead and stood their in great
drops as he heard the words of tender
ness between them. Another was reign
ing in his place; of that ho had nodoubt.
There could be no hearty welcome to
him come back from the dead. They
stopped just above him and leaned over
the railing, and these words came float
ing down to his cars from her bps:
“Dear Lawrence, I did not dream two
years ago that any one could so utterly
till my heart as you do.”
He answered her with low words of
tenderness and kissed her lips.
“I thought when 1 lost that dear one,”
..t. . _ft.u .t r __:„
niiV WIM.4I1UVUJ ‘ *4 4 V V 4 VU141U 14V I V4 44^44444
! find peace, but God has been good to me
in giving you . l'he wound lias been
healed by your love, my husband; ‘tho
dead past lias buried its dead,’ and 1 am
at rest.”
Ho adjusted her shawl carelessly
around her, keeping his arms close about
her.
“I must not let my wife get cold,” ho
said,” she might take tho wings and fly
away. I almost think now she has a
pair of wings folded away somewhere.”
She laughed the sweet musical laugh
he remembered. They were evidently
in the fulness of their honeymoon, and
it was as sweet to her as that other had
been with him, the lonely man thought
with an infinite grief too deep for bit
terness. She bad lived down her love
for him: to make himself known now
would shatter her happiness and tail to
secure his own. He could not share a
divided heart. He must get away as
quietly as he had come. He might claim
his fkir ancestral home, but what did
that matter to him without her love?
“Perhaps she would prefer me yet, her
early love,” he thought, with a dawning
of hope. But he was one of your fine
grained, sensitive natures, and he re
flected he was not the man who had left
her, youthful, buoyant and vitality, but
a man grown old before his time. The
j five lonelv years had done the work of
fifteen, lie’was prematurely bowed, and
; his black, luxuriant locks had grown
i gray with grief. The man beside her
was tall, eiect and vigerous—a fitting
mate for her, still in the first freshness
of her wouiunnood. No, be would not
break in upon her happiness now,
I although he could elaim.her and the law
i could bear him out in it; he would call
tip to his aid the self-repression which
had been the habit of bis life so long,
! a.id live ulone to the end. “If she
| knew who is crouching so near her with
an aching heart she would pity,*’ he
thought, “lor she had a tenner heart:
but T do not want pity—I want a love so
| full and strong as iny own.”
His paiulul reflections were broken in
upon suddenly by a short, quick Iwirk,
■ and a great deg come bounding over the
I lawn.
“Coby! What is the mattei. Cob>?”
came from the l:ps ot the lady.
"He haa got the aceut of some one or
something, said the gentleman; "per
haps there is a tr.imp in the grounds.”
The dog went along with his nose to
! the ground, and in a moment more had
found tho place where Ryan was con
, c.mied. The Conjectures of the two
! itbove were interrupted by glad yelps
and strange, quick harks of delight
from the djg, who had found his old and
much loved master, and now leaped up
j on him and licked his face in an ecstacy
I of delight, it must all come out now,
he realized. He threw his arms around
the faithful creature nud great sobs
shook his frame. If slie were only as
free to welcome him as that dumb ani
mal!
The company on the lialcony were
puzzled when they found that the dog
was making strong expressions of ap
proval over whatever he had found.
The gentlemen left and went to seek a
servant and a lantern to investigate. The
next moment another lady stepped
through one of the windows upon the
balcony.
“What is the matter with Coby'r" she
asked in a voice saddenei, soft and
sweet, which as it fell upon the ears of
Ryan made bis pulses bound with a
strange, new, thrilling hope.
“Why, Florine, I thought you had re
tired some time ago,” said the other.
“Goby lias found somebody or something
that seems to please him, and Lawrence
has gone for a light to see what it can
be.’’
“I feel strangely to-night’’ said the
other. “I cannot keep my thoughts ofT
ot Ryan. You know I can never make
myself believe he is dead; but if he is,
I think he hovers near me in spirit to
night.”
Ryan heard the words with bated
breath. He had made a great mistake.
He felt a sudden joyous reaction from
the misery which hid been bowing him
to the earth. He did not wait a moment
longer, hut stood forth from his conceal
niflnf tlio ilnrr utill fnurninn iirmn Kim
“1 am here,” he said, “not in spirit
only, but in bodily shape. I have come
back to you, my wife.”
For one moment her heart stood still,
but she did not shriek or faint at the
sound of the dear, well-remembered
voice. He had lived so continually|in
her thoughts that she had not seemed
to be separated from him. “Ryan!” was
her single exclamation, in a tone of rap
tufous delight, and stepping through the
window she flew down stairs, through
the front door, and along the dewy lawn
to meet him.
With outstretched arms he clasped her
to his heart.
“You are not dead to me. I always
thought you would come back,” she said
in a voice trembling with joy. “But
why did you not come to me at once?
Wtiy did you wait for Coby to find
you?”
Before be could answer Lawrence
came alone, followed by John with a
lantern; also Florine’s sister, whom he
had mistaxen for her. And there were
eager, contused exclamations, and John,
a faithful old servant, shed tears of joy,
while Coby seemed in danger of dislo
cating his limbs in his mad efforts to ex
press his pleasure.
Then all went inside, and while the
house was being illuminated from base
ment to attic, and the other inmates
were being appraised of the joyful event,
Florine led her husbaud upstairs to her
chamber. There, in one comer, with
one hand thrown out over the white
coverlet, lay a beautiful boy, in the deop
sleep of health and innocence. “Our
child, dear husband,” she whispered,
and the strong man knelt by the bed,
his wife beside him, and sent up to
heaven a heartfelt thanksgiving for the
cup of happiness which was now full to
overflowing.
“Wake up dear, papa’s come home.
You know I told you that tic would
coine some day,” the mother said.
The child opened his eyes slowly, and
fixed them upon the face bent over him.
“Are you my papa?" lie asked; and for
answer the father caught his child close
to his heart and kissed him hungrily.
Down stairs a supper was being pre
pared, and Mary, the cook, another old
servant, wiping away the tears of joy on
her apron from time to time. And bye
and bye they all gathered 'together in
the parlor, and Ryan told his story of
the past years, and also the misery he
had suffered ttiat night in thinking that
another had taken his place.
“It was no wonder that you mistook
Joseohine for me in the darkness,” said
Florine, as she sat with her hands clasp
ed in those of her husband. "Our
voices and figures are exactly alike. No
one pretends to know us apart until they
look into our faces, which you see are
quite unlike. Nie lias been a widow in
reality, while I never considered my
self as such. I used to drea-n of seeing
you nearly every night. I could not
think you dead.”
“It never occurred to me that you had
a sister. I was not in a state of mind to
reason. What a terrible step I was on
the border of taking!” he said with a
shudder. “I was going to steal away
again and leave you, as I supposed, with
your new-found happiness. You are the
one, dear old Coby,” patting the cold
nose of the dog as he lay on his knee,
“that deserves all the credit ol righting
the matter.”
Josephine and her husband, neither
of whom Kyan had ever seen, were on a
visit to Florine. lienee the mistake
that might have ended so sadly.
Afterward Ryan happened to And out
who the lady was he had heard of in the
car. “1 was so full of gloomy forebod
ings,” he suid in speaking of it, “that
every trifle was a confirmation ot iny
fears,”
And in the sunny atmosphere of Flor
ine's love, and that of his boy, Ryan is
growing joung again. The past is fad
ing gradually, so that it seems now like
some shadowy dream. “Sorrow may
endure for a night, but joy comes iu the
morning.’’_
Tub following is a true and somewhat
curious instance of absent mindedness:
“Two students having called on their
girls the night ljcfore, were sented a few
minutes later a breakfast One was
silently preparing a pancake. After
spreading it with butter, lie tiegan sail -
iu.; the same, a».d next slowly jumpered
it, all unconscious of the bewildered
looks ol the test ot the table, until
finally recovering himself in the act of
sjirinkling peppar, he stopped ami took
in the whole situation in a twinkling.
His expression was then a study. The
oth >r student soon ufter in an ubstacted
air peered the butter to his landlady,
who had just sat down, uttering the. un
intelligible interftiga’-ion: ‘Pajier?’ It
j wa:> the conclusion of the others, that
calling on their girls bad given rise to
! the exhibition of strange mental phen
omina in those >oung gentlemen.
Itnil a faint smell of Fish in the
i presidential market.—AYw Yerk AVie*.
A PARVKW KM PRESS.
Her Wardrobe—Her Extravagance—Hci
Pereonal Habit*.
The Empress Josephine was allowed
by Napoleon (120,000 a year /or her per
sonal expenses, (24,000 for alms giving.
Her successor, the archdnehess, received
only (72,000 for these purposes. The
pretext of this difference was that Jose
phine had a great many calls upon her
purse from her poor relations. There is
no doubt, we are told, that she gave a
great deni away, but as her presents were
never taken from lier own effects, Init al
ways freshly purchased, the practical
outcome of her beneficence was u vast
accumulation ot debts These Napoleon
would pay once a year, never in full,
however, as he desired to keep his wife
in continual dependence. Josephine, it
seems, would never tolerate anything
like order or etiquette in her private
apartments. After she became empress,
Napoleon insisted that she should have
no personal dealings with shopkeepers,
but he was forced to yield on triis point.
Her private roomB were always full of
shawl merchants, silk mercers, mantua
makers, haberdashers, jewelers and por
trait painters. She had a mania for hav
ing her portrait taken, and gave the pic
tures to anybody who wanted them,
relatives, friends, chambermaids, even
shopkeepers. The latter were always
bringing her diamonds, trinkets, shawls;
stuffs and gewgaws of every kind; she
bought everything, never asking the
price, and half the time forgetting what
she had purchased. From the outset
she gave her ladies in waiting to under
stand that they need not meddle-with
her wardrobe; everything connected
with that department was transacted in
private by her and her maids, of whom
there were six or eight. She rose at 9
o’clock; her toilet was a very prolonged
nno nopt nf it Vismtff urime.
what mysterious, and involving divers
preparations for the preservation and
improvement of her complexion. When
this work of art was finished, she had
her hair dressed and hcrperson wrapped
in a long wrapper lavishly trimmed with
lace. We are informed that her chemis
es and petticoats were also elaborately
trimmed. Mine, de Retnusat deems it
pertinent to add the ftirther details that
Josephine changed her chemises and all
her linen thrice a day, and wore none
but new stockings. After her hair was
done, they brought her hugh baskets
containing quantities of gowns, bonnets
and shawls; of India, she bad as many
as 300 or 400—she mane gowns of them,
or bed coverings, or cushions for her
doc. She always wore one in the morn
ing, draping it about her shoulders with
a grace peculiar to herself. Bonapart,
who thought shawls hid her figure too
much, would now and then tear them
off and fling them into the fire. She
bought, we are told, every cashmere
shawl the tradesmen brought her, at any
price they chose to ask—$1,600 or $2,
OOfl, or $2,400. Cashmere Hhawls were
the fashion at the court, and the oldest
lady connected witli the imperial house
hold would not condescend to wear one
which cost leas than $200.
Josephine’s mode of life seems to have
been sufficiently monotonous, yet, al
though she never opened n book nor
took up a pen, showed no signs of ennui.
She had no taste for theater, and the
emperor did not like her to go with him,
lest her appearance should provoke ap
plause and give her a sort of personal
popularity. She never walked for ex
ercise except when at Malmaison, an
abode she was forever embelishing, and
on which she squandered immense sums.
Her principal employment was looking
over the huge accumulations of gowns,
frippery and ornaments in her ward
robes, for which really colossal maga
zines had to be assigned in each of their
palaces. She could never prevail on
herself te part with a single article of
clothing, and up to her last hour de
rived unquenchable delight from exam
ining, assorting and trying onhertincry.
On the da\ of Tier death she had her
maids array her in a dressing-gown of
extreme elegance, because she fancied
the Emperor of Russia would, perhaps,
call to see her. She expired m rose
colored satin.
—1--UM-* '
Our Cyclonic Visitors.
St. iAtuis Republican.
Usually the first accounts of disas
ters are more or less exaggerated, but in
the case of the recent cyclone the latest
developments are the worst. The deaths
at Marshfield—counting those already
iluad and those whose injuries are likely
it# jmdvc iaiui—win utiltiij# i«.i nauii ui
one hundred; while other towns, with
isolated settlements, will probably add
twenty-five or fifty more. The number
of persons permanently disabled cannot
be estimated, nor is it possible to calcu
late tlit) loss ol property. Enough is
known, how ever, to justify the statement
that it is the severest calamity of the
kind that ever visited tiiis country since
the European occupation, and no flood
or fire in this country lias ever caused
such loss of life. YVe must so to the
tropical regions to find a parallel for it,
either in meteorological imculiarities or
in destructiveness.
The lirfAiblican, iu its notices of former
cyclones, has takon the ground that
their frequent occurrence indicates im
portant changes iu what may lie termed
our atmospheric surroundings; hut the
assumption that cyclonic visitations are
more frequent bus tieen disputed by
some whose opinions are entitled to high
respect. It is claimed that the seeming
frequency is duo to th ) more thickly set
tled condition of the rural districts,
enabling us to hoar of everyone that oc
curs, and that the occurence of manv
unreported ones is proved by the “wind
rows,” or areas of fallen timber, often
discovered in the virgin forest. This ob
jection, we think, is deprived of much of
its force by the fait tliat the
sections in Illinois, Missouri, Kansas ami
Arkansas, where cyclones have latterly
been so disagreeably abundant have been
I at least tolerably thickly settled lor
twenty-five or thirty years'. During that
i period there have always been enough
I , ample N attered through these localities
j to know w hat was going on; and a cy
i clone, whether near or remote in its
I point of attack, could not be overlooked
or forgotten. Tradition, if nothing else,
would have transmitted tin story. But
up to 1860, the stories are verv few and
very fur between. Our tiles from 180H
to I860 do not furnialt a dozen; but since
the last-mentioned year, when a cyclone
struck Alton, they have been numerous
so that now scarcely a season pas ee
w it bout two or three disturbances ol
this sort—not all of them serious in then
conoequeneec, but all having the came
distinctive and unmistakable character
isties. Previous to 1860, gale., or hum
I canes sufficiently streng to blow down
fences and unroof houses were not un
cmrtmonj but the funnel-shaped cloud
with its vibrating tail, whirling trees,
stone*, buildings, animals and men into
the air, and sweeping the earth like a
demon of wrath, was never seen or
heard of in northern latitudes.
Therefore we think there ran l>e no
reasonable doubt that our atmospheric
surroundings are changing, or have al
ready changed—and not for the better.
Whether the scientific investigation
which the Marshfield calamity may pro
voke will throw much light upon nn
obscure and all-important subject, is ex
tremely doubtful. But any light, how
ever small and feeble, is better than
total darkness; and we trust the investi
gators—who ought to have the aid and
encouragement of the federal govern
ment—will do their work ns thoroughly
as possible.
COURT"HUMOR.
A Cornet Cane in the Grave V. H. Supreme
Court.
Washington Cor. Courier-Journal.
The proceedings in the Supreme Court
are occasionally enlivened by cases which
border on the ludicrous. In order to
fully appreciate the humor of the situa
tion when a corset patent was brought
into the court, it will give effect to the
story to take a review of the judges
The long, black silk gowns, which they
all wear, give an idea of extra judicial
dignity. The Chief Justice is not im
posing looking, but he has a strong cast
of countenance, without a gleam of mer
riment. Judge Clifford has a rosy, be
nevolent face, and his large white*neck
cloth acts off the sombreness of his silk
gown. Mr. Justice Cliff wd has the most
exalted idea of the eourt, ranking it
next to heaven. He would readily pass
for a bishop and never tolerates* any
thine borderine on libertv. Judge
Swayne is portly, and lias an intellectual
head and face. Justice Field is a grizzly
blonde, but endowed with becoming
gravity when on the bench. Judge Mil
ler has a large ponderous frame, and is
the embodiment of legal lore and the
responsibilities of his high office.
He has the spared form and refined face
of an ascetic; he is a inemlier of the
Presbyterian Church, rigid observer of
his redcious duties, a strong temperance
man, and a model husband and father.
Judge Bradley is of short stature, schol
arly and very courteous. He looks very
wise and very severe while on the
bendi. Judge Hunt, befoie lie was par
alyzed and incapacitated for work,
looked too refined, too high-bred anu
courtly for the rigid ami exacting duties
ol the court. Light beliavior. jests or
profanity would shock him as they
would a sensitive woman. Judge Har
lan has a boyish, Binooth fnce, full of
good humor and kindness. He main
tains majestic gravity during an argu
ment.
The corset patent was a delicate sub
ject to bring into tills august court, hut
the contending parties had gone to law
on the question as to whether "coutil”
was cat on the straight or bias, and in
regard to the whalebone casings. One
patentee claimed that he had improved
upon the original design; that the first
patentee’s corset placed the whalebone
in the casing, and that it had to be fast
ened with a needle and thread; that his
patent had the advantage of an inven
tion which closed up the top and bottom
of the opening. The lawyer who was
arguing the case brought a lot of the cor
sets in court and distributed them to
each of the Judges that they might ex
amine the invention as lie explained it.
The novel spectacle was presented of
each one of these gentlemen timidly
scrutinizing the mysteries of the bias
and Biraight, and pushing whalebones
in and out of the casings. The shrink
ing modesty of Judge Strong was evinced
by the blush which mantled his cheek.
4H tried to look knowing and capable of
giving an astute opinion; they whispered
to one another, of course exchanging
only legal knowledge, hut the ludicrous
sitiiation was appreciated by the lawyers
and spectators. It was suggested that
the judges put the corsets against their
(lemons, and by changing positions
would see how much the wearers of cor
sets would be benefitted by an invention
which would so securely fasten the
whalebones that they could not be
squeezed out by bending the bodv or
won vnv mu oi n . * ..v juv.gvw
gave a murmur of relief when the argu
ment closed and the corsets were re
turned to the patentee. That evening
at a reception it was observed that spec
ial attention was paid by the Judges of
the Supreme Court to a well-developed
foreign lady, whose decollette dress en
abled them to study the question out
side of the court. The opinion afterward
delivered was derived from the practical
knowledge gained that evening.
The R uvula it Headuman’* Revenue.
Londoii Ttilgraph.
There is but one state executioner in
tlie vast Russian realm; and lie is a
pardoned malefactor named Froiotf, who
in the good old pre Nihilistic days,
when the abolition of capital punish
ment was still maintained in Mnscovey,
committed three successive murders and
was condemned to penal servitude (or
life. When, however, revolutionary
successt*s rendered the services of an im
perial hangman indispensable to the
Ministry of Justice, Frolofl' volnteered
for the 'office on condition that an am
nesty for his past misdeeds should be
I gianted to him. ills offer was accepted
and for some time |iast lie has been a
busy man. For every “faction’’ lie re
ceives forlv roubles—about jCH sterling—
from the Russian Exchequer, but tliut
ufticiul foe by uo means represents the
total emolument he derives from the
, practice of his gruesome handicraft, for
I he is permitted to trade upon the su
! perstition still current in Russian soeeity
, respecting the luck conferred ujsm game
sters by tlio posession of a morsel of
the rope with which a .human being lias
1 been strangled, either by the hands of
j justice or liis own. lmmedVelv after
young Mladetav hail been hanged, only
the other day, Frolofl was surrounded
j by members ot fhe Russian jntnr#»f dorr*
eager to purchase scraps of the fatal
noose; anil lie disposed of several do/.sti
; such talismans at from three to live
' roubles apiece, observing, with cynical
I complacency, that “he hoped Uie Nihi
j lists would yet bring him in plenty ol
monev." '1 here is: indeed, * very pros
pect, ffthe Nelikofl regime only Iasi
lou# enough, that Frolofl will apeedily
become a rich man.
-- -w—
Tue o!<Jes'. li' lag boatman in David
Burn*, v ho livee at Burn Landing, cr
the Kentucky river, and n ninety veart
of age. He has walked from New Or
leans to Frankfort sis times, a distant'*
1 of 1500 miles,
TUNNEL TUrClUNOSIS.
The Terrible Malady Which Attacked Ilie
Miner* ol St. Gnthard.
Geneva Cnrrespondent london Times.
The >Kizetlti Piem<fnt?8f gives some
interesting particulars concerning the
effects on health of the men employed
in tlic HL (iothard Tunnel, of the unfa
vorable conditions in which they arc
compelled to work, With special refer
ence to a disease engendered by the
presence in the intestines of animalcule
having a certain resemblance to triehinei
Tile general appearance of the .St. (ioth
ard miners, particularly of those of them
—and they aro the majority—a fleeted
by the malady in question, is described
as deplorable' in the extreme. Their
faces are yellbw, tlieir features drawn,
eyes half closed, lips discolored, the skin
is humid and the gait difficult, ff they
•■at with appetite they can not digest,
and when wine is taken it is invariably
rejected. Let a man be as strong as lie
may, three or four'months’ work seri
ously injures bis heslth, at the end of a
year or a little more he is a confirmed
invalid.
Profs. Oalderini, of Parma, and Boztolo
and Puglians, of Turin, have made sev
eral visits to Airolo for the purpose ol
I studying the disease on the spot. They
state that 70 to 80 per cent of the men
are suffering from this complaint, to
which they give the name anemia anky
lostoma, a term derived from the worm
found in the intestines of a miner who
died in the Turin Hospital last year. A
somewhat similar malady, arising from
the presence of the ankvlostorna in the
intestines, is epidemic in Egypt and
Brazil. Thirty per cent of the cases are
classified as “severe;” and among the
men who have worked in the tunnel a
year or more 05 per cent are affected.
For boys from 14 to 16.many of whom,
as 1 can Dersonnllv testify, are employed
in the tunnel, the Professors stigmatize
it as a “veritable hell,” continuous labor
in its pestiferous atmosphere being al
most a certain death ior them. Prof.
Bozzoio is of the opinion that ten hours
spent in the tunnel are sufficient to
bring about a condition of body favora
ble to the development ot anemia anky
lostoma. 4
The disease, though it has probably
prevailed more or less for years, has only
shown itseif to an alarming extent dur
ing the last six months. The distance
of the points of attack, as the extremi
ties of the galleries where the perfora
tors were at work have been called,
from the respective entrance (on the
north side nearly live miles) rendered
ventilation extremely difficult—an evil
which has imreused by the occasional
freezing of the compressors. The air
thus insufficiently renewed was further
vitiated In the perpetual explosions of
dynamite, of which tiie consumption has
beeiwit the rate of 60U pounds a day, the
smoke from 400 or 500 oil lamps, and
the exhalations from the bodies of 400
men and forty horses. Add to tliis that
a like number of men and horses have
lieen working night and day in each
section of the tunnel for years, that there
is an entire absence of sanitary appli
ances, and that the temperature lias
averaged from 80 to 95 degrees Bahrain
belt, and we have a state of things as
inimical to life and health as can w ell
be conceived.- Ot this the mortality
among the horses affords ample proof.
They are kept in the tunnel only eight
hours out of the 24, yet they (lie—gen
erally dropping down dead is if struck
by a bullet—at the rate of 20 per cent a
month—that i», the average duration ot
equine life in the tit. Gothard Tunnel
lias been exactly four months. As most
of the miners employed in the tunnel
are Piedmontese, the 'Italian professors,
from whose report I have quoted some
of tile foregoing statements, naturally
enough call the attention of their gov
ernment to the facts disclosed therein,
and claim their interference on behalf
of the men. It is only fair, however, to
mention that the Swiss papers contest
the accuracy of some of their conclu
sions, and. while admitting that the tun
nel is by no means a pleasant place to
work in, they affirm that things are not
nearly so l»ad as Prols. Bozzoio and l'ag
liani make out, and that the figures
which these gentlemen give with refer
ence to the prevalence of disease among
the inen require confirmation. Be that
as it may, yon could not pass sc veil or
eight hour* inside the tunnel, before the
boring was completed, without suffering
both at tlie time and afterward consider
able inconvenience, if not something
worse, and on leaving it your feelings
would not improbably resemble those of
the Austrian journalist who, after a sim
ilar experience, telegraphed, to Jus paper:
“1 have been in the St. Gotbard Tunnel,
aud I am glad to inform yon that I have
come out alive.”
- ♦ -
DlR|>atchluf( I>ogM.
G lobe-Democ rat.
On Tuesday next a large number of
itinerant canities, which were so unfor
tunate as to fall into the hands of the
dog^oateiiers, will be stmt to the lumpy
hunting-grounds. There are at present
in the pound at the foot of lavsperanec
street about a hundred and lifty does, of
all ages, sixes, colors and breeds. The
little black aud tun, the ladies’ ourly
haired lap-dog, t|ie ferocious-looking
1 bull, the mangy cur and thp mild-eyed
setter are all huddled up together, and
' velp in chorus. The lover of a dog-liglit
j can here be surfeited with his favorite
snort, as a continual wrangle is going on
jail tiie timo. The dog-catchers are a
I rather remorseless set, and never pity
the lost creatures, taking them in as
readily as the prowling curs.
The pound has recently been fitted up
I in decent style, and is nicely white
washed. The j>ens for the dogs are four
J iu number, each being a cell similar tc
! those in the police stations. On the drat
day of a dog’s arrival he iN placed in the
tirst |ten, and unless a claimant appears
he is transferred to different (iitsrters ot
' each succeeding day until the fourth
when- be. reaches the ecmdeiiuiod cel
and is executed.
Thefe tire now about fifty in the lattei
j cell, but before Tuesday this miinbei
will be largely increased. Heretoforv
the animals were shot, but on next exe
j cution day they w ill be dispatched by i
much eaisw and teas cruel method. Ad
joining the condemned cell is a low
roofed room, or rather box, which is tin
plated and made perfectly air-tight
Next to this is a room containing Cwt
stoves, with two pines iumiing into tin
1 hermetically seated box, aud ope issuini
i through the roof. A bushel of charcoa
is placed in ew h stov e, the stuoki
puling through the third pipe, until tin
coil has been burned red hot when
damper in the snjoke pipe ft r|o;,ed an
the gaa forced through the other ttjo in
: to the box. The dogs, which are secure!
I inclosed, inhale the carbonic gas thu
generated until they become suffocated
in about two minute*. The death is per
fectly |mInless, and Is even attended
with pleasurable sensation*, it is said,
PREACHING bT TELEPHONE.
—
How the Same Sermon \V«i Heard at Once
In Six Cttle* and Town*.
New Tort Hon.
The congregation of Plymouth church,
Brooklyn, was widely scattered yester
day, for the sermons were transmitted
to various jxiints in New York and New
Jersey through the telephone. The
transmitters in the church were placed
under the Mount Olivet table on the
platform. The instruments were ar
ranged by .Mr. Charles E. Clin nock, the
electrician of the Bell Telephone Com
pany, so that whichever way the
preacher turned his words were caught
up, even as he walked up and down his
fifteen-foot rostrum, ami carried along
the circuit. Instruments were placed in
the Brooklyn office ut J42 Fulton street,
at the home of Mr. Allred E. Beach,
Nineteenth street, New York: at the ex
ecutive office of the company, Twenty
first street, New York; at Newark and
Orange, at the home of Mr. Chinnock,
Nassau street, Brooklyn; at the home of
Kobert Brown, Carlton avenue; at the
Nassau street, New York, office; at the
Jersey City branch office, and at the
home of Mr. H. W. Pope, general super
intendent of the company, at Elizabeth.
This was the first attempt to transmit a
sermon on such an extended scale, and
was regarded as sufficiently successful
to demonstrate the possibility of dis
tributing a sermon to any number of
bearers. .
Owing to the necessity for concealing
the transmitters from the congregation,
as well as to the drawback of having but
one wire, the sound was not at all times
distinct, but was interrupted by inquiries
from various points on the circuit.
Whenever the preacher thumped his
DlDne Uiere wan it unuaim a wuui iu«i
was any thing but solemn.
The music of the choir ot the conjgre
gation and the soloist were heard plainly
all over the circuit, but the big organ
sounded like a very diminutive melo
deqn. The sermons were rather discon
nected, from the fact that the listeners
at. the instruments were constantly
chancing, and occasionally the wires
would get crossed or the plugs pulled
out, so that the discourse would get
mixed with messages. The morning
sermon ran something like this:
“ What can be mere pitihil [Hallo!
Hallo!] than the spectable recently pre
sented at. West Point? | Hallo! Chin
referring to Mr. Chinnoek, the electri
cian—don’t cut me off.] How is the
voting man treated? [There, you’ve cut
i*e off’again.] lie was ostracised by his
comrades. [Hallo! Beach! Hallo!] In
sults were showered upon him. [Put
that plug in a little tighter.] He works
his way onward. But the detestable
prejudice of those who Hhould have been
his comrades and associates [Ston calling
and listen, will you?] single him out
[Brown, be quiet] for persecution, and
the brutal [whrr-r r-r-r!—caused by the
preacher jxainding the table], cowardly
outrage . [here a sound like the clashing
of cymbals], with accounts of which the
newspapers have been teeming lor a
week, is committed upon him.” .
As soon as all the listeners got quiet,
however, the sermons were heard with »
distinctness, and when the number ot
listeners on the circuit was decreased,
the sound became much more distinct
than when the circuit was open for
all. Mr. Chinnoek said that with a sep
arate transmitter and it separate wire
there would be no trouble whatever iu
hearing the whole of any service with
out interruption. Thepeonllar toce and
accent of the preacher were easily recog
nizable, and the sermon might have
been heard by any one ol the 3,500 per
sons who a-e in communication with
the Beil Telephone Co. Mr. Chinnoek
says that it would be possible for a
•preacher to stay at home and preach his
sermon to a congregation of 10,000 at
their homes.
. A bin: FOR LIFE.
“Van ftork” on the Kanawha and
It s Thrilling Story,
Com ier* jotmiil.
Just below Kanawha tails, in West
Virginia, writes a correspondent, is an
overhanging rock of immense size jut
ting out about one hundred feet over the
seeming wurripooi awi me miii; ui »
remarkable adventure.
The Indians were in hoi pursuit of
Van Bibber, a settler and man of distinc
tion in those early times. He was hard
pressed, and all access to the river be
low and above being cut off, he was
to driven this jutting rock, which proved
to be the junipiiig-oU' place for him. He
stood on the rock, in full view of the
enemy above and below, who yelled
like demons at the certainty of this
speedy capture. He stood up boldly,
and with his rifle kept them at bay. As
he stood there he looked across the
river, saw his friends—his wife and her
bal>e in her arms—all helpless to rentier
assistance. They stood as if petrified
with terror and amazement. Kne cried
at the top of her voice. #
‘‘Leap intojhe river and meet me!”
Laying hei babe on the grass, she
seized the ours and sprang into the skill
alone. As she neared the middle of the
river her husband saw t-lie Indians com
ing in full force ami yelling like de
mons,
“Wife, wife!” he screamed, “I’m com
ing; drop down a little lower.”
With this he sprang from his crag and
descended like an arrow into the water,
fed foremost.
The wife rested on her oars a moment
to see him rise to theaurfaee, the little
cannoe floating like a cork, bobbing
about ojt the hoping Hood. It was an
awful moment; if seemed an age to her.
Would lie ever rise? Her earnest gaze
seemed to penetrate thp depths of the
water, and she darted her boat further
ibrwn the stream. He rose near her, in
a moment the canoe was alongside of
him, and she helped him to scramble
into it amid a shower of arrows and shot
that tlie bafHed Indians poured into
them. The daring wife did not speak a
word; her husband was more dead than
alive, and all dept A led on her strength
being maintained till they could reach
the bank. This they did, just where
she had started, right where the hahe
was still laying, crowing and laughing.
The men pulled the skiff high on the
: land, ana the wife slowly arose and
1 i helped to lift Van Bibber to bis feet He
■ could not walk, but she laid him down
by hL babe, and then Leans? ter.ell.
i she wept ' lldly, nut as anv other wo
l man would have done under the ctreum
- i stances, that babe in now a jiaud* J
! father, and that rock is called “Van Blb
j | ber’s Koch” te this day,