The weekly Shasta courier. [volume], July 26, 1873, Image 1

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VOL. 22.
I/Ove’H Reasons.
Why do 1 love my darling so ?
Good faith, roy heart, I hardly know,
I have auch a store of reasons;
'Twould take me all a summer dav —
Nay, saying half that I could say
Would fill the circling seasons.
Because her eyes are softly brown,
Mv dove, who quietly hath flown
To me as to her haven ?
Because her hair is soft, and laid
Madonna-wise in simple braid,
And jetty as the raven ?
Because her lips are sweet to touch
Not chill, nor fiery over much.
But softly warm as roses—
Dear lips that chasten while they rao\e,
Lips that a man may dare to lov»,
Till earthly love-time closes ?
Because her hand is soft and white,
Of touch so tender and so light,
That where her slender finger
Doth fall or move, the man to whom
The guards of Kden whispered, “ Come ! ”
Beneath its spell might linger ?
Because her heart is woman soft.
So true, so tender, that I oft
Do marvel that a treasure.
So rich, so rare, to me should fall,
Whose sole desert —so small, so small,
Is—loving past all measure ?
Because she has such store of moods,
So archly smiles, so staidly broods,
So lovingly caresses;
So that my heart may never tire
Of monotone, or more desire
Than she, my love, possesses ?
Ah me ! what know or what care I ?
Or what hath love to do with ** why ? "
How simple is the reason !
I love her— for she is my love,
And shall while stars shall shine above,
And season follow season.
Men who Face Heath The Policeman.
Don't you go and make any mistake!
The pictures in the comic papers, and all
the rest of the jokes about policemen may
all be very well in their way, and I can laugh
myself at a good joke at the expense of the
Force, but for all that there is not as much
in them as some of the would-be sharp ones
make out. Most of ’em are as stale as they
well can be, uud though for anything 1 know
they .may have been to the point some time,
they ain t now a days, not by a long way.
There’s a saying about life not being all
beer and skillies, and you may take my word
for it, that life ain t all cupboard courtship
for a policeman. Even if he had the incli
nation for it, his superiors would lake pre
cious good care that he didn t spend his
lime on duty making love to cooks and feed
ing in gentleman’s kitchens. That may be
very well in a pantomine, but it's about as
much the real thing as pantomine fish and
carrots are : and, whatever people may think,
policemen don't always come up just when
a fight is over, and it isn't only women and
little boys that they collar—l should like to
see some of them that talk that way have
to tackle some of the customers that we
have to do; they'd mighty soon alter their
tone I expect. \\ hy, taking it all through,
there's lew businesses are more risky than a
policeman’s. In plenty of neighborhoods
he goes on duty with his life in his hand.
People read and talk about the dangerous
classes, but it is the policeman that has to
deal with ’em, and it’s him as knows how
dangerous they are. The 1/ know whether it’s
women or boys that we collar; they know
who lays them by the heels, and they re
member it with a vengeance. “ Revenge is
sweet ” is a motto with a good many of
them, and when they aie loose they will
often go a long way to have it on the man
that has been the means of caging them—
that was how I came by the gash you see
on the side of my face here.
I had got a customer two years for steal
ing lead, and I was one of those that escort
ed him to the van after he was sentenced,
and as we passed along he growls out to me
under his breath, “ You've scored this chalk,
but you may lay any odds that I II score the
next, if I have to die for it.”
I could tell that he meant what he said,
1 bore it in mind. \\ hen he was out
again, 1 kept well on my guard whenever 1
saw him lurking about; but at length he
was too sharp for me.
One rather foggy night I was passing the
top of a dark side-street, when hearing a
rush, I wheeled round as quickly as I could
but it was 100 late. I just caught sight
of the scoundrel making a hit at me with a
bottle tied in a handkerchief, and the next
instant I was stretched senseless. I shall
carry the marks of the blow to the grave
with me, as you may see, and it was pretty
nigh carrying me to the grave ; I was with
in an hall an inch of death, as you may say,
for if it had been half an inch more on the
temple it would have been an end of me.
as it was, it laid me up lor about three
months, but beyond marking me, it did me
no permanent harm.
When I got on my duty again I said noth
ing, but made up my mind that there should
be a third chalk to the game between me
and the fellow that struck the blow. He
had bolted as soon as he had done it, and
hadn’t been heard of sine*; but for all that
1 felt quite sure he would turn up in his old
lurk again, sooner or later, lor his wife and
all his companions were there. So I watch
ed and watched, and snre enough at the end
of a couple of years I spotted him again. 1
found out that he had only been back a
week when I caught sight of him, and so I
didn't try to flutter the nest to soon. 1 let
three months go by. so that he might think
he was all right, and then I went in to score
my next chalk.
I reported him and half a dozen of ns
were told to take him. Three went into
the house alter him. two kept watch in the
front, and I took my stand at the back, the
way he was likeliest to come if he managed
to make a run of it. As it turned out, he
did make a run. or at any rate he got a
start.
It was a low built house, and before those
who went in could get up stairs he dropped
out of the bed room window, coming down
safely on his feet: bat before he could take
to his heels I was facing him, my right hand
holding my staff ready-drawn behind my
ba.k, my left hand ready to collar him.
••Oh. it s you, is it 7” he grinds out be
tween his teeth, and before 1 could say a
word or move an inch, be had whipped oat
a large claap knife. 1 could sea murder in
his eye, and so 1 dashed in at once to seize
him ; but before 1 conld lay bold of him he
had gashed my baud to the bone—and then
it was my turn. He was drawing back to
make a running stab at me, when, quick as
lightening, and with all the strength I could
put into it, I swung round my right arm and
caught him with the staff full in the face,
felling him like a bullock. He was quite
senseless, and by the time the others got
round I had him quietly han Icoffed. When
we got him to the station we sent for a doc
tor to dress the wound, hut he wouldn't have
it touched, and insisted upon being taken
into court next morning with his face all
marked; but though he certainly looked
horrible enough, he didn’t take anything by
his move. He was well known, and besides,
though 1 struck with a will, 1 struck in self
defense, and for life. He had penal servi
tude, and he didn’t live to do his time out
That is the sort of customer a policeman
lias sometimes to tackle, and he neverknows
the day or hour he may have to tackle him.
Men as are wanted wilt generally come quiet
enough, when they find they are fairly
dropped upon ; but still you can never be
quite certain of them ; if the drink or the
evil is in them at the time, they may take
it into their heads to show fight, and when
they do they’re not particular to trifles—
the first thing that comes handy they 'll use.
But, as 1 said before, it s when they go in
for being revenged on you that they are
most dangerous. It isn't a case of fighting
then ; they don’t give you the chance to
fight; they creep upon you—in the dark for
choice—and are op to all sorts of cruel,
cowardly ways of laming a man. Many a
fine man has been made a cripple for life,
in doing or for having done his duty as a
policemen, and some have been killed out
right.
Then see how a policeman has to go into
a row, and take his chance of what may
happen from interfering with wild or drunk
en men with their blood up ; again, see how
he has to go into a house where “ Murder! ”
is being shouted, and where perhaps the
first thing that meets his sight is a man more
than half mad, and slashing right and left
with a poker. Then there is a being at
fires, and being out in all sorts of weather,
so that, what with one thing and what with
another, a policeman’s is both a hard job
and a risky one. If there’s any one as
thinks as it ain't risky, just let ’em ask any
policeman's wife as cares for her husband
how often she has lain awake, fearing some
thing might happen to hi(D, when he's been
on night duty in a bad quarter!
What class of criminals are the most dan
gerous for a policeman to have to deal with?
Well I hardly know ; the regulars, the “ hab
itual criminals,” as they are called, are much
of a muchness. A sneaking thief may turn
Turk upon you, while a burglar or garrotter,
as you might think likely to show fight,
will olten let himself be took as quietly as
a lamb. The chance cases are often rough
ones. A mad-drunk sailor ain’t a nice cus
tomer to handle, and a nmd-drunk soldier—
especially when he takes to the belt—is a
decidedly nasty one; and sometimes your
swindling clerk, or absconding bankrupt,
will show his teeth—pull out a pistol, or
pick up a decanter or a chair, and talk of
knocking your brains out if yon lay hands
on him ; though of course we do lay hands
on 'em for all that. If you dash in boldly
at them they generally knock under.
Coiners used to be about the worst, but
there’s not many about now. There is one
customer, however, as is more likely than
not to make a fight of it before he’ll be tak
en, and as is generally a tough un to fight,
and that is the escaped convict. It’s gen
erally a desperate hand that does manage to
escape, and one that’s dreadtully fond of his
liberty, and that knows that if he is took
again he may bid a long epod-by to it. A
gentleman of that stamp gave me the sl.iffest
tussle I ever had, and the one I’m proudest
of, for I fought him fair, and took him single
handed. When he made his escape he got
clean away, and he had sense enough not to
hark back to his old Ixindon haunts while
the search was hot; but about a year after
wards he did venture back, and I accident
ally got wind of it.
1 knew that there was five pounds for any
one who took him, and 1 had a pretty good
idea that the governor of the prison he had
broke out of would stand something more ;
hut more than all that, I Well, I may as
well say it: I had not been long in the
Force at the time, and I wanted to show
that I had something in me ; and so, though
1 could have asked for help, I made up ray
mind to try to take him by myself. 1 was
twenty-seven at the time, stood five foot
eleven, weighed twelve stones —good fight
ing weight—and, though I say it that
shouldn t. the convict, escaped or unescaped,
didn't breathe that 1 feared to tackle single
handed.
It was not of the man himself that I was
afraid, though I knew he was a Tartar;
what made the job so risky was the danger
of being set npon by the whole of the gang
to which he belonged, and who always went
atfont together, and would, I know, think
nothing of murdering a policeman. I wait
ed a few weeks to see what chance might
turn up, and at length one afternoon I heard
that the gang had picked up some sailors,
and were spreeing with them in a public
house some little distance from their regu
lar lurk; and thinking to myself that I
might wait long enough without finding any
much better opportunity, I determined to
try my luck there and then, and down to
this public house I went.
There was no one then particular in the
bar, and so I passed through to the back,
and there in a shut-in skittle alley 1 caught
sight of the gang, eight in number, and with
three sailors in-tow.- 1 fall qualmish, but 1
knew that it wouldn’t do to give way to
that feeling, and so seeing my gentleman
there in the midst'as large as life, I put on
my boldest face, bounced into the alley, and
shotting the door, placed my back against
it. Though the gang was taken by surprise,
they acted cleverly enough; they didn’t
know which of them might be wanted, and
not one of them said a word or moved an
inch, but I noticed my man picked op a
beer-pot and make a pretense of sipping at
it, thought I could see easy enough that
his real move was to be ready to fling it at
my head if it should turn out that he was
the man wanted.
I caught his eye, and in an off handed
tone said, • r
“ Oh, you know it’s you I’ve come for,
then; but take my advice, don't do anything
in the pot-throwing line. It will only make
things worse for yon, for the bouse is sur
rounded, and there are men enough iu re
serve to lake a houseful of you.”
" I shall make it death or glory this time,”
he answered, “and so here goes;” and as
he spoke the words he threw the pot as
l)ard as he could, and then made a dash for
-All the Year R .und.
SHASTA, CAL., SATURDAY, JULY 26, 1873.
a window at the end of the alley. The
pot just skimmed my ear, and then I was
on him like a panther, and dragged him
back just as he had got half out of the win
dow. 1 downed him, and had all but mas
tered him, when one of the gang, that had
popped out as soon as my back was from
the door, came running back to tell the oth
ers that it was all gammon a tout there be
ing a reserve. This was enough for them.
Without another word said, they made a
rush towards me; and, though I still held
my man, my heart grew cold, and a prayer
flashed through my mind, for I felt that I
was face to face with death. 1 knew they’d
stick at nothing and that the very same
gang had kicked a man to death only a few
months before. Bat 1 was iu luck.
1 would have called to the sailors for help
but they looked helplessly drunk, and two
of ’em was; but the third, as it happened,
was only half seas over. He. was a big
lump of a fellow, a Yankee mate, as 1 knew
afterwards, and about ns cool and bold a
card as there well could be. As they sprang
forward, so did he, and whipping out a re
volver, says he, in an aggravated sort of way,
“ Gentleman, fair play is a jewel, and I like
to see it respected—and so 1 will. They
are man to man, and pretty fairly matched,
and if the officer can take him, he shall.”
Whether or not he would have fired at
them, they-must have believed so, for they
slunk hack. All the same they had done a
good thing for their mate.
While this had been going on 1 had with
out knowing it, slackened my hold, and my
man, putting out all lug strength in a sud
den move, threw me off, and got on to his
feet, and before I could close with him again,
had drawn a life-preserver. He made a
dash at me with it, and aimed a crushing
blow at my head.
Fortunately it only reached my left shoul
der, but even there it was a crippler for the
time being, for I felt my arm drop useless at
my side. He staggered a hit from partly
missing his blow, and before he could re
cover himself 1 was along side of him. and
he went over like a ninepin, and held up his
hands to have the bracelets put on.
It was only about two minutes’job alto
gether, but it was a mighty tough one, I can
tell you, and dangerous one, too ; and what
I say is, that when people talk about police
men. they should remember that they never
know the day or hour when, in the way of
duty, they may have to tackle ajob in which
their life is at stake.— CusselCs Magazine.
Marriage Unfashionable. —Among the
better classes marriage is becoming unfash
ionable. The number of educated business
men iu our cities from twenty to forty who
remain single and have no intention to mar
ry is becoming vety large. The hotels are
full of them, the clubs and boarding houses
teem with bachelors. 1 have a hundred
times introduced the subject of matrimony
among such people. Their comments are
curious, and nearly always in tljc same vein.
Mr. A. “ Not any for me, if you please.”
Mr. B. “ Of course women are well enough
in their way, but then I shall never bind my
self.”
Mr. C. “ Yes, I should look jolly with a
wife and half a dozen babies, shouldn’t 1?
Of course 1 admire women hugely, especially
those blondes in the ‘ Black Crook! ’ bat
then I ain’t quite a fool. No, gentlemen, I
shan’t hitch a tail to my kite yet a while.
When I’m played out, and want hot flannels
on my joints, then perhaps I’ll sail in, but
for the present I’ll paddle my own canoe.”
Mr. I). “ Why. yes, if the old cove would
come down with the stamps, 1 wouldn’t
mind; but then I wouldn’t go in lor less
than a cool hundred thousand. The old
madam can t get her off on to me with any
of your thirty or forty thousand. You see
it won’t go down. Can’t catch me with
any of your small bait.”
Mr. E. “ Oh, of coarse I know it; she’s a
s'.unner, but then old Moneybags can t ex
pect to work off his girls without showing
bis hand. A fellow can't leap into the dark.
If the old skeesicks wants to get rid of'em,
he must plank down the shiners.”
Mr. F. “ Well, boys, it’s no nse talking;
the sort of life we are leading is that of sav
ages. What does it all amount to ? My
idea is a little cottage with a little wife, and
I would have one if 1 were not afraid. The
fact is they are all sick, and the doctor’s
bills are more than all the rest of it. Now,
if I could get a wife with such health as my
grandmother had, I would go in to-morrow;
but these wasp-waisted concerns, why, they
haven’t room enough for their blood vessels,
snying nothing of their liver and stomach
and a good dinner. No boys, the kind of
life we are leading is not a bit to my taste,
but then the other thing—well, I'll have to
think of it. Of course J know that a body
only, no matter how healthy and beautiful,
fails to make a women. The best part of a
woman is her beautiful loving soul, and I
should be sorry not to think that heaven
will be full of them, but in this world health
and strength are indispensable.”— To-day.
Clerical Fun.— ln the newly published
volume of Monographs of laird Houghton,
there is. in one of .Sydney Smith, the follow
ing story of his clerical fun in Yorkshire:
He willingly assisted his neighbors in
their clerical duties, and an anecdote of one
of these occasions is still current in the dis
trict, for the authenticity of which I will not
vouch, but which seems to me good enough
to be true. He dined with the incumbent
on the preceding Saturday, and the evening
passed in great hilarity; the squire, by name
Kershaw, being conspicuous for his loud en
joyment of the stranger's jokes.
“ I am very glad that I have amused
you," said Mr. Sydney Smith, at parting,
“ but you must not laugh at my sermon to
morrow.”
“ I should hope I know the difference be
tween being here and at church,” remarked
that gentleman, with some sharpness.
“ I am not so sure of that,” replied the
visitor.
“ I’ll bet yon a guinea on it.”
“ Take you.” said the divine.
The preacher ascended the steps of the
pulpit apparently suffering from a severe
cold, with his handkerchief to his face, and
at once sneezed ont the name “ Ker-shaw ”
in various intonations.' This ingenious as
sumption of the readiness with which a man
would recognize his own name, in sounds
imperceptible to the ears of others, proved
accurate.
The poor gentleman burst into a guffaw,
to the scandal of the congregation ; and the
minister, after looking at him with stern re
proach, proceeded with his discourse, and
won the bet.
George Eliot.
The story of Marian Evans’ life has been
variously told. Perhaps this is the most
authentic version of what has never been
authoritatively told by the actors in it;
Mr. licwes, the distinguished and clever
biographer of Goethe, and a well-known au
thor of philosophical works, had been un
fortunate in his marriage relations ; so, too,
had Mrs. Lewes ; they were a most ill as
sorted pair, and she shook off the bond
which gulled her, and became unfaithful to
her marriage vow. But Mr. Lewes himself
was equally guilty of infidelity to his wife,
and the laws of England dues this equal
justice to man and woman, viz., it absolves
neither from a marriage bond on accouut ol
the infidelity of the other, unless tIW one
who asks freedom can claim to have been
faithful to his or her own yow. The mar
riage tie between this disloyal husband and
wife was broken in fact but not in law.
They had long lived separate lives when
Mr. I,ewes met and learned to love Miss
Evans.
Miss Evans was a woman of singularly
unattractive person. No photograph ol
her is to be found anywhere, and she shrinks
from contact with strangers, for she is pain
fully conscious of her own lack of personal
charms. It was her mind and heart which
won Mr. lajwes’ love, and the nobility and
purity of this most pure spirit lifted that love
into a reverence he had never before felt for
woman. 11 is love was returned, and the
question of their future was discussed by
these loving friends, and friendly lovers.
They asked the advice and counsel of the
wisest and best of their friends in this emer
gency, and at last, alter much thought and
discussion, it was decided by themselves
and counselors that this being an excep
tional case it must be dealt with in an ex
ceptional manner. A legal marriage be
tween them was impossible, but since the
affection which united them was no youth
ful passion, but the stable bond of a love
founded on mutual congeniality and respect,
they would be justified in uniting their lives
outside of the law if they were strong
enough to bear the social consequences
which must naturally follow from the infrac
tion of the law. This they resolved to do,
and from that time they have lived happily,
contentedly and hopefully together. All
their best friends approve of their course,
and no truer wife to her husband, no more
tender mother to his children, for she has
has none of her own, is to be found in all
England than this brave and true woman.
Of course, in a society so rigid as that of
England in the outward observance of the
moralities—though it is whispered that, un
der a decorous regard for the conventionali
ties, plenty of indecorous acts are committed
and winked at —such a course as that ol
Mr. and Mrs. Lewes puts them outside of
general social recognition. Mrs. Lewes
never visits the houses of other people ; she
receives only her special friends at her own
Since she has achieved fame, she might be
received by many ladies who, before this,
would have refused her entree to their
homes, but she neither desires nor will she
accept their proffered recognition. She did
not overstep the conventional laws of soci
ety without due consideration ; she knew
the price she must pay for a happy home and
a satisfied heart, and she is content to pay
it, nor does she find it too high. It was a
perilous experiment, and one that no wom
an, unless she be as strong, ns bravo, and as
pure, and as sure of holding her lover, as
Miss Evans, would do well to repeat.
Though “ Adam Bede” was the first work
which brought Mis. Lewes prominently into
notice as a writer, it was by no means her
first effort. Very few people, like the Bar
oness Tautpheus, achieve fame as an author
without serving a previous apprenticeship at
literature. “ The initials ” which made the
name of the English wife of the German
baron a household word in two continents,
was actually the very first attempt the au
thor made at writing. She was devoted to
painting, but the oils and colors she used,
being pronounced in part accountable for
her failing health, were taken from her by
the physician’s order, and she was literally
driven to her pen to fill up her idle and
heavily-hanging hours. Nothing is more
wonderful in the history of literature than
the brilliant novel which this mere tyro in
art produced.
But Mrs. Lewes had no such experience
of rapid success in the path which she en
tered upon. She herself tells us that she
had for years been an untiring and diligent
worker, translating, writing essays and stor
ies, which brought her no reward in fame,
and but small compensation in money.
“ Adam Bede ” first made her famous, and
her'subsequent novels, “ The Mill on the
Floss,” “Silas Marner,” “Felix Holt,” “Ro
mola,” and “ Middlemarch,” have steadily
augmented her reputation. Each has its
troop of admirers, who consider it her best
work. Mr. Greeley regarded “Silas Marner”
as her finest effort, but we think few would
be found to agree with him.— Portland
Transcript.
Broadcloth an Enemy of Health.
Professor Hamilton, in an able address on
hygiene to the graduates of the Buffalo
medical college, denounces broadcloth as an
enemy to exercise, and therefore to health.
“ American gentlemen have adopted, as a
national costume, broadcloth—a thin, tight
fitting black suit of broadcloth. To for
eigners we seem always to be in mourning :
we travel in black. The priest, the lawyer,
the doctor, the literary man, the mechanic,
and even the day-laborer, choose always the
same black broadcloth—a style that never
ought to have been adopted out of the draw
ing-room or the pulpit, because it is a feeble
and expensive fabric, because it is at the
North no protection against the cold, nor is
it any more suitable at the South. It is
too thin to be warm in winter, and too black
to be cool in summer; but especially do we
object to it because the wearer is always
soiling it by exposure. Young gentlemen
will not play ball, pitch quoits, or wrestle or
tumble, or any other similar thing, lest their
broadcloth should be offended. They will
not go out into the storm because the
broadcloth will lose its lustre if rain falls
upon it; they will not run because they
have no confidence in the strength of their
broadcloth; they dare not mount a horse or
leap a fence, because broadcloth, as every
body knows, is so faithless. So these young
men and these older men, these merchants,
mechanics and all, learn to walk, talk and
think soberly and carefully; they seldom
venture even to langh to the full extent of
their sides.”
Scottish Hospitality Sixty Years Ago.
—ln those days Scotland would have been
a rich field for Father Matthew's labors.
Habits of drunkenness were common alike
to rich and poor. They were associated
with good fellowship, and were tenderly
dealt with, even by the Church. The or
gies of Oabaldistone Hall, graphically de
scribed in “ Rob Roy,” found their counter
part in many a Scottish manor. The old
bacchanalian rhyme
“ He who goes to bed, goes to bed sober.
Falls as the leaves do and dies in October;
But he that goes to bed, goes to bed mellow,
Lives a long, jolly life and dies an honest fellow.”
was quoted, half in earnest, as apology for
the excesses which weatlthy and respecta
ble hosts, under the guise gf hospitality, lit
erally forced upon their guests, when the
cloth was drawn and the ladies had aban
doned the dinner-table to their riotous
lords and masters.
1 have heard my father, more than once,
relate what happened on such an occasion,
when he was one of the actors. He had
been dining .with a party of eight or ten
gentlemen and a few ladies at the luxurious
country-seat of a friend, who had shown him
much kindness. When the ladies withdrew,
the host, having caused the butler to set out
on the table two dozen bottles of port,
sherry, and claret, locked the door, put the
key in his pocket, and said to his guests,
“ Gentleman, no shirking to-night! Not a
man leaves this room till these bottles are
emptied.”
No remark was made in reply, and the
wine passed round. My tather drank three
glasses, and the utmost limit to which I have
ever known him logo, though be habitually
took a glass or two of sherry after dinner.
At the fourth round he passed the bottles
without filling. His host remonstrated—at
first in jest, then in a half-angry tone —
when the recusant persisted. Thereupon
my father, approaching a front window,
which opened on the lawn, only a few feet
below it, threw up the sash and leaped out,
followed by three or four other guests.
This enraged their host. As the fugi
tives looked back, they saw him upset the
dinner-table with a violent kick, smashing
bottles and glasses, and declaring with an
oath, that if they didn’t choose to drink
that wine nobody else should.
The deserters joined the ladies in the
drawing-room ; but the host did not reap
pear, and my father, as leading conspirator,
lost and never regained his friendship.—
Robert Date oteen's Axdohiography, in
“ Atlantic Monthly."
The Student's Trick. —A young man of
eighteen or twenty, a student in a university,
took a walk one day with a professor, who
was commonly called the students’ friend,
such was his kindness to the young men
whom it was his office to instruct. While
they were walking together and the profes
sor was seeking to lead the conversation to
grave subjects, they saw a pair of old shoes
lying in their path, which they supposed be
longed to a poor man who was at work close
by. and who had nearly finished his day’s
work.
The young student turned to the profes
sor, saying, " Let us play the man a trick ;
we will hide his shoes and conceal ourselves
behind those bushes, and watch to see his
perplexity when he can not find them.”
“ My dear friend,” answered the professor,
“ we must never amuse ourselves at the ex
pense of the poor. But you are rich, and
you may give yourself a much greater
pleasure. Put a dollar into each shoe, and
then we will hide ourselves.”
The student did so, and then placed him
self with the professor behind the bushes
close by, through which they could easily
watch the laborer, and see whatever wonder
or joy he might express.
The poor man soon finished his work, and
came across the field to the path, where he
had left his coat and shoes. While he put
on the coat he slipped one foot into one of
his shoes ; but leeling something hard, he
stooped down and found the dollar. Aston
ishment and wonder were seen upon his
countenance; he gazed upon the dollar,
turned around, and looked again, and again ;
then he looked around him on all sides, but
could see no one. Now he put the money
in his pocket, and proceeded to put on the
other shoe, but horf great was his astonish
ment when he found the other dollar! His
feelings overcame him ; he fell upon his
knees, looked up to heaven and uttered
aloud a fervent thanksgiving, in which he
spoke of his wife, sick and helpless, and his
children without bread, whom this timely
bounty, from some unknown hand, would
save from perishing. The young man stood
there deeply affected and tears filled his
eyes.
“ Now,” said the professor, “ are you not
much better pleased than if you had played
your intended trick? ”
“O, dearest sir,” answered the youth,
“jou have taught mo a lesson now that I
wiH never forget. I feel now the truth of
the words which I never before understood :
1 It is better to give than to receive.’ ”
Fragments of TnfE.— ln order to achieve
some good work Vhich you have much at
heart, you may not be able to secure an en
tire week, or even an uninterrupted day.
But try what you can make of the broken
fragments of time, Clean up its golden
dust —those raspings and parings of precious
duration—those leavings of the days and
remnants of the hours, which may soon
sweep out into the waste of existence’ And
thus, if you be a miser of moments—if you
be frugal, and hoard up odd minutes and
half-hours, and unexpected holidays—your
gleanings may eke out a long and useful
life, and you may die at last, richer in exist
ence th in multitudes whose time is all their
own. That which some men waste in su
perfluous slumber, and idle visits, and des
ultory application, were it all redeemed,
would give them wealth of leisure, and en
able them to execute undertakings for which
they deem a less worried life than theirs es
sential. IV hen a person says, “ I have no
time to pray, no time to read the Bible, no
time to improve my mind, or to do a kind
turn to a neighbor,” be may be saying what
he thinks, bnt he should not think what he
says; for if he has not got the time already,
he may get it by redeeming it.— Hamilton.
It is said that if Maud Muller had her life
to live over again, and should meet the
judge in this year of grace 1873, she would
sue him for breach of promise and obtain
sufficient damages to make her family happy,
or else shoot him, become a lecturer, and die
rich and respected by all.
ANECDOTES.
A Pithy Story.— Mr. Klijali Patrick is
a gentleman from the backwoods of East
ern Kentucky, whose business it is to sup
ply druggists with herbs used in medicines.
Some eight years ago, while making his
rounds among his customers in this city, he
went to the store of Messrs. AV. S. Merrell
& Co., wholesale druggists, and was given
by the younger member of the firm orders
for different roots, barks, etc. They had a
printed list, and as they came to the needed
article the word was checked off, such as
“Tansy, three pounds “ Cammomileflow
ers, five pounds “Pennyroyal, six pounds;”
and so on. W hen they got down to “ Sas
safras pith,” Mrf Merrell who was eight
years younger, said (according to Mr. Pat
rick's statement), Get as much of that as
yon can find.”
Sassafras pith is the spongy matter found
inside the stems of the American plant sas
sa/rasjmadulki. It is used, when soaked
in water, as a wash for diseased eyes, and as
a drink in dysentery, catarrh, etc. An
eighth of an ounce to a pint of boiling water
will make a wash the thickness of weak
mucilage. The article has heretofore come
almost entirely from down South, and it
was generally believed tint it grew nowhere
else in the country. It was high priced, the
wholesale late being at that time over three
dollars a pound. Mr. Patrick, understand
ing that he was to get as much sassafras
pith sis he could find, pocketed the list and
went home. He at once hired about two
hundred men, women and children, and set
them to picking sassafras stems and strip
ping them of the bark. When he had got
a large pile he wrote on to Messrs. Merrell
to send him two hundred bags. They denied
ever getting this letter. He went on pick
ing until a large part of Eastern Kentucky
was cleared of the plant. He then hired
boats, and loaded two of them with pith.
Enough was left to half fill a third boat.
One day the druggists on Third street were
astounded wit h the announcement that there
are lying in the river three boats laden with
sassafras pith, subject to their order, and in
a day or two in walked Mr. Elijah Patrick
with his little bill of $5,901. As might be
supposed, there was a scene. Messrs. Mer
rell i Co. hadn’t room in their whole build
ing wherein to store it. It has been ealeu
lated that at the rate of a drachm to a case
of dysentery or catarrh, there was more than
enough for the whole of the United States.
Flatly, Messrs. Merrell refused to pay for it,
when Mr. Patrick walked to Judge Han
over's office and engaged him to bring suit.
The case came up in the Superior Court,
and Patrick lost. He continued proceed
ings, and the case was tried six times.
Meanwhile the pith had a hard time of it.
Piled up in stacks, it grew mouldy and
rotted. The rats got at it. Twice the
warehouse burned down. The first time
half of the heap was turned to ashes, and
the second lime (he other half went up.
Never was a case that looked clearer to
outsiders than Patrick's claim, but never
did anything so bother the judges as did
that mountain of sassafras pith. Toward
the last, fresh proof involving Messrs. Mer
rell was brought forward, and it began to
look as though the druggists would get the
worst of the suit. Judge Taft, who had
been down to look at the pith, was mightily
puzzled, and finally declared that he could
not decide the case, and it must go to jury,
Mr. Patrick here grew discouraged. Ho
had pushed the thing through the courts for
seven years, and just when he could almost
hear tho judgment in his favor, it was pro
posed to begin all over fresh, and, in the
end, depend upon the verdict of a jury.
“Why,” said he, as he mournfully listened
to the proposition of a compromise, “ yex
kin better tell aforehand where lightin’s
going to strike as to tell what decision them
fellers would come to.” So he concluded
that he had had enough of law, and agreed
with Messrs. Merrell to call the whole mat
ter square for a thousand dollars.—Cincin
nati Enquirer.
Judge L . of Lafayette, Ind., not only
dispenseth justice with an even hand, but at
times indnlgeth in the jocose. During the
progress of a certain trial involving the
ownership of a calf, it became important
that the jury, in order to arrive at a just
conclusion, should be sent to view for them
selves the chattel in dispute. The plaintiff
who had the animal in charge lived some
two miles from the court house, and one of
the elderly jurymen demurred to the idea of
being sent so far. The judge, in his usual
full voice replied, ‘‘Gentlemen,! anticipated
this objection, and had the calf brought to
the court yard. I thought it less trouble to
bring in one calf than to send out twelve.''
The jury emerged into the open air, and in
the presence of the calf deliberated.
Ciieatino the Mails.— Tempi* liar says;
In tho days of heavy postage no one had
the slightest scruple in cheating the reven
ue. Persons leaving home, whether for in
land or foreign travel, were importnned by
friends to carry letters for them to other
friends. An idea prevailed that if the let
ters were carried “ open,” that is, unsealed,
there was no infraction of the law. and that
consequently no penalty could be exacted.
This was a popular error. The law, more
over, was evaded in another way. A news
paper was sent by post in an envelope; in
side the latter, a long epistle was often
written in invisible ink, generally milk.
When this was dry, the writing could not
be seen. By holding the paper to the fire
the writing came out in a sepia color, and
the law was broken. In place of writing in
milk on covers of newspapers, they make
slight dots, in ordinary ink. under such
printed letters as suited their purpose for
conveying intelligence/ This was trouble
some for both sender and receiver, and it
was therefore used only for brief messages.
The postal tax pressed most heavily on the
poor, but the ingenious poor found means
to evade it. For instance, a son or daugh
ter in town dispatched a letter to parents in
the country who were too poor to pay the
postage. The parents declined to take such
letter in, which they had a legal right to do.
Returned to the general post office, the let
ter, on being opened, was found to be a
"blank sheet of paper. The fact is, that par
ents and children had agreed to send these
blank sheets as indications that all was well
with the gender; the receiver got that much
of news, and had nothing to pay for it.
The letter was never taken in unless a pe
culiar mark was on the cover, which intima
ted that it contained something of import
ance.
HOUSEHOLD.
COI.D Bathing. —Just now I am sorry to
see that there is a reaction against daily cold
bathing. A medical man of my acquaint
ance cautions his patients against 100 -fre
quent bathing, for fear the oil may be re
moved from the skin. He tells them that
twice a month during the winter, and twice
a week during the summer are quite enough
for anybody. A well-known writer hag
recently cautioned (he world against the
removal of the skin oil by too frequent bath
ing.
This is an entire misapprehension. In
hydropathic establishments the patients are
sometimes bathed three or lour times a day,
yet never lose the oil of tha skin in conse
quence. Pugilists, in preparing for the prize
ring, arc bathed two or three times a day,
and rubbed with rough towels by the strong
est arms. Hcenan was bathed three or four
times a day, and was rubbed by McDonald
and Cusick with all the power of their
strong arms, fifteen minutes at a time, and
with the roughest towels and brushes, and
yet the account says that when he appeared
in the ring his skin wag as beautiful as a
baby's.
If cold water were used without soap, a
bath every hour, with the hardest friction,
would only increase the secretion of oils.
A more (requent objection—one urged by
the patients themselves—is,- that they can’t
get up a reaction. A lady said to me one
morning, “ 1 have tried this cold bathing,
but it always gives me a headache; besides,
I can't get warm for an hour.”
Many others have made the same objec
tion. .Now, this is all because you don’t
manage right. If you will manage as fol
lows, the want of reaction and consequent
congestion of the head and chest will never
occur again. Purchase a bathing-mat, or
make one by sewing into the edge of a large
piece of rubber-cloth a half-inch rope ; on
rising in the morning spring into the middle
of it, and with an old rough towel folded
eight or ten inches square, apply the water
as fast as your hands can fly; then with
rough towels rub as hard as you can bear on
until the skin is as red as a boiled lobster.
This will take one minute, and leave you in
a delightful glow.
1 have never met any one who, taking the
bath in this rapid and vigorous way, was
not satisfied with it.— To day.
Sponoe-cake Podding. —Melt some but
ter, and grease very well with it the inside
of a fluted cake-mould, using for the pur
pose a feather or brush. Then glaze the
mould with powdered white sugar—that is
to say, shake it about until the part greased
is equally covered with the sugar, and looks
white. Stone some raisins, and have ready
a few currants, washed and picked. Place
them according to fancy in the curvings of
the mould. Take some sponge-cake, stale
will do, and cut it up small, filling the
mould with it, as you do so mixing lightly
throughout currants and raisins rubbed in
flour to prevent their falling. Beat up four
eggs, the whites separately from the yolks,
add four table-spoonfuls of sugar, one to
each egg, and then pour gradually to them
until well combined three half pints of cold
new milk, which quantity should be enough
to fill the mould. Set your podding in a
pan containing enough water to come a lit
tle more than half-way np the sides of the
mould. Just as the water begins to boil
see that the oven is so moderately heated as
to insure the slow baking of the custard,
else it might turn to whey. Do not let the
pudding brown or bnrn ; it should be done
in about a quarter of an hour after the water
has boiled around it. Sauce make thus :
Four yolks of eggs beaten up with four
table-spoonluls of sugar, poured to a pint of
milk allowed first to come to a boil. Re
turn to the fire for about five minutes, stir
ring rapidly. Flavor with what you please ;
rose-water is good. Turn out the pudding
in a pretty dessert dish ; pour the sauce
around it, and the work is done. The above
recipe is especially adapted to meet the
wants of small families, upon whose hands
cake is apt to accumulate and turn out stale.
An elegant and economical dish is thus pre
pared out of materials that would otherwise
be wasted.
Lemon Syrup.—l send a recipe for a de
licious and healthy summer drink. Four
pounds of granulated sugar and two quarts
of cold water, get it on the stove and stir
till dissolved. Give one good boil and skim,
take off the fire and stir in one ounce of
tartaric acid. When perfectly cool flavor
with essence of lemon. Clarify the sugar
with the well beaten white of an egg put in
when you put in the cold water. To use,
put a table-spoonlul into a goblet and fill
with cold water.
My Sister’s Cake.— One cupful ef sugar;
one-half cupful of warm water, with butter
the size of a small egg melted in it; one-half
teaspoonful of soda; spice to taste; flour
enough to mix hard ; put in while very
warm ; stir well, and bake in a hot oven.
To Make Boots Water-Proof,— Warm
a little beeswax and mutton suet, and while
it is liquid rub some of it slightly over the
edges of the holes where the stitches are.
Faded Hair.—l have used the following
recipe, and consider it perfect: Six ounces
of castor oil, two ounces of alcohol Flavor
with a few drops each, of musk, lavender,
and bergamot.
An Expensive Funeral, —The Maharajah
of Jondbpore, an Indian prince, has recent
ly died, and been buried according to the
custom of his race. The remains were ar
rayed in royal robes and adorned with gold
and jewels valued at $75,000. Two ele
phants walked in front of the funeral proces
sion, laden with gold and silver coins to the
amount of $62,500. At intervals of a hun
dred paces a portion of the coins were scat
tered among the spectators, who scrambled
for the prize. Tho body, shawls and jewel
ry were all thrown together open the burn
ing pile. Since the death of the prince five
thousand Brahmins have daily received food
and a rupee each at the palace gates. The
inhabitants of the province, as an expres
sion of grief, have shaved off their beards,
moustaches and the hair of their heads.
The rajah left behind him the usual number
of wives and concubines. Many of them
were extremely anxious to be burned with
their late lord ; some from real grief at bis
loss, and others because it was the fashion
of the country. But this act of devotion or
conventionalism was not permitted by the
authorities, greatly to the disgust of the
widows.
JVO. 18,