Frostburg mining journal. [volume], February 24, 1872, Image 1

About Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913

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C. II WALKER A 4. K. ODER,
vou m i.
The Baby,
The baby sits in her cradle.
Watching tho world go round.
* Enwrant in a mystical silenen
Amid all the tumult of sound,
die must be akin t" tho flower-'.
For no ono has heard
A whispered word
From this silent baby of ours.
Wandering, she looks at the children.
As they merrily laughing pass.
And smiles oV-r her face go rippling
Like sunshine over the grass.
And into the heart of the flowers;
Hut never a word
Mas yet been heard
From this silent darting of ours.
Has she a wonderful wisdom.
Of unspoken knowledge a store.
Hid away from all curious eyes.
Like the mysterious loro
tf the birds and the bees and the flowers !
Is this why no word
Has ever been heard
From this silent baby of ours ?
Ah. baby, from out your blue eyes
The angel of silence is smiling—
Though silvern hereafter your speech.
Y*ur silence is golden—beguiling
AH hearts to this darling of ours.
Who speaks not a word
Of all she has heard.
Like the birds, the bees, and the flower .
Deacon Dodd.
Deacon Dodd once feelingly said
Ab ml his Betsy, long since dead.
' If ever an angel loved a man,
I’hat angel, sir. was Betsy Ann.
It I happened to scold her. she was so meek.
Which the Deacon did seven times a week)
She’d clap her apron up to her eye.
And never say nothin’, hut only cry.”
But, ladies, p’hops you’d like to he told.
That Deacon Dodd, like other men.
Waited a year, and married again ;
But he married a most inveterate scold.
And now *tis tin- Deacon’s turn to he meek.
As he gets well rasped from week to week ;
But rather than ’’open his head” he'd burst—
He wishes the second was with the first!
But as she’s as tough as a hickory limb.
No doubt she’ll live t > say of him.
“ If ever a saint the footstool trod.
That man—that saint—was Deacon Dodd.”
\ Boat Bide.
I’he summer night, was calm and clear.
The stars were twinkling o'er us ;
The boat held two/the oars were light.
Ami smooth the stream before us.
And happy songs of lovo we sung.
Her voice with mine was blending.
Alas ! my song of lovo was done
Before that summer’s ending.
For she I loved so true and long.
My hope in life’s endeavor;
Is sailing down the stream of life
Awav train me forever.
THE FATAL DUEL.
Old Dr. Tatham was sitting cozily with
his .daughter one morning when the
servant e.me in and announced Mr.
Irving and his son.
“Leave us, Amy darling, for a short
time, will you?’’ said the doctor to his
naughter. “ I will send Walter to you
directly, but I wish to speak a few
words to him first.”
Amy Tatham was a charming girl, in
the fresh bloom of youth and beauty.
I don’t think she quite liked being sent
away .just, at that moment, and it is
quite certain that she raised her head
very suddenly when she heard the
name “Walter Irving ” mentioned.
Walter living was certainly a very lucky
fellow; and I think, if the truth he
told, when old Dr. Tatham kissed his
daughter preparatory to her fulfilling
his sentence of exile, I think ho thought
so too.
“ Bother business, dear papa!” said
willful Amy ; “ but remember you have
promised not to keep me .away long;
and if you don't keep y our word, I shall
come in and surprise you. Good-by,
you old dear.”
When Amv Tatham had left the room
the doctor turned toward the servant,
who still stood at the door.
“ Ask Mr. Irving and his son to walk
in, please, and don’t let me be disturbed
unless (here is something very important
to be done.”
Mr. Irving was a tine-looking old gen
tleman of the Colonel Newcome stamp ;
his son not so tall, or of such command
ing presence, but intelligent-looking,
and also gentlemanly. The father was
about sixty; the son twenty-five, but
looking evidently younger.
After commencing on a few ordinary
topics of conversation, Mr. Irving was
about lo come to the point, and explain
more particularly the object of his visit
on this occasion, when lie was stopped
by the doctor.
“ I beg pardon,” said lie, “ but may
1 be allowed to interrupt you for a mo
ment. It would bo absurd of me to
atlect ignorance of the object of your
visit. Before, however, 1 can listen to
what either you or your son has got to
say 1 have something very important to
divulge. I must take you into my con
fidence, and relate something which it
is necessary you should know—a secret
which 1 fearlessly intrust lo you.”
Walter Irving rose.
“My dear boy,” said the doctor, “ 1
beg that you will remain. What 1 have
to say affects you more particularly than
any one else here. You lravo been a
good son, and I feel confident that you
will make an excellent husband. Your
love for my daughter is warm and gen
erous; but promise me now—promise
me, the father of the girl you love and
desire to marry—promise mo, as the
gentleman that you are, that you will
religiously keep my secret. Keep it;
yes, even from my daughter!"
f l he doctor said these words in a
strangely excited manner.
Mr. Irving and his son were evidently
not prepared for so serious an interview.
However, they promised faithfully to
obey the doctor's earnest request, and
waited patiently for him to continue.
The doctor looked round in his chair
to assure himself that they were alone,
and then, clearing Iris throat and ad
dressing himself more particularly to
young Walter Irving, spoke as follows:
“ Eight-und-lwenty years ago 1 was
studying medicine at a German univer
sity. It was at Heidelberg. When I
took up my residence there tire absurd
custom of dueling between the students
was in vogue. At that time they were,
more serious than they are now, the cus
tom of swathing the combatants, with
the exception of a small portion of the
face, being then almost unheard of.
Hardly a day passed that some duel or
other did not take place. The students
fought occasionally with the officers,
with the towns-people, and, I need
hardly add, perpetually among them
selves.
“ 1 was as wild and as headstrong as
any of them. My wild and unflinching
English spirit and determination gained
me a reputation even among these dare
devil German boys, and very soon I be
came noted as a reckless fellow and ex
perienced duelist. X became the leader
of a ‘ clique,’ and, to tell the truth, I
was not a little proud of my position.
We have not all of us got sound think
ing heads upon our shouluers at six-and
twenty. Boys will be boys.
I “ A very little way from where my
lodgings were lived a young student
who was as unlike me, or any in my set,
ins black is from white. lie was the
kind of fellow we should have called a
* milksop’ at school; and yet, somehow
or other, I felt I could not dislike the
! follow. Instinctively—l don't know
| ho • ir was—but I took to him.
“ Max Oppenheim—for that was my
' neighbor's name—was a pale-faced, Htu
: 'lious looking young man, and a perfect
model ot a student. lie was always
being held up as a pattern to us. lie
was never known to miss a lecture : was
i never seen at the gasthaus • didn’t
I smoke, drink beer—did nothing wicked,
|in fact. Max Oppenheim was our exact
j opposite.
’’Outside the university he never
j joined his fellow-students, and was
never known to invite them home.
“ I forgot to say that he lodged exact
ly opposite where I was residing, so my
window commanded his.
“One morning, as I was smoking a
cigarette on tho balcony outside my sit
ting-room, l saw, to my surprise, over
the way, a pretty, fair head peeping out
of Oppenheim’s window. The head
popped back immediately I was do
i tected.,
■ 1 laughed to myself, and thought
what a good story 1 would make out of
! it for the benefit of my friends.
“ That evening, before I had an op
portunity of doing this, l happened to
meet Max, and began joking him about
tin* fair apparition that I had seen.
“ He stopped me in an instant,
j “ 4 I am married,’ said he, rather
I proudly. ’That was Madame Oppen
: In im that you saw. 1
“ I am afraid I must have perpetrated
an incredulous whistle.
It was Madame Oppenheim, I tell
you, sir,’ said the pale-faced Max, get
ting irritated; ‘and I beg that her
name may be treated with respect.’
“ I was half inclined to treat the mat
ter still as a .joke, and I fully believe I
should not have been inclined to let the
conversation drop so suddenly with any
one else; but, as 1 told you .just now. in
my heart I esteemed Max thoroughly,
and knew him to be by no means a bad
fellow. I can now confess that I
really liked him, only I did not like to
ow n it. We are all desperately weak
sometimes.
*‘ This little altercation of ours was
trivial enough; but it had its ill effects,
notwithstanding.
“ Before it happened we were in the
habit of shaking hands and exchanging
a few friendly words when we met.
This was all knocked on the head after
it. We bowed coldly to one another
when we met, and in time even the
bows became few and far between.
“ And then the months slipped away,
and the winter came, and with it—at
least not very long afterward—the car
nival.
“Of course I went to the carnival
ball, and in costume. I remember it
well : it was a Pierrot dress. I danced
all night, and got back to my lodgings
at some unearthly hour in the morning. ,
“ 1 threw myself on the bed, dead
tired as I was; too sleepy, in fact, to
take off a scrap of my costume.
“ 1 had fallen asleep outside the bed,
but was awakened by a loud knocking
at iny door. I had heard the knocking
for some minutes, and it mixed itself
fantastically enough with my dreams.
“Still the knocking went on; but
when I heard my name repeated two
or throe times, 1 started up suddenly.
•‘•Come in—come in !’ I cried", still
confused, and very sleepy.
“The door opened, and a man walked
into ray room.
“ It was Max Oppenheim.
•• He seemed very much agitated, and
was as pale as death.
••• Why, Oppenheim, what on earth
can you want with mo at this hour of
the morning?’ said i, rubbing my eyes,
and looking comical enough, I should
think, in my tumbled Pierrot dress.
“ 1 Mr. Tatham,’ said be, hestitatiiig
a little, and with a broken voice, ‘you
have shown me kindness before now ; I
have come to ask you to do me a very
great favor.’
“‘ By all means. What can I do?’
“ Max Oppenheim took two or three
turns up and down my roony. hesitated
once or twice, but at last, commanded
himself, and said, in a nervous, anxious
manner: “You cannot conceive how
sorry I am to put you to any trouble or
annoyance, Ml. Tatham; but, to deal
honestly with you. let me say that you
arc the only man I know how to appeal
to in my present unhappy condition. I
have heard, and I think I am correct in
believing, that in affairs of honor, as
they i re called here, you are somewhat
expert.’
“‘Mv dear fellow,’ replied 1, now
thoroughly surprised, ‘ you don’t mean
to tell me that a duel is on the cards?’
“ ‘ Yes.!
“ ‘And you intend to tight?’
“ He looked me steadily in the face.
There was a flash of something like
pride in his eyes, and a tone of dignity
in liis voice, as he gave me the following
explanation :
“ ‘Last night my wife was very anxious
to see the masqueraders go to the ball.
1 didn’t see much harm in this simple
wish, and said that I had no objection
to take her. We took up our position
under the trees, away from the crowd,
where I imagined we should be able to
see everything without being in any
way disturbed. It may appear strange,
but 1 fancied some how that all would
not go well. One has these odd present
iments at times, you know; and, al
though it is impossible to account for
them, it is no use denying that they do
occur.
“‘A party of students, as ill-luck
would have it, passed by the very spot
where we were standing, and recognized
me. They surrounded us. I suppose
they had been drinking freely. At any
rate, they insulted me grossly ; but this
1 could have endured. They heaped
their insults upon her who was with me.
1 will do them the justice to believe
they were ignorant that she was my
wife. I informed them of the relation
ship in which we stood to one another.
1 told you the same, Mr. Tathatn, you
may remember, and, like si gentleman,
you believed me. These young ruffians
simply laughed in my face. 1 had to
defend my poor wife against their coarse
and cowardly attacks, and to compel
their silence as best I could. By de
grees they left me one by one. One
solitary individuul remained. He was
the ringleader, the most offensive, the
FROSTBIRU, ALLEGANY COUNTY, MARYLAND, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY *2l. 1872.
| most unpardonable. Snapping his
| fingers in my face, he said, “ I consider
j 1 have been grossly insulted by you, Mr.
! Max Oppenheim. I shall expect, satis
faction to-morrow, if there is an atom of
pluck in your composition.” ’
“ ‘ Well, what then ?'
“ ‘ I have told you all, Mr. Tatham.
The thought struck me once or twice
during the night that such a foolish and
trivial affair would be allowed to drop
as hastily as it began. I thought, per
haps, the morning would with it
sober reflections, and that happily an
apology might he offered me for the
gratuitous insults I received a visit from
two of them, still in their fancy dresses.
They came to ask me if I had made any
preparations. They assured me that my
adversary—Heaven knows I bear him
no malice—was determined not to rest
until he had obtained satisfaction for
the injuries inflicted on him. He never
liked me, this man, and bears me some
strange malice. He is a clever fellow,
but idle; and I think he is a little bit
jealous of my success in the. university. ’
“Poor Maxi I think I see him now
as he stood talking to me in the cold,
gray morning light, so frankly, so ear
nestly, and with such charming mod
esty. But 1 was a young fool then, anil
never allowed my heart to be broke.
How this young, promising fellow stood
at my bedside, confiding to my care his
happy, brilliant life and prospects, and
all his pretty wife’s hope and love and
heart. Like a fool that 1 was, 1 under
stood nothing of this. I thought like a
fool, and like, a fool 1 answered:
“‘ If you knew tlie fellows as well as l
do, Oppenheim, and understood their
mad enthusiasm for dueling and strange
notions of honor, you would believe
that this man spoke the truth. He will
not rest until he has had satisfaction.’
Do you know who it is I mean?’
said M ax, nervously.
‘••I know them all. What is his
name?’
“ * Ferdinand Kohler.’
“ ‘ A most experienced swordsman.
What practice have you had?’
“ ‘ I—l am ashamed to say that I have
hardly ever had a sword in my hand.’
“ ‘ You don’t mean to say so?’
“ At this tiino of which I am speaking
I don’t believe that there could have
existed two students at that, or, indeed,
in any, university who could have made
such a confession. Poor Max’s confes
sion of incompetency seemed to me
not only incredible, hut almost to
amount to a crime of some magnitude.
I was obliged to act upon first thoughts,
for there was no time for reflection.
“ ‘ If you think, Mr. Tatham, that it
is a point of honor for me to tight this
man, I atn prepared to meet him, come
what may.’
“To this courageous and plucky
speech, without thinking of its conse
quences, I said, ‘Bravo, Oppenheim!
That's spoken like a man !’
“ lie didn’t quite look all the courage
of his words, so 1 tried to encourage
him.
“ • Why, this will be a splendid open
ing for you,’ I said. 1 You will never
become a swordsman without practice;
and to he ignorant of the weapon is to
own yourself no student, or, indeed,
gentleman, according to the present
idea. They will despise you no more
niter this; and if you do shed a little
blood, why, it will be worth the pain.
Your antagonist is no mean rival; I can
assure you ; and the mere fact of your
standing up against him will raise you
up a thousand degrees in the estimation
of your fellow-students. You have won
my heart already, tiive me your hand.’
“ I shook the poor fellow warmly by
the hand, and tried to inspire him with
confidence.
“The whole thing was excitement
and pleasure to me, and I en joyed my
position amazingly.
“ Max Oppenheim's heart could have
told a very different story. However,
it was all a point of honor with him.
And although 1 believe, now, lie would
have given any thing in the world to be
comfortably out of the scrape, like a
true-hearted gentleman he stifled his
feelings.
“ There was another knock at my
(loor.
“‘Here are the gentlemen, most
probably,’ said he. ‘ Hoping, indeed
knowing, that you would not refuse
your assistance, 1 begged them to await
us in the street. Shall I open the
door V’
“‘Certainly. Let them in.’
“ There they stood, flushed with wine,
careless and excited—German students
to the life. We ail went out together.
“ There is a picture of Gerome’s which
1 saw once in Paris, and of which I see
photographs in the shop windows in
London, which makes me shudder
again. It is called ‘ Le Duel de Pierrot.’
On just such a spot Max Oppenheim
anil Ferdinand Kohler met.
“ it was just such a winter’s morning, j
just such a bleak, dreary landscape, just
the same snow thickly strewed on the
ground.
“ 1 never look at the picture or imag
ine the. scene without seeing Max
Oppenheim’s blood.
“ For Max Oppenheim fell that morn
ing, mortally wounded, on the snow.
“ We saw at once he was utterly igno
rant of the sword, and unanimously
begged Ferdinand to be gentle witli
him. ‘.lust give him a scratch,’ we
said, ‘ and that will do.’ i have no
doubt in iny own mind that Ferdi land
had no intention of acting otherwise.
Poor Max brought about his own death.
He fought like a young lion, wildly,
and without an atom of head. Ferdi
nand gave a lunge to defend his own
life, and it was a fatal thrust for Max
Oppenheim.
*“ There lie died, where he had fought
so desperately. It was an awful thing
for all of us; and we would, one and
all, have cut off' our right hand sooner
than it should have happened. 1 shall
never forget the awful stillness of the
morning, as we stood round the dead
body of our fellow-student, or the hitter
sorrow with which we bore his remains
away from the dreadful scene.
“The last sad and painful duties con
nected with Max’s unfortunate death
devolved upon myself. The worst part
was yet to come ; for before he breathed
his last he intrusted a letter to my care,
and whispered only one word—‘Marie!’
“ I had to meet the young widow
face to face.
“On arriving at the house 1 went up
the stairs very slowly, and, after much
hesitation, knocked.
“ Marie herself came to the door.
An Independent Paper— Dp voted to Literature. Mining, Commercial, Agrienllural. General and Loral News.
“ She was pale as death. 1 guessed
at once that she understood for what
purpose Max had left her so suddenly
at such an early hour.
“ Directly she saw me she shrank
back. For some time she stood there
immovable, and trembling like an
aspen leaf. She dared not ask me on
what account 1 had come there. There
she stood, with her long hair floating
down her shoulders. So young and so
very beautiful 1 A few hours ago, and
she owned every thing she desired most
in the world, and now of all women she
was the most miserable.
“And there I stood before her, gazing
into her sweet, pale, terribly staring
face, ami did not dare to move or speak
a word. The words stuck in my throat
and nearly choked me.
“ And then she fixed me with her
eyes, and that look of fear burned into
me like molten lead.
“So terrible was that look that I was
compelled to take my eyes off her and
look upon the ground. When I ven
tured to allow them to stray back again
it was easy to see that Marie Oppenheim
guessed—nay, knew—all.
Max is dead !' she shrieked, putting
her hand to her heart, as if that one
effort had made it cease to beat.
“ I said nothing. There was a wild,
hysterical sob, and then, falling upon
her knees, she moaned out a prayer.
After that she fell apparently lifeless to
the ground.
“ 1 shall never forget that scene to
the day of my death. Nothing I have
ever seen on the stage, nothing 1 have
ever read in hooks, nothing I have seen
in pictures, has ever come near it in
depth and intensity.
“ I don't know exactly how long I
remained there. I was more than half
stupefied witli grief myself.
“ I tried feebly enough to console lier.
She would not be comforted.
“ 1 You are very kind,’ she said, 1 but
don't understand me. Max is dead,
and that is all 1 care to hear or know.
It was 1 who sent him to you. I be
lieved—hoped—that happily you would
save his life; but God willed, it other
wise. He loved him so much that He
robbed me ot' my husband, and has
taken him to Himself. There is only
one thing 1 want now—my husband’s
body. It belongs to me—it is mine 11
alone will watch over it, l alone will lay
it in the coffin, and I alone will follow
it to the grave ? Hid them bring me
my husband, and promise me faithfully
that no one shall disturb the last few
hours that I, Marie Oppenheim, have to
spend with ray darling boy. Sir, I beg
-—l implore you—to allow this !’
“ What could I say ?
“ I gave her his letter, and left her, as
she bid me.
.“Night after night I watched the
house from my balcony opposite. It was
bitterly cold, but there I stood and
watched, and scalding were the tears 1
shed for her who sat desolate in the
room in which a light burned on
through the long night into the morn
ing again.
“My house was terribly close to her,
and 1 heard everything. I hoard her
awful shriek when they led her away,
and she had seen his face for the last
time; and 1 heard the dull thud of the
hammer, and the click of the cruel
nails.
*• We followed, all of us, but afar oft'
and away from her, for she begged to be
alone with him at the grave.
“ The next day. hearing and knowing
that Max’s widow was desperately poor,
I wrote to her, notifying what we had
arranged to do among ourselves for
her.
She wrote back, declining all assist
mice, and within a very few days had
left Heidelberg. No one knew whither
she had gone. I tried in vain to dis
cover her whereabouts, and not long af
ward 1 myself had completed my uni
versity life there, and came to Kng
land.
“ For live years 1 was attached to one
of the London hospitals, and at the end
ol that period, before I bought the
practice down here,” continued Dr.
Tatham, “ I wont tor a short Conti
nental trip,and revisited Heidelberg lor
the ttist time since I had left it at the
termination of the old student days.
“ There is little wonder, after what I
have related to you, that the place had
a stiange attraction for me.
“ I lost no time in making my way to
the pretty church yard where, live years
ago, I had seen Max Oppenheim sadly
buried.
“I found the grave. It was fur
mounted by a simple cross. There
were two names carved on the arms of
the cross. On one arm was the word
' Max,’ and on the other, freshly cut,
1 Marie.’
“ An old woman was standing by the
grave, and on its bosom was a little fair
haired girl, dressed in deep mourning,
and busily employed in planting on the
grave some snow drops and violets.
“ From the old woman I learned how
that Marie Oppenheim had returned to
Heidelberg some few months after 1
had left for England, bringing with her
a litttle baby, whom she idolized. The
sweet mother had died but a few
months back, and here was the little
one on the grave of its mother and
father, as yet hardly old enough to
know the real bitterness of its loss.
“ flie child took to me in a wonderful
manner. I staid at Heidelberg for some
weeks, and the little one would not al
low herself to be for a moment out of
my sight. The consequence was, that
when I returned to England 1 brought
her with me, and it was given out when
I came down here that I was a widower
with an only child. This, my dear
friend, was not, as you well know, the
truth. 1 was never married, and my
darling Army is the daughter of Max
and Marie Oppenheim.”
A little tender sob was heard at
the other end of the room when Dr.
j Tatham finished his story, and in an
other moment Amy was in his arms,
circling round the good man. and crying
passionately.
Amy soon changed her surname for
: the third time,and became Mrs. Irving;
and the young people lived on with old
Dr. Tatham, who often said that now
I the secret was off his mind, be was
| twice as happy a man as he was before.
New Ai.hanv, Ind., boasts of a lady
six feet tall, with back hair touching the
ground.
Swallowed by the Sea.
An estimate has been made by com
petent persons, that, in file last five
centuries, England has lost $250,000,000
worth of land by the encroachments of
the ocean. Villages and t-owns, marked
on old maps, have wholly disappeared,
bands, tlu- income of which enriched a
convent in the fifteenth century, are
now coveted with water fathoms deep.
The publication of these statements has
elicited some curious facts about the
ravages of the sea in other countries.
The neighborhood of Havre, in France,
has (guttered much in this way. The
western coast of Belgium and Holland
has sunk perceptibly. St. Petersburg is
so much lower than it originally was,
than, a few years ago, a proposition to
mdlp the Capital back to Moscow was
seriously considered. The New World
is ndt exempt from kindred dangers.
Cape'Cod manages to retain its shifting
sands, but travels untiringly from east
to west to do so. It is well known that
the old coast-line of the Continent is
some sixty miles east of the present
one, and the ocean is annexing New
Jersey rapidly now, as any property
owner at bong Branch can testify;
while the moderate Agassiz says that
the rocky hills of Massachusetts are dis
appearing “at a fearful rate.” When
Lewis and Clark visited the Columbus
river, in l)S07, they heard vague tradi-’
tions among the Indian tribes of terri
ble “earth-sliakings,” and “rivers of
fire" which hail flowed from the moun
tain tops of the Cascade Range. That
the whole country lias been liable to
volcanic overflows, the lava and scoria!
which form so much of the rock abun
dantly prove. However, from 1 807 to
1868, the internal fires made no sign,
and the highest peaks—Mount Hood,
Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Jefferson, and the
Three Sisters—were pronounced extinct
volcanoes. In 1868, a few faint clouds
rose from tho crater of Mt. Hood, and
now the peak is said to be pouring forth
volumes of heavy smoke. Six weeks
from now, the Columbia river will have
risen twenty or thirty feet, and if an
earthquake should then open new
channels or choke up the old one, the
damage that such an enormous volume
of water might do is incalculable.
A Presbyterian Joke.
A Louisville correspondent of the
Cincinnati Gazette thus pleasantly gos
sips about Rev. Dr. Stuart Robinson, the
leader of the Southern Presbyterian
Church. After relating the reverend
gentleman’s almost miraculous escape
from small-pox, the correspondent
says :
“May I not tell a .joke on the Rev.
Doctor of Divinity? He enjoys a
joke and I am sure he will laugh at this
one. It was reported during his ill
ness, while he was very low, even at the
very gate of the cemetery, so to speak.
that the physicians found it necessary
to resort to the transfusion of blood in
order to save his life. This extraordi
nary surgical operation was much
talked about by the friends and ac
quaintances of the great man whose life
was supposed to have been thus almost
miraculously saved. Everybody wanted
to learn the particulars about it—how it
was done, and by whom—and one gen
tleman pressed tho matter so far as to
ask a Presbyterian not in sympathy
with Dr. Robinson : ‘ What animal did
they take the blood from ?’ 'From a
mule, of course !’ was the reply. This
joke will not need any explanation for
those who know Dr. Robinson’s reputa
tion for downright stubbornness. There
was no transfusion, however.”
A New Wasting Powder.
A number of successful experiments
with a new kind of blasting powder, re
cently invented in England, were made
in St. Louis the other day. It acts
downward, and has the same eflect
when placed upon the surface of the
rock as ordinary powder when exploded
on rock thirty feet underwater. A two
ounce pill box was tilled with it, and
placed on a plate of boiler iron half an
inch in thickness. The ignition was
effected with a fuse and percussion cap.
An opening the size of the surface cov
cred with the box was made in the
pl.tie. It is claimed that this explosive
material has four times the force of or
dinary powder. An elfort is to he made
to commence its manufacture in this
country.
Anti-Opium Pills.
In a recent report on the condition of
the English Hospital at Pekin, China,
the attending physician gives a formula
for •• anti opium pills.” This remedy
is composed of extract of gentian, cam
phor, quinine, Cayenne pepper, ginger
and cinnamon, with castile soap and
syrup to form the mass, and liquorice
powder to form the coating. The
ellicsoy of these pills in overcoming the
opium habit, and in preventing the
suffering on giving up the use of that
poison, is stated to have been proved in
numerous cases. The native remedies
it is said contain opium in some form,
and most frequently the ashes of opium
already smoked, and consequently are
inefficacious, it being as difficult to dis
continue the use of the medicine as of
the drug itself.
ISrh-r but Itrilliant.
A man was taken to the Kansas peni
tentiary last week, from Franklin coun
ty, who stole a watch one day, was
arrested and examined before a Justice
the next, and sentenced for two years
in the District Court the next, and
taken to the penitentiary the next. In
ten days after he came into the State,
he induced a wife to leave her husband;
the roxt day he abandoned her, and
next day the watch scrape overtook
him.
Rats have an unaccountable fondness
for the taste of phosphorus, and to this
fact may beattributed the origin of many
mysterious fires. They build their nests
of inflammable materials, and take to
them any stray matches they can find
lying round loose. This accomplished,
they undertake to gratify their appetites
by nibbling (he coated ends of the
matches, which areat once ignited, when
the nest is set in a blaze, and the de
struction of the house follows.
Mm ster Schknck, in his resignation
of the directorship of the Emma mine,
published in the English papers, says
his directorship was not incompatible
with his duty, hut that he preferred to
remove any pretext for an attack upon
him.
Beware of the Spare Bed.
A correspondent of the Health He
former says :
In our itinerent life we have suf
fered much tiy sleeping in beds that
were not daily used. Beds that are not
daily exposed to the air and sunlight
will gather dampness. And there are
but very few who understand the neces
sity of having the sun and air come fre
quently into their sleeping rooms, that
bed and bedding may be kept perfectly
dry and free from impurities.
Beds that have been left unused for
days, and even weeks, in the damp sea
son of the year are dangerous to the
health and life of those who sh ep in
them. When visitors are expected, the
parlor stove may he for tho first time
set up, and a fire kindled in it, anil tlie
parlor bedroom opened. And this is
considered sufficient preparation to
make the friends comfortable. But the
lied and bedding, if not carefully sepa
rated and aired, are not safe for any one
to use.
1 have had a very afflicting experience
in sleeping in damp beds. 1 slept with
my infant two months old in a north
hi droom. The bed had not been used
or two weeks. A fire was kindled in
he room, and this was considered all
hat was necessary. Next morning, I
elt that I had taken cold. My babe
seemed to be in great pain when moved.
His face began to swell, and he was af
flicted witli erysipelas of the most ag
gravating form. My dear babe was a
great sufferer for four weeks, and finally
died, a martyr to the damp bed.
A few weeks later, I accompanied my
husband to till appointments in several
places. In four of these places we had
tlie misfortune to be assigned the spare
bed in rooms opening from the parlor.
The stove was set up in the parlor ad
joining these bedrooms the very day we
were expected. Dampness had entered
every part of these unheated, unventi
lated rooms. The windows had not been
raised, and wero carefully covered with
paper curtains, and outside of these
drapery, and the blinds wero carefully
closed. The air had not been permitted
to circulate freely through the house,
and the precious sunlight was excluded
as though it was an enemy. Why was
there need of windows at all when they
were not used? It would have saved
expense to have made these houses
without windows. Our good-hearted
friends received us cordially, and we
should have enjoyed ourvisit, had it not
been for the dreaded spare bed.
At the first two places wo visited, wo
took severe colds by sleeping in their
damp, unused beds, and we suffered
greatly with rheumatism ; but tried to
till our appointments. In the third
damp bed, we lay nearly two hours try
ing to get warm ; but the clothing was
literally wet. We wero under the un
pleasant necessity of calliug our friends ;
lor we felt that it would be positively
fatal to life and health to remain in that
damp bed. Our friends cheerfully re
newed their fires, and the bedding was
removed from the bed and thoroughly
dried.
We returned home from that.journey
and exposure to sutler for months. I
feared that I should be a cripple for
life. My husband was afflicted with pain
in the chest and lungs, and he had a
a severe cough for months. After three
months of almost helpless suffering,
and careful treatment, by the mercy of
God, I was able to walk.
We have been exposed in our late
journey to “ death in the spare bed.”
We have fakcn colds, which have, set
tled upon the lungs, causing soreness of
the Hesh. Since our fears have been
aroused we have been careful, and have
been under the necessity of close ques
tioning in regard to our beds. In some
cases, wo have removed the tied cloth
ing and have dried it by the tire before
we ventured to sleep. This may have
given the impression that we were par
ticular, and perhaps notional. We own
that we are particular. Wo value life
which God has preserved, by a miracle
of his mercy, from the (bath in the
spffre, damp, and moldy beds.
In the case of all these beds, where
the air has not circlated through the
rooms daily, the bedding should be re
moved and thoroughly dried by the tire,
before being slept in. Sleeping rooms
should have the windows raised every
day, and the air should circulate freely
through the rooms. The curtains should
be withdrawn from the windows. The
blinds should be (listened back. And the
blessed sunlight should thus be invited
in, to brighten and purify every bed
room in tho house.
New Use for the SI gnat Service.
An intelligent writer in the Troy
Daily Times has found a new use for the
signal service. lie makes it a sort of
medical director by considering that
the knowledge of climate gained by its
effective working may be useful in
saving life from the ravages of disease.
Fevers and consumption owing their
power to harm to sudden changes of
temperature and violent atmospheric
commotions, an intelligent physician
will be enabled to point out a climate
where consumptives and other sufferers
may find relief from the aggravating
cause ot their maladies. The result of
the signal service observations has
shown the possibility of finding regions
where pulmonary diseases are unknown.
Undoubtedly there is much truth in
these observations, but since many per
sons have*found an instant relief from
their sufferings in the climate of Minne
sota, it seems clear that the writer goes
too far in denouncing that State as a
“ residence unprofitable for hygienic
purposes.” Exact scientific knowledge
of climate being now possible, it will, of
course, be made useful.
The Colored Vote.
According to the recent census, the
negro vote of the United States num
bers 870,110, and is distributed among
the several States as follows :
Alabama Bft 400 Nebranka 140
Arkansas 22.100 Nevada TO
Caliloruia. 780 New Hampshire Uni
Conuurticut l.Teo New Jersey 5,000
Delaware 4,200 New Yo-k y. 500
Fltiritla 16,700 N<>rll* Carolina ..71,200
tleorgla... 21,100 Ohio 11,500
Illiuoi* 5,200 Oregon >
linliata 4,4im Pennsylvania 11.00)
lowa. I 100 Rhode Island 930
Kansas h IIK) South Carolina 78,filN)
Kentucky 40,4011 Tennessee 58,ft00
Loiiisaua ftft 3ini Texas 4<>.|
Maiue sin) Vermont 170
Mary laud 31,200 Virginia 93,3<i0
>1 ansae h use it". ... 2300 Wear Virginia 3,300
Michigan.. 2,UN) Wiconsiu 4<M)
Miuneeotu 140 ■ - ■■
Mississippi N),700 Total 870,110
Missouri. 21,500
Editors and Proprietors.
NUMBER 22.
A Simile.
Woman is like n diamond. As a maid
The unset from it* purity displays.
Ami when in wedlock's golden circlet laid
Is seen the lustre of its sparkling rays ;
Hut in it* highest beauty it is shown
When motherhood with final charm endue .
And children-rubios round the central *ton
Tinge its white radiance with their roseate hues!
Keep.
Keep to the right, the law direct*.
Keep from the world thy friends defects
Keop all thy thoughts on purest themes,
Keep from thine eyes the motes and beams.
Keep truo thy deeds, thy honor oright.
Keep firm thy faith in God and right.
Keep free from every sin and stain.
Keep from the ways that bring thee pain.
Keep free thy tongue frou* words of ill.
Keep right thy aim. and roo<l thy will.
Keep all thy aets from passion free.
Keep strong in hope, no envy peep.
Keep watchful care o'er tongue nnd hand.
Keep firm thy feet, hy justice stand.
Keep truo thy word, a sacred thing.
Keep from the snares the tempters bring.
Keep faith with each you call a friend.
Keep full in view the final end.
Eeep from all hate and malice free.
Keep strong the lovo of liberty.
Keep firm thy courage bold and strong.
Keep up tho right, keep down the wrong.
Keep well tho words of wisdom’s school.
Keep warm by night, by day keep cool.
Worcenter
Varieties.
Indian reservations —scalps.
An inn-vocation —tending bar.
All the difference—the ancients
urned their dead,the modern earn their
living.
It’s the way with mites—there is not
one of them that does not think himself
the entire cheese.
Experimental philosophy—trying to
borrow an umbrella. Moral philosophy
—refusing to lend one.
Some author says that one of the uses
of adversity is to bring us out. That’s
true —especially at the knees and el
bows.
Why is a man searching for tho phil
osopher’s stone like Neptune? Be
cause he is a sea-king what never did
exist.
In general, birds do not suffer with
colds in their heads, yet the smaller
kinds are liable to hawk, and the domes
tic fowl to spit.
A Connecticut school boy has written
a composition on the horse, in which he
says it is an animal having four legs,
u one at each corner.”
A chandler having had some candles
stolen, a person bid him be of good
cheer, 4 ‘ for in a short time,” said he,
44 they will all come to light. ’
An old traveler tells a pretty tough
story about being lost in the woods with
his dog, where he could find nothing to
eat, and had to cut ott' the dog's tail,
which he boiled lor himself, and after
ward gave the dog the bone 1 We would
rather borrow a hundred dollars than
believe that story.
A j.adv, sitting in the same box of an
opera house with a French physician,
was much troubled with ennui, ami
happened to gape. “ Excuse me, ma
dam,” said the doctor, “ I am glad you
did not Bwal.ow me.” “Give yourself
no uneasiness,” said the lady, “ I am a
Jewess, and never eat pork.”
Mrs. Partington entered the oflico of
the Prooate Judge (called “ civilian”),
and inquired in her blandest tones:
“Are you the civil villain?" “Do you
wish to insult me, madam?” said the
Judge. “ Yes,” replied the amiableold
lady, ‘my brother died detested, and
left three infidel children, and Pm to
be their executioner; so I want to insult
the civil villain about it."
A few days ago a child was crying in
the street. A compassionate lady, pass
ing at the time, stopped and asked him
what was the matter. The child re
plied, “Cos I’ve lost a penny mother
gave me.” “Ah, well, never mind,”
said the lady ; “ here is another for
you,” and proceeded upon her way ;
but had not gone far when she heard
the little fellow bellowing more lustily
than before. She turned back and
again asked the cause, upon which the,
little urchin answered, “Why, if I
’adn’t lost the first one, I should ’ave'ad
tuppence.”
Critical Periods of Human Life.
From the age of forty to that of sixty
a man who properly regulates himself
may be considered in the prime of life.
His matured strengh of constitution
renders him almost impervious to the
attacks of disease, and all the functions
are in the highest order. Having gone
a year or two past sixty, however, he
arrives at a critical period of existence ;
the river ot death flows beforo him, and
he remains at a stand still. But athwart
this river is a viaduct called “The Turn
of Lite,” which it crossed in safety leads
to the valley “Old Age,” round which
the river winds, and then Hows beyond
without a boat or causeway to affect its
passage. The bridge is, however, con
structed of fragile materials, and it de
pends upon how it is trodden whether
it bend or break. Gout, apoplexy, and
other bad characters, are also in the
vicinity to waylay the traveler and
thrust him from the pass; but let him
gird up his loins, and provide himself
with perfect composure. To quote a
metaphor, “the turn of life” has a turn
either into a prolonged walk or into the
grave. The system and power having
reached their utmost expansion, now
begin either to close, like flowers at
sunset, or break down at once. One
injudicious stimulant, a single fatal ex
citement, may force it beyond its
strength; whilst a careful supply of
props, and the withdrawal of all that
tends to force a plant, will sustain it in
beauty and vigor until night has nearly
set in.
Interesting to Architects.
The German Government has devised
a scheme that promises to be a gre t
event in the history of architecture. It
is intended to build a new House of Par
liament at Berlin, and the desire is to
make ita model structure. To that end
the architects of all the nations on the
globe are invited to compete by sub
mitting plans before the lath of April
next. A prize of $5,000 will be paid for
the best design, and prizes of !?l,oooeach
for the four next best. All the plans
will then be printed in an immense
book, for the use of architects. Such a
volume cannot fail to possess great in
terest and to be of vast value to the art.