Frostburg mining journal. [volume], June 22, 1872, Image 1

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

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a 11. WALK Ell X J. 11. ODEII,
VOLUME I.
Reunited
AN 11Y I. I'F TIIK CII ASK.
On through the woods the red doe caiuo.
Her lovely head held proudly lijrh :
She turned and pent a glance of flame
Back o’er the path—nor saw ine nigh.
Her heart beat <iuick; she shivering stood.
And paused to hear the boding sounds;
Then all the woodland echoes .woke,
A ml answered back the baying hounds.
I raised my r’flo’s faltering aim.
Then dropped it with ;• timid thrill;
1 felt a sudden sense of shame—
My eyes with dewy dimness fill.
I could not slay so bright a thing.
Or lay that wildwood beauty low :
And something in her mien recalled
My petted fawn lost long ago.
And, half unconsciously, aloud
I called my wandering Mima’s name ;
She started, turned, and bleating low.
With bounding steps tho darling came.
She comes 1 My voice mistrust disarms.
Forgetting all suspicious fear;
Ami heedless of the hunt’s alarms.
She comes! Sho knows her mistress near.
She licks my hands, my cheek, my br w;
Sho circles me with playful bounds.
Sweet Muna, all too happy now
To heed the threatening cry of hounds.
The chase has turned. The echoes sleep.
To westward pass the hunter’s fleet;
In calm security she lies.
Fair Muna. at her mistress’ feet.
TIIK MAN WHO NEVER LAUGHED.
Iliad an old friend. If fate should
ever lead you lo the graveyard at
Itheims, you might read his name on a
Flab that is neighborly with the tomb
of Abbe Castel, an amiable poet who
received credit for some things which
were produced by somebody else. Jt is
as much as ten years that my old friend
has lain under the cypress planted over
him by his grandchildren. The wind
has gradually filled with earth the in
scription which was intended to inform
the pubhc, “ Here lies M. Jean Bernard.”
Moss lias crept over the specimen of
lapidarv ealigraphy until the letters of
the epitaph have become a velvet green
of the most picturesque appearance.
My old friend, like a goodly number
of those who sleep about him, was
something besides the kind husband
and tender father forwho esoul prayers
are offered up. He was brave and ad
venturous; lie had traveled extensively,
had half dozen shipwrecks, and was
the possessor of a worldly experience
well worth consulting.
M. B( rnard was fond of telling pleas
ant stories, but while all around him
were convulsed with laughter he alone
retained his impassibility. His features
would become animated, bis forehead
wrinkled, and enjoyment was plainly
visible; but as to bis lips, they did not
seem to be abb* to express even that
silent grimace that Fontenelle tolerated
—the Emile.
One evening—it was on board the
English steamer Solent—a nephew of
my ol 1 friend was sitting by my side.
“Tell me,” I said suddenly to the
young man, “why is it that your uncle
never laughs?”
“What! Have you also remarked
that peculiarity? Ii is an old story
that dates away back to the days of his
boyhood.”
“Can’t you tell me about it?”
“Yes; on condition, however, that
you will be careful not to make any
allusion to it in my uncle’s presence.”
I promised; but now that my old
friend is dead, I can take my turn and
tell why it was he never laughed.
ii.
In ISI4, during the great war in
France, M. Jean Bernard had reached
his fifteenth year. He was living in
Nancy with his mother. His father had
been killed in Leipsic, and his elder
brother, a captain in the young guards,
was one of the seventy‘thousand he
roes who disputed, step by step, tin
march of the allies on the soil of
Fiance, whose success lay in their num
bers alone.
It was a rainy day at the end of Feb
ruary. The Prussians,beaten tin* night
before by Napoleon, fled toward Nancy,
and traversed hastily the almost desert
ed streets of the town. Worn out and
covered with mud, they formed on the
public place in front of the Hotel de
Ville. Suddenly there was heard tin*
gallop of a score of horses; the soldiers,
hurrying on and turning their heads to
look back, loaded their guns, and felt
that they were pursued by the terrible
cuirassiers who had passed their lines
on the night before.
“ They are afraid !” cried a young hoy,
who was one ot a small crowd of citizens
looking on.
A burly captain, with a grizzly mus
tache and an athletic form, heard the
remark, looked the hoy in the face, and
advanced toward him. My old friend—
the young hoy, I mean—turned very
pale, but double 1 bis fists and awaited
bin coming. The colossal Prussian
stepped up,seized the boy by the throat,
slapped his face, and threw him to the
ground. This revenge accomplished,
he lengthened out h : s step to regain his
already retreating company.
The young Frenchman jumped quick
ly. to his feet—livid, breathless, mad
with rage—threw himself upon one of
the retreating grenadiers with an effort
to disarm him. He was quickly thrown
to the ground, trampled under feet, and
wounded in the breast with a saber.
The curious crowd that had gathered
had tied in a state of consternation when
the trouble began, and the enemy was
already out of town when the young
Bernard, in his paroxysm of rage, was
still fighting in his own blood an im
aginary foe.
lie was picked up and carried home.
A brain fever placed his days and his
reason in danger, and he took all a
mother’s care to bring him back to life.
He never spoke of this adventure, which
lie seemed to have forgotten, and every
body was careful not to recall it. His
character was visibly affected; from
frankness and joyousness he had be
come taciturn, and when he was par
ticularly happy lie contented himsell
with simply smiling.
After the year 1815 .lean Barnard was
placed in a bank, while his brother re
nounced the profession of arms and
n, kim a farm in the neighborhood
of Melun.
in.
There was a heavy storm in Mayence
on the 21st of November, 1822, raining
from six o’clock in the morning till mid
night. Toward eight o’clock on the
evening of that day Major liasuer,of the
Prussian army, was dancing his little j
: girl on ii is knee as usual, giving her his
; mustache lo pull, and listening to the
recital of her prayeis. After receiving
several of those big, child like kisses
that resounded so charmingly, he laid
her down in her little cradle. As soon
is M’lie Charlotte had closed her eyes, her
mother rocking her and singing softly
one of those little lullabies that can he
traced even to the savages, the officer
went into the parlor, where his mother
sat waiting for him. He kissed her
forehead in sincere filial affection, then
walked up and down the long room sev
eral times, halting finally before a win
dow to look out upon the gleam of light
that sti *tehed from the parlor candles
upon the wet sidewalk.
A graceful young woman, one linger
on her lips, and stepping lightly out of
the room where her little girl had just
fallen asleep, approached the dreamer,
who. though he had just been promoted
to Majority, still wore his Captain’s uni
form.
“What are you dreaming of, Fred
eric?” she asked, as she leaned her
head against her liuband’s shoulder.
“Of course, Martha,” he answered, as
he reached out his arm to draw her
toward him.
“ Is it the rain which makes you so
sad ?”
“No, but the prospect of passing my
evening at the inn, when it would he so
much pleasanter for me to stay at home
with you.”
“ Then why do you go ?”
“ You forget, my dear, that my old
friends, Weisch and Buggler, have offer
ed me a punch for to-night, which we
are to drink in honor of my promo
tion.”
“Can’t I go with you?”
“No,” answered the Major, who
couldn't keep from laughing at the idea
of seeing his Martha enter the bar-room
of an inn.
“Then they don’t allow women in
your miserable old tavern?”
“It is they who refuse to come. At
least, that was the way of it when I was
lieutenant. Since then, Martha, I have
been with you so much that 1 don’t
know whether there has been any
change or not.”
“ Then go quick, so that you can come
Back all the sooner,” said the young
wife, as she disengaged herself from her
husband’s arms.
Major Hasner, who had now reached
his ;;4th year, was one of the most
promising officers of the Prussian army.
His character was mild, and his regular
features carried an expression that was
rather melancholy than otherwise. He
threw his great army coat ab< ut him,
buttoned it up, looked out of the window,
and then came hack and sat down op
posite his mother and beside his wife.
Martha had in her hand one of M’lle
Charlotte’s little ribbons, which that
voun ' lady was probably dreaming of
at that very moment.
“CNme, go on, now, and let me have
this sofa all alone,” said his wife, who
saw his hesitation, and wished to help
him out of it.
She received another kiss, and the
Major, after having traversed the room
three or four times with measured tread,
bade bis mother “good night!” with a
sigh, stopped a moment before the door
of tin* bed-chamber to hear the regular
breathing of his child, and then went
away.
There was still a tine and drizzling
rain outside. It was quite a distance
between the Major’s house ami the
cafe “ Aux Ai mes de Brandenburgh,”
which was situated near the cathedral.
“ Devil take Buggler and Weisch for
breaking in upon my habits, such
weather as this,” muttered the officer,
as he fell the rain in his face.
There was a time when the rain would
not have made much difference to him,
ami then he would have been equally
indifferent how late he remained at the
tavern. But that was when he was a
lieutenant, when he was in France,
when his mother was far away and be
fore he knew Martha.
The Major was late in arriving, and
his appearance was received with the
most respectful salutation from his sub
ordinates and a hearty shake of the
hand from his friends.
The veteran Buggler, who had been
tin* first to arrive, had taken the largest
table in the room. He broke out in
huirahs when lie saw his companion
enter the room. Hasner had served
under his command, and he was de
limited at his promotion. As to
Weisch, he arose, spread out his mouth,
and his great porcelain pipe vibrated in
tin* air as it hung fora moment between
his teeth, a post it never left except to
be tilled again.
iv.
Although Mayence in 1822 contained
a federal garrison, the cafe Aux Amies
<le Brandenburgh was frequented only
by Pruss an officers. The jokes of his
two friends and the congratulations of
everybody soon drove away the Major’s
bad humor. They all went back to the
battle-field. The recollections of the
past were revived while the punch was
brewing under the personal superin
tendence of a captain wno had very
willingly taken charge of this feature of
the evening’s entertainment.
Suddenly the door opened as if it had
been burst in by the wind, and a gust
of damp air agitated the dense clouds ot
smoke from the pipes and made the
l.im} s flicker. A young man, wrapped
in a cloak, entered the room. His eyes,
of a sober gray, took a rapid sweep of
all around him. He seemed to hesitate
as to where he should sit down—first
went toward two old mustaches that
were playing a game of dies, then by a
sudden change of resolution took his
place at the little table where Major
Hasner was.
The citizens of Mayence very rarely
visit*d the cafe Aux Amies de Bran
denburgh unless ac com ponied by an
officer. There was a silence at all the
tables for the purpose of inspecting the
new comer, who threw back the wet
collar of his cloak and let it fall upon
the chair. Light-complexioned, pale,
and with a new-born mustache covering
his upper li}), lie said curtly to the
waiter who asked him what lie would
have:
“ Brandy, beer, anything you like.”
The conversation, thus interrupted
j for a moment, was taken up again, |
An Independent Paper—Devoted to Literature, Mining, (’ommereial, Agricultural, General and Local News.
iURG, A L LEO ANY COUNTY, MARYLAND, S
FROST
| and the waiter rlaeeil a glass before the
stranger.
“Gentlemen,” said the latter, as he
turned to the officers who were watch
ing the progress of the punch, “which
one of you speaks French?”
“ 1 know something of that lan
guage,” answered Major Hasner, as he
arose. “In what way can I be of ser
vice to you ?”
The young man looked into the calm
face before him for a moment, then
shut his eyes and pressed one of his
hands to his breast, as if he were in
pain.
“ I beg your pardon,” he added in a
trembling voice, a moment after, “but
are not these ”-—and he pointed to the
epaulets on the Major’s shoulder—“the
insignia of a captain in the Prussian
army ?”
Hasner had scarcely answered in the
affirmative, when,without having noticed
the rapid movement of the young man’s
arm. ho felt a blow in the face.
All the officers jumped up imme
diately and surrounded the Frenchman,
who held himself at hay against the
wall. Hasner was about to fall upon
him, when his friends Weisch anti
Buggler seized him and held him off.
Then a bottle was hurld at the head of
the stranger by one of the officers, and
broke into a crash upon the wall.
“ Hold, gentlemen,” cried Hasner,
“ this affair is mine.”
He then stepped in front of the man
who had insulted him as if he feared
that the latter was going to run away.
“ I do not know you,” he said, after
looking at the Frenchman a moment.
“Six years ago,” replied the other;
“one of your countrymen, a captain
like you, slapped my lace on the public
square of my native town. I tried to
avenge myself, and I was thrown to the
ground, beaten and wounded by his sol
diers. I always telt that blow till a mo
ment ago, and I only awaited the death
of my mother to demand satisfaction
for it. I arrived in this town this even
ing, and, -lesß cowardly than your com
patriot, I addressed myself to you—
that is, to a man, and not a child.”
A murmur arose among the officers,
hut the major suppressed it.
“I am innocent of the outrage that
was committed upon von, monsieur,”
he said on raising his head sadly; “1
would not have struck a child any more
than you, believe me. You have no
longer a mother—so much the better,
for you have placed me under the ne
cessity of killing you. My friends,
added the Major, turning to Weisch
and Buggler, “ 1 leave the arrangement
of everything to you.”
v.
The next day, about 8 o’clock in the
morning, a post-chase carried M. lean
Bernard on his way back to France.
At the same time Weisch ami Buggler
carried to Martha the inanimate form
of her husband—killed without having
had the time even to put on his major's
uniform.
“ Mv uncle,” continued the young
man who told me this sad story, “whose
good heart and fair dealing you know
as well as any one, learned only too late
that he whom he had insulted had a
mother, a wife, a child, and was no
longer a captain, lie has never ceased
lo think of the orphan. And now you
know why he never laughs.”
Fashion Gossip.
•let hands for the hair are fashion
able.
The rage for coral continues un
abated.
Flounces continue the principal mode
of trimming skirts.
I.adies’ shoes are now made to lace
on either side of the foot.
I.ace sacques, worn over light-colored
silks, are exceedingly effective and
stylish.
A fault of all ready-made linen suits
this season is that they are overloaded
with cheap trimming.
Fine white English straw bonnets are
very effectively trimmed with black
gros grain ribbon, a cluster of white
Marguerites, with pale yellow and black
centers, and lining of black silk, with
light green crepe ruche.
Striped linens and striped grass-cloth
are the favorite materials for sum i er
traveling wear. The skirt is usually
made of the plain fabric, tho polonaise
of striped, and this also is employed
upon the skirt as a trimming, or at
least as bands to head the plaited
Bounce.
The princess style of making dresses
seems to he growing in favor. This is
especially becoming to ladies who are
inclined to stoutness. Some of these
costumes have the bodice and skirt in
one in the fiont, while the skirt at the
back is plaited under a deep postilion
basque. Rich silks and satins arc very
handsomely made in this way.
An attempt is being made to force an
abomination upon women, by reviving
the long dresses for the street. The
appearance of a dress trailing in the
dirt is so suggestively disgusting that it
is a wonder women can he found to
countenance it. One thing, however, is
certain, that whatever efforts are made
by interested fashion-mongers, the clean
short dress has afforded an amount of
comfort and satisfaction which will never
leave it without witnesses.
Tue polonaise has been worn more or
less for several years, but it is now an
almost indispensable part ot the dress.
It is made in all torts of styles and all
sorts of materials, and worn indiscrim
inately in the kitchen and the drawing
room. Originally introduced as an out
door garment, simple, yet graceful, pro
tective and convenient, it lias been
changed, modified, adapted, and “ im
proved,” until there is nothing left of it
hut its name, and a nondescript thing
which puts on a hundred fantastic
forms,culminating in theabsurd “Dolly
Varden.”
A LITTLE boy’s grief upon being re
fused permission to attend the Danbury
Opera House, was in part assuaged by
the assurance from his mother that if
he would dry his tears he might go up
street in the afternoon and see hisfath
| er have a tooth pulled.
Foreign Notes.
In Homo Ihev halve a moving steam
kitchen for cookint! for the poor. It will
rook for tifteen hundred persons a <]iti
tter in less tlinn an hour nnd a half, and
at a sou a plate.
During one of his severe illnesses,
Mnzzini was staying at his favorite
lodging on the Fulham road, anil was
waited upon l>v the woman who kept
the lodgings. She, like all who waited
on him, was much attached to him, but
her awkward cooking was ill-fated to
his sick state. Unwilling to pain her
bv letting her know this, lie used to
hide away the dinner, that she might
not see that it had not been eaten.
Tim Sultan of Turkey has two mag
nificent stables, each containing a large
number of carriages and horses, for har
ness as well as for the saddle. Among
the latter are horses from England,
France, Germany, Italy. Austria and
Russia—mostly presents from their re
spective sovereigns. The Sultan has,
perhaps, the best stud of Arabians in
the world, and is not only very fond of
horses, but also an exce)l||ljij<|er. His
saddle horses are walked ahtuxt i i the
sound of the military music, *6as to ac
custom them to it.
The London Times reports this little
incident as having taken ptj&ce recently
at C'hiselhurst: “A foretjjjfet piplomat,
who has played a great part in the re
cent history of a quasi German State
(probably M. Ben-t). went to visit Chis
elhurst. At the moment of leaving the
F.mperor Napoleon 111., he expressed
the hope that all the present bitterness
would disappear, and that the young
Trince Imperial would return to
France. At these words the ex-Empe
ror, rising with precipitancy from his
seat, cried out: ‘And why my son?
Why not I ?’ ”
According to the London Architect,
M. Gustave Dore is about to challenge
the opinion of the world of art on a
grand scale. He lias just finished a pic
ture 30 feet long by 20 feet wide, at
which he has been working pretty con
stantly for four years. The subject of
this huge composition is “Christ Leav
ing the Temple,” and it contains ah.-ut
four hundred figures. This picture is
to be shown for a few days in Paris,
and to be sent to Landon for public ex
hibition.
A somewhat notable tribute has just
been paid to an American artist by the
Lord Mayor of London. His Honor
having visited Munich lately, there en
tered the studio of David Neal, lie
found him just finishing a picture of
Watt as a hoy, studying the power of
steam. The boy is seated near the
chimney corner, watching the tea ket
tle. His mother has opened the door
and scolds him pleasantly, as her face
indicates, for absenting himself from
the family evening meal, which is seen
going on in another room through the
half open door. Tbe Lord Mayor in
vited Neal to name his own price for
the picture, and it will henceforth grace
the Mansion House in London.
Lively Competition for a Gross Willow.
A correspondent writes to the Man
kato (Minn.) Union of a widow, who
resides in a certain town in Winona
county, who had been wooing two young
stripplings, the one ten and the other
eleven years her junior. Both the lads
happened to meet the lady at the same
time, and both were on the errand of
deciding upon the day for celebrating
the nuptials, as each had the encour
agement to believe himself the favored
suitor. The widow herself was unde
cided, and a scene of tears gave a mo
mentary relief to the heart-tlirobbing
of the two young lovers. Finally she
chose the younger of the two, and they
parted for the night. In the morning,
the discarded lover bethought himself
of his photograph and ring still in the
possession of the lady. He went to the
lady to obtain them, and again sought
favor in her eyes. She yielded, and
promised if he should get his license
first, she would marry him. He left on
the afternoon train for Winona to pro
cure the license, and noticed his rival
on board, who was on the same errand,
but evidently knew nothing of the
new bargain. As soon as the train ar
rived, the lover who held the latest
promise pushed for the clerk’s office
and obtained his license, and just as he
was retiring, the rival entered and ap
plied for a license to marry the same
woman. Our hero who had obtained
the license was bound to press his ad
vantage, and instead of waiting lor the
morning train, which would bear his
rival home, he footed it home through
the mud the same night, and secured
his prize the next morning by marrying
the “ grass widder.”
“Scratch that Man Off.”
In one of the United States Courts a
short time ago, the Marshal was calling
the list for tlie purpose of impanelling
a jury, and the work was going bravely
on, when, in answer to a name, a some
what shabby genteel individual put in
an appearance, and in a very mild and
self-deprecating manner feebly asked
to be excused. The judge, a very pomp
ous anddignifiedjgentleman, first looked
astonished, and then in a deep, re
nuking voice, sternly saiil : “ Excused,
sir! excused, sir! excused; on what
ground ?’’
The juror, that was not to be, casting
a helpless look around w ; th a faint at
tempt at smile, replied : “ I—l—l have
the itch, sir.” “ The itch, sir; the itch?
The deuce you have?” said his honor, at
the same time rising in his magisterial
dignity. “ The itch, sir! Mr. Marshal,”
turning to that functionary, “ Mr. Mar
shal, scratch that man off.”
The Marshal fainted, the c urt went
into convulsions, and the juror left.—
New Orleans Times.
A New Medical Periodical.
The latest candidate in the field of
journalism for popular favor is the
Science of Health, a new monthly maga
zine of sixty pages, issued by ,S. R.
Wells, 389 Broadway, New York. It is
devoted especially to Ethnology, Phre
nology, Physiognomy, Psychology, So
ciology, Science and Art, and the pres
ervation and lestoration of health on
hygienic principles. It is well worth
I the price—$2 per annum,
ATURDAY, JUNE -2*2,
Jerusalem—Present Condition of the
City.
A private letter from an American in
Jerusalem, under date of March 22,
gives this account of the present condi
tion of the Holy City :
Jerusalem, once “the joy of the whole
world,” has fallen low ; ft is Jerusalem,
but not “ the City of the Great King.”
It is a poor place, with narrow crooked
lanes or streets, badly paved, damp and
filthy. The people are poor, nnd there
is no trade nr c-immt rce, as it is in the
midst of a barren land, and remote from
the line of the world’s business. How
the people live is a mystery. The city
is walled entirely around, and as the
walls are in good condition, from its ex
ternal apprarance from all points, one
would expect a rich anil beautiful town
within. Beggars in rags meet one on
all sides, clamoring for “ buckslieegh,”
and lepers sit by the wayside exhibiting
a picture only to be realized.
Frequently, during my sojourn here
of seven weeks, have 1 ascended the
Mount of Olives, and, sitting under an
olive tree, contemplated the great events
in the past history of Jerusalem, and
endeavored to realize that when the
Saviour was upon earth, and when he
also walked the same roads that 1 now
walk, and gazed upon the same natural
scenes, and as I look down upon the
city, I think of the words of Christ
while also looking from the same mount,
“ Not one stone shall remain upon an
other;” anti how true! now nothing re
mains of that Jerusalem but the site,
now the modern Jerusalem. Ofte have
I entered the Church of the Holy-Sepul
cher, on Calvary, and there silently
mused. The painful minuteness of de
tail in which holy places are marked
out and shown as identical, detracts
greatly from one's enjoyment. 1 believe
the church, or buildings on Calvary,
occupy the very rock, but 1 do not be
lieve in the identity of spot to the frac
tion. While standing by the rock which
is marked as the very place where stood
the cross, I believe one is within a few
feet of the place, which is quite suffi
cient. And as to the Sepulcher, in a
small building in the center of a rotun
da, above the floor, I do not believe in
it, and yet am of faith that it is over
the tomb hewn in the rock. The tomb
now shown is a plain marble sarcopha
gus. much like a bath-tub.
There is nothing to be seen of the
reck of Calvary, being all covereil with
buildings and marble floors, except that
portion where the. cross was elevated
(which is some fifteen feet higher than
the tomb), and this is only seen through
a small opening, and also the rent,
caused, as said, by the earthquake at
the crucifixion. Pilgrims are now gath
ering here for Easter—Russians, Per
sians, Armenians, Greeks, etc., etc.—
and they present a unique picture in
their curious costumes. They daily
enter the Church of the Holy Sepulcher
and kiss every old stone from the en
trance throughout, firm in their belief
of every pi ce identified. !t is an in
teresting scene long to be remembered.
I have been around the city without
the walls many times, as also upon them,
and either has its interest. Three times
have I been within the Mosque ot Omar,
on Mount Moriah, the site of Solomon’s
Temple. The mosque, being the second
holy place of Mohammedanism, is much
out of repair and greatly neglected, as
also the surrounding grounds, an inter
esting comment upon the religion of
that people as to sacred places. The
vaults or extensive arches under the
platform on the south side are exceed
ingly interesting, and supposed to be of
the time of Solomon.
1 have twice explored the extensive
quarries under Jerusalem, which bear
marks of quarrying as distinct as though
of yesterday. They extend probably to
the temple, and no doubt were used for
the great temp o of 1,000 years B. C
They are difficult of exploring, as one
has in many places to crawl on hands
and feet. I have been to Jericho, and
bathed in the Jordan, as well as the
Dead Sea, in which I was borne up like
a cork. Have visited Bethany, Bethle
hem, and Hebron, where Abraham was
buried, also the pools of Solomon, etc.,
etc., and in fact every place of interest
hereabouts, and next week start over
land for the Sea of Galilee, Nazareth,
etc., etc., to Bey rut, and again to Damas
cus, where I am in hopes of joining a
party for Palmyra, and on my return
will go to Smyrna, Constantinople, etc.,
etc., and thence to Greece, Albania,
Montf negro, etc., etc
The weather is beautiful in Palestine;
flowers are in bloom, and all nature is
in its most gorgeous array, where there
is an opportunity of being so. Under
the Turkish Government everything is
left to decay, and nothing is repaired or
renewt d, consequently has a neglected
appearance.
Don’t Like the Editorial Tripoli.
The wife of the editor of the Utica
lice, who has been filling the editorial
chair since her husband was sent to pris
on for contempt of court, is tired of the
job. She says:
We wish the editor would come back.
We don’t want to occupy his chair any
longtr. It isn’t pleasant. We don’t
like it. We don’t like to have tall,
beetle-browed Bob Harts come striding
in our presence, armed with a heavy
cudgel, and demand to know who wrote
some of the meekest paragraphs ever
put in a paper. We don’t like to dun
or to be dunned. We don’t like to have
the proprietors of old-established print
ing offices get our printers away from
us. We don’t like so much care and
responsibility. We are glad we are not
a man. We would not have his care
and anxietv of business for all the bal
lot in the United States. Women who
choose may occupy exceptional posi
tions, but we had lather be excused.
We never craved this job ; are not a
lut thankful that it has been thrust up
on us. It is dingy and dark here, and
we had rather be out in the sunshine.
Shopping has inexpressible charms for
us, and it is a woman's privilege,
For men nniflt work.
And women be nay.
Besides, there are some tine points of
scenery about here which need sketch
ing. So let’s have the editor back again
by all means.
Men have only 142 different styles of
hats to select from this spring.
1872
i
Mexican Vandalism A Historical Me
morial Destroyed.
From tli* N*w York World.
The destruction by the Commune of
the column in the Place Vendome
shocked all other nations not only bv
its indeeenev but by its absurdity. It
lias been fairly matched, according to
the latest news from Mexico, by the
burning up of the ancient and magnifi
cent abohote tree, known as the tree
of the Nor hr Tristc , or “desolate night.”
at Popotla, a few miles out of the city
of Mexico. This venerable but still
vigorous tree stood a little to the left
of the great Aztec causeway—now be
come a more or less macadamized road
—out of Mexico, along which the little
army of Cortez retreated after that des
perate and for the moment successful
rising of the Aztec people which for the
time threatened the plans of the auda
dacious invader with ruin. The local
tradition, not contradicted by men of
research, declares that, worn and weary
with marching and fighting, the great
captain at nightfall sat down with his
faithful mistress Malinche under this
great tree, and, looking around him
upon the exhausted and decimated
company of his Spanish soldiers, fairly
burst into tears. A chapel was built
near tlie spot in the early days of the
Viceroyalty, and the tree was inclosed
within the walls of the churchyard. It
would be sad enough to be forced to
believe that so interesting and unique
a monument of the history of Mexico
had been destroyed by Mexicans in
sheer wantonness. But we suspect that
the motive was a deeper one.
For some time past the people of
Mexico have been discussing the pro
priety of (‘reefing near the venerable
tree a statue of Cortez, and the discus
sion would probably* have been long
since closed had not some one unfortu
nately raised the question whether
Guatimozin, the last of the Aztec mon
archs, tortured to death on a bed offire
by the Spaniards, did not also deserve
a commemoration of the same kind.
The question has been taken up by the
Mexican journals and discussed with a
good deal of heat. In the course of the
discussion there have cropped out not
a few ugly indications of a disposition in
pome quarters to provoke that greatest
peril of all Spanish-American countries,
a quarrel of races. It is quite possible
that the destruction of the. tree may
have been the work of some fanatic of
pure Indian or of pure Spanish blocd
who had wrought himself up to believe
that it commemorated an event dis
graceful to his ancestors. This would
have been easy enough on either side.
For while the story that Cortez here
sate down and wept may be. taken by
Aztecs as evidence of the great victory
achieved by their sires in chasing the
invader forth from the capital, the
Spaniards might with still greater
reason revere the tree as a silent wit
ness lo the indomitable temper and the
persevering genius of the conqueror.
Whosoever the incendiary of the vener
able relic may have been, lie lias done
a cruel despite, not to Mexico only, but
to the American continent, which was
not before bis scandalous deed by any
me-tns too rich in historical memorials
and associations.
Can Consumption he Cured
Denver, Col , May 2.1.
To the Editor of the Chicago Tribune :
Sir : Under the above caption, I
trust you will grant me space in \ our
wide spread journal for the benefit of
your consumptive readers, to whom, I
doubt not, you are a friend ; and, 1 am
sure, if anyone is in need of friendship,
sympathy, and encouragement, it is the
consumptive invalid. 1 wish to make
known the prescription and hygienic
rules that have restored me from the
second stage of tubercular consumption
to the enjoyment of perfect health.
There are also other cases I could site,
that have been restored by the same
means; among the number a niece of
mine, residing in Vermont, who has all
the symptoms of the advanced stage of
I ulmonaiy disease, such as hectic fever,
cough, emaciation, and purulent expec
toration, and who is now .'ell, and en
joys uninterupted good health. As I
wish to he as brief as possible, I will not
trouble you with a history ot my own
case, but will merely say that all my
friends who knew my condition regard
it as a most remarkable cure. Ido not
wish to hold out vain hopes to the in
valid, but from observation in my own
case and many others, I would advise all
consumptives of both sexes to gve this
method of treatment a trial, and 1 trust
it my prove as efficacious as in my own
case.
I obtained the prescription from a
gentleman who had been cured of con
sumption and asthma by its use during
a residence at Guayaquil, Ecuador. The
prescription is as follows :
Cundurango bark, one ounce.
Extract Carrogecn (sea-most), one-halt ounce.
Calisaya bark, one-half ounce.
Podophyltiu (Mandrake). 2<> grains.
Powdered horse-radish, one-half ounce.
Port wine, one pint.
The dose is a teaspoonful in a little
water, half an hour before eacli meal.
The following instructions should
govern invalids: Take outdoor exer
cise. Live i:i the open air, exposed to
the sunlight, and dress in light co'or ,
—the nearer white, the better; this is
important. Take deep inhalations of
pure air, moderately at first, but latterly
from three to live times per day, five
minutes at a time ; this will, in time, ex
pand the chest and lungs. Do not des
pond ; he hopeful. Eat plenty of good,
nourishing food. Take a bath daily in
cool or tepid water. Avoid night air
and damp weather.
The climate of Colorado has great re
pute as a resort for invalids. The air is
pure and dry,—very little rain falling;
and thus being almost perpetual ►un
shine, no fever and ague or damp night
air are known here. Thousands, it is
said, whose cases were considered hope
less, have here found permanent and
gratifying relief, and those who come in
the early stages of the disease generally
get well. The altitude (outside of the
mountains) varies from 4,000 to 8,000
feet above the level of the sea. Con
sumptives coming to Colorado should
seek the lower altitudes at the start.
Mrs. Martha Somekuy.
Editors and Proprietors.
NUMBER 39.
Varieties.
When a bootmaker commences to
mako a boot, the first thing he uses is
the “ last.”
“Goon morninir, 'Squire, (tot any
thing new?” “Yes, I've got the ncio
ralgia, and it hurts terribly.”
“The prisoner has a very smooth
countenance.” “Yes; he was ironed
just before lie was brought in. That
accounts for it.”
“ Prisoner, why did you follow this
ntan and beat and kick him so shame
fully ?” “ I am sorrv, ver honor; 1 was
a little drunk, and I thought it was my
wife.”
“ I don’t care much about the bugs,”
said W. to the head of genteel board
ing-house, “but the fact is, madam, I
have not the blood to spare ; you see
that yourself.”
A sham. Georgian was petitioning for
“ our daily bread” previous to retiring,
when he was interrupted by his vounger
brother, who whispered, “ Ask for cake,
Joliny; ask for cake.”
A fair hailed, love-sick youth in Ohio
presented h ; s “ girl" with a pair of those’
new-fangled metallic garters on Christ
mas. He thought they were the latest
thing in bracelets, and ho only discov
ered his mistake upon requesting her to
“ try them on.” He does not go there
any ..ore.
During the war, an Irishman who was
posted with a musket on duty, and had
wandered a little out of his position,
was accosted by an officer with, “ What
are you here for?” “ Faith, your hon
or,” said Pat, with his accustomed grin
of good humor, “ they told me I was
here for a century.”
A recent writer says that it is some
what remarkable that thieves are so
improvident that they never lay any
thing up. They never lay anything
down either when they have once taken
it up ; and by a strange concidcnce, a
career passed in taking up ends by their
being taken up themselves.
A contemfora rv tells this tunny an
ecdote :. “ Wake up, here, and pay for
your lodging,” said the deacon, as he
nudged a sleepy stranger with the con
tributon box. Wo were there, and we
heard the sleepy stranger murmur, with
a glance at the minister, whose, sermon
had narcotized him, “ Lodging! and
bored too I”
A gentleman once asked a little girl,
an only child, how many sisters she had,
and was told “ three or four.” Her
mother asked Mary when they were
alone what induced her to tell such an
untruth. “Why, mama,” said Mary,
“I didn't want him to think that you
were so poor that you had but one child.
Wouldn’t he think we were dretful
poor.
A Welsh clergyman applied to his
dioccasan for a living. The bishop
promised him one; but as the clergy
man was taking his leave he expressed
hopes that his lordship would not send
him to the interior of the principality,
as his wife could not speak Welsh.
“Your wife, sir!” said the Bishop,
“ what as your wife to do with it ? She
does not preach, does she?” “No, my
lord,” said the parson, “ but she lec
tures.”
The Kev. Mr. H had a large fam
ily of unruly boys, but as none of them
would confess it, he declared he would
whip them all, and then he would be
sure to punish the real cuprit. Lisp
ing .lohny the youngest, retired to a
corner and grumbled. “What is that,
you say?” asked his father. “ 1 timid,”
whimpered Johny, “ that’th jutht the
way old Herod did. lie killed all the
children, tho that he would be tliure to
kill .lethuth.”
“Tommv, my son, what are you going
to do with that club?” “Send it to the
editor, of course.” “ But what are you
sending it to the editor for?” “Cause
he says if anyone will send him a club
he will send tnem a copy of his paper.”
The mother came near fainting, but re
tained consciousness enough to ask :
“ But, Tommy, dear, what do you sup
pose the editor wants with a club?”
“Well, I don’t know,” replied the hope
ful urchin, “unless it is to knock down
subscribers who don’t pay for their
paper."
A man who gave the young idea les
sons in artillery practice in Charlestown
was in the habit of opening the session
of the school with prayer, of which he
had two or three set forms. He usually
went through these with his eyes clos
ed. but one day he. opened them and
saw one young lady staring him in the
face with her eyes wide open. With
, out departing from the solemn mono
tone which he used on such occasions
he went on “ And may we never say
Matilda Tool, stand on your stool.”
Matilda stood.
Washington Pastry.
A sqjourder in Washington sends the
following: 1 am particularly fond of
lemon pie and ice cream for dessert.
, At I went on peaceably for a couple
of weeks, but always eating lemon pie
under a silent protest, for I was a stran
ger, and di<l not like to raise objections.
Finally 1 called a waiter and said :
“ John, 1 have nothing to say about
this ice cream, but what kind of pie is
■ this?”
“ What kind did you order, sail?”
“ I ordered lemon pie, but this ap
pears to be slried apple.”
“ Dat's lemon pie, sail. You know
dey has away of mixin' dried apple in
de lemon pie here, sah, to dat extent it
r> quires a man of ability to ’stinguish
’em apart, sah. I>e lemons are scarce,
you know, and dey has to 'oonomise
’em so as to make one lemon do for six
teen pies.”
Nilsson lias substantial reasons for
liking the Yankees, for she carries
back to the etfete continent of Kurope
♦llfi. r >,ooo as the results of eighteen
months’ warbling. When she heard
that I’arepa was to sail in the same ves
sel with her, she secureed the captain’s
room by paying SIOO extra, and there,
i in solitary grandeur, her meals were to
be served, except when she should
deign to invite some fellow-voyager to
share with her the cheerful steak and
the consolatory champagne.