New York dispatch. [volume], November 22, 1885, Page 6, Image 6

About New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899

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6
DAUGHTERS.
A POETIC CONTRAST.
One stands in robe of white
Beneath the sunshine, in her eyes
A happy, untold secret lies,
Her well-spring of delight.
She holds a posy in her hand
Of roses red, of roses rare,
Love's latest gilt to one as fair
As any in the land.
We look at her and smile.
And to our hearts we softly say.
Can bliss like hers endure alway,
Or but a little while ?
WjP faith cling close through sun and snow.
Will love's rose-garland keep its red
From bridal-couch to graveyard bed?
Alack ! we cannot know !
One stands alone, apart,
She wears the sign of widowhood;
Sharp grief hath drained of all its good
Her hungry, empty heart.
To tend a grave she counteth best-;
She turns from us who love her well.
And wears the yellow asphodel,
Death's flower, upon her breast.
We look at her and sigh.
And softly to our hearts we say.
Will grief like hers endure alway,
Or lessen by-and-by ?
Will woe weep on through sun and snow?
Or will the asphodel give place
To flowers about a blushing face?
Alack ! how should we know ?
Ono sits with thoughtful eyes
Down-dropped on homely work, a smile
Upon her tender mouth the while
Her busy task she plies.
Some blessed thought enchains her mind;
How wide and deep her musings are,
High as the bight of topmost star,
And low as human-kind !
She wears upon her breast
A milk-white lily; God hath’given
To her a foretaste of His heaven,
An earnest of His rest.
She came from out the furnace flame
Of sorrow, strong to help the weak.
And gifted with good words to speak
In time of grief or shame.
We look at her and smile,
And to our hearts we softly say
Good work like hers endures alway,
Beyond earth’s little while;
Beyond earth’s round of sun and snow,
Beyond the bight of topmost star;
And where her harvest waits afar,
God knowetb, and we know !
“GUI? STOP FIDDLE,’ 9
BY FLORENCE REVERE PENDAR.
It was a gala night for Littlo Brenton’s Thea
tre hoy al, owing to the fact that a London star
was to mako her bow before that township’s
public, and the mayor and his lady had gra
ciously signified their intention to honor the
performance with their presence. The occupy
ing of a box by the mayor and his wife was in
itself enough to fill the auditorium to repletion,
lor they were very popular among the Brenton
ites? consequently I was .not surprised at the
announcement of “Standing room only” that
met my gaze as I passed the front of’ the house
on'my way to the stage door—lor 1 constituted
one of the orchestra; but what did surprise me
when I had emerged into my accustomed place
beneath the footlights, was to find the stool
next to mine unoccupied, for never before had
I been the firstto arrive, “our second ddle”
being invariably on time, while I mostly had to
run lor it. But hardly had I seated myself,
when Old Wheezy—a nickname bestowed upon
“our second fiddle” by one of us, and which
clung to him almost to the extinc ion of his
real title—appeared and slipped auietly into
his place. A rosy color glowed in either of his
wrinkled cheeks, while his eyes wore an eager
look of expectancy. I noted, too, that he had
just had a clean shave, and that the whitened
seams of his shabby old frock coat had been
carefully inked,
“ Why, Wheezy, old fellow 1” I exclaimed—we
were not at all particular in addressing “ our
second fiddlein fact, we often rather guyed
his simple, old-fashioned ways, albeit in our
hearts I believe wo felt a genuine respect for
the always kindly old man—“you are looking
quite blooming to-night in honor ”
With a slight motion of his hand he stayed
the words upon my lips, as he bent his eyes
with an intense wistfulness in their gaze upon
the 0. P. stage box, into which at that moment
the mayor and his party were being ushered.
As the leader of the orchestra gave the signal
for the overture to commence, old Wheezy’s
hand trembled so that the first few notes bis
bow drew forth were like unto a piteous wail.
Whenever during the evening I chanced to
glance at “ our second fiddle,” his gaze was
always riveted upon the private box that con
tained the mayor’s party, which consisted of
the mayor himself, his handsome wife, their
little son, a lovely child of some four summers,
and a lady and gentleman, doubtless their
guests. As I watched old Wheezy more closely,
and saw how intently his eyes followed every
movement of our lady mayoress, I was con
siderably puzzled. This was something deeper
than ordinary curiosity, I thought. Suddenly
it seemed to occur to me concerning the sup
pressed eagerness with which “ our second fid
dle” had always listened to anything relating
to the mayor’s family. The mayor’s wile was
certainly a very charming woman. Surely the
old fool could not have fallen in love with her—
preposterous 1 Yet old men had been known
to lose their heads for women less fair.
I saw nothing of the new star, hardly noticed
the applause she was winning, in trying to solve
what possible link there could exist between
the mayor’s beautiful, accomplished wile and a
poor old fiddler, for I could have sworn that
onco, when perhaps by his persistant gaze, old
Wheezy drew upon himself the eyes of our lady
mayoress, that a lock of recognition shone in
their pretty depths, then a Hush of color swept
o’er her fair face and she turned away with a
half shamed, half petulant air.
The curtain had descended on the second act
and the feminine portion of the audience was
fanning and rustling and commenting to .their
neighbor upon the piece and the latest in fash
ions, while the male element sought a chance
to stretch their cramped limbs in a convenient
ealoon. The two ladies in the mayor’s box had
turned their backs upon the auditorium, while
the little boy, being for a tew moments left to
his own devices, had climbed upon the front of
the box and thus seated, was enjoying the nov
elty of his position and a bettor view ot the
theatre, when all at once a sudden draft swept
the flames of a foot-light upward until it lapped
with its fiery tongue the overhanging lace skirts
of the child. An affrighted cry from the little
fellow, an agonized shriek from the mother, the
startled audience rising en masse, as Old
Wheezy springing from the orchestra, franti
cally sought to smother the flames with the coat
ho had stripped from his back, crying out ex
citedly :
“I’ll save him, Lottie, I’ll save him 1” Then
others hurried to the mayor’s little son’s as
sistance, but Old Wheezy's promptness had al
ready conquered the flames’, so the child was
borne from the stage with little more damage
than the utter destruction of his handsome
clothes and the singeing of his pretty golden
locks.
Tlie swiftness of action on the part of “ our
Second fiddle ” averted what might have
been a sad tragedy. Confusion rcigued for a
brief space, then at a given signal the orchestra
once more struck up and quiet was restored,
but Old Wheezy was missing from his place.
Later that night I learned that on being assured
that the child was unhurt the old fellow had
dropped in a dead swoon, that the mayor’s wife
had fallen on her knees beside the old man and
in accents implored him to speak
to her, to forgive her, and pegged of hus
band that he should be taken nornS with them
and cared for. In pleading tones she had cried
out: .
‘‘For my sake, Harold/’ and ho, believing
that she w«s over-excited concerning the nar
eScape of their boy, and also being full of
gratitude to the savior of his child, immediately
gave orders for bis wife’s wishes to be complied
with. This much I gathered from those who
had been behind the scenes at the time, but lit
tle by little it leaked out, as all such things will
in a small town, that Old Wheezy was none oth
er than the father ot our mayor’s wife. It seems
that Mr. Veezy, that being his real name, the
substitution of the W for the V rendering it
Weezy, was started by one ot our number, who
dubbed the old fellow that on account of his
asthmatical tendencies, lost his wife when their
child was a mere babe, and from that hour the
tenderness for his little one waxed even strong- -
er than heretofore. His scanty earnings were
hoarded lor her sake, his Lottie, his one treas
ure must not want for anything. As the years
passed and the child grew to womanhood, his
earnings were taxed more and more to supply
her needs, for she was receiving the best in
struction that a very stylish academy for young
ladies could impart.
W hat mattered it that his shoes were patched
again and again, that his coat was thin and
threadbare, and bis grate cheerless, so that
Lottie had pretty things and was learning to be
an accomplished lady. And Lottie in her young
carelessness had taken her poor, old father’s
loving sacrifices pretty much as a matter of
course. Had she not been accustomed to them
from her birth? Not that she over dreamed ot
the extent ot these sacrifices, for when at inter
vals, she spent a week or so at home, a neat
little room was hired ior her use, and the grate
in its season gloved with the cheerfulest of fires.
And the three-legged little table in the humble
sitting-room that boasted a turn-up bedstead ior
Mr. Veezy’s use, would have exclaimed if it ha’d
been gifted with the power of speech, at the
unusual dainties spread upon its warped top.
But as Mies Lottie grew older these visits to her
father’s shabby lodgings waxed fewer and fewer;
there was always some schoolfellow anxious for
tier company during the holidays, and pretty,
pleasure loving Lottie preferred to take up her
abode amid luxury and ease, and so the old
father went his lonely way, gathering what
comfort he could out ot the infrequent letters
his daughter vouchsafed him.
It was at one of her wealthy friend s houses
that Lottie Veezy first made the acquaintance
ot Mr. Lawson, which soon ripened into love on
both sides. She had allowed him to believe her
an orphan, fearing if he learned that her lather
was only a poor, old musician, be might seek in
his pride to break the engagement; therefore,
when her friend proposed that she should be
married from her house, Lottie accepted with
relief and tearful thanks.
That same night a letter sped to the old
father telling him of her approaching marriage
to a wealthy man, whose family she feared
Would try to Pmfc pff the if .they
of her lowly origin, and so she begged her
lather, for her sake—for it would kill her to
lose her fiance* to let her go her way, and she
would always lovo and think of him. With an
aching heart and trembling hands, but steadfast
of purpose, the old man wrote back acqniiescing
«in one more sacrifice for his child’s sake, en
-1 closing the little he had scraped together and
humbly apologizing for its not being more. A
ifaint breath of filial love, perhaps, stirred the
ungrateful girl’s heart the night before her
wedding-day, for a little note, hastily penned,
was ever afterward treasured by the loyal
father. It read :
“Dear Father : I wish you could be here. I
am so happy and everybody is so nice, but I am
afraid it would not do. Good-night, with love,
from always your loving daughter, Lottie.”
Proudly and delightedly the old father read
and re-read the account of hie daughter’s wed
ding. It was as it should be, he thought. His
Jittla Lottie was in her right place, now. Never
*a thought for his forsaken old age. The child
he had striven and saved for, was happy. What
mattered it about himself? Still, as the days
passed, the old father’s wistful longing for the
sight of his only child, grew apace with them,
.and eagerly he scanned the papers for word of
her. many a time spending the pence that
should have gone for the necessities of iife, in
hope of gathering news of her from their col
umns. And now and then his patient search
was rewarded by the sight of her name in the
reports of society’s doings.
Ono day, with a pitiful, glad cry, he had hur
ried to his old landlady. It was from her 1
learned what lam now relating. With trem
bling hands old Mr. Veezy pointed to a para
graph, as ho exclaimed :
“ See. see, Mrs. Toil, my name I she’s named
•the child for me. Think of that, my Lottie I”
s Then half, soitly as if to himself, sir, added Mrs.
.Toil to me he whispered like, “My grandchild I
God bless him !” Well, after that day sir, he
seemed to grow restless and uneasy and some
how it didn’t surprise me when he come and
said as ho was going away. I knew well enough
he was just starving for a glimpse of his daugh
ter and grandchild.
It was just about the time Mrs. Toil mentioned
that Mr. Veezy joined our theatre. For three
.years the old fellow dwelt in the same town as
this daughter, his life brightened only by an
occasional glimpse of her and her child /and
perhaps he would have gone down to his grave
without a word of it had it not been for the
accident to his grandchild.
Many days Old Wheezy lay hovering between
life and death, the subsequent excitement and
sudden shock at his grandchild’s peril had been
too much for him, the doctors averred. Some
how we missed the old fellow from his accus
tomed place, and numerous were the laudatory
anecdotes told concerning him as he lay uncon
scious of the loving care lavished upon him by
his sorrowing and repentant daughter. I think
he would have been considerably astonished if
he had known of how we drunk his health when
we heard that the crisis bad passed and that
there was a likelihood of his recovery.
In case my readers may think I ’pried un
necessarily into our second fiddle’s affairs, I
beg to state that it was sometime afterward
and wholly by accident that I became acquaint
ed with Mrs. Toil, who told me, unsolicited and
wholly unaware that I had met the parties, of
old Mr. Veezy’s unselfish love for his child.
In the course of time I drifted away rom
Little Brenton, and it was some two years or
more before my footsteps once strain trod its
familiar streets. Learning teat Mr. Lawson still
occupied his handsome residence on the out
skirts of the town, and that fold Wheezy lived,
halo and hearty, a fancy seized me to visit the
spot, not that I had any intention of renewing
my acquaintance with tne old man in his altered
circumstances, for as blessings never come
singly, the old fellow had dropped into a cool
thirty thousand on the death of a remote
cousin.
As 1 was retracing my steps past a little rus
tic gate that opened into the Lawson’s private
grounds, my ears caught tho sound of wheels,
and turning my head I perceived a pony
phaeton coming slowly down the road. On
the box-seat holding the reins attached to a
shaggy pony, was a little fellow in a white
sailor suit, whose face and golden curls seemed
very familiar to mo. By his side sat a watch
ful groom wearing tho Lawson livery. The
other two seats ot the conveyance were occu
pied by a fair graceful lady and a pretty nurse
maid holding a lovely little tot ot two Summers,
and a genial, white-haired old gentleman whose
eyes lit up with instant recognition as their gaze
fell upon me.
Descending from tho phi ton, Mr. Veezy--for
it was he-shock me warmly by the hand, then
introduced me, with a proud air ot proprietor
ship, to his daughter, who graciously acknowl
edged my presence as she stepped from the
carriage and smilingly slipped her father’s arm
within hers.
I must accept of their hospitality—no refusal
would bo taken—so, nothing loath, I proceeded
with them up the broad carriage-drive to the
house, and spent one of the pleasantest after
noons in my recollection.
“ Father completely spoils the children,” re
marked Mrs. Lawson once, when Grandpa Vee
zy nodded a smiling assent to some appeal of
his little grandson’s, whereupon the old gentle
man, overhearing the remark, spoke up with:
“No, no, Lottie, I couldn’t spoil him if I
tried. Beside, spoiling don’t hurt good chil
dren. Why—why, didn’t I spoil you, and no
harm came of it, my pet ? Now, did there?”
and the old man patted lovingly the little hand
that rested upon the arm of his chair, and I
saw the tears glistening on Mrs. Lawson’s dark
lashes as she stooped and breathed a kiss upon
“grandpa’s” bowed head.
I knew then that the father’s sacrifices had
not been in vain—that his daughter loved and
appreciated him at last.
THE YOUnTwIFE’S DEATH.
BY MRS. M. L. RAYNE.
The doctor has just told him and he has gone
into the little parlor and closed the door. All
the room is suggestive of her who lies dying in
the chamber above. Her bird is singing in its
cage at the window as merrily as if sorrow were
unknown in tho world. The room is flooded
with the warm sunlight, full of life and radi
ance, little in consonance with the desolate 1
heart of the man standing there alone. Her
birds, her books, her lounging chair, the touch
and design that make a home, are hers. Her
living presence seems to animate the common
things, and makes them gracious and loving
like herself. - And it is only a brief twelvemonth
since she stood there a bride, and listened to
her husband's proud welcome to their home. :
Now she lies yonder—dying, dying.
And he, how can he bear Jit? How do men i
bear in their undisciplined character the mighty -
shock of such a grief as this ? Oh, it he could i
only lean his head on his mother’s shoulder <
and sob out bis sorrow, as he used to do when 1
a boy. But he knows of that unwritten law 1
which forbids a man to cry or wear his grief on i
his sleeve for the daws to peck at. He must
meet it alone, and
‘•Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.”
And all the while the scalding drons of an- !
guish are forcing themselves to his eyes, sear- .
ing them as with a red-hot iron, while he stands !
there trying to look in the face this awful in- .
trufler. who has come an unhidden guest into j
his house.
“She -wants you, sIIO lias Sent for yOU,” Says j
one ot the household, sobbing bitterly; and he
goes, with vague mechanical steps, up the
stairs to their room and into her presence.
“ Have they told you ?Do you know ?” she (
asks in a whisper. “ Oh, love, we are going
to be separated. God is taking me from you ?” j
“He cannot be so cruel,” he says bluntly and •
unreconciled, and he takes her into his arms as ‘
if to defy death to part them. The
on, the clock ticks in the death chamber: ‘
“ Forever—never,
Never—forever.”
He does not heed it; his eyes are fastened up- i
on that beloved face, changing from its bloom •
and beauty into the ashen pallor which the
shadows of the unseen forecast. Presently she
opens her troubled eyes and fixes them upon 1
his haggard face.
“ Bead to me, dear,” she whispers faintly, i
He knows what she wishes him to read. That i
is one of the beautiful intuitive qualities 1
which made of their lives a perfect harmonious .
sphere—a congenial union, rich in love and :
mutual faith, and to which there can be no i
finality of death or limitation. So he brings her i
Bible and turns the leaves in search of '
some text of comfort, such as they have often
read together.
But which one? There are so many, and all i
are good. He is not compelled to decide.
Tho blessed book opens to the most precious :
one of all, that has comforted so many home
sick hearts, the sweetest of the heavenly mad
rigals:
" The Lord is my shepherd
I shall not want."
She repeated it after him.
At intervals she broke forth into snatches of
speech :
•' Though I walk through the valley
Of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil."
“It is dark in the valley—dark—dark,” he
heard her murmur.
“ Oh, love, there shall be no night there,” he
answers brokenly, feeling how poor a comforter
he is.
He holds her hand and she sleeps, and
dreams such dreams as the dying have, and .
death goes on relentlessly with his work. Her
bird breaks out into a joyful strain ot music in
its cage below; sounds of life come into the
darkened chamber ; watching friends are near ;
soon she opens her eyes and there is a bright,
glad smile in them.
“It is light beyond,” she says and sleeps
again.
He does not notice how cold her hand has
grown; how still the room is. Nor does he resist
when they loosen [his clasp and lead him away
telling him with tearful pity that it is all over.
What is all over? The lovo that has blessed
his manhood with its crown of completeness?
Tho companionship that made heaven and
home synonymous terms? Are these ended
forever ?
When he sees her again she is wearing her
wedding-dress. Her soft pretty hair is arranged I
as she liked it best. Her eves are closed and
her lips unresponsive to his kisses.
And over her bosom they crossed her hands.
“Come away,” they said “God understands,”
Little Johnny, on being asked by his
school-teacher if he knew what was meant by “at
par,” replied that “Madras always at pa when he
came hemy late.”
NEW YORK DISPATCH, NOVEMBER 22, 1885.
; THE DETROIT SOLOMON.
’ Wisely Held His Tongue—Comparisons
t Are Odious—Always That Way—Got
; One.
I WISELY HELD HIS TONGUE.
J “ There’s a feller in cell No. 3 who won’t come
out to be tried,” said Bijah, as court opened.
“ Why won’t he ?” queried his Honor.
■* “I dunno, unless it’s because he’s so mean.
I’ve coaxed and threatened, but he says he’ll
r see me in Texas first.”
“ I guess you’ll have to bring him out in some
fashion. See if you can’t.”
’ Bijah succeeded. He has away of succeed
. ing alter his claws are once fastened to a pris
oner. After the lapse of three standard min
’ utes, during which time a great deal of yank
* ing and pulling and hard breathing was heard
; in the corridor, Charles Russell Smith stood
. before the bar of justice. His attitude was that
of a man with a soft corn on every toe. His
expression of countenance was that of a chap
’ just ready to boil over and hit somebody.
<• “ You treat a gentleman here as if he was only
. a hog I” growled Char es, as he looked alongjthe
floor for missing buttons.
“ You were fighting drunk last night,” replied
the court.
‘ “ S’pose’n I was 1”
“Oh 1 nothing. It won’t cost yon but $5.”4
“I’ll never pay a red cent—not a red I”
“ Odds is the difference, sir. I will make it
thirty days.”
“Make it a year if you want to!” howled
Charles, as he struck the railing with his
clenched fist.
“Look here, prisoner, don’t yon talk to me in
that manner sharply admonished his Honor.
“ You are one of the toughs from Toughville, 1
perceive. You want to learn that you don’t own
half the corner lots in Detroit, and that there
are plenty of people here who are not afraid of
you. You go up for ninety days, and if you
give me a single word of impudence I’ll double
the sentence !”
“I 1 !”
Charles wanted to, but he hadn’t the cour
age. He saw “ shoot” in his Honor’s eyes, and
he wisely held his tongue.
COMPARISONS ARE ODIOUS.
“ Say, wouldn’t you have done the very same
thing under the circumstances ?” queried Wal
ter Britton, as he toed the mark.
“ I am not on trial,” replied the court.
“ I know it; but s’posin’ you had a wife who
was always pecking at you ? ’
“ Prisoner, there is no supposing to this case.
You are charged with drunkenness and disor
derly conduct.”
“ 1 expect 1 am, Judge, but see here. S’pos
in’ you went home at night alter a hard day’s
work and your wife--”
“ Prisoner ! ’
“Judge, s’posin’ your wi r e met you at the
door und called you bad nairas as fast as her
tongue could fly ? S’posin’ ”
“ Prisoner, are you guilty or not guilty ?”
“Judge, s’posin’ you were in my place, how
would you plead ?”
“ I find you guilty and sentence you for thirty
days.”
“ \ ou do, eh ? Now, Judge, I wouldn’t do that
by you. S’posin’ your wile should ”
“ Remove him 1”
He was removed, but he retired supposing.
ALWAYS THAT WAY.
“ Henry Ludington, you disturbed the pub
lic peace.”
“Sorry, your Honor, but I couldn’t help it.”
“ Couldn’t you help running through the
streets and shouting ‘Fire !’ at the top oi your
voice ?”
“ Couldn’t possibly help it, sir. The minute
I saw that chimney blaze up I got so excited
that a four-horse team couldn’t have held me.
I expected there would be a conflagration
which would sweep over the whole city, and '
I whs in a hurry lor some one to turn in an I
alarm.”
“ Were you always that way?”
“Always, sir. 1 ran with a hand-engine for
thirteen years, and they used to encourage me
to yell as hard as I oouid.”
“ W here do you live?”
“ In Cleveland.”
“ Well, you seem to be a respectable man,
and I will suspend sentence. If von remain in
the city ior a day or two be on your guard. If
you see another fire your saiest way will be to
lock yourself up in some cellar until the excite
ment has passed.”
GOT ONE.
“ George Frost, what are you doing in De
troit ?”
“Looking for a job, sir.”
“At what ?”
“ I’d like to get into a bank.”
“ I presume so.”
“But there’s nobody to recommend me, sir.”
“ That’s too bad. Have you looked ior a job
of sawing wood ?”
“ No, sir; what I want is to be cashier o-l a na
tional bank.”
“ I see. Well, I’ve got a place for you.”
“ Is it very hard, sir?”
“ Oh, no. The work is light and the living
high.”
“ Can I be my own boss ?”
“ That’s a matter you’ll have to settle with
the superintendent.”
“ You don’t mean the work-house ?”
“ Yes, I do.”
“Thon I don’t want the job! I’m naturally
delicate and particular, and couldn’t think of
taking such a job.”
His Honor insisted, however, and George was
a tearful Frost as he followed Bijah into the
corridor.
LI FE-LIXKB OF HISTORY.
SOMETHING ABOUT VEBY OLD ■
PEOPLE.
(From Chambers’s Journal.} j
The ages of history are often linked together ]
in a very remarkable way by the lives ot indi- 1
vidual men. A striking ’instance of this will 1
appear in the facts we are about to relate. There
was a man living a few years since in a village 1
in Lancashire whose life wanted but one link to
connect it with the period of the Commonwealth. 1
That link was supplied by his father, who was i
born in 1657, one year before the death of the i
great Protector, Cromwell, and lived through 1
the reigns of Charles IL, James IL, William I
and Alary, Anne, George 1., and to the twenty- i
filth year oi the reign ot George 11. Ho married j
in his early days a young woman who hadbeen i
nurse in the ancient family of the Chetbams of f
Turton lower, near Bolton. She died, and lor j
some years William Horrocks, for such was the t
name of the subject of our narrative, remained i
a widower, but in 1741, when eighty-four years 1
old, he married his housekeeper, a buxom t
damsel ot twenty-six. As may be supposed, c
his marriage excited considerable attention, 1
and among those who took great interest in it f
were the Chetham family, with whom his former c
wiie had been a great favorite, and who greatlv r
respected the now aged bridegroom. He anil x
his bride were summoned to the Hall, where f
they were shown much kindness; their portraits I
were painted, and they were dismissed to their c
home laden with wedding presents. The par
traits of the couple were placed in the gallery of t
the Hall, where they remained till they came t
into the possession of a lady near Manchester, a c
relative of the Chetham family, with other por- r
traits oi its members. What‘changes had oc- »
curred during that man’s life, living as he aid £
till 1752, when he died at the advanced «go of I
ninety-flv© i lie nad witnessed the decadence s
of the 6luart dynasFy; the rsign of William and (
Mary had come to a close; Anne had for a Few I
years revived the rule of the Stuart race; the
House of Brunswick had been called to the i
vacant throne, and far into the reign of the c
SOuohd sovereign of that family had the old
man’s life |#en prolonged. <
The fruit of his Sfcogj iHAFriage Was a son, 8
James Horrocks, who Was born in 1744, in the
seventeenth year of the reign of George IL, and 1
who lived to see the events that occurred dur- c
ing the latter partoi that reign, and those which i
followed far on into the reign of our present il
lustrious queen, as he was living till 184 , and c
was then a hale old man, one hundred years of «
age. Shortly after that time, he passed away, 1
and now lies gathered to his fathers in the vil- <
lage graveyard of the parish where he spent his x
days. Thus these two lives connect thejtimes
in which we live with that ot the great Protect- ‘
or, extending as they do over a period of one c
hundred and eighty-six years. It may be inter
esting to our readers to state, as showing the f
physical contour and healthful vigor of this t
man, that he was, even when he had attained x
his hundredth year, of noble statue and appear- e
ance; his venerable countenance expressed a be
nevolent mind, and his silvery locks were truly 1
a croxvn of honor. He stood nearly six feet high t
when he raised himself to an erect posture, and t
was by no means deficient in mental capacity, x
His conversation was, ior his age, lively, and i
not wanting in humor. On oue occasion, not t
long before hie decease, he said to his daugh- 8
ter, a staid old woman: ‘ I wonder what 1 shall f
dream next. I dreamed last night that I was (
going to be married again, and who knows but t
I could find some lady that would have me 1
yet.’ t
His son-in-law, with whom he lived, was an I
old gray-headed man, and not near so quick in f
intellect as his more aged father-in-law, who I
often had, as he said, to “insense him,” when it
was desired to communic te or explain to him t
any circumstance that bad transpired. His i
physical powers were shown in a remarkable i
exploit in the year 1833. It was Winter, and an (
elect on of a member of parliament was to take 8
place for South Lancashire at Newton, fifteen i
miles from Bolton. Walking to the latter place,
three miles from his home, he travelled by rail i
to the former ; but, missing J. the train when he t
wanted to return, he walked the distance to <
Bolton, and thence to his abode, a journey of t
eighteen miles—no little achievement for a man <
ninety years ot age. i
Reference has been made to the portraits of
his father aud mother which were painted at the <
instance ot the Chetbams. These came into the <
possession of the old man in a singular way. 1
There was a sale of the property at the Hall i
which the family had inhabited, and he repaired t
to it for the purpose of purchasing them, but. 1
found they had been removed, and were, with 1
the portraits of that family, in the possession of ’
the l-ady above mentioned. He therefore went 1
to her and expressed his desire to have them. 1
The lady was so much taken with the man, f
and touched by bis wish to become their pos- 1
sessor, that she, though parting with them re- f
luctantly, presented them to the old man, and <
they were taken home by him with a gladdened s
and grateful heart. He retained them as ’
precious heirlooms to the day ot his death. i
Theis P© otto* in which th© 1
lives of two individuals have extended over an
equal space with the father and son; but wo
g have not met xvith any which, considering all
the circumstances surrounding them, have been
c so truly remarkable; forming life-links of the
past with the present; covering the whole period
from the Cromwellian to the Victorian age,
from tho Commonwealth to the time in which
9 we ourselves live.
; ■OrtCM, THE DEVOERER.
3 FRO Al THE FRENCH OF GUSTAVE
FLANBERT.
A portion of the wall of tho temple of Moloch
- was pulled down, in order that tho brazen god
- might bo removed without having to disturb
L tho ashes upon the altar. Then, as soon as tho
I sun appeared, the hieroduli [sacred slaves]
t pushed Aloloch toward the great square of Kha
i mon.
> Ho moved backward over rollers laid along
the streets; his shoulders towered above the
hight of the walls. However far away they
) caught sight of him, the Carthagenians imme
diately took flight, for Baal might never be
I looked upon with impunity save in the exercise
of his wrath.
A smell of aromatics spread through the
streets. Simultaneously all the temples flung
open their gates, and from them issued taber
t nacles placed upon chariots or upon litters car
ried by the pontiffs. Huge plumes of feathers
swayed at their angles, and flashes of light shot
j from their pointed summits, tipped xvith spheres
ot crystal, of gold, of silver, or of brass.
l Tho pavillion of Merkarth, richly purple,
sheltered a petroleum-flame; upon that of Kha
mon, hyacinth-colored, was an obscene em
i blem, mounted with precious stones. Between
• the curtains of Escnmoun, ethereally blue, a
■ slumbering python formed a circle xvith his tail,
and the Pat ci-Gods, borne in the arms ot their
i priests, seemed like great children in swathing
bands whose heels dragged upon the ground.
Then came all the lesser forms of the Divipity
—Baal-Samin, god of the Celestial Spaces; Baal-
Peor, god ot the Holy Mountains; Baal-Zeboub,
god of t orruption. And then came the divini
ties of the neighboring countries and kindred
races; the Yarbal ot Lybia; the Adrammelech of
Chadea; the Kijun of the Syrians—while Derce
to, virgin-faced, crawled upon her fins, and the
corpse of Tammouz appeared upon a catafalque
surrounded by torches and votive offerings of
xvomen’s hair.
At last Baal reached the very centre of the
square. All about him the priests constructed
a trellis-work to keep back the crowd, and they
themselves remained grouped about his :eet.
From time to time there arrived long lines of
men, completely naked, all with arms out
spread and holding each other by the shoul
ders. From all their deep chests came a
hoarse and cavernous intonation; their eyes,
strained toward the Colossus, flamed through
the cloud ol dust, and they swayed their bodies
all together, at regular intervals, as though agi
tated by a single impulse. So frenzied they be
came that, to restore order, the hieroduli had
to compel them to lie down upon their stom
achs, with laces all pressed against the trellis
work of brass.
Meanwhile, a fire of aloes, of cedar and of
laurel-wcod flickered between the legs oi the
Colossus. His long wings dipped their points
into the flame, the unguents with which he had
been rubbed ran down like sweat over his bra
zen limbs. All around the huge circular slab
ou which his feet rested the children, envel
oped in black vails, formed a motionless ring,
and the enormously lengthened arms of the god
towered their brass palms toward them, as
though to seize that living wreath and lift it to
the sky.
The rich, the ancients, the women, all the
multitude thronged in dense masses behind the
i priests, and also upon the terraces ot the
I houses. The great painted stars no longer
; turned m their frames; the tabernacles were
| placed upon the ground, and the smoke of the
| censors mounted perpendicularly, like gigantic
trees stretching their bluish branches against
the azure of heaven.
Aiany people fainted. Others remained inert,
petrified in ecstacy. An infinite anguish op
pressed men’s hearts. One alter another, the
various clamors died down, and the people of
Carthage panted in silence, absorbed in the de
sire of their terror. At last the High Priest ol
Moloch put his left hand under the black vails
ot the children, and tore from each young fore
head a lock oi hair, which he cast into the flames.
Then began the men in red mantles to intone the
sacred hymn:
“ Homage, to thee, 0 Sun ! lord of the Two
Zones! Creator Self-begotten ! Father and
Son; Cod and Goddess; Goddess and God i l '
And their voices were lost in the explosion of
countless instruments, all ringing out together,
that the cries of tne victims might not be heard.
The eight-stringed scheminit'n, the ten-stringed
the twelve-stringed neba s Bhrieked €
whistled and thundered all together. Enor
mous bags bristling xvith pipes uttered sounds
like the plashing oi waters; tamborines, smitten
with might aud main, rang with loxv, rapid
boomings, and despite the fury ot the clarions,
the clattering ot the was heard through
all like a mighty vibration oi the wings of lo
custs.
Then the hieroduli, with long hooks of iron,
opened each of the seven compartments which
rose, one above another, in the body of Baal.
In the uppermost of all flour xvas placed, in the
second two turtle-doves, in the third an ape, in
the fourth a ram, in the filth an ewe, in the sixth,
as there were no oxen left alive, they cast a tan
ned hide brought from the sanctuary. The
seventh opening remained yawning.
But before attempting anything, it xvas neces
sary to tea: tne arms of the god. Slender chains
attached to each of his fingers passed up his
arms and down over bis shouldefs behind,
where a num .er of men, by pulling upon them,
brought up the monstrous open hands to the
hight of the elbows ; and as they rose each
time, drawing near together, they came against
his belly. Several times they moved thus, by
little quick jerks. Then tRe instruments
hushed. Jhe fire roared.
The priests ot Moloch walked to and fro upon
the great slab, observing the multitude.
It was necessary there should first be an indi
vidual sacrifice, a purely voluntary oblation,
which xvas considered as inspirin ; and bringing
about the others. But as yet, no person showed ,
himself; and the seven open alleys, leading
from the inclosure to the feet of the Colussus 1
were deserted. Then n order to encourage the 1
people, the priests snatched sharp instruments ‘
from their girdles and began to gash their own 1
faces. The naked J evotees xvho had been lying ‘
prostrate outside the trellis-work, were admit- ’
ted into the inclosure. A heap of horrible irons 1
were thrown to them, and each one selected '
his own species oi torture. Some passed spits <
through their breasts ; some cut their cheeks
asunder; some crowned themselves xvith gar- 1
lands o; thorns; then all placed their arms f
about each other, and, surrounding the chil- 1
dren, they formed another great circle, which
alternately contracted and expanded. They *
would reach the balustrade, recoil from it again, {
and again touch it, attracting the crowd to them 1
by the vertigo of their movements, a mad dance ]
of blood and furious cries.
Gradually people made themselves visible at (
the furthest end of the alleys. Approaching,
they cast into the fire pearls, vases of gold, rich c
caps, flambeaux-all their riches. Every mo
meat the offerings became more numerous and *
more splendid. Then a man appeared, stag- <
gering, pale and hideous with terror, pushing 1
be ore him a child. A moment later men saxv 1
a little black mass between the hands of the $
Colossus. The hands rose; the little black
mass disappeared in the cavernous opening, t
The pnes-ts bent over the slab of stone, and a I
new hymn burst out, celebrating the joys of '
deaths and the new births oi eternity.
The obildrej rose up Kl aqd as (he al- x
ddnding smoke made huge v* utrls, they seemed
at first to disappear in a cloud. Not one little
;gure moved. All had been securely bound 1
hand and foot, and the black drapery prevent- 1
ed them from seeing anything and from being £
recognized. 8
Then the bra?en arms began to move more t
quickly. They never halted again. Lach time f
a child was placed upon them, the priests of 1
Moloch extended their hands above him, iu or- J
dor to lay upon him the sins of the people, and 1
vociferated; “These are not men, but oxen!” I
And all the surrounding multitude repeated; 1
“Oxen I oxen!” The devotees shrieked: “Eat, 1
oh Lord, eat 1” 8
Each victim, on reaching the verge of the ap- t
erture. vanished as suddenly as a drop ot wa- *
tor flung upon red-hot iron, and a whiff of 8
white smoko rushed up each time from the £
scarlet glow. c
Yet the appetite of the God was not appeased. *
He wanted more. In order to give him enough r
the children were piled upon his hands by c
twos and threes at a time—all bound together 1
with chains. Devotees had tried at the begin- I
ning to count them, in order to find whether
their number corresponded with the days ot the
solar year, but now so many were heaped to- 8
gether that it was impossible to number them a
during the dizzy movement oi those hideous s
arms. And all this lasted a long time—a very x
long time—until night! Then tho interior of c
the opening grew darker. For the first time a
burning flesh was visible. Some people even j
fancied they could recognize hair, limbs, ]
bodies. c
Darkness deepened — high clouds heaped x
themselves above the head of Baal. The pyre, t
now llameless, made a scarlet pyramid of glow- (
ing coals that towered to bis knees, and all t
crimson, like a giant covered with blood, he f
seemed, with head bent backward, to stagger 1
under the weight of his drunkenness.
The more the priests hurried their work the g
more the frenzy of the people augmented. As t
the number of victims decreased, some cried t
out to spare them; others roared for more. It t
seemed as though the walls with their masses <
oi spectators would crumble down at the howl- j
ings of fear and of mystic voluptuousness.
Then came believers rushing along the alleys,
dragging their children with them—children <
clinging to their garments—and they beat the e
little hands to make them let go, and flung the i
infants to the men in red mantles. Occasionally 1
the musicians paused from exhaustion : then i
xvere heard the cries of mothers and the crack
ling of grease trickling down upon the coals. <
Walking on all fours, the drinkers of hog’s-bane j
turned around the colossus and roarod Ike ]
tigers; the Yidonim prophesied; the devotees 1
sang with their gashed lips: the trellis work was u
broken doxvn. All noxv wanted to share in the , i
sacrifice, and fathers, whose children had been I <
dead for years, cast into the fire effigies of them i
and their play-toys, and even their bones. Some i
who had knives rushed at oue another. Men (
murdered each other on the step. With brazen ! 1
fans the hieroduli caught up the ashes that had 1
i fallen upon the edge of the slab and flung them
a high in air, that the sacrifice might be scattered
1 over the city and rise to the region of the stars,
i The great tumult and the vast light had at
a tracted the Barbarians to the very foot of the
1 walls, and clinging to the ruins of the helepo
, lis in order to obtain a view, they looked on,
i gaping with wonder.—AT. 0. Times-Democi'at.
A PERSONAL CARD.
i A Matter in Which the Public Should
Have a Deal of Interest,
To the readers of the New York Dispatch :
Why does the government spend so much
money and risk so many lives in trying to cap
| ture the counterfeiter ?
1 “Suppose he does counterfeit government
’ bonds and notes, surely tho government is rich
' enough to stand any loss his act may confer.”
I But the individual citizen could ill afford to
be put to continual financial loss if such des
peradoes were let go unwhipped of justice.
• It is only the valuable thing that is counter
’ feited ; it is only in the light of purity and vir
tue that impurity and vice can be knoxvn. No
one in these days would counterfeit a Confeder
-1 ate bond or note.
' People who commit fraud always do it by
simulating the highest virtue; by preying on
the cleanest reputation, by employing the fair
name oi virtue with which to give respectability
to vice.
Let us explain : Seven or eight years ago, so
we have been informed many times in public
prints, a New York State gen tieman xvas pro
nounced, as many millions have been pro
nounced before, incurably sick of an extreme
disorder. By suggestions which he believed
were providential, he xvas led to the use of a
preparation which had been for several years
employed by a select few physicians in New
York city and one or two other prominent places.
The result was that he was cured, he whom the
doctors without number and of conceded ability
said xvas incurable. Having secured posses
sion of the formula, absolutely and itTecocably,
he determined to devote a portion of his accu
mulated xvealth to the manufacture and sale of
this remedy for the benefit ot the many who
suffer as he suffered, in apparent hopelessness.
In less than three years, so tremendous became
the demand for this remedy and so exalted the
reputation that he xvas obliged for his purposes
to erect a laboratory and warehouse containing
four and a quarter acres of flooring and filled
with the most approved chemical and manufac
turing devices. Probably there never was a
remedy that has won such a meritorious name,
such extraordinary sales and has accomplished
so much good for the race.
Unprincipled Parties who flourish only upon
the ruin of others, saw in this reputation and
sale an opportunity to reap a golden harvest
(not legitimately, not honorably), for which pur
pose they have made imitations and substitu
tions of it in every section of the country, and
many druggists, who can make a larger profit
on these imitation goods, offen compromise
their honor by forcing a sale upon the unposted
customer.
Yes, undoubtedly tho manufacturers could
xvell afford to ignore such instances of fraud so
far as the effect upon themselves is concerned,
for their remedies have a constant and unremit
ting sale, but they feel it to be their duty to warn
the public against such imitations and substitu
tions, non-secret and otherwise. The individu
al who buys them and the public who counte
nances their sale alone suffer in mind, body aud
estate therefor.
The authors of some of these fraudulent prac
tices have been prosecuted and sent to prison
tor their crimes, but there is another class who
claim to knoxv the formula of this remedy, and
one Sunday school journal, we are told, has
prostituted its high and holy calling so far as to
advertise that for twenty-five cents it xvill send
all new subscribers a transcript of the Warner
formula ! This formula, by the xvay, must be a
wonderfully kaleidoscopic affair, ior there is
hardly a month passes xvhen some paper is not
issued which pretends to give the only correct
formula!
The manufacturers inform us that they xvould
be perfectly willing that the public should know
what the true formula of Warner's safe cure is,
(none that have been published aro anything
like it), but even if every man, woman and child in
the United States were as familiar with this form
ula as with their A B C’s they could not compound
the remedy. The method of manufacture is a
secret. It is impossible to obtain the results
that are wrought by this remedy if one does not
have the perfect skill acquired only by years of
practice for compounding and assimilating the
simple elements which enter into its composi
tion.
The learned Dr. Foster, the honored head of
Clifton Springs sanatorium, once said, that hav
ing roughly analyzed this remedy he recog
nized that the elements that compose it were
simple, but he attributed the secret of its power
to the method of its compounding, and this
method, no one knows except the manufactur
ers, and no one can acquire it.
Our advice to our readers, therefore, cannot
be too strongly emphasized. As you xvould
prefer virtue to vice, gold to dross, physical
happiness to physical misery, shun the imita
tor and refuse thereby to lend your aid finan
cially to those who seek to get, by trading upon
another’s reputation and honesty, a sale ior
wares and goods which on their merits are fit
only to be rejected as the veriest refuse. You
can neither afford to patronize such people, nor
can you afford to take their injurious com
pounds into your system. When” you call ior
Warner’s Sale Cure, see that the wrapper is
black,with white letters and that the wrapper and
label bear an imprint of aniron safe, the trade
mark, and that a safe is bZotonin the back of the
bottle, and that a perfect Ic. promissory note
stamp is over the cork. You can’t be imposed
on if you observe these cautions.
We have the highest respect for the remedy
we have mentioned, aud the highest regard for
the manufacturers, and we cannot too highly
commend their dignified and considerate tone
in relation to those who would traduce their
fair name and ruin the best interests of the pub
lic in such matters.
Albanian Marriage Arrangements.—
They are very peculiar. When a damsel ar
rives at marriageable age her parents publish
the fact among their friends and acquaintances.
Should no suitor come forward, it rests xvith her i
brothers to find one. A brother thus circum
stanced xvill sometimes come up to a male friend
in the street and make the complimentary pro
posal then aud there. “ You are just the man I
wish to see’’—thus goes the formula on these <
occasions; “my sister is now fourteen years old
—you must marry her.” As etiquette forbids a i
plump refusal, the gentleman thus honored 1
gives a half-acquiescence, and then hurries off 1
to instruct some old lady to act as a go-between. <
Should he be satisfied with the report made, 1
after due inquiry by this adviser, the wedding is i
arranged; but not until the very last moment is
the expectant bridegroom allowed to see his fu
ture spouse, and then it would be contrary to '
the prescriptions of society to draxv back, how- i
ever unprepossessing she might prove to be. j
After the performance of the ceremony a very i
curious piece of etiquette comes into play. <
Among the Asiatics and uncivilized people gen- <
erally it is the rule of the bride-elect to feign j
coyness; but among the Arnauts the bridegroom
has to make this pretence. Alter the marriage i
feast is over, and the nexvly-made wife has with- ’
drawn, her husband lingers behind, and is sub- 1
ected to a variety of rough usage by her rela- ]
fives. Here, however, the subjection ot the 1
husband ends and his reign commences. The j
wife is now subject to his caprices, and is ex- ]
r,ected to be subservient to his commands and 1
wishes.' i
How A Horse Feeds. —Something
may be learned by observing how a horse picks
up his either in grazing or when fed in the <
stable. One will have a very good idea of the
sensitiveness of the upper lip, and how cleverly
the horse gathers in the choice herbage or hay, i
and rejects the waste. This mobile, prehensile 1
lip is constantly in motion, and by its sense of j
feeling, separates the selected food from that <
'’which is rejected. The horse cannot see the <
herbage exactly under the mouth, but the lip i
pushes away the undesirable food, and gathers ]
with the greatest precision, that which is 1
selected from the re&t. In a weedy pasture, (
this instinct of the lip is brought into action in i
a most peculiar and interesting manner, and ]
exhibits in a striking degree, the exquisite <
sensitiveness of the delicate nerves of this i
organ. One who has seen this action of the lip, t
and realizes the great sensitiveness oi it, will 1
never permit himself to practice the excessive i
cruelty of putting a twitch about a horse’s upper <
lip ior any purpose, tor the torture of it must 1
be very great indeed. {
For Consumptives. —A village in
Switzerland, more - than five thousand feet
above the sea-level, and surrounded on all
sides by snow-clad mountains, with a climate
where the thermometer often stands at twenty
degrees Fahrenheit in the day, and below zero
at night, does not seem to be quite the right
place for consumptive patients to xvinter in.
Yet, such is Davos, where, for many seasons re
cently, doctors have been sending their patients
with the best results. These results aro due to
tho extreme dryness and purity of the air, the
dryness removing catarrh of the bronchial
tubes, and the absence of organic matter in the
air preventing irritation and breaking-up of
lung tissue. Patients are recommended to' be
gin their stay in the place during the Summer,
so that tho coming Autumn may acclimatize
them and enable them to bear the cold of Win
ter. The place has plenty of amusements, and
the only fear is that it may become over
crowded, when its benefits must surely disap
pear.
Bergamot.—Among fruit fanciers sev
eral incline to derive the name of this lavorite
species of pear irom the Italian town ot Berga
mo, while a larger number pre'er Pergamos,
laying stress on the fact that this species xvas
first introduced in Europe by the Crusaders,
which is no doubt the reason why in some parts
ot Southern Europe they are st: 11 known by the
name ot Syrian pears. But the geographer
Ritter, more than thirty years ago, pointed out
what seems to be a more probable derivation.
A fine and late-ripening pear is much cultivated
m the neighborhood o Angora, and on account
of its lateness in maturing used formerly to De
in great favor at Constantinople. It was known
as Beg-Armud, or the “ prince pear,” and the
Crusaders, who traversed all Asia Minor, ■
brought back with them the name and the
[ A Handcuffed Actor. —During a re
-1 cenhperformance of “The Colleen Bawn” atthe
• Theatre Royal, Workington, Eng., a very amus
ing incident occurred. The gentleman who
3 played the character of Hardreas Cregan, on be
ing arrested by the officers, was secured in the
> usual way by having a pair of handcuffs placed
on his wrists. This was all right for the time
during which the deception was to be kept up,
but,when the hour arrived for the gentleman to
go home to bed, a great difficulty arose, from
i the fact that the handcuffs’ key was missing.
Every effort to undo the fastening was of no
avail, and in desperation the poor fellow went
to the police station, where he detailed his woes
t to the constable on duty. Keys were obtained,
but none sufficed to release the prisoner, and
he was sent away to come back at midnight,
t when some of the officers on beat would be in.
l Not being punctual to his appointment, the actor
appeared about twenty minutes late and the
( officers had gone. Nothing was leit now but to
go home and seek what rest he could. The
night was spent in an uncomfortable manner,
and with many expressions of opinion relative
to a pair of handcuffs minus the key, and it was
, not until two o’clock the following afternoon
that release was obtained. The story has got
afloat in the town, and is causing great amuse
ment.
The Cost of Royalty.—Pays the
London Truth: It seems that the imperial
meeting at Kremsler, which lasted twenty-four
hours has cost the Austrian Court Treasury up
ward of £60,000. It is a proof of the morbid
state of terror and apprehension in which the
Czar exists that, on arriving in Kremsler, he re
fused to occupy the splendidly furnished apart
ments which had been prepared for him, and
installed himself in a couple of rooms at the
other end of the palace which had been destined
for some members of the suite. There must
have been frightful waste, or else the whole
company must have indulged in a gross orgie,
for 100 bottles of Rhine “ Cabinet” wines, 3,000
of champagne, 2,500 of claret, 300 of liquors,
and 300 of brandy were consumed by 800 per
sons at two meals. I referred last week to the
Monte Christo-like extravagance of the King of
Bavaria; but the caprices of the Empress of
Austria arc'Aiot unworthy of notice. A hunt
ing-lodge has just been built for her Majesty in
the Lainger Wildpark, near Vienna, which has
taken three years to complete, and has cost
£350,000. The house is in the Renaissance
style, and has been splendidly decorated and
furnished after designs by Mak art. There are
immense stables, and a vast riding-school,
which is an imitation of the one at Welbeck.
An Old Norwegian Wooden Book.—
The process of restoring a characteristic old
wooden church at Hopperstad, m the Hardes
district of Sogue, in Norway, has brought to
light an interesting Norwegian mediaeval relic.
In a closed niche a book, consisting of six wax
covered tablets, was found, carefully enclosed
in a casket of wood and leather. The tablets
are of boxwood, covered with wax, each tablet
having a thin border, so as to hinder the tablets
from slicking together on closing the book; this
precaution has helped to keep it in excellent
preservation. The contents are chiefly draw
ings, made by a fine stylus, representing scenes
from village and rural life. At the end there is
a large catalogue in Latin of various kinds of
animals, with a translation into old Norwegian ;
and from this it has been conjectured that the
greater portion of the book dates from the close
o* the thirteenth century. But there are indi
cations that part of the book is of earlier date.
The tablets are fastened together at the back,
and the cover is carved and inlaid with various
small pieces of differently colored woods. The
book has been placed in the Museum of Anti
quities in the University of Christiania, and it is
intended to publish it shortly in fac-simile.
At What Hour is a Man Strongest ?
—At what hour of the day is a man at his
strongest, and fitted to do hard work with the
least weariness? The question is a strange
one. and probably the answer occurring at once
to most persons will be : “ When he gets up in
the morning.” This is by no means the case ;
on the contrary, according to the recent experi
ments of Dr. Buch with the dynamometer, a
man is precisely at his weakest when he turns
out of bed. Our muscle-force is greatly in
creased by breakfast, but it attains to its high
est point after the mid-day meal. It then sinks
for a few hours, rises again toward evening, but
steadily declines from night till morning. The
two chief foes of muscular force, according to
Dr. Buch, are over-work and idleness. Sweat
ing at work deteriorates the muscles. We know
that many or the great workers of the world,
though not all, have been early risers. But
early rising, according to Dr. Buch’s doctrine,
ought always to be supplemented by early
breakfasting. The ancient proverbial “ early
bird ” who “ catches the worm ” must have had
a presage of the “ dynamometric” experiments,
and instinctively put them in practice before
they were formulated in words.
French Red Tape.—A rather amusing
story is told by a writer in the Voltaire of the
supremacy of red tape even under a Republican
form of government. In 1877, at Saint-Didier,
in the Haute-Loire, a certain juge de pair named
Enjolras was vaguely suspected of being a
Republican. As the form o r government at that
time happened to be Republican the sin does
not seem at first sight to be absolutely unpar
donable, but in the eyes of M. de Broglie it was
a terrible scandal. Accordingly, M. Enjolras
was superseded, and M. Merle was gazetted in
his place. Week after week passed and no M.
Merle turned up to perform bis duties at Saint-
Didier. Inquiries were instituted, and it was
at length found that M. Merle had been dead for
eighteen months. Accordingly a successor was
nominated, and in the Journal Ojflciei. his ap
pointment was announced in the usual formal
words. “ to replace M. Merle, who declines to
serve.” The writer in the Voltaire suggests that,
as the official mind was restricted to the cus
tomary phraseology, it would have been more
appropriate to have used another formula also
in common use, “ Called to other functions.”
The Old Bailey.—The Old Bailey—
that part of the street opposite to Newgate, in
London, England—became the scene of public
execution in 1783, on the 9th of December, in
which year the first culprit suffered here the
extreme penalty of the law. The gallows of the
Old Bailey was built with three cross-beams,
for as many rows of victims, and between
February and December, 1785, ninety-six per
sons suffered by the “new drop”—an ingenious
invention, which took the place of the cart. On
but one occasion the old mode of execution was
revived ; a triangular gallows was set up in the
road, and the cart was drawn from under the
criminal’s feet. About 1786 was witnessed, in
the Old Bailey, the end of an old practice—the
body of the criminal just executed was burned
for tho last time. The sufferer was a woman in
this case. She* was hung on a low gibbet, and,
on life being extinct, foggots were heaped around
her and over her head, fire was set to the pile,
and the corpse was burned to ashes.
Bridge-Building Brotherhoods. —
Bridge-building brotherhoods were religious
societies that originated in the South of France
in the latter half of the twelfth century. Their
purpose was to establish places of refuge and
entertainment for travellers at the most fre
quented fords oF large rivers, to keep up fer
ries, and to build bridges. During the Middle
Ages the church regarded the making of streets .
and bridges as a most meritorious religious ser
vice. The founder of this brotherhood is said
to have been Bene et, a herdsman, subsequent
ly canonized, although this fact is not authori
tatively vouched for by historians. The frater
nity was sanctioned by Pope Clement 111., in
1189. Its internal organization was similar to
that of the knightly orders, and the members
wore as a badge a pick-hammer on the breast.
They labored very actively in France, but were
gradually merged into the order of St. John.
Similar organizations, under different names,
existed in other lands.
A Wondeeful Clock.—A Pennsylva
nia man has invented a wonderful clock with
twelve dials, one of which tells the time of day
at Washington, the month of the year, the date
of the month, the day of the week, and the
changes of the moon. The other dials keep a
record of the time at New York, Chicago, San
Francisco, London, Pekin, Melbourne, Constan
tinople, Cairo and St. Petersburg. We have no
doubt the clock is a very ingenious piece of
mechanism, and that it will become deservedly
popular. But what this country needs is a
clock that will give the exact time in hours and
minutes that it will take a messenger boy to
answer a call, and what time between two and
three o’clock he will have to start to get a letter
into the post-office in season to catch the six '
o’clock mail. The man who will invent such a :
timepiece will make his fortune. Go to work,
gentlemen! '
Ayers Cherry Pectoral
Is an anodyne expectorant, of great curative power. It aids the throat and lungs in
throwing off diseased matter, and, at the same time, allays the irritation which causes
the abnormal action of these organs. A. B. Deming, Atchison, Kans., writes: “I have
used Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral, for throat and lung difficulties, with marked success. It
effected a complete cure at a time when I had almost despaired of recovery. I con
sider it an invaluable remedy for all diseases of this character.”
Ira Eno, Dale, Ky., writes: “I have used
Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral, and find that it
STRENGTHENS
the system, allays all tendencies to cough,
promotes natural and refreshing sleep, .
and most effectually checks the progress
of a cough or cold. I would not be with- ■
out it for many times its value.” J. 11.
Cushing, Brownsville, Texas, writes: “I
have used Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral with
most satisfactory results. It cufed me of
a terrible racking Cough which the pre
scriptions of several physicians failed to
reach. It is the most effective remedy I
have ever used.”
PRErARED BY
DE. J. C. AYER & CO., Dowell, Mass., U. S. A>
For Sale by all Druggists,
Milk for Coffee.—That there is aij
> appreciable difference between raw and boiled
• milk may be proved be taking equal quantities
• of each (the boiled samples having been allowed
to cool down), adding them to equal quantities
> of the same infusion of coffee, then critically
I tasting the mixtures. The difference is sufficient
» to have long since established the practice
. among all skillful cooks of scrupulously using
• boiled milk for making coffee. I have tried a
l similar experiment on tea, and find that in this
case the cold milk is preferable. Why thia
• should be, why ho led milk should be better for
; coffee and cold milk for tea, I cannot tell. If
i any of my readers have not done so already, let
them try similar experiments with condensed
milk, and I have no doubt that the verdict ol
the majority will bo that it is passable in coffee B
but very objectionable in tea. This is milk that
has been very much cooked. The chie’f dofina
i ble alteration effected by the boiling of milk la
the coagulation of the small quantity of albu
i men which it contains. This rises as it becomes
solidified, which forms a skin like scum on tho
surface, which may be lifted with a spoon and.
eaten, as it is perfectly wholesome and very
nutritious.
Dickens’s Earnings.—Says the Lon- :
don Truth : In an article on the gains of auth
ors, which has recently been reprinted in a
number of newspapers, surprise is expressed
that Dickens should not have left a larger for
tune than £BO,OOO. I have an impression that
Dickens’s total property amounted to nearly
£100,090, but of that a considerable proportion
must have come from his readings. There is
no doubt that Dickens made some very bad
bargains with publishers in his early days, and
I know that his friend Taltourd once calculated
that during a period of five years he ought to
have been receiving £10,00? a year from his
works, but one cannot form any estimate of his
total “ gains ” from literature by the amount of
his possessions when he died. It must be re
membered that Dickens himself made every
shilling which he ever possessed, and he not
only lived in a very liberal style for thirty
years, keeping up a considerable establishment
and often traveling without much regard to
cost, but he also brought up a large and expen
sive family.
The Jewish Population of the
Woble.— Tho Bulletin of the Geographical Soci
ety of Marseilles estimates the total number oil
Jews in the world at 6,377,602—that is, 5,407,602
in Europe, 245,000 in Asia, 413,000 in Africa,
300,000 in America, and 12, .09 in Oceanica. The
European Jews are distributed as follows-:
1,643,708 in Austria-Hungary, 561,612 in Ger
many, 60,0' 0 in Great Britain, 3,000 in Belgium,
3.946 in Denmark, 1,900 in Spain, 70,000 in
France, 2,652 in Greece, 7, '<73 in Switzerland,
8,693 in Holland, 3. : ,289 in Italy, 600 in Luxem
burg, 200 in Portugal, 260,000 in Roumania,
2,552,145 in Russia, 3,492 in ervia, 3,000 in Swe
den and Norway, and 116,000 in European Tur»
key. There are about 150,000 in the Asiatic
provinces of Turkey. 15,000 in Persia, 47,000 in
Asiatic Russia, in Ind a and China 19,000, and
14,000 in Turkestan and A ghanistan. In Africa
there are about 35,060 in Algeria, 100,000 in Mo
rocco, 55,000 in Tunis, 6, o • in Tripoli, 200,000
in Abyssinia, 8,0-JO in Egypt, 8,000 scattered
over the desert, and about at tho Gape of
Good Hope.
The Dress of an Empress.—An ex
quisite dress for the Empress of Russia has just
been completed by Worth. It is in crushed
strawberry velvet, the corsage made high to the
throat and bordered down in front and around
the collar and cuffs With a pattern of wild roses
in silk of a shade lighter than the velvet, the
foliage, stems and buds being worked in tiny
steel and crystal be:*ds. The long train parts
in front and is looped at the sides to show an
underskirt in ,pale pearl lilac satin, shot with
pink and embroidered all over in silver and
crystal beads on a pattern of small scattered
flowers. This underskirt is joined in front, the
breadths there being embroidered at either side
with bordering matching the flowers. The vel
vet train is bordered down the front and at the
edges of the side openings with embroidery
matching that upon the corsage. All these em
broideries are worked upon the materials, and
are as fine as hum in fingers could execute. A
full ruffle of point d’Alencon was set in the
front of the corsage and similar ruffles edged
the sleeves.
“Doctor,” said a despairing patient
to his physician, “ I am in a dreadful condition!
I can neither lay nor set. What shall I do ?” “ I
think you had better roost,” was the reply.
Now, it we consider that this poor fellow was all
contorted with rheumatism, the doctor would
have done much better by prescribing a bottle
of Salvation Oil, which would have relieved his
patient at once. Price 25 cents a bottle.
German and Russian Women.—The
German madchen and fraulein cannot stir up
such a tumult and revolution in a masculine
heart as can their more fiery and impetuous
cousins of “ la belle France,” but their* softer,
though perhaps colder, eyes, weave a spell
about one which is not altogether unlike the
weird, dreamy languor of an Autumn land
scape in Southern Germany. In direct con
trast to German women are the women of Rus
sia. They frequently 1 ave eyes which are fas
cinating, though malign. This is principally a
taint of Tartar blood, which, more than any
other, prevails in Russia. The Russian woman
can smile, and murder while she smiles. Ivan
Turgeneiff, in one of his Russian tales, de
scribes a woman of Tchernigov who “ drew her
Victim to her aiclft and held him ihoro by tlac
eldritch, snake-like glitter of her eyes.” She
destroyed him, “ and concealed his dead body
under * her skirts, while with smiling compla
cency she waited to try her arts and her dagger
upon her next visitor.”
She Would be an Actbess.—Wash
ington is noted as a place where many young
women become stage-struck, and every dra
matic season develops numerous aspirants, who
wish to Become votaries at the seductive shrine
of Thespis. Mlle. Rhea, during an engagement
at the National Theatre, received requests from
over twenty maidens fair to be adopted into the
dramatic profession under her protection and
patronage. A large proportion of them were
handsome, bright, high-spirited, intelligent and
accomplished young women. Most of them
sought and obtained personal interviews with
her, and urged their requests withall the ardor
of their impulsive natures. Many of them were
of excellent families in comfortable circum
stances; others were more or less dependent
upon their own talent and accomplishments for
their struggle in life, but all were affected with
the same craze, an ailment which has been con- -
tageous among certain young women from way
back in the times of the Queen of Sheba.
Will Power.—Dr. Barthelemy, of
Paris, is of opinion that the symptoms of hy
drophobia in man are mainly due to the imagi
nation and the irritability of the patient. He
himself had introduced his finger into the
throat of a mad dog and drew it out covered
with frothy saliva ; in drying it he observed
that he had a slight excoriation on the finger.
He lightly cauterized it, but, ten days after, he
experienced a sense of constriction about the
throat. He felt alarmed ; the difficulty of swal
lowing increased until he could jUot drink any
thing, and the sight of water caused spasms.
The will, however, was strongly exercised, and
at the end of three weeks the attack was mas
tered. This is not an unsupported experience,
there being at least one other notable cure by
sheer will-power. Will-power, by the way, baa
also been successfully exerted to overcome th©
effects of a venomous reptiles’a bite.
A Strange Story.—The Paris corre
spondent of the London Baity Telegraph says :
“The following story is at present going the
round of the papers : The dead body of an
English or American lion-tamer named Stew
art was, it is said, lately found in the room of a
house at Romainville, outside of Paris. By the
side of the remains was the corpse of an old
lion. Stewart had fallen on evil days, and went
to Romainville with his lion. It is supposed
that he succumbed to an apoplectic stroke, and
that the lion lay calmly down and died of
grief and hunger by the side of its master.”
A European Idea.—The rich, accom
plished and beautiful daughter of a German
savant, recently deceased, has deserted her
mother in order to marry a coarse, brutal and
ignorant fisherman. He'made her give him all
her fortune before marrying her, and she now
does menial work like other peasant women.
The husband is a firm believer in the right of a
man to beat his wife. Most people will think
this young woman was crazy, but a medical
commission declared her perfectly sane.
Edward E. Curtis, Rutland, Vt., writes:
“ For years I was in a decline. I had
WEAK LUNQS,
and suffered from Bronchitis and Catarrh*
Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral restored me to
health, and I have been, for a long time,
comparatively vigorous. In case of a
sudden cold, I always resort to the Pec
toral, and find speedy relief.” Dr. J.
Francis Browne, Philadelphia, Pa., writes:
“ Twenty years ago, being then in active
practice as a physician, I obtained the
formula of Ayer’s Cherrv Pectoral, and
I have often prescribed that remedy witlt
gratifying results.”