New York dispatch. [volume], February 14, 1886, Page 6, Image 6

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

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6
ST. VALENTINE’S DAY.
BY M. S. HAYCRAFT.
Oh, page so old and dim,
With worn and fading rim,
How did my cup of gladness, in the long ago, o’er
brlm.
When thou didst whisper to my soul those first
sweet words from him !
Thou message from the past!
The years have vanished last
Since on thine eariy Leau.ty was my hidden face
down-cast.
Till then I never knew
That 7te, so strong and true,
Unto my beating, trembling heart in.love and
yearning drow—
Oh, blessed morn that hold the dawn of glory to my
view 1
Oh, tender snowdrop-tide,
That brought ns side by side,
And smiled upon immortal lives forever satisfied.
Day of Bt. Valentine 1
Still do the valleys shin©
With snowdrops and with violets, and wakening
buds entwine
To crown thy forest-altars, as they crowned that
spring of mine :
But, oh I the hand so dear
That traced the message here
Xs seen no more, save only where the sinless ones
appear.
Now waits my widowed heart
Until the portals part.
Wherein is balm beyond all thought for every aching
smart—
Where God shall gently wipe away the trembling
tears that start;
A love so vast as ours
Looks up from earthly bo-wers
To Spring’s eternal victory and everlasting flowers.
And ns the young ones round
In happiness abound,
Betraying by their blushes bright the visions newly
found,
I whisper, while I seem to hear the angel-anthems
sound—
•• God make your dreams complete
And grant you love as sweet
As that which Lets in Paradise the nearing of my
feet I” ! ! miwiniiTii
kr.meFpThll’slovestory
BY LUCY FARMER.
CHAPTER I.
AN ENGAGEMENT.
My husband and I remained on Mr. Cardewe’s
Dorsetshire property for more than a year, and
after that Mr. Cardewe wrote to Charley to come
up again to the Manor, as he wished to have
him to look after the young plantations which
were being formed. We had not very far to go.
Mrs. Cardewe wrote to me, explaining the
change; she said she was sure the Manor prop
erty would be found a better place for baby,
and she had had a little house on the cliff-slope
newly furnished for ns. So you may be sure
we gladly accepted her kindness. I was always
fond of the Manor, for there Charley and I had
met first, though we had had that quarrel about
that Mrs. Alleyne's business, and Charley liked
the sea and the fishing, game-keeper though he
was.
The first news that greeted us was that Mr.
Hemphill, who had always been kind to us,
Was as good as engaged to be married to Miss
Anderson, whoso parents lived near Bourne
mouth. She was a very lovely girl, and every
one was pleased to think that Mr. Hemphill and
she had made it up together, after all. There
was a little story connected with this young
la ly. She was something of an heiress, it was
known, and many people had made offers for
her to her parents. Captain Martyn Henry,
who had been at the Manor, and who was again
expected this same Summer, had, I knew, been
one of her admirers. But, although everything
seemed satisfactory, the impending rumored
engagement was ended. Captain Henry went
abroad in a hurry, and people said very unkind
things concerning him. But Miss Anderson
was evidently fond of him.
However, after a while she appeared as pretty
and cheerful as ever. She had a high spirit,
and never let any one see how she felt his ab
sence any more than she had regretted Mr. El
liott, an elderly friend of her father, who had
Offered to marry her, and to settle the Chap
minster property on her. She wae lively, and
rode to hounds in the New Forest country, and
even with the Blackmore Vail, which they tell
me is stiff, too.
Mr. Hemphill on his part seemed quite hap
py. Miss Anderson rode to the hounds to the
very middle of April, and he wanted to marry
her in June. Everything was preparing. Her
father and mother often came over, and she
same sometimes. She was certainly a fine girl,
finch eyes I—bold black ones. Such lovely
hair, and a figure which was, in her riding-hab
it, perfection. Her manner was quiet and shy
st first, but they told me she “ improved ” won
derfully after awhile, and there was no daring
er almost reckless thing she would not do if
she wore defied to it. That is not my idea ol
improvement, but being only a dressmaker, I
hardly know.
However, she came and stayed with the Car
oowee, and Mr. Hemphill rode over day after
day. One day it was very thundery and stormy,
and just as the rain was beginning, into our lit
tle house the young pair came for shelter.
When the thunder stopped rolling they went in
to the porch, and the day being hot and sultry,
though only May, the house-door was open. I
was washing things, and could hear their voices
and sometimes even what they said, without
minding.
I declare now, after all these years, I can
scarcely believe it was all true. The tones in
which Miss Gladys contradicted poor Mr.
Hemphill, and the mild, submissive way in
which he put up with it all, astonished me.
That anv man would behave as he did I
couldn’t have believed I I’d like to see Charley
put up with such “ tantrums ” as Miss Ander
son’s! Now, I said to myself, I see the reason
of Captain Henry’s and Mr. Elliott’s sudden
“ crying oit” They could not put up with her
temper, ot course,’and I wonder Mr. Hemphill
did. He seemed airaid to contradict her.
The shower passed. The sandy soil licked
np the drops, and everything remained as
S arched and dry as possible. A single match
ropped in the underwood would have set the
Whole plantation and all the grass in a blaze.
The keepers were particularly desired to be on
the watch for smokers, who might in a moment,
by accident or for “fun,” set fire to the whole
of the furze, and burn us up too.
Mr. Hemphill and Miss Anderson were dis
cussing this when Doctor Joliffe rode past, and
stopped suddenly. He was a special friend of
the Andersons, and often visited them, dined,
and even slept there at times. Mr. Hemphill
greeted him at once, but Mica Gladys looked
sullen when he came up.
“ I wish I had seen that fire,” Miss Anderson
was saying; “I would give anything to see a
good fire. “ Some day we will have another.”
•• Have another I” cried Mr. Hemphill; “ you
can’t mean that, Gladys 1”
“I do mean it I hope we shall!” she re
plied. “ What business is it of yours if I like a
Bre ?”
“My dear young lady,” Interrupted Doctor
Jolliff, “ it is time we returned home. I will ac
company you and tell you all the news. Never
mind discussing the fire,” continued the loqua-
S'ous doctor. “ Have you seen Captain Martyn
enry, Mr. Hemphill ?”
“ No; has he returned ?” inquired Mr. Hemp
hill. But a look at Miss Anderson’s face made
kirn pause. She was as pale as death, and was
ttaring at Doctor Jolliffe as,if distraught.
“Is there anything the matter, Gladys?” ask
'd Mr. Hemphill. “ You are ill; it is the weath
er. We have walked too far, dear. Lot me
support you.”
"No, thank you,” she said coldly ; “ I can do
veiy well alone. I was merely a little faint.
Dr. Jolliffe, you will oome back to the Manor
With ns ?’’
“ Mith pleasure, unless I shall be in the way.
A third party sometimes is, you know, when
young people are together—ha Iha !”
“ I wish you would come; tete-a-tete is some
times monotonous.”
Mr. Hemphill looked hurt, as well ha might,
and then the three walked away, Miss Anderson
talking to the doctor, and Mr. Hemphill as
quiet and silent as you please. When Charley
came in he was in a terrible hurry.
“Lot’s have tea, Lucy,” he said, almost be
fore he was well in the house. “I must go out
at once and keep an eye round the plantations.
There has been some' • trippers ’ across to-day,
and I doubt they’ll have left something after
them, and the place is all as dry as tinder. A
•park would burn us In our beds.”
"So Mr. Hemphill was saying. Miss Gladys
wanted to see a gorse-fire.”
“Did she?” said Charley ironically. “Then,
if she does, she won’t want long. Any day now
the sun may do the trick. I'm rather nervous
myself, Lucy. Here’s Simmons. Hallo, Sam 1”
“How are you, Mr. Farmer 1 I’ve come with
• message from the mistress. She wants your
good lady to go up to the manor if she can, and
see about some dresswork this evening. Can
you come at once, Mrs. Farmer ?”
“ I think I can. I’ll be sure to bo back. Do
you think the girl can mind little Charley ?”
“No, take him with you. It’s not far. He
won’t hurt this evening. The girl is all very
well when one of us is in the house, but I don’t
trust ’em, Sam—not very far,” replied Charley.
“ Then, Mr. Simmons, will you say I’ll come
up at six o’clock, please ?’’
“ Yes, ma’am,” replied Sam; and so when we
had had tea I dressed baby, and leaving Ann in
charge, went up to the house. Oh I lam thank
ful I took the child.
Mrs. Cardewe made me stay and take tea with
Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper, and she sent two
of tha boys to find Charley, and tell him to come
back to the Manor when his work was over, and
fetch mo and baby. Then Mrs. Jones and I
seated ourselves for a nice long chat, not that I
care much for gossip, as a rule, but when with
friends a little exchange of sentiments is pleas
ant.
“ So the captain is back,” I said, as I buttered
the toast and put it on the table.
“Ah I” said Mrs. Jonea, “so I hear. I wonder
what will Miss Anderson do now ?”
“ Why, marry Mr. Hemphill, 1 suppose,” I
•Aid. “She’s engaged, isn’t she ?’’
“ Well, not formal. It's understood; but I
dare say the captain will not see her. They were
very fond of each other, [and every one said it
was nearly settled.”
“ Then whyever didn’t they get married ?” I
asked. “ The captain must have had a reason
for leaving-eh ? >f
“Ah 1” responded Mrs. Jones, sighing; “ I’m
afraid ho didn’t behave as he ought to have
done. There was a talk about some debts ; and
Ihiugi were said which I won’t repeat, for by-
gones are bygones, Lucy, and we had best leave
well alone.”
“Then you think Miss Anderson will not
marry Mr. Hemphill, after all? Poor Mr.
Hemphill I”
“Oh, I don’t say that! It’s a good match.
The captain isn’t, I should say. But that’s noth
ing when the young lady is in love—listen 1
who’s that?”
“It’s Bill. What a fuss he’s in ! What’s the
matter, Bill Swain ?”
“ Oh, mum, awful, mum 1 Mr. Farmer he
has sent me for help. The gorse is a-fire, and
the plantation's in danger. It’s bad, that it isl”
I jumped up and called the girl Emily.
“ Here, Emily, hold baby till I come back.
The gorse ia a-fire and Mr. Farmer in there.
Quickl”
I put on my things, and by the time I was
ready the men and helpers were hurrying away
to the place where the fire was. Tha smoke
was already curling over the tree-tops, aud as
we knew the whole place was as dry as tinder,
the fire would spread rapidly.
As I camo out, I saw Miss Anderson and Mr.
Hemphill. He was trying to dissuade her.
“ Gladys, my dearest —”
“ Mr. Hemphill, please do not interfere. You
have no right to prevent me—l will go to this
fire. I particularly want to see it. You need
not come unless you please.”
He looked at her almost with tears in his
eyes. But he was patient with her, and said:
“Very well, dear, as you like.”
She drew herself up Haughtily. I could have
boxed her ears had she been my girl. He was
too gentle with her. Some women don t value
a man unless he is pretty hard with them, and
poor Mr. Hemphill wasn’t hard enough for
Miss Gladys.
She set off by herself, and he followed her.
The doctor and all the stablemen had already
gone. Bill Swain camo with me. Round in the
farmyard the men were calling out for help,
aud the country was up.
CHAPTER 11.
THE GOBSE-MBB.
Help 1 There was no want of help. All the
men turned out—servants, grooms, boys, la
borers. All hurried off toward the plantation,
where, beyond the fir-wood, the flames, stirred
by a westerly wind, were already advancing in
their fiery progress. I left the baby with Emily
and hurried off with the rest. We’ had not got
clear of the high road before we could perceive
the flames high in the air, and great rolling
curls and puffs of smoke rising over the tree
tops. Men with branches of trees, and spades
aud forks, were running along the road, and then
np the lane toward the furze common, which
was well alight. The young trees were stand
ing out dark in front of the fire. It was a grand
sight, and one I shall not easily forget. A fine
sight, indeed, but terrible 1
Beyond the belt of dame, in front of it, a num
ber of men were endeavoring to cut away the
trees and gorse so as to deprive the fire of its
fuel. Close behind the flames, and at the sides,
were men with branches of trees beating the
fire out as well as they could. But more than
once they had to retreat, as the tongues of fire
darted suddenly at them, and licked up the
grass and gorse almost under their feet. Three
parties of men were converging toward an old
decayed tree—a hollow, dry trunk, as dry as
touch-wood. In a few minutes that tree would
be in the very heart of the fire ; nothing could
save it.
Some animal—perhaps a pony or a calf—was
running about there. We could not distin
guish lor the smoke; it might have been a poor
sheep. There was something white-looking,
and then we heard a cry. Volumes of smoke
ascended into the air, which was alive with
sparks. The west wiud was carrying the fire
toward our house, and I was thankful baby
was safe at the Manor.
The girl could easily escape, I believed. In
various spots new lights were breaking ont as
the burning fragments fell around. I thought
of [my servant-girl, and hoped she had not
caused this fire by any inadvertence.
Then the wind suddenly changed, and we
saw the fire spread. We waited and watched
the great, towering flames. Mr. Hemphill, the
doctor, and other gentlemen came rustling up,
darting hither and thither, beating, calling, di
recting. Mr. Cardewe, at the head of the la
borers, was equally active.
Tha fire was increasing. The solitary old
oak was doomed. Nothing could save it. Poor
old tree 1 Every one was sorry. It had been a
landmark for years and years, and was called
the “Ladies’ Tree.” There was some tradi
tion, some old prophecy about it, as it marked
Mr. Anderson’s property whore it was divided
(torn Mr. Hemphill’s.
I knew the legend well. It was to the effect
that when the tree was dead the Hemphills
would be childless—
“ When passes away the Ladies’ Tree,
No babes in Hemphill’s ball shall be.”
The verse came into my mind, and 1 said to
the lady’s maid, who had run out with the rest
to see the sight:
“ A poor look-out for Miss Gladys 1”
But we had no time to talk much. The men,
whether they believed in the legend or not,
were doing all they could to prevent the fire
from reaching the tree. They did not succeed.
The flames seemed to rush round, and even to
spring from the tree itself. We cried out, “Save
the tree!” but no one could get near it, until
the flames had united round the trunk and ut
terly concealed it, so fierce wae thia famous
“bush-fire.”
“My gracious mo, Elizs, what’s that? Look I
There is something in the tree I” I exclaimed.
“ There is something alive I”
“ Sure enough, it looks like it,” cried Eliza.
“ See, it comes out 1 It’s a woman !”
A cry of alarm and horror rent the air—a
groan of anguish from all. The figure was now
plainly seen—the woman was standing upon
one of the lower branches, waving her hand
wildly 1
It was Miss Anderson herself 1 She was call
ing for help. Help, indeed I But it looked as
if no help could ever reach her. I heard her
voice plainly now; and—you will scarcely be
lieve me—she was laughing, a queer, wild
laugh.
“ Save her 1 Save her I" screamed mon and
women.
But no one would venture. The flames formed
a barrier impassable. Death—a cruel death
awaited any one who crossed the terrible belt of
fire, which roared and crackled like the furnace
of Nebuchadnezzar.
Mr. Anderson spurred his horse recklessly
toward the belt of fire. The animal reared end
nearly threw him. Miss Anderson had, as we
supposed, got into the tree, thinking herself
safe*, hut a sudden shift ot wind had carried the
flames toward her, aud aha seemed doomed.
“ Five hundred pounds to the man who will
make the effort 1 Five hundred apiece to any of
you!”
One man had not waited. A man with his
nose and mouth tied up in a wetted handker
chief rushed through the smoke. It was Mr.
Hemphill, true to the last But his courage was
of no avail. He nearly reached the foot ot ths
tree, but fell. Three men rushed in, but only
two reached him; the third, black and scorched,
came out again staggering, blinded, burned.
The others did succeed in reaching him, and at
the peril of their lives dragged Mr. Hemphill to
the windward side of the flames, which were
still roaring to leeward, as Charley said.
We were all silent and horrified, when sud
denly a loud shout came over the fields. A man
riding a beautiful black horse leaped the hedge
and dashed, spurring hard, across the common
land. The horse was blindfolded, and rushed
recklessly on. The rider scattered the work
ers and spectators. They paused for a moment
and then, with a cheer, the horseman plunged
into the flame and smoko, which were passing
away from the tree now at the base, but the tree
itself was burning. In another moment the
rider was off his horse, which rushed away
blindly by itself. The gentleman swung him
self into the smouldering tree with desperate
courage, tore Miss Anderson from her place be
tween the branches, where she sat, half insen
sible, and lowered her to the greund. She fell
in a heap, apparently dead.
The gentleman dropped down, and lifted her
np. By this time some laborers had summoned
up courage too, and rushed in as the fire abated.
Between them they lifted and carried off Miss
Anderson, who was borne to our little house,
quite insensible. I hurried after them, and met
them at the door. There I came face to face
with Captain Martyn Henry 1 He had saved
Mies Anderson, then I Poor Mr. Hemphill 1
She remained insensible for some time, but
we got her round by degrees ; aud in our house
she romained'for three weeks. Mr. Hemphill
called every day, and more than once a day, and
at last was permitted to see her. She was sit
ting up then, and gave him her band. You can
imagine his greeting ; but she was very quiet,
and scarcely spoke. At length, after a while,
she said (I heard her; I couldn’t help it, as I
was in the next room) :
“Arthur, you have been very kind and brave.
I hear you risked your life to save mine. How
can I thank you ? You have suffered, too, I see.
And for mo 1” •
“ My darling, there is one way in which vou
oan make me supremely happy. If you will’be
come my wife—soon—dearest ”
“ Ob, don’t, don’t, please 1 I cannot. Oh,
Arthur—Mr. Hemphill—l oannot speak of
that 1”
“ Well, not just now, perhaps, Gladys, dar
ling. But when you have quite recovered—
when I am more presentable—then wo will ar
range it all.”
She murmured something, and thou she said,
aloud, as it she had nerved herself to speak
out:
“ Arthur, would you think me very wicked if
I said I eannot—l would rather not—marry
yeu ? Oh, forgive me I I ean’t marry you; in
deed, I can’t 1”
Poor Mr. Hemphill's scarred face became
white. I peeped out, and saw him kneel down
and take her hand.
•• Yeu do not lore me, Gladys I Is that the
reason? I have fancied sowhen you were so
harsh toward me. But I never thought that you
would have consented to even a semblance of
engagement unless ”
“ No,” she interrupted ; “ I didn’t know—all.
But now I do. I—cannot marry—you—be
cause ”
She blushed, hung her head,' and he finished
the sentence for her.
“ Because you love some one else. Is that so,
Gladys ?”
She merely bowed her head. Then he rose,
and continued, in such a manly, yet tender
voice:
“ Gladys, my dearest, my hope in this world
has been to call you my wile. You have flat
tered me with the idea that you would be mine.
But I have seen my error. Perhaps, had I res
cued you, you might have love”
NEW YORK DISPATCH, FEBRUARY 14, 1886.
“Oh, no, no!’’ cried Miss Anderson. “In
deed, I always liked you, but when I consented
to try and love you my heart had already gone.
I told you that.”
“ Yes, you did ; and this man Martyn Henry
is my rival still. Oh, my darling, must I give
you up ? Give me one word of hope. What,
not a word ? Not one ? Oh, Gladys, Gladys ! I
have worshipped you. My whole heart is yours,
and you deny me even a crumb of comlort. A J
is over. Is it really true ?—really true?”
The tears were running down her cheeks.
His eyes were dry, but so mild and sad, as he
turned away.
“Good-by, Gladys. Our first meeting for
three weeks, and our last forever ! God bless
you, and—forgive you 1”
Ho kissed her and went out, leaving her in a
tprrent of tears. I believe she cared more for
him at that minute than she ever bad done be
fore. I know she declined even to see the cap
tain when he called with her father. Poor Mr.
Hemphill I
He went away almost immediately. Miss An
derson soon got about, and became really en
gaged to Captain Martyn Henry again, and will
marry him iu the Autumn, as all has been made
up, “ they ” say I I wonder why he went away !
I will find out some day. But here is the end
of Mr. Hemphill’s love-story.
a dmaticTtoest.
A STORY TOLD BY AN OLD CALIFORNIAN.
A representative of the press overheard a
story which was narrated one evening early in
the week by one ot a party of gentlemen who
were engaged in listening to the stories of the
speaker, of life on the frontier, and the trials
and incidents of the miners’ camp. The person
who was entertaining the party was apparently
fifty years of age, whose weather-beaten coun
tenance betokened the fact that his life had been
passed out of doors, and whose powerful frame
and brawny fists indicated that, although past
life’s meridian, he was still in the heydey of his
strength. He formerly lived in Indiana, and
was homo on a visit after thirty years' absence
in the far West, most of the time having been
spent in the mines of California, Arizona and
New Mexico.
“ Talk about romantic stories 1” said he. “If
you’ve got time to listen, I will tell you some
thing that happened during the early days of
California, and of which I was myself a witness.
It happened over thirty years ago, in the Spring
of ’54, and at a time when there was no more
government in that part of California than there
is now in the heart of Africa. All the ‘govern
ment’ the miners knew was that of their own
Vigilance Committee, of which every man was a
member except those who needed watching and
were not permitted to join. I was little more
than a boy, an overgrown Hoosier, but, like
thousands of others, I was smitten with the
gold-fever in ’49 and pulled out for the western
Eldorado as soon as I could get away. I drifted
about from place to place until I finally wound
up on a little claim on the north fork of the Sal
mon river, just over the Trinity mountains from
Weaverville, and that is where this thing occur
red. The miners were scattered along the fork
pretty nearly all the way from the forks of Saw
yer’s Bar, and it wasn’t a very difficult matter
to get a crowd together in case the Vigilantes had
work on hand. The signal for summoning the
boys on such occasions was a peculiar whistle,
and no matter what they were doing, just let the
whistle sound, and the prospect of hanging a
sluice-robber or a cut-throat was generally suffi
cient attraction to cause them to drop work and
report at headquarters. Sluice-robbers were
plenty in that locality, and the whistle was heard
with considerable frequency.
“ One evening along in the Spring, it was just
growing dark and the miners were quitting
work for the day, when the sound ot the whistle
was heard. We all listened and located the
place from whence the sound came. Other
whistles took it up, and the signal was echoed
from hill to hill, apprising the boys ot the lact
that there was work on hand. It did not take
long, I tell you, for a crowd of two or three
hundred excited miners to gather at the cabin
where the whistle was sounded, and great was
the surprise on learning that Mose Rodacker, a
miner, had been found murdered in his cabin.
There he lay, beside the fireplace, at which he
had evidently been preparing supper, his eyes
wide open and staring with aghast y glare that
was appalling. A knife was sticking in his
breast, buried to the hilt, which was convincing
proof that he had been murdered. There was
a decided air of mystery about the whole affair.
Rodacker had lived alone, and had neither
friends nor enemies, so far as any one knew,
and tho result of his day’s work, a panful of
washings, lay before him untouched. Evident
ly he had not been murdered for his money,
and there was no apparent explanation of the
crime, but the boys got their heads together,
and two or three of us remembered having
seen a stranger in the neighborhood two or three
times during th© day, and suspicion naturally
enough rested on him. Several of the miners
instituted a search for the stranger, and an
hour after brought him into camp.
“ He was a nice-looking young fellow, appar
ently not over twenty years old, with a face as
smooth as a baby’s, and little delicate ha ids
that showed pretty conclusively that he was no
miner, used to handling a pick and shovel. He
was dressed in ordinary rough clothes, wearing
a miner’s blue flannel shirt As soon as he was
brought m he was accused of tho murder, and
placed on trial before the committee. He wae
pretty roughly handled by the men, and I no
ticed that he winced considerably as they
shoved him about from place to place and final
ly bumped him up and down between two big
fellows who held his arms.
“The fellow made no effort to get away, and
had no more strength than a boy, but that
made no difference to tho men. They handled
him roughly just the same. They found blood
stains on his clothes, and the sheath in his belt
was empty. That was enough to convict a
preacher before that kind of a jury, and it
didn’t take long for them to bring in a ver
dict.”
Here the speaker paused and relit his pipe,
sending a cloud of smoke about his head.
“What was the verdict?” asked one of his
hearers.
“What was it?” Same old thing. Never wrb
but one verdict returned by the vigilantes, no
matter what the crime of which the prisoner
was accused. Death 1 The spokesman got up
and announced to the captive that he was to be
hanged by the neck until he was dead. The
boy turned as pale as a ghost, and without a
word or a sound fell backward from the log on
which he sat in a dead faint. Two or three of
the men jumped forward to his assistance; one
of them ran to the sluice and brought a hatful
of water to sprinkle on his face, and another
fanned him—but to no purpose; tho fellow
didn’t revive.
“Unbutton his shirt-collar.” said one. One
of the boys stooped over and unbuttoned the
collar, turning back the folds as he did so.
Suddenly he jumped back, paler than the boy
himself.
“ My God, it’s a woman 1” said he, and his bat
came off as reverentially as though he had
stepped into a church. It was whispered
around among tha boys in short order, and the
surprise was general, I can tell you. In those
days there were no women in California except
in the cities, and most of them who were there
were none of the best, and the fact that there
was a woman in our midst was enough to aston
ish us. But this only deepened the mystery
about the murder, and we were as far from an
explanation of it as we were before discovering
the sex of the prisoner. A few moments later
she recovered from her swoon and resumed
her quiet demeanor. The men, of course,
wanted to know the reason of her appearance
in that disguise, and what connection, if any,
her presence had with the murder. A commit
tee was appointed to take her aside and to hear
what she had to say, and to them she told her
story:
“A few years ago,” said she, “I lived with
my father, mother and sister on our farm in
Missouri. Wo were as happy together as any
family ever were, and didn’t know anything at
all about the real meanness of men. One day
there came to our house a nice-looking young
man, who wanted to work on the farm. Mother
did not like his appearance, and begged father
not to take him, but we needed help on the
place, and in spite of mother’s protest he was
taken into the family. He was a nice young
man, apparently, and father took a great liking
to him, taking him into the house and treating
him exactly like a member of the family. After
a while he began courting me, and I fell in love
with him, fool that I was. We were to be mar
ried and remove to the West to live, but we
kept all our plans strictly to ourselves, I not
even telling my sister at his request. I thought
that she liked him, too, but I knew we were en
gaged, so 1 preferred to say nothing at air to
anyone on the subject. After a while he began
going to the city with father, and we noticed
that on those occasions the old man would come
home under the influence of liquor. Matters
went on from bad to worse, until father became
a confirmed drunkard and had to give up the
farm. A short time afterward the young man
disappeared without a word of warning or ex
planation. One day my sister came to me and
told me in confidence that she was to have been
married to him shortly, and that she was about
to become the mother et his chili. He had be
trayed us both ! A few months later my sister
died in giving birth to her baby, and father was
committed to au insane asylum. I staid with
mother until she died, a year later, of a broken
heart.
“ Then I took a solemn oath that sooner or
later I would find that man and kill him for his
perfidy, if it was the last act of nay life. I heard
nothing of him for another year, when 1 learned
by chance he was in the California mines, so I
came to this State, and, disguised as a man,
searched among the mines some months until I
found him. When I found out where he was I
went to his cabin and awaited his return.
Shortly after ho came in I told him who I was,
and sent my knife to his heart, as I had sworn
to do. Mose Rodacker was tiiat naan, aud it
was I who killed him.”
When the committee returned with the pris
oner and told her story to the men, there wasn’t
a dry eye among them alt Did we hang her ?
Well, I should say not I No, sir; that girl could
have called on that crowd for every cent that
was in it, and the request would have been
granted. When wo asked her what she wanted
to do, and whore she was going, she replied it
was a matter of indifference to her.
“The object for which I lived has been ac
complished,” said she, “ and I don’t care what
I do. I have no home—no one to whom to go.
Hang me, if you like.”
But we had no such idea. Instead of doing
that we passed the hat around among the boys
and took np a collection amounting to several
hundred dollars, which we forced her to accept.
We sent her with the next pack train to Yreka,
from whence she could easily get down to Sac
ramento and the white settlements. I never
board of her again. Rodacker was buried with
out a regret, and over his grave one of the boys
placed a board, on which he had carved with
ins jack-knife:
“ Hero lies a man who received his just re
ward.”
HUMOR OF THE HOUR.
BY THE DETROIT FREE PRB33 FIEND.
SHE KNEW IT.
As the morning train going west drew up at
Brighton the other day an old lady with the le
gendary satchel was helped aboard the coach
by the brakeman. Instead of entering it she
passed into the smoking car and took a seat.
Pretty soon the brakeman jfut his head into the
door and called out:
“Madam, this is the smoking-oar.”
“ Yes,” she replied, as she investigated her
satchel.
“ The rear coach is for ladies.”
“ Yes.”
As she made no move toward changing cars
the official stepped np to her and said:
“ Madam, the next coach is for ladies.”
“I know it,” she replied.
“This is the smoking-car.”
“ Don't I know it 1” she snapped, "and didn't
I come in here to take a smoke 1 Do you sup
pose I haven’t traveled enough to know what
car to get into when I want to raise the wind off
my stomach with a few whiffs at the pipe 1”
She leaned over and took a lighted cigar from
the man ahead, touched off her pipe and after
blowing out a few whiffs of blue smoke she
quietly observed:
“ That’s why I never travel on the accommo
dation train. It never has no decent place to
smoke in.”
THE WRONG MAN.
“ Excuse me,” he said, as he halted a gentle
man in the corridor of the City Hall, “ but will
you lend mo your eye-glasses a moment.
He put them on hie nose to read a letter, and
returned them with:
“ Thanks 1 Have you the correct timo ? Ah 1
Ten-thirty 1”
He set his watch and confidentially inquired;
“ Haven’t any tobacco about yon, eh ?”
He was handed a box, and after helping him
self to a liberal share, he remarked :
“I want to mail a letter in the box here, but I
find I have no postage-stamps. If you ?”
He was handed a stamp. When he had licked
it on aud mailed his letter, he said ;
" I’m going up Michigan avenue to Twelfth
street. Do you happen to have a couple of
street-car tickets ?”
“ Sir 1 This is too much 1” exclaimed the
other. “lean stand about so much, but after
that ”
“ There 1 there 1 Beg your pardon 1 How
did I know you drew the line on street-car
tickets ? No offense—none in the least. I’ll
take your name and make a memorandum of
where your generosity ceases, and this thing
sha’n’t happen again. I mistook you for a gen
tleman who draws the line on paying for the
coupe, when I ask myself up to his house to
supper.”
HUNTING STORIES.
A gentleman by the name of Johnson, of Da
viess county, Ind., who has been quite a hunter,
told a story that once on a time he saw a fine
turkey gobbler on a tree, and, taking surejaim,
he fired. Being a good shot, and the tnrkey
not far off, he was surprised that it flew away.
Going under the tree on which the turkey sat,
it was found that he had shot the fowl’s head
clear from the body, while the latter had flown
away.
A bystander declared it was true, for, said he,
“I was coon hunting in the same woods. John
son shot the turkey’s head off and tho turkey
flew away,<and by the light of the moon I dis
covered a very large, fine coon. Taking a good
aim.l fired, and down came ”
“ The coon ?” inquired several vofpes.
“ No—his tail. I had shot it clear from the
body.”
“ And did you get the coon ?”
“No-o-o. It skipped by the light of the
moon.”
IN A FIX.
“ Water’s frozen up,” said a boy as he en
tered a Woodward avenue plumber’s shop yes
terday.
“ Very well.”
“ Ma wants you to come right up.”
“ I’m afraid wo can’t get there for a day er
two. You’ll have to borrow from your neigh
bors.”
“ We can’t do it.”
“ Are they frozen, too ?”
“ I dunno; but the woman on one side is mad
at us because we’ve put a bay-window on our
house, and ma’s mad at the other because
she’s got a seal-skin sacqus, I guess we are
in a fix.”
THEY WERE DELEGATES.
She was a lean, scrawny woman, and she took
the seat the third back from the stove. He was
short and fat, and sat opposite to her. As soon
as the coach door was closed the car began to
heat up, and presently he snapped his fingers
at the brakeman and said:
“For Heaven’s sake, open some ol those ven
tilators I”
“ Don’t you do it 1” exclaimed tho woman.
“Do you think I want to melt?” demanded
the man, as he wheeled to lace her.
“Do yon think I want to freeze ?” she de
manded in turn.
“ Madam,” said the tat man, after earetully
surveying her, “if I wae a mass of bones I’4
carry a hot brick when I traveled.”
“ Oh, you would 1 If I was a mass of pork I
would carry a hunk of ice with me.”
The brakeman went into the smoking-oar to
be clear of the storm, and tho fat man got up
and opened the door. He had scarcely returned
to his seat, when the lean woman got up and
closed it.
“ Madam 1”
••Sir I”
“ I want that door open !”
“And I want it shut 1”
Jnst then a passenger came down the aisle
from the other end of tho car and shook hands
with each in turn and said :
“ Mrs. Cassowary, this is Mr. White. I sup
pose you are both delegates to tha conven
tion ?’’
“ Ah 1 Mrs. Cassowary, I beg your pardon.”
“Ah 1 You can have the door open. Mr.
White.”
“By no means.”
“I insist.”
“But allow mo to give way. 1 '
And they roasted us until we had to go ont on
the platform to keep from running to grease.
HOW BILL LIT THE FIRE.
" Mebbe you’ve seen my boy Bill hanging
around here I” queried a farmer of apoliceman
at the Central Market yesterday. '• Bte’e a com
mon-looking chap, a little bow-backed, and has
red mittens, a blue comforter, and a scared
look.”
“I saw such a chap about an hour ago, but
he’s a man grown.”
“ So’s Bill. He’s as big as anybody, but he
don’t know nuthin’. The other morning he got
up to start the fire, and oome to look around, he
couldn’t find a match in the house. It’s half a
mile to the nearest naybur s, and what did that
smart son of mine do? He put the kindling
into the cook stove, tucked some paper under it
and then got down the shot-gun to try a bril
liant experiment. He thought the flame of the
powder would set the kindlings going and save
him a tramp.”
“ And didn’t it?”
“Why, the long-legged ignoramus never
etopped to see if the gnu wasn’t already loaded,
when, as a matter of fact, ehe had a big charge
of powder and a handful of buckshot already
down. Whsn that gun went off the report riz
everybody out of bed in a twinkling, and away
went all tho glass in tho kitchen windows. We
haven’t got the house fairly clear of smoke and
ashes yet, while the charge of ehot blew the
whole back of the stove out.”
“ What did the boy do?”
•• He was lying on his back on the floor when
I got down. I got some water and put out the
conflagration in his hair and eye-brows and
goatee, and then I led him to the back door and
gave him a lift which lit him over a snow-drift
six feet high. I guess I was a little too hasty. I
heard he came to town, and I thought I’d hunt
him up and sort o’ apologize.”
At that moment Bill came around a corner of
tho butcher market, and the father held out his
hand aud said :
“Bill, you are the biggeet fool in the State of
Michigan, but you oan oome back home all the
same 1”
“ Do you want me to ?”
“ Sartin. You don’t know ’nuff to chaw gum,
and it’s a wonder you hain’t bin bit by cats
since you left home. Git iu thar’ and mind the
team, while I go and price a new cook-stove.”
A WOJ(DhRFUL_CRIPPLE.
HOW A CELEBRATED HORSE WAS
KEPT GOING.
Everything that appertains to the King of the
American Turf, Freeland, is read at this time
with great interest, and the following account
of how that wonderful old cripple has been kept
on the turf for so many seasons back, as given
by Vauban in a recent issue of the Horseman,
will bo eagerly read by turfmen:
Did you ever hear how Corrigan kept Free
land on his legs ? That is a question I often
hear asked, for the gelding hasn't a sound leg
under bins. You must have noticed how Cor
rigan rubs him after every race all over his
body with the contents ol a big bottle. One day
last year I was watching this operation, won
dering what the preparation consisted of, when
I thought I smelled witch hazel, and asked a
trainer standing by if that was what Corrigan
used.
“Of course It is,” said tho trainer. "He rubs
the horse all over with it after every race he
runs.”
“ Isn’t it a new dodge ?” I asked him.
“ Not exactly,” he answered. “ It’s been
known a long time; it takes ths stiffness and
soreness out ot tho muscles. Doctors say it re
laxes tho muscles, but nobody uses it as freely
as Corrigan.”
"Do you suppose it is its use that gets him
ont of his lameness ?” I asked.
“No; Corrigan uses others, I believe. He rubs
the old horse s lege with it. When he comes
ont you’ll notice he’s stiff and sore in his legs,
but Corrigan rubs with the ether, gives him a
canter, and it’s surprising to see how he’ll
warm out ol his lameness.”
"If that’s the case, how is it trainers gener
ally do not use it ?” I inquired.
“ Well, they all haven’t so bad a case as
Freeland. Beside, you know trainers are queer
about taking up new ideas or ‘experiments,* as
they call them. Corrigan is a man who tries
everything. The horse is his own and he can
do as he likes; trainers have their employers
bothering them, and ii anything happened
they’d be blamed.*’
I must own the above conversation made
quite an impression upon me. It was some
thing new, aud I followed it up. Some time
after I happened to meet a man who is pretty
intimate with Corrigan, and asked him about it.
“ Oh, a good deal of it is talk,” he answered.
“But doesn’t he use those articles?”! in
quired.
“ Yes, 1 suppose hq does. Ed's an original
fellow; he’ll muss and fuss around that old
horse and use all sorts of things.”
“ But do you think the use of these things
has anything to do with keeping Freeland on
his feet?”
“ No; it’s the soak tub. He keeps the horse
standing in the tub nearly all the time. He
uses warm fomentations to keep the legs from
filling, then claps him into cold water. That
hardens the legs, and keeps all the good he gets
from the hot water. I guess you’ll find there's
more good in the tubs of water than there’s in
barrels of witch hazel, ether and such things.”
The Last Days of the Year 1000.
EXPECTATION IN~ CHRISTIAN
COUNTRIES UNIVERSAL.
It was believed in the Middle Ages that the
world would come to an end at the expiration
of one thousand years of the era. The year 1000
was a year of suspense, terror and awe. The
histories of this dark period give vivid accounts
and incidents of the state of the people under
the influence of this awful apprehension. A
writer reproduces the picture with much dis
tinctness, aud relates an incident ot the manner
that the hours were numbered on the supposed
final night of that year.
When the last day of the year 999 dawned the
madness bad attained its hight. All work of
whatever kind was suspended. The market
places were deserted. The shops were shut.
The tables wore not spread for meals ; the very
household fires remained unlit Men, when
they met in the streets, scarcely saw or spoke
to one another. Their eyes had a wild stare in
them, as though they expected every moment
some terrible manifestation to take place.
Silence prevailed everywhere except in the
churches, which were already thronged with
eager devotees, who prostrated themselves be
fore the shrines of their favorite saints, implor
ing their protection during the fearful scenes
which they supposed were about to be dis
played.
As the day wore on, the number of those who
sought admission grew greater and greater,
until every corner ot the sacred edifi es, large
as they were, was densely crowded, and it be
came impossible to find room for more. But
the multitude outside stall strove and clamored
for admission, filling the porches and door
ways, aud climbing up the buttresses to find
refuge ou the roofs, which they could not obtain
inside.
A strange and solemn commentary on the
text which binds men to watch because they
" know not whether the Master of the house
will come at even orCat midnight, or at the cock
crowing or in the morning,” was presented by
the multitudes which filled the churches that
night. Watch m very truth they did. Not an
eye was closed throughout that lengthened
vigil; not a knee but was bent in humblest sup
plication; not a voice but joined In the peniten
tial chant, or put up a fervid entreaty for help
and protection.
There were no clocks in those days, but the
flight of the hours was marked by great waxen
tapers with metal balls attached at intervals to
them. These fell, one after another as the flame
reached the strings by which they were secured,
into a brazen bazin beneath, with a clang which
resounded through the church.
At the recurrence,of each of these warning
sounds the awe of the vast assembly seemed to
deepen and intensify, as each in terrible sus
pense supposed that between him and the out
burst of Divine wrath only the briefest interval
now remained.
At last the night, long as it was, began to
draw to an end. The chill which precedes day
light pervaded the air, and in the eastern sky
the first pale gleam of morning began to show
itself. The light grew stronger in the heavens,
and the flame of the candles paled befere it, and
at last the rays of the risen sun streamed
through the windows on the white, anxious faces
of the watchers. The night had passed away.
A new day, a new oentury had begun. The text
that says that “ no man knoweth the day nor the
hour,” had a new meaniug.
CHIN ESE~ PEDDLERS.
"VELLY HUNGLY—NO CATCHEE
CHOW-CHOW.”
A correspondent was sitting with some bro
ther officers of the United States ship “ Dash,”
in front of the English hotel in Batavia, Java,
and was approached by a forlorn-looking China
man, who had a sword-cane in his hand.
“ Want buy?” said he, bowing profoundly to
the group.
The others paid no attention to him, but I,
being somewhat inexperienced in the ways of
the “ childlike and bland,” took pity on him
and asked him his price.
"Six doll ah,” ho said.
••Six dollars 1” I exclaimed. “ That’s too
much.”
•• Velly fine sword-cane. Chinaman velly
hungly, whined he, plaintively. “ Melican
help hungly man alloe time. Five dollah, sav?”
“ No,” said I. ‘‘ Five dollars is too much. 1 '
“Four dollah—little, little four dollah I” per
sisted the miserable-looking object
Still I was firm in my belief that I could buy
a sword-cane for much less, it I really needed
one, and declared that I would not pay lour
dollars.
“ Tlee dollar ? Two dollah ? One dollah ?”
groaned the beggar.
Then, as I shook my head, in obedience to a
stealthy wink from a lieutenant sitting near
and watching the progress of the trade, the fel
low began to cry, “ No catches chow-chow two,
tlee day! Velly hungly 1 Die 1 No catches
chow-chow, die 1 Fifty cent ?”
I relented, and agreed to buy it for fifty cents.
But an investigation of my purse showed noth
ing but a ten-dollar gold piece.
“ I can’t take it after all,” said I, regretfully.
Imagine my amazement whea, alter one keen
glance at my “ eagle,” the Chinaman dived
down his sleeve and brought out a double
handful of silver, counted nine dollars and, fifty
cents out ot the pile, took my gold piece, handed
me the cane, and turned away with a placid
smile and a bow, amid the shouts and laughter
of my companions 1
The lieutenant then offered me his arm and
took me to a neighboring shop, where there was
a shelf full of sword-canes just like mine, for
twenty-five cents apiece 1
GOOD CHANGES.
HOW TO SELECT THEM.
(From the Philadelphia Inquirer.)
To very many an orange is an orange, the
only variation distinguishable being is size and
corresponding price, while those who know the
difference between Florida, Seville and Messina
oranges are considered experts. The “Florida
Catechism” tells us better than that. We learn
from it that there are over thirty varieties of
sweet oranges, not to mention the “natural
stock,” which is a larger and handsomer fruit
than the sweet orange, and is excellent for
orangeade and marmalade, but being very
sour, is seldom shipped North. The medium
sizes are apt to be the choicest, and probably
the very sweetest orange that is marketed is
the rusty-coated and rather ill-looking orange,
which might bo considered inferior by an ama
teur. Furthermore: “ The way to detect
oranges is to ‘heft’ them in your hands; pick
out the thin-skinned, heavy iruit, and you are
all right.” The light-weight fruit is apt to be
juicelees—a condition caused either by a slight
freesing while on the tree, or. more probably,
by the poverty ol the soil in which it grow. All
this applies to the sweet oranges.
The “ kid-glove ” oranges are grown in Flori
da from two stocks brought, respectively, from
China and Tangiers. Hence they are called Man
darin and Tangerine oranges. Both are small;
the skin is loose and easily removed, and the
sections fall apart so readily that a lady can eat
one without soiling her gloves; hence the
name. Some other interesting bits of informa
tion may be picked out from this “ Catechism.”
It is not generally known, for instance, that
“an orange that is entirely dead ripe in De
cember will hang on the tree until March, and
is ready at any time to be picked and shipped;”
while so far from deteriorating, “ the longer
they hang on the trees the sweeter they grow,”
and Florida oranges, purchased in February
and March, are therefore apt to be better than
those procured early in the season. Again, the
notion that to know what an orange is really
like, one must go where the oranges grow, ap
pears to be a popular fallacy, as we are told
that “ the orange picked from the tree is no
riper or better than the orange on the fruit
stalls in the North.”
THE MODER NSHAKEBPEARE
MAN IS TESTY, AND ANGEB RED
DENS HIS NOSE.
“Dids’t hear the temperance advocate last
night, Henrico ?”
“ Aye, good lady, that I did 1"
“ And dids’t thou note the glimmer of his
nose ?”
“ Such was me privilege, Andromeda. A sun
that glowed as ruddily as that would be ad
judged prophetic of a drought; I would not
thus accuse this nasal orb.”
“Is’t, then, indigenous to such as he—this
crimson focus i’ the frontal disc ?”
“ I hear ’tis native to the soil, me love, and if
it be, it should our gibes escape, for knowest
not the poet’s statement that there is ‘ divinity
which shapes our ends, rough-he w them as we
will;’ and ift be so we cannot criticize this
salient end, e’en tho’ it be, indeed, conspicu
ous.”
“ Rough-live, then, seems a pat expression,
boy; it fits the subject of discussion well. But
tell me, pray, doth nasal attribute, such as ar
raigned the lecturer last night, always bespeak
the fact that such as he know best the ills
whereof they do exclaim ?”
•• It doth give color to the hint, i’ faith, tho’
oftentimes it may dissemble truth. The nose,
an’t please thee, is a talesman strange. From
pulpit its irradiant glow may mean the fiery
efflux of the kindled soul; in forum its effulgence
may express the well-read jurist coming to
the front; in female feature it may advertise
the blush that elsewhere powder has forbade;
but in the politician, gentle one, the rich carna
tion of a nasal bulb is but the symbol of the
auctioneer—who so doth wear it ’twill be found
for sale.”
Dreadful Stabbing Encounter in
Sicily. —A deed of blood committed at Portem
pedode, near Girgenti, gives an illustration of
the use of the knife in the island of Sicily. Two
butchers, father and son, of the name of Indeli
cate, who kept a shop in that town, not long
since took two brothers named Alfonso and Gio
vanni Oannetoni into partnership, te enable
them the better to compete with a rival estab
lishment. At first there was a great show of
friendship between the partners, but beiore long
the Cannetonis began to trade in lambs’ car
casses separately on their own account, and dis
agreements arose, which ultimately led to a
collision between Baldassare Indelicate and Al
fonso Cannetoni. They drew their butcher’s
knives from their belts on each other. Alfonso
aimed a well-directed blow at Baldassare. He
parried it with his left arm, which was cut to
the bone, and at the same instant drove his
knife into the heart of Alfonso, who fell dead on
the spot. At that moment a young son of Al
fonso, aged nineteen, came up with a bludgeon to
his father’s assistance. Baldassare struck him
to the ground, and then cut his throat across,
as ho would have slaughtered a sheep. Mad
with rage, Baldassare then rushed into the shop,
and taking Giovanni, the brother of Alfonso, by
surprise, killed him with a slash across the ab
domen before he had even time to cry “ God
help me 1” Turning then to leave the shop, he
inflicted a serious wound on a person just en
tering. All this occurred within the space of
four minutes, the result of the collision being
three persons killed and two wounded.
A Most Singular Reptile.— “ There
are some curious cases among the geckos,” said
a Los Angeles county naturalist to a reporter
for the San Francisco Cal/. “ Here is one, dead,
that is called the leaf-tailed gecko. You see the
tail bulges out soon after leaving the body and
assumes a leaf or arrow shape ; hence the name
of the animal. Now, when the little creature is
chased you will see it dodge ar .mud a limb and
hold up the curious deaf-like tail. That is all
you can see, and so, naturally, would think it a
part ot the tree itself. But this lizard has a
more remarkable method of escape yet. We
will imagine that you have tried to pluck the
leaf. The animal drops clumsily to the ground
and darts away ameng the rocks where it at
tracts the attention of the hawks that are for
ever prowling around. Immediately a chase
ensues ; the bird gains and is finally about to
fiounce upon its prey, when, all at once, two
izards appear, one making off while the other
dances up and down into the air and along the
ground in a very mysterious way, so that the
astonished bird stops and looks. In the mean
time the original lizard escapes ; the other, that
is really the tail, soon becomes quiescent. You
see the gecko has the faculty of throwing off its
tail when hard pressed, and while the pursuer’s
attention is drawn to the squirming member the
animal itself escapes.” “But it loses its tail?”
suggested the reporter. “ Only for a time.
They can reproduce this organ, and, curiously
enough, sometimes two tails are produced in
stead of one.”
The Sea Serpent Again.—From ad
vices brought by the last arriving Cape mail
steamer,it would eeem that thetereat sea mystery
the sea serpent, has just made its appearance
in South African waters. In this instance it was
not seen to the terror of the sailor, but was ob
served from the shore. According to the dis
patch a huge monster was observed about Oct.
1, in the afternoon, in Morewood’s Bay, Umhla
li, by eight or nine people. It was first seen
seven or eight miles from the shore, swimming
in a very erect manner. From the first sight it
seemed as if there were two fish, but a closer
inspection proved that the rear one was the tail
of the serpent. According to the account fur
nished by those who witnessed the sight, the
monster appeared to proceed at the rate of
about eight miles an hour, sccasionally plung
ing into the water, making a noise as it a sea
was breaking heavily on an open shore, and
causing foam te extend about twenty yards on
cither side of it. It appeared to be about fif
teen or twenty feet out of the water, and its
whois length was computed at not less than 90
or 100 feet. Fins like immense bars were seen
striking the water on either side. It bad a large
stripe down the body, the remaining portion be
ing ot a dirty yellowish color. ggfgl
A Rabbit Skin Scalp.—Says a Hart
ford dispatch to the Boston Herald: Tho sur
geons at the City Hospital are making a curious
experiment in their endeavors to renew the
scalp of Rosanna Flynn. Her scalp was wholly
torn off in a Collinsville factory last August.
For months the engrafting upon the cranium of
small pieces of human skin has been in pro
gress, the bits not exceeding in size the dimen
sions of a silver 5-cent piece. Eventually ths
hospital attendants became tired of contributing
these bits of skin from their own persons, and
especially as the woman was so careless so to
hinder the progress of the work by striking her
head against objects. The physicians, there
fore, have resorted to bits of rabbit skin Instead
of the human cuticle, and with fairly good suc
cess. Ths skin is built up around the edges,
and there is quite an island, so to speak, of
mingled human and rabbit skin on the top of
the head. The aim of the doctors is to units
this with the edges below, and while thev an
ticipate success they don’t look for it under a
year, at least.
Relics of Pompeii.—A museum has
been erected in Pompeii, in which are preserved
plaster casts of some of the people who perished
in the eruption. These people were covered up
by the fine ashes just where they fell, and in
the position in which they died. These ashes
hardeded, and, although the bodies, with the
exception of a few bones, entirely disappeared
in the course of ages, the hollow places left in
the ashes were exactly the shape of the forms
and features of the persons who had been there.
An ingenious Italian conceived tho idea of
boring into these hollow molds and filling
them up with liquid plaster of Paris. When
this became dry and hard the ashes wore re
moved, and there were the plaster images of
the persons who had been overtaken and
destroyed before they could escape from that
terrible storm of hot ashes, which came down
in quantities sufficient to cover a whole city
from sight In some of these figures the fea
tures are very distinct, and one can even dis
tinguish the texture ot their clothes and the
rings upon their fingers.
The Mad Dog’s Bite. —A correspond
ent writes to the London Daily chronicle:
While we find Parisians frightening themselves
into proposing dog-poisoning clubs, and their
cruel death by strychnine meat-balls, may I
draw your attention to Dr. Buisson’s treatment
of hydrophobio patients by Russian vapor
baths ? He thus cured himself, of madness
from a dog’s bite, and afterward was equally
successful with numerous patients. This sim
ple yet scientific practice is now being intro
duced into England, and it will be rapidly ex
tended, while a few friends announce their wil
lingnees to pay for any needy hydrophobic suf
ferer. I would earnestly advise all humane
persons to make this valuable remedy widely
known. On the first day of illness Dr. Buisson
affirms the cure is certain. In mercy let no suf
ferer be ignorant of such a boon I All may be
encouraged by the words of the celebrated’ late
Sir Thomas Watson, who in his “ Principles of
Medicine ” declares that it he had the misfor
tune to be bitten he would wish to be put into a
hot-air bath.
How TO Make Good Tea.—A corres
pondent of The Grocer writes recommending
the following system of making tea: First, put
the desired quantity of tea (one spoonful for
each person, and one for the pot) into a small
muslin bag, which drop into the teapot, alter
thoroughly warming and drying the latter, then
pour sufficient boiling water into the teapot, and
let it stand for about five minutes; after which,
extract the muslin bag containing the tea-leaves,
and then the tea may be poured out, and drank
with real satisfaction. The advantages of this
system are that the second and third cup will
be found equal to the first; that the tannin and
ether properties of tea not considered beneficial
are left in the muslin bag, and that the consum
er gate a beverage which in this case may be
described with perfect truth as “ cheering, but
not inebriating.”
A Household
Ayer’s Pills are invaluable for children,
and should always be kept ready for use i
in case of an emergency. ** I have used j
Ayer’s Pills, In my family, for the past 1
fifteen years. I give them to my children, i
in preference to any other physic, and ;
always with satisfactory results. We i
consider this medicine a household neces
sity, and would not be without it.—B. F. i
Stevenson, Yonkers, N. Y.
I have used Ayer’s Cathartic Pills, In
my family, for ten years. They are I
pleasant aua safe to take, and agree with ;
MY CHILDREN
better than any medicine known to me. ‘
For stomach, liver, and bowel complaints, 1
I consider Ayer’s Pills unequalled.—
Mrs. Helen H. French, Jackson, Mich.
I have used Ayer’s Pills for over twenty
years, and am never without them. As a .
family medicine they are unsurpassed.—
Jefferson S. Tennis, New Hampshire, O. .
I have used Ayer’s Pills many years, in :
my practice and in my family, and have I
found them entirely" satisfactory as a <
cathartic medicine. — George E. Waller, 1
M. D., Martinsville, Va.-
AYER S SI CATHARTIC PILLS,
Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. Sold by Druggists. Price $1; six boUke,
Shortness of Time in Dreams.—Ona
of the most remarkable phenomena connected
with dreams is the shortness of time needed for
their consummation. Lord Brougham says that
in dictating a man may ire iiiently fall asleep
after uttering a tew words, and be awakened«by
the amanuensis repeating the last word to show
that he hu written the whole ; but though flv4
or six seconds only have elapsed between th®
delivery of the sentence and its transfer to pa
per, the sleeper may have passed through a
dream extending through half a lifetime. Lord
Holland and Mr. Babbage both confirm this
theory. The one was listening to a friend read
ing aloud, and slept from the beginning of th®
sentence to the latter part of the sentence imme
diately succeeding; yet, during this time he
had a dream, tbs particu ars of which would
have taken more than a quarter of an hour to
write. Mr. Babbage dreamed a succession of
events, and woke in time to hear the concluding
words of a friend’s answer to a question he had
just put to him. One man was liable to feelings
of suffocation, accompanied by a dream of a
skeleton grasping his throat whenever he slept,
in a lying posture, and had an attendant to
wake him tho moment he sunk down. But,
though awakened the moment he began to sink,
that time snfileed for a long struggle with the
skeleton. Another man dreamed that he crossed
the Atlantic, spent a fortnight in America, and
fell overboard when embarking to return ; yet
his sleep had not lasted more than ten minutes.
Hired Nurses in Paris Hospitals.—
So far the (hired nurses who have taken ths
places of the Sisters of Charity in the hospitals
have not gained, m contrast with their prede
cessors. Several mishaps have occurred, end
ing in the deaths of patients. Tho latest disas
ter of this kind exceeds the others in the gravi
ty of its features. A respectable woman, named
Senart, went as an in-patient to the Hopital St.
Antoine tor cancer of the breast Some nights
ago the nurses were carousing, when one of
them suddenly remembered that a powder had
been ordered to be administered to the patient
in question. The powder was hastily made up,
but instead of the sulphate of magnesia ordered
oxalite of potassium was used. The nurse gave
the powder in water, and the patient fell back
in convulsions. The nurse, however, thinking
this arose from repugnance, added some more
water, and, holding the head of the unfortunate
woman, forced the poison down her throat.
Death naturally ensued. Efforts were made to
hush up the affair and avoid a police inquiry.
Dr. Bronardel, however, made a post-mortem
examination, when the truth came out.—Chron
icle Correspondent.
The Force of Imagination. —Dr. Bed
does, an English physician of great enthusiasm,
had imbibed the notion that palsy could be
cured by inhaling nitrous oxide gas. He re
quested the celebrated Sir Humphrey Davy to
administer the gas to one of his patients, and
sent him to him for that purpose. Sir Hum
phrey put the bulb of the thermometer under
the tongue of the paralytic, to ascertain the tem
perature of the body, so that he might see
whether it would be at all affected by the inha
lation of the gas. The sick man, filled with
faith, from the assurances of the ardent Dr.
Beddoes, and snpposiug that tho thermometer
was the remedy, declared at once that he felt
better. Davy, desirous of seeing how much
imagination would do in sueh a ease, then told,
him that enough had been done for that time,
and directed him to come next day. The appli
cation of tho thermometer was made from day
to day in the same way, and in a fortnight the
man was cured.
How an Emperor Turned an Ome
lette.—The Empress Josephine was amnsing
herself one day with her ladies of honor with
the manufacture ol an omelette, and at the most
interesting moment of the operation Napolean
entered unexpectedly. Seeing the embarrass
ment the empress experienced in turning the
omelette, he took tho pan from her hand, say
ing, “ I will show you, ma bonne amie, how te
turn an omelette ; thia is the bivouac fashion,”
and at tho same moment he gave the pan the
little twist so well known to all cooks, but the
disobedient omelette, instead ef returning to
the frying-pan, fell into the fire, to the great de
light of Josephine, who, turning to her august
spouse, said to him, with a charming smile,.
‘‘‘Your Ma esty is net at tho bivouac now ; you
understand much better how to gain battles
than to turn omelettes.”
A Great Doctor.—The Florida Medi
cal and Surgical Jeurncl relates that when Dr.
Bowling, a pioneer medical man in the South,
began practice, he settled in the wilds of Ken
tucky, where he sat in tho front of his cabin for
six months without a call. At last he heard the
clatter of a horse’s boo's, and a lank, bare
footed Kentuckian appeared.
“ Are yon a doctor ? ’ ho asked.
•‘ Yes, and a good one,” said Dowling.
•• W hat’s the matter with that ’ar foot ?” the
man inquired, placing his heel on the fence.
The doctor examined it closely and replied:
“ That, sir, is erveipeles.”
“ Ery-hell,” said the man, “ a bee stung me. w
The doctor moved to Nashville.
A Capital Sensation. —A Washington
correspondent tells of a death there recently
which is sensational in its details. A young
doctor, handsome, strong, and of great prom
ise, was called to attend a lady in a carriage at
his door. Receiving no answer to his greeting
to the patient, ho thought she bad fainted. He
stepped into her coupe and found her already a
corpse. He drove by tho side of the dead wo
man to her house and thence fo the hospital,
where ho was expected to participate in a meet
ing of tho managers. Apologizing to his col
leagues for his lateness, be related his ghastly
experience. Then remarking, “I feel faint,”
he fell, struck dead by paralysis,
French Bailway Employees.—Em
ployees of French railway companies have ex
ceptional privileges. Hates of Height on goods
consigned to them personally are mnch lower
than the usual rates. They rsoeive through tho
special stores kept lor them provisions of all
kinds at wholesale prices. They can purchase
fuel at the sama money as the oompanv paid for
it. They are attended by the company’s phy
sician when they are sick, and the medicine is
supplied gratuitously. If employees are killed 1
while on duty, their orphans are placed in a
proper institution at the expense of the com
pany, and kept there until they are seventeen,
years old.
The druggist who hesitates now is
lost for the Winter. He should sling together
some sweet oil aud liquorice and bring out his
cough syrup at once. Dr. Bull’s Cough Syrup
does not pay him enough profit
A Good Law.—Says the Louisville
Courier-Journal: The fellowing bill is to be in
troduced in the Legislature next week: Be it en
acted, etc., That any person or persons prophe
sying a mild Winter, either from the appearance
of the goose bone, tho thickness of fur and corn
husks, the habits ef squirrels and other var
mints, or on any grounds whatever, shall be
hanged by the neck unt 1 strangled, and shall
pay a fine of $2,000. That any person or per
sons prophesying as to the weather immediately
to follow the appearance of the ground hog shall
be imprisoned for not leas than five years. This
shall take effect from and after its passage.
A Lucid Explanation.—A gentleman
having asked how a certain kind ot soup was
made, received the following lucid directions:
“You must get an ox cheek, a tongue, two shins
of beef, two pig’s feet and a tail, a cabbage,
twenty carrots, and a sheep’s head. You must
get eight gallons of boiling water, and put your
head in: boil for awhile longer, and put your
tail in; then you must put your feet in, and
then your cheek; then yon must boil a little
longer, and put your shins and your tongue in;
and if you have not good soup then, it will bo
your own fault.”
Don’t Drink Too Much Water. —A
fireman, employed by the Lehigh Valley Rail
road Company, whoso capacity for drinking
enormous quantities of co d water made bins
famous along the line, has died after a short ill
ness, ascribed to his inordinate absorption. It
is said that he often drank two quarts without
taking the vessel from bis lips, and he had been
known to drink as much as eight gallons of
water in one day.
Bb Careful in Slicing up a Pine
apple.—a writer in the British Medical Journal
advises people fobs care u I not to slice up a
pine-apple with the same knife they use in
peeling it, as the rind contains an acrid organi®
substance which is likely to cause a swollen
month and sore lips. In Cuba salt is used as
an antidote for the poison of pine-apple peel.
Ayer’s Pills are made from the con
centrated extracts and active remedial
properties of purely vegetable substances.
They are therefore more effective and
safer than pills made by the ordinary
process, with powdered drugs. ** I have
used Ayer’s Pills from childhood. They
have been my family medicine for years,
and never fail to give perfect satisfaction.
—Mrs. C. E. Clark, Tewksbury, Mass.
Ayer’s Cathartic Pills are considered a
household necessity to my customers, and
always give perfect satisfaction. Our
BEST PHYSICIANS
invariably use them in their practice.—
Calvin Tilton, Druggist, Allendale, Mo.
We have used Ayer’s Sugar-Coated Pills
many years, and think them a very safe
and excellent family aperient.—A. B.
Foster, Children’s Home, Westville, Conn.
For the past five years I was seldom
free from the torturing pains of Neu
ralgia. At last I discovered a remedy
in Ayer’s Cathartic Pills, which not
only afforded immediate relief, but have
completely cured me. — Mrs. Lemuel N.-
Hunnewell, McConnellsburg!!, I’a.