New York dispatch. [volume], July 11, 1886, Page 6, Image 6

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

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6
CALM AND STORM.
BY KATHARINE COOPER.
As, azure-domed,
And silver-foamed,
And flecked by many a snowy sail.
The ocean lay,
One Summer’s day,
Scarce rippling in the southern gale,
I felt for me
That life might be
As tranquil as that summer
But, as I gazed,
The sea birds raised
A cry of dol’rous, sad forbode,
Athwart fair heaven
Black clouds were driven,
And high the angry billows rode.
Ah 1 then for me,
Prophetic sea,
Thou told’st in truth what life must be.
Now—azure-domed,
And silver-foamed,
Once.more it tells the same sweet tajc.
And this shall last,
When—life’s sands past—
For heaven’s bright shore our souls set sail.
Then smile, fair sea,
Legs glad, less free,
Than they that to that Harbor flee !
“BEFORE THE DAWN.”
BY ETTIE ROGERS.
I had been so long accustomed to poverty
that I had in a passive sort of way become at
tached to the barren monotony which environed
me. Like the Prisoner of Chilion:
My very chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends
To make us what we are.”
I certainly had a real fondness for my homely
little wooden house and atom of inclosure !—
the place was my own, too—and had been ac
quired by unaided exertions, by sacrifices, eco
nomic privations, and by the inventions con
ceived ot necessity. The traces of my conflict
lor existence and the imprints of my puny victo
res, were everywhere—on the carpet I had
sewed with aching fingers ; on the low walls I
had painted with my own weary hands ; on the
barrels and boxes I had sawed and cushioned
and dropped into easy chairs and ottomans and
a nondescript something which served me as a
dressing bureau ; on the bit ot garden I had
myself spaded ai>d planted; on the fantastic
fence where I had nailed every available frag
ment remaining alter my interior carpentry,
and where I had trained many a strange, wild
vine and shrub delved from the woody hollows
just beyond my own suburban locality.
Everything bad been created by my own
thought or toil, was permeated with my own in
dividuality, and so perhaps was endeared to me
by prestige of egotistic suggestion I
I had, too, a magnificent view of wood and
hill and water—a poetic and picturesque view,
which was as much my possession as the air 1
breathed, although what I viewed was vested in
the titles of mortals whom Heaven and the
world had favored more than me.
“ And yet I do not know as 1 should be quite
willing to exchange places with any of them, 5 1 1
bad sometimes averred to myself as I had gazed
from my one humble sitting-room window, fes
tooned with gold and ruby roses and ivy of a
perpetual emerald green.
The pretty lake yonder, with its banks Of
sloping lawn, its fanciful boat-house and gayly
painted boats, belonged to the Hon. Pumper
nickel, who was afflicted with the gout and an
unmanageable son ! And I was certain I did
not envv him for his lot in his gorgeous villa,
where he resided wifeless, and alone only for
the bacchanalian assemblies his wayward heir
brought there occasionally.
The bijou palace beyond was the home of Mrs.
Clarence St. Clare—a society belle who had
made a religiously society marriage. She had
carriages and fine raiment and servants to at
tend her ; but I should not have cared to ex
change my identity with hers. lat least had
health and independence, and I wore no galling
y< ke of a loveless wedlock I
The substantial yellowish stone mansion yet
more remote, was the dwelling of Miss Isabella
Wolroth—a wealthy spinster of elegant mien
and exclusive tastes; I coveted none of her
prerogatives, but yet whenever I chanced to
contemplate the -serene elegance of her unob
trusively luxurious abode, I always rather more
acutely realized how irremediably I had been
snubbed and slighted by fortune.
“With her influence and resources, I should
sometimes try to enliven the lonely and en
courage the struggling; I sh uld not limit my
beneficence to them who are already abundantly
blessed,” I mentally complained one afternoon
as I gazed wistfully toward the quaintly peaked
yellow tower just perceptible through a dismal
mist and the tossing greenery of a noble oak
grove.
Never before had I felt so desolate of heart,
so neglected and isolated, as upon that especial
day. Perhaps the weather had depressed me
—for a sluggish drizzle had chilled the Summer
aar, drenched my blooming bit of garden, and
quite distorted my gratifying view—or perhaps
after all, some uncontessed jealous pain had
for once disturbed my passive composure of
spirit 1
“Are you not going, Aunt Marianna? Did
not Miss Wolroth invite you over, too ?” queried
my stately young niece,coming from the < ne tole
rably pretty room which I had reserved for an
occasional ruest, and looking quite astonished
as she perched 1 was not cloaked and bonnet
ed.
“ Certainly not, Lilias,” said I, trying to speak
cheerfully although there was a big lump, each
second becoming bigger, in my throat, “ I ha> e
no acquaintance whatever with Miss Wolroth;
she was not bound to extend her invitation to
me, just because you happen to be stopping
with me, dear.”
Lilias was the orphaned daughter of my only
brother. She was something of an heiress,
however, having inherited quite a snug fortune
from her mother, who had belonged to an aris
tocratic family, and who chanced to have been
also a school intimate of Miss Wolroth. She
had only infrequently visited me; indeed she
had never done so before since the Wolroths
had become the occupants of the yellow stone
house among the oaks.
“I think she was uncivil in not asking you ;
she might have remembered that you are my
aunt, 1 should think,” Lilias said, in a doubtful
and displeased voice, as she fastened the clasps
of her silvery gray gossamer. “But, perhaps
she did include you; perhaps Cyril forgot her
exact message, or perhaps he took it for
granted you were to come with me. You seem
somehow to have become acquainted with him,
Aunt Mariamral”
“ Mr. Wolroth condescended to admire my
garden,” I explained, in a voice so bitter I could
not blame the girl for staring as she did. “He
came here once or twice for seeds and cuttings
of the old-fashioned herbs and flowers he could
not obtain elsewhere. He has been here since
several times for instruction regarding the
proper cultivation of some rose slips. I gave
him.”
“He is nice—Cyril is I I only hope I shall
like his elegant sister half as well,” said Lilias;
deftly making an invisible , knot in the ends of
the rosy gauze which she had drawn artistically
about her silvery gray turban and over her fair
face.
Lilias was very handsome ; she was tall and
straight and slim; her profile was singularly
pure and refined ; her dark eyes were calm and
serious ; her skin as smooth as satin and white
as milk; and she had an indescribably im
pressive look of being set apart from human
emotions and mundane imperfections.
“ She is delighted with Cyril Wolroth, and he
is pleased with her. It is easy to predict, how
the mutual attraction will terminate. With her
youth, her fortune, and such &. lover, she is to
be envied,” I meditated as I watched her—so
dainty and stately, and gladsome—tripping away
beneath her silken blue umbrella.
Never before had 1 felt really discontented
with my lot; never before had Iso poignantly
reflected how desolate and meagre and lowly
my existence was 1 All at once I seemed to
feel myself aged and plain and unlovable !
“ And yet ;if.l could wear rich laces and deli
cate silks and pretty jewels, I should be pass
ably attractive, perhaps,” I said to myself as 1
went into my one-guest chamber, where Lilias
had left her dainty costumes and girlish orna
ments scattered about in .charming disorder.
“The novelty of having nothing to do but to
amuse myself would make one young again,
and such a dress as this, I am sure, would make
even ugliness enchanting.”
The particular dress was for .evening weair. It
was of some silky fabric in changing tints ot
pink and lazuli blue, with a cloudy drapery of
tulle looped here and there with clusters ot
velvet peach blossoms.
The dress fascinated me. I fancied I should
like to behold myself arrayed in the exquisite
garment with those lo.velj pink pearls gleaming
on my neck and wrists.
For once my interminable stitching was
ignored 1 the house-keeper over at Pumper
nickel villa might wait for the hemming of her
table linen; and if the handkerchief monograms
were not embroidered, the mistress ot the St.
■Clare palace might grumble if she liked ! for
once I purposed to enjoy a moment of leisure,
to have a little masquerade with myself for
.spectator I
And so I doffed my worn «erg® gown and
cloth slippers, and donned the evening costume,
the peach blossoms and pink pearls, and even
the dainty kid boots.
As 1 turned to the long, narrow, swing-mirror
of my sitting-room, I started involuntarily. Was
it really myself—Marianna Carew—who a mo
ment before had envied fair Lilias her youth,
her dainty bloom, her stately loveliness ?
“We are surprisingly alike; and after all I
am but a very few years older than she,” was
my mental.comment made with & keen thrill of
satisfaction, .ending the next instant in a yet
keener pang that for me even the gilt of beauty
was for naught!
Beauty in pomp and beauty in rags are two
very different things—the world bows in homage
before the one; the other is scorned, or pitied,
or unheeded 1 Could the simple knowledge
that I too was fair satisfy me when all my soul
was thirsting and hungering for but a drop
and morsel of the good lavished on Lilias, and
of which I was denied ?
I turned from the mirror with a sigh and with
a movement so abrupt that something—a small
box of parlor matches—was dislodged and tell
to the floor.
And just then I became aware that somebody
had pushed back the open door and had paused
upon the threshold.
As I looked up I could feel the hot blood
tej fesie CjrU
Wolroth, smiling—amusedly, I fancied —at my
inconsistent borrowed plumes.
With some mortified and inarticulate excla
mation, I stepped hastily backward. One dainty
kid boot crushed down upon the fallen box of
treacherous matches; there was a sound as if a
magazine ot torpedoes had exploded beneath
my feet, and the next instant tulle and silk and
velvet peach blossoms were all one smoking
flame from my shoulders to the hem ot my
skirts.
It ail happened so suddenly that I scarcely
realized my danger. I only knew that Byril
was springing toward me; that his face had be
come as pale as marble, that the smile had van
ished beneath his golden mustache, and that
his blue eyes had darkened with an awiul fear.
1 And then I was enveloped, smothered, gasping,
within a blanket he had snatched from the bed
oi the inner room, and so 1 knew no more.
When I regained my senses I was lying on a
mass of rugs and cushions among the dripping
‘flowers of my little garden. I was faint and
weak, but I felt myaelt almost unscorched and
quite unhurt. Shawls and blankets sheltered
me from the thick drrzzle, and Cyril was bend
ing anxiously over me. I was conscious of cu
riously crackling noises in tne air, and of a
strange red glare about me.
“ What is it?” I said, struggling to upli.t my
throbbing head.
But the question was superfluous. I instant
ly understood what was happening. My little
house, stored with the meagre fruits of my
years of toil and sacrifice, was burning—crum
bling into ashes before my sight.
Cyril iut an arm about me. His blue eyes
were tender, his face was grave.
“ I did what I could,” he said, gently. " But
everything in the room was blazing before I had
you out of danger. I sent for help immediate
ly, and something has been saved.”
I could not utter a syllable. My sense of loss
and homelessness stupefied me.
“ Let my love comfort you, Marianna. I have
loved you so long, dear,” Cyril said, tenderly,
as he drew me toward him. “ Let me build a
bonnier house—a home of which you shall be
mistress—a wife ever beloved.”
And so it was not Lilias : it was I—lowly I—
who was to be blessed with the love of Cyril
Wolroth !
In the wonder of it all—in my gratitude and
infinite content—l was only capable of some
sobbing incohereucy ; but he understood, and
his grave face brightened as he bent his head
and kissed me on brow and cheeks and lips.
A half hour later, I was reposing on a sofa in
the yellow stone house among the green oak
trees.
“I had expected you with Lilias. My send
ing Cyril back for you was really providential,”
Miss Isabella said, with sympathy and
sincere kindliness. “I shall keep you now.
dear Marianna, until you and my brother are
married.”
“That won’t be long,” smilingly interposed
my lover, who was already assuming proprie
tary airs where I was concerned.
And we were indeed married very soon after
ward.
“ I knew very well it wasn’t daffodil bulbs
and rose cuttings which brought him so often to
see you,” Lilia® remarked, mischievously.
“ But he is nice—Cyril is 1 And I envy you—l
declare I do, Aunt Marianna.”
Lilias would never know how bitterly I had
envied her in that one last dark hour just “ be
fore the dawn.”
“But then,” Cyril declares, with provoking
egotism, “to have envied anybody on my ac
count shows how much you must have appre
ciated my many excellent qualities.”
A FttHlS Smi
HELPED HIM DRIVE CATTLE.
BY OPIE P. READ.
Some time ago Bubo Mahon asked me it I
would go into the Indian Territory with him
and assist in driving ont a large herd of cattle
which he had purchased. “I know you need
the recreat'on,” said he, looking around at my
narrow, dingy quarters, “ for I can see that this
energy-sapping Spring weather is drawing the
life out of you. Come, what do you say ?”
I was at that time the sub-editor of the West
ern, Pulpit, a religious paper of much influence
■and many typographical errors. I had been
given employment, not so much in compliment
of my scriptural information and incisive defense
of creed as on account of my ability to make
paste and extort groans from a hand-press. The
brethren of the circuit seemed to be much
pleased with me —all except an old deacon,who,
after I had eaten dinner at bis house, said to hie
wife that I could eat a person out of house and
home. I heard the good woman sigh, aud then
she startled me by this remark:
“ I noticed one thing, he div inter that butter
shametui. Every time he slashed it I wished
that it would choke him, the good-fur-nuthin’
slouch.”
“ Come, what do you say ?” exclaimed the cat
tle owner, arousing me from my reverie.
“I have no horse, Mahon.”
“I’ll lend you a horse. We’ll have the finest
time in the world, let me tell you. We’ll take
some light cooking utensils along with us, and
we’ll camp in the woods at night, and we’ll take
some fishing tackle and catch some of the finest
bass vou ever saw. Now what do you say ?”
“ i’ll go, even though 1 lose my situation.”
“No danger of that, for I have spoken to the
Reverend Mr. Jackson.”
“All right.”
.The next day we started on our journey. The
weather was delightful. The soft sighs ot an
Arkansas May were drawn among the trees. It
was the mocking-birds’ wedding-day, and the
wren and the blue-bird lifted up their voices in
grand epithalamium. My heart quickened as I
thought of my escape from religious but bad
manuscripts, written by good old men whose
best efforts at chirography resembled knotted
hame-strings, with overcup acorns for capital
letters, aud with hog-gaps lor paragraphs.
At night we camped under the trees. Mahon
knowing that I needed exercise, kindly permit
ted me to feed the horses, make a fire and bring
water, while he, self-sacrificing soul, sat down
and smoked his pipe. I can see him now, as he
sat with his hack against a tree gazing upward
at the leaves which flitted above the fire. Ma
hon was a considerate man and was kind-heart
ed—to himself. The next morning he punished
himself by sleeping until I had cooked breakfast,
and then,’with his all-absorbing generosity, he
ate with a destructive appetite.
As we neared the Indian Territory he became
strangely cautious and reserved. Once after I
had asked a few questions of a man whom we
met, Mahon said:
“ You don’t want to talk to these people up
here.”
“ Why, no exercise in it ?” 1 ventured to ask.
“ Keep on talking to them, and you’ll find
more exercise than you want.”
I did not perfectly comprehend his reply, but
as he bad grown strangely economical of speech,
I did not ask lor an explanation.
We entered the territory at night. We could
have .reached the border before the sun went
down, but Mahon said that we’d better stop and
rest. We rode until nearly twelve o’clock at
night.
“ Here we are,” said Mahon. “ The cattle are
over there. Let’s get at them at once.”
“ Would it not be better to go down to that
house and sleep until daylight ?” 1 asked.
The night was very dark, but I felt that be
.frowned at me.
“We don’t want to stir those people up,” said
he. “They are tireed, and need rest. I have
paid them for taking care< of the cattle. Come
on.”
The cattle were easily driven, and by daylight
we had recrossed the border.
“Don’t .you think we’d better stop and get
breakfast?” I asked.
“ A man to hear you talk would think thatyou
were starving to death,” my companion replied.
“You didn’t do anything,yesterday but eat.
Come, keep .up your side. Don’t let that steer
lag behind.”
Noon came.
“Don’t you think we’d better stop and eat a
couple of cows,” I asked.
He did not seem to hear me. He was stand
ing in his stirrups, looking back.
“ The devil 1” he exclaimed.
>• What's the matter ?” I asked.
- “ Shut your mouth.”
“ I’d like to shut it down on a calf,” I replied.
Just then a number of men rode in sight. I
could see their guns glisten in the sunlight.
Mahon seemed to be paralyzed with fear. Once
he attempted to dash away, but his horse snort
ed and stood still. With shouts and threaten
ing imprecations, the men, mostly half-oreed
Indians, came upon ua., Before I could realize
the situation they had bound my hands, I saw
that Mahon was also lied. We were taken to
Fort Smith and placed in prison. While I was
standing near the grated door two men. came
alcag. One of them, poiating to me, said:
“There’s a notorious cattle-thief. Lock a
his eye—look at hie head. ■ He's likely to gc up
for ten years.”
I turned to Mahon.
“You needn’t look at me,” he said. “You
got me into this business. Told me that you had
a lot of cattle up here, and wanted me to help
you drive them out.”
He burst into tears, and a woman who stood
near pointed to me and said:
“ You hard-hearted wretch, to got a poor man
in such trouble I”
“ You don’t know what you are talking about!”
I exclaimed. “lam the editor of a religious
paper.”
She laughed with a shrill shriek and ran
away.
The next day we were taken before the United
States Commissioner. I knew him. Mahon told
a long stbr.y, how I had gotten him into trouble.
The commissioner listened attentively, and then
asked’if I had any thing to say. I told my story,
practically the same as the one which Mahon
had related.
“ It has come down to a question of veracity
between you two,” said the commissioner. “ Mr.
Scroggins,” he remarked, turning to me, “strict
ly construed justice might demand your reten
tion, but, sir, I never forget a favor. You did
me a great kindness once.”
“ A kindness I” I exclaimed.
“ Yes, sir.”
“ You are mocking me.”
“No, sir. Mr. Scroggins, lam serious. Some
time ago I wrote to you, requesting you to stop
my paper. You did so without sending me an
other copy. Republics may be ungrateful, sir,
but lam not. You may go.”
I took the next train home. Just before
reaching home I found a copy ot the Pulpit ly
ing on a seat. I caught it up, and the first thing
tbs fatowipg umwias’
NEW YORK DISPATCH, JULY 11, 1886.
ment: “ A. R. Scroggins, having been proved io
be a cattle-thief, is no longer employed on thia
paper.”
Recently, while visiting the Government pris
on in Detroit, I saw Mahon.
“ Feel like eating a couple of cows ?” he asked.
11 When you need exercise, come in and chew
some of my beef.”
I have thought over the matter, and I don’t
believe that Mahon is a Christian.—JJrake’sTrav
• eller's Magazine.
JACK, THE BUSHRANGER.
AN AUSTRALIAN REMINISCENCE.
(From Chambers's Journal.}
Reading in your Journal (writes a corres
pondent; an article headed, “A Bushranger
Interviewed,” recalls to my memory a strange
incident which occurred some years ago to my
own brother, when on his way Irom Sydney to
the gold-fields, and for the accuracy of which I
can vouch.
At the time of my brother’s arrival in Australia,
the country was in a state of panic; a reign of ter
ror existed, caused by the daring outrages com
mitted on parties on the journey to and from the
diggings. Robbery with violence, escorts shot
down, and large consignments of gold carried
off, were ot daily occurrence. The bush was
infested by a gang of desperate bushrangers,
whose leader under the cognomen of “Jack,’
seemed to bear a charmed life. For years he
had evaded all the efforts made to capture him,
though the military scoured the bush. No
sooner was an outrage perpetrated, than all
trace ot the perpetrators was lost, as if the
ground had swallowed them. He had a perfect
knowledge of the most secret movements ot the
parties he attacked. He seemed übiquititous,
outrages occurring in such rapid succession and
far apart. Such an air of mystery hung about
him, that a superstitious feeling mingled with
the moral terror he inspired. He was repre
sented by some persons who had seen him, as
a fine, powerful-looking man, with nothing for
bidding in his appearance.
Even the mad thirst for gold could not induce
the bravest persons to undertake the journey
alone. The gold-seekers traveled in large cav
alcades, well armed, and determined to fight
tor their lives and property; one of these par
ties my brother joined. He was a fine, hand
some young fellow, all fun and love of adven
ture, and he soon became a general favorite.
The “ track”—lor there were no roads at that
time—ran lor the greater distance through the
bush, some parts of which were so dense as
scarcely to admit daylight. Every man was
well armed. My brother had brought with him
a first-class revolver, purchased iu London.
This he kept with other valuables carelully
hidden on bis personj his other belongings
being stowed away in one ot the wagons. When
they bivouacked lor the night, care was taken
that it should be in an open space, where a
good lookout could be kept, to make sure
against a sudden surprise. The wagons were
placed in the middle, sentries ported, and
scouts placed so that the flight of a bird or the
fall ot a leal could not pass unnoticed. All were
on the qui vice. For some days all went well,
nothing unusual or alarming occurring. They
were then well into the bush, and consequently,
it possible-more vigilant, believing that even
a mouse could not intrude itself among them.
One morning it was found that, during the
night, they had been, spite of all their vigi
lance, mysteriously and unaccountably joined
by a stranger, who stood in their midst as. if
one ot themselves. No one could imagine how
or whence he came, and utter astonishment
prevailed. He was a fine, portly man, from
thirty-five to forty years ot age, with an open,
prepossessing countenance aud good address —
one who, under other circumstances, would
have been looked upon as an acquisition to the
party. Not in the least taken aback or abashed
by the scant welcome he received or the undis
guised surprise his presence created, he camo
forward boldly, and told a most plausible story,
to the effect that be was a stranger making his
way to the gold-fields, that notwithstanding the
stories he bad heard in Sydney of “Jack” and
his comrades, he had ventured so far alone;
but as be got further into the bush he lost
heart, and determined to join the first party he
met.
It looked strange that he had no luggage ar
any kind, not even provisions, or anything to
indicate that he was bound for a long journey.
He made no attempt to account for his mys
terious appearance, entered into the arrange
ments of "the cavalcade, aud made himself quite
at home. Every man among them, with the ex
ception of my brother, believed that no one but
“Jack” himself could have so taken them by
surprise, the general belief being, that it could
only be from personal experience the terrible
bushranger derived the perfect knowledge he
| displayed when making his raids.
The party agreed that the wisest course would
be to await the progress ot ©vents, watch his
every movement, and let him see that they were
prepared to sell their lives dearly, it driven to
do so.
The stranger seemed to have an unlimited
supply oi money, and to be generous about it,
‘ paying his way freely. He took at once to my
1 brother, and the liking was mutual; in diggers’
parlance, they became mates, chummed, walked,
1 and smoked together. My brother found him
■ a well-informed, agreeable companion, a vast
improvement on the.r rough associates; and he
seemed thoroughly to en.oy the society ot the
1 jovial young irish gentleman. A sincere friend
ship sprung up between them, notwithstanding
the disparity in years.
' The other members of the party became very
anxious, fearing the man would take advantage
’ ot my brother’s unsuspicious, trusting nature, to
1 obtain information that would be useful to him
1 when forming his plans for the attack which
was hourly expected, in fact looked upon as
imminent. Nor were their fears allayed when,
after a little, he would leave the beaten track
aud walk into the bush, remaining away for
hours, and returning at the most unexpected
times and places, showing a thorough knowl
edge of the bush and all its intricacies and
short-cuts, quite inconsistent with the story he
had told on joining.
One thing struck my brother as -strange, but
1 without exciting any suspicion on bis part.
When walking together, he would suddenly
stand, become quite excited, and say: “Oh, it
was here such an outrage occurred.” “It was
on the spot on which we are standing that the
escort was shot down and a large consignment
of gold carried off. They did fight like demons.”
He seemed to take the greatest pleasure in
! giving minute details of the different outrages
as they had occurred, and always spoke as it he
’ had been an eye-witness. But so thorough was
my brother’s belief in his new iriead, that even
1 this aid not shake his faith.
When within a few days of the journey’® end,
the stranger suddenly and quite unexpectedly
declared his intention of parting company. He
offered no e planation as to his reason for doing
1 so, though all through he had seemed anxiotfe
to impress it on them that he intended to go the
entire way to the diggings with them. No ques
tions were asked.
’ Alter a general and hearty leave-taking,
which, however, did not inspire much con
' fidence, as they were still within range of a
possible attack, he asked my brother to take a
1 last walk with him, and led the way into the
bush farther than he had ever brought him
1 before, and a long distance from the beaten
track. The first words the stranger said were:
“ Mate, don’t you carry a revolver ?”
The answer was: “Yes, and a first-class one.
Not such as is got out here. I brought it from
1 home.”
1 “Show it to me,” said the stranger; “I love a
real good weapon:” and without the slightest
; hesitation, my brother handed him the revolver,
which he examined carelully, and saw that the
1 chamfers were loaded. He remarked that it
was the ‘prettiest weapon” he had bandied for
along time.
He walked a few steps in advance, and turn
ing round suddenly, he presented the revolver
at my brother's head, calling out in a command
ing tone, “ SStand I” his countenance bo changed
as scarcely to be recognized.
At last my brother felt that he stood face to
face with the terrible bushranger, but did not
lose his presence ot mind.
For a moment there was a profound silenoe,
first broken by the stranger saying:
“ Is there anything on earth* to prevent my
blowing out your brains with your own wea
pon, placed in my hands of your own free will ?
The wild bush round ue, I know its every twist
and turn. The man is not living who could
track my footsteps through its depths, where I
alone am lord and master. Speak, man 1 VVhat
I is there to prevent me ?”
t With a throbbing heart and a quickened pulse
; my brother answered:
“ Nothing.but you; ease of honor.”
' The man’s face briKatened, and his voice re
’ turned its friendly tone, and handing back the
e r . h# eaid:
I *• rni IX won equal footing. You hold
] Ay di* in vsnt .handi, as I held yours a mo-
J caent ago. Yes, boy, ,d your own fortune too.
t But I trust you, as u trusted me. 1 would
j ft U: ; r oi your head, and 1 have spared
i atn-rs your sake. How, you never will
know, but they.owe y m a debt of deep grati
tude. You ar® a nobte-hearted fellow, and
through the rest of my stormy life, I will look
back with pleasure .on the .time we have passed
together. But, mate., you are the greatest fool
£ ever met. I brought you here to-day to give
y< u a lesson, which I hope you will bear in
mind. You are going among a rough, lawless
crew; never, as long as you li -e, trust any man
as you have trusted me to-day. Where you are
bound for your revolver will be your only true
friend; never let it out of your own keeping, to
friend or foe. You are far too trusting. There
was not a man but yourself among those from
whom I have just parted who did not believe
from the moment I joined that I was Jack the
bushranger. Well, mate; I am not going to
tell you who or what I am, or how or why I
came among you; but of this rest assured, that
you have no truer friend. You will never know
what I have done for your sake. Now, mate,
good-by forever. We will never meet again in
this world, and if is best for you it should be
so.”
Thon, leading him back to the track by which
he could rejoin his party, he wrung my broth
er’s hand, turned and walked quickly into the
bush, leaving no doubt upon my brother’s mind
that the friend he had so loved and trusted was
indeed the dreaded bushranger.
They never did meet again. My brother came
home to die, and unless my memory deceives
me, Jack was shot dead in a skirmish with the
military.
A handful of common sense is worth a
Dus.Uql vf kwawg.
FREAKS OF RICH MEN.
Millionaires Who are Expert Cabinet-
Makers—A Man With a Penchant for
Edged Tools.
(F’oin the Chicago News.}
“ Send that planed stuff up this afternoon,
sure,” said the head of a West Side carpenter
establishment yesterday, giving one of his men
the address of a well-known business man who
resides in a suburb.
“ Business appears to be rather lively,” ven
tured a bystander.
“ Yes, the regular legitimate business is
booming, but that job you saw just now is clear
velvet. It’s a soft snap.”
“ How’s that ?” queried his listener.
“ Why, we don’t do the job at all. We let a
banker or a business man pay us for the privilege
ot sweating over it himself. We furnish the
raw material, slightly smoothed down and the
millionaire carpenter does the rest of the work.
Of course we charge him just as much as if we
finished the job.”
“ That is something new, isn’t it? Do any
of the millionaires live in houses they built
themselves ?”
“ Oh, it isn’t so now,” answered the boss
carpenter. “ It’s what is known as ‘ amateur
carpentry.’ It raged several years ago, died
out a little, and now it’s broken out again.
There ar© several wealthy men, I know, how
ever, who have kept at it for the last ten years.
They don’t build houses. They work at all kinds
of odd’jobs. Most of them have specialties.”
“A certain physician and surgeon devotes
his leisure time to sawing and planing. Ho
measures up a piece of hard wood with a pro
fessional air, and then sets to work sawing with
the greatest care. It is rather natural for a
surgeon to be sawing, you know. He comes
home from his round of calls excited and nerv
ous, but after neatly amputating a piece of
hard oak timber he is always rested and
quieted.
“ One business man sent for me to report at
his house at ten o’clock at night, and not to
bring my tools. I knew he was liberal pay and
I reported on time. He received me as though
I was the President, and, after giving me a
glass ot wine, escorted me to a room right back
of his parlor, and not far from his wife’s bed
room. It was filled with lumber and odd bits
of carpentry work.
“ He began by telling me that ho had an im
portant job which he wished me to superin
tend and help him occasionally with my advice.
I began to get a little frightened, but was re
assured when he brought out a set of the finest
carpenter’s tools I ever saw, aud also produced
a box of the finest cigars. Then he pulled off
his overcoat, drew on a pair of overalls, donned
an embroidered leather apron, and began pull
ing ont a number of large pieces of seasoned
English oak.
“ He ‘hen told me that he intended making a
chest fitted up with drawers and lockers of nis
own invention. He had a big sheet of paper on
which he had drawn off every piece to be used
in its construction.
“ He went to work, and for four hours I sat
there smoking cigars and occasionally giving
him directions about sawing and fitting. That
was all he wanted. He knew there were a
number of simple little points he never would
learn himself, and that was what he had me
there lor.
“1 never saw a man work like he did. He
was a natural-born carpenter, and I would give
a good deal to have a few such men in my shop.
He hammered and sawed and split away there
for all he was worth, and while he was working
he told me that his wife was used to it, and
didn't mind the noise. He said he went to work
at carpentering because he took to it naturally
in the first place, and because he could work
and think at the same time.
“ When he finished, as nice and neat a chest
as over I set eyes on was standing in the mid
dle of the room. He paid me liberally, said he
hoped I wouldn’t think he was crazy, and dis
missed me with profuse thanks.
“ I’d like a few more like it,” concluded the
boss carpenter, lighting a Wheeling * stogy ’ and
thoughtfully blowing the smoke through iiis
nostrils.
“ A great many men have a freak of driving
nails into every nook and cranny they can find.
They like to drive a nail in good and solid. It
eort of relieves them. A North Side lawyer has
this freak so pronounced that his barn floor is
literally paved with tenpenny nails he had
driven into the oak planking.
“I heard of one man, and he’s pretty well
known at that, who is considered a trifle weak
by some members of his family. He makes
doors and window-sashes. He is continually
removing doors in his house and putting in new
ones, and he also makes occasional changes in
his windows.”
“Do you sell many tools io amateur work
ers?” was asked by the reporter of a big hard
ware dealer.
“ Well, I should say I did. This is just the
season of the year, and garden tools are going
off at a brisk rate. Most of my customers
live fn the suburbs, and the majority are rich
men.
“By the way, there’s one man—you’d be sur
prised if you heard his name, but I can’t tell
you because I would lose his custom at once—
who has a queer conceit. He's a grinder and a
sharpener. I didn’t know w hat to make of him
at first, although I knew who he was. He kept
buying emery wheels, whetstones and grind
stones until he had an account that woiild make
your hair stand up. He also bought any quan
tity of cutlery and sickles and hoes. He kept
complaining that the steel in these articles was
of very poor quality.
“The mystery was solved at last, however.
One day the coachman called to buy two new
sickles. I questioned him, aud in reply he said
his master had a queer freak. As soon as be
comes from his bank—well, ahem I he’s a
banker—he goes out to the barn and goes to
work sharpening everything he can lay his
hand® on. Nothing is sharp enough for him.
Everything in the bouse is on a keen edge, and
he’s bad halt a dozen good cooks leave him
owing to the danger of cutting off their fingers
while washing the table cutlery.
“Tbo funniest part of it is that he was for
merly sickly and ill-natured when he returned
Irom his business. His health and his temper
have l oth improved since he began devoting an
hour a day to using up my good material—for
which he pays a good price.”
probablyYlFf.
But Still a Good Story on James Gor
don Bennett and Another Fellow.
(New York Correspondence Boston Herald.}
Once during the career of young DeNyse, he
was made managing editor of the and
he was informed by Mr. Bennett that the edito
rials for the paper would be furnished from day
to day by Mr. Levein, who occupied a position
on the Iler a', d staff. These editorials used to
come in written in a number of different bands,
and marked “must” by Levein. DeNyse be
came dissatisfied with them and imagined that
they were hurting the paper very much. So
one day he called on the proprietor. Said he,
“Mr. Bennett, you have made me the manag
ing editor of the Te.egrani, and I am trying my
best to push the paper to success. But this man
Levein is hampering me very much.”
“How so?” questioned Mr. Bennett, looking
up with some surprise.
“ Well, I don’t want to interfere with anv man
who is earning his bread aud butter, but, at the
same time, Levein sends iu a lot of editorials
every day that are not written by himself, and I
suppose he is getting his friends to do the work
for him. I shouldn’t object to that it the edito
rials were good, but they are simply infernally
bad. There is one man in particular who turns
in about the worst rot I ever saw in a news
paper. I haven’t the faintest notion who he is,
but the stuff he sends through Levein is
laughed at all over the office, and is so trivial
that it just about destroys the effect of any work
Ido in the news department. Here is some of
the manuscript.”
Mr. Bennett took up a slip of paper and looked
at it lor a moment. Then he said : “So you
don’t think this writer ought to be allowed to
put his stuff' in print.”
“ No,” responded DeNyse, “ frankly I do not.
It is quite evident that this particular man is a
d d fool.”
“ Quite possible,” said Mr. Bennett, very
quietly. “ I wrote those editorials myself.”
DeNyse fell back in his chair with a gasp. His
hair fairly stood on end. He started to make
some sort of an explanation, but Bennett cut
him short.
“ None of that,” exclaimed the proprietor of
the Herald ; “ none of that. I thought those
editorials were pretty good ; but, as they do not
seem to impress other people in the same light,
I shall never write another. Good-day.” ’
Mr. DeNyse returned to his post considerably
saddened, but be never had any further edito
rials from Mr. Bennett
IN~THF DARL
WHERE ALL MEN ARE COWARDS.
“Doctor, you’re wanted to-night, down to
the Aquarium. The snake-charmer, he’s
sick.”
The doctor, who was harnessing his horse,
went to the barn-door and looked out The
windy September day was drawing to a close.
Great masses of clouds were hurrying west
ward and shutting out the light of the setting
sun. A few leaves were whirling about in the
drive-way.
“Rain to-night,” said the stranger. “What
time’ll you be there ?”
“Not before half-past eight,” answered the
doctor. And after inquiring as to the symp
toms of the sick man, “ See here,” he added,
“ you must have a boy there, to hold my horse.
It’s a rough neighborhood, and I know it too
well to leave him standing alone there, at night,
while I’m inside.”
The doctor drove slowly through the one nar
rowthoroughfare, hardly noticing the buildings
on either side till he came to the further end,
where stood the Aquarium, a low, unpainted
structure.
Not a light was to be seen. Rain had been
threatening all day, and the city people had for
the most part stayed at home, and the street
was deserted.
He got out and stepped to the door. ■ It was
unlocked, and he looked in.
In the darkness, he just made out the forms
of some cages and boxes, inhabited by various
wild creatures, brought in to give variety to the
Aquarium, and again he called.
lie did not like to leave his horse while he
went in on an exploring tour, and, to tell the
wandering in the dark among all these wild
animals.
He strained his eyes to penetrate the dark
ness, and fancied he saw a cleared space down
the middle of the room.
So, looking out again, to see that his horse
was safe, he ran hastily down toward the fur
ther end of the building.
Hie steps wakened some wild creature, whose
shrill scream made the doctor jump. He struck
his hand against a projecting box—one of the
cages, probably; then suddenly his heart fairly
stood still, and he became as cold as ice.
He had put his foot down hard on something
soft, yet resisting, something round and slip
pery. He knew what it was only too well, fie
gave a bound backward, fell, jumped up, made
a dash for the door, and sprang into hih car
riage.
“Well, doctor, what’s your hurry?” said a
voice.
The doctor could not speak for a moment.
But he recognized the voice of the man who had
called during the afternoon at his house.
“ You said half-past eight,” said the man.
“It’s just that now. The tiger didn’t jump at
you, did he ?'*
“ No,” answered the doctor, recovering him
self enough to feel that he needed some apol
ogy. “ 1 suppose there wasn’t any real dan
ger. But in a strange place, you know, in the
pitch dark, too, to—why, to step right on a boa
constrictor ”
“A what?” cried the man.
“Boa-constrictor,” answered the doctor, in a
rather fierce tone. “You ought "to be more
careful, sir. I had nearly reached the further
end of the room when I stepped square on him.
I could have sworn to what it was.”
“ Why, doctor,” said the man, trying his best
not to laugh, “I’ll allow it was rather a scarey
place in the dark. But that wasn’t the boa-con
strictor you stepped on—it was only our big
rubber hose 1 So, now, if you’ll come in, I’ll
take you to the sick man and then watch the
horse.”
They say the doctor never told the story of
how he stepped on the boa-constrictor, but it
leaked out, and was a popular story in town for
many a day.
FROM THE FRENCH.
A MASTERPIECE OF FICTION.
The following is an extract from a masterpiece
of French fiction :
M. de Makeshift, when the file of soldiers left
him, found himself in a dungeon. Not a ray of
light penetrated the dismal abode, but De Make
shift’s eyes gradually became so accustomed to
the darkness that he saw a broom straw lying in
a corner. He caught up the broom straw, ut
tered a stifled cry, and pressed it to his heaving
bosom. Then, in his despair, he tickled his
nose with the straw and laughed.
“ Who laughs ?” demanded a voice.
“ I do.”
“ Who are yon ?”
“De Makeshift. Who are you ?”
“ The Abbe So-Long.”
“Ah I”
“ Ah, hah.”
“ How long have you been here 1"
“I have now, alas ! no method of reckoning
time, but I must Irave been here since sunrise
this morning.”
De Makeshilt groaned.
“ Where are you now?” he asked.
“ In a tunnel,” the Abbe replied.
“ A tunnel?”
“Yes.”
“You make my heartbeat. Where did you
get the tunnel?”
“Made it.”
“ You astonish me.”
"Ah.”
“ Ah, hah. Where did you get your shovel ?”
“ Had none.”
“Then how did you make the tunnel?”
“Listen.”
“ I will.”
“ I scooped it out with a shirt button. Have
you a button on your shirt?”
“No.”
“ Alas ! you are married.”
“ No.”
“ Then why have von no buttons ?”
“A Chinaman does my washing.”
“ Ah.”
“ Ah, hah.”
“ Well, wait until I gouge my way through
this rock, and I will lend you my buttons.”
“ Oh, thank you.”
“ Hist, the turnkey comes.”
After a long silence:
“ Has the turnkey gone ?” asked the Abbe.
“ Not yet.”
“ Well, then, when he goes tell me, and I will
resume my work.”
“ All right; he’s gone now.”
“I am at work.”
Scoop, scoop, scoop. A long bony arm was
thrust into De Makeshift’s cell. De Makeshift
seized it and pressed the elbow to his lips. The
Abbe stepped into the cell.
" We must escape from here,” said the Abbe.
“How?”
“By scaling the wall.”
“ How can we scale them without a knife ?”
“ Wait.”
The Abbe took eff his shirt, tore it into
shreds, and in a marvelous manner made a lad
der.
“ Get a couple of pins.”
“ What do you want with them ?”
“ Make hooks to go on the end of the ladder.”
“ Here they are.”
“ Now,” said the Abbe, bending the pins and
fastening them on the ladder, “ follow me.”
They passed out into the courtyard. De Make
shift uttered an exclamation. He saw the man
who had poisoned his grandfather. The Abbe
threw the ladder. The pins caught hold. The
two men escaped.— Arkansas Traveller.
Pctaw Hhtto.
Monk Talk Than Cents.—Says the
Detroit Tribune: Some absurd stories of the vast
amounts of money.lost and won can be traced
down about as this story was : Two men were
introduced to each other at the game Monday,
when No. 1 said to No. 2: “I dropped S2OO on
the game Saturday.”
“How’s that?”
“I went around to No. — Michigan grand
avenue, and some one made a crack of S2OO on
Chicago, and I took him np too quick.”
“ And of course you lost?”
“Yes ; 200 clean cases gone up.”
“ Would you like to win SIOO of it back ?”
“ Sure ; give me a chance.”
“ Well, I’ll bet you SIOO to $1 that you never
lost a cent.”
“ I’ll take that bet,” and No. 1 fished a lone
dollar out of his clothes. No. 2 went down and
pulled out a bundle of about SI,OOO, picked a
SIOO bill off from the top and put it up.
No. 1 weakened and said : "I was only fooling
when I said I lost $200.”
“ I knew you were lying when you said you
lost S2OO at No. —, for I am the man who makes
all the bets and bookings there.”
No. 1 treated the crowd.
A prominent sporting man said last night that
not over $3,500 had changed hands during the
Chicago series here. Men who bet a dollar tell
their friends it was SSO. He said the story that
$20,000 changed hands on Saturday’s game was
false.
Run to Eabth.—All honest persons
rejoice greatly when a notorious evil-doer is
run to earth, and much the same satisfaction is
experienced when science points with unerring
finger to the source of disease, for then the first
step has been taken in its eradication. Many,
therefore, will rejoice when they read the re
cently issued report of Mr. W. H. Power, the
Inspector of the Local Government Board, con
cerning an epidemic of scarlatina which oc
curred in London last year. The story is most
interesting, but too long to quote in full. Suf
fice it to say that the disease in question has,
alter the most painstaking inquiries, been
traced to the milk given by certain cows which
were affected with a skin disease showing itself
in the region of the teats and udders. We know
to our cost that certain diseases can be trans
ferred from the lower animals to man. “ Wool
sorters’ disease” is traced to the same germ
which produces splenic fever in cattle and
sheep, a malady which has been so ably dealt
with by M. Pasteur. The terrible glanders in
horses is transferable to man. Jenner was led
to the splendid discovery of vaccination from
observing the effects of cowpox on milkmaids ;
and now we have scarlatina traced directly to
the cow-house. Dr. Klein, the famous patholo
gist, has been engaged to report upon this new
revelation concerning milk, and we may reason
ably hope that his researches will bear fruitful
results.
A Neglected Soldiers’ Cemetery.—
Last month the writer happened to pass by the
Manassas battlefield. The Confederate dead
were buried in a spot near the village. Some
of the graves were marked, and a few were in
closed by an iron railing. A wall of brown
stone once surrounded the whole cemetery.
Now many of the headboards are prone upon
the ground. Grass and weeds grow rank uj on
the neglected mounds where valor sleeps.
Large sections of the wall have crumbled down,
and cattle and hogs prowl unvexed and at will
in a spot that ought to be sacred soil. The
luxurious Northern tourists, passing in sight of
this graveyard, marvel at the neglect, the
shameful neglect of Southerners, who, while
hurrahing over live ex-Confederates, especially
during a political campaign, apparently care
nothing for the memory of slain heroes who
belong to the silent majority. But the men
who died for their cause, and but for whom the
live generals would have no prestige—the men,
the martyrs, are sleeping in many places where
unclean animals uproot their relics in away
that is abominable.— Atalanta> Constitution.
Saccharin. —A new substance, termed
“ saccharin,” has been discovered in that won
derful material, coal tar, by a German chemist,
named Fahlberg, a resident in the United
States. Jt is stated to be 230 times sweeter
than the best cane sugar, and hence it must be
very sweet indeed. For some months past it
has been used to sweeten and render palatable
the food of persons suffering from diabetes at a
Berlin hospital. In appearance it resembles
flour, but is denser, and it dissolves easily in
hot water. It appears from experiments by
Prof. Emerson Beynolds, F. B. 8., that it is
harmless; and it is expected that, when its
cost of production is reduced, saccharin will be
a rival to cane sugar, because one part is
enough to sweeten 10,000 parts of water. Ether,
alcohol, glucose and glycerine dissolve it
readily. At present the price is, however,
about HO j>w pound.
Chivalrous General Joe Jobtnston.
—Says “Carp,” in the Cleveland Leader; A
Blender, white-whiskered, brave-eyed man sat
near the fare box in the upper end of an F street
car this afternoon. He wore a high white Der
by hat upon his head, and his clothes were of
black broadcloth. A high Henry Clay collar
grasped bis neck, and a pair of black-rimmed
spectacles hung by a string upon his vest. He
was chatting to a lady at his side, and his black
eyes sparkled, and a moat winning smile
beamed over his weather-beaten face as the
conversation went on. The car stopped, and I
was surprised to see him jump to his feet and
walk rapidly to the door. As my eyes followed
him they rested upon a little fair-faced hunch
back on crutches who was trying to get into the
car. She had the face of a child and the body
of a mature woman, but that body contorted
and twisted and dwarfed out of all human pro
portion. I saw this slender; gray-whiskered,
bronzed-faced, dark eyed man bend over her
and ask her where she wanted to go. She told
him, and her face lighted up as be assured her
that this car was the right one. Then, address
ing her with as much courtesy as though she
had been the President s bride, he asked her if
he might not help her into the car. She
thanked him, and, putting his hands under her
arms, he lifted her up the steps and placed her
crutches beside her. He tipped his hat and
then resumed his seat and conversation. This
old gentleman was Gen. Joe Johnston, the great
Confederate leader. Seventy-nine years old,
he was double the age of any man in the car.
His eyes were the first to see the trouble ot the
little hunchback, and his iron muscles were the
first to come to her assistance. He did this
kindness as though it were nothing, and as 1
saw the unassuming way in which he bore him
selfl could not help thinking of the old verse:
“ The bravest are the tenderest, the loving are the
daring,”
A Rich Man’s Good Boy.—The Bos
ton Record says : A little further down the
road toward Boston one comes across the town
of Tilton, which used to be called Sanborton
Bridge until the Tilton family took pity on it.
They have not only bestowed their own name
upon it, but have endowed it with a town hall,
a railroad station, a fountain with a marble
nymph capering on top of it, a little park, a
bronze figure ot a deer, a race course, and a
gravestone that cost $30,000. The reigning
Tilton, who is a man about sixty years bld, is
supposed to be worth in the neighborhood of
$6,000,000, and his only son is ,an engineer
who daily plies up and down the Northern Rail
road. When this son came of age his father
said to him :
“Go and earn your living, young man.”
“But how shall I earn it, Sather?”
“ i don’t care, so long as you do it honestly.
Good-by.”
The young man went away, and managed
after a while to get work firing an engine on
the Northern Road. In the course of seven or
eight years he developed sufficient capacity to
make’it safe to trust him with the engine of a
gravel train. He sticks to his business faith
fully, and saves most of his wages. Whenever
bis father offers him money, which is under
stood to have occurred several times, he takes
it without hesitation and puts it all in the
bank. His capacity for getting up in the world
is not regarded as great, but his genius for
saving his spare coppers is unquestioned.
The share of the Tiltonian wealth that falls to
him is not likely to be dissipated.
A Romance from Corea.—For parents
and near kinsfolk it is customary in Corea to
mourn three years. What a deep influence this
prescriptive usage has upon the life of the peo
ple is illustrated by the following story of an
aged bachelor who was asked why he had never
taken a wife.. “My parents, as well as myself,”
be said, “ were desirous that I should marry,
and a suitable young lady being found, our be
trothal took place. Then my future father-in
law died, and we had of course to wait
years. 1 had hardly put off my mourning than
1 had to bewail the loss of my own poor father.
Necessarily here was another term of three
years’ waiting. When these were up, the mother
of my future wife took sick and expired, and
thus we were obliged to delay our marriage an
other three years. Lastly, I had the misfortune
to lose my own dear mother, which naturally
caused a further adjournment. So that, as
four times three make twelve, that number of
years had passed over our heads, and made us
both the older. At this time my betrothed fell
ill, and as she was at death’s door I went to pay
her a last visit. My future brother-in-law met
me at the door and said: ‘ Although you are
not formally married, yet perhaps I may for
this once look upon you as mau and wife. Come
in and see her.’ I had hardly entered and been
for a moment face to face with my poor wife
than she breathed her last. When I saw this,
all thoughts of marriage fled from me, and I
have remained a bachelor ever since.”
A Three Thousand Feet Drop.—ln
September, 1857, upward of 15,000 people were at
Lemon Hill, and along the banks of the Schuyl
kill, to see M. Godard go up in a balloon along
with his brother and drop the latter out from
among the clouds in a parachute. It is said that
the feat had never been attempted before in the
history ot ballooning. It was a startling novel
ty, and the people crowded to see it. When the
balloon sailed gracefully upward outside of the
enclosure, M. Godard and two friends were in
the basket, while below it M. E. Godard, his
brother, was seated upon a small bar of wood
attached to the parachute. It looked like an
immense umbrella. The balloon went over the
Schuylkill in a south-westerly direction, and
after it had reached an altitude of about 6,000
feet it began to slowly descend. Then the par
achute began to expand. When within about
3,000 feet of the earth the cord was cut and the
parachute rapidly descended, with Godard
hanging on to the bar. The balloon shot up
ward again. The descent of the parachute was
keenly watched by thousands of spectators, and
many expected to see the daring man dashed to
the earth in the twinkling of an eye. It was
observed, however, that as the parachute Beared
the earth the descent was slow and easy. At
last the man and his big umbrella faded out ot
sight over the hills, and we learned next morn
ing that he came down all right on his feet, like
a cat, about half a mile west of the Old Bell
Tavern, on the Darby road.
Bogus Diamonds.—-Says the Omaha
Bee: “ You think those flashing ornaments which
that lady has around her pretty neck are dia
monds, do you?” said an auditor in the Boyd
on the first night of the “ Mikado” by the Grau
company. “ Well, they’re nothing of the kind.
I’ll venture the assertion they didn’t cost her
$lO. Bix years ago I had three shirt studs which
all my friends admired, and dozens of them
wanted me to sell. But I preferred to keep
them. They were beauties, really, and I did not
care to part company with them'because of the
attention they commanded. Well, I was a little
more free with money then, and I had run up
quite a bill at one of our livery stables, amount
ing to something in the vicinity of $l5O. The
proprietor of the stable, I guess, had become a
little nervous, and one day said to me that he
would allow me S2OO for my studs and take out
the difference between that amount and my ac
count in trade. Just the day before I had re
fused $75 for one of the beauties, and after con
sidering the proposition, 1 concluded not to ac
cept it. If I had accepted, how much do you
expect I would have made ? Just $194. It’s
fact. I bought those ‘ diamonds’ for just $6
from a jeweler in this town. They passed for
diamonds, but there isn’t one man in a dozen
who can’t be most cruelly deceived when he
goes purchasing diamonds.”
Inoculation with Snake Poison.—
The evident interest with which the public is
watching the outcome of Pasteur’s experiments
in inoculation, draws out instances of kindred
cases. An Episcopal clergyman of Kenweed
111., who spent his boyhood in Surinam of
Dutch Guiana, says it was a common thing
there for the people to guard against the bites
of the poisonous serpents that infested the
country. The snake is caught, fastened firmly
and then irritated until the glands are swollen
with poison, when the viper is killed and the
glands extracted. The poison is reduced to a
white powder, which is rubbed into arm cuts,
much as a vaccine virus in smallpox inocula
tion. The clergyman concludes : “ A case was
never known of a man dying or even being
affected by the bite of a snake in Surinam when
vaccination bad been properly performed. I
remember distinctly seeing a dairyman in my
father’s employ hold a deadly snake in his
hand and torment it. The snake would turn
its head and repeatedly fasten its fangs into
the man’s hand until it was covered with blood.
The dairym an merely laughed, and when he got
•through playing with the snake threw it down
and stamped on its head. The poison cer
tainly did not affect him, for I saw him for years
afterward.”
Stomach
Troubles are caused by improper diet,
hasty eating and drinking, late suppers,
the excessive use of stimulants, and a
scrofulous condition of the blood. Ayer’s
Sarsaparilla is the most efficacious remedy
for ail such disorders. **l am convinced
that the worst cases of Dyspepsia
Can be
cured by taking Ayer’s Sarsaparilla. I
suffered greatly from this complaint for
years, and never took any medicine that
did me any good until’ I commenced
using Ayer’s Sarsaparilla. I took four
bottles of this preparation last spring,
and my appetite, health, and strength
were completely restored.?—Richard M.
Norton, Danbury, Conn.
My wife was long subject to severe
Headaches, the result of stomach and
liver disorders. After trying various
remedies, without relief, she used Ayer’s
Sarsaparilla, and was speedily cured.—
8. Page, 21 Austin st., Lowell, Mass.
As a remedy for Debility, Faintness,
Loss of Appetite, and Indigestion, I took
one bottle of
Ayer’s Sar
saparilla, and was cured. —H. Mansfield,
Chelmsford, Mass.
Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass.
Good Coffee Easy to Make. —Missl
Corson, in a lecture, saya : “It is one of th®
simplest things in the world to make a cup of
good coffee, and this can easily be accomplished
by applying a little common sense. If you pufi
boiling water on coffee, and do not let it boil<'
you have all the good qualities preserved. Ona
reason dyspeptics cannot drink coffee is because!
it is boiled. The style of coffee is just a mat-*
of fancy. I have made as good coffee in anj
old tomato can as I have ever supped from the
finest French coffee urn. We should take les*
sons in this matter from the Turks and Arab*
lans, who grind their coffee to a fine powder*
When the coffee is ground as fine as possible
put it in a little bag of unbleached muslin-
Which should be tied tightly enough to prevent-"
the escape of the grounds. If you use a cup*
ful of unground coffee you can make a quart of?
very strong, black coffee. In making coffee
many people sacrifice flavor for strength. Bit*
terness comes from boiling. When boiling
water is placed on the bag of ground coffeo it'
should stand at least three minutes before serv*.
ing. Remember, the longer it stands thej
stronger it becomes.”
The Slums of Berlin.—The slums oj
London and Faris are bad enough, but it ap-4
pears that the slums of Berlin are, if possible/
worse. Las Echo has just published some in«
teresting details on the subject. There ar©
about 40,000 houses in the Prussian capital. A (
email number are inhabited by one or two fami*
lies, but the great majority are divided into
several distinct lodgings. Two thousand fivq
hundred contain from sixteen to twenty
ings ; 20,000 from twenty to thirty lodgings, an (5
10,000 over thirty lodgings each. Seventy-flve)
thousand of these lodgings are composed of onctf
room only, and inhabited by no fewer thaqj
270,000 persons, which is on an average of near*
ly four persons per r om ; 75,000 other lodging®
are composed of two rooms, and occupied by
360,000 inhabitants ; while the remaining
lodgings are formed of three rooms, inhabited
by 140,0C0 people. These figures will suffice to
show the promiscuous way in which the masses
of the Berlin population are lodged* Tha
houses in the poor quarters, often five or six:
stories high, are built so close to one another
that they are nearly totally devoid of both light?
and air.
Sanitary Furniture. —Dr. Gustav Jae«
ger, whose sanitary clothing reform made somei
little stir a year or two back, says
Journal, seeks to apply the principle
in his theory to furniture. This theory teacheq
that cotton, lineu and other stuffs of vegetable
origin retain a power of absorbing those nox4
ions animal exhalations which, as plants, they!
digest. Dead fibre, or wood, will, he maintains,
act in the same mannerrand will throw off thq •
deleterious matter, to the prejudice of living
beings, whenever there is a change of tempera*
ture. This, he holds, is the reason why a room!
which has been shut up for some days has aft
unpleasant odor attaching to it, and which iq x
very apparent in German government offices/'
which are fitted with innumerable shelves amj
pigeon-holes made of plain unpainted wood*
For sanitary reasons, therefore, the back anct
unseen parts of furniture should be varnished
painted or treated with some kind of composition
to fill the pores of the wood; hence it is that so
called sanitary furniture has, in Germany, be*
come an article of commerce, and is likely t<3
find its way to this and other countries.
Taking of the Stars.—
There has been introduced at the Paris observa
tory an apparatus specially designed for pho
tographing the heavenly bodies, and M*.
Mouchez, director of the observatory, has pre<«
seated to the French academy of sciences, 4
chart obtained by this wonderful method. Thief
map contains a small section of the milky way,,
and presents to view five thousand stars’ rang 4
ing from the sixth to the fiiteenth magnitude-
In view of the fact that there are forty-on©
thousand superficial degrees in the firmament,
it is estimated that a representation of the whol©
surface, completed in the same way, would re*,
quire six thousand similar sections, forming
one thousand five hundred ecliptical charts/
It is further estimated—gigantin as such a work
appears—that, if it were undertaken by six or*
eight observatories, favorably situated in th©
two hemispheres, the work might be conclnaecj
in five or six years, and would contain photo*
graphs of 20,000,000 stars, down to the filteontli
magnitude.
Smoking Tobacco.—Says the London.
Lancet y the use of tobacco, *as distinguished
from its abuse, ought to be a matter of intelli
gent observation and experience. We should
incl ne to the opinion that any particular indi
vidual who can say, “ I always know when I
have smoked enough—if I go beyond the just
limit I lose my power of prompt decision,” had
better not smoke at all. It is clearly unwise for
a man who cannot swim to persist in dabbling
in deep waters. There are currents and under<
draughts which may at any moment destroy his
balance. The very reverse of the complaint
made by this person is the experience of most
smokers. A moderate use of tobacco soothes
the senses, and leaves the mental faculties fre©
from irritation, and ready for calmly clear intel*
lectual processes. When this is not the effect
produced by smoking, the “ weed ” had better
be eschewed.
The Right Sort of Pluck.—Let tha
timid women who are inclined to jump from $
carriage every time the horse pricks up his ears,
read this story of a Westfield (Mass.) girl: Sh®
was driving a spirited horse, when the head*
stall broke and the bit came out of his mouth*
Of course he ran. The girl, perfectly powerless
to restrain him, sat upright in her'seat, whila
the frightened animal ran wildly through tha
streets. She never said a word, even when %
daring man caught on behind and climbed into
the buggy, only to find himself quite as power
less as the girl. But his added weight helped
for, after a half-mile run, the horse was tire a
enough to admit of his being caught, and tha
girl jumped out of the buggy, not much fright*
ened, and not a bit hurt.
A Young Man’s Resolution.—An Ann
Arbor (Mich.) young man resolved that every
ten-dollar bill coming into his possession ho
would put into the bank ; every nve-dollar bils,.
or coin would go toward a fund for buying'
clothes, etc.; every one-dollar bill or coiitf
should go for board, washing, etc.; everyl,
twenty-five and ten-cent piece to an ice cream/
soda water, and so forth fund for his girl,
the pennies for church collection. At the ends
of six months he balanced up and found $6.2&.
for the church-collection fund ; $65.55 expendedf
in the ice-cream-girl fund ; he was three weeks,
behind with his board on the one-dollar fundi
he had accumulated just S2O for the
fund, and hadn’t a red cent in the
fund.
Easy Means gf Escape from Suffo/
cation. —A correspondent of the Times notes &
most important means of escape from suffoca<j
tion by smoke, a fatality by which many lives'
are lost annually. He points out that if ft
handkerchief be placed beneath the pillow oa'
retiring to rest, so as to be within easy reacs
of the hand, it can, in case of an alarm of fire
be readily dipped in water and tied over thq'
mouth and nostrils. As an amateur fireman/ 1
he has gone through the densest smoke pro*-
tooted in that manner, and he alleges that suclt''
a respirator will enable its wearer to
freely m an otherwise irrespirable atmosphere/j
Where Prairie Dogs Get Water.— lt'
has always been a subject of curiosity and in<J
quiry as to how and where prairie dogs, living
on the prairie, far away from any river ofc
stream, obtain their water. Mr. F. Leech, £
frontiersman of experience, asserts that the dogq''
dig their own wells, each village having oneij
with a concealed opening. He knows of on©.'
such well two hundred feet deep, and having a
■circular staircase leading down to the water?
Every time a dog wants a drink he descend®. 1
the staircase, which, considering the distance/
is no mean task.
A Parson’s Mistake.—The barbeA'
shop in Woodhull, 111., was recently converted
into a liquor saloon, and the day alter the open*
ing. an absent-minded clergyman of the town?'
walked in, and, seeing a crowd, sat downf;
patiently to wait for his turn. The men at thg'
bar thought he was there to see who frequentoiT
the saloon, and they went out quickly. The®
the parson discovered his mistake, and he fie®
in dismay. y
A Big Sale for Filters.—The faeft
that there are eels in the water pipes in Bangor J
Me., leads to a new swindle. A man goes froni;
house to house offering filters for sale. H®
asks permission to fasten era la ttu <»>»/ pipe?'
and let the water pass thJtjngh it for a feri
minutes. When the filter is taken off h®j
always finds a little eel inside. Then tha'
housewife buys the filter. ” j
Troubles
Never come alone. If tfc» 'c-fISSt/EhJaJV'f >,
or Bowels are disordered,
the body become affected. Ayer’s Sar
saparilla restores the vigor required
for - the healthy action of these organs
more speedily than any other medicine..
**A few bottles of Ayer’s Sarsaparilla
Cured
me of Kidney Disease, when all other
medicines failed. It is the most reliable
and best remedy for this complaint known
to me.—Eli Dodd, Xenia, 111.
I was afflicted with a severe bowel diffi
culty; my vitality seemed to be rapidly
diminishing, my appetite failed, my
tongue was badly coated, and mv strength
was gone. In this enfeebled condition I
began taking Ayer’s Sarsaparilla. I had.
not taken many doses before I noticed
a decided change for the better. My
appetite and strength returned, and my
whole system manifested renewed Vigor.
— E. B.'Simonds, Glover, Vt.
I have used Ayer’s Medicines in my
family, with satisfaction, for years, and
always have a bottle of Ayer’s Sar
saparilla
in the house: it is so good for the blood. —
Mrs. E. Thruvegen, Perth Amboy, N. J.
Sold by Druggists. Price SI; six bottles, (5. -