The Kenosha telegraph. [volume], September 04, 1885, Image 4

About The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888

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She Selegvaplr.
KENOSHA, ; • WISCONSIN.
YOU CAN NOT RUB IT OUT.
In the old Scottish inn we met,
A motley group from every land.
Scholar and artist, peer and priest.
And many a traveler brown and tanned
All pilgrims waiting for an tour,
Chatting in idle courtesy.
And yet amid the drifting talk
A little message came to me.
It happened thus: A restless boy
Unto the dripping window went.
Whose glass, scarred with a thousand names,
His mind to the same fancy bent.
He sought and found a vacant spot.
And took the diamond from his hand,
But ere a Letter hnd been formed
A voice accustomed to command
Cried: "Philip, stop - before you write,
Consider well what you’re about.”
•'Father, wiry should I hesitate?”
“Because you can not rub it out.”
The words fell on my idle ear,
I said them o’er and o’er again,
And asked myself: Oh, who would choose
All they have written to remain?
Unto a loving mother oft
We all have sent, without a doubt,
Full many a hard and careless word
That now we never can rub out;
For cruel words cut deeper far
Than diamond on the window-pan©
And oft-recalled in after years
They wound her o’er and o’er again.
Bo in our daily work and life
We write and do and say the thing
We never can undo nor stay
With any future sorrowing.
We carve ourselves oh beating hearts.
Ab, then, how wise to pause and doubt,
To blond with love and thought our words,
Because we can not rub them out!
—Harper’s Weekly.
THREE TRICKY THIEVES.
How They Managed to Dupo a
Confiding Jeweler.
Mr. Glister stood at his own shop
door and looked out upon the almost
empty Cathedral Close. Things were
dull just then in Ravensthorpe, as they
always arc, except for a few months
during which the Bishop is regularly
resident at the Abbey Hall, and the two
rival local parks contribute to make
them brisk, and Mr. Glister seldom had
much else to do in the long off-season
but pursue such limited observations of
the world’s life in general as the Close
offered him, material for.
Glister ft Co., goldsmiths and jewel
ers, had a London house in Bond street.
The London manager spoke sometimes
to his clients of “our Ravensthorpe
branch,” which was inaccurate. The
London house was only thirty years old,
and had been established by the present
proprietor (Co. had long since faded
out of reality, but the old name of the
firm was retained,) who was the third
of the dynasty in Ravensthorpe.
He had personally managed the Lon
don house, until satisfied of its growing
solidity, and had then returned to his
native town and established himself and
his family in the venerable building of
which his business premises occupied
the lowest story.
He was one of the fine old race of
country tradesmen now fast becoming
extinct—proud of his business and of
the long and untarnished history of the
firm. His manner was marked by a
certain stolid, genial politeness to all
men, untainted by any effort to ape the
grand air of his clients, who respected
him as their forefathers had respected
his.
He passed nearly all his time in Ra
vensthorpe, going to London on the oc
casion of stock taking, and to draw the
handsome profits which went to swell
his balance at the county bank of which
he was a partner.
Mr. Glister was a warm man. He
looked it with his clear, rich, rosy com
plexion, heightened by his crisp iron
gray hair and strips of silvery whisker,
his portly waistcoat crossed by the
modestly solid watch-chain, and the
handsome diamond ring which was his
solitary vanity in the article of dress.
“Here he is again,” said Mr. Glister.
1 A portly, elderly gentleman in the
dress of a rural dean turned the corner
of the Close and came briskly along the
pavement. From his countenance
beamed forth benevolence and good
will to all men, and from his gleaming
shoes and his ueatly-stockmged calves
to his jolly poit-wine face and clerical
bat, his whole person seemed one solid
emile. As he passed Mr. Glister he
gave him a casual glance of such cor
diality that the jeweler felt emboldened
to salute him with a bow, a courtesy
returned by the reverend gentleman by
tt brisk “Good-morning,” and a yet
broader smile as he went by.
Fate so ordained it that Mr. Glister,
during the next day or two, saw a good
deal of the reverend gentleman. That
same afternoon the generally peaceful
nir of the Close was rent by the de
spairing wails of a very small damsel
over the scattered shreds of an earth
enware jug, with which she had been
intrusted Tor the conveyance of the
family milk. 'The child stood above
the ruins in such despair as only infants
of her tender years in dread of an im
minent beating can know. The child
was pretty, and looked all the prettier
in her innocent alllietion, and Mr. Glis
ter was a tender-hearted man. Al
ready he had taken a step toward the
little one, and his finger and thumb
were groping in the pocket of his port
ly waistcoat for the consolatory shilling
which would repair the damage and
dry the mourner's tears, when ne saw
that his intention had been forestalled.
The. self-same rural dean whom Mr.
Glister had that morning saluted was
soothing the child’s grief with words
of cheer and consoling pats on the
child’s tumbled golden hair through
which the little damsel’s tearful eyes,
already brighter at the sight of the
Jiroffered coin the reverend gentleman
leld out to her, looked up at him with
thy gratitude. A pretty picture,
thought Mr. Glister, bowing again to
the rural dean as their eyes met, where
at the old cleric nodded with a con
fused and somewhat shame-faced as
pect, as though embarrassed that his
good deed should have been witnessed.
Next morning saw Mr. Glister again
at his post of observation, and at his
accustomed hour the old cleric was
again descried upon the pavement. The
jeweler had already begun to feel a
friendly, almost an affectionate interest
in the old gentleman, whose appear
ance was so inviting, whose voice so
jovial, whoso charity so ready and un
assuming. His attention was so com
pletely absorbed by the approach of his
new acquaintance that he had no ears
for the quickly approaching step of a
young man advancing in the contrary
direction. The rural dean was just
opening his lips to reply to Mr. Glister's
morning salute, when the young man
paused precisely opposite the jeweler,
and extending his hand, hailed the old
dignitary as “Uncle.” The reverend
gentleman turned with a quick start
and a stumble, which, but for the young
man’s restraining ' would” have
brought him to the ground.
“You young villain,” panted the old
man, “you’ll never be satisfied until
you. have been the death of me.”
The young fellow expressed affection
ate contrition for his abruptness, but
his venerable relative was evidently
more shaken by his sudden appearance
than it seemed likely so robust an old
gentleman would have been by so slight
an occiv-rence. He trembled and leaned
upon his nephew’s arm for support, and
was so evidently affected that Mr. Glis
ter begged him to enter and seat him
self in the shop until his composure
should return. The offer was accepted,
and the rural dean was bestowed in a
chair. The jeweler made hospitable
offers of wine, and of a glass of water,
which were refused, the old gentleman
tapping himself upon the region of the
heart, and shaking his head, to indicate
that his malady lay there, and was be
yond the power of such medicaments
as he proposed. Mr. Glister and his
nephew stood above him with respect
ful concern.
“You should be more careful, Ed
ward, my boy—you should be more
careful,” he said, presently.
“My dear uncle,” said the young
man, “I was never more ashamed in
my life. But you are better now?”
“Yes,” said the old gentleman; “I
am better. It is passing. I am ex
tremely obliged to you, sir,” he turned
to Mr. Glister, “extremely obliged for
your prompt kindness.”
Mr. Glister begged him not to men
tion it
“But I must,” said the rural dean.
“It was extremely good of you.”
Mr. Glister was happy to have been
of the slightest service, and deprecated
further speech concerning it.
“And what brought you here?” de
manded the old gentleman of his
nephew, “to frighten your old uncle,
who thought you were a hundred miles
away, and more?”
“Can’t you g.iess?” asked the young
man, with an embarrassed little laugh.
“Ha!” said the old gentleman, beam
ingly. He was quite recovered now,
and had got back all his accustomed
geniality. “Love’s young dream—eh?
That’s it-eh?”
The good old man so enjoyed his lit
tle joke, and so shook and beamed over
it that Mr. Glister could not himself
refrain from a sympathetic smile. He
looked at the young man and felt some
how vaguely disappointed. He was by
no means a bad-looking youngster, but
he did not look, to the jeweler’s eyes,
like a nephew worthy of such an uncle.
His face had none of the geniality which
made the elder’s countenance so pleas
ant to look upon. His eyes were shifty,
and young as he was—obviously not
more than eight and twenty—there was
a hinted prophesy of coming crows’ feet
at their corners. But he appeared very
fond of his uncle and deeply concerned
at the results of his thoughtlessness.
“You have not seen Maud yet, I sup
pose?” asked the rural dean.
“No; I was coming straight from the
station to call upon you when I met
you.”
“And nearly frightened the life out
of me,” said the old man, rising from
the chair. “I was just on my way to
see her, and, since we have met, we
will thank Mr. Glister for his very kind
attentions, and go together.” And ac
cordingly, after reiterated thanks of
the warmest nature, they left the shop,
and went down the street arm-in-arm
very lovingly together, leaving Mr.
Glister bowing his adieux upon the
step.
Any strange face appearing in
Ravensthorpe during the dead season
is pretty certain of remark, and that
same afternoon Mr. Glister, from his
usual coign of vantage, noticed a
broad-built man in very tight trousers
and tall hat, which gave him, to the
jeweler’s eye, something of a sporting
appearance, lounging in an unoccupied
fashion on the other side of the narrow
street which opened into the Close. He
took Mr. Glister’s eye at once, so com
pletely unlike was he to the natives
about him. He rolled a little in his
gait and yawned frequently, and he
had a trick of stroking with the tips of
his fingers a ragged mark or scar, as of
an old wound imperfectly cicatrised,
upon his smoothly-shaven cheek.
Presently he strolled away out of sight
on the other side of the Cathedral, and
Mr. Glister forgot him. He remem
bered after that the stranger’s disap
pearance was almost exactly coincident
in time with the entrance into the shop
of the young fellow who owned the
rural (lean for uncle, and had so
startled the reverend gentleman that
morning.
The young man’s business was soon
explained. He wished to see some
articles of jewelry suitable for presenta
tion to a young lady. Nothing too ex
travagant; the simpler the better; but
good. Mr. Glister understood perfect
ly, and produced from his window a
case of ornaments, which the young
gentleman examined, choosing there
from a collar and pendant, a bracelet
and some rings. He seemed to have
admirable taste, and his ideas of sim
plicity in matters of jewelry seemed to
Mr. Glister to be of a most aristocratic
elasticity.
He was hesitating between the differ
ent attractions of a diamond and sap
plfrire ring to complete his purchase
when the door opened and his uncle
entered.
“Ah,” he said, cheerily, “you here—
eh? And on the very same errand as
myself, 1 see. Very pretty! ve—ry
pretty!” he remarked, examining his
nephew's purchases. “Have you all
you want? Then, if Mr. Glister will be
so good, I should like to see what he
can do for me.”
“Now, my dear uncle,” said the
young man, imploringly, “be moder
ate. Really. Maud will be quite con
tent with these!”
“Tut, tut!” said the old man. “Are
you the only person in the world who
can make a present to a young lady? I
claim my privilege, sir. We old people
have privileges, though you selfish
young fellows dispute them,” and one of
them is to show homage to beauty.”
Mr. Glister produced a second case,
and the old gentleman, genially pooh
poohing his nephew’s affectionate re
monstrances, choose various articles of
a rich and expensive description. He
went ahead so fa*t, adding article after
article to his selection, that the young
man gave up his objections in a kind <3
half comical, wholly affectionate de
spair.
“You never will be happy until you
have ruined yourself,” he said at last.
“And if 1 do,” said the old gentle
man, “I think I know somebody who
will find me a corner to end my days
in.”
The young man silently pressed his
uncle’s hand. The good old man blew
a sonorous blast upon his nose, and in
quiring of Mr. Glister the sum for
which he stood indebted to him, pro
duced a plethoric pocket-book and
handed over the amount in notes, an
example which his nephew followed.
They were just in the act of bestow
ing their purchases in their pockets
when the door opened for the second
time, and there stood the broad-built
man whom Mr. Glister had noticed
that afternoon, with the tall white hat,
the tight trousers and the scar upon his
cheek.
To Mr. Glister’s utter amazement the
benevolent ecclesiastic dropped limp
and gasping into a chair.
The young man made a rush for the
door; but the new-comer was too quick
for him. There was a struggle, a tum
ble, a sharp metallic “click,” and be
hold the prospective bridegroom and
nephew of a rural dean tearing and
cursing on the floor with a pair of hand
cuffs on his wrists.
“Take it easy, sir,” said the white-hat
ted one, '“it’s all right.”
Mr. Glister was all abroad; and
amazed and wonder-stricken.
The new comer was as calm as man
could be.
“ Get up,” he said to his manacled
captive.
The young man obeyed, and sitting
in a chair at the counter, glared at his
captor.
“I’m Inspector Roberts, Scotland
Yard,” he continued to Mr. Glister.
Tho i«ral dean groaned.
“You know me, don’t you?” said
Mr. Roberts, smiling on him in recog
nition of his identity. “ Came down,
here for a breath of country air. Walk
ing ebout saw those chaps, first one,
then the other, then both together.
Saw ’em come in here. Had dealings
before with ’em and know their playful
little ways, and so I thought I’d watch
Hand ’em out, your reverence.” The
rural dean groaned anew, and depos
ited his little parcel on the counter.
“Now, you ,” to the younsrer man.
“Oh, I forgot, you can’t; you’ve got
’em on. Begging your pardon.” He
inserted his hand into the bridegroom’s
pocket and withdrew the packet of jew
elry. “Notes or checks, sir?” he de
manded of Mr. Glister.
“Notes,” said that excellent gentle
man. His amazement had lasted only
a minute or so, and he had been hur
riedly examining them during the In
spector’s latter’s proceedings, “and all
sham.”
“ Quite so;” he said it languidly, but
with a shade of amusement in his voice.
“I’ll trouble you for’em, sir. They’ll
be wanted at the trial. So will they,”
he added, pointing to the little par
cels. “If you’ll just make a note of all
there is there, I’ll take ’em and give
you a receipt,”
Mr. Glister, much shaken by the
events of the last few minutes, set him
self to this task. Inspector Roberts
produced a toothpick, and continued
his conversation with his captives with
the calm playfulness which distinguished
him.
“Didn’t expect to see me, Jemmy—
eh?” he demanded of the stricken
cleric. “Bit of a shock, ain’t it? Never
mind, old man; you'll get over it in
time, in the quiet and retired retreat
which awaits your declining days. You
can’t grumble, you’ve had a tidy long
run, you know. Why its seven years
since I see you last on business—
seven years! Lord, how time flies!
And Joe, too,” he went on, beaming
mildly on the bridegroom, “I’ve often
thought about Joe, lately. Let’s see,
is he your son, or your nephew, or your
young brother this time? In the church,
too! That’s a rise for you, Jemmy. Why
you was only a stockbroker when I saw
you last. Old lady in Maida Vale, you
know. Plate. You remember, of course.
Very neat it was done, too. You was
always a good workman. I’ll say that
for you. That the memorandum, sir?
Sure you’ve got everything down?
There you are.” He signed, and hand
ing back the paper methodically stowed
away flhe little packets in an inner
pocket. “Ready?” he demanded of
his prisoners. “Off we go, then. You’ll
hear from the ’authorities in a day or
two, sir—probably to-morrow—when
you’ll be wanted,” he said to Mr. Glis
ter. “We’ll spare you all the trouble
we can. Now march.”
“I say, take these things off,” said
the younger prisoner, extending his
manacled hands. “I’ll come quiet.”
“ ’Fraid I can’t oblige you,” said the
Inspector. “I ain’t much afraid of his
reverence. |He’s getting a bit too heavy
even for a welter weight, but you’re
another pah’ o’ shoes. ” He paused and
meditatively scratched his head for a
moment, and then turned again to Mr.
Glister. “Could you oblige me with the
loan of an overcoat to put over his
hands and hide the cull’s? It’s just as
well to keep the yokels off. I’ll leave
it at the station for you.”
Mr. Glister went in search of the de
sired garment, and the Inspector hav
ing arranged it in a natural fashion
over the young man’s hands, civilly
bade him “Good-day,” and departed
with his prisoners.
Mr. Glister waited a day—two days
—and no summons to appear against
the criminals reached him from any
quarter. Rather mystified ny this, he
went to the local superintendent and
asked for counsel. The superintendent
looked grave, but simply promised to
make inquiries and communicate their
result. The next day a man walked
into the shop and inquired for Mr.
Glister. That gentleman, confessing
his identity, the stranger gave his name
as Green, of Scotland Yard. To him
Mr. Glistei’ recounted the nefarious
deeds of the rural dean and his nephew,
and the acts of Inspector Roberts.
“There is no such name at Scotland
Yard, sir. It’s pretty plain. He was
one of the gang—a confederate!”
Mr. Glister staggered as if Green had
shot him.
“But why?” he asked, “why was he
wanted? They had the goods, and were
going away with them, when he en
tered.”
“Ye—es,” said Green thoughtfully.
“You didn’t happen to leave ’em all to
gether in the shop, did you?”
Mr. Glister confessed that he had
done so, and gave his reason.
“Have you missed anything—any
thing more, I mean, than the man Rob
erts took away with him?”
“Yes; six rings and a brooch. I
couldn’t think what could have become
of them. I’m sure they were not among
the purchases. Here is the note. But
I see it all now.”
“Well, Mr. Glister, of course the Yard
will do all that’s possible. I know the
man with the scar on his check, and I
dare say some of our men may know
the other two. We’ll do all we can—
you may depend on that; but I’m afraid
you’ll never see your jewels again.”
And, indeed, he never did!—House
hold IKords.
GREEK BRIGANDS.
The System Which Is Carried on in
Grseeo-Turkish Countries.
A pamphlet written by a Greek, a
cavalry Lieutenant, gives some very
curious accounts of the system of brig
andage as it is now carried on in the
Graeco-Turkish boundaries. The brig
and’s code of laws, as at present exist
ing, is a strange mixture of barbarity
and chivalry. It contains several
clauses, some of which run as follows:
“All traitors to be killed and exposed.
The rich to be captured, and notallowed
to depart until they have paid ransom,
and sworn not to injure the brigands by
a relation of their adventures to the
authorities. All soldiers to be killed.
The bearers of the ransom to be re
spected and small money to be given
them on their deparlure. All robbers
plotting with Government to be killed.
Should a captive escape, his keeper is to
be held responsible and expelled from
the band. Never’ to steal the goats
and sheep from the shepherd, but
to’ pay; for all taken. To offer
gifts at any monastery or hermit
age, by way of expiation for sin.” It
is the shepherds who supply the brig
ands, and by whose means they are so
well hid from the authorities. They
supply them with bread, meat and
wine, and serve them as guides in
times of danger, and it is their children
that are educated to be brigands and
who reinforce their ranks. Immense
precautions are taken by the robbers
against surprises. They always travel
by night, proceeding in file through the
open country, never through the nar
row passes, for fear of ambushes. The
smallest object, the faintest sound
startles them, and down they drop flat
on their stomachs till their confidence is
renewed. Before start'ng on any of
those journeys they always appoint a
rendezvous in case of separation. Their
scouts go on in front, driving horses or
oxen, and habited as drovers. Under
their shelter fallows the main body,
peeping cautiously beneath the cattle to
see if an enemy is approaching, and be
hind comes the vanguard, who, if any
thing is amiss, whistles like a night
bird, and the band disperses.—Ex
change.
■0 • 1 *
—Crack race-horses have their meat
and drink more carefully attended to
while traveling than royal personages.
The English runner “Paraday,” on his
late trip to Paris, had his own particu
lar brand of water carried over with
him in cases like a monarch’s private
champagne.
DISENCHANTMENT.
She stood on the cool piazza
As the shades of evening fell,
An<f I gazed on the lovely maiden,
Entranced by her beauty’s spell.
The balmy evening zephyr-
-Played with each golden t;ess;
And her azure eyes were swimming
In a sea of tenderness.
Her lips, just slightly parted.
Were tinged with the coral's flame,
And 1 thought that her cheeks’ bright
blushes
The hue of the rose would shame.
While gazing in admiration
> On the rare and radiant lass,
I thought sweetest music only
Through those coral lips could pass.
But a sudden change came o’er her,
Gone was the smile so bland:
f And she smote in sudden anger
The back of her lily hand.
And she cried: “Ha! ha! I’ve got you,
You'll trouble my peace no more;
You’re the same blamed old mosquito
That I tried to mash before!”
—Boston Courier.
LES HUMORISTES.
A Long Distance After the Late
Victor Hugo.
The Love Story ot an Alleged Funny Man—
A Daring Scheme, and How It Was
Consummated—Happy Con
clusion.
CHAPTEB L
WHO IS HE?
Alphonse Berlin was a humorist
The poet’s lyre has a thousand strings,
that of the humorist has ten.
The ten are the Mule, Mother-in-law,
Church Fair Oyster, Book Canvasser, Serv
ant-girl with coal oil can, Vassar Girl, Chi
cago female foot Poverty of Editors, Size
of modern ice-cream platen and “Didn’t
know the gun was loaded.”
Striking these strings singly and in
chords produces humor.
Alphonse struck the strings.
The multitude laughed rudely.
When be heard of a skillful artificer of
nw/raw
Florence who made five hundred little
dishes so small that they would lie in the
bottom of a thimble, and could only be seen
with a microscope, he said: “This is what
our modern ice-cream dishes are modeled
after.”
For this wild burst of humor he received
five centimes.
He wrote:
“Did you hear about the washout?”
asked the baggage-master of the reporter.
“No,” said the latter, with great show of
interest “What line was it on?” “Out
here on Mrs. Mulligan’s clothes line,” said
the baggage-man. The reporter collapsed
with a loud report.
For such a joke be received ten centimes.
“Ten centimes and five centimes make
fifteen centimes,” said he. “ For this
amount of money one ean purchase Wiener
wurst.”
No one need starve when he can purchase
Wiener-wurst
“My fortunes are at the wurst point” re
marked Alphonse.
For this joke he received nothing.
CHAPTER 11.
THE PLOT THICKENS.
One day while out walking Alphonse saw
a png.
The pug was tied to a dude. At the
dude’s side was a beautiful girt The girl
was named Adriennette and the pug was
named Juno.
Alphonse fell in love with the girl Adri
ennette.
She was a proud and aristocratic maid,
whose father’s carriage bore an eagle of the
sun for a crest
The old man had got his start in life ped
dling ham sandwiches in the Bowery.
’ Therefore he had an eagle for his coat of
arms.
Adriennette loved before all things in the
world her pug.
The pug Juno dined on all delicacies of
the season.
He sat in an arm-chair blazoned with
gold. *
He was allowed to run over the table
and seize the choicest tld-bits, while grace
was being said.
A place had been reserved in the family
cemetery for him, next to Adriennette’s
great grandfather, against the time when
he should turn up his paws.
If Adriennette’s lovers felt like kissing
her, they had to kiss Juno first as an evi
dence of good faith.
It was into this family that Alphonse’s
fate led him.
He felt a wild passion for his bella ina
morata (see back part of Webster’s dic
tionary).
But she would not even give him a
glance. .
From a gay, dashing, eight-dollar-a
week humorist, Alphonse became a pale,
wan shadow. He acted both as Adiien
nette’s shadow and his own.
He followed her everywhere.
He could do nothing but write sad
poems and elegies. When he tried to
make a joke about the size of the block of
ice that the ice-man leaves nowadays, the
Words died in his throat, and he wrote a
poem about the “ dark willows that wave
o’er the dark, deep pool.”
When he tried to write an account of a
goat lunching off a tin can, he turned to
describe, with tears in his eyes, “the chest
nut hair on my true love's brow.” He at
tempted to run these in on the managing
editor, instead.of the jokes. He was
kicked down stairs. He, so full of ethe
real passion, was actually kicked, like an
ordinary gas-meter man.
This story will be continued in the’next
chapter.
CHAPTER HI.
BAY BREAKS.
One day when Alphonse watched Adrien
nette riding in her sumptuous coach with
her pug J uni clasped to her throbbing
breast; “She loves Juno better than her
life,” he muttered; “I love him because
she does; I will steal him.”
A wild look ot mighty emotion swept
across Alphonse’s face, making It almost
Clean,
“She could not live without him. There
will be a reward. What reward? Who
knows?”
Alphonse could not speak what he only
dared to hope.
For months he awaited an opportunity,
finally one day it came.
A muffled shriek, a dull thud, and Juno
was his.
Success had crowned his fondest hopes.
CHAPTER IV.
WEDDING BEI-LS.
The next day society was shaken to Its
foundations.
Adriennette’s pug had been stolen.
Liveried couriers were dispatched hither
and thither.
Pinkerton’s entire detective agency was
called out
The millionaire’s purse was thrown opor
for rewards.
Excitement on Fifth avenue ran high.
Alphonse held his peace.
itSi.
When the excitement had been raging
three days, Alphonse rang Adriennette’s
door bell.
“Go away!” said she, In a high-toned
voice.
“I bring news of him,” said the young
man, solemnly.
The girl threw her arms around his neck
and kissed him in the ecstasy of the mo
ment
“ I will restore him for one reward only,”
said Alphonse.
“Name it,” said the frantic maiden, “ I
will grant anything you ask.”
“I want your handin marriage,” said
Alphonse, at the same time removing the
cover of a large hat box which he carried
with him, and taking out Juno.
“ I’m with you,” said Adriennette.
What a happy scene! The gods laughed
to see it
“ Three souls with but a single thought,
Three hearts that beat as one.”
—Robert D. Brain, in Texas Siftings.
A DUSKY JOKE.
Took Her Mistress at Her Word—Made It
Go as Far as Possible.
“Now, Margaret,” said Mrs.SJackson,’ad
dressing the colored cook, “we have just gol
in a supply of flour and I want you to make
it go as far as possible.”
“Yessum.”
“The times are very hard now, you un
derstand, and it is about as much as we can
do to meet expenses.”
“Yessum.”
“I do hope that you will pay attention tc
what I say.”
“Yessum.”
About two weeks later Margaret went to
Mrs. Jackson and said:
“De flour is out”
“What?”
“I say de flour is out”
“Tflat can’t be possible!”
“Wall, it’s out all de same.”
“You good-for-nothing thing, you took
the most pf that flour home, you know you
did!”
“Who, me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Wall, now, sense yer glttin’ so pussonal,
I’ll jes’ tell yer dat yer oughter mine how
yer talks ter me. Yer said dat yer wanted
dat flour ter go ez fur ez possible, an’ 1
made it go fur—way out on de yudder side
o’ town. Es dat ain’t fur ernuff fur yer, I
reckons dat I’d better mube it out inter de
country.”
“I am a great mind to have you ar
rested.”
“Whutfur? ’Case yesse’f kain’t take er
joke. I wuz jokin’ wid dat flour, but es
yer wants ter get mad erbout it w’y, I
kain’t he’p it. Reckon I’d better quit yer
an’ wucfc fur er pusson dat’s got more ’tel
ligence.”—Arkansaw Traveler.
Advice to a Teacher.
Johnny Fizzletop is one of the boys that
attends the University of Texas. He plays
hookey, breaks his slate, and makes the
life of his professor miserable by shooting
spit-balls at him. Some weeks ago John
ny showed signs of reformation, but it did
not last, for yesterday the professor caught
him in the act of putting a bent pin on his
throne.
“Johnny, I know you seem to be a bad
boy,” said the professor, sadly, “but I
hoped there had been a change for the bet
ter in your conduct. I even told your fa
ther that you wero a changed boy. I hoped
that you had become a better boy, but I see
1 am mistaken. lam gripved and disap
pointed. I see that my hopes were pre
mature.”
“Yes, that is all your fault You
shouldn’t go off at half-cock that way.
Remember what David Crockett said: *Bo
sure you are right, and then go ahead,’ but
you’ll learn after awhile.”— Texas Sift
ings.
A PICNIC PHANTASY.
CHAPTER L
Come let us jump aboard the train!
Ob. hear the whistle blow!
All nature seems to smile on ua,
Let's to the picnic go.
We'll drink the sparkling lemonade,
The sandwiches we'll munch.
Base-ball we’ll play, likewise croquet
And dally with the lunch.
chapter ii.
Oh, what a jolly time I’ve had!
I dance and laugh with glee.
A beetle has crawled down my back,
I feel him round my knee.
A bumble-bee has toyed with me,
And in my shoes are ants.
I sat upon a lemon pie,
And spoiled my Sunday pants.
—Chicago Rambler.
Where She Found the Needle.
“Some twenty years ago,” said the mild
faced stranger, “my wife, while sewing,
suddenly missed her needle. She saw noth
ing more of it, and seen forgot all about
her loss until last week, when ” “When
she suddenly felt a pricking sensation in
her right foot,” suggested Boodle. “When
the point of the needle showed itself be
tween her shoulder-blades,” guessed Coodle.
“When the needle was seen protruding
from her youngest daughter’s left fore
finger,” intimated Doodle. “No,” said the
m.ild-faced stranger; “you are all wrong.
She found it in a crack in the floor. It had
been there all those years. Singular,
wasn’t it?” There was a common desire to
welter in the blood of the mild-faced
strauger, but with difficulty Boodle, Coodle
and Doodle restrained themselves.— Boston
Transcript.
• Life tn a Flat.
Judge Kennebunker, a cynical old bach
elor, lives with his dog in the hall room ot
a New York flat As he was looking out
of his window Miss Vanpelt, who lives on
the flat below, stuck her head out of her
window, and called up:
“Your nasty dog barks all night”
“But he doesn’t play on the piano all
day.”
The lower window came down with a
bang that sounded like a safe being blown
open.— Texas Siftings.
A Misconception.
“Just one,” said the lover, as he stood
upon the stoop with his girl; “just one!”
“Just one,” said the mother, putting her
head out of the bed-room window above,
“well, I guess it ain’t so late as that, but
it’s pretty near twelve, and you’d better be
going or her father will be down.”
And the lover took his leave with pain in
his heart.—Boston. Courier.
HOME, FARM AND GARDEN.
—Warm borax will remove dandruff
—Exchange
—Browa Bread: Two cups corn meal,
one cpp graham meal, one cup rye, two
cups sout milk, one of sweet, one cup
molasses, three small teaspoons soda.—
The Household.
—A ring of salt at a little distance
from a choice plant forms a barrier
which “a slug can no more cross than
a man could swim through an ocean of
fire.”— Christian at Work.
—Plants and beds of vegetables
should always be watered in the even
ing, after sunset, in preference to any
other time of the day; but especially
should watering plants ia the heat of
the day be avoided.— Troy Times.
—Successful strawberry culture de
mands a thorough cleaning of the beds
after bearing, and careful cultivation
during the remainder of the summer if
more than one crop is to be taken from
the same planting.—A r . _Y. Examiner.
—A statement in the Ontario Forestry
report shows that the right way to
transplant fine trees is to take them up
early in the spring and keep the roots
encased in a frozen ball of earth, to be
removed with the tree. Out of seven
hundred and fifty young pines moved in
this manner some years ago all but five
lived.
—When frosty nights approach we
often have one or two cold nights and
then a week or two of warm pleasant
weather; if squash vines bearin"
squashes that are almost matured, can
be protected through the first frosts,
they will mature their fruit in the sunny
days that follow.— lndianapolis Sen
tinel.
—Gardens have generally an excess
of coarse barn-yard manure and a de
ficiency of potash and phosphates.
Many garden piants, especially turnips
and cabbages,* will be greatly helped
in such gardens by substituting an ap
plication of phosphate for the usual
spring dressing of stable manure.—
Prairie Farmer.
—With a well cared for quince tree
there is no “off year.” Its golden fruit
is as certain to ripen as its season is to
return. But a well cared for tree is
not’a mass of bushes, and its roots have
been protected from the extremes of
heat and cold by mulching. Owing to
the tenderness of its roots, there is only
a limited area in which quinces can be
profitably grown. In places where ex
treme cold prevails in winter, with lit
tle snow, it does not pay to plant the
quince.— N. Y. Times.
—Veal chops prepared in this way
are excellent: Cut the chops from the
leg in pieces about four inches long,
half an inch thick and three inches
wide. Dip them into beaten egg; roll
in zwieback crumbs (bread dried in the
oven and finely grated or beaten in a
morlar) and fr/a delicate brown in
water or nice drippings. When done,
sprinkle a few drops of lemon-juice and
place a few capers on each; garnish
with slices of lemon and sprigs of pars
ley and serve hot.— Boston Globe.
—Potato Pudding -Sweet Pudding:
To one pound of mashed potatoes add
one-quarter pound of fresh butter,
stirred in while hot, one-quarter pound
of sugar, the rind of half a large, or
one small lemon, or some lemon flavor
ing, a little fincly-minccd candied peel,
two teacups of milk and four well-beat
en eggs; butter a tin,which should have
been closely lined with bread crumbs,
or, if you prefer them, with finely
chopped almonds and candied peel, snd
bake for half an hour. This quantity
makes a large pudding, sufficient for
six or eight— Philadelphia Call.
DISEASED COWS. 1
Milk From Them Not Proper to Be Used
in any Form.
A correspondent asks us if it is safe
to use the milk from a cow that has a
cough and appears to be in consump
tion. If she has consumption of the
lungs, her milk is disagreeable in flavor
and odor. That answers our correspond
ent’s question. But .it suggests the
question: how for is it safe to use the
milk of a cow that is sick? To say the
least sfleh use would be dangerous. It
is possible that milk of this character
may not make a person using it sick;
and yet it may do an injury that may
lead to serious results though they may
not be traceable to their cause. Noth
ing that is impure should go into the
stomach. Milk from a sick cow is im
pure. In fact the .milk is the first tning
to feel the effects of the sickness. The
sickness may be of a very mild charac
ter, just a little fever perhaps. But the
milk is affected. It is possible that
adults may use such milk and not suf
fer perceptibly from doing so. But if
an infant be fed upon it, it may die.
Thousands of children die every year
whose deaths may be traced to just
such a cause as this. Sometimes it ap
pears to be the notion of some people
that a cow’s milk is wholly independent
of the cow herself. The idea appears to
be that the milk is some kind of a for
eign formatter When we all get the
practical idea that the milk is made by
the cow, in her system, and is a part
of herself, we will be able to see that
what affects the cow will affect the
milk. As a matter of fact the cow can
not be out es health even in small de
grees without the milk being unhealthy,
and that fact ought to be recognized*
more fully than it is. There is no tell
ing what damage disease germs in milk
may produce in the human system.
So far as consumption is concerned,
it has been affirmed that it may be con
veyed to a human being through milk
that has come from a consumpt ve cow.
We are not prepared to say how true
that may be, but whether true or not
we can not take disease germs into our
systems with impunity. Avarice may
lead the milk seller to sell diseased
milk, and he should be heavily punished
for so doing. But we who keep
cows to furnish milkforhome consump
tion have not the excuse even of av
arice to offer for running the risk of
using such milk; at least avarice does
not play such a conspicuous part as it
does with the milk dealer. Farmers
ought to have the best food in the world,
and certainly ought not to consume any
article of food that is raised upon the
farm, about which the least suspicion
of impurity may cling. We ought to
treat ourselves well anyhow, remember
ing that good health is the best posses
sion that we can have, and that we can
retain it only by eating good food and
otherwise living properly. Western
Rural.
< •
Thte- Science of Feeding.
The scienco of feeding is one of the
most important studies for every per
son who is engaged in rearing live
stock, from poultry up to horses and
cattle. No other branch of agricultural
industry is more neglected than this,
and in no other is there more loss re
sulting from mistakes. It is not for
want of abundant means for learning
all about it. We have several good
manuals upon the subject. Prof. Orms
by and Prof. E. W. Stewart in their ex
cellent works have gathered a great
fund of all the most valuable scientific
and practical knowledge extant upon
this part of the farmers and breeders’
business. Agricultural writers who
have a practical experience are con
stantly referring to this matter, and do
so knowing from their own daily work
how highly important it is to know how
to feed, both to avoid wa«te of food
and injury to the stock. We can not
refrain from urging farmers to give
their best attention to this most inter
esting part of their business. —N. Y.
Times.
HAYING.
The Ancient and Modern Systems of Cut
ting Grass Contrasted.
There is scarcely any occupation that
has mdergune so great changes during
the p°riud of a generaticn as that of
baying. Many speak of the revolution
that has occurred in almost every kind
of manufacturing establishment by the
introduction of the various machines
that aro propelled by water or steam
power. But a greater change has oc
curred in the field where grass is cut
and cured for the support ot animals
during the winter. In almost all manu
facturing establishments some of the
hand tools that r. ere in use forty years
ago are still needed to do the work. In
the haying field, however, the work is
now performed by machines drawn or
operated by animals. On many largo
farms, where several hundred acres of
grass are harvested, not a hand-scythe
or rake can be found. Grass that can
not be cut with a mowing-machine is
left untouched. After the grass is cut
the tedder scatters it about or places it
where it will be in the best condition to
dry. When it is sufficiently cured the
horse-rake collects it into windrows.
On many farms all, or nearly all, the
pitching is done by machinery. The
labor is placed on animals to perform.
The machine has driven out of the hay
in" field all kinds of hand tools.
Not many years ago haxing was the
most laborious occupation on farms.
Now it is one of the lightest Then it
employed not only all the men and
boys on the places, but all that could
be procured in the neighboring villages.
Often many kinds of business were sus
pended to give the men an opportunity
to work in the haying field. They were
sure of receiving higher wages than
could be obtained in most other em
ployments, and ,of having a chance to
work while there was little going on in
towns. Not unfrequently women,
girls and children worked in the haying
fields. They spread out the green grass
from the swaths,turned it when dry, and
“followed the cart” that the men were
loading. It was generally necessary to
employ all the available help in the
neighborhood in order to secure the hay
crop in proper season. Haymakers
were obliged to work very long hours.
The mowers were expected to be up by
daylight and to be in the field before
sunrise. Time was often too precious
to admit of going to the farm-house to
obtain meals. Lunches and often din
ners were brought out for the men in
the fields, and supper was not eaten
until it was too dark to admit of work
ing. With the many laborers, the hard
work and the long hours, the haying
season was extended through fully two
months.
Haying has now become an easy oc
cupation, employing only the number
of men who ordinarily work on the
farm. Old men, women, girls and lit
tle boys are no longer seen in tho hay
ing field. There is nothing for them to
do. The hours for haying are no long
cr,| than those for planting or culti
vating. It is not necessary to cut grass
while the dew is on it because the work
is done easier. The machine and the
horses that draw it never complain of
being fatigued. Men engaged in haying
do not go to the field in the morning
twilight or remain till dusk. The cost
of hay machines has bcm greatly re
duced in places where improved ma
chinery can be employed to advantage.
In many parts of the West grass is cut,
cured in stack for seventy-five
cents per ton, although laborers receive
much higher wages than they did thirty
years ago. There is no longer trouble
in securing all the hay needed to keep
any amount of farm stock. Hay is so
easily put up in many places that farm
ers pay little attention to taking care of
straw or to saving corn fodder. They
raise no roots for stock food and sow
no rye for affording winter pasturage.
Scientific discovery and skill in the con
struction of labor saving machinery
have accomplished more in the haying
field than in the workshop.
In no respect has the condition of the
laborer been injured by the introduction
of machinery into the haying field. The
poets, novelists and painters find little
to admire in the haying field at the
present time. “I know nothing,”
writes *n English novelist, “so cheer
ful, so genial and yet so peace-bestow
ing, as the sound, in the first hours of
the morning, of the whetting of scythes.
It is the happy mean between utter
rural silence and the roar of the
crowded city; so exhilarating, so socia
ble and yet so undisturbing is its unaf
fected music. What a quiet, happy
laugh there is in it! What half-sub
dued humor, what friendly good nature!
The sound never ceased. Field after
field took up the magic morning music.
Sometimes it was played on a perfect
orchestra of instruments.” All the
pastoral poets from Virgil to Words
worth have sung of the merry haymak
ers. The painters of every land
have transferred the picturesque
scenes of the haying field
to canvas. They have shown the
mowers bending to their work, the boys
spreading out the grass to dry, the
women and girls, clad in scarlet frocks,
with gypsy bonnets on their heads, rak
ing the hay, and the strong men pitch
ing it on to carts. The building of the
stack has been the subject that has in
spired many painters. There is little
poetry or romance about the modern
haying field. Everything pertaining to
the picturesque has departed, never to
return. Every machine designed to do
a large amount of labor in a short time
is, in the nature of things, prosaic. It
is only suggestive of gain, and any
money-getting employment is unpoet
ical. The losses that have been sus
tained by the introduction of machinery
into the haying field have, however,
been very small compared with the
gains. Cheap and abundant hay amply
compensates for the loss of a few pict
uresque scenes and a little poetic senti
ment.—Chicago Times.
Shad in the Columbia River.
There has been some doubt expressed
in several quarters as to whether the
shad caught in the Columbia River
were true shad, and descendants of
those planted in California waters some
years since. One reason for the doubt
was that while the shad in California
have attaned their full growth, weigh
ing six pounds or more, the shad
caught in the Columbia this season
were, with few exceptions, no lunger
than those caught last year, and very
few of them weighed over two pounds.
It has, however, been established be
yond doubt that the shad caught in the
Columbia River are real shad. The
Oregonian is in receipt of a communi
cation from Hon. Spencer F. Baird,
United States Commissioner of Fish
eries, stating that several samples of
the fish in question have been received
by him, from examination of which he
has been enabled to determ’ne the facts
in the case, and that there is no doubt
whatever as to the occurrence of shad
in the Columbia River. This settles the
matter, and we shall hereafter be {en
abled to wre-tle with the bones in these
fish with more complacency. — Portland
Oregonian.
—Jones—Ah, I see by the paper that
the serpent has been seen again off
Long Bcaneh. Brown—ls that so?
Jones—Yes; and the paper say*- too,
that the party that -aw the monster was
composed of truthful and sober citizens.
Now, what do you think of that? Brown
—Well, I don’t know. I don't see that
you can account for it excepting in one
way: that some of the party were truth
fid and all the rest were sober.—Som
erville Journal.
TEMPERAXCE KEADINfI.
A JUDGE’S REBUKE.
What He Said When Passing; Sentence
Upon Violators of the Laws of the
State.
Hon. F. M. Hubbard, District Judge
of the Eighth Judicial District of lowa,
in passing sentence upon some liquor
dealers for violation of the Prohibitory
laws of the State, said:
“While there are greater crimes
known to the law which are punishable
with great severity, there are none
which involve more of those qualities
known as despicable meanness and
audacity than the selling of intoxicat
ing liquors. There is something in tho
taking of human life so instantaneous
that it shocks and terrifies the minds of
all; and yet we look upon the jnan who
takes human life quite as surely, but
by a slow, lingering process, if not
without condemnation, at least without
horror. You who stand before the
court for sentence are in every moral
sense murderers, and you are within
the spirit, if not the letter, guilty of
manslaughter; for the law says ’that
whoever accelerates the death of a hu
man being unlawfully is guilty of the
crime. Your bloated victims upon the
witness stand, and who undoubtedly
committed perjury to screen you from
the law, not only abundantly testify
that you are accelerating death, but
that you are inducing men to commit
Istill greater crimes than your own. You
still maintain the appearance of re
spectability, tut how morally leprous
and scrofulous you are inwardly. The
ruin, poverty and idleness which you
are inflicting upon this community de
clare as from the housetops that you
.are living in idleness and eatin" the
bread of orphans watered with widows’
tears; you are stealthily killing your
victims, and murdering the peace and
industry of the community, and there
by converting happy, industrious
homes into misery, poverty, and rags.
Anxious wives and mothers watch and
pray in tears nightly, with desolate
hearts, for the coming home of your
victims, whom you are luring with tho
wiles and smiles of the devil into mid
night debauchery.
“One can have no adequate concep
tion of a cataract until he has seen
Niagara, nor of the terrible fury and
grandeur of a storm in mid-ocean until
he has witnessed one; so no one can
■ know the utter degradation and total
(depravity to which his species can be
brought until he looks upon the deso
late ruin caused by your hellish traffic.
You are pers'stent, defiant law-break
ers, and shamelessly boast that in defi
ance of the law and moral sense of the
community you will continue in your
wicked and criminal practices. It has,
therefore, now become the imperative
duty of this court to let fall upon you
so heavily the arm of the law that
,you shall either be driven from your
nefarious traffic, or ruined in your
fortunes or wicked prosperity. You
have become a stench to the
nostrils of the community, and all
good men are praying that you be
speedily reformed or summarily de
stroyed. By the providence of God and
the favor of this court these prayers
:Shall be speedily answered by signal
and exact justice for your crimes. And
finally, let me entreat you, if you arc
not lost to every sentiment of humanity,
to desist from your criminal vagabond
traffic and betake yourselves to some
honest calling for a livelihood, that
you may yet become virtuous, useful
citizens and entitled to the respect of a
Christian community. If you persist
,in this way, your ruin is certain, and
you will receive, as you deserve, the
execration of mankind. You nfay
think that the sentence of the court is
harsh and unjustly severe, but the court
assures you that, compared with your
crimes and the desolation you have al
ready brought upon the community, it
is mild in the extreme.”
THE DRINK CURSE.
A Broken-Hearted Wife Whose Husband
lias Become Like an Untamed Beast.
Not many years ago a young man
of the highest promise and bearing an
honored name, h's profession being
that of a lawyer, united in marriage
with one of the loveliest of her sex.
.Every one present at the wedding feast
remarked: “What a brilliant future.”
Nothing seemed wanting to complete
his worldly bliss. But, alas! intem-
Iperance came like a thief in the nig'ut
time (for he was a secret drinker at
(first) and robbed him of his honor, h's
(eloquence, and gradually transformed
him into a fiend, and his beautiful
wife, with ill-disguised fear, watched
and waited for the coming of her lost
loved one, striving by every skillful de
vice imaginable to shield him from the
unfeeling world. Only a few days ago,
I received a letter (we were school
mates) written by her own hand, and
(her words of intense suffering and
:despair haunt me:
j “My friend, my heart is broken. My
once kind husband is no longer a man
(of feeling. His actions remind me ot
an untamed beast in &ur little poverty
-stricken home. What shall I do; oh!
■what shall I do?”
Ah! Men in their daily walks of life
•know but very little in regard to the
, worst features of intemperance. It is
the poor wife who must witness its hor
rors and endure its curse.
Look at the young men of to-day,
wearing the flushed cheek. Notice,
too, their nervous, unsteady baud and
observe their watery eyes—a sufficient
proof of the use of intoxicating liquors,
which is slowly but surely doing its
deadly work.
Statistics show that the amount of
(mortality among persons of intemper
ate habits is ten times greater than that
of the temperate community. But the
persuasive voice of temptation has only
to be heard: “Come, boys, let us take
a drink.” Ah! young men, pause in
your downward course.— Eunice But
ler, in Louisville Courier-Journal.
■ *< ♦
Hints for Temperance Teachers.
In view of the fact that this especial
editorial “we” has spent her life in
public schoofwork, it may not be con
sidered out of place for her to suggest
here some general principles which
should govern in Temperance teaching.
1. Commence with simple, well
known effects of alcohol, like the stag
gering gait and uncertain movements,
explain these physiologically.
2. Proceed from undisputed effects,
gradually, to those not so generally ac
knowledged.
3. State no fact for which you can
not give unquestionable authority.
4. Avoid personal and political allu
sions.
5. Remember your work is not to
teach the evils resulting from dram
selling, but the physiological effects of
dram drinking, and the use of narcotics.
6. It is entirely within your province
to study the effects of the drink habit
upon the industries of the State, upon
crime, pauperism, insanity, idiocy, etc.
7. Adapt your teaching to the age
and intelligence of your pupils.
8. Proceed systematically and review
thoroughly.
9. Fix th * fundamental facts in the
minds of even little children. You do
not know how long they may be with
you.— Union Signal.
- »
France is waking up to the Tem
perance reform. Its frugal people are
made paupers at altogether too rapid
a rate by the cases and cabarets, which
average one to each one hundred and
five people throughout the country.