The Penn's Grove record. [volume], January 14, 1882, Image 1

About The Penn's Grove record. [volume] (Penn's Grove, Salem Co., N.J.) 1878-????

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fp)g ffienn^ §tobt Hecarfo.
JAMES W. LAUGHLIN, Editor and Publisher.
Entered at the Poet-oflee at Peaa'a Brava, Salem County, H. I., for tranemleelon through the mailt at tecond-clate matter.
VOLUME IV.
TERMSOne Dollar per Year.
1’IUN’S GROVE, SALEM COUNTY, N. J„ SATURDAY. JANUARY 14, 1882.
NUMBER 23.
frinOR ATWOOD.
A.
Attorney & Counsellor At Law
619 Walnut St, Philadelphia.
•S’- PRACTICES IN ACL THE COURTS
OF NEW JERSEY.
D'
^R. H. M. FLANAGIN,
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON,
■AM STREET,
Penni|r*T«.
jQR H. JOHNSON,
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON,
fBDBICKTOWW, N. J.
yy F. YEAGER,
Tonsorial Artist.
•haring, H*ir Gutting usd 8hampeoing
Orer Laytonl MeM Market,
MAIM BTBEET,.PBNNBGROV1.
JAMES P. BUTLER it SON,
Masons & Plasterers,
MAIN STREET. abT CnleH Csrner,
PENNSGROVE.
M
pj
AH LON ADAMS,
'ANN eTRKBT, .bore Battel Ob are A.
Groceries, Flour. Meal.
AND MOTIONS QKUKRALLT.
rue only place In ton where yon can KM
PUKB WHITE WINS VINIOAA
rp B. PAULLIN,
WHEELWRIGHT
AMD
CAKRIAOE BUIIaDBl
Corner Pan. and HaaMOXT streeta.
PUNNSOROVA
TORN HINIMIER,
BOOT & SHOE MAKER,
Repairing promptly attended to.
FKNN BTKKET, adjoining Bethel Otourch,
PRHFflUBOTB.
JOS. A. ROBBINS,
Manufacturer oi and Dealer In
HARNESS, SADDLES,
COLLARS, WHIPS, BRIDLES.
BLANKETS, LAP ROBES, *0.,
JIAIN Street, PENMSGBOYE,
Repairing Promptly Attended t%
m~ Tbe Celebrated Tmi.b Oil larama
Blacking lor Bala.
LEMUEL COCHRAN.
Black.' mi tU
Horso-Shocr,
PERN STREET.
A^Ji.Inlng tic® Wiie.'lw.'fglit'.
PKNSSOKOVK
BOWKS & DKNSKY.
Carpenlers k Buildert.
(miimilM (|T«U ud (tpfflflratloii
Uitile out free of chare*.
root of HARMONY Street.
rENI'SQROVK,
IIENRY BARBER.
CO A Lifii
AND
LIME DEALER
Foot of Harmony Street,
PENNSGKOVE.
(5. P. SOMERS.
PAINTER & GRAINER.
HARMONY STREET,
Pounsgrove.
r*tli»ntec hicea fre*.
H. H. DEGROFFT
JUSTICE OF THE PEACE,
REAL ESTATE AGERT,
and
Conveyancer.
All collections at I toiled to and pay
ments promptly made.
OFFICE IN anil. STORY OFKUMMI
BlILDIHa,
MAIN STREET,
PENN’S SHOVE, N. J*
CHAS. AY. CABLE.
House & Sign Fainter.
Main Street,
PENNSGROVE.
Rejoioa.
I.
Prom out my deep, wlde-boeomed Went,
Where unnamed heroes hew the way
For worlds to folio*, with stern seat;
Where gnarled old maples make array.
Deep-scarred from red men gone to rest;
Where pipes the quail, where squirrels
play
Through tossing trees with nuts for toy,
A boy steps forth, clear-eyed and tall,
A bashful boy, a soulful boy,
Yet comely as the sous of Saul—•
A boy, all friendless, poor, unknown.
Yet heir apparent to a throne.
II.
Lo! Freedom’s bleeding sacrifice!
Ho like some tall oak tempest-blown,
Beside the storied stream he lies,
Now at the last, pale-browed and prone.
A nation kneels with streaming eyes;
A nation supplicates the Throne;
A nation holds him by the band;
A nation sobs aloud at this.
The only dry eyes in the land.
Now at the last, I think are his.
Why we should pray, God knoweth best.
That this grand, patient soul should rest.
III.
The world Is round. The wheel has run
Full circle. Now, behold a grave
Beneath the old, loved trees is done.
The druid oaks lift up and wave
A solemn welcome back. The brave
Old maples murmur, every one,
“Receive him Earth!** la center land,
As In the center of each heart—
As In th»- hollow of God’s band—
The coffin sinks. And with It part
All party hate*! Now, not in vain
He bore his peril and bard pain.
IV.
Therefore, I say,rejoice! I say
The lesson of uis life was much—
This boy that won, as In a day,
The world's heart utterly—a touoh
01 tenderness and tears; the page
Of history grows rich Irorn such ;
His name the nation’s heritage.
But O! as some sweet angel’s voice,
Hpake this brave death, that touched us all
Therefore, I say, rejoice! reloice 1
Run high the flags! Put by the pall!
Lo! all Is for the best for all!
—Joaquin Miller.
Laburnums' Ghost.
“ Wliy do you not ievite your hum
ble servant to the Laburnums, Fan ?”
aai ed pretty Raphael]* Fairlie.
“ Because it is so lonely (here,
Rae.”
“ For that reason, 1 shall come ami
keep you company fer a whole week,
just ss soon ss cun get away from
the city. I knew you and Phil were
moping.”
A sudden gravity went over Fanny
Brudenel’s gentle countenance, yet
her eyes brightened expectantly.
“ I should love to have you there,
of course,” she said.
When the train time came, and
Fannie had left Rae's pretty studio,
and the city, the little artist still sat,
daintily touching the photographs she
was coloring, and evidently closely
thinking of something else. She was
not sure that Dr. Philip Brudenel
would exactly approve of her going to
the Laburnums, but she meant to go,
for all that, for she loved him, and she
could plainly see that he had cares
and pirplexities of which she knew
nothing. And though they had been
ngtiged over a year, he made no pro
posal of marrying soon, but loiked
moody when the subject was men
tioned. Kae so enjoyed his company,
that she could live with him in the
black hole of Calcutta, she declared to
herself, but probably Philip did not
think so. Anyhow, she was going to
the Laburnums, his home, at Low
shore, because she felt that her love
gave her a right to *;now what was
disturbing him.
Ten days later she locked her studio
door and took the train to Lowshore,
and soon the depot carriage had set
her down at the door of a tiny cottage,
bid in laburnums.
Faunie kissed her affectionately.
“ What a delightful apparition you
are, Rae,” she said, and led her into a
little sitting room.
Everything was very plain and very
tidy, Rae thought, accustomed to city
apartments ; and, when Fannie had
taken her hat and traveling-satchel,
and gone to spread a lunch for her,
Rae looked around and saw that the
carpet was threadbare, and the furni
ture extremely old-fashioned. (Sud
denly a door opened, and an old lady,
leaning on a cane, tottered into the
room. Her face, bordered by a snowy
cap, had a strange, puffy look, hut yet
she showed signs of having been pretty
in youth.
“"What are you?” she asked Rae ;
"a fairy? Do you think you can bet
ter our fallen fortunes. No, no; that
can never be. ”
Rae's cheeks burned, under the
strangely significant words, but she
guessed, immediately, that the old
lady’s mind was wandering; then
Fannie entered the room.
“ Come, mother, come and rest
now,” she said gently, and drew her
from the room. She came back, say
ing to Rae, “ My mother is demented.
Do not be troubled by anything she
says."
It was evening when Dr. Philip
brought bis fine presence into the
home. His start of delight, on seeing
Rae, was succeeded by a rather sad
smile.
“ What pleasure did you expect to
find here, dear child ?” he asked,
holding her hand.
“ Perhaps i did not come altogether
for pleasure, Philip.”
“ For what then ?"
“ Profit.”
“ V find very little of that here."
| Two days passed. Rae saw, plainly,
what lift was at the Laburnums—mo
notonous, meagre; but ever since
Philip first brought his sister to her
studio, Rae had loved Fannie, who
was older than herself, and patiently
becoming one of the sweetest of old
maids. 80 she enjoyed sisterly talks
with Fannie. Philip was absent moet
of the time. In one of these talks,
Fannie said :
“ You ought to havs come in tha
early autumn, Bar; It is prettier here
then. In November we have nothing
attractive. I havie often expressed
the wish to Philipp to have you visit
us ; but he always speaks of the con
trast between your life and ours : you
in the city, with access to so much
that is entertaining, and we shut out
from the world. But because it is
you, I think, Rae, I will show you
the house in the hollow.”
"The house in the hollow, Fan ?”
“ Yes, our ancestral home; for
Philip and I came of a prosperous
race, poor as we now are, and the old
house is full of wh-1 is beautiful and
rare. Get your hat, and we will go
now.”
Through long lines of laburnums,
across a tiny kitchen garden, along a
decaying orchard, into a slope still
green in the November sunshine. At
one end of the valley, which opened
toward the sea, stood a large and
handsome house of painted brick,
with oriel windows, aud other pictur
esque effects.
"It is not an old house," said Fan
nie. “ It was built by my grand
father, in his last days, as a wedding
present to my mother. The old
house, which formerly stood here, he
had pulled down and this one built.
He meant to reside with his only
daughter, when she married Israel
Beaucaire, a French Jew, whom he
had chosen for her. But my mother
fell In love with her music teacher,
Ross Brudeuel, and eloped with him,
and grandfather forbade her to return.
But when Philip and I were father
less, my mother came, in her great
extremity, and begged her father’s
assistance. Grandfather gave her
this cottage we have now, and a small
income, with which to bring us up,
but never forgave her. At last he
died, willing all his property to a dis
tant cousin in India, who has never
come for it. The house stands empty,
with all its beautiful furniture, and
the rich fields lie fallow, while Philip
barely supports us, with his small
practice. Lowsliore Is a most dis
tressingly healthy place,” with a
faint smile.
mere are uiousanas oi aonars
worth of silver in the bank, at Shore
borough,” Baid Fannie, “aud rente
accumulating which will be a small
fortune. But we have nothing.”
“ How hard ! how cruel!" eried
Rae. “ I should not think your grand
father could rest in his grave, to have
you and Philip, with your refinement
and culture, spending your lives in a
hand-to-hand scramble for bread.”
“ They say he does come back, and
wander uneasily about here.” said
Fannie, carefully closing the shutters
and door, and coming out into the
sunshiue. ” But, of course, such sto
ries are told of all such residences.
Philip says he does not believe a word
of it,” with a marked emphasis which
made Rae turn and look at her.
“ But you do, Fan.”
“ Twice people have tried to sleep
there, and declared that grandfather
appeared to them. 1 should not dare
to try it, for I am a timorous thing at
best, and—”
The intensity of Roe’s thoughts
made her quite deaf to what further
her companion was saying. No won
der Philip was sad and hopeless of
their marriage, as he was situated,
and seemed fated to continue to be.
“ The will was made immediately
after mamma’s marriage,” said Fan
nie, standing under the laburnums,
and looking up at the great house.
“ Poor mother says he told her, on
his death bed, that he made another
will, perhaps in her favor. But what
she says goes for little. Her state is a
very strange one, smut; a itver sue
bad, just after Philip became of age,
yet she seems to understand some
things, in our aifairs, that we do not
understand till afterward. It is almost
uncanny, to think over the strange
knowledge she has had during these
past years,” said Fannie, musingly.
They walked back to the tiny cot
tage. Itae's vein9 thrilled with ex
citement, but Fannie went soberly
about getting tea, for they kept no
maid, this poor, disinherited family,
and Rae learned that Philip’s own
hands tilled the little kitchen garden,
while every labor of the household
was performed by Fannie.
Bhe could not sleep that night, after
she had gone to bed. The moonlight
seemed to disturb her, and make her
brain wildly active. What influence
strung her nerves? For, when all
was still, and the night far advanced,
she rose, and dressing, donned a warm
sealskin cap and sack, and came out
into the hall. She took a bunch of
keys from their nail, and selecting
one, which she had seen Fannie take,
held it tightly In her slim, white fin
gers, as she went out into the night.
In the moon’s white light, she went
on through the long line of labur
nums, across the tiny kitchen garden,
into the hollow. Bhe stood a moment,
before the great still house, listening
to the roar of the sea. Btrangely
enough, she did not feel afraid. If
she thought of the presence of an un
seen spirit, it was to appeal to it pray
erfully for help.
Another will. It must be. At least
it would do no harm to search, and
that is what she had come for. She
left the hall doer open, and the moon
light flooded the tiled hall. It
streamed through the chinks of the
shutters, which she open cal one by
one, as she fitted keys to drawers of
all kinds. But there were no papers
anywhere. Many things which must
have been the property of the old
’squire, she found, but not his will.
“Oh, if I only could; if I only
eould, it would restore Philip to his
inheritance,” she said, in a sad voice.
Rat, tat, tat—the sound of a cane on
the floor. Ra# turned— for the first
time her eyes wide with fright. The
enthusiasm with which she had
tertained her purpose, had made her
utterly forgetful of herself. Now
some one was coming. The door
Rwung slowly on Its tarnished silver
hinges. A quaint, bent little figure,
leaning on a cane, came into the room,
and paused beside a handsome, carved
armchair which stood before a table.
Lifting the cane, the bent old woman
knocked smartly, thrice, on the seat
of this chair, filling the room with a
hollow sound, then resuming her fee
ble walk, shepasBed out *f the apart
ment by another door.
Trembling. Rae approached the
aimchair. The blows of the cane
seemed to have broken the seat, for it
was awry, plainly revealing a cavity
beneath. Turning the chair to the
light, Rae looked within, and saw
distinctly a folded paper. It was a
large sheet, yellow, and thick as vel
lum. Her hands trembled, as she un
folded it and read : “ My last will and
testament,” and It dropped to the
floor. Snatching it up. she ran swiftly
out of the house, and flew to Fannie’s
door.
“ I have found it; I have found it!”
she cried as she threw her arms
around the amazed, white-robed figure
that admitted her to Fannie’s cham
ber.
“Founu what? Are you sick?
Areyou crazy?” asked Fannie.
“The other will—in an old arm
chair, in the house in the hollow. A
ghost showed it to me!” said Rae,
holding the paper up.
There was a knock at the door.
“Sister, what is the matter? What
disturbs the house?"
It was Philip’s voice.
“I have found the will! Come in
and see it!” cried Rae.
8he lighted a lamp, and gave him
the paper. He was forced to read.
81 niggling for calmness as he pro
ceeded, he read to the end. Yes, late,
but r ot too late, the precious docu
men: was found, the second will of
Paul H'-amcomb, bequeathing all be
had 10 his grandchildren.
In the exciting talk that followed,
no one heard a slender cane go rat,
tat, tat, past the door, but when morn
ing dawned, and Fannie bestirred
b rself to get breakfast, she went,
first, to her mother's room.
“ Philip,” she said, coming bad;,
“ mother has had one of her bad
nights again. She has been up and
away. I must have slept more
soundly than usual ; she never eluded
me before. She is very much ex
h listed.”
Philip went, instantly, to attend hie
n other. When, the next day, she
seemed res'ored to her ’wonted condi
tion, and Rue had minutely told her
story, they questioned the invalid,
and tried to discover if she had any
knowledge of the hiding place of
the will. But nothing could be
gained from her disordered mind.
“ How dared you go on such an ex
pedition, to that lonely place, at such
an hour, Uae?” asked Philip, the
next day, when, embraced by his
arm, she had talked over with him
the prospect of their immediate
union.
“ I was inspired,” she answered,
laughing; but a look of awe came
into her beautiful eyes. Then, as she
remembered that strange night, she
gently embraced him, adding :
“All for love, Philip. It was done
all for love.”
Scent of Dogs.
Dogs not only smell odors in an
occasional way, but they likewise
seem to extract a recognizable odor
from almost everything, as Professor
Groom Robertson also suggests:
Anacharist knows me when I am
dressed in clothes he never saw before,
by his nose alone. Let me get myself
up in a theatrical costume, and cover
my face with a mask, yet he will ree
ognize me at once by some, to us,
undiscoverable perfume. Moreover,
he will recognize the same odor, as
clinging to my clothes after they have
been taken off.
If I shy a pebble on the beach, he
can pick out the identical pebble
amongst a thousand. Even the very
ground on which I have trodden, re
mains to him a faint memento of my
presence for hours afterward.
The bloodhound can track a human
scent a week old, which argues a
delicacy of nose almost incredible to
human nostrils.
Similarly, too, If you watch Anach
arist at this mement, you will see that
he runs up and down the path, sniff
ing away at every stick, stone and
plant, as though he got a separate and
distinguishable scent out of every one
of them.
And so he must, no doubt; for If
even the earth keeps a perfume of the
person who has walked over it hours
before, surely every object aliout u
must have some faint smell or other
eitber of itself or of objects which
have touched it.
When we remember that a single
grain of musk will scent hundreds of
handkerchiefs, so as to be recognizable
even by our defective organs of smell,
there is nothing extravagant in the
idea that passing creatures may leave
traces, discoverable by keener senses,
»n all the pebbles aud straws which
lie across the road.
Thus the smells which make up
half of the dog’s picture of the uni
verse are probably just as continuous
and distinct as the eights which make
up the whole picture in our own case,
and which doubtless coalesce with the
other half in the canine mind.
—A fashion magazine says: “Steel
trimmings are no longer the style.’
That settles it. Lay aside your bowie
knives.
Laugh More.
Mothers do not laugh enough. The
housekeeping Is so onerous, the chil
dren, so often, trying to nerves and
temper, the servants most exaspera
ting, and even John, kind, good hus
band that he is, cannot understand ail
our vexations and discouragements,
and so wearied do we often feel, that
it is too much for the household to
depend on us, in addition to all our
cares, for social sunshine as well.
Yet the household does, and it must.
Father may be bright and cheery, his
laugh ring out, but if the mothei’s
laugh fails, even the father’s cheer
fulness seems to lose much of its infec
tion. In the sad but forcible lines of
one of Joanna Baillle’s dramas
Her little child had osugbl the trick of grief,
And Ighed amid its plaything*—
we may catch a glimpse of the stern
repressed life at Bothwell Manse,
where “ the repression of all emotions,
even the gentlest, seems to have been
the constant lesson.” I remember
well, hearing a lady say: “When a
child, I used to wish so often that my
mother would look cheerful.”
Then laugh, mother, even if you do
feel almost too weary to exert the fa
cial muscles, and you have to make a
pitiful effort, which comes nigh
bringing tears instead of a laugh.
You will feel better for the effort, and
so will the children. The little ones,
unconsciously to you aud themselves,
are catching the very phases of coun
tenance, which will go far to brighten
or cloud some future home.
Then laugh,mother; parlor, nursery
and kitchen ail feel the effect of your
smile or frown. The cheery laugh of
t mother goes down through genera
tions, as well as her frown. And
when the mother’s eyes are closed,
aud lips and hands forever still, there
is no sweeter epitaph, which children
and friends can give, thau: “ She was
always bright and cheerful.”
Superstitious.
In many portions of England, the
old superstitions are still in vogue. A
friend, now traveling abroad, sends us
some instances.
One of his companions, a lady, who
was temporarily staying near Pen
zance, Cornwall, attended a funeral,
and noticed that, while the clergy man
was reading the burial service, a
woman forced her way through the
pall-bearers, to the edge of the grave.
When he came to the passage, “ Earth
to earth, ashes to ashes, duet to dust, ”
she dropped a white cloth upon the
coffin, closed her eyes, and apparently
said a prayer.
On making inquiries as to the cause
of this proceeding, this lady found
that a superstition exists, among the
peasants In that part, if a person with
a sore be taken secretly to a corpse, the
dead hand passed over the sore place,
and the bandage afterward dropped
upon the coffin, daring the read
ing of the burial service, perfect cure
will be the result. This woman had a
sick child, who had a bad leg, aad she
had followed this superstition, with a
tirm belief in its efficacy. The peasants
also, to the present day, as we have
been informed, wear charms, believ
ing they will protect them from sick
ness and other evils. The wife of the
clergyman of the parish referred to,
was very charitable in attending the
sick and dispensing medicine, and
one day a woman brought her child,
having sore eyes, to have them
•‘■•harmed,” having more faith in
that remedy than in medicines. She
was greatly surprised to find that med
icines only were given to her.
The Secret of Longevity
The means known, so far, of pro
moting longevity, have been usually
concentrated in short, pithy sayings,
as, “ Keep your head cool, and your
feet warm,” “ Work much, and eat
little,” etc.; just as If the whole
science of human life could be
summed up and brought out in a few
words, while its greatest principles
were kept out of sight.
One of the best of these sayings Is
given by an Italian, in his one hun
dred and sixteenth year, who, being
asked the means of his living so long,
replied with that improvisation for
which his country is remarkable:
When hungry, of the beet I eat,
And dry and warm 1 keep my feet;
I screen my head from eun and rain,
And let few cares perplex my brain.
The following is about the best
theory of the matter. Every man is
born with a certain stock of vitality,
which stock cannot be increased, but
msy be husbanded. With this stock
he may live fast or slow; may live
extens' vely or intensively; may
draw uls little amount of life over a
large space, or narrow it into a con
centrated one; but when his stock is
exhausted he has no more.
Ue who lives extensively, who
drinks pure water, avoids all inflam
matory diseases, exercises sufficiently,
but not too laboriously, indulges no
exuausting passions, feeds on no excit
ing material, pursues no debilitating
pleasures, avoids all laborious and
protracted study, preserves an easy
mind, and thus husbands his quan
tum of vitality, will live considerably
longer than he otherwise would do,
because he lives slow ; while he, on
the other hand, who lives intensively,
who beverages himself on liquors and
wines, exposes himseli to inflamma
tory diseases or causes that produce
tnem, labors beyond his strength,
visits exciting scenes, and indulges
exhausting passions, lives on stimulat
ing and highly seasoned food, Is
always debilitated by his pleasures.
Ouk lives should be like snow
fleldi, where our footsteps leave a
trace, but not a stain.
A Remarkable Star.
Heveral correspondents have lately
inquired about a reappearance of the
»o-called starof Bethlehem. Home have
mistaken the planet Jupiter for this
phenomenon. It seems to tie thought
that a reappearance of this star must
tie one of the wonders of the year
We once told tlie story of a star that
astronomers sometimes call Tycho
Brahe’s star, and which has been
ancifuily dut bed the Htar of Bethle
hem.
In the year 1572, Tycho Brahe, the
most famous astronomer of his time,
on going out to walk, one evening,
was astonished to see a splendid star
blazing in the constellation Cassiopeia,
where he knew no such star had been
before. It was first seen by some
wagoners driving their teams along
the country road at night. For three
weeks it outshone all the other stars
in the sky, and exhibited, by turns, a
variety of brilliant colors. Then it
began to fade, aud in sixteen months
disappeared. It has never been seen
since, although a small star was dis
covered, about fifteen years ago, near
the same spot.
In looking over the records of astro
nomical observations, it was found
that a new star had suddenly ap
peared, near the same place, in the
year 1264. The theory was then
formed that this might lie a variable
star, with a period of over 300 years
between its maxima. Further re
search brought to light records of the
appearance of a similar star iu that
part of the sky in the year 945.
There is a discrepancy of eleven
years between the two periods, but
this did not prevent somebody from
calculating the supposed series of
appearances back, and thereupon, an
nouncing that the star must have ap
peared at the time of the birth of
Christ. Jerome Cardan, the astrolo
ger, was one of the first who sought to
identify this phenomenon with the
star that served the wise men of the
East as a guide, to the manger in
which the Haviour lay. It was called
the Pilerim.
The constellation Cassiopeia, at this
season, is nearly in the zenith early in
the evening. It occupied the eauie
position when Tycbo Brahe flrBt
caught sight of the wonderful star.
The constellation may he recognized
by its five principal stars. They form
a figure resembling the letter W.
The new star appeared opposite the
right-hand opening of the letter. The
observer should not be mislead by
some small stars, in that ne.*gh bor
hood, which are easily seen with the
naked eye.
The star that is said to occupy nearly
the place of the phenomenon of 1572,
is only visible in telescopes. If this
is a variable star, with a period vary
ing between 308 and 319 years, it may
be expected to blaze out again, at any
time between now and 1891.
The Universal Language.
A literary journal of New York, re
cently had this paragraph :
The English language is no w spoken
by over 100,000,000 people, while
neither the French nor German can
claim 50,000,01X1. Mr. Walter, edito
of the London Timet, concedes that
the United States will have a popula
tion of 200,000,000 in the year 2000 A.
D., and this estimate is in accordance
with those of other statisticians. Eng
lish certainly has a good prospect of
reaching the preeminence once occu
pied by the Latin or Greek, as an uni
versal language.
From the standpoint of the English
speaking race, all this appears well
founded. But it is vehemently dis
puted by the French and German—
by the former, on the score of collo
quial excellence of their language,
which has constituted it the medium
of diplomatic communication all over
the world, and by the latter, on the
ground that the language of Luther,
Goethe, and Humboldt, is the cos
mopolitan vehicle of all philosophical
and literary expression.
To this it may be replied, that the
English language is emphatically the
language of commerce. It has been
asserted, without contradiction, that a
man may transact business in the
English tongue in every trade-centre
in the world. All large business
houses In non-English countries have
an English-speaking clerk or corres
pondent, as a necessity. As a matter
of fact, it is further affirmed, that no
one speaking only English, can “stop
at” any hotel in the civilized world, of
any consequence, without finding
some one who can understand and
interpret bis orders for service.—Phil
adelphia Daily Day.
Vera Cruz.
& City Where Grace Growe la the Street!.
W. H. Bishop, writing of the City
of Vera Cruz, says- The elty itself,
compart and solid, with a line of
domes and steeples blackened with
time, roofs of substantial tsd tiles,
plentiful balconies, and bits of wall
tinted blue, green and pink, is a little
like Venice. A large crane hangs out
from the end of an iron pier, and the
fancy hooks on to it at once, the ter
minus of the English railway which
is to bear us away up the extraordi
nary slopes, from the hot lands, the
tierrat calientet, to the mysterious
Interior and the capital.
In an existence of going on four
hundred years, Vera Cruz has arrived
at a population of seventeen thousand.
The interior view of the place does
aot belie the promise of the first
glimpse. Tke churches are of Irregu
lar, picturesque shapes, with nice
I bells. The principal one, In a little
shaded plaza, has a dome of colored
mosaic tiles, which shine in the sun:
a style we shall see plenty of farthei
on.
The principle shops have a well
furnished air, especially in the
branches of groceries snd heavy hard
ware, and the custom-house square is
stuffed to repletion with cotton bales,
railroad iron, and miscellaneous goods
waiting transportation. The princi
pal street is cal led de la Independencia,
and leads to a short concrete prome
nade, l(ordered with stone lynches
and palm-trees.
It is early discovered that (lie
Mexican is very patriotic. He names
his streets after his battles, as particu
larly the Cinco de Mayo, fought at
Puebla against the French, and even
has a way of joining the names of his
heroes to those of cities. Thus Puebla
is Puebla de Zaradozn, commandant
in the same great battle of the flfih of
May, and Oaxaca is Oaxaca of (Presi
dent) Juarez.
Grass grows in the joints of the
stones in the minor streets, and open
gutters run in the centre. The zojti
loles, of which travelers have written,
sit on long, straight waterspouts pro
jecting from the houses. They are
large, raven black, dignified, and aloft
there against tfce deep blue sky, have
an appearance of carved architectural
ornaments. There are street-cleaning
departments elsewhere which are far
less ornamental at any rate.
Notices of a bull fight for the com
ing Sunday are posted on the dead
walls. A tram-car of a peculiar pattern
runs out iu the open fields, where
there is a dancing place and ball
ground. There is a view, In passing,
of the cemetery, which should be a
leading institution indeed at Vera
Cruz; and yet when one is on the
ground, as is apt to be the case, there
are mitigations to be found, even of
the terrors of yellow fever.
Pall-bearers in gloomy weeds are
naturally expected to form a consider
able part of the population, just as
murderers and kidnappers of all sorts
are expected to abound elsewhere.
But an American resident assured me
that in four years he had known but
one of our countrymen to die of the
vomito, as it is called, and very few to
have it. Its chief havoc is among the
poor and badly nourished.
The American Consul, himself a
physician, and a resident of twelve
years’ standing, is strenuous in his
views as to the harm done to the com
mercial interests of both countries by
ignorance and misrepresentations on
the subject. It is certain that the
locil authorities do not regard the
disease as contagious, putting those
afflicted side by side with surgical
patients in the hospital; fxpm which
it seems that if the case were r< ally
looked into, there may be as little
need of the annoying quarantine
against yellow fever, at least of this
variety, as if it were simple ague.
A Test of Innocence.
A poor, pale seamstress was ar
raigned for theft, in Paris. She ap
peared at the bar, with hsr baby of
eleven months on her arm. She went
to get some work one day, and stole
three gold coins, of ten francs each.
The money was missed soon after she
left her employer, and a servant was
sent to her room to claim it. The ser
vant found her about to quit the room,
with the three gold pieces in her
hand. She said to the servant I
am going to carry them back to you.”,
Nevertheless she was carried to the
Commis ioner of Police, and he or
dered her to be sent to the Police
Court for trial.
She was too poor to engage a law
yer, and when asked, by the Judge,
what she had to say for herself, she
replied: “The day I went to my em
ployer’s, I carried my child with me.
It was in my arms, as it is now. I
was not paying attention to it. There
were several goiu come on uie mantel
piece, and, unknown to me, it
stretched out its little hand and seized
three pieces, which I did not observe
until I got home. I at once put on
my bonnet, and was going hack to
my employer, to return them when I
was arrested. This is the solemn
truth, as I hope for Heaven’s mercy.
The Court could not believe this
story. They upbraided the mother
for her impudence, in endeavoring to
palm off such a manifest lie for the
truth. They besought her, for her
own sake, to retract so absurd a tale,
for it could have no effect, hot to
oblige the Court to sentence her to a
much severer punishment than they
were disposer! to inflict, uj>on one so
young and evidently so deep in
poverty.
These appeals had no effect, except
to strengthen the poor mother’s per
tinacious adherence to her original
story. As this firmness was sustained
by that look of innocence which the
most guilty criminal can never coun
terfeit, the Court was at some loss to
discover what decision justice de
manded.
To relieve their embarrassment, one
of the judges proposed to renew the
scene described by the mother. Three
gold coins were placed on the Clerk’s
table. The mother requested to as
surne the |>osition in which she stood
at her employer’s house. There was
a breathless pause in Court. The
baby toon discovered the bright coins,
eyed them for f moment, smiled, and
then stretched .orth its tiny hand and
clutched them in its Angers with a
miser’s eagerness. The mother was
at once acquitted.
—A pugilist should And no difficulty
in boxing the compass.
How a Poor Girl Captured a
Millionaire.
There in a very pretty romance about
the marriage of William H. Vander
bilt, Jr., to Mins Alva Smith, the
story of which is often told in upper
tendoro.
While at school, Miss Bmith sud
denly received word * hat her father
bad made an unlucky venture, that
liis fortune had gone up in a balloon,
and that she and her sister must, at
the end of the term, then near its
close, go at once to the home of their
grandmother, In Virginia, there to re
main un'il their father could summon
them North again.
This was not suited at ail to the
tastes of a 'demoiselle conscious of hsr
own attractions, and she determined
to make a venture on her own ac
count. She borrowed some money
from her teacher, and made an ar
rangement with her to go to Richfield
Springs for a few weeks, so that when
she appeared there, she had as a duen
na, a well-known instructress, and
this piqued the curiosity of the young
men about the resort.
There was a coterie ofJNew York
girls there, a Miss T-, daughter of
a broker, a Miss O—, daughter of a
rich brewer, and several others, who
knew of the misfortune of the Smiths,
and who also tried to make it appear
that the young Mies Bmith no longer
deserved a place in the ranks of the
nouveau riche, as her father had “gone
up.”
Mr. William Vanderbilt, Jr., came
to the Springs to attend a ball, and
the New York girls were all in a flut
ter, beoause each one desired to cap
ture the son of the millionaire. Miss
Bmitli took in the situation at aglance,
but she had nothing to wear, and she
had only forty dollars in her purse.
She propose* to Miss T., to buy a
dress, and Miss T. having a big stock
of dresses, and but a small amount of
pin money, was ready to oblige her
She wasn’t, however, inclined to part
with anything that would be becom
ing to Miss Bmith, and accordingly
she selected a yellow silk with a wine
spot in front, and offered to sell that
for Miss Smith's forty dollars, being
assured that Miss Bmith, being more
of a blonde than a brunette, would
look “horrid” in yellow. But Miss
Bmith paid the price, and the fair
dealer in second-hand clo’ ohuckled
over the bargain she made.
Her pleasure was changed to cha
grin, that evening, when Miss Smith
appeared upon the ball-room floor, a
queen of beauty, and in that yellow
silk, too. Instead of putting white
upon her face she had made her com
plexion brown, and, having borrowed
a lace mantilla from her teacher, ;yid
a big black fan, she came out the pic
ture of a bewitching seuorita. Her
coy glances shot into the Vanderbilt
heart.
She tossed the soft ends of the man
tilla over her shoulder, as she strolled
the piazza, and used that fan most
bewitchingly. The New York girls
stood aghast, and Miss T. shed a tear
over the loss of her yellow silk, and
felt that she had been cheated, for she
neverthought that the dress looked m
well.
The result was that Vanderbilt fell
desperarely in love, pressed his suit,
became all the more ardent because of
the lady’s studied hesitancy, and was
the happiest young millionaire any
where, when he gaiued a kiss, and
the privilege of putting on the finger
of the seuorita a diamond engagement
ring.
Mrs Vanderbilt at once visited
Richfield Springs, was charmed with
her prospective daughter-in-law, and
invited her to go and spend the sum
mer with her. The smart young girl,
however, pleaded.that she had a dear,
sweet grandmamma in Virginia, to
whom she owed a duty visit, and she
must go there first.
Thither she went, anti taking ac
count of stock, Unproved her ward
robe, as a smart girl with a little
money only can, and then, she aeoept
the invitation of her prospective
mother in-law. Hke confided to her
the story of the bitterness of the fash
ionable New York girls, who were so
anxious to get her expected husband,
and the result was that the mother
had her pride touched, and she at
once cut the T’s and O’s, much to the
consternation of the families aforesaid.
Well, allwent well The millionaire
married the pretty girl of the yellow
silk and the black lace mantilla, and
they are now living happily upon the
avenue.
Borne years ago, there were a num
ber of army officers stopping at a
hotel in Washington. Amoug them
were a Capt. Emerson and a Capt.
Jones. Emerson and Jones used to
have a good deal of fun together, at
the dinner-table and elsewhere.
One day, at the dinner-table, when
the diuing-hall was wall filled, Capt.
Jones finished his dinner first, got up,
and walker] almost to the diniug-hall
door, when Emerson called to him, in
a loud voice:
“ Hailo, captain! see here. I want
to speak, to you a minute.” The cap
tain turned, walked back to the table,
aud bent over him; when Emerson
whispered: "I wanted to ask yon
how far you would have gone if I had
not spoken to you.”
The captain never changed a mus
cle, but straightened up, put his fingers
into his vest pocket, a>d said : “ Capt.
Emerson, 1 don’t know of a man in
the world I’d rather lend $5 than you,
hut the fact is, I haven’t a cent with
me to-day; ” and he turned on his
heelund walked away.
Emerson was the color of a dotua
rainbows, but he had to stand It.