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West Virginia Democrat. [volume] (Charles Town, W. Va.) 1885-1890, September 02, 1887, Image 1

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A very intelligent conunorcia trail
eller, who recently vieited 33 conn
li a Ivei U*c»* will in.iuiie, they will 1 __.....
* ’ tiee, till* tie, he met everywhere with
ttnil that tin- imjicr reache* a larger I . .
more oopiee of thie paper and heard
audience in Wi-.t Virginia, of the . . . _ ,, .._
it more tiuoted than all tho other pa
c a-.* ino.-t valuable to them, than I ...
per* combined
,»n> "tlmr I'liMn-.ituni. _ _
Is an affection of the Liver, and can tie
thoroughly cured by that Grand
Regulatoi of the* Liver and
biliary Organs,
Simmons Liver Regulator,
MASl I Ai Tt’RKli BY
J. H. ZEIL1N & CO., Philadelphia, Pa.
I was afflicted tor several years
with disordered liver, which result
ed in a severe attack of jaundice. I
had as gi*od medical attendance as
our section affords, who failed utter
ly to restore me to the enjoyment of
my former good health, f then tried
the favorite prescription ot one of the
sicst renowned physicians of f^»uis
ville, Ky„ but to no purpose; where
upon I was induced to try Simmons
Liver Regulator. 1 found immedi
ate benefit from its use, and it ulti
mately restored me to the full onioy
incut of health.
Richmond, Kv.
Proceeds from a Torpid Liver and I in- j
purities of the Stomach. It can Ik
invariably cured by taking
Simmons Liver Regulator.
Ia.‘t all who suffer rememlier that
Gan be prevented by taking a dose as 1
s,Min a> their symptoms indicate the
coming of an attack.
j u 1 v'J!*,eow-2n».
_' i
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. , t t ■ i"»uu« near
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,. i • ar 1 Skin i'i>*HS>siu...i">tl^e.
s»* trtet'o. i»ru*w:, AH•»*&•.tia.
**. i ' . ?:
an 121 in
Merchant Tailoring.
Berryville, Virginia,
carries a full line of
Fine Woolens,
Fancy Cassimeres,
|_ir' All work tfuuranteed to he as rep
resented, and first-class in tit and style.
MT; llavinu employed a cutler, who
is a graduate of the John Mitehel Kut
tin^ Si lu»tl of New York. feel confident
in oll'erimr our scr\ ices t>» the citizens of .
Jettcrson that we can inve entire satis
faction end will nw even means to give
onr work a hlsjh reputation. *
Safixfttrft'oii Htntranteetl.
apr.i>,’sd— lv.
at the office of
THE H. P. HUBBARD CO., Judicious Ad
vertising AcrentsficExperts, New Haven,Ct.
Our Ajdl'oriieS' Agc-t* v»ho esn quot^jurvajrte*^
•Jvrrt', p j r»tcs. Advortiwments d«
t ./n-.J, proofs sNswn and »s; mi’rl of I Ha Sal jB
» '.tin ANY ri.> oapors. forwar J to I Mi llj ffj
anponublo | - * upon *pp..c.»:on HUaMdi
The Charlestown
will commence its next session
EDMUND It.TAYi.OK. Principal.
• — ■ ^ ■■ ■ ' —
Carl Schurz has published a biog
raphy of Mr. Clay, from which we
give two extracts:
Few public characters in Ameri
can history have been the subjects
of more heated controversy than
Henry ( lay. There was no measure
of detraction and obloquy to which,
duriug his lifetime, his opponents
would not resort, and there seemed
to be no limit to the admiration and
attachment of his friends. While
his enemies denounced him as a pre
tender and selfish intriguer in poli
ties and an abandoned profligate in
private life, his supporters unhesi
tatingly placed him first among the
sages of the period, and, by way of
defense, sometimes even amongst its
saints. The animosities against him
have, naturally, long ago disappear
ed, but even now, more than thirty
years after his death, we may hear
old men who knew him in the days
of his strength speak of him with
an enthusiasm and affection so warm
and fresh as to convince us that the
recollection ol having followed his
leadership is among the dearest
treasures of their memory. The re
markable fascination he exccrcised
seems to have reached even beyond
his living existence.
Hut while he was a strong leader
he was not a safe guide. His im
pulses were vehement, and his mind
not well fitted for the patient analy
sis of complicated problems and of
dilticult political situations. His
with his understanding. On the
other hand, he never sought to or
ganize or strengthen his following bv
the arts of tin patronage monger.
In no sense, either, was he a money
maker in polities. His integrity as
a public man remained without
blemish throughout his long career.
Whatever ( lay’s weaknesses of
character and errors in statesman
ship may have been, almost every
thing he said or did was illumined
by a grand conception of the destin
ies of his country, a glowing nation
al spirit, a lofty patriotism.* Wheth
er lie thundered against British tyr
anny on the seas, or urged the rec
ognition of the South American sis
ter Republics, or attacked the high
handed conduct of tin* military chief
tain in the Florida war, or advocated
protection and internal improve
ments, or assailed the one man pow
er and spoils polities in the person
of Andrew Jackson, or entreated for
compromise and conciliation regard
iug the tariff or slavery; whether
what he advocated was wise or un
wise. right or wrong, there was al
ways ringing through his words a
fervid plea for his country, a zealous
appeal in behalf of the honor and l'u
tnre greatness and glory of the Re
public, or an anxious warning lest
the I’nion, and with it the greatness
and glory of flu* American people, he
put in jeopardy. It was a just judg
ment which he pronounced upon him
self when he wrote: “If any one de
sires to know tlu* leading and para
mount object of my public life, the
preservation of this I'nion will fur
nish him the key.*’
Written for the Courier-Journal.
The fust evidence of the coming
power <>f this remarkable man was
exhibited at M illington, a small vil
lage in Abbeville district (as the
present counties were then called),
South Carolina. Gen. George Mc
Dullie, the only representative of De
mosthenes in this country since Pat
rick Henry, lived near there. Mc
Dutlie was harnessed lightning. He
forged the chain of logic at a white
heat. He was the most nervous, im
passioned and thrilling tribune of
the poop'e of that day. He demon
strated the political problems as,
Kucliil did geometry, while foaming
at the mouth and screaming like a
painted (’reek Indian, lie had mar
ried the only daughter of Dick Sin
gleton, the celebrated millionaire
turfman and rice-planter, and he
owned four hundred slaves and made
eight hundred bales of cotton a year.
He had been a member of Congress,
t iovernor of South Carolina, and was
afterwards United States Senator.
The people, before making up their
minds on any political question,
would say “Mr. McDuttie is going to
speak at Mon w's field two weeks
from now, and I will wait till I hear
him;” ami there they would come
forty and fifty miles, and camp out
the night In-ton* to hear him, and his
speech would deci ie the polities of
the whole country once a year. On
this M illington occasion it was said
ihat “the everlasting-mouthed Hob
Toombs was coming over to meet
him.” Four thousand people were
there when that rash young Georg
ian crossed the Savanah to meet the
lion in his den. to beard the Doug
las in his halls. Toombs rode a
horse, and it was remarked that his
shirt boson was stained with tobac
co juice. Vet he was one of the
handsomest men that ever had the1
seal of genius on his brow. His
head was round as the celestial
globe. His abundant, straight, black
hair hung in profusion over his am
ple, marble forehead. He had as
many teeth as a shark, and they
were whiter than ivory. His eyes
were blacK as death and bigger than
an ox’s. His step was as graceful
as the wild cat’s, and yet he weighed
; two hundred pounds. His preseuee
: captivated even the idolators of
Georg McDuffie. He bounded into
| the arena like a black-maned Numid
ian lion from tue unknown deserts
' ot Middle Georgia, to reply to the
' Olympian Jupiter of the up-country
I of the proud Palmetto State. It was
I the most memorable overthrow that
McDuffie ever sustained. This was
in the Harrison-Van Buren election
of 1810. His argument, his invec
tive, his overbearing torrent of irrev
erent denunciation, is a tradition in
that country even now. McDuffie
} said: *T have heard John Randolph,
I of Roanoke, and met Tristam Bur
j gess, of Rhode Island, but this wild
Georgian is the Mirabeau of this
age.” After that South C arolina ad
mitted that Georgia was something
more than the refuge of South Car
olina fugitives from justice. This
was the beginning of Toombs’ im
mortal Southern fame.
Since the recent death ofex Senator
R. M. T. Hunter, of Virginia, Sena
tor Reagan, of Texas, and cx-Gov.
T. 11. Watts, of Alabama, are the on
ly surviving members of Mr. Davis’
Cabinet. Reagan was Postmaster
General and Watts Attorney Gener
al. At Montgomery, Ala., there was
a secret sessiou of the Cabinet to de
cide whether we should bombard
Fort Sumter. Toombs was then Sec
retary of State, and regarded as the
most rash, headstrong and violent
man in the Confederacy. While in
the presence of Mr. Davis the bal
ance of the Cabinet gave their opin
ions in favor of bombardment, Mr.
Toombs was, as was his custom,
pacing the lloor. When it came his
turn to express his opinion, to the
amazement of all he vehemently op
posed the attack, and made one of
the most remarkable speeches of all
his life in opposition to it. He said
it would be the doom ol the-Confed
eracy. lie said: “Let Charleston
go. Give up Sumter. Let it be pro
visioned, but never explode the vol
cano that is under our feet.” He
said it was suicide and madness,and
would lose us every friend in all the
North, and exhibited all his magnif
icent powers in opposition to the at
tack. He said; “Mr. President, you
will wantonly strike a hornet’s nest
that fdls the North from ocean to
ocean, and legions, now quiet, will
swarm out to sting us to death. It
is unnecessary; it puts us in the
wrong; it is fatal.” And so it was.
Toombs was the wisest and the great
est of all the statesmen of the South
ern Confederacy.
Here are several thoughts that had oc
curred to us and which wo wore about to
write out when we happily find them al
ready expressed in the Sun.
As the summer season draws to
an end and the evenings grow long
er an important question for all
young people is what programme
thc\ shall adopt for the leisure hours
of autumn and winter. Those who
have regular hours of work have al
so several hours in the long winter
evenings that may be devoted to
study, self improvement, recreation
or amusement, or may be altogether
wasted in idleness. If they have no
definite purpose in life, no aim be
fore them, these leisure hours will
very likely be wasted and bring them
no return of increased knowlbdgc or
skill, and very little amusement of a
healthtul kind. But if a little
thought is given to the future a
scheme may be mapped out that will
be very useful to them now and in
after years, ami promote their pres
ent as well as their future happiness.
It will not do to leave out of this
scheme a plan for rational amuse
ment and recreation. The young
need social education as much as
anything else, and should not shut
themselves out nor be debarred trom
wholesome company in which to cul
tivate the social graces. But when
they have made due allowance of
time from their leisure hours for
amusement and lor visits to friends,
there still remains time for study
and sell improvement. Beading,
wisely directed, affords both enter
tainment and instruction. It may
be directed in tiic channel of one’s
daily work or to some plan for fu
ture occupation, and so be made to
bear directly on one’s bread-winning
power, titling the mechanic to be
come a foreman or employer of la
bor; the clerk to become a book
keer and man of affairs, or either to
enter one of the professions. Liter
ary societies also afford a pleasant
and useful agency for self improve
ment, and may readily be organized
in any circle of bright young men
and women. In the larger cities
arc gem rally night schools that pro
vide instruction in drawing or in
s anekindof mechanical handiwork.
These are meat useful to aspiring
young people, and well repay all the
tune that one may devote to them.
Drawing is the universal language
and a moderate degree of'skill in its
use is of great advantage to workers
in all trades and occupations. Very
few of the pupils who study drawing
become artists or directly apply their
skill in the industrial arts, but they
acquire a means of expressing their
thoughts that is time-saving and
help to promote them in their busi
: ness. The mechanic who can make
even a rough sketch of a machine
that is built, or whose familiarity
with drawing enables him to com
prebend at aglanec another draughts
man’s purpose in a plan, is natural*
1 ly selected in preference to one not
so skilled to act as foreman or to do
work requiring this special knowl
edge. It is worth wjiile, therefore,
to learn to draw not for the purpose
of making pictures, but for the skill
1 developed, the training it affords for
both eye and hand. In similar com
munities where night schools are not
provided it is an easy matter to or
ganize societies for self improvement
where drawing may he practiced
with only such instruction as may
be drawn from books. The impor
tant thing, however, is to have a set
tled plan for the winter's occupations
in leisure hours, that the end of the
season may find one improved in
mind and body. If the matter is left
to chance the long evenings will be
very apt to be spent in idleness,
which is not always merely negative
in its effects, but is sometimes a
positive evil. Two nights of the
week at least should be assigned to
some definite work of self-improve
ment—practice in drawing, serious
reading with a purpose in view or
literary exercises in a debating soci
ety. If two or three friends can be
united in the same project, each will
be stimulated and helped by the
companionship. There are so many
examples in this country of self-made
men who have achieved distinction
mainly through the good use they
made of their leisure hours when
young, that every ambitious boy and
girl should feel encouraged to follow
their example. They need not make
such sacrifices now as their fathers
before them, for most of them have
already acquired what is known as
a common-school education, and li
braries and night sendnfs are open
to all who choose to make use of
such opportunities for advancement.
All that is needed is the purpose to
seek self-improvement. Now is the
time to think seriously upon this
question, and to resolve that, in spite
of temptations to lead an idle life of
amusement during the winter season,
a few hours at least of each week
shall ho devoted to study of some
kind in a systematic way. Too
much should not ho undertaken, for
discipline is needed as well as study,
and whatever is resolved upon should
he carried out. A shitting purpose
with every wind that blows not only
detracts from the benefit that might
have been obtained from a settled
course, but develops habits that arc
themselves injurious.
A Woman Whose Life Has Been a Mar
vel—Her Shameless Career.
Paris papers announced the
publication of the memoirs of the
chief of the demi-monde, Cora Pearl.
Cora, or Emma Crutch, as she was
in early life called, or Crouch, as
she styles herself in her memoirs,
has been aptly entitled “a part of
the moral history of the Second Em
pi re.” She now claims to lie the
daughter of F. Nicholis (Vouch, au
thor of ‘•Kathleen Mavourcen'’ and
other charming ballads. Mr. (Vouch
is now resident at Baltimore, and
despatches from that point report
that he does not know whether Cora
Pearl is his daughter or not. It is
safe to say Cora knows still iess
about it. But there is some reason
for Mr. Crouch’s ignorance in this
case, as he had nine children by his
first wife, an English actress, and of
these one, presumably Emma or Co
ra, left her home when a young girl,
and has not been seen by her father,
who has led a Bohemian existence
I in the United States for the past 25
| years.
But Crouch or Crutch, it was as
| Cora Pearl that she turned the
heads of half the aristocrats of the
Second Empire. Accounts of her
early life have differed. One ver
sion represented her as the daughter
of an impecunious Philadelphia ac
tor. and a native of that city. By
another account, she was the daugh
ter of a respectable English mu-.ic
dealer, whose shop was in Regent
street, London. Both of these sto
ries were merely perversions of the
real facts, for Crouch was for years
a prominent, figure in the musical
circles of London, and later in his
career was stranded in the City of
Brotherly Love. Be her origin what
it may, Cora is now about 44 years
of age—and very old for her years,
and is in broken health. She lives
in a small but comfortable house in
Paris. For 3 ears she commanded
an income of *100,000. but her capi
tal has been dissipated,and its sour
I ces are no longer at her command.
| According to her memoirs, Cora left
her family and home at the age of
14 and began the career which has
been the marvel of Paris.
She took up her abode in Paris in
the days when the Second Empire
u;.s in the full flood of its artificial
prosperity. She had not a handsome
face, but she had a tine figure, and
she rode superbly. Literally, she
galloped into notoriety in Paris, and
under the rule of the third Napoleon
notoriety was fame. One ol her
great conquests was Jerome Napo
leon, whom she captured while out
with the prince’s stag hounds at
Meudon—riding to hounds and rid
ing to hearts were pretty much the
same thing with this cheerful young
person. Another of her great friends
in those halcyon and vociferous
day8 was the Due de Morny—he
who figures in Daudet’s “Nabob" a9
the Due dc Mora—and it is said
that Jccker, the notorious Swiss
banker, succeeded through her in
winning over Dc Morny to his side,
and thus secured the continuation of
the French war against Mexico.
Counts and dukes without number
were also found in her train, and
her adventures were quitp as excit
ing as any pictured by Daudet and
Feuillet. She was on terms of too
great intimacy with the late Crown
Prince of Holland—generally known
as Prince Citron, a nickname deriv
ed from bis title of Prince of Or
ange—the Due dc Gramont, the Due
de Caderousse, and other titled lib
ertines whose pseudonyms are thin
ly disguised in letters to her which
will be made public in her memoirs.
These letters are described as a cu
rious melange of passion and poli
tics, and one European celebrity,
still living, paid her $40,0(H) to sup
press a letter from him.
With the Franco Prussian war
and the Commune the star of Cora’s
destiny paled; and as she was grow
ing to bo an oldish woman by this
time, it never again recovered its
brilliancy. Astronomically speak
ing, she reached the point of her
highest ascension simultaneously
with the empire; that is to say, iu
18(57, the exhibition year. It was
in this year that she played Cupid
in the opera of “Orphec nux Kn
fers,” dressing the part expensively,
tastefully, but not excessively, in a
zone an 1 necklace of diamonds. Af
ter the wreck of the empire Cora re
turned to Paris—having been tem
porarily domiciled in London—and
gathered together the remnant of
her court. But it was a dark time
iu Paris; she was growing old; her
titled friends no longer were numcr
oils, and the few left to her were far
loss friendly than of yore. But she
was rich, for, with commendable
prudence, she had garnered her har
vest while the sun still shone. Un
der this combination of circumstan
ces the time seemed favorable for her
turning devote. However, young
Duval—the rich proprietor of the
manv cheap eating-houses fn Paris
founded by the worthy butcher, bis
father—appeared upon the scene,
and his plaint (expressed frequently
and always in four figures) was
liceucu. All Paris laughed at tins
conquest that the industrious Cora
had made in the youth of her old
age; and Cora laughed too, for the
francs that she was winning were
plentiful and real. When the francs
were all gone she dropped the butch
er's son as she would.have dropped
an orange that she had squeezed
i dry; the butcher’s son being refused
admission to her apartment, inconti
nently shot himself upon the thresh
old. This was in Christmas week,
1872. The upshot of the affair was
i that Cora was ordered out of France,
i She appealed to Lord Lyons for help
in vain, but after drifting about Eu
rope for a time was permitted to set
tle down in Paris again. Hut it was
no longer the Paris of the Due de
Mora and the Comte de Camors, and
she was obliged to raise the wind
i by auctioning off her treasures,
among them the square of carpet on
which the idiotic young Duval had
stood when he "made the vain at
tempt to blow out his brains. This
sale was one of the events of the day
and realized some $G5,000, which
was about twice the intrinsic value
of the articles disposed of. All
Paris, that is fashionable Paris, at
tended the sale. Duchess andbour
goise elbowed each other in frantic
effort* to obtain some article that
marked the downfall of this destroy
er of hearts and fortunes, this queen
of the demi -monde. Cora Pearl sank
from sight, and was not again heard
from until about three years ago,
when she was brought before the
courts to show cause why she should
not discharge a milliner’s bill. She
has again come before the public in
a way that must carry a certain ter
ror to the manly and indiscreet de
bauebe of twenty years ago, for
j Cora had the bad habit of saving
her letters.
Cora was by no means a beautiful
woman, though no woman without
■ beauty could have accomplished the
! ruin attributed to her. Her attrae
* tions were of a coarse and sensual
order, but they were sovereign.
Jules Claretie, the present director
of the Theatre Fraueais, some years
ago describe\ her as “a pale woman
with a little cat's nose, eyes hardly
pierced in her face, a large mouth,
and hair of an odd, reddish hue.
Her cold, hard look was like that of
Sheffield steel.” But this hardly
tallied with the description of her
by a Paris correspondent iu 1873, at
the time of the sale of her effects.
“She is not,” says the correspondent,
“and never has been handsome; on
the contrary, she is and has always
been very plain. Her features are
large, not well formed, and inclined
to coarseness Her figure is neither
bad nor very good. She is notice
able for grace. She is not intellec
tual, albeit she has acquired by dint
of close observation and of a reten
tive memory, a quantity of sharp
sayings which pass for wit. She is
more than forty and looks older yet.
She declares that she has neither
heart nor conscience, and in this she
probably tells the truth.” Yet this
woman set the fashions of two hem
ispheres, inventing a Rabagas hat,
which the electrified the world of
milliners, by simply dancing on the
hat of her cavalier, and then, after
decking it with a preposterous bit
of feather, wearing it on the drive
home for the races. The caprice or
folly of an adventuress, wno would
in vain seek admittance to a reputa
ble household, sets the fashion for
one-half the civilized world.
Keeping a close watch over the
plowpoint, and having it sharp, or
replacing, it frequently with a new
one, will often save ten times tlie
cost of the plow in labor.
In selecting an animal for breed
ing purposes always aim to secure
hardiness. We have severe winters
and warm summers, and this should
never be overlooked.
To train a flock of sheep raise a
lamb at the house, teach it to come
when called, and then put it with
the flock. Ry calling the petted
lamb the others will follow.
As soon as the crop shall have been
removed from the garden plot plow
it, and allow no weeds to gn>^*
which will greatly lessen the garden
work next season.
It is most essential that a boar
should have constant liberty and
plenty of green food.
Pick oir the pears and allow them
to ripen in a dark place. A pear is
ripe if it fall as soon as struck on
under side by the hand. They arc
of much better flavor if allowed to
ripen olf the tree. No matter how
hard a pear may be it will soon be
come mellow and juicy when stored
away in a dark place.
On light soils, where it is difficult
to grow wheat or oats, clovcrseed
i should he sown in the fall, just after
the warm days shall be over and
1 the rains beginning. Ry so doing a
1 good “eateb” can be secured, which
will avoid the necessity of sowing
in the spring with a grain crop to
shade the young plant.
Now is the time to go into the
corn-field and select the best ears for
seed. Examine the stalks a!s >, the
number of ears, the earliness and
kind of soil upon which they are
grown. Mark them, and allow them
t to thoroughly dry on the stalk he
fore taking them off.
The necessity of keeping the
sheep on dry footing should not he
forgotten. A yard in which sheep
are kept should he one where there
is plenty of drainage. Wet fooling
is the one thing that sheep will not
It has been demonstrated that
calves pay better when kept until
ten or twelve weeks old than when
sold as ."oon as born. They will
give a return for all the milk they
consume, as well as lessen the supply
of milk marketed.
At this season the preparations
should lie made for fattening the
wethers and extra ewes intended for
market. If they be separated from
the breeding flock and given all the
food they can eAt a better price and
heavier weight can lie secured. The
market is never fully supplied with
fat sheep, which are usually sold on
the approach of winter.
An Indiana farmer ordered every
bumblebee nest on hi; farm to be
burned, and persuaded his neigh
bors to assist in destroying all the
bumble-bees in his neighborhood.
He discovered his mistake the fol
lowing year, as he could not raise a
crop of cloversccd, the bees being
the agents by which the pollen is
carried from one blossom to the
other, a
It is only a matter of time for the
pasture to fail if it be not manured.
You cannot continue to obtain milk,
beef, mutton and wool from thepas
: lure and give nothing bark in return.
Yet pastures are used annually on
j some farms with no effort made to
recuperate them, and ir will surely
end in exhaustion of the soil and
disappearance of the grass.
The lames of a well-bred, well-fed
hog are said to represent only about
• one-twentieth part of its gross
weight An animal of this nature
must necessarily carry a great deal
of fat, and the importance of
making it well muscled to keep it
from complete degeneracy is self
evident to any thoughful person;
hence, inasmuch as the natural ten
dency of the hog is to fat, feeders
should make it a point to counteract
the evil by using the most nutritious
feed, to the exclusion of fat-forming
food. .
A good way,” says a writer in
the Country Gentleman, “to raise or
lower the temperature in a churn is
to have long tin cylinder, say eigh
teen inches long by four inches in
diameter; filling this with either hot
or cold water, and putting in tho
churn and moving around for a lit
tie while will soon make the needed
Ah eminent writer says that cream
is an innocent, palatable, nutritious
luxury for everybody at all times.
As an antidote for a tendency to
consumption it acts like a charm,
and serves all the purposes intended
to be served by cod-liver oil with
much greater certainty and effect.
Where sweet cream can be had cod
liver oil is never needed.
— ■ ——
AT A HOWKKl U131K.31I >r.i .u.
Sketches Recently Taken of a Wonderful
Curiosity Now To Be Seen--Mun
chausen Outdone.
A dime museum with ft foreign
name and :i list of attractions an
long as an Evarts speech, and local
cd not a great distance from Grand
street, has a curiosity wonderful in
The barker always calls attention
to this extraordinary specimen of
creation when lie is talking against
space and elevated car rumbles.
When he gets inside he turns the his
torical lecture over to an IchSbod
Crane-locking individual who is the
The curiosity is a full-grown buck
deer with flue antlers and skin.
The only thing about this deer
-whtwfris different from other doer
is a peach tree growing out of its
back near the shoulders.
The lecture about this buck sounds
a great deal like an ofi’shol of Mun
chausen's brain.
The barker whirls his cane, phi ntw
at the deer, and says:
“Ladies and gentlemen, we liavw
here the mos’ extraordinary expoki
tion of nature’s handiwork ever dis
played before an audience in this
country or in Europe—indeed, I
might say ther mos' extorard inary
curiosity ever seen upon this won •
dcrfullest of spheres in the grand
caravansary of moving worlds which
surround us in brilliant galaxies,
overhead and around us.
“This, ladies and gentlemen, as
you see, is a magnificent specimen of
the genus deer,perfect in all its parts,
but with a common peach tree grow
ing from its anatomy.
“This here deer was stuffed by the
best numismatic known to the art of
taxidermal prestidigation.
“Permit me to introduce you to
Col. Fletcher,the gentleman who pro
cured this rara avis, and gave it to
a world of scientific investigation.”
With a proud wave of his hand
and canc, the barker resigned ms
place to Colonel Fletcher. Colonel
Fletcher was caught somewhere
down in Georgia, and in an unguard
ed moment was brought to New York
for the special purpose of lecturing
on this deer.
“Hit war about twenty yeah ago,
jist artah the wah, an’ I war a-walk
in’ to’ad hum from tuhkcy huntin’.
I’d killed a couple o’ big gobblali*
and a hen, an’ war feelin’ pooty good.
I war jist on the edge o’ thcr swamp
when I seen sumpun a movin,’ an’
diskivered a fine buck.
t‘I bed a big boh muskit, loaded
with powdab, but didn't bev no
buckshot, nor bullets, nor nothin' in
ther shape o’ lead, i fooled aroun’
in ray pockets, an’ foun’ a poach -
stone. I rammed ther stone dowr.
thcr gun, and filled p int blank at
ther buck jist bellin’ ther aliouldabs.
Hit skeered ther deer, but, I reckon,
didn’t hurt him much.
“Five yeahs artah that I wore a
walkin’ nigh ther same spot, an’ seen
sumpun a movin’ in the switch cane.
Hit war kin’ o’ queer full ennythink
but a vahmint ter be aroun’ thali,
an’ incoarsc I knewed it wah a erit
tali o’ some kin’, mebbe a deal). It
mought a bin a boss, though, so I
skumisbed a little.
“In a minnit I seen a tree-a-shak
in’ in ther cane, an’ it wa’ntaswamp
tree nnthah. Well, sah—”
The Colonel ejected a cupful of to
bacco juice, wiped his chin with his
sleeve and continued:
“Grin’ me ter sassage meat of thali
wasn't a big buck a walkin’ aroun,
with a big peach tree on his back,
! I fihed my muskit, an’ ther buck jist
| lept into ther aib, an’ down be an*
: ther tree come ka sock.
‘.Well, sab, I got a bushel an’ a
j haf o’ ther bes’ peaches I cvali ct in
my life ofTn that tree.’’
The audiense always examines tho
deer after the lecture.

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