The Brookhaven leader. [volume], June 21, 1883, Image 1

About The Brookhaven leader. [volume] (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1883-1891

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^^uNot^to^nuMmeforeMciHnMr. VOLUME I.BROOKHAVEN, MISSISSIPPI, THURSDAY, JUNE 21, 1883. NUMBER 18. '"***'
THE MOMENTOUS QUESTION.
Thev stood beside the Arden gate.
Beneath the elm tree'* spreading shade;
II was the solemn hour of eve.
The witching time for lovers made.
He watched the radiant orbs of ntght.
As one by one they gemmed the sky;
lie gazed upon her comely form.
Her lovely neck and lustrous eye.
She nestled closely to hi* side.
No word she spoke, but only pressed,
With trustful took and gentle mien.
Her graceful head against his breast.
He gazed upon the glossy hair.
Which well adorned that shapely hoad;
He 11Miked upon her dainty feet*
And then these little words ht^sald:
“Could she be his?”—and, n* he asked.
He fondly stroked that glossy hair;
"Oh, yes "—the farmer said he'd take
Two hundred dollars for the mare.
—Dttrott tyre Prftt.
THE DEACON’S REWARD.
“Josiah,” said Mrs. Middleton,
“you will certainly end your days in
the poor-house!”
The Deacon was reading his paper,
quite unconscious, in hi« flurry and
haste, that he had got it upside down.
Mrs. Middleton, a tall, gaunt woman,
of sixty, who, by all outward indica
tions, ought certainly to have been an
old maid, was viewing him severely
through her spectacles.
•• I hope not, my dear,” said the
Deacon. “I hope not. What should
put such an unpleasant idea as that
into your head?”
“Don’t be a hypocrite. Deacon!”
said Mrs. Middleton, severely.
“ A hypocrite, Eliza?”
“ Yes', a hypocrite!” said the lady,
energetically, nodding her head.
•• What is it but hypocrisy, I should
like to know, to sit here and pretend
you haven't just given half a cold
chicken to that wretched tramp who is
limning off across the swamp-lot?”
The top of the Deacon’s bald head
turned very red.
“ He looked so cold and hungry,
Eliza,” said he.- “You should have
seen him eat and drink!”
“ Eat and drink, eh?” satirically re
peated Mrs. Middleton. “ What did
you give him to drink. I’d like to
know?”
“Only a bowl of cold coffee, my
dear," said the Deacon, deprecatingly.
“ And that red comforter he had
round his neck?”
“Rually, my dear,” stammered the
detected culprit, “after the nice new
muffler which Miss Mitchell gave me
for Christmas, I did not need . the old
red comforter. And the poor wretch
was blue with cold!”
“ Blue, indeed!” shrilly echoed Mrs.
Middleton. “I wish Ije'd been black
and purple, and all sorts of colors, be
fore he had ever come here! But it
don't make any difference who it is, or
what ridiculous trumped-up story he
tells—anything will take you in! Here
we are, in debt; the very house over our
heads mortgaged; the land running
down for want of proper attention, and
you are shoveling out our household
good* to every wretched, lazy, idle
loafer and vagabond that comes along!”
“ My dear! my dear!” feebly remon
strated the Deaqon.
'‘Dou’t tell me said Mrs. Middleton,
waxing still more wrathful as she medi
tated upon her wrongs. “ All the coun
try knows it! There isn’t a beggar nor
a tramp but knows ho is sure of a sup
per anu a shilling, if he comes here and
gets your earl’ ’
“ Sly dear, we are told in the Good
Book—”
“We are told in the Good Book,”
angrily interrupted Mrs. Middleton,
“that charity begins at’home. Or if
not these very words, it’s the same
thing. There’s Lame Deter Pike, the
tiddler. I'm fairly sick of the sound of
his squeaking old tunes. I don’t believe
our barn would ever have burned up if
it hadn't been for his old pipe the night
he slept there.”
ft was the sparks from the locomo
tive, my dear, Which—”
“Sparks from the locomotive, in
deed!" cried the lady. “The meals
vou’ve given him; the nights’ lodgings
lie’s had in our barn; and once five dol
lars towards buying him a new violin
when his got cracked by the frost—and
served him right! I vow and declare,
Deacon, I’ve no patience with you! You
are ruining us! Yes, ruining!"
Deacon Middleton shifted uneasily in
his chair, and grew very red. If that
Xantippe spouse of his had only known
of the coins slipped at odd times into
the old fiddler’s homy ’ hand; the cold
meat and mugs of cider surreptitiously
sent into the bam for Lame Peter’s
benefit; the ten-dollar bill at Christmas
to help buy him a warm coat! If—
“ But there’s got to be an end of all
this!" said Mrs. Middleton, excitedly.
“Ivehed a lock put on the buttery
door,- and. I’m going to buy Hobart
liogley’s big dog, that is as savage as
a meat axe, and then we’ll see!’’ .
“Very well, my dear,” said the mild
Deacon.
“I’m tired of keeping free tavern for
all the wretches between here and
Mount Kearsarge,” reiterated Mrs.
Middleton.
“ Yes, my dear,” said the Deacon.
“Haven’t you anything to say for
yourself?'’ cried Mrs. Middleton.
“What should I say, my dear?”
gently questioned the Deacon.
And the lady flounced indignantly out
of the room.
But the good man's face grew very
sad and dejected when she was gone.
“It'strue enough,” said he to him
self, as he laid the newspaper on the
table and let his spectacles fall Siowlv
into their case. “We are mined, al
though poor Eliza didn’t realize it when
she spoke the words. Old Nickerson
is clamorous for his money, and the
interest is all behind, and the mortgage
is going to be foreclosed next month.
I really don’t see,” the poor Deacon
added, knitting his brows together aft
er a puzzled fashion, “how I have been
careless or improvident, but somehow
everything has gone wrong. There
was last summer's diy spell, and then
that sickness among the cattle, and the
fall of prices in grain, and the loss of
twenty tons of hay in the bam that
burned up—nothing but one continuous
nm of ill-luck! And there’s no use try
ing to tight against fate any longer, so
far as I can see: We must just let the
old place go—the place where my father
was bom before me—and try to rent a
little house somewhere, and support
ourselves by raising email fruit ao<l
vegetables for the summer hotels, as
best we may. I don't mind It so much
mvself, but I don't know how to tell
Eliza.”
And one or two tears—the agonizing
tears of old age—escaped, from under
the Deacon’s eyelids, and, trickling
slowly down his cheek, fell with a noise
less plash upon his knee.
“I'm a poltroon to despair,” said the
good old man to himself. “ What does
the Bible say? *.I have been young and
now am old; yet have I not seeu the
righteous forsaken, nor his seed beg
ging breath’ Can’t I comfort myself
with lhalT’
Instinctively he reached out his hand
for the old family Bible, with the mar
bled cover and the defaced gilt binding
on the hack: but at the same moment
there-was a knock at the door, and in
came Lawyer Spruce, a dapper little
man, with twinkling blneyyes, hair just
frosted with gray, ami n suspicion—
only a suspicion—of a red nose!
The Deacon’s heart sank within him;
he eyed the lawyer as a dying stag
might eye the hungry vulture already
swooping above him/ But with the in
stinct of inborn hospitality, he offered
him a chair.
“Thankee, Deacon, thankee,” said
the lawyer. “But I can’t stay. I've
►come to see -you on some business con
nected with Sir. Peter Pike, commonly
known as ‘Lame Pete, the fiddler.’ ”
The Deacon opened his mild eyes.
“Eh?” said he. “Ls he sick, poor
soul?”
“He’s dead!” said the lawyer.
‘‘Is he?” said Middleton. “Poor
fellow—poor old fellow! I always
thought a deal of Lame Pete. Well,
well, we must bury him decently, and
see that he don’t lack a neat tombstone.
I'll give my share towards it,”-and he
put nis hand, into his pocket.
The lawyer smiled shrewdly.
“ You’re mistaken, Deacon Middle
ton,’1 ho said, “altogether mistaken.
Mr. Peter Pike has not died penniless.
He has left enough to bury him, and
a little besides.”
“Indeed!” said the Deacon. “lain
glad to hear it.”
“ He must have been a rather eccen
tric character,” said , the lawyer. “ He
has left quite a sum in the savings
bank -four thousand dollars!”
“You don’t say so!” said Mr. Middle
ton. “Four—thou—sand dollars, eh?
That is a deal of money. If 1 had four
thousand dollars, now—”
“ You have!” said the lawyer.
“ What?” roared the Deacon.
“That is precisely what I came to
tell you.” said Mr. Spruce. “We found
a dirty, crumbled paper in one of his
pockets, which proved to be a legally
executed will, and which makes you his
sole heir and legatee.”
“Me!” shouted the Deacon. “His
heir! But I’m no sort of relation to
him.”
“No, nor anybody else,” said the
lawyer. “But that don’t interfere with
the validity of the will.”
“Bless me!” said, the deacon. “Why,
that’s enough to j-aise the mortgage on
the old farm!”
“Of course it is,” nodded Lawyer
Spruce. “He says in the will that yon
are the best friend he ever had, and
that now you will understand how sin
cerely grateful he was for all your
kindness.”
“Poor old Pete! Poor old Pete!” said
the Deacon, wiping the moisture out of
his eyes. “Four thousand—dollars!
Well, I wonder what Eliza will say!”
For the good Deacon had received his
reward at last. And there was no dan
ger of hi* ending his last days in the
poor-house.—N. Y. Ledger.
How Iti[liard Halls Are Manufactured.
. The manufacture of billiard bills from
celluloid and bonsilate is a peculiar in
dustry from t he fact that the only facto
ry of the kind in the world is in this
city. A large proportion of the balls
now made are of celluloid, but only for
the reason that the machinery is not as
well adapted to the manufacture of bon
silate balls. The time will come, how
ever, when all balls will bo made of the
latter material. The celluloid, which
is received in large white sheets, is first
cut into small square, pieces about five
eighths of an inch in size. These are
placed into molds, previously heated by
steam to the proper temperature. They
are then placed in the hydraulic press
es, and with a pressure of from 1,500
to 2,(KM) pounds to the square inch are
roughly molded, heat at the same time
being applied. The various positions
"of the blocks in the mold give the ball
the peculiar mottled appearance when
finished. Experiments have been made
by grinding the celluloid to a powder,
and using it in that form, but noth
ing has succeeded so well as the pres
ent method. After being taken from
the molds, the balls are turned absolute
ly spherical, by an exceedingly ingeni
ous device. -
The processes in the manufacture of
bonsilate balls are quite different in
many respects. The material is placed
in the molds in powder, and the balls,
after being roughly pressed up, consid
erably larger than tne required size, are
covered with rubber and tin foil to pre
vent the material from being injured by
water, and are then placed under water
pressure. By means of this, which is
the only machine of the kind in-exist
ence, the balls are placed under a press
ure of from 8,000 to 4,000 pounds to the
square inch. The water touching the
ball at every point, and the pressure
being equally transmitted, the result is
a perfectly pressed sphere, of just the
same specific gravity in one spot as in
another. Without this apparatus, the
successful manufacture of billiard balls
from bonsilate would have been impos
sible. A simple but ingenipus contriv
ance Is also employed to ascertain when
the balls are perfectly poised or bal
anced. They are first Weighed and
are then placed in a flat dish of mercury.
This subtle fluid detects the slightest
shade df inaccuracy, and the bid is are
put in the lathe and corrected until
they are absolutely true. Not only bil
liard, but pool and bagatelle balls are
made. The prices at which they are
sold are far below those charged for
ivory, ranging from $5-50 to (13,50 per
set of four balls for billiards, and from
(26 to (50 per set of sixteen balls for
pool.—Albany Argus.
—A Boston author has sued his pub
lisher because his book did sot sell.
The Mails During the Last Century. |
The newspapers and the inventions
for transmitting mails and intelligence
have worked a marvelous change,
among other things, in letter-writing.
Ft*v men have now time or inclination
to carry on correspondence with their
friends in distant cities, and when they
do write their letters treat of some mat
ter which is disposed of in the fewest
possible words. Then it was different,
and the men who bad fought together
at the Brandywine, who had stood
shoulder to shoulder at Trenton and
Germantown, and had shared each
other’s rags at Valley Forge, took
pleasure in communicating with each
other as often as possible. Their let
ters contained many items which now
are found in the papers under the head
of general news. The prices of vari
ous articles of use, the cost of living,
the last election, the current opinions
of the day, were all found in letters
simply because they could be gathered
•from no othcrsource. Practically there
was no such thing as mail. Less than
two hundred years ago a patent was
issued creating the office of Postmaster
for the colonies of America, but nothing
came of it because there were not
enough letters mailed to justify the es
tablishment of a service. About 1720 a
line of riders extended from Philadel
phia to several points in Virginia, but
the service was extremely irregular be
cause the post rider was never sent
out with a mail until enough letters
had been gathered to pay the expense
of the trip, and no one could therefore
tell when his missive would be for
warded. The speed was usually about
thirty miles a day, and when, at the
first of this century, the rider, by*
changing horses, made one hundred
miles in the twenty-four hours, the
achievement was considered unpar
alleled. More mails are now received
in a single day in New York than
were then in six months; and more
letters there in one day than then in
the whole country during a year. The
mail then between New York and Bos
ton was carried in a single pair of sad
dle-bags, and when the quantity in
creased so that two pairs had to be used
the carriers remonstrated so loudly
that the matter became of considerable
consequence.
To receive a letter then was a great
event in a neighborhood, since years
sometimes pas-ed without a letter being
brought to a country town, and when
one came, it was a signal for all the
neighbors to come in and hear it read.
Letters often took six weeks to go from
Philadelphia to the country towns of
Massachusetts, and during this time the
carriers had abundance of leisure to
read them and get their contents by
heart, an opportunity they were not
slow to use. There was no law forbid
ding them to do this, and as they en
joyed telling the news they bore, and
the people liked to listen to them, this
arrangement was very satisfactory. This
practice, so abominable to those who
corresponded, continued for many years
until the number of letters and greater
expedition in their carriage preyented
the carriers from reading them. For
this reason the majority of the public
men corresponded in cipher of some
kind or other, a habit which has been
mistaken for evidence of craft, when, in
fact, it w'as merely a desire to render
correspondence private. Bad as the
system of postal service was, it was so
superior to the facilities for traveling
that few were disposed to complain. In
those days the man who, for any pur
pose, attempted to' start on a journey
from Virginia to Massachusetts, called
his friends together, gave them a fare
well dinner, made his will, had prayer
for his safety offered up in the church,
and made his general arrangements as
a man now would if intending to go to
India or Africa for a term of years. In
Washington’s time two stages carried
all the travel between New York and
Boston, posting eighteen hours of each
‘ ' :hing their destination in
When the stage stuck In
the mud all the passengers turned out, as
they do now out of a street car, got rails
and helped the driver. When New York
was in sight, the wretched passengers
were sometimes compelled to wait for
ten days, if there chanced'to be a wind,
before they could cross the river, and
not infrequently, when ice was running,
a ferry-boat would be crushed in the
floes and the passengers forced to
clamber out on the cakes, where they
would float' for hours at the imminent
danger of being carried out to sea.—
Cor. St. Louis Ulobe-Democrat.
Parisian Beggars.
There is not a block in any street, not
a court-yard, square or cnrrefour in
Paris that is not the property, of beg
gers. Some will come every day be
fore the rising of the sun tooccupy the
same relation, and there to remain until
night and gas-lights come to give an
artificial life to the city. Then they till
the principal boulevards until after the
theaters aud operas are closed—that is
to say, until after midnight. Others
have their days, even their hours, to
visit certain streets, and they are cun
ning enough not to interfere with each
other in making these unwelcome calls
on the nobility and bourgeoise of Paris.
To be a successful beggar, one must
have some visible infirmity or impedi
ment to gaining a living; consequently
all Paris beggars are either cripples,
blind, maimed or suffering from hideous
.sore or cancer affliction which is not in
frequently assumed or imitated with no
small degree of skill and to our special
loathing. A good many of those whose
infirmities are not of the most hideous
or repulsive character do not beg out
right. They pretend to seli pencils,
pins, knives, flowers; they play on hand
organs and other musical instruments
invented to torture the public, go from
houae to house, singing—heaven help
me, but I should have said howling!—
some sort of an air, which these
Johnny Crapeaus call musical. Each
beggar has his (or her) tradi
tions, his especial manner of exhibiting
his claims on. charity—in fact, the
usual mite en scene of the profession.
For instance, the blind—by far the most
numerous, important and wealthy cor
poration among the beggars -almost
invariably maintain a rigid immovabil
ity, a petrifaction which extends even
to the dog or little child that may ac
company them- Another distinguishing
feature of this blind nnisance is that he
rarely- addresses any verbal appeal to
the passer-by; but ne is very careful
that his placard shall speak for him.
and on this sign-board be sometimes
takes flights into the realm of poesy
that are really startling. Often this
card appeals to the reaoer’s sympathy
by mentioning the name of the depart
ment or province from which the beg
gar has come. I saw one smart fellow
awhile ago who heads his cards with
the words: “Pity a poor, blind Paris
ian.”
I said above that the blind are the
wealthiest among the beggars; a state
ment not st> paradoxical as it may seem
A good, honest, industrious workman
will earn more in a day than most beg
gars pick up, but some blind rascals are
wonderfully lucky. One man, who had
lived by begging many years, was at
last induced to change his mode of life.
Some time after he met one of his old
pals, who asked him to take a drink.
“But are you noti going to treat, tog?”
asked the beggar, when they had sat for
some time with empty glasses before
them.
“Ah, mon amt, the fact is I have very
little money, now that I am no longer
poor.”
There is a young man who begs in
front of the Press Club, Boulevard ties
Italiens, who applied not long ago to
one of the matrimonial agencies to find
him a wife. He did not insist that she
should be handsome, nor did he demand
a virtuous woman, but he was firm in
his insistance that she should have a
dot of no lass than $3,000, a pretension
on his part which was fully justified by
the amount of his average daily income
from charity. The opposite of the
blind beggar is the cut tie jatte, or fel
low without legs, who runs around on
his hands and thigh stumps, or is drawn
in a hand-cart by an associate. These
cripples are always the most active and
the most dissipated to be seen in Paris.
They are a bold, disgraceful lot of beg
gars, and the police are powerless lie
fore them. Stay! It is indifference
rather than- lack of power that permits
policemen to overlook the impudence of
the cut tie jattes, who are, in a majority
of cases, thieves as well as beggars.
Some few of these detestable individuals
are as sound in limb and as physically
well formed as any man of my acquaint
ance. There is no telling the artificial
from the genuine, and the safe and wise
plan is to avoid giving charity to all of
them. In Paris, as in all large cities,
there are regularly established societies
who look after the poor systematically
and carefully, and, with perhaps an oc
casional exception, there is no need
whatever of bestowing alms on the in
numerable beggars that till the streets
of this capital. To coming visitors my
earnest advice is: “ Keep your sous in
your pocket. If you don't you won’t be
able to satisfy the thieving shop-keep
ers.”—Paris Cor. Chicago News.
Mr. Jones Suffers From a Misapplied
Keniedy.
Jones still lives. After escaping the
critics and the anger of a justly in
censed populace, and surviving the bod
ily perils of an amateur’s debut, he has
come near to meeting death, at the
hands of the wife of his bosom, and now
lies weak and helpless as a month old
baby, trying to plan out an adequate
revenge when Jeptha is himself again.
It would be funny were it nbt so fatal,
but Mrs. Jones says no bones are broken,
and that he needed heroic treatment; he
certainly got it.
You see, the family doctor is an ab
sent-minded sort of man, and the other
day as he left the house after giving
Mrs. Jones a bottle of medicine for
Jones’ measles, he was staring about
him in a dazed sort of way as he went
out, and Mrs. J. began to think Jeptha
I might be worse than she imagined, and
she asked rather anxiously:
“ Is there anything else, doctor?”
“ Give him the prescription regular
ly,” said.the doctor in a liver-pad voice,
“and don't forget the directions,-and be
sure to shake well before administering
—good day, ma’am,” and the doctor
passed out in a brown study.
“ I'm sure I don’t know now I’m jp>
ing to do it,” said Mrs. Jones, with
tears in her eyes. “I suppose I must
though: but Bridget will have to help.”
Mr. Jones had fallen into a feverish
sleep infvhieh the measles and Shakes
peare and sword swallowing were con
siderably mixed up, when he suddenly
awoke and saw Mrs. Jones standing
looking at him on one side of the bed,
and Bridget heroically planted on the
other.
“Maria, am I worse?” he gasped,
with a feeling that he must be dying.
“Take hold,” said Mrs. Jones, nod
ding to Bridget, “we may as well get it
over again.”
Bridget took hold; it was something
like the grip of a bull-dog and it caught
Jones in the ribs at the same moment
that the tifcklish lingers of his wife were
inserted on the other side.
“Now shake!” directed Mrs. Jones,
and for the next five minutes the wretch
ed man had a dissolving view of the
heavens and the earth; he tried to pray,
but Bridget’s knuckles took every bit of
breath out of him, and as he rose and
fell with the regularity of a rag-carpet
in spring house cleaning, he could only
take one brief and rapid survey of his
past life, and think with indescribable
torture of all the wicked things he
might have done and hadn’t. Then be
was dropped—as It seemed to him from
a fourtn story window—and he feit
some cold liquid that tasted like mus
tang liniment and St. Joseph's oil com
bined going down his throat.
“So glad you’re better,” said his
wife, when he recovered consciousness;
“do you know, dear, if it hadn’t been
for the doctor I’d never thought about
that old formula, ‘To be well shakeu
before taken.’ I haven't a doubt it ha*
saved your life. That comes of having
a doctor of the old school; you’ll soon
be well now,” and she put two more
comfortables and his overcoat on the
prostrate man, and tucked him in so he
wouldn't get cold.
And now she says the only thibg that
worries her is the expression of his eyes.
They look wild.—Detroit Post and trib
une.
—A contemporary tells of a little col
ored boy who was badly treated,' and
“ hung by the neck until he was black
Irtbofaco.”
PERSONAL AND LITERARY.
—Mrs. Booth, mother of the actor,
lives in Philadelphia. She has a kind,
sad face, and sne loves to talk to' her
birds.
—Rev. John H. Mcllvain, formerly at
Princeton College, has written a work
entitled “The Wisdom of Holy Scrip
ture.”
—Ex-Sergeant-at-Arms John R.'
French wilfenter the lecture field next
spring, his subject being “Ten Years
Among the Senators.”
—Miss La Forge, the young authoresa,
died at Washington recently, of grief
at the death of her betrothed, Lieuten
ant Chipp, of the Jeannette.—Washing
ton Star.
—Clark Russell, the successful novel
ist, is a son of Henry Russell, the music
al composer of “A Life on the Ocean
Wave,” and father and son live together
in London.
—Miss Lucy Lareom, in her lecture
on women as lyric poets, mentions Misf
Sigourney. Hannah Gould and Alice and
Phel)e Cary as the representative w<im
cn lyrists of America.—Chicago Journal.
—J. K. Hollins and Miss Tina Smith
were married at Fort Gaines, Ga., the
other day, Mr. Hollins being an old
stager of seventeen who had been mar
ried once before, and his bride a four
teen year old girl who was going to
school in short dresses.—Atlanta Con
stitution.
—Anandabai Joshee, a Brahmin lady
of high social standing, has come to
Philadelphia to study medicine so as to
practice in India. She is only nineteen
years old, and determined upon this
self-imposed ostracism for the benefit
of her sex. She is a graduate of Ser
ampool College at Calcutta.—Philadel
phia Record.
—In recording the death of.Mrs. Bet
sy (Lee) Sherman, at the age of eighty
two years, the St. Albans (Vt.) Messen
ger says she had a distinct recollection
of President Arthur’s father, as he used
to come, leading his little son Chester
by the'hand, on Sundays, and preach
in the Fairfield (Vt) school-house where
she first taught school.
—The late Bishop Peck, of the Meth
dist Episcopal Church, not long ago
gave all his property to the Syracuse
University, preferring to dispose of it
during his own life. “ I have an ambi
tion,’” he said, “to die without any
thing. for I am going to where I shall
have infinite riches of a kind that will
suit me better than any of these materi
al things.”—Syracuse (N. Y.) Journal.
—Florence Marry at says that when
Dickens was writing “David Copper
field,” and at a time when its publica
tion in a serial form was about half
completed, an American firm procured
somebody' to write a conclusion, and
thus put a bogus book on the market.
The version of the story married David
to Agnes rather abruptly. Dickens had
intended the same thing, but when the
news of this audacious piracy reached
him he forthwith introduced Dora and
made her David’s wife, with as little
delay as possible.
-»■ —
HUMOROUS.
—A Yale student swallowed his dia
mond pin and is ninety-nine cents out
of pocket thereby.—Norristown Herald.
—A Western paper announces the
fact that an acrobat turned a somer
sault bn a locomotive smoke-stack.
That is nothing. We know of an en
gineer who turned on the steam.—Chi
cago Herald.
—Elderly philanthropist to small boy,
who is vainly striving to pull a door
bell above his reach—“Let me help you,
my little man.” (Pulls the bell.) Small
boy—“Now you had better rpn, or we
will both get a licking!”—Fliegende
Blatter.
—An absent-minded editor wrote a
love letter and an editorial at the same
time. The love letter he sent out to btf
set up in type by the printers and a
long editorial on tariff to his girl.
There was fun at both ends of the
route.
—Author’s wife, at Long Branch, to
her Irish maid: “I say, Honora, where
can Mr. Inkslasher be? It is past lunch
time. What can be keeping him away
so long?” Maid—“Och! shure. don t
worry, ma’am; he's only down beyant
there, at the baitch, decomposin’.”—
Brooklyn Eagle. *
—The addresses of a certain young
man having been declined by a young
lady, he paid court to her sister. “ How
much you resemble your sister,” said
he, on the evening of his first call.
“ You have got the same hair, and the
same forehead and same eyes”—‘‘And
the same noes,” she added quickly. He
has stopped calling at that house.
—The owner .of a house near the
banks of the Seine, which had been
pretty thoroughly inundated during a
recent freshet, advertised his property
for sale after the water had subsided.
A would-be purchaser presenting him
self, the proprietor began to detail the
advantages of the house. “.A superb
view,” he said;.“ bath-room, billiard
room and gas everywhere.” Then he
added with a strange smile: “ And war
ter—on every floor.”
—When young Hodge first came up
to town, his father told him that it
would be polite, when being helped at
dinner, to say to the host: “ Half that,
if you please.” It so happened that,
at the first .dinner to which he was in
vited, a sucking pig was on the dishes.
The host, pointing with his'knife to the
pig, asked: “ Well, Mr. Hodge, will
you have this, our favorite dish, or
a. haunch of mutton?” Upon which,
recollecting his first lesson, ne replied:
“Half that, if you please,” to the con
sternation of all present. —Boston Post.
—At a singing-school the other
night a -young man was bragging ahout
the strength of his lungs, aha invited a
girl in the company to hit him in tha
breast. She said she was left-handed,
had been washing all day, was tired,
didn't feel very active, but at his
urgent request let go at him. When
his friends piclfed him up he said he
thought he would die easier lying
down. He had lost every recollection
of having any lungs, but the young
woman consoled him by admitting thta
she dian't hit him as hard as she might
have done, because she rather liked
hun-—Chicago Tribune.
Temperance.
BILLY MYERS’ MARE. •
A T.lttle Story with m l.lttlr Moral In II.
Not many months ago I was in the
car*—our “Panhandle’’ cars, which at
once suggest comfort to the traveler -
and was interesting mvself in observing
my fellow-travelers. It is an old- habit
of mine to seek entertainment of such
as may be so fortunate or unfortunate
as to travel with me. I keep wondering
who this is, and who that is, and what
they are here for.
fiometimes the answers inferred are
not very pleasant. For" instance, on
that very- road I saw a woman and four
children. They were very still, and I
wondered what" was the matter. At a
little station they loft the car, and,there
stood a little group of people to meet
them. In an instant all were weeping,
I .wondered why. Our cars moved on.
and then the reason was revealed in the
box that had just been lifted from tbfc
1 aggage-car, containing someone’s cof- ;
fin. T said to myself: “No doubt it
contains the mortal remains of the hus
band and the father.’’.
But it was not of them or of him they
were mourning I meant to write. There !
is a class of men who ride on every
train at the West, of their own sort, en
terprising, jolly, and free in speech
and manner. Among them are some of
the smartest fellows, and for them 1
predict fortune. They encounter pe
culiar dangers from their roving kind of
life, and not tjie smallest of these is
from tippling. ' It is very easy to
imagine that the water is bail, or to feel
“damp,” or exposed to some disease, or
that one is tired, and that a little whisky
will be good. I notice also that many
voung men “make a mock" of my fears
They are merry as crickets as t,hey tell
their drinking exploits. Many of them
carry a well-filled flask. And thus they
get very familiar with that which has
destroyed multitudes.
Two of these men met in our car. ;
They were merry, and at last they went
back to the water-tank to get water to i
mix with something else which they
(frank. And when they returned to
their seat, either because 1 looked like
one of their sort—as I trust I do not- -
or because they noticed my interest in
their movements, one of. them asked ;
me “if I would not take a little? It is
real good!”
I thanked the young man for his
offer, although my sense of duty- strug
fled with my politeness, and I felt that
ought rather to say “Get thee behind
me, .Satan!” But still I thanked him,
and added: “Let me pay you by telling
you a story.”
Now a story in a tedious ride on a..
railroad, even if it be in one of the ele- j
gant Panhandles, is always welcome, j
and so they all listened as f began.
“The fact is, gentlemen,” I said, |
“ Whilst thankful for your offer, I am
afraid to accept it.”
“Well, I am not afraid,” said the
young man, as if a little hurt.
“I was not speaking of you, but of
myself,” I replied. “ The fact is, I am
afraid. But I was to tell you a story,
not an original one, but one in which
that wonderful man, Father Hunt, the
Temperance lecturer, was an actor!
“You may not know- that on that
subject it was not always wise for an
opposer to "attack him. fie was sure to
be a little singed in the conflict.
“One day Mr. Hunt was making a
hard assault on fum drinking in a
neighborhood where a Dutch distiller
named ‘Billy Myers’ was a Sort of
king. This man was present and con
tinually interrupting the speaker by
saying in a loud voice: ‘Mr. Hunt,
money makes the mare go!’ At first it
raised a laugh, which Mr. Hunf took in
good nature.
“At last he stopped for a personal
colloquy with his tormentor, and said:
‘Look here, Mr. Myers, you say money
makes the mare go, and you mean that
I lecture on temperance for money,'
don’t you?’ ‘Yes, that is what I mean,
Mr. Hunt.’ ‘Well; Mr. Myers, you
carry on a distillery, and you do it for
money, jlon’t you?’ ‘To. be sure I do,
Mr. Hunt; money makes the mare go.’
‘And so, Mr. Myers, you say I have a .
mare, and you have a mare, also; sup
pose we'trcit them out together and see
how they compare?’
“ihe meeting was in a grove, ana tne
sharp lecturer knew a thing or two, and
so the old distiller found out, for Mr.
Hunt pointed to a young fellow who was
quite (trunk, and was steadying himself
by a tree, and said: ‘Mr. Myers, who is
that young fellow?' The distiller start
ed as if stung, as he apswered: ‘That is
my son.’ ‘Your son, is he, Mr. Myers?
I guess he has been riding your mare,
and got thrown, hasn't he?’
‘■And who is that young fellow sitting
so drunk on that log out there?’’ asked
the lecturer, pointing to a second one.
‘The distiller uttered an exclamation
of real pain, as he said: That is my
son, too.’ ‘He is. is he?’ said Mr.
Hunt; ‘I guess he has been riding your
mare, also, and she has kicked up and
thrown him oyer her head, hasn't she?
Your mare must be a vicious, dangerous
brute, isn't she, Mr. Myers?’ • •
“The distiller could npt stand it any
longer, but said: ‘Look here, Mr. Hunt,
I won't say another word if you will let
me off.’
“ And there is my story about Mr.
Bill Myers and his mare, It may not
seem to you, young man, to have much
point, but the fact is I have noticed
‘ Bill Myers' mare ’ a great many times,
and I have seen a great many men as
fearless as you attempt to ride the
vicious creature, and I have seen a
great many of them thrown and their
•necks broken. It may seem cowardly,
but I am afraid to ride her, and I most
earnestly advise you to get off while
your neck is whole, for I ieel sure she
will some day thrhw you, and, perhaps,
•kill you. 4 beg you not to ride Bill
Myers' mare!”
Such was my story. I was not vety
delicate in it* illustration, but is a man
to stickle for the niceness of words
when he sees a line young fellow riding
down to perdition on such a jade?
My story hit the mark, and the
young man to whom it was addressed
was quite “cut down,” and, to “ease
up the matter,” *1 asked him his busi
ness, and found he was agent for a
large glore manufactory, ana forthwith
he opened his satchel and presented me
a pur of gloves, as he said; “4k *
■Ign that my honest dealing was ap
preciated."
O! course. I accepted them with
'hanks, but added as a parting admoni
tion: “ My young friend, take the ad
vice /it n casual acquaintance whose
j chief business is with yonng men, and
dismount as quickly as possible from
! Bill Myers’ mare?”'— President TuUle,
of Wabash College.
Amount of Liquor Drank in Illinois.
In an Mltorial In four last Patti Mar's Issue
fou estimate the coat of Ikiuor drank in Illi
nois in the emtrse of a year at V49.OJO.onn.
Don't you think thesoflirnresare rather steep?.
Give its your tmsis of calculation.
.* Tbcthsekker.
We are all “truth.seekers;” all who
have any genuine claim to |ionestv.
There is certainly no occasion to exag
gerate the statistics of the liquor traffic;
they are sad enough, every good citi
zen must confess; mortifying enough,
one would suppose, to shame the devil
himself. There is an error, undoubted
ly, in the above estimate, but it la rfbt
on the side that “Truthseekcr” sup
poses. It is an underestimate, thought
to be sufficiently alarming, and inten
tionally reduced below our actual com
putation, for the verv purpose of avoid
ing any ground^for tfie charge of exag
geration. But since even this low esti
mate provokes the above question, we
submit the following data as to the re
tail liquor traffic of this "city, remarking
in passing that there is reason to believe
that Chicago is not the chief of sinners
in this business, Buffalo having one sa
loon to every 96 inhabitants -and New
York one to every 135 inhabitants,
whereas this city has but one to every
160.
From testimony given in court in
various ca-es, and from the prices of
rents, cost of living, wholesale cost of*
beer, whisky, wine and other spirituous
and fermented liquors, it is generally .
conceded that the gross receipts of the
poorest class of saloons average not less
than $12 to $15 a day, while the princi-.
pal establishments take in from $150 to
$250 a day, according to seasons, days
and special circumstances. *
The following estimate is based on ob
servat:ons made as to the patronage ol
six Chicago saloons, so long, ago as
1877, by tne founders of the Citizens’
League. The figures in the first column
give the number of persons, male and
lemale, seen to enter these places be
tween seven p. m. and midnight; the
second column is our own computation
of the money paid in, assuming that
nothing but beer was called for, at five
cents a glass, t wo-thirds of the customers
drinking but one glass, and the rest ol
them averaging only two glasses each,
and the third column indicates the prob
able actual receipts, adding for the or
dinary consumption of drinks more
costly than beer:
Rereiptt, Grot*
Xn. Entering. if Beer. BeeeivtK,
2,889.$19) $2M
2,W6. 187 25$
1.979. 133 171
1,820..... 121
1,741. 118 .• 151
1,8 5. 113 V*
Observe that these are-the receipts ip
saloons where lager beer was the chief
drink; that the above figures covqy only
the five hours after seven p. m.; and
that liquors in kegs, bottles, pitchers
and jugs, ordered for home use, are not
taken into account. There are a few
establishments dealing chiefly in whisky,
brandy, wine, etc., whose receipts are
at times nearly double the highest
amount above given as the daily aver
age.
To add assurance to our own ealcula
tion, one of the most thorough investi
fators and accurate reporters on the
nter Ocean local staff was detailed to
ascertain, as nearly as may be, the
actual receipts of Chicago saloons. On
the data furnished by him a moderate
estimate of the gross annual receipts of
the 3,750 licensed saloons of Chicago
figures as below:
AVi. of • Avr-ra ie daily Receipt*
Saloons. receipts. for year.
10. : *176 *838,750
50. 85 1,561,20
100.• 50 - 1,825.000
1.000. 30 10,960.000
1,000. 25 9.126,001
1.010. 15 5,987,760
50). 10 1,825,000
4750 • *32,082,750
This schedule does not cover unli
censed saloons, or other {Places where
liquor is sold; the average daily receipts
are taken at less rather than more than
the probable truth, and yet it charges
Chicago, which contains only about one
sixth of the population of the 'State,
with an outlay of over $32,000,000 per
annum for spirits, wines and fermented
drinks. It is not so easy to ascertain
the number of saldons in the rest of the
State and their average daily sales, but'
data are not wholly wanting. Fifty
■eight high-license towns of tne State,
with a population of 189,000, contain
401 saloons, or one to every 470 inhabit
ants. Make all the allowance that can
be reasonably asked for the moderate
drinking of the farming classes, and
discount, if possible, our estimate for
Chicago,, and the- total cost of liquor
drank in Illinois exceeds $60,000,000
per annum.—Inter Ocean.
Temperance Items. ' •
In 1873 a public coffee-house Was
established in London fob the pufyoee
of cheeking intemperance, ana to-day
there are over one hundred and sixty
such enterprises in England, mostly in
London. They reoeive the hearty praise
of the Church, and the substantial aid of
the respectable classes. .
Our rumsellers are killing the peo
ple for gain and then shrieking for
"liberty"’ to go on with their murder
ing work. They are coining money by
making society fester with corruption*
and then yelling for "liberty” to con
tinue the Satanic work of tempting and
ruining the people.—Rcacut.
The drink-den never did any real
good to man, woman or child. No one
outside of the liquor-makers and sellers
was ever made richer or happiei for it.
It degrades* not ennobles; curses, not
blesses; hurts, not helps; wrecks, uotj
saves. Like all sin, “it is evil, ard
only evil, and that continually.”
A New York artist, a woman whose
husband and son had both bhen ruined
by liquor, recently painted a picture for'
which Stokes, slayer of Jim Fisk and
proprietor of the Hoffman House bar*
room, offered her a luge sum of moimy.
On learning, however, that it was to be>
used to attract drinker* to his saloon,
she refused to make the sale.— N, 7.