The Brookhaven leader. [volume], December 13, 1883, Image 1

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

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,, VOLUME I. BROOKHAVEN, MISSISSIPPI, THURSDAY. DECEMBER 13, 1883. NUMBER *J*5# i ninessotherwise agreed upon.Jt9
■-———————L——_ ___ _ _ _ __ _ _1 . __•
fjjAf SHE SAID AND WJ/.IT
SUE DID.
t,1, (.v, r will marry," she said—she said—
• Inhssu young man that just suits mo I
Tiiier than I by at least half a head
lie surely must be, with a face bright and
llK ee'lil prefer of a violet blue.
His'hair a light lirown ora very warm gold;
lie nm-i sing—a line tenor—ami dance nicely,
pH).
\ii,l ted ns good stories ns ever were to d.
V,',ittg allowed, for the weed I detest,
A„d el course no remarks that arc rude or
ill hre.l;
And 1 d lik" him to always be stylishly
ilres-ed,
The young man I marry,” she said—she said.
And then the tuaid married—she did, she did—
A threescore old fellow tnucTt shorter than
she,
Vi,,, wore a black wig that but awkwardly hid
\ lute that no balder could possibly tie.
And his voice was a creak, and he danced
like a bear,
And his nose it was red, and dull gray were
In- eyes.
And be d sit by the hour and stupidly stare,
\ el lie never said anything witty or wise.
An I lie smoked a clay pipe, and trout morn
ing till night
In In- mouth held of strongest tobacco a
ipiid:
And lie dressed— lint enough, ho had two
miHions unite.
And “lie married him gladly—she did—she
-Hi.
— /fcirper's /inr.
THE LAST HT. KEEN AIM).
/ _ __ ^
“All. In* was a noble animal. I liaf
rml seen his like again,” and tliCKpophor
s glieil as lie puffed oul u great cloud of
Miioke from a long-stemmed pipe.
Ii was Dr. Hans Frolic.h, a Tecentlv
nrrveil Herman phys'eian, who made
Hi is remark. He was seated in his
.... defferson, near Second street,
and Uetween the intervals of long inha
bit ions from a meerschaum with that,
rich brown coloring so dear to the’
heart* of genuine smokers, he was talk
ing to a reporter. A pleasant-faced
looking student was this Herman phv
,s c in.with a rosy countenance, that was
ju-t now tinged witli a deep shade*of .
regret. He was speaking of the bench
show which was then going on at the
Exposition, and the conversation drifted <
naturally to the St. Bernard kennel, the
11 •!ib* animals in which attracted so1
iiiueh and such favorable attention.
T is was a subject .which touched the
do tor's sensibilities, and at once he
became deeply imprest oat He spoke
Engli-h. hut with such hesitancy as
made Ids meaning very difficult of com
prehension, and fin ay 5* had to lie
assisted by an interpreter. The story
which follows is an interesting one, I
made more so by its occurring under his
] ei-oual observation, audit is in his own
words: - i
“Those dogs at the Exposition,” said
h", “are line animals, hut they are not.
t ne st. Bernards. They are onlv i
< r -es, as the pure breed became ox
tiii■ 1 forty years ago in the death of the ’
1 st and noblest specimen of bis race.
Barry was his. name, mid I knew him
well in my boyish day4 He was onlv a
dog, hut he had the brains of a man,
and more than his hetirt. He was old
when he died, but he was as full of hon
or- as of years, and lie met his death at j
the hands of a fool Englishman after he j
had -lived tiine-and-fonly lives.
“Barry was the property of a monas- 1
ten on Mont Blanc. The brotherhood 1
was a more than ordinarily pious one, ’
ami the old monks loved the dog almost1
as well as if lie had been one of their j
own number. Well they might, for his '
bke had'never been seen before, as it
"as never to be again. He had beeii
1 rought ii]) by them from the time ho i
was a whimpering puppy up to the days.!
of his . useful, middle-aged dogliood.
The kennel that sheltered trim tirst was
1 lie one where all his days were passed,
lie grew up among the monks and
their fat Abbot, and took his food from
their hands fondly and gratefully.
“Hi- life was not an idle one. For-j
inerly the monastery Ik*. I owned some- |
thing over a dozen of the pure breed,
hut death from age and accident out
them down one by one t il Barry was
left the sole survivor and a very king
"f his race. Not hut that there were
many others, but ttyev were partly l
sprung from mongrel'stock, and were
larger and heavier, though useful ani-I
Inals enough. This particular dog, of I
"ini'll i am speaKing neeuea nothing!
more than the riniiments of training. t
Jt seemed as if the wonderful instinct
of his ancestors had all passed*into that
shaggy head of his, and all llieir fidelity
into his heart. Many a time 4 hkyoy
heard the good old monks.dwell'on his !
virtues. When lie was only a‘-ytfar pld
lie had distinguished hjinsnf‘by saving'|
the life of a young oh kb which bail i
been overwhelmed in tho drifts bpaked
from the fate which carried iu mother
to the depths of the-nbviss on whose
edge the babe was lodged.. His race
"as always celebrated for .their,
strength and endurance, but his was
something extraordinary. Many a time
lie made his way back to the hospital
monks carrying some benumbed trav
eler on his back, with whom he had
struggled all the toilsome day over the
snow-drifts. Not one. but many such
"'■re his performances, and if ever a ]
brute deserved canonization he did, for
be met with a martyr’s death.
“ Forty years ago he died. The win- j
ter had been one of the coldest mid so- j
verest ever known in Switzerland and I
many a guest had reason to be thankful
for the accommodations of the old nion
51'buy and its fat Abbot. Barry Was
getting old then, but he was hale aud
lwarty as ever. One morning, after a
violent night, during* which two ava-j
lanehes had fallen and buried the liar- j
low road that climbed the sides of the J
mountain, he was sent out to see if, per- !
chance, he might, as be had done nine- |
and-forty times before, rescue some I
buried traveler from the drifts. A roll
of warm blankets was strapped on his
hack, his barbed collar was put on his
neck, a hunter’s flask of liquor was St->
tached, and the good monks sent him
cut with their prayers and blessings.
11c never eaine back alive.
“ About a milo from the monastery
he came to a freshly fallen avalanche in
the narrow road. That unerring in
stinct of his taught poor Barry that
some traveler lay under the soft, white I
snow, and he set to wprk to lind him.
He was right, for on the night before
one of those traveling fools of English
men who think every other country
better than their own had tried to pass,
and had been overwhelmed with his
guides. With that marvelous scent
"'hieh his years of experience
Wd trained so perfectly Barry
was not Hong in finding him. As it
happened, he was behind a huge rock
wlicn the avalanche fell, so that lie had
been partially- screened from its force,
and, though covered under several feet
of snoyv, he had not been suffocated nor
frozen to death. The dog dug eagerly
yvitli those strong forelegs of hN, and
soon had made his way into the dozing
Englishman’s recess. As soon as lie
reached him he harked vigorously and
commenced licking the snow from the
man's face. iiis tongue ami hoi
breath revived the Englishman, whore
gained consciousness only to suppose
that he was attacked by a wolf. It was
not poor Barry’s fault that lie was
shaggy and uncouth, but men do not
stop to reason in such circumstances.
He carried pistols—all these travelers
do—and in a trice he had drawn one
and shot the brave dog whom he had
mistaken for an enemy, but who was
only trying to rescue him from death.
“The shot was heard by the monks,
who hastened to the spot and found the
Englishman struggling out of the drifts.
The dog was lyipg at the edge .of the
pit, which lie had dug with perhaps
hours of toil. He was not quite dead,
and lie’ lived lornj. enough to lick t In
band of the father who had watched
over him all his life, and who cried like
a child at his death.
•' It was the creed of these holy men
to return good for evil, and they would
have cared for the mini even if he had
not slain his preserver through a cruel
mistake. They took him to the mon
astery, and gave h:m food and drink
until he was able to leave them, with
many blessings and a heavy, purse ol
gold. But they never rottld feel to him
quite as they would If lie had not slain
the nobly animal which they all so
prized. ‘ Tie regretted it deeply, of
course, but that couldn’t help the mat
ter, and t ho reverend fathers were not
sorry when lie left. His name was
Clinton, they say, and he was a Baro
net in h's own country, where it was a
pity lie had not stayed. Barry was
taken to the monastery, where his skin
was stullcd, and some years afterward
this was removed to the museum in
Berne, where it 1st kept to this day.
“lie was the last of the pure St.
Bernards, but he left bis descendants
behind him, and by careful crossing
with Newfoundlands a new race was
produced almost exactly like the old,
only larger. A friend of mine in Berne
named Schuniache lias some superb an
inuils of this kind, and last year when
he jook one of them to the museum and
compared it to Barry lie. found that
they Were different only in size, their
color anti markings being the same.
There are many of these in the Alpine
monasteries now, but although bravo
and intelligent the opening of the roads
has made them less and less needed
for the service which made their an
cestors so distinguished. There never
has been another one like Barry, and
there never will be.”—Louisville Courier
Journal.
Pleasure oT Polities.
A haggard, broken-down man, with
wild, sleepless eyes, staggered into the
Journal editorial rooms and. sinking
into a chair, hoarsely whispered:
“The game’s up.”
••How so?” •*
“ Well, you know I have been run
ning for the Legislature. I was regu
larly nominated hv the party. I re
ceived the hearty indorsement of the
Andrew Jackson Ohib, the Bullseyos
Target Club, tholndepcndcntFusileers.
the Gentlemen’s Sons’ Coterie, t lie
Blacksmiths’ Union, the Coopers’
Union, the United Tailors, the Fr.end
lv Boiler-Makers, atpl the Brotherhood
of Licensed Venders.”
“ Yes.”
“ I drew all my money out of the
bank. I sold all my real estate. I
mortgaged my house anil my library. J
borrowed all the money I could raise
among my friends. I auctioned off ev
ery trotting horse. 1 pawned my dia
monds, my watch, my fall overcoat,'my
sealskin cap.”
“ Yes.”
“I worked day and night. I Can
vassed the district through twice. I
made from fifteen to twenty speeches a
day. I hired fifty strikers and heelers.
1 had two saloons giving out free drinks.
I visited all the churches. 1 never
dropped less than a double-eagle in the
contribution-baskets. 1 kissed all the
babies, white and blaek, in the district.
1 shook hands 58,000 times. 1 sub
scribed to 300 funerals. Time and time
again I gave money to bury people who
are not dead. 1 bought 1,923 ball-tick
ets for 120 different balls, 119 of which
never eaine off. 1 put my name pu 436
charity,lists.”
“Yes.”
“Ididnt sleep nut two hours and
thirty-six minutes in four weeks. 1
weighed 190 pounds when the canvass
began. Now I weigh 105- pounds and
thirteen ounces. My hair turned gray
the first two weeks. I grew ten years
older every week. I did everything I
could do for the success of my party and
to be elected.”
“Yes.”
“Well, after I had bankrupted mvself
and almost ruined my friends and de
stroyed iuy health and undergone the
mental strain and suffering of a life
time, I learned that my party boss hail
never intended to have me elected.”
“Indeed!”
“There are three men running in my
district—two Democrats and a Repub
lican. My political boss put me up to
beat the other Democrat. Me had made
a trade with the Republican.”
The candidate for the Assembly bor
rowed ten cents to get some coffee and
cukes, and walked off heart-broken.—
N. y. Journal.
—The Grand Duke Alexis, of Russia,
whose visit to thiS'cmiutrv was a social
event while General Grant was Presi
dent, is now first to get married, at the
ago of thirty-1 hree. His chosen wife is
the Princess Amelie of Orleans, eldest
daughter of the Count of Paris, a Roman
Catholic, and is to remain so. The
wives qf Russian Princes have hitherto
all been Germans, except in tfie case of
Alexander IIL, the present Czar, whose
wife is a pane. -Alexis is now Admiral
in-riuef of the Russian navy. *
—Kirkpatrick Rockbud is the gentle
name of the “champion Jong distance
runner of Colorado.’
Laces.
Collarettes pointed in front are the
design in which re al laces are new fash
ioned: some of tlie.NB are quite small,
reaching only to the top of the darts,
while a second size extends to the waist
line, and still others fall below the |
waist and form a slender vest, which is
sufficient trimming for handsome cor
sage's of velvet, satin or silk. Point I
laces, duchessc, gaze or rose point, and
combinations of these laces, are made i
Into collarettes, and sometimes some 1
point de Venise 13 added. With these
collarettes a narrow frill of lace is
worn standing around flie neck and is
permanently attached to it: a yard and
a quarter of wider trimming laee is
then added for gathering inside the
sleeves. Very small and short collar
ettes that combine duchessc niifl a little
point gaze cost from *0 to while
larger ones, with some Venetian jsiiut,
are st.O. There is an effort to revive
the old Honiton lares, with their light,
open, feathery designs, and these are
now shown in fichus, collarettes, and
the time inch widths of laces that are
ii-e I tor the neck and sleeves of dresses.
Valenciennes is again in favor, and is
especially liked for young ladies. 1
1’arbes of laee are not useful in the
pre-nit style of dressing the throat, hut
the wide, straight scarfs are suddenly
restored to favor to form the soft draped
\s st trimming now in vogue. For
fully gathered frills for the neck and
sleeves three and a half yards are re
quired of duchesse, Honiton, or other
I heavy real lace: but of the lighter laces,
i such as Valenciennes, Mechlin, and the
J darned Oriental and Maurcsque laees,
six or seven yards are easily used, as
! these need to be very full to be effoct
J ive, ami the frills usually extend down
j the front of the basque, either in ope
or two rows, gathered to the edge of
t hi' button-hole side of the dress, and al -
lowed to fall with careful grace, with
out being fastened in a set jabot or in
she! I gat hers.
Willi ladies who have but one set of
real la e the choice remains for
duchesse jaunt sn h as is sold for $3 or
tjl a yard. FI dirts and seirfs of Honi
ton laee are becoming, because they are
soft to gather in a web about the neck:
those cost from -too to 5v0 each, and
trimming laee for the sleeves in corre
sponding designs is •¥ 11 a yard. The
etleetive Iristi laees, especially Carriek
maeross, which is really 1 muslin, with
tlie designs wrought in button-hole
Stitches, and the -jiaces between cut
put, are worn perfectly smooth both in
collarettes, and in cuffs that turn uj>
w’ard from the wrist: these cost from* 10
to *:!+ a set. An inexpensive laee that
pukes a nice show for its cost is the
Pomjiadoiir laee, with the groundwork
of the meshes of Oriental laee, and uji
011 this are raised muslin llowers. roses,
fuchsias and foliage; this Pompadour
lace is u-ed much in collarettes that
have small raised tlowers all over them.
ami a single cluster on uiu ieu smc.
There are also wide llouncesof this lace
that are deep enough to form a whole
tablier or an over-skirt, and are sold
for §8 a yard. For muslin drosses,
and, indeed, for simple evening dresses
of silk and of satin, and also for trim- j
niing the soft surahs, are flounces I
of Manre-que lace atV-^ a yard. For j
handsome eyeuinj dresses and for1
trousseaux there are sets of duehesse
lace containing a flounce six inches
wide, narrrrwr'iace for garniture, and a j
lace handkerchief with corresponding *
designs. A bridal veil of duehesse anil J
of point gauze, with orange blossoms 1
and roses and lilies combined in the de
sign, may be added to such a set, and
this is in s],ape like a "rent scarf a yard
and a quarter wide and more than three
\ arils long, and may afterward be used
for drapery on satin or velvet skirts, j
Hride-niaids’ veils are most often of
Kpan sh laces, and are oply two and a j
half or three yards long, and,cost from
§20 to $40. ■ V if
In blac k laces-the hand-fun Spanish
lace is much liked for f$Jdnt|. scarfs to
drape as*vests, ami as» trimfiing byes,
but the Kseurial lace witlr flic design
outlined wit!i a (♦n| is fte favorite. I
There arti, also, manyi of the Spanish
guipure laces with the silk designs out
lined with clit*niiie cord: this is not con
fined to black, but-18 shown it* colors
also, such as golden brown, Titian fed,
and gray fcioes, at §8 a yard. With fichus
to match, for $(!. jO. The imitations of
black thread lace are so fine that they
are bought for trimmings by the most
fastidious women.—Harper's Bazar.
Solar Theories.
A very interesting discussion upon
solar theories was held at the second
day’s session of tin- National Academy j
of Sciences, at New Haven. It was
based upou the reports of Prof. Holden
and Dr. Hastings upon the solar eclipse
of May 0 of the current year. The ob
servations were taken at Caroline Isl
and, and the conditions were favorable.
Prof, llolden stated the facts upon
which he rested his conviction that the |
planet Vulcan, the existence of which
was Lcverrier’s deduction from solar
and mercurial perturbations, is a myth.
But the chief interest of the session was
created by the paper of Dr. Hastings, in
which lie gave the grounds for his be
lief that the accepted theories regard
ing the sun's atmosphere will have to
be abandoned, and that in fact the j
whole question of the. solar elements,
constitution and action must be re
opened.
it is of course well known to niep of
science that ail the theories that have
been put forward arc merely provision
al. Mauy treatises have been written
on the sun. and some of them are per
haps written in too confident a vein.
Hut no astronomer of any reputation or
standing has undertaken to assert that
we possess any definite knowledge on
the subject, nor has any hypothesis
been framed which is free from very
formidable objections and incongru
ities. Dr. Hastings sees strong
reasons for doubting the theory that
the sun is surrounded by an atmos
phere of incandescent gas extending to
a height of 600,000 miles above the
photosphere, or possibly to double that
height, and that some mysterious self
luminous matter is distributed through
this incandesceut atmosphere, together
with other mysterious matter which re
flects a diffusive light. He points out
that this theory requires us to believe
that an atmosphere from 600,010 td
1,20®,000 miles deep receives no pres
sure, or practically no pressure, since
the spectrum shows that the gaseous
pressure at the limit of the chromo
sphere is scarcely perceptible. But he
holds that the comet ary evidence against
the theory of a gaseous atmosphere is
still stronger. Bodies approaching our
earth with fourteen times its velocity,
encounter such a pressure at a distance
of ninety miles from its surface—that
is to say, at twice the assumed height
of our atmosphere—as to be ome incan
descent instantly. “But.’’ says Hr.
Hastings, “there is the direct evidence
that far within the limits of tin.mu a
the density must tie almost inlinit -ly
less than that of our atmosphere at even
sixty mile above the earth's surface.
For the great comet of the last year
passed at a distance of 300,000 miles of
the sun, and therefore deep xvitliin tlie
assumed coronal atmosphere. This
comet traversed the intcrcoronal space
for several millions of miles with a ve
locity 1X0 times that of the earth, not
only without being stopped and precipi
tated upon the surface of the sun. but
even without having been check' d in
the least.’’
This certainly is a formidable, if not
an absolutely fatal, objection to the the
ory adopted by I’rof. Young and many
others, and it is by no means the only
objection advanced by Dr. Hastings.
Thus he points out that the line 1.471
K in the spectrum does not behave at
all consistently, or in accordance with
the current hypothesis. Som-times it
is very bright and apparent. At other
times it is almost wanting. In short,
says Dr. Hastings, “if the line demon
strates the existence of au atmosphere,
it demonstrates also inconceivable
changes in ii.” The doctor concluded
his paper with an attempted explana
tion of solar action based upon the dif
fusion of light, l’rof. Young spoke in
answer to him subse lUontly, and frank
ly said that “he had always thought
that the accepted hypothesis was far
from perfect.’’ He* added, however,
that “the atmosphere of the sun was
not nil atmosphere in the same sense in
which one speaks of the earth’s at
mosphere.’’
This is rather painfully sugestive of
the shifts to which some theologians
have been driven in attempting to ac
count for the problem of evil, and
which shifts -M 11 has so forcibly ex
posed in his essays on rel'gion. If the
sun’s atmosphere is not what we un
derstnnd by our atmosphere, then the
seientitic use of that, term ill explana
tion of solar phenomena is merely a
shift to conceal scientific ignorance.
And, Indeed, it is plain enough that
science has not. yet d seovered anyth tig
definite about the sun, all theories to the
contrary notwithstanding. It is impos
sible todemonstrat ethe incandescence
of the actual solar body or of its en
velope or envelopes. Tt is impos
sible to explain solar action in accord
ance with what is known of natural
law. The center of our system is to
day as profound a mystery to us as it
was to the Chaldeans and Akkadians,
and the Asiatic hypothesis of a subtle
cosmic force called Akasa, ot which the
sun is the storehouse ami center, is not
more undemonstrable than the hypoth
eses which ottr astronomers and physi
cists amuse themselves and perplex the
lay public by putting forward. —-V. II
Tribune.
The Prince of Staples*
All boys ami girls who have read re
cent Italian history arc familiar with
the name of Victor Emmanuel,who unit
ed the various States of Italy into one
kingdom. As tho Italians had long
been hoping and praying for this union,
they natuaallv regarded Victor Emman
uel as the savior of their country, and
were mu'di grieved when he died, in
1878. His son Humbert succeeded him
on the throne, and be in time will he
followed by his only son. the Prince of
Naples, this title corresponding in
Italy to the title of Prince of Wales in
England.
The little Prince bears his grand
father’s name, Victor Emmanuel, and
was born November 11, 186H, in Naples,
probably the most beautiful city of the
whole world.
The young Prince spends his winters
in Rome, and may be often seen driving
on the Corso, the main street of the
city. Were it not lor the bright scarlet
livery of the coachman, a stranger
would not notice particularly the neatly
an<l quietly-dressed boy, driving with a
middle-aged gentleman. Rut the Ro
mans all know and low the boyish face,
raising their hats politely as the car
riage passes, while the Principinn (lit
tle Prince), as they call him, gracefully
bows in acknowledgmeut of their
courtesy.
At rare intervals no is seen driving
with his mother, the beautiful ami be
loved Queen Margaret; but he is usual
ly accompanied by his private tutor, a
cultured and educated man, whose
chief thought is to interest his young
charge and improve his mind. They
often drive by in earnest conversation,
the Prince evidently asking questions
about something he has seen in passing,
and the tutor giving him all the in
formation in his power. 1 am sure this
gentleman is fully, seusible of the great
responsibility resting upon him, for
upon him more than any other man de
pends the character of the next King of
Italy, who will have grave matters to
decide anil momentous questions to set
tle. Judging from his faee,I feel equal
ly sure that the Prmeipino himself
thinks seriously of the importance of
improving the present, in order that he
may know how to rule his people with
judgment and wisdom.
1 give tho following incident as it was
related to me by the personal friend of
an English peeress who was in the hab
it of attending the court receptions.
She was at a private reception of the
Queen, when the Prtocipiao came into
the room and pave her a kiss of greet
ing. His mother told him it was rude
not to ask permission to kiss a lady.
The boy replied, archlv: “Ah, mother,
English ladies like to be kissed."
The Prince of Naples speaks the En
glish language very well.—Olive May
Eaqcr, in Si. A'iclwlas.
—A Bowery lodging house offers a
lodging, smoking tobacco, soap, towels
anuthe use of the tooth brush for ten
cents a night,—A'. Y. Sun■
PERSONAL ANT) LITERARY.
—The New York Mercantile Library
now has 200,141 volumes.
—The new (lovernor-Cicncral of (’an- j
a<Ia brought thirty-nine servants with |
him from Knglaml.
—Klaine Hoodale, the girl poet ot
Massachusetts, has gone as a teacher to 1
tli • Indian school at Hampton, Va.—
Lotion Hi ra'il.
—The your.ge=t grandfather on record !
lives in Trinidad, Tex. His name is 1
Reese Butler, and he is thirty years old. j
— Chicago Inter Ocean.
—Herald Massey, an English con
structor of metaphysical conundrums, J
is coming over to lecture on: “Why j
Uoe-n’t (iod Kill the Devil?”
—Captain Mayne Reid had intended
to write his “Personal Reminiscence* of
the Mexican War” for publication in ;
the Philadelphia Times, and wa< just 1
entering upon the work when he died.
-—Mr. Blaine object* to the word
“ new’ as applied to his literary pur
suits. “ I almost began life in Augusta
as a reporter.” he says, “and after- j
ward edited a newspaper. Writing is
really second nature to me. I liud it
easy and pleasant work.”
Thomas Foley, the Ricardo of the
minstrel stare, went to h s mother’s
home in Brooklyn a few days ago and
died there. The New York Tribune
thinks it a coincidence that the song in
which lie was most a favorite was
“Dear Mother, I've Come Home to
Die.”
-“Sarah Bernhardt,” says Os at
Wilde, “ is all moonlight and sunlight
combined; exceedingly terrible; mag
nificently glorious. Miss Anderson is
pure and fearless as a mountain daisy; !
full of change as a river: tender, fresh,
sparking, brilliant, superb, placid.”
—The New York Commercial Ailrer
fitnr's editors have been: “ Noah Web- ;
ster. 17:'7 to 18o:t; Zachariah Lewis, i
ls‘>;j tn 1820; William L. Stone, 1820 to I
1st!: Francis Hall, 1841 to ISO:}; Will-j
iam Henry Hurlbut, 1 H!*;j to 1807: Thur- I
low Weed. 1807 to 1*68; Hugh J. Hast- !
wigs, 1 s(58*to 1888.”
—John Swinton speaks as follows oi
Henry Yillanl: “ I met him first during j
the war. in front of Richmond. He was j
then a newspaper correspondent. He j
was a slender, bright-faced, long-legged,
eccentric young fellow then, with as
light a purse as the other members of
his craft, hut now, 1 believe, though 1
have not seen him since then, he is a
solid man, over middle age, richer than
( nestis, and up to the neck in huge un
dertakings. Poor Yillard! hare-foot
hoy of (fermany, (iolden Spike of Amer
ica.—A', i. Tri'unc.
Mr. Crawford, author of “Dr.
C oni us.'’ is an exceedingly rapid
writer. This seems a gratuitous state- !
nicnt in view of the facts; but he writes I
more rapidly than would appear, even]
from tiie manner in which he publishes
his stories. He has exceedingly method- I
ieal brains, and before he puts pen to j
paper he has thought out. not only his j
plot, but the manner in which he is go- |
ing to frame it, so that when lie sits
down he writes straight or. until ho has i
finished his story. He writes a legible, !
bold hand, and there is scarcely aD 1
erasure in his manuscript.
HUMOROUS.
—Pater Familias to Festisa Son: Re
member, my son, it's not the coat that
makes the man.'’ F. S.: “No. sir. I
know it; it's the pants.”—Rutgers Tur
yu»>
— “1 know,” said a little girl to hot
elder sister’s young man at the suppor
table, “that t ou will join our society for
the protection of little birds, because
m inima says \ on arc verv fond of
larks.'’
—Professor in Chemistry: “The sub
stance you see in this vial is the most
deadly of all poisons. A single drop
placed on the tongue of a eat is enough
to kill the strongest man.”—From the
German.
—“No,” said the liigh-school girl, ‘j
don't think Miss Adolphie is very pret
ty: her barbigerous upper lip detracts
from her beauty. ’ And then the rest
of the girls scattered to look for a dic
tionary.—Off City Derrick.
—“Your wife.” savs the Christian
I'rtion, “ is entitled to her share of your
income.” Oh yes, we all know that,
but iifter she lakes out her share we
have to walk home, unless we have
credit with the street-car driver.—Life.
—“lour chock is an awful tempt a
. tion to me,” he exclaimed, as lie looked
admiringly at her fresh young face.
“Your check must he an awful burden
to you,” she replied, glancing at him
suspiciously, and the fresh young man
wit hdrew.—Buffalo Erprt ss.
— Cowper, it is stated by his biog
rapher, did not commence to write poe
try' until he was lifty. We wish the
young man who daily sends us poems
about “haze” and “autumn days’’ and
“woodland ways” would kindly do as
Cowper did.—Puck.
—“ Don't you know, mv son,” said a
kind father, “that it hurts me worse to
whip you than it does you? I would
much rather receive the punishment,
but I whip you as an example for tho
other children.” “Then let me give it
to you,” the boy replied, "and we’ll
explain to the other children after
ward.”—Arkcmsaw 2 ravellcr.
—“How is it you never marWcd,
Charley?” “O, I don’t know, except
that I remained single from choice.”
“Why, I heard that you tried to get
that i’odgkins girl a year or two ago?”
“Yes; 1 did ask her to marry me.”
“And she wouldn’t have you?” “That’s
about the size of it. So I remained
single from choice—her choice, you
know.”—Boston Transcript.
- The Editor and the Reporter:
“Though unfortunate vicissitudes flow
circumjacent to thy intuitional person
ality permit no sesquipidalian argu
mentation to induce thee to sever the
contiguity existing between the eques
trian feruginous crescent end the por
tiere.” (Blue Pencil)—Cut this down
a few lines.—Editor. “Eternally re
frain from removing the equestrian
foot-gear from the portal.” (Blue
Pencil) — Make it breezy. — Editor.
“Never tike the horseshoe from tho
door.” (Blue Pencil)—Correct!- Ed
itor.—A'. 1.
Temperance.
77//j STYI.IS1I SALOON STAND.
The Devil arrows aristocratic of Into.
And ho want* :i housn more irrand:
So down iroc« tin wooocn shanty.
To make r om for 11 stylish stand,
lie has dealt out death to thousands
And It reaped him a harvest fair;
To prove how the work has paid,
A costly bouse he'll r«*ar.
II- wi I build it of brick* that were purchase i
Wjih the drunkard’s pains and fours;
He will fill It with alcaminir windows
That are made from frozen tear*.
And the rnonev that at hfs counter
Ma le a father’s br.iiii >rrow wihl.
Till li»* boat an invalid woman.
And killed his beautiful child.
Porno. hasten ye merry masons,
Ituill in» tin* ’towering wall!
Work well, work fast, iroo I fellows*
Von shall he paid for all!
Paid in the drunkard’s money
Whieh left his wife unfo I.
And sent his children weepiujr,
Hunyry and cold to bed;
Pull down the old frame btiildlne!
Make room for a new one here!
For this, dear homes were rnortirajrod.
Or sold by the auctioneer!
No matter if little children
Stray hoincles* through the land,
Dow n‘with the old fiitme build n/.
Make room lor the stylish s* and f
—Monitor JourntV.
How to Accomplish Certain Ends.
If you wish to he always drinking,
start an appetiteior drink; the oftener
you drink the oftener von want to.
if you want to prevent your friends !
from raising you in the world, keep on
drinking, and that will in the end defeat
all their efforts
If you would effectually counteract
your attempts to do well, keep on
drinking and you will not be disap
pointed.
If you wish to repel the endeavors of
the whole human race to raise you to
chara ter, credit and prosperity, keep
on drinking, and vou will likelv tri
umph.
If you are determined to be poor, keep
on drinking, and you will be ragged and |
penniless t<> \our heart's content.
If you wish to starve your family, keep
on drinking, and then you will consume ,
the means of their support.
If you would be imposed upon by
knaves, keep up your visits to th ■ sa
loons, for that will make their task easy.
If you wish to be robbed, keep on
drinking, and the thief will do it with
greater safety.
If you w'isli to deaden your senses,
keep on drinking, and you will in due
time be more stupid than an ass.
If you have resolved to kill yourself,
keep on drinking, and you will hit
upon a sure mode of self-destruction.
If you would expose both your folly
and your secrets, keep on drinking;
they will nm out as the liquor runs in.
It you think you are strong, keep on
drinking, and you will soou lind your
self subdued by so powerful ati enemy.
If you would get rid of your money,
without knowing how, keep on drink
ing. and you will doit effectually.
If you arc hated by your family and
friends, keep on drinking, and you will
soon be more disagreeable.
If you would be a pest to society,
keep on drinking, and society will
avoid you as an infection.
If you would smash windows, break
the peace, get your bones broken,
tumble under horses and carts, and lie
put in the lock-up. keep on drinking,
and it will be strange if you do not suc
ceed.
If you wish all your prospects in life
to be clouded, keep on drinking, and
thev will soon be dark enough.
If vou would destroy your body, keep
on drinking, for drunkenness is the
mother of disease.
If you wish to ruin the soul, keep on
drinking, and you will bo excluded
from Heaven.
If moderate drinkers are told that
they stand on dangerous ground, they
repudiate the idea with scorn, and say
that they can stop drinking when they'
please. They pass on a few months
and become habitual drunkards—utter
slaves to their appetites for rum. Then,
when you appeal to them to stop, they
say they can’t, and clamor for prohibi
tion. Now, which class shall we be
lieve? Does the self-reliant, strong,
stimulated moderate drinker best under
stand the situation, or is the evidence
of the experienced inebriate more trust
worthy in the matter? Who are the
most competent judges of the relative
bcnelits of slavery and freedom, the ex
masters or the ex-slaves? All drunk
ards in their sober moments favor the
entire extirpation of intoxicants. All
women of refinement and intelligence
indorse prohibition.—Eureka (Cal.)
Standard.
_a -—
Good Reasons.
A man of temperate habits was once
dining at the house of a free drinker.
No sooner was the cloth removed from
the dinner table than wine and spirits
wore produced, and he was asked to
take a glass of spirits and water. “No,
thank you,” said he, “I am not ill.”
“Take a glass of wine then,” said his
host, “or a glass of ale.” “No, thauk
you,” said he, “ I am not thirsty.”
These answers produced a loud burst of
laughter.
Soou after this the temperate man
took a piece of bread from the sideboard
and handed it to his host, who refused
it, saying that he was not hungry. At
this the temperate man laughed in his
turn. “Truly,” said he, “I have as
much reason to laugh at you for not
eating when you are uot hungry as you
have to laugh at me for declining to
drink when not thirsty.”
He might have gone further and given
stronger reasous for not drinking if he
had cnosen. The liquor would not have
quenched his thirst if he had been
thirsty. Pure water would have been
the best drink in that case.
“What do we require drink for?”
The answer nature gives is simple: “ To
quench thirst.” And when we are
really thirsty nothing meets our ease so
completely as a glass of cold water; and
there is this advantage about it also;
the moment it has answered the end for
which it is taken it ceases to be inviting:
as Shakespeare wisely says: “ Honest
water, too weak to be a sinner;” and if
people would be content with it there
would bo fewer sinners in the world
ihan there are.
The animals are in many respects
wiser than we are. When left to them
selves, they eat and drink like philoso
phers. God sends the sluggard to the
ant, the inconsiderate to the crane and
the swallow. He relinked Balaam by
an ass. We might learn from them :w
few useful le-sons in dietetics, and es
pecially in drinking. They drink when
they are thirsty, and would we go and
do likewise we might save ourselves
many a pain.—Youth’s Temperance
llanncr.
A Drunken Father.
The other day a man who was stag
gering drunk navigated up Michigan
avenue to Third street, and there flung
himself down on the ground for a sleep.
He had lain there about ten minutes
when a boy about nine years old, his
t are feet red with cold, and his hair
showing through the crown of his old
hat, came down the street as if in
search, and soon espied the drunkard.
Tlie lad shook him vigorously, and di
rectly the man sat up. secured a brace
for his back, and growled out:
•‘Whazzer want wiz me!"
“ It's Jimmy, dad-it's little Jim,”
was the reply.
•• Whoze liV.zlo Jimmy?”
“ Why, dad, don't you know me! I'm
your own boy. Ma sent me to bring
yon home, fan you walk?”
*• I guess ’erean,” mumbled the man,
and he tried to rise up. The boy gave
him all the aid possible, but he was not
half up when he lurched over and rolled
on his bark.
“Oh, dad!” wailed the boy, breaking
down all of a sudden, “you are drunk!”
“Yes, I'm junk.”
*• I can't get you home, and the po
lice will imt you in jail! Oh, dad! wiiat
made you!”
“ Viiaz maze me?” sleepily answered
the man.
“Say. dad,” continued the boy, as
he bent over him, “ little Katie's awful
sick.” v
“Zhas so? Well. I can’t help zhas.”
“Can’t you go home?”
“No. You shtay here while I go ’er
sleep.”
“Oli! I can’t—I can't! Everybody
knows you’re drunk, and everybody
will hoot at nie!”
“Whaz!” exclaimed tlie man, as he
raised on his elbow.
“The boys are hooting at me now,
and the men across the road are laugh
ing! Oh! dad, it's awful to git drunk!
It's awful when you are ashamed to
look any one in the face!”
The boy leaned against the wall ann
hid his face and cried. The drunkard
rubbed his eyes, braced to a sitting po
sition, and by careful management
reached his feet.
“Jimmy!”
“Yes, dad!”
“Shame—perfeck shame! I’m ’ei
brute, 1 ant. I'm shorty, Jimmy, you
know I'm shorry.”
“Yes.”
“I'm goin' home.”
“1 11 help you.”
“No. shut: you go zhat way- I'll
zhis; then er boys won’t hoot at you.
Cuiu—go ’long.”
The boy crossed to Fourth street, and
when he was too far away to be sus- *
pected of relationship the father braced
up and started tip the avenue mutter
ing:
“I’m er brute, I am, an’ I orter be
kicked, 1 had. an’ if I drink any more
1 hope er be shot, I do.”—Detroit Free
Dress.
Tlie Appetite Question.
In order to distinguish a poison stim
ulant from a harmless and nutritive
substance nature has thus furnished
three infallible tests:
1. The tirst taste of every poison is
either insipid or repulsive.
2. The persistent obt rusion of the nox- ,
ions substance changes that aversion
into a spccitic craving.
3. The more or less pleasurable ex
citement produced by a gratification of
that craving is always followed by a
depressing reaction.
The tirst drop of wholesome beverage
(milk, cold water, cider fresh from the
press, etc.,) is quite as pleasant as the
last; the indulgence in such pleasures
is not followed by repentance, and
never begets a sj>eeitic craving. Pan
cakes and honey we may eat with
great relish Whenever we can get
them: but if we can’t we won’t miss
them as long as we can satisfy our hun
ger with bread and butter. In mid
winter, when apples advance to six
dollars a barrel, it needs no lectures
and midnight prayers to substitute
rice pudding for apple pie. A Turk
may breakfast for thirty years on tigs
and roasted chestnuts, anil yet be quite,
as comfortable in Switzerland, where
they treat him to milk and bread. Not
so. the dram-drinker. His thirst can
not be assuaged with water or milk,
his enslaved appetite craves the wanted
tipple—or else a stronger, stimulant.
Natural food has no effect on the poi
son-hunger; nature has nothing to do
with such appetites.— Dr. Felix L. Os
wald, in Popular Science Monthly.
The Lord Bishop of Rochester, Rt.
Rev. Dr. Thorold, who is on his visit
to this country, addressed the recent
Episcopal Convention in Philadelphia,
closing with: “ We may have as many
free churches as we please; we may
open as many free libraries as we
please; but as long as the demon intem
perance haunts our homes our churcnea
will be useless, sermons useless and ef
forts of laymen useless. At St. Lonis
recently I listened to some of the beyst
speaking I ever heard. A man got lip
at a meeting and stated that all the rav
ages of lire, civil war, etc.-, were not
equal to the evils caused by intemper
ance. If you want to earn the eternal
gratitude of the masses you wRl use
your energies and prayers iu this battle
against intemperance. What I' desire
and hope is to see a thoroughly organ
ized system of Temperance 4 the
Episcopal Church in America will throw
herself into the strife, the blessing of
God will be with her.”—Southern
■ Herald.
The New York Herald, in an editori
al commenting on the work of the wom
en at the polls on election day, saidt
“And yet, what can the women of a
rum-eursed State do to lessen a vice by
which they and their children are the
principal sufferers? It may be said that
they can make their homes more at-'
tractive; but to the habitual tippler the
dirtiest grog-shop is a more delightful
place than the cosiest family fireside iq
the world,’ ’