The Delaware ledger., February 23, 1884, Image 1

About The Delaware ledger. (Newark, Del.) 1879-19??

Image provided by: University of Delaware Library, Newark, DE

                
£I)C île la tua re £it\ut.
NUMBER 10.
NEWARK, NEW CASTLE COUNTY, DELAWARE, FEBRUARY 23, 1884.
VOLUME VII.
was
was
the
the
ble.
the
less
rope
that
the
eyes
be
and
tied
it
but a young l>oy when he
tlie old miner was
all
a
Til K
PuHliing the elod» of
leaving the dark win*
Spreading its leaven t<
Bondage ended, freedom won;
So, my »oui, like the Ivjr lx-,
Rise, for the sunshine call» for thee I
{»alow.
th n-lde,
ï loul thing» hide,
the summe«*
Climbing up aa the
Looking down upon thing»
Twining it»elf in the branche» high,
As if the frail tiling owned the »ky;
So, my soul, like the ivy be,
Heaven, no. earth, is the place for thee.
W rapping Itself round the giant oak,
Hiding Itself from the tempent'» stroke;
Strong and brave is the fragile thing,
For It know» one secret, how to cling;
So, my soul, there's strength for thee,
Hear the Mighty One, ''Lean on Mel"
it»leave» when tlio world 1» white,
gh the frosty night;
;ik awake,
Gree
For the ivy »ing» tl
Keeping the heurt»
Till the Üower» »hall bloom and the spring
shall break,
So, my soul, through tho winter'» rain,
Sing the »uuHhine back again.
pening It» groen and fluttering breast,
Giving the timid bird» a nest;
Coining out from the winter wild.
To make a wreath for the Holy Child;
So let my life like the ivy bo,
and a wreath for Tlice I
A help
KUIlOOM.
7 If K LOST HU. I
In a rugged and mountainous district
of Wales is situated a mining village,
noted for this little story which the
miners tell to tl.eir children.
Years ago iu the little village of
there was aa humble but neatly-kept
cottage, where an old miner dwelt with
his wife and only child—a son. And
Alick
first descended into the mines with his
father.
One evening,
returning home fioui a neighboring
village, his attention was attracted by
a little girl. She was weeping bitterly.
A few broken, almost inarticulate
words told that she had been deserted
by her mother. The child, weary and
hungry, had cried itself to sleep, and
while she was sleeping the unnatural
parent had forsaken her.
The old man was touched by the
incident. Raising her tenderly in his
arms, he wended fits way homeward.
Entering the cotlage he placed the
light buiden in his wife's lap, saying:
"God in His whilom has seen fit to
choose our home from all the other
homes in the village to shelter this de
serted child. Knowing your kind
heart, wife, 1 did not fear to bring the
little one to you."
The dame pressed the good man's
hand affectionately in reply, and Amy
—for so the child was called—was
seated before a simple repast.
Alick. on his return from the parish
school, welcomed the little girl with
every expression of pleasure.
Years passed away, ami A my 'e child
hood clays were spent.
Without great claims to beauty, there
. nevertheless, a charm about hei
which all recoguized.
The miner and his wife were not sur
prised when Alick one day asaed them
for their consent to make Amy his wife,
and to this request they accorded their
heartfelt blessing.
The day for the rustic nuptials was
named, and was lcoked forward to as
an occasion of general rejoicing. The
. happy day arrived, work was suspended
that all night join in the meiry-mak
Inc.
Taking the hand of the trembling
girl within his own, Alick, according to
the long-established customs of the
village, led the way to the little vine
covered church, where tho parish priest
blessed their love. Children strewed
flowers by the way-side and sang gay
songs. Each guest had made a modest
offering, but to no one would Alick
confide the nature of his gift, wishing,
as he did, to excite au agreeable sur
prise.
When they had returned to the cot
tage Alick kissed his wife, telling her
tie would leave her but for a short sea
khu. He left the house, und, with one
linger ng look at the doorway whei e Amy
stood waving a merry adieu, he hur
ried off in the direction of the old
mines, and a curve in the road soon hid
him from view. As his lithe figure
disappeared Amy uttered a faint sigh,
suggestive of a dull foreboding evil or
the fullness of her mirthful joy.
Days passed and search had been
made everywhere. Weeks followed;
then iiiontlis. But the bridegroom did
not return. Nor could his absence and
strange Uisappearuuce be accounted lor.
No clew was gained by those whe
searched untiringly. At length hope
was abandoned. The widowed bride
clung tenaciously to one idea, which
seemed almost like a folly—in life or
death, she would see her husband again
before she was called away from earth.
This belief afforued her comfort, and
the neighbors, while they did not share
tlie conviction, humored her iu the
thought, aud spoke|regretfully of the sad
changes that sorrow had wrought in her
fresh young face.
Forty years were gone, and but for the
sad, whtful face of old Amy, ami the
whispered stories of the peanntry, the
uiiaccouutable disappearance of Alick
would have been forgotten. But the
tale told in all under dreath by many a
hear.li
off by an evil spirit, with whom he had
liela compact. Many even went so far
as to ray that his soul haunted the old
cottage, and had been s en during
stormy nights in the mountains. Amv
indeed asserted that she often heard his
voice calling her. and the light that
burned alwaya from nightfall uutil
dawn iu her casement told that her
prayer for the restless
The old mines having been worked, it
. that Alick had been carried
lier heurt ever kept vigil over his fate.
The old cotlage continued to be
thought haunted by ghostly visitors,
and because of this siqierstition none
would occupy it. It gradually fell into
decay. The women of the village rare
ly \ asset! the demi miner's house with
out offering
soul.
was at length determined that new ex
cavations should be opened. Amid the
operations a subterraneous murmur
was heard mingling with the sound of
the pike. Suddenly a wailing cry rent
the air. and the earth seemed to trem
ble. Thoso above rushed in terror to
the mouth of the pit, and the most fear
less were about to descend, when the
call-bell was rung violently. Every
rope was at once put in use, while the
miners were white and trembling with
intense fear.
To every inquiry they accorded the
most disconnected replies, such as "a
man" "a demon," "a miraclel" At
length from one old man they garnered
that they had worked steadly to open
communication between the new and
the *old mine, but finding only a small
obstruction at last a sturdy blow was
made, and the dividing wall had given
way; that when the cloud of dust had
passed from beiore their astonished
eyes they sirw a young man; that he was
lying upon a rocky bed; beseemed to
be sleeping; that his cheeks looked fresh
and fair, and that his lips were still red.
Instead of approaching him they had
tied in fright, filled with the belief that
it was an evil spirit in human guise
that they beheld.
The owner of the mine listened at
tentively. As the old man ceased he
rushed forward exclaiming: "To the
minel To the mine!" Soon the truth
was know n. Ere many minutes three
miners issued forth bearing between
them the body of the young
With a feeling of irrepressible horror
they laid him down upon the green
sward. His clothes were old and indi
cated a style worn years and years ago;
all were, however, in a perfect state of
preservation. He seemed dressed as
though for a fete. In his hand he held
a box. It contained a gold cross, chain
and medallion. Time had blackened
these little pledges which the stranger
had doubtless intended for some village
maiden.
They were about to raise the body
and bear it away for burial, when old
Amy was seen approaching.
They made way for her, and those
near at hand were struck by the singu
lar expression of her face. Her eyes
sjiarkled with new life, and her steps
usually so feeble, seemed almost to hav
gained the elasticity of youth. Waving
them aside with an imposing dignity,
she advanced directly toward the dead
man. Kneeling sue parted the dark
hair on his brow and murmured in a
tone of inexpressible love and tender
ness. his name—"Alick!"
At once all was clear. Iu an instant
the old people present recognized the
companion of their youth. Again she
spoke:
"Alick, friend of my childhood, my
husband, i knew that we would meet
again on earth."
As she ceased speaking her head
drooped lower and lower, until it sank
ui»on his breast, as if in prayer.
At length the young men advanced to
remove the body. Gently the women
raised the figure of the forlorn woman.
Seeing that she made no resistance, they
bent over her and found that she, too,
was dead. Her long, loving vigil was
at an end. The same grave holds them
both, and many a sweet flower is laid
upon it in remembrance of their fate
while the legend of their love is often
recounted iu the humble homes of the
poor.
Do
to
no
to
or
did
or
and
the
sad
her
the
the
the
the
a
had
far
old
his
that
uutil
her
Hoys.
Burdett says Cain was the first boy
and all his education deluded
inexperienced parents. There were
other boys in the republic to teach Odin
how to lie, smoke, drink, fight, cheat
and steal. There were no country re
lations upon whom little Cain could be
inflicted for two or three weeks, when
his wearied parents wanted a little rest.
I don't Wonder that Cain turned out
Ills
bad. I always said he would. We all
have
own lioys to look after, as your
neighbor has a boy whom you can look
after much more closely than his moth
er can, and much more to your own sat
isfaction than to the boy's comfort.
Your boy is like Adam's boy; he asks
questions, and if there is any truth in
the old theory of transmigration of
souls, when a boy dies he will pass into
an interrogation point. The older he
grows the more questions he asks. The
oldest boy I ever knew was fifty
seven years old, und I went to school to
him, aud he did ask the longest, hard
est, crookedest questions that
could answer. And now your boy, ceas
ing to ask questions, begins to answer
them, until you staud amazed at the
breadth and depth of his knowledge.
He wants to be a missionary—or a
pirate. So far as lie expresses any pre
ference he would rather be a pirate,
where there are more chances of making
money and fewer for being devoured.
boy
A Giant*» Bare Foot.
Messrs. Siwncer and Ridenour, wbo
returned from their rich copper dis
coveries, have told of a discovery they
made when in the Grand Canon, Colo
rado. In the basin of the canon, which
was once a sand bed, and probably a
thousand years ago a broad, level plain
(but the narrow passageway. is now
hemmed in by walls 118 feet high),
they came upon an imprint in the sand
rock denoting a bare foot, witii toes,
instep and heel as plain and unmistak
able as the orb of day. It measured
twenty-six Inches in length and twelve
in width The average depth of the
imprint is four inches, while at the
ball of the foot it is six inches. These
iinpriuts appear along the edge of the
nairow passageway for some distance,
and they are distinctly anti evenly
eighteen feet apart, showing the great
distance the monster witii the human
foot could make at a single step. The
had only three pack mules and
proeiietlug tools with them, or they
would have taken out the rock contain
ing the toot imprint, but it is their in
tenlion to return to perform'the work,
and bring these evidences of a monster
it human race to the public gaze.
fate.
be
none
into
rare
with
of
take
or
side
sort
to
If
iu
In
es
but
no
the
to
Interview with a Peanut.
a
to
"Only a peanut. True, sir; but/I
want to call your attention to the fact
that there is a vast difference in pea
nuts," said the peanut to the reporter.
Do you suppose for an instant that 1
would associate with one of those little
miserable scraggy fourth of July and
cattle show peanuts winch come from
Tennessee and sell for five cents a
quart? No, sir. A quart of us will
cost you from fifteen to twenty cents,
according to the idea of the dealer of
what his profit ought to be. I
raised iu old Virginia, and I am proud
to say that I belong to a family that has
no superior in the world. We
fat, healthy, well-conditioned indivi
duals and everybody likes us. You
would scarcely believe it, but there are
500 bushels of us brought into Boston
every week, taking an average for the
year round. That means 2,400,000 pea
nuts, almost a pint for each man, wo
man and child in the city. But the
fact is, only about half of that quantity
arre eaten by Bostonians. The other
half go round into country towns to be
gobbled up by the insatiable populace.
We are nothing in this world but a
large bean with a shell around us, and
grow on a root in the ground. We are
not at all popular in a raw state, but we
have the advantage of keeping pretty
well preserved until the time comes to
bake us; so they don't bake us now un
til they are ready to sell us. That is
the reason why you can no longer find
us in stores as you used to. The Ital
ian peddler with his little roaster and
his cheap prices has cut the regular
dealer out entirely. So we have come
to be Bohemians, and if anybody at
tempts to eat a bag of us in a horse-car
or theatre folks laugh. If they knew
more aliout us they would not laugh.
If they knew how many farmers had
made a fortune off of us in Virginia
they might be more respectful. We are
much more profitable than cotton or to
bacco, and folks eat all they can get of
us. You may not think we are a neces
sity, but facts show otherwise. During
war times, when they couldn't send us
up North from the Southern States,
they sent way to Africa and Spain for
us. Our foreign cousins were quite
popular for a while, but we demonstrat
ed our superiority by running them out
of the market in a jiffy after the
closed. Who do you think is our chief
rival in commerce? You would never
guess it. The peach. Just as soon as
peaches come we fall away in the pub
lic estimation and while the peach is in
the height of its favor there is scarcely
any show for us at all, but the moment
the peach disappears the children begin
to cry for us again. And between you
and I, it is the girls and boys, who
know a good thing wMbn they see it,
who are our chief admirers. Country
ineu on a spree are also said to be par
tial to us, but that is a libel, I think.
The best way to have some fun with us
is to guess how many of us it takes to
fill a quart measure and then buv a
quart aua see how ignorant you
about the commonest things."
all
A
a
of
An Indian
of Eighty.
Heroes are not all dead. Joseph
Dana is only an Indian, 80 years old,
and like many others, he sometimes
imbibes the exliilerating fluid. He
stands about six feet unshod, is broad
shouldered, full-chested, carries his
ead erect, aud has a straight spin
column. On November 19, at about 4
o'clock, he arrived at Lincoln, Maine,
on a ride from Lee, a distance of twelve
miles. Being thinly clad he was cold,
and, being cold, naturally wanted
something warm on the inside. While
in the act of taking his inner warming
the cry came: "A boy in the pond! A
boy drowning! The ice has broken and
lots are in the water!" sounded on his
ear. Like a chieftain of old of his tribe
at the sound of the war-hoop, he
leaped through the door with Indian
strides, rushed to the scene of danger,
and stayed not his pace until he broke
through the ice within about ten feet of
where four small boys were struggling
for life. Then, as a wild moose escap
ing the hounds breaks the ice with his
fore feet, so Dana with his fists and
giant arms smashed the ice between
himself and the drowning boys, lie
reached them, and with the aid of
otuer Indian who had plunged into the
water, three were landed. The other, a
boy of about six years, had risen and
sunk twice, and was then beneath the
cold water, far from reach of rope or
pole. It was then Joseph showed him
self a hero. Fluuging beneath the ice,
«.early chilled to death himself, he
grasped the boy and brought him to
the surface in an exhausted condition.
Life was not quite extinct, and though
the sled rope had to be cut before it
could be taken from his hands, through
prompt and skillful efforts the boy still
lives.
a
re
be
all
in
of
he
to
the
a
pre
boy
wbo
dis
a
the
the
the
The
and
in
iu Comfort» lor Kai
The coinfort of the farmer's family
should not be overlooked. Very old
farm houses, aud those that are cheaply
built for temi»orary use until a better
can be afforded, are often uncomforta
ble in severe weither. Windows and
doors admit the external air more freely
than is required for ventilation. Weath
er strips made of India rubber are very
effective, but they are not to be had
e\ )rywhere, and require more of an
outlay than is always convenient. A
little ingenuity will provide substitutes.
For the windows, place small w*edges
butw'een the upper and lower sashes, to
prevent rattling, theu paste on strips
of brown paper to cl we all the crackc,
using stiff flour paste, or that made of rye
meal with a little alum added. It is
well to leave one upper sash to be let
down, as m may be required for venti
lation. Doors may be made tight by
tack iug tailor's listing or folded strips
of woollen cloth along the sides and
tops. The opening at the bottom of
doors is usually the largest. For these,
take pieces of small scantling, of the
proper length, and cover with oldjcarpet
or other conven'.ent fabric, stuffing the
side which goes against the door, with
wool, or cotton, or even hay, to make a
sort of cushion. While it is well enough
to have the kitchen door open directly
into the room iu summer, It is very un
comfortable for the inmates in winter.
If possible, a storm door which can be
closed before the kitchen door isopened,
should be provided. This may be made
iu such a manner as to be taken away
In warm weather and stored for fur
ture use- Sleeping rooms in farm hous
es are usually cold. Those who suffer
from cold feet should not be deterred
from making themselves comfortble
through fear or being thought "old
womanish." If one cannot sleep on
account of cold feet he should warm
them. Bottles of hot water will answer,
but are not so good as blocks of soap
stone. Blocks of hard-wood, that have
no turpentine, if placed in the stove
oven early in the evening, will be found
excellent foot warmers. In driving in
the country in very cold weather, a foot
warmer of some kind will add greatly
to the comfort of those making the
journey.
a
a
to
is
to
of
us
for
as
in
it,
us
to
a
A Lean Year
The large and imposing domicile
Franklin street, a few doors above
Pearl, Baltimore, which has of late re
mained vacant by reason of its having
acquired the reputation of being in
habited by the invisible and intangible
citizens of the unseen world, was re
cently metamorphosed into a scene
where fairies and spirits of flesh and
blood were the actors. The place
brilliant with light, decorated in floral
splendor, and ladiant with beauty.
A number of well-known society young
ladies laid conceived the idea of giving
a leap year party to their gentlemen
friends, and being impressed with an
appreciation of the weird and fantas
tic, concluded to use the dread abode
of hobgoblins and apparitions for the
occasion. Elaborate preparations were
made, and it proved to be an interesting
affair. The toilets were of the utmost
richness and loveliness; ilowera bloomed
upon the walls, and music, sweet
enough to charm the ghostly inhabi
ants themselves, floated through the
spacious apartments. The party whiled
the happy hours away in the mazy waltz
and the inspiriting quadrille, after
which a collation was served, and if
any ghostly visitor appeared it must
have been at the banquet, judging from
the supernatural rapidity with which
the viands disappeared. Interesting
features of the occasion were the grace
displayed by the ladies in choosing
their partners for the German, and
the bewitching manner in which they
offered propositions of matrimony.
All the expenses connected with the
novel event were defrayed by the fair
ones.
I' Karl y Hay«.
old,
He
his
4
A
and
his
he
of
his
and
lie
the
a
and
the
or
ice,
he
to
it
still
There is a queer old curiosity shop
iu Fetter lane, London, which many
years ago was a circulating library and
was much frequented by Dickens. The
ancient and eccentric dame who is the
proprietor has many reminiscences of
the noyelist, for whom she had a great
liking. In those early days Dickens
was a devourer of sensational novels,
and was particularly attached to the
lawless Turpins and the dare-devil
Kidds who figured in some of the ro
mances of the time. He never went
away without a pile of books under his
arm, which he used to return at his
next visit. Dickens, so goes the story,
was generally accompanied by a friend
named Wiffen, who was apprenticed to
a gold and silver smith close by. These
two and the old dame's husband,
who is a master printer, used to sit
long together in the little shop, where
tho details of the last new novel, the
last murder, the latest forgery, or the
most recent sensation were discussed
with a fervid eagerness which grew iu
intensity as the moments flew by,
Wiffen was a boisterous youth, full of
animal spirits, with a hearty, exliilerat
ing laugh and a hot temper. One mem
orable evening these two hail a rare
quarrel, and the old dame gives a vivid
account, which it would be impossible
to describe, of how they quarreled
about FennimoreCooper's "Red Rover"
which they had both been reading.
Wiffen denounced the American novel
ist soundly for abusing the great Eng
lish nation and for praising his own.
Dickens) took up the cudgels on
bis behalf, and protested with unusual
fire that a novelist who took any other
cours« was a base renegade. The dis
pute waxed warmer, and Dickens
snatched the unlucky volume and
hurled it at the head of poor Wiffeu.
However, peace was made between
them, and no more was said about the
matter.
-—but theu coffins are very aristlcally
mode nowadays.
old
and
freely
very
had
an
A
to
strips
rye
is
let
by
strips
Court Plaster ,—Boak isinglass In a
little warm water for 74 hours ; then
evaporate nearly all the water by gentle
heat ; .dissolve the residue in a little
dilute alcohol, aud strain tbe whole
through a piece of open linen. The
strained mass should be a stiff jelly
when oold. Now stretch a piece of silk
or sarsenet on a wooden frame, and fix
it tight with tacks oi pack thread, Mult
the jelly, and apply it to the silk thinly
mil evenly with a badger hair brush
A second coating must be applied when
the first has dried. When both are dry
apply over the whole surface two or
three coating9 of bAlsam of Peru, Plas
ter thus mad is every pliable and never
breaks.
Featubh fans with flower centers and
very fashionable.
jeweled handles
They are so large that a lady oannot
flutter the fau around enough to show
it off without outchiug her death of oold
Story of a Hrave Man.
of
a
be
on
in
the
Thomas Tate Tobens, of Costilla
county^ is visiting Ex-Governor Wil
liam Gilpin, of Colorado, Mr. Tobens,
who s 00 years of age, came to Colora
do in 1837. Born in St. Louis in 1824
Mr. Tobens, when only 13 years old,
gave rein to his restless fancy and came
out with a train to the far West.
Though a mere boy he
courageous and his sturdy qualities were
admired by his superiors. He was early
Identified with the military service and
became a sort of protege of Colonel St.
Vrain, who figures prominently in the
military annals of Colorado. In his
capacity of guide and scout he passed
through many perilous places and,
Othello-like, had many "hair-breadth
'scapes i' th* imminent deadly breach."
From tlme-to time he indulged in trad
ing with the Indians and Mexicans and
became universally known in the Rocky
mountain region. At the close of the
Mexican war, when Ex-Governor Wil
liam Gilpin was given command of the
Federal troops by President Folk, To
bens became one of his trusted scouts.
time, when Governor Gilpin
and a little band of soldiers were
hemmed in by Indians, provisions
short and the men became clamorous
for rations. It was a desperate situa
tion and desperate chances had to be
taken to relieve the besieged. Tom
Tobens was selected to run the gauntlet
and bring in a supply of sugar, coffee,
and flour. He undertook the task,
and though he had to travel down to
Santa Fe, New Mexico, for his sugar
and coffee, he made the trip in safety
and relieved the necessities of the fort.
hardy and
At
re
in
re
and
an
the
the
if
and
they
the
fair
Mr. Tobens performed many other
deeds during his service under Governor
Gilpin and earned the sincere friendship
of his able commander. Both passed
through many vicissitudes and both
have well earned the repose which has
has come to their declining years. Ex
Governor Gilpin lives in Denver, Colo
rado, surrounded by a happy family,
supplied with all the luxuries which
refined taste can suggest, and money
can purchase. Tom Tobens owns a
fine ranch in Costilla county, has a
family of grown-up children and lives
among them in contentment. Mr. To
bens went to Denver to see about the
title to some of his property, and in this
work Governor Gilpin lent him a help
ing hand, Mr. Tobens called at the
State House and had a talk with some
of the officials. He had heard that a
knife witii which he had cut the head
from a celebrated bandit twenty-one
years ago was in the State House, and
he was a little curious to know whether
the story was true. So was a reporter,
who heard of the visit, and he called at
the residence of Governor Gilpin, where
Mr. Tobens
said that the event happened in 1863.
He was then living near Fort Garland,
which post was under command of Col
onel Tappan. Felipe Nerid Espinosa
and his brother iu-law, Besanti Roma
ro, two Mexican bandits had been ter
rorizing the country, killing and plun
dering traders and miners and makmg
their vory names words of terror.
Many efforts had been made to capture
them but without avail. Finally Colo
nel Tappan sent for Tom Tobens.
stopping. Mr. Tobens
"He said to me,
pioneer, " T want you to go out and
capture that fellow and get the reward.
Who do you want to go with you?'
named two men that I knew were
trustworthy and said if I could get
them I would go. Colonel Tappan said
1 couldn't go out with such a force;
that I didn't know how many bandits
there were in Espinosa's camp, and
that I must take twenty-five soldiers.
I had seen just before this time a Mexi
can woman who had been captured by
Espinosa and who bad made her escape.
She said their were only two of the
devels. So 1 told Colonel Tappan that
I wouldn't go with a company of sol
diers, but. as the two men wanted were
not to be had, being away, I said if he
would give me six soldiers and put me
in absolute command I would go. He
agreed to this and detailed the men.
Lieutenant Baldwin, of the Regulars,
came and said he wanted to go with
me. I thought it would be a good
plan to take him along to command the
soldiers and told Colonel Tappan so,
and Baldwin was detailed also. We
started out from the fort—I think it
in September—and the first day,
we started the bandits from a tempo
rary camp in the bills. They saw us
coming so far away that they had time
to get away. When
camp, they were upon the hills where
they could see us. So I said we would
go down the creek and lead thnm to
believe we were going back to the fort.
We did so, but, returned under cover
of night and in the morning started
into the hills. Finally we found the
trail of the bandits. They were driving
ox, and we followed the trail some
distance and then lost it.
continued the
shop
and
The
the
of
the
ro
his
his
to
sit
the
the
iu
by,
of
rare
vivid
Eng
own.
on
other
dis
and
the
reached their
"Lieutenant Baldwin and -I had
talk, and we concluded to separate.
He took three men and went up into
some hills, while I, with three soldiers
and a Mexican boy, kept on looking
for the trail we had lost. At Hist I dis
covered where the men had entered
some fallen timber, and felt that the
camp was near. My men became dis
satisfied, however, and wanted to turn
back. I urged them on and shortly
thereafter I saw some crows flying iu
circle just ahead of us. I told my men
tliat the bandits were camped where the
crows were flying, and cautioned them
to be on the alert and have their gims
ready. We had-reached the brow of
small bill, and on the other side were
lot of young pines. I went ahead
creeping slowly. Finally 1 raised up
aud saw something move. I didn't
know what it was, but a moment later
1 heaid voices. The Mexican language
being spoken and I was sure by the
bandits. I crept forward and soon saw
a man, whom 1 took from the descrip
tion 1 had heard to be Espinosa.
raised my rifle, a muzzle loader made
to order and a fine gun, but the
moved about and wont to a tree, so
dare not shoot for fear of missing him.
He still kept talking and 1 motioned
the boys to come up. Just then the
bandit stepped forward so that I could
see his whole side, and, aiming at his
heart, I fired. He fell backward be
hind some logs cry iug "Jesus, la vor
me; I'm killed," at the same time cry
ing to his companion, "Escape." Then
Romara, whom we had not yet seen,
was observed running from us. 1 tolu
the boys to shoot and they all fired but
did not stop him,
"By this time I had loaded my rille
and as the fugitive was climbing a log
I fired aud he fell. Not knowing but
that there was more of the gang we kept
our places for a while, all the while
heating cursing aud muttering from
| Romara and an occasional groan from
Espinosa. I had sent one of my men
a
then
little
whole
The
jelly
silk
fix
Mult
when
dry
or
Plas
never
and
show
oold
and the Mexican boy back to apprise
Lieutenant Baldwin of the state of
affairs and while we were waiting for
Hina Romara became quiet and we were
convinced he was dead. Espinosa still
lived, however, and we could only get
at him by making a charge, which
would expose us to his lire. This we
finally did. He fired, but without ef
fect, and then I shot him a second time
and he fell back his shoulders striking
between the trunks of two fallen trees
and sustaining him. In that position
he died. He held his pistol clutched m
his hand. I succeeded in getting it
from him and tried to talk to him, but
lie stared at me and muttered something
about our being brutes. When he was
dead I took my knife and cut off his
head. It was a ghastly job and I didn't
like to look at it afterwards. Then I
told the Mexican boy t- •m and *ut off
the head of the other fellow. He took
the knife and went away, but came
back soon without the head. I said:
'Why didn't you cut off his head? 1 The
boy said he thought the dead man was
his cousin. I told him that made no
difference. The dead man was an out
law and I wanted him to go back and
cut off his head. He did so, and we
took the heads to Fort Garland, where
Colonel Tappan took charge of them.
I gaye the knife I took from Espinosa
to Colonel Tappan and the one I used
in cutting off Espinosa's head to Lieu
tenant Vleit.
came of them afterwards nor of the
heads, but I've heard lots of stories."
The Frc
History has told of It; architecture
derides it. Progress looks back upon
it with curling lip; but the heart of the
creole treasures its images and its mem
ories. The stranger hastens to it as the
Moslem to his Mecca, and the long,
low stretch of roof, pillar and pavement
are, usually, the quaintest object in the
quaintest city of the land.
It is to N ew Orleans what old Tem
ple Bar was to Loudon—and more.
Each marked the limit of the ancient
city. But Temple Bar is gone. The
French market stands intact. The in
quiring traveler of to-day lingers hesi
tating and uncertain near the line
where old London ended; but from
under the protecting sheds of the old
French Market he who possesses appre
ciative sympathy looks with twinkling
eye, whispering these most blessed of
words, "I know."
It is the cradle of New Orleans.
Snuggled in a corner of the little old
town, it lulled her children to slumbers
from which many of them are but now
awaking. The songs of France which
once filled the ear now mingle with
voices from every clime and people.
Swarming about the neigliboriog cafes ,
shops are sailors' lodging houses,
strolling up and down the corriders,
pouring over upon the levee beyond,
the bustling chattering thiong seems,
in its passage, to hold an unseen gate
snuttiug America out. All tongues
lieurd in the girdling of the globe there
tease the unfamiliar ear. But the
speech of progress and enlightenment,
expansion and uplifting, the one stead
ily absorbing all others as the speech of
human intercourse, is, there, like
among a gathering of masks—eager to
recognize, yet shrinking from utterance.
Yet this is the very charm of that odd
locality, exhaling the odor of crushed
and extinct eras.
Of itself the market is nothing, A
mere shed; a roof supported by smooth
shafts of iron, underneath, a pavement
of stone Hags—that is all. But as for
generations it has sat there compla
cently dabbling its feet in the onward
flow of the Mississippi, so it and all in
its shadow have sat just there, playing
in the progressing current of the on
ward-leaping world, and that same
world turns aside for a moment to look
curiously upon it. In the fierce pas
sions bursting forth in murderous point
of the vendetta between Milanese and
Falermite nurtured at its borders, the
old market's history has its darker side.
So has life. But it is not such that we
love to contemplate.
Wil
1824
old,
came
West.
were
early
and
St.
the
his
and,
trad
and
Rocky
the
Wil
the
To
Gilpin
were
situa
be
Tom
coffee,
task,
to
sugar
safety
fort.
and
I don't know what be
New Orleans.
larket
other
passed
both
has
Ex
Colo
which
money
a
a
lives
To
the
this
help
the
some
a
head
and
at
where
1863.
Col
Roma
ter
plun
makmg
terror.
capture
Colo
Tobens
and
I
were
get
said
force;
bandits
and
Mexi
by
escape.
the
that
sol
were
he
me
He
men.
with
good
the
so,
We
it
day,
tempo
us
time
where
would
to
fort.
cover
started
the
driving
some
the
Crliiifej.
One of the keenest aud most merci
less of Parisian usurers some fifty years
ago was oqe Guibert, who not only
lent money at extortionate prices and
compelled his victims to take part of
the loan in bad and worthless goods,
but engaged in absolute swindling.
convicted and sentenced to
imprisonment, but by powerful in
fluence and the use of money
he avoided his punishment, to
the intense disgust of the community
at large, but especially of the many
people he had swindled or "blecj." He
had been assaulted several times, aud
so never appeared in the streets alone.
One day, as he was passing along the
Rue Louis le Graud, Guibert was shot
in the arm, but as no one had seen the
assailant, and as he made no complaint
the theory that the pistol had been dis
charged by a jealous woman was set
afloat and accepted. Eleven days later,
as Guibert aud his brother-in-law, Fer
luc were passing along the Rue Neuve
St. Augusine, the former was shot dead.
A codier, jumping from his coach, col
lared a young man as the murderer ;
but the man shook off his grasp with a
laugh and the exclamation :
"What do you mean?"
Several other men bustled around
them, saying :
"This is a mistake. This isn't the
man."
All this confused the coachman so
that he released his prisoner, who walk
ed away unconcernedly. The police
made some twenty arrests, and put a
watch upon every one of Guibert's
debtor's, but the usurer's murder was
never found.
Just two years before that to a day,
a still more mysterious crime had been
committed inside of the bank of France.
As M. Bouron, a snb-cashier, was
passing along a dusty corridor, leading
from the central safe to his desk, hav
ing under his arm a package containing
more than $200,000 in bank notes, one
man throttled him while another seized
the money. Bouron a powerful man,
shook them off and shouted "Murder!"
when the clerks and watchman ran to
his aid. One of the robbers lowered
his head and made a dash for the street;
he butted two or three over, but was
finally overpowered, llis accomplice lei
surely adjusted his hat and cuffs and
walked calmly out of the place, no one
knowing as yet that two had been com
cerned in the attempt. The handsome
and well-dressed-man was taken to the
police office, but on being asked his
name he drew a pistol and blew out
his ï rains. Though one hundred thou
sand persons inspected his eifigy at the
morgue, aud the bank offered a great
reward, no one ever identified the dead
man, nor was his companion ever heard
ll.
their
had a
into
soldiers
looking
dis
entered
the
dis
turn
shortly
iu a
men
the
them
gims
of a
a
ahead
up
didn't
later
the
saw
descrip
I
made
so 1
him.
the
could
his
be
vor
cry
Then
seen,
tolu
but
rille
log
but
kept
while
from
from
men of.
Kn|;ii»li Ceramic»«
In England there is what exists in no
other country—an almost imbroken
chain, whose links are fine specimens of
each period of progress in the potter's
art, from its earliest introduction down
—the domestic vessels, burial urns and
incense pots of the early Celtic inhabi
tants found in England, Scotland and
Ireland; the mortuary slabs and the
red Samian bowl of the Roman con
quest, dating back to 54 B. C. ; the Ro
mano-British earthen pots, the early
Saxon cups and water jugs introduced
400 A. D., and mural tiles of the Nor
men mediæval that came with the con
quest in 1006, the lead-glazed vessel of
the sixteenth century, and the rough
stoneware of about the same date; the
imperfect early work of the Stafford
shire kilns, and the wedgewood wares
that stand out alone, making a period
in English art life wholly distinct frem
all that came before or is likely to come
after.
The old Roman kilns can be traced
for twenty miles along the gravel beds
and clay banks of Northamptonshire,
and works showing these were largely
exported at a very early period have
been found in France, Germany and all
along the neighboring shores of the Ne
therlands. The early Saxon ware is all
coarse, yellow and unglazed. Slight
improvement is manifest till the Nor
man conquest. Then the independent
old Saxon heart seemed so troubled in
surrendering his freedom and conform
ing his uncouth, though genial and
sincere, manner to suit the court life
of the suave and politic invader that
there is little to show in the way of
native pottery for several hundred
years.
As relics of the thirteenth century we
find queerly ornamented tiles used in
forming the floors of churches and
thedrafi, all showing ideas of decora
tion and coloring borrowed from the
Eastern nations, brought back probably
by the few fortunate Crusaders whose
bodies were not left a prey to jackals
and hyenas nor bones to bleach before
the walls of the holy city of Jerusalem.
The most perfect remains of this stage
of art history are found in Crudens, at
Ely, or Chertsey Abbeys in Surrey, or
more elaborated in Malmsbury Abbey
and Malvern.
After the rude earthen wares and
lead glazes that soon followed, Holland
sent to England in the seventeenth
century specimens of delf—or delft—
her most famous ware. Workmen
came, too, and settled about Lambeth
and Fulham These Staffordshire pot
teries, comprising Tunstall, Busalem,
Cambridge, Shelton,'Longport, Fenton,
Lambeth, Surry,
Stoke-on-Trent,
Delph, Fulham, Strusia, aud a number
of other small villages connected by
their trade and clay banks for a distance
of ten miles, and the oldest in England.
Here work began as early as the Roman
conquest.
Of the period when Holland manu
facturers were introduced there exists
a peculiar drinking cup called the Tyg.
These were labor saving vessels so far
as concerned dish-washing, as well as
money-saving as far as regarded num
bers. There was a convenience if not
a necessity in four handles, since these
Tygs were meant to be alternately
sipped from by at least, four genial ale
loving Saxons.
Then, too, were made many posset
cups, preserved in such numbers to our
day from th« rarity of using them.
The drink, or mess, called posset was
never made except at Christmas, and
then of "hot ale, milk, sugar, spices,
slices of bread or oat cake, ' ' into which
was dropi>ed a coin and the mother 's
wedding ring. It was eaten with a
spoon, each member of the family help
ing himself in turn.
In 1800 the history of English pottery
was made memorable by an accident to
a modem Martha an humble kitchen
girl. A coarse earthen pot, containing
brine, boiled over and dry, became even
red hot, while she possibly was enjoying
the jokes of some admiring swain in
the back yard. A curious tiling came'
of it—the vessel was found covered over
with a shining glaze; all this meant,
doubtless a reprimand to tbe heedless
Martha; but it meant as well triumph
to the English fathers. The queer re
sult of the accident wa told from house
to house, though the girl's name seems
to have . been forgotten till it reached
the Burslem kilns. Here many another
pot was allowed to boil over purposely,
and there was offered iu England shortly
after that salt-glazed pottery, known in
the households from that day to this as
Crouchware.
About this time was made in England
the first successful imitation of the red
ware of China—coeval with the intro
duction by Astbury of what is known
in commerce as the "agate" or tortoise
shell pottery. It was about this period
that another mechanical contrivance
of importance in this country in this
art became known. A practical potter
visiting the capital of France learned
that plaster of Paris could be success
fully employed as molds, heretofore cut
in England out of hard material, usually
metals.
It is an acknowledged fact that the
ceramic art in England owes its growth
and advancement largely to women,
who could neither be ridiculed noi per
suaded out of tbeir passion for collec
ting whatever curious piece of old china
that came within their reach. The col
lections thus made became in time not
only monuments of individual tastes,
but the basis of interesting museums of
art, where the potter, too poor to quit
his work and study in foreign countries
had perfect models of all ages and na
tions for a mere trille laid bare for his
investigation.
;
Stuffing. —To make a good stuffiug
for turkeys or other fowls and veal,chop
finely
mix with it twice the quantity of bread
crumbs, a lurge spoonful of parsley, a
teaspoon ful of thyme and marjoram
mixed, one-eighth of a nutmeg, some
grated lemon-peel, salt and pepper, and
eggs. A tea
-quarter of a pound of suet;
bind the whole with
spoonful of finely shred suallot
ion may be added at pleasure.
Pudding made of cracked wheat is
very agreeable aud nourishing. To
quart of sweet milk allow nearly half
a cupful oi cracked wheat; put it in a
pudding dish and bake slowly for two
hours, stirring it several times. If you
choose to do
and a little cinnamon for flavoring, but
most people prefer it well salted, aud
to eat it with a little oream and sugar.
This is nice both warm aud oold.
An improvemeut iu base bails, or
balls for any gam?s where they ore sub
jected to rough usage, has been paten
ted by a
consists in having tho cover fastened
upon the ball by stitching which is en
tirely upon the inside, and is not
posed or appareut upon the exterior at
on
add raisins
yon
in Fleetwood, Pa. It
ail.
Stage Falls.
no
of
and
and
the
con
Ro
con
of
the
frem
beds
have
all
Ne
all
Nor
in
and
life
that
of
we
in
the
stage
at
or
and
pot
How to fall gracefully and safely be
fore an audience is a feat which only a
few actors have thorourghly acquired. A
good many fall so awdwardly as to ex
cite mirth, and a good many hurt them
selves. ï remember a yoqng lady in one
of Daly's plays a few years ago to
whom he said- "Here, you must fall
at this cue," At that cue, according
ly, she faulted and fell, but she knocked
over a chair and a stand, broke a lamp,
and set the stage on fire. The curtain
was rung down, the fire put out, and, in
dignant, be asked her what she meant
by such clumsiness.
"Well," she said, "you never told me
howto fall, and nobody ever showed
me."
She had never thought of taking a
lesson in so important a matter.
Fanny Davenport is now a large and
solid woman, but her fall in "Fedora"
is one of the most effective bits of sage
business. She reels fainting to the sofa,
quivers, and dies in an instant, half
lying on her face, and as her horrified
husband runs up to look and learns the
dreadful truth she roll entirely over by
sheer force of gravity and drops with a
startling thud upon the floor.
The best fall I remember to have seen
is that of Francis Wilson in the "Prin
cess of Trebizonde" at the Casino, He
posed, among the comic statuary, on a
pedestal a foot and a half high, with a
bass drum upon his breast. He would
fall directly over backward or on either
side without putting a hand or bending
his body— fall straight upon the floor
like a wooden figure. I wouder it didn't
kill him, especially when he was encor
ed half a dozen times. I don't think a
death or a fatal injury ought to he re
peated too often.
Agnes Booth doesn't know how to
fall easily unless she has learned lately.
When she was playing the wife in "The
Celebrated Case" she used to hurt her
self every night—got black and blue
until she finally threw up tbe part, and
Miss Correll took it and "fell" into it
gracefully.
These recollections have been sug
gested by a technical lesson. The other
afternoon I dropped into Frobesher's
College of Acting and found him engag
ed teaching a class of theater-bound
young ladies how to fall; illustrating
his teaching with them one by
"Remember this," he said; "persons
fall either from fainting, drunkenness
or sudden death. They die either by
dagger, sword, pistol or poison—except
an occasional case like Mansfield, who
who died of apoplexy. Sudden death
is followed by sudden relaxation, which
causes the knees to bend as one of the
first visable signs. The knees bend,
the shoulders drop, the victim turns
partially in his tracks—so—and falls—
so"->-"not." he resumed on recovering
liis feet, "as if he were built of iron or
wood, or even of flesh and bone, but as
if he were made of snow and sand—melt
ing away at the bottom first."
"Always fall diagonally," he com!
tinued; "head toward one corner of the
stage. Another thing: In recovering
from a swoon, the head should be last
to rise. In regaining consciousness tbe
heart stirs first, then the hands and tbe
frame. The man rolls half over before
he lifts his head at all."
"Sometimes it is usual to fall onbein g
struck with the fist—men usually. It
is a back fall and is effected by holding
body rigid, withdrawing the tongue
from between the teeth, raising the head
slightly, and falling straight on the
shoulders. I can teach anybody in an
hour so as to make the back fall uner
ringly and safely."
Then Professor Frobisher resumed
his lesson, and I came away.
This back fall I remember seeing
Charlotte Cushman make in a surpi ising
manner, I think it was in "Meg Meril
lies." She jumped up a foot on the
floor and took tl^p back fall with tre
mendous effect.
In drunken falls the most reckless I
ever saw was that of Harry Watkins,
the well-known actor, who has probab
ly played more parts and written more
plays that were put on the boards than
any other living man. 1 remember see
ing his jump fifteen or twenty feet dur
iug the delirium tremens scene, a
"Middleton" in "The Drunkard," his
own play, and I askea him how he could
stand it.
"Well," he said, "my right side is
terribly bruised, and I have skinned my
arms, but I am pretty well bandaged,
and I am having some pads made to ease
my fall."
by
Tyg.
far
as
num
not
these
ale
our
was
and
's
a
help
to
even
in
came'
over
re
house
seems
in
as
red
intro
this
cut
the
per
china
col
not
of
quit
na
his
Light» In the Harn.
It is estimated that nine-tenths of all
fires are caused by carelessness. Now
is the season when the lantern is fre
quently used in the barn, and we give a
word of caution. Never light a lamp
or lantern of any kind in the barn.
Smokers may include tlieir pipes and
cigars in the above. The lantern should
be lighted in the house or some out
building where no combusitbles are
stored. A lantern which does not bum
well should never be pat in order in the
hay mow. There is a great temptation
to strike a match aud relight an ex
tinguished lantern, wherever it may be.
It is best to even feel one's way out to
a safe place than to run any risks, if
the light is not kept in the hand, it
should be hung up. Provide hooks in
the various rooms where the lights are
used. A wire running the whole length
of the horse stable at the rear of the
stalls and f uruished with a sliding hook
is very convenient for night work with
the horses. Some 'farmers are so care
less as to keep the lamp oil iu the bam
and fill the lantern there while the wick
is burniug. Such risks are too great,
even if the buildings are insured.
a
some
and
tea
suet;
is
half
a
two
you
but
aud
or
sub
en
at
on
It
A man can never paddle his own
o&noe with bad owers.
A nkw novel is called 4 -Her Life's
Secret. " If the secret is not her age we
give it up.