The Delaware ledger., March 15, 1884, Image 1

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

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Pelatoafe fettler
♦
VOLUME VII.
NEWARK, NEW CASTLE COU NTV, DELAWARE, MARCH 15, 1884.
NUMBER 13.
ACROSS THIS PLAINS.
It
He
the
not
the
the
What do you love me for?" aaid ehe. "f
•'Because you are so pretty," saidhe.
She did tint know whether she liked hia
the aufVtei' or not. Admiration is
always remarkably sweet to a woman.
She put her head down on his shoulder.
"Oh. Oba.tlel" she sanl. "If I were
ugly-yoL : hi 11 k me ever so much
prettier Ihm. I really am, you know- *
but if I were really ugly, wouldn't you ^
love me? 1 should you. Oh, if any- !
thing hurt that dear face, or made you
less strong or graceful than you are, I
should love you even more, I know."
Men have no tact. They can't help it, ?
poor things!
The husband of a week laughed as
he kissed the sweet upturned face, and
said—"Don't .inaglne all sorts of '"
things. Why don't you fall in love a
with that excellent gentleman who
was all mouth and cheek-bones? Or
with crooked little Jones? You like a
big fellow, and one who was not abso
lutely hideous, Instead; and I—lap
predate virtue and learning, but I did
not love Minerva Hobble In spite of ^
that. 1 loved the prettiest little girl in
the world, because she was the prettiest de
and sweetest. Kiss me."
She kissed him, but afterwards she
said slowly and in a half whisper—"I
hope God will let me die before He
makes me ugly. I could not bear to
bve if you did not love me."
They had not been married a month,
They were on their honeymoon trip t
even then, and they were very much in
love—he as a man is, she as a woman
is—and that is quite in a different way.
Not that I And fault with that. It is
but natural. Men and women always
do everything different—work, play,
idle indifferently. Why should they
love alike? But the knowledge of this
fact doesn't come to a woman until her
first love bas been "wintered and
summored," and the knowledge is
seldom agreeable. But to return to
our pretty heroine. Nellie was loved,
It should have contented her, and she
told herself so, but she would have
been happier if Charlie had said Just
wliat she wanted him to say. It made
no difference to that honeymoon, how
ever. They walked, and chatted, and
sat together in the moonlight. They
rowed on the river and wandered
through the woodland, and had such a
summer as people never have but once,
and then they came back to the city,
and to their everyday life. Ah, the
awoet commonplaceness of home life,
when it is the home of married lovers,
And tiiere was ao cloud to mark their
days lor many happy months. At last,
however, the time came when they
must be parted for a little while.
Charles found it necessary to go to
ti-, on business, and Nellie could
not accompany him. Charles did not
like the parting, but he took it philoso
phioally, as man must, but Nellie nearly
cried herself blind.
Only a few weeks, he «aid—it was to
be two months.
Nellie gave the time its whole value,
When he had kissed her, she clung to
him almost convulsively.
"If I should never see you again,"
she sobbed.
"My little one, don't be foolish," he
said, and held her more closely to him
then, ami was off. But he thought of
boras the train flew away. He thought
of her as lie trod the streets of estrange
city, and sat alone at strange tables,
and he dreamt of her all night.
But she wore his letter iu her bosom.
Once his letter was delayed, and she
was sure somethingterriblehad happen
ed, and was Just saved from nervous
fever by the tardy arrival.
Once hers did not come; lie took it
coolly at tirst. That confounded
postman has made a mistake," he said.
But after several days, he concluded to
make sure that all was right, and tele
graphed—"If well, answer at once."
Just then, if he could have sent his
spirit home on the telegraph wires, ho
would have seen this picture. Ills
Nellie lying on her bed, listening to the
doctor.
"I am sorry to say It is the small
pox, madam'' said the gentleman; "but
after all under good treatment, it is
no worse to have that than many other
things. There is no danger In this
The plains were wide and yaat and drear,
The uiountaiu peaks seemed cool and near,
hung low toward the west,
sighed, "
But journeying through the closing day,
Our feet
Far, far before
The plains lie ln the
The
"Bo near,"
to rest,"
weary of the way;
aching Might
ailing light.
The mountain peaks that seemed so
And hold
forever there,
Are far across the desert land
We vainly cry with lifted hands.
O hills, that stand against the sky,
Wo may not reach you
Our hearts are broken with the pain,
For rest and peace we may not gain.
■ lir,
Upon the plains we faint and fall,
Our faces toward the mountain tall;
Our palms
Bo die
clasped, but net to pray;
with the dying day.
LOVE ANI> RKAUTT.
"That cruel disease, 1
Nellie, to herself. "Oh, Heaven, and
Charlie loves me because I am pretty.
I dare not tell him the truth. The
murmured
answer that came to Charlie's telegram
was "All right." Nellie sent it by the
nurse, who agreed with her that there
was
need of frightening the poor
"Aud I would not have him
return now for any consideration," she
said. "He might take the disorder."
But that
man.
not all her reason. Then
was a tix.e when Nellie knew
nothing. Then—ah, what then?
Charlie only knew that as he
packing his portmanteau to return
home; a letter was brought to him.
He thought it his wife's handwriting,
and he had had no letter for many
days. He tore it open. It began "Sir."
thei
It was not from her; yet how like hers.
He paused before he red on.
"Sir—I have bad news to tell you.
Your wife is dead. She caught the
small-pox somehow, and it proved
fatal. She was glad to die, because
the disease makes people very hideous
sometimes, and she knew you would
not love her if she were ugly. She
said you said so, and bade me tell you
how dear your love was to her until
the last.
"The nurse, Martiia Bloom<#ren."
An hour afterwards a waiter found
Charlie lying senseless on the floor
beside his half-packed valise. It was
many weeks before he returned to his
desolate home. Then he found he
could not live there. The place seemed
haunted. His wife's dresses hung on
the wall, and he seemed to hear the
sound of her feet on the stairs, and
hear the door stir, and a dozen times
"f ted f h i s head 1 a " rt lo ° k «d Awards
" hoping she would come in In
hia I'la™. Nellie wou.d ha ve gathered
""" ln,1 f 8 bB >'ad touched, and
kept lbem , wbere »If could weep over
Ul,:,n; m ' d , would have «.ught bis
f» ve ' aml sat , tomde 11 fo , r *""« hours,
but tbose pre * P 6 " 0 "* 1 ^nglnas
* er ? the very things lie dreaded to see.
^ ,ld 'fc «ravel Ah good Heaven, to
! ook " l r 16 and thlnk that it covered
her ' "« d ' d "<'t even ask where it
dhem had lx f na postscript to
the ^>>8 that aH expenses
? er ? pald / And the fact that she was
dead Flotte«! out all minor things—all
save ttuttterrible reminder of his idle
That 8116 thought of that
'" dying, was very woeful to him. In
a ** ° r tw0 he locked up the house,
wb ®> he owned, and accepted the
posit 0,1 ° f »«l»rcarg 0 on an ocean
vesscb 11,6 3®^ with its troubled
waves, seemed better to him than solid
hind; to roam, his best relief. Ah, we
take u,e heart with us wherever we go.
^ 18 noL the land in which we live that
troubles us, but that heart's woeful
de Pths. Nor can sea or sky give
comfort. An unhappy man would be
n0 h'ss unhappy couid he traverse
space, and visit all the stars, only we
do not think so when grief stings us to
K° somewhere. To be at a distance
from the scene of our great trial, is
always tiie longing of the uuhappy.
t 1 1 Ark'S did not say much—he derer
talked of his wife. But when the
vessel returned home, a sick man lay in
onB of its berths, tossing to and fro,
and muttering again and again a
woman's name—"Nellie—Nelliel"
"He's been disappointed in love,"
said the sterwarduess, and cried over
him, and thought that had she been a
fair young lady, and he in love with
her, he never should have been disap
pointed. When they reached London,
the delirium
skeleton was borne to the shore.
"Take him to Mrs. Boston's," the
captain had said. "She's a kind
woman, and will do what she can for
him;" and poor Mrs. Boston, who liad
boarded more sea-captains and ship's
officers generally than any one could
count in a minute, opened her hos
pitable doors and gave the invalid her
best bedroom.
'I don't mind sitting up at nights,"
she said; "and Nancy is a real good
gu], she'll help.'
Nancy was a shy young woman,
with brown hair, short in the neck,
and her features were deeply scarred,
she wore the plainest possible dress,
and never seemed to be happy; but
,i uce she came to Mrs. Boston's door
and asked for work, she had been in
valuable.
"Nancy Smith is a treasure," said
Mrs, Boston; "and I only wish I knew
W |, a t she cried about so much; only I
can't ask questions no more than If
she was s lady." Poor Nancy Smith,
She was no doubt nervous when she
had stood beside the young man's
p iU 0W a moment. She turned pale
and cave a little crv.
He was in a sort of stupor, and did
not hear her; but Mrs. Boston said—"I
hope you ain't overcome by the sight of
sickness."
of And she answered at once, in a
frightened tone—"Oh, no. I'm an
excellent nurse. Ho let me nurse him,
Mrs. Boston." And thus It came to
pass that that night Nancy Smith sat
up with tbe inTaUd . IIe s]ept or waa
msensible; even the doctor was not
qulte aure which) or tbat he mlght
eV(jr hls eyes in And when
Mrs. Boston had gone to bed, and aU
it wa8 8tlUi that 8trange girl) Nancy<
bebaved most strangely. She knelt
down by the bcd _ and kia3üd the md
to hand that Iay 80 gently upon the
coun t e rpane, and whisi>ered over and
over again _*. 0 h, my darlingl oh, my
darlingl „ Uad M rs. Boston seen her,
ho ahe wollId 8urely have thought her
mad silence lay on the city, and the
, |ght o£ the , ate rlsen m - 00I1 fell white
through the crevices of the shutters
and the lace of the drawn curtains. A
night lamp bunlt ln tbo
room, and
is BbowBd a face that watched intensely,
and a motionless one with closed eyes,
The clock on the mantel ticked slowly.
At the appointed time medicine was to
be given. It was dropped between lips
that never resisted; and lay always just
a little apart. "He is dyingl" the
watcher thought. "He is dyingl"
Hut towards dawn a change came.
The bead turned upon the pillow—the
lips parted.
"Nellie," whispered the voice,
Nellie, I want you.
Then the girl—this Nancy Smith—
started, trembling, to her feet, and
knelt beside him. Her face was close
to his when his eyes opened,, and he
looked at lier.
"Nellie," he said, again, "Nelliel"
then burst into a feeble, quivering
laugh, and clasped her about the neck.
"My darlingl" he said.
And she cried out—"Oh, Charles, do
you
his
he
you
was
this
and
to
no
I
I
to
over, but a pale
said,
a
I
If
of
a
an
to
aU
A
to
he
do
you know me, and love me?" and took
his head upon her breast.
"I've been very sick, haven't I?" he
tried long enough, and without profiit.
Let a way be found to navigate the air,
and the short Folar summer may
permit an examination of the places
which otherwise will never be looked
on by men, be they ever so rash and
devoted. It is said that no good.gener
al will lead his army Into a place from
which he can see no line of retreat open.
Let explorers learn wisdom from this
example, and refuse to enter a region
from which "no traveler returns"—at
"Yes," said she "very.'
"I've had a dream,
been crazy,"
he sala. "Which is it? I thought
you were dead. Oh, Nellie, it
horrible. I thought I was at sea—I—
why, how can it be a dream? No It
was no dream. I'm crazy now. Yet
this is Nellie. "Nellie," he continued,
"your hair is cut, your—your pretty
little face has marks on it it never had
before. Nellie, what does it all mean?"
She turned the light high, lifted it,
and held it to her face. "You see me
plainly?" she said.
"Of course," said he. "Why, my
dear little girl, I haven't dreamed that
part of the letter. You've been ill,
only you did not die. What does It all
mean? Am I entirely crazy? Have I
been?"
"And you love me?" she persisted,
"You love mel"
"My precious little wife, now can I
help it? It's part cf me to love you,"
said he.
"i'hen it means that I have been
crazy not you," said she. "Oh,
Charlie, you know you said you couldn't
love mo if I was ugly. So, when I
found I should be so terribly marked
to ose all my hair, I Just wrote to you
that I was dead. I meant to kill my
self, but I hadn't courage, so I went
away. I was a servant here when you
were brought in,and I didn't think you'd
know me."
"Then I have lived that year of
misery," said Charlie. "Oh, Nellie,
Nelliel" Then he cried out almost
angrily—"What a fool I was. I made
no inquries. I did not even see the
doctor, or discover where they had, as
I supposed, buried you. I should
have fathomed your scheme at onoe if
I had. How could you, Nellie?"
"You said you wouldn't love me if I
was ugly, and I couldn't bear it."
Mrs. Boston just theu entering unex
pectedly, explanations became highly
necessary.
And the doctor said this excitement
should have killed so very sick a man.
But it did not.
The reunited couple wero soon able
to return to their deserted home, and
have another honeymoon. And it is a
fact, that though all the rest of the
world knows very well that Nellie's
face is not as pretty as it used to be,.
Charlie does not. for the beauty that
love sees comes from the rosy light of
he glasses that it wears, and so en
dures. Charles still believes that he
loves Nellie because she is pretty.
She knows better now, an^ both are
happy.
A ratio FolllM.
It is difficult, if not impossible to re
member a date at which no expedition
was being projected or prepared for the
purpose of searching in the desolate
and terrible regions of the Far North.
The pole is to be found now, as the
North West Passage was formerly.
Navigators long ago became convinced
from their observation of the approach
es to the center of the Arctic region
that a water way existed between Beh
ring strait and Davis strait, and with
that it existed grew the determination
to get fame by being first to pass over
The icy barriers erected
by the Frost King were treat
ed with contempt at a dis
tance. The explorer, whose excited
imagination ssrves to keep him com
fortably warm while treading the car
pets of a metropolis, finds a woful
change of conditions when he feels the
touch of a north winter in a region
which supplies him with scarcely any
of the necessaries of life. The foolish
enterprise of sailing from the Atlantic
to the Pacific by going north of Amer
ica is new given up, but it is followed
by the Polar craze. Science tells us
that the Pole exists, and why ihen, say
a swarm of enthusiasts who hanker
it.
after sudden glory, shall we not risk
freezing in order to find it? And when
expedition sails and is lost in the re
cesses of the icy region bordering upon
the Northern Ocean, it must be search
ed for. Humanity calls for the relief
of the forlorn and perishing victims of
cruel science. Thus we have always
from one to half a dozen expeditions
under consideration. This thing has
passed the bounds of reason and it is
time to discourage it. If science must
peer into the Polar abyss, let her first
prepare adequate means for the
accomplishment of the work. The
land, or the ice and water, have been
least until a lino of retreat has been
opened. _ _
An Improved bag and twine holder
has been patented by a Shelbyviile,
Mo., genius. It consists of a suspen
ded ring or disk of metal or wood, and
having a series of horn-shaped prongs
projecting therefrom, for suitably sus
pending paper bags, and also a twine
holder in connection therewith,for con
veniently suspending the bags and twine
over the counter.
Thb London World fluds "humor
embalmed in the pages of Webster's
dictionary." We should think
tor whose humerons reading has
been confined to the London oomic
weeklies naturally would—by compari
son.
odi
The Norman H<
The woman of tne feudal ages was a
very industrious being. She was lit
erally the head of the household, and
everything in the house was under her
charge. From the nature of things, the
Nornan housewife was a lady with a
multiplicity of duties. She was the
bread maker and the bread giver. The
original of lady is hlafdie % from Ala/,
bread, and weardion % to look after. An
cient hospitality was always shown by the
breaking of bread, and the wife being
the guardian of the home was always the
bread giver. The whole process of
making cloth was entirely in the hauds
of the woman of the castle. She had
her band of attendants, or chambrieres ,
who carded and combed the wool, beat
the flax and washed the garments. They
sheared the sheep with their own hands,
pled the distaff and needle, and occupi
ed themselves in weaving and spinning
thread. This latter occupation was
entirely confined to unmarried women,
and discontinued on their marriage;
hence the designation of spinster.
All the illuminated manuscripts
which have come down to us illustrat
ing the domestic life of the Middle Ages,
show us "the lady spinning," "the
lady carding wool," "the lady at the
loom," "the lady at the embroidery
frame." Every important household
had Its loom and Its spinning wheel.
One of the writers of the twelfth cen
tury describes a lordly English mansion
in which the loom of the ladies was
lined with linen warp, wool, and with
all the implements used in making linen
and woolen stuffs. Every morning the
lady of the mansion and her maidens
could be found at work in this room.
In the troubled time when^men were
busy about other matters woman was
not only her own, but man's physician
This is shown by all the records, roman
ces and illuminations of the age. Me
dical recipes in all periods of the Mid
dle Ages, written by the fingers of
women, are still preserved, and in the
secular world generally it was the lady
chatelaine of the castle who set the
knight's broken bones by skillful man
ipulations, and healed grievous wounds
by cunning plasters spread by their own
white hauds. In the novel of "Ancas
sin and Nicolette," writen in the thir
teenth century, it is related that the
heroine acted the part of a surgeon when
lier lover had dislocated his shoulder;
and in the romance of "Elie de 8t. Giles"
Elie who has been wounded, 1« canied
by the fair Rosamode into her cham
ber, when she takes precious herbs from
bar coffee and applies them to his wounds.
There is an illuminated manuscript in
the British Museum, bearing the date
of 1470, which illustrates the history of
Tobit. One of the scenes shows us a
chamber wherein the old Israelite is ly
ing blind and ill upon his couch, while
his wife Anna bits by the lire preparing
medicine for him, with an open book by
her side.
In the other relations of life the feu
dal woman exercised proportionate pow
er. She not only reflected her husbands
authority, but held independent power
of her own'. She was an heiress in her
own right, carrying with her at her dow
er castles, domains, vassals and provin
ces. She singed deeds, acted as the guar
dian of a mansion end the regent of a
State, and shared all the obligations
imposed by war or peace.
The position and avocation of the
Norman housewife had much to do to
ward creating a tone of sentiment be
tween the sexes, which in the same
form had never been known betöre.
The harshness and ferocity which mark
ed the beginning of feudalism gradual
ly became lost in elegance of manners
and a universal refinement of feeling
new to society. Out of this exalted posi
tion, this finer relation between man and
woman in the feudal castle, were born
two words which will never lose their
hold on the civilized heart, namely,
courtesy and chivalry. Courtesy meant
simply the manners and sentiments
which prevailed in the feudal house
hold, Says a mediaval wiiter, "Cour
tesy Is the same thing as nobility of man
ners." Courtesy, over everything else,
distinguished the daily intercourse of
the castle iu the Middle Ages, and it
was woman who at once inspired and
fostered it.
The Norman lady had he little
complishments and amusemeuts, like
her sister of the nineteenth century. In
the castle, surrounded by her tire wom
en, she would work at tapestry, and
while she listened to the reading of tales
of chivalry, would reproduce them with
the needle to drape the bare walls of her
home. Hawking was one of the favor
ite accomplishments of the feudal wom
an. Mounted on her richly caparisoned
steed, she would go forth in the bright
mornings to the meadows in pursuit of
game, her hawk or merliu on her wrist,
The harp, the dance, chess and the
garden were the other amusements of
the day.
There is a country editor not a
thousand miles from Iona, Mioh., who
takes produce or labor in pay for a
subscription to his paper, and, as a
matter of faot, he receives abont all a
human being wants in this world, ex
cept, may be, money. He had been
sending his prper to a certain party for
a year and then sent him a bill. The
party responded promptly and asked
the editor if he would take it ont in
trade.
trade?" "I am a bass drum player "
solemnly replied the man. "I presume
you will work whore I
"Oert&mly," answered the mau. " Well,
come down at onoe, bring your drum, I
want you to play two days in front of
that low- lived editor's room across the
way. I've been wanting a drummer for
some time." The
hour. The undertaker took his drum
on acoount. The editor is out.
When Clara was asked what she
would do if a nice youug gentleman
should ask her hand m marriage, she
uaively replied, "I don't think I'd no."
"Certainly. What is your
t you?"
played about
A Home Without Woi
the
a
ate
to
of
or
of
by
Five miles south of Huntingdon,
Penna., on the banks of the Raystown,
branch, a graceful stream which courses
through the mest beautiful and pictur
esque scenery to be found anywhere in
this State, lives a family named Hawn,
consisting of three elderly brothers, one
of whom has been a maniac from his
youth. The united ages of these bro
there aggregate 243 years, and by in
dustry and the strictest economy they
have amassed a very large fortune, the
greater portion of which is popularly
believed to be secreted on the premises.
Several well-arranged but unsuccessful
attempts have been made in recent
years to rob the brothers of their hard
earned wealth, the latest attempt being
made about two years since by three
known men who,after entering the house
ostensibly to procure food, brutally as
saulted the defenceless inmates and in
stituted a vigorous but ineffectual
search for the coveted treasure. Sin
gularly misanthropic, these brothers
have, from their youth up, strenuously
objected to any
marrying. One of them, however,
Michael Hawn, regardless of his bro
thers' restrictions to matrimonial felic
ity, married a wife, and as a conse
quence was disowned and driven away.
He took up his abode a few miles from
his brothers, and while the latter were
rapidly accumulating wealth managed
to gain an uncertain livelihood for a
time, and finally died in abject poverty.
The nawn brothers have been favor
ably known for many years as honest,
respectable farmers. And probably no
other men can be found in this country
who have performed as much manual
labor. As an instance of their frugal ity
-t might be mentioned that in clearing
land or felling heavy timber they would
assume a kneeling position and cut the
trees level with the ground. Their
work was always so well arranged that
each one knew just what was required
of him. Until recent years the culinary
and other domestic household duties
were performed in turn by the brothers
their dislike for the opposite sex being
so great that for fifty years no woman
was ever known to enter the house.
Finally, however, owing to their de
clining years, they were compelled to
renounce their edict agaiust the em
ployment of female help, and reluctant
ly engaged a housekeeper. An hour's
drive over pleasant, undulating country
roads brings one to the home of these
brothers, situated in a charming, fertile
valley, shaded by lofty mountains on
either side. The large, commedlous
frame house, sadly in need of repairs,
strikingly resembles the inn of fifty
years ago. A knock at the door brings
to view a neatly dressed, comely woman
of certain, or to borrow Byron's ex
pression, "uncertain" age, whose kindly
"come iu" betrays her German parent
age. On entering the visitor is at once
impressed witli the air of impenetrable
mystery which pervades the premises,
and which the occupants but imper
fectly endeavor to conceal. The sur
roundings indicate the very commonest
mode of living, and out of all propor
tion to the luxuries and even comforts
of life that could well lie afforded.
Carpetless, though brightly scoured
floors, unadorned walls and the plainest
furniture greet the eye at every turn.
Y et accessible as the house is to the
visitor there is one apartment in It
barred against all comers; and this is a
modem exemplification of the mythical
"Blue Beard's closet."
The room or cell contains the oldest
maniac living in Pennsylvania to day.
Daniel Hawn, the youngest of the
Hawn brothers, who is now eighty-four
years old, has existed in this hovel for
sixty-three years. His room contains
not a single piece of furniture, for this
he would destroy. Behind the chimney
place, and in the furthest comer, he
sits year after year. His face is framed
in a Rowing silvery beard, and the
play " f muscles as he wrenches and
tugs at the cliains that secure his per
son shows his great physical power. He
is securely bound to the floor by linked
chains which encircle his w^ist, and
at times manifests great violence. He
lives in total darkness. There was
once a small window in his apartment
but this was purposely darkened with
boards some years ago to prevent car
penters, who were at worn on the build
ing, from peering into his gloomy dun
geon. During the winter months he is
protected against the cold by a stove
encased in the partition so that the
fire can be attended to without entering
his room.
The cause of his incurable mania is
attributed to bis having, when a boy,
drank freely of cold water while over
heated in the harvest field, whereupon
lie took a chill and at once beoame a
raving maniac. His condition is ex
tremely touching and pitiful. Secluded
from the sight of man and deprived of
pure air, sunlight and the necessary at
tention his case requires, this unfortun
ate human being is left to grovel in bis
dungeon when, by the expenditure of a
small percentage of the hoarded wealth
of his more fortunate brothers, he
could be properly cared for and pro
tected.
of
a
a
of
it
of their number
a
a
a
a
a
"
I
of
Stories ol the Front
The following incidents are given
from the life of the late David D. Col
ton, who figured in the recent Hunting
ton-Colton correspondence. Colton
left Maine for California in 1851, a
beardless boy, and settled in Siskiyou,
the northwest county of the State. In
1852 a Klamath Chief, Chinook, decoyed
t wo miners, Haines aDd Converse, from
Illinois, into his rancherie, and there
treacherously murdered them. The
Klamaths were a warlike tribe, having
nothing in common with the degraded
Pah Utes of California and Nevada—
■ the lowest grade of Indians in existence.
Their murderous Chief took refuge in
the mountain fastnesses, secreted and
protectel by his people and aided by
renegade whites. Colton, still not of
age, determined to capture and bring
him to justice. He set out in pursuit
accompanied only by two resolute
miners. For six weeks he followed the
wily murderer through wilderness and
mountain recess, from one lair to
other, every mile of the way beset
with peril, day and night, never relin
quishing the pursuit till the savage
fugitive was
Shasta River. His captors tied him to
a horse and conducted him through
forests swarming with alert and savage
Indians eager to deliver their Chief,
and with even more savage and desper
ate white men. the friends of Chinook,
until finally the murderer was delivered
to the authorities of the settlement and
dealt with according to law. This was
recognized as no ordinary achievement
and Colton was no sooner of legal age
than the electors of the county, by al
most unanimous vote, promoted him
from the position of Upper Sheriff to
that of Sheriff. The early Sheriffs of
California were remarkable men—men
of proved courage, coolness and deter
mination—they had to be to fill the office
or lie chosen for it—and Colton was a
representative Sheriff. He was a man
of influence and poWer and wealth
poured in upon him. He made a flying
visit to the East to marry the girl of his
college day love, Miss Ellen M, White,
daughter of Dr. Chauncey White, of
Chicago.
Shortly after Colton's return with his
bride a valuable water right was claimed
by a company and coveted by the indi
vidual miners of the camp. While it
was in litigation a miner, disregarding
the injunction of the Court, cut the
company's ditch and helped himself to
the water. He was arrested and iailed
for contempt of Court. Popular sym
pathy was with him; the miners deter
mined upon his release. Fifteen hun
dred of them assembled, fully armed,
at the jail, and demanded the release of
the prisoner. Colton was at the mo
ment attending a church fair which his
wife, with the few other women in
camp,
religious society of the settlement.
Some one rushed to him with the news
of the uprising, and while the miners
were still clamoring at the iail door for
the release of the prisoner and threaten
ing to take him out if he were not set
free, Colton came running hatless tow
ards them, his long red hair—he always
wore it long, eve* when Treasurer of
the Central Pacific Railroad—streaming
back from his beardless countenance.
Cleaving his way through the mob by
sheer impetus he rushed up the steps,
and, planting his back against the door,
confronted the angry throng of desper
ate and armed miners. He commanded
a
down and taken to the
conducting to assist the only
them in the name of law, order and
authority to disperse peacefully. The
response was a clamorous demand for
the release of the prisoner. "Never,"
said the young officer, calmly; "you
can only take him over my dead body;"
and he confronted them unflinchingly.
The mob, momentarily confounded and
cowed by his heroic mein, recoiled, but
soon returned, swearing that they
would have the prisoner. "Give up
the prisoner!" shouted hundreds of
them, pressing forward threateningly.
"I'll die first," responded the young
Sheriff. "Then die, you-fool,"
cried the foremost rioter, leveling his
pistol. The Sheriff was too quick for
him. His own weapon was out and
discharged in a twinkling, and the
leader of the mob was carried off disa
bled. Instantly hundreds of weapons
were drawn, and a volley was fired at
the Sheriff from every angle of attack.
He stood undismayed fronting the mob
and returning the tire, throwing down
one revolver as soon as emptied and
drawing another, strange to say, not
a shot of all
but several of his assailants were
wounded.
It was an unheard of thing. A mob
of 1500 desperate, armed and mad
dened men beaten off and discomfited
by one officer, and be yet a youth. Pas
sion was boding in the hearts of the
rioters, and they soon returned raging
to the attack; but in the meantime the
conduct of the Sheriff had inspired
others with some of his spirit and raised
him up supporters. The Judge of the
county, the Clerk, and a few others
took their places with him at the jail
door, and when the mob returned the
battle was resumed
terms, and the defense was maintained
till the rioters were beaten off. Colton
received two wounds, several of the
mob were killed and more wounded,
and the law was vindicated and took its
course witli the prisoner. The affair
created a great stir all through the
mines, and the young Sheriff was the
hero of the day. Governor Bigler, in
recognition of his services for law and
order, appointed him Brigadier General
of Militia of Northern California.
nreu struck him.
more even
Tbe Turtle-Dance.
The Isleta Indians, in New Mexico
have been recently celebrating a feast,or
rather a dance, unknown to any other
tribe in the world. The dance occurs
every four years, as the chief may
uounce, lasts four days and is celebrated
with enthusiasm throughout the whole
period. The name by which this pe
culiar celebration is known is "Tartu
ga" or turtle dance. The only maimer
the turtle is made to appear is that the
dancers each wear the shell of a turtle
attached to the garter
dancers number one hundred, chosen
from among the whole tribe by the
chief, and summoned to be on hand
and ready for the dance when the fes
tivities open. These take an active
part in the proceedings; wear naught
but an ordinary breech-clout; the body
is covered with fantastic figures in
paint, reptiles, birds and fishes; besides
the sun, moon and stars on the swarthy
skin of the excited participants. The
four days of celebration which ended
recently attracted to Isleta hundreds of
Indians belonging not only to this par
ticular tribe, but those who live in the
country surrounding the pueblo. The
feast is a strange one, and of such
cient origin that none of those who take
such active interest in it are able to tell
its real meaning.
leg. Tho
Oooie Uaoon.
"As a feature of my business," said
a Harrison-street packer to a reporte
in Chicago "I am introducing smoked
geese breasts."
"And do you find it profitable?" was
asked.
A
cf
"I do, very."
"Will you tell me what you mean by
smoked geese breasts?"
"Smoked geese breasts? Why, it is a
kind of delicacy, I suppose, but there
are places in the world where they are
as common as b;
. It is not always
easy to make the business profitable,
owing to the high price of fowls. We
can only preserve the breast and legs.
When the legs are preserved,
the man, smiling blandly, "they are
called hams."
said
"How do you dispose of the other
portions of the fowls?"
"Well, some of it we are compelled
to throw away. Other portions can be
used in making goose-lard. That you
know sells at forty cents per pound.
We get from one to two pounds from
each fowl. This is a small yield, you
must understand, but we do not hunt
for fat geese in buying for the trade.
We want those that seem to have
plenty of meat but as little fat
consistent with their health and flavor.
The breasts, when smoked and dried,
weigh on an average about three
pounds. Three and a half pounds is
about as heavy as we can get them
generally. They are cured almost the
same as pork hams, except that we
add a little garlic to the sugar and
salt. When offered for sale the meat
is as dry as dried beef and is chipped
and eaten raw. To tell you the truth
there is nothing better in the way of
dried meats. I ship a great deal of the
dried meat or 'goose-bacon' to New
York, and some I sell here, where the
other material is always disposed of.
The only product sold in its green or
fresh condition is the livers. These I
sell under contract to one man, who
pays me fifteen cents apiece for them.
You know they are very small. All
healthy livers are, though the most
unnaturally enlarged ones bring the
most money."
"You speak only of geese; do you
distinguish between them and the
ganders?"
"Oh, nol there is only a trifling dif
ference, if any, in the flavor, and we
pay no attention to sex in replenishing
our stock of fowls."
"Who are your patrons?"
"They are divided chiefly among the
Jews and Germans, and by both goose
bacon is considered a rare delicacy.
You would be surprised to see the
kind of people who buy of me. I have
people who come here in carriages to
make purchases and leave orders. I
often have more orders than I can fill.
During the last cold spell I was un
able to do much business on account of
the high price of fowls. The price
always advances, by the way, when
ever it grows cold enough to ship the
dressed fowl East. "
An Intellicant Audlonoo.
It is not often that we yield valuable
and olamored-for space to the review of
a minstrel show, but the Hey wood
brothers, who visited Little Rook, de
mand attention. A very fair and decid
edly intelligent audienoe assembled.
After a painful overture and a song by a
yonng fellow who seemed to express
himself through a clogged and difficult
quill, one of the end
"Mr. Rioe, ef you wuz—ef you waz
cornin' down de street
girl *uz ter kiss you, what would you
do?"
said:
' a putty
"Why, I'd kiss her back."
"Wo you wouldn't," yelled a
the audienoe, "you'd kiss her mouth !
Giye us something uew.''
"Mr. Rioe," said another end man,
"what would you call a man from Eng
land?"
"I'd call him an Englishman. "
"Uh, huh I What would you call a
man from Ireland?"
"I'd call him an Irishman."
\Uh, huhl What would you call a
man from Michigan?"
"I'd call him a Michigander."
The audience groaned and a
oalled:
"Say, don't give us that old Michi
geese busmess."
Thus discouraged at joking, for old
men in the audienoe hail heard the
"gags" annually since childhood, songs
wero decided to be the safest means of
entertainment. A horrible looking
thing came out with a banjo and said :
"Qoin' to sing you a funny song.
Took my girl to a fancy ball the other
night. Didn't have but fifty cent*
sorter slow in askin' her to eat, but
I asked her, an' she said she wasn't
hungry, bat she didn't care if she
did take a few lmes. I had but fifty
man
"Oh, hold on!" cried a m&u in the
gallery. "We know all about how she
took oysters
and a plate of slaw."
Astonished at an audience that had
before seen a minstrel show, the
manager at last decided to make a fa
vorable improssion by introducing some
thing sensational, so he pat on the old
ghost trick, where a fellow with a sheet
around him comes in. The white mau
and negro had sat down together, and
had begun the song
abont the old jaw-bone, when a loud
the door,
the wnite
mouthed man, sitting
exclaimed :
"Boom, coo, coo-hoo, hoo," and jnst
then the drum boomed and the negro
jumped and said: "Coo,
hoo, hoo,"
and the audience groaned. The thrill
ing ghost scene wua a failure, and the
manager, thinking to capture the honse
with a quartet, sent out a fellow looking
unwashed railroad section boss,
a short fellow with a high water jacket
and two emblems of ignorance and vocal
incapacity. When they began tho au
dience, almost to a mini, arose and left
the house.
This receptl
liki
was a sign of encour
agement, for it shows that people are
at last frowning down old aud moldy
jokes.
—A factory in Worcester is turning
out from 3,000 to 4,000 pairs of roller
skates per week.
(»me of Walter.
The Fatal
Forty-four years ago tne writer was
called in a professional capacity to a
rudely-constructed log cabin in the
woods, sixteen miles east of this city
A male child was born—the first born
cf man and wife—whose intelligence
and general cultivation was much in
advance of the society in which they
lived. They were determined to make
themselves a home of plenty in tlnyiew
country by their own industry, having
nothing but a quarter section of good
land and their household goods. They
came from Clearmont county, Ohio.
Three neighbor women were there,
and after the little stranger was dressed
the mother, with black hair and beauti
ful eyes, was asked to name the boy
"I want to call him Walter, but it is an
unlucky name. My great-grandfather
was named Walter, and he never came
home from the War for Independence.
Then my husband's grandfather was
named Walter, and he went to the war
of 1812, and he never returned. His
oldest brother was named Walter. He
went to sea arid we heard that he be
came a soldier in Europe, but he never
returned. We do not know where any
of them are buried. No gravestones
mark their last reeting-places. There
is no war now, and I trust never will
be In
am in favor of calling him Walter, that
the old family name may be retained
among us. Twenty-t way ears from that
time Walter bade his widowed mother
farewell to join the army for the de
fense of the Union and the home of his
childhood. He was a good and brave
boy, but was missing after the battle of
Stone River. All efforts to gain some
trace of his death and final resting-place
proved futile. No one can tell where,
when or how he died, or who disposed
of his remains. His mother mourned
the loss of her first-born, and often re
gretted that she had named him Walter.
A few years ago site died at the old
home. On her death-bed she said:
"Bury me beside my husband on the
hillside, and if Walter's grave is ever
found spend all the estate I leave, if it
takes that much, to bring him home
and put him by his father and me."
lifetime in this country, and I
Literary Society
London.
On the other side of the Channel we
told, "wealth and birth are not al
lowed by public opinion to have the
pas of intelligence; with us authors
and artists are valued, it is to be feared,
chiefly by authors and artists. Literary
society is something by itself. It is not
one with general society, as it is m
Paris." Although the facts seem to be
somewhat overstated, there is a good
deal of truth iu the remark. Such pro
fessedly literary society as there is in
London is of a very provincial order.
There
bouses in Bayswater, Ken
sington and the suburbs where weekly
reunions are held, and are mainly at
tended by gentlemen or ladies who
live by the work of pen or pencil.
But as a rule these gatherings
affected by men who have made much
of a position of their calling, whether
that calling be the writing of books, the
painting of pictures, or even the manu
facture of articles. The society is un
interesting and bourgeois. The women
are mostly dowdies and talk in a strain
that alternates between pertness and
blueness.
QOl
The men know nothing of
any world except that in which they live
and labor, and their conversation and
presence savor as much of the shop os
those of an Oxforddon or a Wolver
hampton trader. But because the soci
ety which piques itself upon being pre
eminently literary is, as the leading
journal puts It, "not one with general
society," it is entirely a mistake to
suppose that general society has not of
late years assimilated many literary el
ements. Mr. Browning and Mr. Mat
thew Arnold would be indignant if,
they were informed that they were not
incorporated into it as firmly as any of
the titled or untitled hacks of Mayfair
whose names are mentioned in every
other newspaper paragraph. The lau
reate has just been made a peer, and a
journalist interpreting, it may be pre
sumed, the feelings of the Tennyson
family on the subject, has declared that
there is more to be proud of in being a
nobleman than in being a poet. Sure
ly this touching tribute of sycophancy
to genius is a symbol of the fusion of
literature ana society.
lulUK Ai a
Ash may be finished natural color by
one application of linseed oil mixed
with some drugs, such as turpentine
and two applications of white sheilao—
be sure and
white y as orange would
utterly destroy the effect. With such
colors for woodwork any paper border
ing on the brown or red would go well.
Ash may l>e stained, with the addition
of Vandyke brown to the oil, a very
warm, rich color; shellac and rub down
as the first process. Wall paper may be
any of the olive shades, orreutral greens;
a touch of green in the pattern would not
be objectionable. In staining woodwork
do not put the coloring matter in the
shellac, as it would then only be depos
ited on the surface like a paint. When
used in the oil it acts as a filler filling
the grain even with the surface. The
oil should lie applied with a brush, and
the parts stained should be immed
iately wiped with a cleth, so that the
stain may not dry on the surface and
give a muddy appearance to the wood.
Ash may be stained of a yellowish-green
hue by the
would not advise it unless in competent,
experienced hands. The effect is rather
startling, and some would declare tiie
wood spoiled, but when the hangings
and colorings of upholstery are in ;
feet harmony the effect is very good.
of copperas, but we
pa
—There were 4,73-d book* ;> jolished
m Great Britaiu last year. Theology
headed the list with 704 volumes.