The Delaware ledger., March 29, 1884, Image 1

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

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ülljc Pelatoafc Ceîhtef.
NUMBER 15.
NEWARK, NEW CASTLE COUNTY, DELAWARE, MARCH 29, 1884.
VOLUME VII.
T
PERENNIAL BEAUTY.
funds
my
when
she
with
forted
in
Ever the Spring returns with ski oh serene.
And buliny breath of Infant buds and
flowers;
Ever the hills renew their primal gi
Aud melodies that gladdened
first hours
Are heard again in mauy a hazel sereeu.
earth's
Warm hearts turu cold, quick pulses oease
to*b«!at (
And love grows languid in the lapse of
time;
But beauty still tempts youth's pursuing
feet,
Bright eyes
oi
eager
bear
time
endless themes for pass
ioned rhyme,
And lovers'
will be forever sweet.
Great souls have died for truth and left
their fame
To be the watchword of another age;
But virtue, Justice, courage, and high aim
Descend through time, a common heri
tage,
And heroes live to-day in all but name.
could
ised
for
come
I
low
head
soft,
her
of
life
to
a
who
six
Years wax and wane, the good and true re
main;
How sweet lovo is mine
heart tell
Miuo eyes have seen the Bummer lu the
plain,
Aud in the crowded street, unwittingly,
may liavo passed a martyr iu his pais.
H 11
THE DOCTOR'S WIFK.
It was U dull November evening, and
I had been upon my feet all day; head
and heart aching over pain and sorrow
that I could do so little—so very little
to aid and comfort For I was a young
physician, with a large practice among
the very poor, and an Income so narrow
that 1 had to pinch and save. My
house was my own, a dismal, tumble
down mansion that had once held aristo
cratic owners. But the tide of fashion
had swept away from it, and I inherited
•it from a long-dead uncle, and kept 'it
because nobody wanted to buy it. Here
in the few habitable rooms, Martha,
my housekeeper, cook, maid-of-all
work, and domestic tyrant, made my
home as comfortable as our very small
means allowed. Whatever else of com
fort failed me, I was always sure of a
good fire. It threw a red light upon
my sitting-room as I entered, and 1
drew off my soaked boots, and ventured
to order a cup of coffee. I was sipping
it contentedly, and congratulating my
self that I was to have a long, pleasant
evening, when an ominous ring at the
bell startled me.
"Will you please tell the doctor Mrs.
Rivers is took bad again?"
There was no help for it. The last
drops of fragrant coffee were hastily
swallowed, and with one fond, lingering
look at the ruddy, smiling grate, I was
off again for a half-mile tramp through
the mud and slush. 1 know as I plodded
along, that my errand was a vain one.
Airs. Rivers was dying of an incurable
complaint. But ot all my many pa
tients there was no one who more
strongly enlisted our sympathy than
Mrs. Rivers. Living in a wretched
attic with scarcely food to eat, she bore
in her face, voice and manner the proof
• of refined culture and high breeding.
One child, a little girl of about ten
years, was tho companion of her pov
erty, the sole comfort of her dying
hours. It was pitiful to see the child,
fair and painfullyslender, waiting with
womanly patience and self-control at
the bedside of her mother. I knew
when I entered the room, upon the dull
November night of which I write, that
1 need never again climb those steep
stairs to give my poor aid to Mrs. Riv
ers. The paroxysm of acute pain was
over, but death had drawn its fingers
over the sufferer's brow, leaving his un
mistakable traces there.
"Mamma would not take the opiate,"
Lina whispered to me, "because she
wanted to speak to you I am to go
down stairs,but you will call me as soon
as you can, will you not?"
"As soon as she wishes it," I said,
taking the little scarred hands in mine.
"Yon shall not bo kept from her, dear
child."
She looked up gratefully, through a
mist of unshed tears, and then went
down stairs, while I drew up the only
chair hi the room, m answer to the soft,
pleading eyes fixed upon me. While
strength was granted to her, Mrs. Riv
era told me the sad story of her life, aud
gave into my care a few relics of better
days, to keep for Lina. For Lina!
That was the dying woman's only sor
row, as she drew near to the land of
shadows. I, who knew how carefully
the child had been guarded aud cher
ished amidst her rough surroundings,
understood only too well the agony of
her mother's heart at the prospect of
having her thrust into a work-house.
A wild resolution came into my heart.
in
the
her
the
in
all
a
of
me
of
or
"Mrs. Rivers," I said, gravely and
gently, "you have shown in the last
hour that you trusted
things. Will you put one more trust in
me?"
in many
"Have you not been my kind, patient
friend for many months?" she an
swered.
"Will you, then, trust Lina to my
care while I try to find her relatives? I
will be all a brother can be to her."
A flash of joy irradiated the wan, dy
ing face.
"God bless you," she said. "May a
mother's dying blessing rest ever upon
your head."
"Amenl" t whispered, as I went
call the child.
Then I returned to watch until the
last, holding the slender little figure
close to my side, glad in my inmost
heart that 1 hud long before won Lina's
affection. When the end came, she
turned to me witli a patient resignation,
heart-breaking to witness iu one
young.
".Mamma said l must be glad she was
to have no more pain," she said, wist
fully; "but it is very hard to be glad
without her."
"Very hard," I replied, "unless you
thiuk all the time how happy she
now."
It was a deep dip into my «lender
to
IO
m
funds to provide decent burial for the
widow. Martha did not take kindly to
my adopted sister. She sniffed and pro
tested. But knowing my will was law
when necessary, she submitted. But
she burdened the sensitive, loving heart
with tales of my deprivations, not
knowing how the gentle presence .gpin
forted me, l would find Lina curled up
in my chair with a book open before her
reading by the firelight, but with traces
her face. She
was
my
itary
end
to
for
sion
long
this
I
aud
is
in
her
my
a
the
I
oi tears
ever
eager to do me service. I could not
bear the thought of sending her to
school, so I taught her in what leisure
time I could command. And while I
could give her little beyond the bro
therly care and protection I had prom
ised lier mother, I advertised for her
relatives that might come any day and
snatch her from me. I tried to hope,
for Lina's sake, that they would soon
come to give her a luxurious home, but
I knew my life would be sadly lonely,
missing her. When she would draw a
low seat to my side, rest her golden
head of curls upon my knee, lift her
soft, brown eyes to mine and talk in
her low, sweet voice, I
of a serene peace, such as my lonely
life had seldom known. I loved her
very, very dearly, and 1 was all she had
to love. So we two, man and child,
passed through the long winter, quietly
happy in being together. Spring had
come, when I was summoned hastily to
a railroad accident. One of the first
who demanded my care was an old
chum of mine. More than once I had
thought of him in the long winter just
passed, but I had no clue to his where
abouts. Wi.en my painful duties were
over, I returned to the low cot bed
upon which he lay, and asked lum
something of his life, since our parting
six years previous.
COliseinUS
boys,
at
go
a
of
of
of
I
"Ah!" he said, "there have been
many changes, old fellow. My father is
dead, I am married and have two baby
of
"And where is your home,"
"It. will bo in N-, but I have been
in this county but a few months. To tell
the truth, I am here npou an errand at
sad and hopeful."
"What is that?"
"It is a long story. I had a sister
whom I loved very foudly, and who was
with my father when I went abroad,
twelve years ago. Soou after my de
parture she married a scamp, a thor
oughly bad man, who hoped to finger
her inheritance. You know what wo
men are. The mote my father opposed
the match, the more closely Caroline
clung to the lover who was all perfect
in her eyes, Iu spite of all entreaty,
all opposition, she married him, making
a runaway match at length. My jatlier
threw her off, and after a few months
of angry solitudo in his old home, joined
me in Paris. I wrote to Caroline, but
never received any answer. When my
father died less than a year ago, he re
pented his harshness to his only daugh
ter. He would not alter his will, that
left me a wealthy man and my sister a
beggar, but he begged of me to find her
and divide* the inheritance. I had
made my home in Paris and married a
French lady, so that I could not at
once leave that city and take possession
of my home in N
property. But as soou as I could I
came to England. One of the first
newspapers I opened advertised for me
or my father, iu my sister's name, and
begged me to send my address to this
place. I only waited to establish my
family in their new home and came
here."
, and my father's
"Seeking Caroline Rivers?"
"Ah! you know?"
"Yes,for the advertisement is mine."
Then I told him of his sister's death,
and where he would find his niece.
"I have your sister's marriage certi
ficate, that of her husband's death, and
Lina's birth, and some few inexpensive
trinkets she said that you would recog
nize."
1 canuot dwell upon it. My little
household fairy drifted out of my life
again, leaving a blank darkness nothing
would lighten. Her uncle was only
slightly hurt, and in less than a week
was journeying back toN-, carrying
Lina to the ideal home I had often im
prized hiul never shaken her tender
memory of our winter together. I
could not have my practice in one city
and Lina under my care in another, so
I sold my home aud came to N-. '
1J the gentle patience of her girlhood
affined for her.
sorry when she was gone. In the seven
years that followed I
fession by dint of hard work and study.
It was uphill work, but I neared the top
by steady application, and was already
in easy circumstances, when I fell heir
to a moderate fortune. Not.
tale, but sufficient for ease from pecun
iary care for
this came to me, a letter reached my
home from my old friend, Gordon Wal
ters. We had never corresponded, but
he wrote—"Lina is quite ill, with the
same disease, I think, of which poor
Caroline died. We have had the best
advice for her, but she fancies that you,
and you alone, can cure her. Can you
come and try your skill for her? It is
useless for me to tell you how profound
will lie our gratitude if you can help
Ei
Martha was
in my pro
vast es
life-time. Soou after
and
last
in
an
my
I
dy
a
upon
the
she
was
wist
glad
you
her."
It hail been a theory of mine that this
same disease 1 always considered
incurable could be eradicated from
the system if taken in time. Its in
roads were made so gradually that,
rule, the patient applied for relief only
when it
Never can I forget the expression of
the pale face when I first stood beside
A thrill of joy unutterable filled
a
to
too late.
her.
my heart when 1 read there certainty
that 1 had been hold in loving remem
brance during all the long years of sep
aration. In our many long talks 1
learned that all the love lavished upon
her, the happiness of her new home,
the advantages of education she highly
IO
m
was needed for the course of treatment
compelled to prescribe, but she
never questioned the wisdom of the
harshest measures, or shrank from any
remedy I advised. So, together, my
patient and I won back the boon of
health to the young frame, and I proved
my theory by curing Lina of the hered
itary illness we had all feared would
end her young life. And while I strove
to master the disease, I found my love
for the child I had taken to my i>oor
home was but the beginning of my
manhood's one strong love. My profes
sion had filled heart and brain for mauy
long years, and my lonely life had
known no sunshine so bright as the
winter visit of my child love. But in
this intercourse of more mature years
I learned that God-sent lesson of true
aud perfect love, lacking which no life
is complete. And I won an answering
devotion from the fair, sweet maiden,
who seemed but my
child come back to me. In all lier years
in her uncle's home, the petted darling
there, my Lina had lost nothing of that
modest grace and patient sweetness of
her child life. Bbe seemed too fair and
gentle for this rough world. When I
told her she was well, needing no more
my skill or care, she lifted her eyes with
a strange fear there
"Well," she answered, "does that
mean that you will leave me alone
again?"
Then I told her how I loved her, and
the sweet face rested upon my bosom,
and the low voice answered—
I
a
It
tender, loving
I
"I have loved you since first I saw
youl You will not leave me again?"
"Never!"
And I have kept my word. There
voice raised in opposition when
was
I sought my bride, and once more my
fireside is brightened, my home oheerd,
my heart made happy, by the gentle
presence of Lina, my wife.
Frlix ea* of Wales.
i utli 'milles of
The lovely Princess of Wales is the
most tieloved of all ttie members of the
royal family, and it is much regretted
that the probability is site will bé less
and less in public and in society. And
certainly there is no one to taka her
place. She has a charm of person all
her own, a charm that wins all hearts
and makes her popular with all classes
of the people. The Queen's disinclina
tion for all public and social duties has
thrown the burdens of royalty upon the
Prince of Wales, and he has won enor
mous and merited popularity by meet
ing every demand upon his time, his
strength and his purse. And his love y
and dutiful wife has shared both his
cares and fatigues. This strain, under
the circumstances, ought not to be put
upon the Princess much longer. First
of all, her health is not what it once
was, although she Is a wise conservator
of her own strength, which she faith
fully devotes to the care of her lovely
children so far as public and social duties
permit. But the princess has a stiff
knee, and this slight lameness prevents
her walking with ease, and she dislikes
to appear publicly where walking is a ne
cessity. However, one is Informed that
the saddest part of this sad story is that
the Princess, deafness, which has long
been a great infirmity, is
that it cuts her off from ready enter
course with society, and she begins to
shrink, not unnaturally from the out
side world.
On the other hand, the Prince o
Wales is out and about much of tho
time, as it is both his duty and pleasure
to be. He is phenomenally active, and
one reads of him as being Retimes here,
there and everywhere. Iiis manners,
which are quite Spanish in punctilious
ness, are always affable aud engaging,
and he is sought, m society and for pub
lic occasions, not only for the sake of
his rank, but also for his own sake, It
is commonly understood that with his
most intimate gentleman friends and in
the most free-and-easy circumstances
the heir to the throne of England if
first of all and always a gentleman.
a
a
at
I
me
my
bad
life
im
Stoi
There Is on many farms more or les
of ground so rocky that it will not re
pay the expense of cultivation, and all
such siKits should be planted with trees.
These may be got out of the wood -
what would be cheap« 1 ' «isier, and
probably much ehectual, the seeds
r.f »«mous kinds ot trees could be sown
imitating as nearly as possible the nat
ural processes which have produced all
the forests of the country. The seed
of the different trees should be gather
ed iu the woods just at the time they
fall naturally, and they should be imme
diately planted in little shallow holes
among the stones, and covered with a
little earth. There the rains of autumn,
the snow of winter, and the sunshine
of spring would bring up a crop of
young tio* which should be fenced in
from cattle ai« left to themselves. They
would require no labor after th8 first
sowing and fencing, except ubsequent
thinning out from year to year of those
that are too crowded, or most valuable
for economic purposes. If hickory nuts,
black walnuts, butternuts, cliestuuts,
and the seeds of sugar plums, pines and
spruces were any of them or all of them
sowu here and there over the place in
tended for a grove, the most valuable
kinds and those that thrive best could
bo ultimately left to become great trees.
After ten years, the annual thinning of
this grove for firewood, fence, hoop
lioles, railroad ties, etc., would probably
make it as vuluable a part of the farm
as any other; and when the black wal
nut and butternut trees become large
enough to be sold to cabinet makers the
value of the grove would be very great.
The present race of farmers may say
^ ie y wou id not live to see the tree bo
I come for the cabinet makers; but
city 110ue the less would the growth of that
so grove increase the value of the farm
' every year, and that whether the owner
sold It or left it to his children.
top
heir
my
but
the
poor
best
you,
you
is
help
was
es
this
from
in
only
of
filled
a
sep
1
upon
Sumatra'« Tobaoco.
A letter from Mariendal, Sumatra,
says:
"We are now several miles from the
town, in the midst of enormous tobacco
plantations, every
a province in itself.
Gaunt, half-clad, brown faced men
may be seen creeping like ants about
the edge of the jungle, while on every
side there start up out of the sea of
vegetation those long, low, barrack-like
sheds where the tobacco leaves are dried
aud pressed, in the nearest of which are
working the 400 Chinamen who were
summoned to their labor an hour ago by
the blast of a cow's horn.
the
ted
I
I
of which is like
"Now, n said our hospitable host, Myn
heer Van der Hoe von, with the bright
ness of a genuine Dutch welcome on
his bold brown face, "we must show
you and your lady how we work here.
It is a pity that you did not come in the
spring time, for then you would have
the planting and the growing, and
the packing, and all the rest of it. But
there is nothing going on except
the drying of leaves, which is being
done in that shed that you see yonder.
It is but seldom that you can get two
crops in succession (crops of tobacco.
I mean) from one piece of land. Some
of our neighbors have done it, but in
general it is better to plant it with rice
or something of that sort aud not try
tobacco on it again for six or seven
years. That what
have done here,
Ho points to a wide belt
as you see.
of padi rice which stretches far away to
the right, its tender green contrasting
very prettily with the dark masses of
wooding behind it. Iu the edge of the
jungle gapes a deep gash, showing where
fresh ground is being cleared for new
tobacco plantations.
"That's one of the sacred trees of the
Malays," explains
to my questioning look. "There are
several which they hold sacred, and
when we begin cutting down the jungle
to clear new soil for our tobacco plant
ing the people come to us and beg us to
spare this tree
course, we always do it. Now, here we
are at the drying-shed; shall we go in?"
guide, in answer
y
to
of
It
in
if
that tree, and, of
Iu we go accordiugly. The interior
is very much like a rick-yard, with
tobacco stacks instead of liay-ricks,
among wiiich a perfect army of half
clad Chinese coolies, 400 strong, are
hard at work sorting, ranging and stow
ing. So overpoweringly strong is the
scent of the half-dried tobacco leaves
that a sm >ker would have nothiug to do
but to take in an empty pipe with him
and enjoy a good hard smoke gratis,
merely by inhaling the air through it.
But the Chinamen, whether habituated
to It by long use, or fortified against it
by the superior power of opium, breathe
this perfumed atmospiiere as easily as if
. "That
it were the purest air of the
is how we measure the heat, you see,"
says our host, calling our attention to
the hollow bamboos, thrust through the
heart of eacli stack, with a stick inside
it, which, when pulled out, is almost too
Hot to touch. "It must neVer lie above
or below a certain point, you know. In
stead of stripping off the leaves at once,
we hang up the whole plant to dry, and
do not strip it till it is quite dried. The
Sumatra tobacco, however, will not do
for cigars. It is only used for what we
generally call 'deckblatt* (cover leaf),
which covers the outside of the cigar.
Last season the United States took a
great deal of our tobacco, and we ex
pect that they will take more still, in
spite of the duty, which is one guilder
(40 cents) per bale of 1(50 pounds. The
usual price is .two and a half guild
era ($1) per pound, and the ordinary
cost of transport to Europe about $1
per bale.
Midway along the grove of tobacco
stacks (each nearly as high as a man's
head), which runs down tho centre of
tho building, hangs a ponderous iron
steam-punch, ail ready to squeeze the
loose leaves into those compact bales
which fit into the hold of a merchant
man as neatly as bits of mosaic.
re
all
all
a
of
in
and
in
of
wal
the
say
bo
but
that
"Do you go much into coffee growing
in these parts?" asked I, suddenly re
calling the now forgotten Dutch novel
of "Max Havelaar" (which I read years
ago in Bt. Petersburg), and its furious
tirade against the unparalleled iniquity
of Dutch coffee-growers and Dutch
coffee-brokers in the far East. "No;
Java's more the place for that. Here
In Sumatra we grow very little, for as a
rule it does not even pay its own ex
penses. I have a small plantation a
few miles from here, but I don't expect
I shall ever make anything out of it.
Tobacco's the great tiling here, and the
profits upon that are very large iu spite
of the duty. The Deli company, which
is tho chief tobacco-growing concern in
these parts, paid a dividend of 98 per
cent, this last year, and I think they'll
go'even higher tlian that lief ore long,
especially if America continues to buy
from us."
"If you so seldom get two tobacco
crops in succession off the same piece
of ground, and if you have to clear
fresh land every year for your planting,
some of the plantations must be of a
very respectable size."
"They are indeed One plantation
belonging to the Deli company, which
you passed on your way up here, extends
straight in
miles, and there are some larger even
than this. But when you remember
that in the planting season each man has
the charge of a piece of ground 300 feet
Jong by 20 broad, and that there are400
or 500
you may think how much space must
be required altogether."
direction for thirty-six
employed on each plantation
A man's brain weighs three aud a halt
pounds A womau's brain is some
what lighter but of fluer quality. That
is what enables her to taate lard in her
neighbor's pastry.
—
ths
of
of
Vauderbilt'« Slirewdue«».
While the Central train for the west
was waiting at the station in Albany
the other day, for the Boston train, the
passengers in the smoking car were
entertained by a conversation conduc
ted in pretty loud tones about Vander
bilt. One man said it was au outrage
that Vanderbilt did not throw out any
flag from his residence on Evacuation
day, and that hisses from the proces
sion were the consequence. And then
considerable was said about Vander
bilt's greed and uncharitableness.
"Well," said a well-dressed man,
puffing away at his cigar, "I can tell
you a story about Vanderbilt that con
cerns myself, and that I know all
about—no hearsay. Several years ago
I was conductor on the Fourth-avenue
horse railroad, New York. It was at
the time when the twenty-cent piece
first made their appearance, and you
know they looked very much like and
were about the sizo of the twenty-five
cent pieces, llorse car conductors
had to keep a sharp lookout for these
pieces or they would take them for
twenty-five cents. When in the neigh
borhood of Madison square one day
W. II. Vanderbilt got in my car. As
I passed along to collect fares he gave
me a twenty-cent piece and I promptly
gave him fourteen cents in change.
When we got up to the station where
were to change horses I was sent
for t <f come to the office. There sat
Vanderbilt, and he began at once to
ask me question». He did not know
whether I knew him or not, but I did.
Said he:
as
it
by
as
"Y
ain't you?"
"Yes."
"What's the fare on this railroad?"
"Six cents."
"Are you pretty good at arithme
're a conductor on this road,
tic?
"Yes, sir."
"Do you remember what change you
gave me?"
"Yes, sir; fourteen cents."
"Do you know what piece of uiouey
I gave you?"
"A twenty-cent piece, eh?" (and
soon a change came over iiis counten
ance. which up to this time had been
pretty severe and stern). "Have you
got the piece?"
"I think 1 have, sir," and the piece
was produced.
Vanderbilt looked at it carefully,
and added :
"That's what I gave you eh?"
Then it was the conductor's turn.
"1 think I have convinced you
against your will."
"I was a trifle worried," said the
conductor, "as to what might grow out
of the incident, for I did not want to
be turned out of my place, especially
for any lack of duty or attention on
my part. However, my anxiety was
soon received. Several days passed
when 1 received a note from "the office
telling mo that I had been promoted.
To my joy, I found a desk in the gen
eral office waiting for me at vt good
salary, and I have been there
since. I have no reason to find fault
with Vauderbiit."
a
Cum. Vanderbilt'« Widow.
An interesting rumor comes from
New Orleans to the the effect that Gen.
George Pierre (he has dropped the
Pierre) Toussaint Beauregard is about
to marry Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt,
the widow of the dead Commodore.
Beauregard, as ail the world knows,
was one of the greatest engineers offi
cers on either side in the late war.
Carefully trained at West Point, where
he graduated second in his class in 1840,
he rendered valuable services to the
United States in the Mexican war, and
invaluable services against it in the war
of the rebellion. He is considered to
day one of the foremost military engin
eers of his time by competent critics.
Some of them contend that he is tho
equal ef any engineer since Vauban.
Certain it is that lie is very highly
spoken of, and that some of his work—
that at Manassas battlefield, in Virginia
for example—is pointed out by the older
officers of the a »my as a model for the
young lieutenants of the corps. He is,
however, nothing more than a great
engineer. He was not a good fighter,
and after the war lie failed signally in
an attempt 4 to revive a Southern rail
road which was on its feet within six
months after he left its presidency, and
is now striding forward into permanent
prosperity. Perhaps, since we have no
great engineering work for him to do,
Gen. Beauregard is best employed
as he is at present in assisting to man
age a lottery enterpiise at a salary of
$10,000 a year. Gen. Beauregard is a
short, shapely, handsome old gentle
man, with gray hair aud white mous
tache and a ruddy face. He has the
appearance and accomplishments of a
courtier of the days of Louis XIV.,
aud, withal, hosts of friends. He has
buried two wives and has a married son
a
a
in
a
aud a married daughter in New Orleans.
Mrs. Vanderbilt was the reigning belle
of Mobile while yet very young, in the
years immediately preceding the war.
She was not pretty, but was exceeding
ly attractive—"handsome," "stylish,"
lovely," the old beaux say. She married
William II. Elliot, a New Orleans law
yer but thoy did not agree with one an
other, and finally separated by way of
the courts. For several years Mrs. El
liot, who was still very attractive, sup
ported herself and her mother by teach
ing music. They had met the Vander
bilts before her first
. .. . , ,, . ....
ter the war, and when Mrs. \ anderbilt
died Mr. Vanderbilt married Mrs. El
iage, and it is
said that the Commodore, who admired
them, quietly contributed to their sup
port through her mother, after her sep
aration from her husband. Be this as
it may, they met again in the North af
liot. Now she is a handsome widow of
about forty, with a legacy of $800,000
— 1100,000 for each year of her life with
ths Commodore, as some one has ob
served—and nothing to prevent her
marrying anybody she pleases to marry.
Mrs. Vanderbilt is, as is well known,
like her late husband, a great admirer
of the Rev. Dr. Deems, of the Church
of the Strangers, New' York city. Van
derbilt University at Nashville, Tenn.,
probably owes its existence to the ap
peals made by Dr, Deems and Mrs.
Vanderbilt to the dead millionaire.
General Beauregard, a creole in every
thing else, is presumably a member of
the Roman Catholic Church.
a
Men iu l'ettlc«
Men appeared in Elizabeth's time in
ruffs, plaited, and plaited as daintily
as any dame; they carried fans and
pocket glasses by which to arrange any
occasional disorder in their dress. Then
too, they carried muffs, and revived a
fashion of wearing earrings. But lest
it should seem that this arraignment of
men is, piece by piece, taking from our
forefathers all title to
should be mentioned that to
nally belonged the right to wear ruffs
by virtue of original ownership. It
was only when ladies invaded mascu
line privileges, and took to ruffs, that a
competition began, in which each sex
strove to outdo the other fn extrava
gance, aud the heads of people appeared
as if borne on linen trenchers. Ear
rings. too, were worn by men before
the conquest. This cannot be held to
exonerate men from blame nor divert
from the conclusion that at certain
periods men have generally adopted aud
unseemly display and been guilty of an
effeminate refinement in dress.
It is not so much to the discredit of
Englishmen that they wore petticoats
and stomachers in early days, when
those were recognized parts of male
costume, as it is to the disgrace of their
descendants who took up the wearing
of fripperies and fineries proper to wo
men—the dissolute cavaliers who, after
the restoration, pranked themselves out
in laces and ribbons and feathers and
flowing curls, or the cravated and
bewigged dandies and maccaronies of
the succeeding reigns, who, with their
garnished coats, laced enffs, silk
breeches, clocked stockings and
buckled shoes were at least as fine and
certainly no less depraved than their
fathers. It is well that masculine
dress has
cation, and has become generally dark
aud somber in color, so that, although
"mashers" and "dudes" perpetuate
effeminacy i
the advantages which gaudy apparel
and common garments might give
them in parading the degenerate dain
tiness of which they seem so unworth
ily vain.
respect, it
origi
distinct lines of dernar
they have not at least
"Our American Couh
Speaking of Pompeii a well known
Presbyterian divine of London, now
visiting Naples, has told one of the
best things connected with the buried
city tiiat lias been heard for a long time.
This divine has not only the advantage
of being a Scotchman, but also that of
having had some experience in America
—in travel in the U nited States, and in
residence in Canada only a few hours
distant from the "Greater Britain," as
Sir Charles Dilke termed our country.
A few days ago, at dinner time, he per
ceived opposite to h im at the tablo-d 'liote
of his hotel a gentleman who, by his
peculiar observations, freely given iu
backswoods English, proclaimed him
self to be an American, and one of
those men, probably the son of an ig
norant Irish emigrant, who, by native
force of character, had worked up from
poverty to a certain degree of affluence.
His brain, however, had not been filled
with knowledge as his purse had
been with dollffts.
ly had succeeded
neighborhood as a lumberman or a
small trader, and finding himself pos
sessed of means, thought that a little
foreign travel would set him up in the
world. Vanity aud great self-esteem
are oftentimes the accompaniments of
acquired wealth without culture and
these two qualities prevent such men
from getting information by inquiries,
as they do not wish to show their igno
rance by asking quest ous about tilings
which others seem to know all about.
So ourbackwood8 "American Cousin"
had come all the way to Naples, and
had never heard of Pompeii, although
he "had heard tell of Vesuve." No
ticing that travelers all around him
went to Pompeii, he considered it tho
correct thing for him to do. He had
been here two weeks, and had never
pul a single «luestion about the city, so
that when he arrived there, entering it
by the marine gate, down which poured
the commerce of Pompeii eighteen cent
uries ago, lie was taken aback to see
ruins of houses emerging from the strata
of pumice-stone and ashes. He for once
orgot his ignorance, aud with an air
of surprise, horror,and almost stupefac
tion he exclaimed:—"What on airth's
in
of
a
a
He evident
his own
of
the matter with this place? Somethin's
wrong here! Why it seems ail kivered
up, and the peepul all ded!" It has
been the standing joke witli his compan
ions eyer since. But his shrewdness and
a general thing, keep
native wit,
him even with the John Bulls who sur
round him.
— Vancouver, W. T., seems to be
the headquarters for runaway couples
in that neighborhood. Ninety runaway
couples from Oregon w
during 1683.
—It has been decided by the Attorney
General of Iowa that the salaries ol
teachers
not so paid interest can be collected on
arrearages.
A Montana statesman is named M-,
giunis to. Maginnis, The middle let
ter jg thought to stand for Maginnie,
married there
is
as
due monthly, and when
af
and a vague suspicion is
footiug that ho may be of
soent.
gaining a
Irish de
of
Fruiting—How and Wbut.
It
are
ing
the
The manner in which we often see
trees hacked and cut, with long stubs
left at the base of the branches cut off,
and strips of bark peeled down from the
place where they were removed, indi
cates a lack of intelligence or care, or
both, on the part of the operator. The
man who has the care of an orchard
trom the start can give no valid excuse
for having badly-shaped trees, so far as
pruning can control them. A fruiterer
should be able, as he stands by his
young tree, to look into his future and
mentally see that tree when grown to
large size, aud to judge of the effect
that every branch he leaves on it will
have on the shape and balance of the
head. Every limb not needed to com
plete the symmetry and balance of the
head should be rubbed off with the
hand as soon as it appears. A forked
tree should not be suffered to live. It is
an insufferable nuisance. If one branch
cannot be cut off and the other used for
the stem of the tree, then let both be
removed aud a vigorous sprout be select
ed from those that start and trained for
a trunk forming a head at the proper
height. But trees are often required to
be pruned after having reached a consi
derable size. In that case two or three
general principles should be kept in
view. One 'is that a perfect balance
should always be maintained in number,
weight aud extent of the branches over
the base of the trunk of the tree. An
other is that the centre of the head
should always be kept free and open to
access of both air and sun-light. Fruit
that grows entirely in tho shade is
neither so highly colored nor so finely
flavored as that which has had the ben
efit of sun-light. In pruning a large
tree the operator should begin at the
centre and prune outward. All branches
not needed to make a well-balanced
head, with branches evenly distributed,
must go. The brauches left should be
so far apart that even when grown large
they may not interfere by rubbing or
chafing. The style of growth of a tree
is to be taken into account in pruning,
so that the shape of the tree may be
properly regulated and controlled. If
the tree is a spreading grower, the low'er
and outside branches should be cut in
preference to the upper or inside branch
es; but if it be a very upright grower,
then the reverse course is to be followed.
Wherever gaps
surrounding branches may be cut back
to buds or branches pointing in the
direction of such vacancy. By giving
attention to these principles it is not
difficult to so control the form of the
tree
vacancies occur the
to have a well-balanced, shapely
tree that will carry heavy crops without
the danger of splitting to pieces or
tumbling out by the roots, as is too fre
quently the case with ill shaped and
badly balanced trees.
Ilow to Doty Old Ago.
it
It has been generally believed for a
long time that sooner or later the sci
entists would discover the secret of
indefinitely prolonging human life.
Why people should cease to be young
in appearance and feeling when, in
reality, they are young in years, and
why they should grow old, fall into the
sere and yellow leaf and shuffle off thip
mortal coil just when they are begin
ning to enjoy life, are mysteries of a
tantalizing aud yet fascinating charac
ter. But general reflections are not in
order in discussing a matter of such
vital interest. The world will learn
with breathless interest that the scien
tists have at last succeeded in agreeing
upon a course of treatment which,
they think, will have the effect of
pending the encroachments of old age.
The fact having been noted that, after
passing middle life the process of ossi
fication becomes markedly developed
until it ushers in senile decrepitude, it
has occurred to our scientific friends
that the arrest of this ossifie tendency
would naturally ward off or delay the
coming of old age. To make it still
plainer suppose we put it iu this way:
Old age, instead of being an accumula
tion of years, is simply a slow but
steady accumulation of calcareous
matter In the system. The preven
tion of the deposit in any considerable
quantity of this calcareous matter is a
bar to the approach of the physical and
mental decline called old age. It would
be interesting to follow these scientists
stei> by step in their investigations and
discoveries, but within the limits of
thia brief article we have barely space
for their conclusions, The main point
is the method recommended for the
prevention of calcareous accumulations.
Of course this is a matter of diet. We
must
bread in moderation, fruit in
abundance, fish, poultry, young mut
ton and veal. Nitrogenous food must
be avoided. The uext thing is to drink
several glasses of distilled water con
taining ten or fifteen drops of diluted
phosphoric acid every day. This has
the effect of dissolving any cîilcareous
matter in the system. Believers in the
Malthusian theory will probably view
this discovery with disapprobation, and
it is not to lie denied that the effect
will be to augment our population. To
some extent it will create a revolution
iu the business world. If
aged men go to dosing themselves with
distilled water and phosphoric acid in
stead of "red eye," there is no telling
how long they will last, and their
refusal to be laid
lay the progress of our young men, or
make them push forward with redoub
led energy. The future experiments
of the scientists in their tussle with eld
Father Time will be watched with in
tense interest, as the result intimately
concerns us all.
middle
the shelf will de
Tho ouriois man goes about to gratify
his curiosity but he will probably
never travel far enough to find a l/
thing more curious than h Unser.
a
Shaking UamU.
There is a philosophy in handshaking.
It is an indication of character. It gives
expression to the degree in which you
are appreciated or esteemed by another.
There are a variety of methods of shak
ing hands—according to temperament,
disposition or occasion.
Some seize your hand with a fervent
grasp—one foot extended—and holding
your eye with their own. Such is the
salutation of the jolly tar, ready to
share "the last shot in the locker" with
the stranger of the hour. Others, again,
seize your hand with as much fervency,
and many mean as well towards you,
but pass your cheek, with eyes steadily
set, as if looking for some undefined
ghostliness beyond, and seeming to con
verse with the same.
Others give too great a show of fer
vency to the salutations, causing your
fingers to tingle with pain; you invol
untarily glance at the injured hand, ex
pecting it to have been compressed into
one horrid, bruised, extended dextei,
finger. Others, again, add to this ex
hibition of muscular power, by swing
ing your hand up and down, a sort of
intimation that they are about to
"pump" you.
A few come so close to you that you
can feel their breath upon your face;
thers seem to be experimenting on the
greatest distance at which the saluta
tion can be exchanged. Some daintily
offer you the tips of their fingers; it
means that they are not disposed
to be especially gracious. Others, again,
take your whole hand, even endanger
ing the immaculated whiteness of your
wristbands.
The most agreeable shake of the hand
is that meaning, welcoming grasp,
warm but not painful in pressure, wiiich
stands guarantee to the sympathetic
look and kindly-spoken word. The
most abominable hand-shaking is that
lazy, listless offering, giving no pres
sure, and averse to receiving any. We
have shaken hands with such persons,
and the'memory of it has annoyed us
for an hour afterward. It was like
touching a wet dish-cloth or a cold,
quivering frog. An embarassing shake
of the hand is when the party greets
you hastily, yet silently, as if he felt
guilty of boldness, or was not quite
sure that he had not been misled by a
resemblance. It is as awkward as a
pause in conversation.
Perhaps to young lovers the quiet,
half-unintentionul contact of hands is
the most pleasant, that soft, lingering
restlessness; that delicious remaining
at love's dictation; that faint attempt
at withdrawal, at propriety's sugges
tion; that electrical thrill of contact
which fires the veins, modulates tho
voice, colors the cheek, adds a bright
ness to the eye and a tremulousness to
the lips.
How many men profound in philoso
phy, brilliant in scliolaiship, high in
position, have sat for hours in the still
moonlight, holding in their hand the
soft white hand of a woman, their
thoughts idly borne off by a flitting
leaf or the thrill of a bobolink? Who
can say they weie not all the better for
a
a
it
it?
An Uninvited
James I one day, wfien hunting, rode
on before his dogs and huntsmen to seek
for luncheon. He rode up to the inn at
Maidenhead quite ravenous. He rolled
himself off his horse and shouted for
the landlord. Beef and ale—a pasty—
anything! The landlord, carelessof stray
guests, shrugged his shoulders. There
was nothing ready but one roast, and
the worshipful Vicar of Bray and his
curate were already busy at that. Per
haps they might as a favor allow him to
join them. King James caught at the
offer, strode upstairs, knocked at the
door and asked permission. The vicar
churlishly scowled up from his full and
smoking platter. The curate j ovial and
hearty, begged James to be seated. The
king sat down and plied a good knife
and fork. He tossed off his ale; he
told racy stories; he made both his re
luctant and his willing host roar with
laughter. At last there came the
vais quart d'heure of Rabelais—the bill
arrived. The curate put down his
money with careless frankness- the vicar
paid his bill gloomily; but the luckless
guest could not pay at all. Eh, mon,
he'd left his purse behind him iu his
other breeksl The vicar saw no joke in
this matter, and flatly refused to pay
for tho suspicious stranger. The happy
and guileless curate expressed his plea
sure in being able to make some return
for the amusement he had received, and
paid the stranger's share. Then the
three men went out on to the balcony.
A huntsman came riding up, aud, see
ing the King, leaped off his horse and
went down upon one knee in the street.
The sullen vicar threw himself at the
feet of James and implored forgiveness,
to which King James replied: "I shall
not turu you out of your living; you
shall remain Vicar of Bray; but 1 shall
make my good friend the curate a Can
on of W indsor, whence he will be able
to look down upon you and your vicar
age."
a
of
in
or
Decapitation.
The Chinese custom of decapitating
their enemies slain in war is explained
by the statement that the appearauce of
a iierson in the spirit world without a
a head is prima facie evidence ef hav
ing committed some crime, and punish
ment is awarded
the horrible mutilations which took
place on the evacuation of Shanghai by
the Taipings, when the imperial officers
gave orders for the decapitation of every
rebel body; and even the coffins contain
ing the remains of prominent rebel
leaders w
ored to insure their punishment here
after. Hence, also, the anxiety dis
played by the friends of officers' who
lost their heads during the rebellion to
recover them and stitch them on to the
bodies again; as much as £123 having
been paid by the officers of the imperial
army for the head of a friend.
rdingly. Hence
broken open aud dishon-