Volume XXIX. No. 29. fit A QUAKERDETECTIVE. -*We were five passengers in all; two ladies on the back seat, and a middle aged gentleman and a Quaker on the middle, and myself on the front. The two ladies might have been mother and daughter, aunt and niece, governess and charge, or might have sustained any other relationship which made it proper for two ladies to travel togeth er unattended. The middle-aged gen tleman was sprightly and talkative.— He soon struck up an acquaintance with the ladies, toward whom in his zeal to do, he rather overdid the agree able—bowing, and smiling, and chat ting over his shoulder in away pain fully Suggestive at his time of life, of a “crick” in his back. He was evident ly a g a 7 Lothario. The Quaker wore the uniform of his sect, and confined his speech, as many a parliamentarian would save his credit by doing, to sim ply “yeas” and “nays.” As for myself, 1 make it an invariable rule of the* road to be merely a looker-on and listener. Toward evening I from one of those reveries, irito which a. young man, without being a poet,or a lover, will sometimes fall, by an abrupt query from the talkative gentleman. “Are you armed, sir?” ' ’ “I am not,” I astonished, no doubt, visibly at the question. “I am sorry to hear it,” he replied; for before reaching our next stopping place it will be several hours in the night, and we must pass over a portion of the road on which more than one robbery is reported to have been com mitted.” The ladies turned pale, but the stran ger did his best to reassure them. “Not that I think there is the slight est danger at present,” he resumed, “only when one is responsible for the safety of the ladies, you know, such a thing as a pistol in reach would add materially to one’s confidence.” “Your principles, my friend,” ad dressing the Quaker, “I presume, are as much opposed to carryinfr as using carnal weapons. “Yes ” was the resnonae. their victims?”’the elderly lady nerv-T ously inquired. “Or have they contented themselves with—with plundering?” added the younger in a timorous voice. “Decidedly the latter,” the amiable gentleman hastened to give assurance; “and we are none of us prepared to of fer resistance in case of attack, so noth ing worse than robbery can possibly befall us.” Then, after blaming his thoughtless ness in having unnecessarily introduc ed a disagreeable subject, the gentle man quite excelled himself in efforts to raise the spirits of the company, and had succeeded so well by the time-night had set in that all had quite forgotten 1 or only remembered their fears to laugh at them. Our genial companion fairly talked himself hoarse. Perceiving which, he took from his pocket a box ( of newly “invented cough candy,” and 1 after he helped ( himself to the balance and tossed the ' paper out of the window. He was in 1 the midst of a high enconium on the I new nostrum, more than half the effi- 1 cacy of which, he insisted, depended 1 on its being taken by suction, when a 1 shrill whistle was heard, and almost immediately the coach stopped, while two faces, hideously blackened, pre- ! sented themselves, one at each window. 1 “Sorry to trouble you,” said the man ‘ on the right, acknowledging with a ; bow two lady-like screams from the ' back seat, “but business is business, | and ours will soon be over if things go smoothly.” “Of course, gentlemen, you will * spare, as far as may be consistent with J your disagreeable duty, the feelings of 1 these ladies,” appealed the polite pas senger in his blandest manner. “Oh, certainly, they shall be first at tended to, and shall not be required to 1 leave their places, unless their conduct renders it necessary.” “And now, ladies,” continued the robber, the barrel of his pistol glitter ing in the light of the coach lamp, “be so good as to pass your purses, watches and such other trinkets as may be ac cessible without too much trouble.” The ladies came down handsomely, and were no further molested. One by one the rest got out. The middle aged gentleman’s turn came first. He submitted with a winning grace, and was robbed like a very Chesterfield.— My own affairs, like the sum I lost, are scarcely worth mentioning. The Quaker’s turn came next. He quietly handed over his pocket book and watch, and when asked if he had any other valuables, said “nay.” A Quaker’s word is good even among thieves; so, after a hasty “good night,” the robber thrust his pistol into his \ pocket, and with his two companions, ’ one of whom held the reins of the lead- j / ers, was about starting. % it lort -liiacfo limes “Stop!” exclaimed the Quaker, in tone more of command than request. “Stop! What for?” returned th other in evident surpris^. “For at least to reason,” was the re • ply, emphasized with a couple of der ringers, cocked and presented. s “Help!” scouted the robber, s “Stop!” the Quaker exclaimed^anc if any one of your sinful companion advance a step to thy relief, the spiri will surely move me to blow thy brain out.” The robber at the opposite windov and the one at fhe leaders’ head thought it a good time to leave. “Now, get pi, friend,” said the Qua ker, still covering his man, “and tak< the middle seat, but first deliver ni thy pistol.” The other hesitated. “Thee had better not delay; I fee the spirit begin to move my forefinger.’ The robber did as he was directed and the Quaker took his place by hii side, giving the newcomer the middh of the seat. The driver, who was hal frightened out of his wits, now set for warda rapid rate. The'jsively gen , tWman soon recovered his vivacity.— t lie was especially facetious on *th< Quaker’s prowess. e r a rum Quaker, you are.— ; Why, you don’t quake worth a cent.’ “I’m not a Shaking Quaker, if that’f what you mean.” “Of the ‘Hickory,’ dr rather of th ‘Old Hickory’s’ stripe, I should say.’ ; retorted the lively man. But the Qua r ker. relapsing into his usual monosyl j lables,the conversation flagged. Soon i er than we expected the coach stopped where we were to have supper and j . change of horses. We had deferred i re-distribution of our effects until we . should reach the place, as t*he dim lighl of the coach lamp would have render . ed the process somewhat difficult. I , was now necessary, however, Hhat r 5 should be attended to at once, as oui i jovial companion had previously an I nounped his intension of leavyig us a this point. He proposed a postpone - ment until after supper, which he of * fered to go and order. r “Nay,”’ urged the Quaker, with ai approach to abruptness, and laying hii hand ojx the other’s arm no time like the present.” “Will thee be good enough to search the prisoner?” he said to me, still keep ing his hand, in a friendly way, upon the passenger’s arm. I did so, but not one of the stolen articles could be found. “He must have got rid of them in the coach,” the gav gentleman suggested, and immediately offered to go in search. “Stop!” thundered the Quaker, tight ening his grasp. The man turned pale and struggled to release his arm. In an instant one of the Derringers was leveled at his heart. “Stir a hand or foot and you are a dead man!” The Quaker must have been awfully excited so completely to forget, both the language and the principles of his persuasion. Finding the other pistol in my hand with directions to firs at either of the two men that made a sus picious movement, he went to work on the Lothario, from whose pockets. less time than it takes to , toll }*’. produced every item 0 4/0? missing property, to the utter of the two had begun, in no measured terms, to remonstrate against treatment the gentleman was receiving; The Quaker, I need scarcely add, was no Quaker at all, but a shrewd detec tive, who had been set on the track of a band of desperadoes, of whom our middle-aged friend—who didn’t look near so middle-aged when his wig was off —was the chief. The robbery had been adroitly planned. The leader of the gang had taken passage in the coach, and after learning, as he sup posed, our defenseless condition, had given the signal to his companions by throwing out the scrap of paper already mentioned. After the unexpected cap ture of the first robber, it was attempt ed to save the booty by secretly passing it to an accomplice, still believed to be unsuspected, who counted on being a ble to make off with it at the next stop ping place. The result was that both, for a season, “did the State some ser Jersey paper tells a very in teresting story of a little boy in that State. He was climbing an apple tree and when upon the topmost limb he slipped and fell to the ground. He was picked up and carried to the house in an insensible condition. After watching by his bedside through many weary hours, his mother perceived signs of returning consciousness.— Leaning over him she asked if there was anything else she could do for him, now that he began to feel better.— Should she bathe his forehead, or change his pillow, or fan him? Was there anything he wanted ? Opening his eyes languidly, and looking at her. the little sufferer said: “Yes, I wani | a pair of pants with a pocket behind.” i He got them. AND CHARLES COUNTY ADVERTISER. d' - ' ONLY A BABY. e- r _ To a Little One Just a Week Old. Only a baby ’Thout any hair d ’Cept just a little IS ETiz here and there. it ! Only a baby, ls Name you hare none— Barefooted and dimpled, \ Sweet little one. i Only a baby, ’ Teeth none at all; What are you good fot-, -^ I- Only to squall? - -® • • Only a baby, p Just a week old— -1 * W bat are you here for, You litle scold ? J Baby’s Reply. I Only a baby I ' y What shall I be ? Lots o’ big folks n Been little like me. [f . Ain’t dot any hair 1 ’Es I have, too, I- ‘ S’pos’n I hadn’t __ Dess it tood grow. ifc Not any teeth— Wouldn’t have one; * _ Don’t dit my dinner • Gnawin’ a bone. > g What am I here for? ’At’s pretty mean; Who’s dot a better right, •; .6 ’Tever you’ve seen? What’m I dood for, I- Did you say? ~ . I- Eber so many tings, “'*■ L _ , Ebery day. r d ’T-onrse I squall sometimes, a Sometimes I bawl; Zey dassant spant me a ’Taus I’m so small. ? \ Only a baby 1 'Es, sir, ’at’sso; ’N if you only could T You’d be one, too. it ’At’s all I’ve to say ; X You’re most too old ; ._ Dess I’ll dit info bed, Toes dittin’ told, it ——^^^ —* * : f - Ijelfctrti Jlisallaira. is Sallie’s Bed-time. > A father, not very car from here* that The ‘TTtica who want their ( beaux to go lidine the same night they • call, pull a string it the proper hour g which reverses a picture, on the back ( ; of which appear the words, “Ten o’- £ clock is my bed-time.” 1 ! This father, who hasa daughter giv^jr^i , to late hours when a Certain you£k^“ s | up and helps her keep ought he would tryplan, so he ( wrote in on the back j of a huge portrait of George Washing- j ton, tins inscription: ( “10 o’clock is sallie’s bed-timb.” i Then he arranged the picture so that c when he attached a string to the frame, 1 he could reverse it from his bed-cham- 1 ber. But when Sallie entered the room ( an hour later, her aesthetic eye was out- 1 raged by observing the portrait of Geo. ( Washington hanging slightly out of < plumb, so to speak, and adjusting it, ( Her father’s little game was revealed in ( all its subtle ingenuity. < Sallie was not a Utica girl, however, i , so she just went to work and neatly ef- s faced the figure “0,” leaving the 11 standing solitary and upright—ivhich, i Jou will observe, made a few hours dif- i ferboce in her bed-time. That night ( as nsAal, Sallie received a visit from her young man, whose front name was . Henry—and her paternal parent at tached his stfHg to G. W.’s portrait, j ( and retired to couch. j] About ten o’clock, while Henry and 1 Sallie were deeply absorbed in some < • knotty problem, with their heads so < ; contiguous that they couldn’t insert^/ piece of tissue paper between |: Father of his Country sudjterffyturned j j his face to < ©d to gaze upon such doings. Henry,! 1 with a sadden start, glanced at the pic- j i ture, and saw the handwriting on the i , wall, as it were, which read, “1 o’clock ; ,is Sallie’s bed-time.” Then Henry ’ looked at Sallie with an interrogation I in his eye, which was partly dispelled ;i by the fair maid murmuring, “It’s all | ’ right.” Henry said of course it was all right—that he had long known one o’- j ; clock was her bed-time, and he thought - it was plenty late enough, too, for a t young girl to be out of bed, but what 3 business, he said, bad George Wash-, i iugton’s portrait to be flopping about 3 that way? Then Sallie explained— -3 and the twain resumed work on the i* problem, Henry putting his arms a y rounl Sallie to prevent her falling off 1 the chaic. Meanwhile the old man was listen e ing for the front door to open, and his ~ would bi son-in-law’s footsteps patter - ing over vhe pavement with the toes of r his boots 'jointing from the house.— s These sounds not falling upon his ears, ? and thinking may be the old thing did *, not work right, he gave the string an t other pull, and Geo. W. again faced the ”i audience. Then he listened, but he j heard no footetepe—nothing but ape PORT TOBACCO, MARYLAND., FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 15,1872. culiar sound, something rcsemblin the popping of champagne corks, - ’ Then he grew cross, and gave th string another jerk, causing G. W. t turn about with violei t suddenness just as if he was dreadf 7ily out of hu mor, too. And still all was quxl below—es cept that popping sound. Then the string was gulled again and again—and again, indicating tha the old fellow was just rutdy to explod with rage. And for fufiy fifteen min utes did he have th© Ipruadt nf th man who would not tPToi lie turnin, excited flipflaps and thfpgs on the wall like a bewitched gymnast, until he fel Sal lie’s father fel asleep, nolTlirr-porlxaijE/-., Henry kissed a one o’clock a. m., remaining, as he dh so, that it would seem lije a long, long weary year ere he woulcfsee her agaii —because, you know, lit didn’t expec to see her again until the evening o that day. M The next morning her father exam ined that portrait, and jwhen he full] understood the situatl |i he was pain ed. He shed a silentvtear, detached the string, sponged outeche inscription, and walked away wit| the weight oi fifty-five years on his Shoulders —thal being his age. He a girl whe will go back on her ftiher that way, would just as leave disgrace her parents by marrying a congressman. ’I . *.** The Soul of l^ys. , -Due boy only was losjtby death while we were at the school; and yet, mixed with this dawnflash of animal spirits, behind these bounding pulses, unspo ken of, terrible, were Working outward the religious and immortal germs with in. Many a journal, dotted by tears, betrayed the heart agtjr fiia-b of where a word wasnSapgaß of-friendships ted confidence of youth, but for ar such a sacred sketch are these trei ure s e5 of the heart. Out under the mtnlit w spacer of the hill, with the stars vly, .->] jjfcjrff the ineffectual sympathy of the ir- | 1( rounding chestnuts, wojuld the oy fo breathe his confidences, i and wrea e ti with his agony, longing for that bt om upon which to rest, which he miss forevermore. The boy’s privac is not like that of the man. It is ten derer, more agonizing,, more wounded, forever sacred, and yet too c often, not only by his school-master, but by the dear members of his own family, unknown or un cared for. A child too often secretly conceives a con tempt, a half-abhorrence, of dear and close relations, whose clumsey touch can only manage to wound the fibers of his growing heart—can treat with disregard, as naught, the young heaven of hopes and fears whch is opening be fore him. He will often say to him self, “Let me remember when I grow to be a man not to be as ignorant as these of the proud and wayward reces ses of a boy’s affections.” —Souvenirs of Round Hill School. Selfishness vs. Charity. The two spirits, Selfishness and Charity, ar tuae was unknown, his relation to’ Heaven undiscovered, and his future destiny obscured in a cloud of mystery. It was at this period that two forms ’ of ethereal mould hovered about the | land of God’s chosen people. They came like sister angles, sent to earth iron, some embassy of love. The one of ■ [ityjestic stature and well formed limb , her d raniw^auMipr 11 *4ied fflrer erect bearing and steady eye, ex- can !3rer erect bearing and steady eye, ex isting the highest degree of strength nd confidence. Her right arm was Ktended in an impressive gesture up ward, wher,e night appears to have ilanted her"darkest pavilion; while on ter left reclines her delicate compan on, in form and countenance the con rast of the other. She was drooping ike a Bower moistened by refreshing lews, and her bright and troubled eyes canned them with ardent but varying glances.’ Suddenly a light like the inn flashed out from the Heavens and (aith aid Hope hailed with exciting ongs, the ascending star of Bethle bm. Tears rolled away, and a stran gr was seen at Jerusalem. He was a niek unassuming man, whose happi net; seened to consist in acts of benev oleVe to he human race. There were deej. tncs of sorrow on his counten ance, through no one knew why he grieved, hr he lived in the practice of every virtue*and was loved by all the good and wise. By and by it was rumored that the stranger worked miracles, that the blind sat, the dumb spoke and the dead arose, the ocean moderated its chafing tile, the very thunder articu lated. He was the son of God. Envy assailed Eim to death. Thickli guarded he slowly ascended the Hill'd Calvary. A heavy cross bent him to the earth. But Faith leaned on His arm, and Hope dipping her pinions in His blood, mounted t( the skies. A Model Compositor. Mr. Charles 'WTAlcott, whose deatl at Trenton, New Jersey, has been an nounced, was a model compositor. 1 fellow workman, writting to the Prin teri Circular furnishes interestiu; facts connected with the life of deceas ed. This writer, says deceasatL-w**- printer of rarely equalled abilities, ani that after years of travel through va rious States, he hnd foiled to find campositor so uniformly correct an tasteful in his work. From a boy h evinced a pride in his profession placed him at its head as a coinpeteii workman. In the office of the Devil Patriot, published at Trenton, Mr. A c.ott was employed as a compositor, an the abtUty he there displajed was th subject or universal comment. H would compose-ecom six to eight thoui and eats of hourgeuis type daily, an this quite frequentlyAJthout a sing error, typographical or otherwise. T1 most difficult or intricate raanuscri] failed to elicit from him any queri or comments, but when his proof w taken, it was always found to be masterpiece of composition. The for man would frequently impose lar, quantities of matter composed by * ceased without taking a proof. We are told further in I before us, that Mr. Alcott w®° a ar y ed reader, and it was a note worth] - fact, that in addition to being inform' 1 ed on every day topics he was weli r read in the better class of literature, r Here is the secret of much of deceas t ed’s success as a clean compositor. He i stored his mind with useful informa i tion. He so qualified himself for the duties of a compositor, that when a piece of manuscript of poor chirogra r phy was handed him, he had the intelli x gence to discover its defects, and sup . ply any omissions which the writer . may have made. It is too frequently j the case that compositors pursue their vocation as mere automatons—picking . up type mechanically as it were—and never pausing to exercise the reason ing faculties with which God has en dowed them. Had the craft more such men within its pale as Mr. Alcott, authors and proof-readers generally ■ would enjoy a comparatively happy time, and many of the errors which now find their way into print, marring the sense and paining. the reader, would be unknown. Of all men else, printers should be intelligent and well read. Five. Minutes Chat With Girles. The preacher will assure you, says Dio Lewis, that love to your God and to your fellow-ihan is all there is of it. And yet he goes on preaching and ex horting all his life. So I assure you that the laws of health are few and simple, and yet I have gone on preaching and exhorting for thirty years, and shall keep it up as long as I live. Girls, the great obstacle in the way of your health and happiness is what we have been talking about all our lives—viz., slavery to custom or fash ion. To illustrate it for the thousandth time, I will relate a fact Years ago I sailed from New York on board the staunch old Cunarder Africa, bound for Liverpool. Among our passengers were some newly-mar ried couples. One of them was from Philadelphia. The bride was a deli cate and beautiful girl. My state-room joined theirs. We were scarcely out of the harbor before the lady began to vomit. During the entire voyage her sufferings were dread- call me in the pTese^gJg^ young hi 3ban d, when he ekgt!f*n quired. “Are you a p hysicia*^’ I said “y-og ” “Do m J wife, and for mercy’s sak'u'y'aiid save her.” We did everything in our power, but the sensitive brain would not be ap peased and the retching and fainting continued untl she was carried out of the ship at Liverpool, more dead than alive. Two mor*hs after our landing I heard this beautiful, brilliant young woman describing to a group of admir ing fiends, in a Parisian hocel, the of a sea-voyage. 'Oh, it is magnificent!—the sea in a —the wild mountain-waves crest ed everywhere with foam! Oh, the sea in a storm is perfectly glorious!” The poor child had fashiona ble people make such exclamations, as she had seen them wear absurd dress; as she had heard th etn talk absurd non sense ; as she had seen them walk and wiggle and giggle in an unnatural and ridiculous manner. She, like too many girls, had asp.rations ter recognition among the fashionable. So, from her close little state-room, lying flat on her back, retching and vomiW, foint i ing and tying, she saw the magnifi cent. glorious, foam-capped waves/’ r Ah? cirls, if you o?ly could rise a > bove such weakness, if yon could only think and feel, dress and walk, speak ac t for yourselves, what an mi ie gain in all ways! How much , “on could help us m a higher life I 1 say- One of our citizens is hkssed : - or toherwise, with ? wife. In she won’t, sh< I won’t, and that’s an end on’t. This peculiarity of disposition in bis wift a is no secret among his associates, anc d oh® of them meeting him the othei Mday, asked: t “W ,do you know why you ar t like a donkey?” ij “Like a donkey?” echoed W —— opening his eyes wide. “No, I don t. d “Do you give it up ?” e “Ido.” , . e “Because better half is stub i- bornness itself.” d “That’s otbad. Ha! Ha! I’ll giv le ! that to my wife when I go home.” le “Mrs. ”h® asked, as he sa 3t down supper, “do you know why bs am 1® a donkey?” as Ke waitd a moment, expecting hi a v £P ve up, but she didn’t, sh e- looked at him somewhat coxnmisen sUtingly as she answered; j- “I suppose it’s because you wei born so.” h W has abjured the habit of pu i- 1 ting conundrums to his wife. Terras: $2, in advance. y Treatment of the Horse Disease. The following simple method of treat ing the prevailing epizootic is given by y a veterinary surgeon of Montreal, Dr McEachran, who in that city has treat -6 ed oyer three thousand cases of hip '■ porhinorrhea: e It depends on fungi or spores in the a air, which, being inhaled, affect the mucus membrane, lining the nostrils, trachea, bronchial tubes and air cells, producing congestion, with thickening r and increased secretion. The debility which is an early and 1 r predominant symptom, he attributes ? to the condition of the membrane lin ing the bronchial tubes and air cells, preventing the oxygenation of the blood, the impure blood poisoning the' 1 system. The treatment which he has ’ found so successful in his practice, is 7 through cleanliness, proper ventilationt -7 and the use of carbolic acid as a disin-' l f fectant. Feed them on linseed tea, > oatmeal gruel, carrots, apples, boiled ’ oats; in fact, anything they may fancy, | except dry oats. The hay should be dampened and well shaken. If they continue to feed, he recommends them to be exercised in clothing, slowly, but ‘ on no condition to be trotted, at least ! till after all febrile symptoms have left them. He says in most cases it presented a peculiar intermittent character, the . animals being subject to chills, shiver ing fits, with blowing. In these cases he recommends them to be warmlyi clothed, legs rubbed and bandaged,; and give two ounces of liquor ammo-, nia acetate, with half an ounce of spirits of nitrous ether, every two hours till perspiration sets in or the fit passes off; the throat and sides to be well rubbed with ammonia lini ment. Cold water to be given fre quently, not allowing the animal to drink what he will, but merely a mouth ful or two at a time. As soon as they* are strong enough, give them exercise in the open air, if the weather is favora ble, during the heat of .the day. He' does not consider it a fatal disease; in : fact, if the horses are kept from work*, and properly treated there need not IfeT * any deaths, unless it be among very old or broken down horses, I _Aranaer's Remedy. experience in rearing sheep, assures us that the epizootic influenza, which has at* tacked the horses with so much virulence, is precisely similar to the malignant dis temper which sometimes destroys whole flocks of sheep. A year or two ago his sheep were affected with the distemper, and he cured them with the following sim ple remedy: Each sheep was caught and a lighted match held under its nose. The fumes ol the sulphur and phosphorus entered the nostrils and produced a violent sneezing by which all the mucous secretions were thrown out. The nose was then touched with tar and the animal kept in a dry place for two or three days and allowed to eat nothing but soft food. The cure was immediate and failed in no instance. The same gentleman has frequently cur ed horses that were suffering from influen za by giving a mixture of powered bay berry and slippery elm bark. Take equal parts each, feeding a quarter of a pound at each meal. The horse should be fed on ground corn and ground oats mixed, and the powder shonld be put into the food. It is better to put a lump of rock salt in a box near the trough where the horse can lick at it whenever the notion takes him, than to season his food with ground alum salt. —Baltimore American. Why is old age like a dog’s tail ? Be cause it is in-firm. A dandy on the shore is disgusting, ou-b - swell on the sea is sickening. higuiesi^.Can’t they? Does ; " nable -Vs figure tell to A fisherman on the dock % -bit© i yesterday, but says he’ll kill the dog _ if it takes ten years. The lowa farmer who strapped his ’ shot gun to his plough to be ready for n game will not be about again for some Q months. e Another poor girl has died in Vir s ginia, from the use of tobacco, bhe 'e was only one hundred, years old, and d an orphan. !r A genius has just invented a ma cihne for making chesnuts out of re sweet potatoes. He has a brother who put handles to prickly pears and sold them for curry combs. A Kentucky editor says a neighbor of his is so laay that when he works k in the gardes he moves about so slow- D ' ly that the shade of his broadbrimmed re hat kills the plants. J “I want to know,” said a creditor, at fiercely, “when are you going to pay I me what you &we me?” “When 1 m going to pay? Why, you’re a pretty is fellow! Do yea take me for a pro re phot?” a- A gentleman in a neighboring city escapes the nuisance of sewing machine re agents, book peddlers and lightning rod men, by placing on his door, “our it- boarder with the small pox is better to-day.”