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New Ulm weekly review. (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, July 17, 1878, Image 3

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn89064939/1878-07-17/ed-1/seq-3/

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'I
Cornell Bout bong.
Balanced we sit in our six-oared shell
1 oils of the brain, lor an hour, farewell!
Ourb is no bark the storm to brave,
She hides no buffet of foaming wave
But when our lake is a minor true
Of its hills bo green and its blues bo blue,
Or when the breeze that mirror breaks
And outward tosses its silver flakes,
Oh, then, to the beat of her ashen wings,
Like a bud o'er the air-clear deep she
springs
Oars pulled and feathered and dipped in time
Make measure sweet as a poet's rjme,
Make music sweet as our sweet bells' chime.
In open sky, on lake and land.
Live spir ts of health for bi ain, heart, hand.
And the waving oar hath a wand-like spell
To win them hither where'er they dwell
Now for a spuit your sinews brace,
Just think of the laurel that crowns the 1 ace,
For when our brows with the bay are
twined
Gay ft-tes are plenty and fair maids kind.
Full hard with one muscle, one heart, one
will,
For pure accord is perfect skill.
Oars pulled and feathered &nd dipped in time
Make measure sweet as a poet's ryme,
i Make music sweet as our sweet bells' chime.
Francis 0' Connor tnlthaca Democrat.
The Shivering Sand.
I, In the district of Morbihan, on the
i south coast of Brittany, clustered close to
a sandy beach the houses of the little
fishing-village of Morlaix. It was an out
of the world and old world place, with
old world habits, customs, and beliefs
Behind it rose a range of the hills, which
sheltered it from the noath-eastern blasts
and made it, to the very few people of tne
world who knew it, a perfect little
heaven of rest in winter.
Indeed in winter there was sunshine at
Morlaix when there were fog and storm
at Ustiant and on the northern coast and
if ever a storm did blow home into 'he
little bay, it seemed as if tired before
reaching there and only came to lie
down upon the hill-sides in peace. Not
that the people of Moilaix knew nothing
of storms for they weie a bold lace, and
in their fishing schoonors and smacks
they would ciossthe wide Atlantic itself
to pick up treasures off the coast ot
bleak Newfoundland.
To this village, on a winter fai from
fifty years ago, a couple came to live who
gave the villagers great cause for gossip.
They were young, and seemed as if but
newly married he had but passed into
manhood, while girlhood yet lmgeicd
on her face.
At first the villagers acted shyly to
wards the couple. "They were towns-
fo'ks," said the old people, "and they will
only laugh at oui old ways and stoiies."
After a time however, ''young madam,"
as the people called her, managed to get
into their good graces and, this bein?
done, it was not long until their wildest
legends, darkest superstitions, and most
pathetic tales of loss or salvation on the
rasing sea were poured into her ears.
These stories, as she heard them, she
retailed in the eais of her companion
Pi'h a childlike belief at which he often
laughed, but was oftoner thoughtful.
Tcey are a noble race, Edna, for all
'their poveity,'' he said one daythe last
day ot the year, indeed as they walked
out on the beach bathed in sunshine.
"Jj like to hear their stsnes of adventure,
for chey have the tiue ling in them but
of/the old legends and the supers ition are
too much foi me."
"Well, but, Ralph," she leplied, "the
old legends may be true for all we know
and look how many of their superstitions
ceme true."
"Nonsense,dear," he said, with a laugh
as he drew her aim closer in his. "Look
how many of them aie made false eveiy
day of their lives There is theii great
story of the shivering sand that claims
,i its victim eveiy year. Why it lias dis
appeared entirely, and this year, at any
rate, it has had no victim.
i' "Perhaps its time is up, like other evil
)j things that are not to continue forever,'
to replied Edna: "or perhaps the sacrifice
that was to conquer it has been made
"What sacrifice?" Jisked Ralph.
"Why, the people say that whenever a
victim is swallowed up. and some one
who loves him leaps after him, the sand
will become solid or disappear forever."
"A. pleasant cure for trie mischief, and
one not likely soon to be carried out,"
laughed Ralph, "but"as they drew near
to a crowd of people gathered under the
lee of a half-beached schooner''but
what are the people all so solemn for this
morning?"
Before she could answer him they were
saluted by the people, who did, indeed,
look solemn, as if some evil luck had
happened to them.
"What is wrong to-day, my friends?"
asked Ralph, as he glanced from face to
face. "You look as if going to a funeral."
"Oh, the sandthe shivering sand,
m'sieu," replied one of the oldest "it has
reappeared and so surely as has it will
have its victim before night!"
"Ah, where is the sand? I should like
to see it!" cried Ralph, eagerly.
Then the old man who had spoken
pointed out to him a bare, flat piece of
beach, with sand as smooth as a table,
and with a glisten upon it as if covered
ever so thinly with water.
i "That the shivering sand!" cried Ralph,
i half-laughing. "Why, I walked across it
yesterday, and it was as firm as a road-
way."
"And yet it is now as soft and treacher
ous as the sea itself," replied the old
man.
I "Why how do you know that? Have
I any of you tried it?"
"Tried it*" cried several of the men,
in a breath. "We are not mad!"
"There is no need to try it," said the
old man who had first spoken. It has
been tried, too often, and my eyes never
deceived me whenever it appears."
Well, well, I w.ll try it," cried Ralph,
with a resolute shake of his head, as he
dropped Edna's arm and moved toward
the dangerous spot.
No, no!" cried Edna, as she grasped
one arm, while the old villager seized
the other, "donotgol~h, do not go!
You will be lost!"
Not 11 It I do feel it the least shaky
I will return at once. Let me go." And
he shook ot Ecroa's grasp, while the old
man still held him.
"You will not find it shakey at all
until you step into the gulf itself," cried
the old man. Oh, do not go, m'sieu.
Think of young madam, if anything
were to go wiong with you!"
"Tut, it is all nonsense!" cried Ralph,
as, with a resolute shake, he freed him
self. Then, amid the cries of the people,
he strode quickly to the very centre of
the treacherous sand. There he paused
and turned towards them.
Well!" he cried, in the tone of a con
quer, "what of the shivering sand now?
It has not swallowed me up yet, and.
But perhaps it prefers natives to strang-
ers."
"Oh, mi'sieu, do not mock, and you
near vour last!" caied the old villager.
"God has guided your feet to where vou
are. Pray to Him that he may guide
you back again."
"Oh, I will return as I came," he re
plied but when he looked for his foot
marks he found them here,' there, and
everywha re, as if the surface had shifted
in all directions.
"Do not move, mi'sieu! oh,do not move
until you have a rope round you 1" cried
the old man, as a villager began coiling
one for a throw. "If God has given you
a firm footing, stand on it till vou get re-
lief."
"Tush!" cried Ralph to himself, "what
a laughing-stock I shall make of myself,
if, after coming here to prove them fools,
I let them drag me back like a bullock.
And if this spot is firm, so must the rest
be."
As he spoke he made two quick steps
toward the people but the secom seem
ed as if made in water, and he strove to
stagger back
It was too late! Next moment, while he
threw up his arms and uttered a wild
sharp cry, he found himself drawn down
into the sand as if by some irrisistible
power beneath.
His cry was answered by one from Ed
na, who, bursting from the crowd of
women who would have held her back,
dashed towards him.
A moment sue halted what seemed
firm footing, and held out her hands to
ward him. And then as she saw that he
scai cely took notice of her, but sank yet
lower, she gave a low cry, like that of a
oiid in pain, and with three steps was Dy
his side, and wildly trying to drag him
from his living grave.
This only tor a moment. Next instant
sbe too, felt herself dragged downdown
into the heart of the cruel sand. Her
bieath grew faint, an attempt to cry out
again failed her, an in what s,eemed a
mere pulse-beat of time sbe felt heiself
as if buried deep in the bowels of the
earth.
"Mother of Heavens! they are both
lost I" cried the old dame. ''But it is well
for Morlaix. The shivering sand will
trouble us no more!"
As the old woman spoke, the last VJS
tige ot the devoted couple disappeared
beneath the sand. Then, while the peo
ple uttered an "Amen" to the old wo
man's prophecy, the shivering sand itself
began to sink, and in less than halt a min
ute had entirely vanished, while the sea.
as if boiling violently, rushed in where
it had been.
"It is very pitiful, very pitiful! mut
tered the old man who had tried to argue
with Ralph "but he was headstrong, and
would have his way, And sheah! poor
young madam. I would give a thousand
francs to see her alive and well again."
As the old man said this he turned and
gazed out upon the sea with a yearning
look. All at once he started.
"The bodies do you see them?" he cried
wildly, as he pointed to a spot in the bay
about a hundred yards out. "The sea
has robbed them fiom the sand and
thrown them up again. A boat! a boat!"
Instantly a boat fiom the schooner
alongside was run out, and the old man
and three others leaping in, pushed off
for the snot where the bodies were just
disappearing again.
Scarcely had they reached this place
when the two fair heads appeared above
the water. Next moment they were
seized by strong hands, and one at a
time lifted into the boat. Then this was
rowed back quickly to the beach, the
bodies taken ashore, and with very little
hope of success, every effort tried to re
store life.
Presently, to the wild joy of every one,
young madam moved one arm and from
between her lips came a sort of sighing
breathing. The same moment Ralph
shivered all over, and his eyes half open
ed.
"Saved! saved!" shouted the crowd,
while the women went down on their
knees in the sand and wept with joy.
After a little more exertion, and when
the signs of life had become quite cer
tain, the two victims were removed to
their own home, where in due time they
became thoroughly alive again.
In a week they were both out and about
again, the only difference being that they
were a little paler than before, and that
Ralph had become less certain that what
he had formerly cdled superstitions were
altogether without foundations.
i
Strange to say, the shivering sand nev
er appeared again but in the place where
it had been, there is now a steep-edged
pool, where boats and smacks lie as in a
dock. To show their gratitude to the two
victims who had rid them of the evil
thing, the villagers had a painting of
Ralph's sinking executed, and hung in
their little town hall, where it hangs to
this day, the glory and pride of the good
folks of Morlaix.
*m 1
Enter young husband, who throws
himself into a chair, and exclaims,
",Wnat! toothache again, Maria? I do
call that hard upon a feller. Why
you had toothache when I left this morn
ing. And here have I been at Epsom
all day, with the jolliest lol o' fellers
ever got together in one drag, and won a
poto'monly, afld had no end of a jolly
time, and I did think I should find some
thing cheerful and jolly to greet a feller
when I got home. And there you are
toothache again! I do call it hard upon
a fellerpaecious hard."Punch. ']p
Whattnoughwe missed love's go1
mer time.
i)4
Rest.
ove, give me one of thy dear hands to hold.
Take thou my tired head upon thy breast
i) sing me that sweet song we love of old,
The dear soft song about our little nest.
knew the song before the nest was ours
We fang the song when first the nest we
found
We loved the song in happy after-hours,
When peace came to us, and content pro
found.
Then sing the olden song to me to-night,
While I, reclining on thy faithful breast.
See happy visions in the frail firelight.
And my whole soul is satisfied with rest.
Better than all our bv-gone dreams of bliss,'
Are deep content and rest secure at this.
den sum-
His Autumn fruits were ripe when we had
leave
To enter joy's wide vineyard in our prime,
Good guerdon for our waiting to receive.
Love gave us no frail pledge of Summer flow
ers,
But side by side we reap the harvest-field
Now siae by side we pass the winter hours,
And day by day new blessings are revealed.
The heyday of our youth, its roseate glow,
Its nigh desires and cravings manifold,
The raptures and delight ot long ago.
Have passed but we have truer joys to
hold.
Sins: me the dear old song about the nest,
Our blessed home our little ark of rest.
Gerald Soathwick. Tea-Trader, China.
H. H.
A long stretch of velvet lawn, bathed
in delicious golden sunshine. Pour peo
ple finishing a game of lawn-tennis, and
as many looking on with a kind of lazy
interest. On either hand shady shrub
oeiies, bordered with brilliant flower
beds at the end of the lawn a little
brook in Ihe distance the long sweep of
the Cotswolds.
"Fifteen," counts Captain Hall, trium
phantly, as a vicious stroke of Gerald
Sorthwick's racket drives the ball beyond
bounds. Gerald has played badly
throughout, almost in silence, with a
grave lace and compressed lips. It does
not matter, for hisjpartner, Maud Conway,
has exchanged with Captain Hall enougn
merry badinage for a dozen people. The
young lady is nettled now at an ignomin
ious defeat.
'I could wish you victor in a better
contested fight, Captain Hall."
"It is my highest ambition, Miss Con-
way." There was nothing in the words,
but the meaning, tone, and a low bow
gave them point. Maud bit her lips, and
Gerald threw down the racket, his face
a little sterner than before. She turned
to him, an angry glittering the violet
eyes:
"Your play has been wretched, Mr.
8 jrthwick it was never worse. For the
uture we dissolve partneiship.
"Can we? can we, Maud?" He speaks
meaningly now, and it seems strange her
name can come with such tender inflec
tion from so hard and firm a mouth.
'Maud' to my friends, sir, 'Miss Con
way' to you."
He leaves her, and saunters into the
shrubbery, following a little winding
path until it reaches the brook. Then
he throws himself at full length upon the
soft moss, and thinks bitter things of the
girl who has befooled him. Halt an hour
ater there is a ru3tle among the boughs
and he sees her in the act of retreating.
"I am sorry I disturbed your slumbers,
Mr. Sorthwiok. I thought you were
gone."
"You distuib my life, Maud, waking
and sleeping. Come here."
He spoke with such command, she in
stinctively obeyed, but her whole soul
rose in rebellion. It was a novel experi
ence to the spoiled and petted beauty.
He pointed to a low, rustic seat, and
she took it. As though to measure
strength, they look into each other's faces
his pale, determined hers passionate,
resentful. Then Gerald turns his head
away, lest resolution should fail. His
tone i& low, but full of fierce, suppressed
energy:
"You have not played with my love for
months, Maud, without learning what it
is. It comes between me and all other
chance of happiness
He pauses a few seconds, wherein she
plucks a wild-flower, and picks it to
pieces. Sweet and pensive she looks
now, and unwontedly thoughtful but
his eyes are on the distant hills.
"from time to time, when I would
have spoken, you silenced me, and I
thought it girlish coyness. You made
me believe yon cared, Maud."
Jf only he would look now, and see
how the girls mobile features answer the
sorrowful wail in his voice! But he does
not.
"I saw you flirting continually, but it
was your nature, and I did not mind, for
1 thought you gave me more. So you
fooled me as you fooled otheis."
"Fortune-hunters, all of them," she
broke in.
''Possibly," and his proud head was
thrown back a little. I am free from
that imputation. Rich as you are, Miss
Conway, the Sorthwicks of Sourthwick
are richer."
It was true, as she knew well. Gen-
eral Sorthwick, the elder, had the repu
tation of being the wealthiest landowner
in the country, and he was the only son.
I is time the farce were ended, he
continued. I have been too long the will
ing slave of your caprice. It is not fitting
the woman I honor above all the world
should be on terms ot free and easy in
timacy with such a man as Captain
Hall."
A contemptious curl of the lip empha
sized the words.
Maud started as though they had stung
her her hasty temper in arms immedi
ately.
By what right do you venture to
ciitcise my friendship, sir?"
You shall give me the right," he re
oincd, hotly," or from this day I will
never willingly touch vour hand nor see
your face. Friendship! what is that be
side such love as mine? Choose between
them, Maud: his friendship or my love,
I will never ask you again."
This desperate earnestness almost
frightened her Nevertheless she made
a mocking eurtsey.
Love may desolate and grieve you, *-*Jr
Love may 6tay awhile and leave you,
Friendship's truth will ne'er deceive you,"
she quoted. Then he fairlv turned his
back for some seconds, that she might
not see the pained working ot his features.
He was pale to the very lips when at
length he did look, in silence offering his
hand. Silently she laid her own in it.
The agony in his eyes subdued her what
was a woman's weak petulance in com
parison with this?
"For the last time," said Gerald Sorth
wick. He bowed low over the white
fingers, and kissed them: then walked
away. She heard a horse's hoofs present
ly, a1
a furious galop.
The lodge-keeper touched his hat as
Gerald rode up, and he saw with surprise
there were great tears on the old man's
rugged cheeks.
"What is the matter Williams?"
"Have you nnt heard, sir? 1 thought
you knew from the rate you came, and the
look of your face."
"Nonowhat is it?"
Williams whispered a few words.
Gerald swayed to and fro in the saddle,
aDd would have fallen, out that the old
man supported him.
"Strange news!" said Captain Hall to a
friend that night. "Old Sorthwick is
ruined and has shot himself.'
"Nonsense, man he is as rich as Croesus
"Yes fabulously so, that is, he mort
gaged every acre years ago, and bought
Turkish bonds that -counts for his large
income. They have just stopped payment,
you know, and other speculations have
turned out much worse. The young cock
will crow less loudly now, will he not?
And an evil light gleamed in the sperker'3
blue eyes.
Silvery moonlight flooding a faim
house, and an unusually large garden ap
pertaining thereto. Up and "down the
graveled walk paces Gerald Sorthwick,
moodily smoking a fragrant cigar. On
the air is borne a sound as of an irregular
bass solo, varied by the occasional squeak
of shriller stringed instruments
It denotes that half a mile off, in the
little town of Sorthwick, an archery ball
is*being held. The committee, in view
of his father's recent death and his own
social ruin, had decided not to send the
customary remainder but Gerald, with a
poor man's morbid*sensitiveness, misinter
prets the kindness. With an impatient
movement, expressive of disgust, tosses
away the halt-smoked cigar. It alights on
the soft turf of a small croquet-gioma
and lies smoking. Then, with a curious
smile, he crosses and picks it up careful
ly.
"I had forgotten myself," he mutters:
"the last ot the box, and a brand I am
not likely to taste yet awhile
So, with the cigar between his teeth, he
passed through the gate, and across green
meadowland toward the town.
The music grows distinct as he ap
proaches.
I think I am wise," he reflects bit
terly.
To-morrow by this time I shall have
left the old life quite behind me. Gerald
Sorthwick, tea-trade*-, Cuina. Vague,
that, and it is about all I know but I
shall be better out there. The old po
sitions, habits, instinct, reminiscences,
would be so many dead weights in
England,"
A wealthy tradesman passes him, and
touches his hat. Gerald acknowledges
the couitesy with that market politeness
which has ever won him populartiy with
his social inferiors, but the incident
re-awakens latent eynicism.
How long would that last?" he won
ders. Formerly it meant you are my
patron, ten times richer than I. Now it
should be for me to doff the hat in greet-
ing."
The cigar burns close to his lips he
spits it out and hesitates.
"1 must see her face, once,'" he groans
"my vow notwithstanding," and as the
church clock strikes ten he stands in the
black shadow of some trees, looking
across a bowling-green at the great doors
ot the Assemb'y Rooms, to which heated
couples come from time to time to inhale
the soft, pure air, and oerhaps draw in
spiration from the moonlight. At length
he sees her, leaning on Captain Hall's
arm, and laughing gaily.
A bitter imprecation rises to his lips,
but he suppresses it. "Are you content
now, stupid?" he asks himself. f^^&
A bird twitters on a bough near him,
and by force of subtle association, in
strange mockery, the recollection comes
how he had once startled Maud by a per
wasfect imitation of her dove's cooing it
when they were most friendly, before
Captain Hall advent.
"It shall be your signal when you
want me, and I am talking to disagree
able people," she had said. He wonder
ed whether she would remember the in
cident, and a wish grew upon him to try
the experiment.
They had ceasad talking, Maud and
her partner, and were gazing straight
toward him but there was safety in the
shadow, he knew.
''Coo^o-o!' A soft note, thrice repeat
ed.
He saw Maud start violently, and
tremble. Captain Hall thought it was
with cold.
"The night air is too ehill," he said
"let us return."
"No, I cannot leave the moonlight
but you may fetch .my wrapper, if you
will be so good.''^
The watcher beneath the trees saw him
vanish saw Maud's gloved hand pressed
to her heart, as though to still its beaming.
Then he marveled for a moment whether
sight were playing him false, for a white
figure glidtd towaids him through the
moonlight, heedless of the dew that
oaked flowing robes and satin slippers.
"GeraM!" it cried.
He drew her into the shadow, f* it
"Say goou-by to me, Maud." There
was a queer tremor in the voice-.
'Good-by?" she asked, wonderingly.
*'I leave England to-m irrow. Will ycu
not bid me good-by, my lost darhng?'
Captain Hall appeared in the doorway
at that moment, searching with great as"-
tonishment for his partner but they
were happily unconscious ot the fact, for
two bare arms were around Gerald's'neck
and a sweet vcice was whispering:
"Lovelove will you not stay^ for my
sake?"
So it came to pass, that "Gerald Sorth
wich, tea-trader, China," remained a myth'
onlv.
***$-$ i
Garibaldi's Home.
Caprera is a small, narrow island
a great rock in fact, with a few
patches of soil here and there- -of about
twenty-two miles in circuit and three to
four in widthseperated from the north
ernmost point of Sardiniaas Valentiais
from the coast of Kerryby a strip of
sea some two and a halt miles across. It
was once well known to the British sailor,
for it lies clore to the Maddalena one of
Nelson's stat'ons in the Mediterranean.
1 he only habitations are a few shepherds'
huts and Garibaldi's house, situated on
the western side, about three-quarters of
a mile on the higher ground. It is a one
storied building, i e., a ground floor only,
divided into seven plain, unadorned
rooms a kitchen, with appliances any
small farmer's wife in England would
consider very insufficient a dining-room
with a plain deal taole, large enough,
however to accommodate a party of twen
ty-five a little storeroom three oedrooms
for his children and any friends who may
land upon the island, and his own bed
chamber and study combined a good
sized room with two windows (one to the
east, the other to the south), a carpetless
boarded floor like the deck of a ship, and
whitewashed walls.
Its chief articles of furniture are a
plain, roomy iron bedstead, four
common chairs, a simple writing-table,
an old-fashioned chest of drawers, and a,
shower-bath. Everything of- the most
ordinary kind, but there is no affection
of Spartan simplicity, and in striking
contrast the modest aspect of the place
are a number of things scattered about.
On the bed a splendid counterpane of
white cashmere, most exquisitely embroi
dered for him in silk by tue ladies of
Milan and standing in one corner, as
carelessly placed as if they were a bundle
of sticks, are several swoids of honor,
with Damascus blades and hilts of geld
set with gems, presented to him by his
fellow countrymen ot Nice, Rome, and
other cities but what he prizes far more
is a box of tools for cultiviting and ingt aft
ing vines sent him by some friend in Eng
land. Flung over the back of one of the
chairs is a handsome poncho of a rich
white material lined with red, the gift of
a distinguished Milanese lady* Hung
asrainst the wall are a telescope and a
binocular, both presents from Eng'anl.
These were used byhim in the campaign
of 1860: and on his writing-table, together
with a volume of Plutarch and some
works on mathematics, lies a book of har
bor plans given to him years ago at a
moment of need by the captain of an
English ship in the port of Canton, On
the floor by his side theie is a tiger-skin
to step upon: above the head of the bed*
hangs his mother's port: ait, and at the
side is a stand on which lie a revolver
and a dagger. This dagger is another
record of his wife. She always wore it
hanging from her waist and after her
death, during the retreat from Rome in
1849, Garibaldi continued to carry it in
lemenibrance of her, until he lost it
from his side during the fight at Caserta
on the 1st of October, 1860. It was rbund,.
however, by a Calabrese, who restored it
to the General, since then its place has
been by bis bedside. Unless the Gener
al rings his bell no one is permitted to
enter his room, with the exception only
ot his son Menotti.
On the walls of the dining-room hang
some water-colors representing episodes
in the Montevidean war of independence,
a photograph of an incident in the siege
of Venice in 1849, and in one corner a
Brazilian lance carried by one of his
favorite troops in South America. Out
side the door of his room is a Mexican
saddle, with stirups of silver made in the
form of reversed crowns. This was a
present from a Mexican friend, and is a
record of the battle of Melazzo. It wa
when he used it there that part of one of
the stirrups was shot away bv a cannon
ball.
A little to the north of the cottage
stands one of those portiable iron habita
tions for colonial use sent to Garibaldi
from England. Its four little rooms and
kitchen are occupied by Bassi, his secre
tary, and opposite to it is the mill where
the flour for the General's family and
household is ground. The household,
however, is not numerous. It numbers
but three personsan old soldier, a Ven
etian emigrant, who acts as the General's
orderly, and serves for love, not for
money another man who cooks, and a
woman to do the washing and tidying-up~
The guests at Caprera are required to
make their own beds. *r &
Sir Charles Nugent, of Saddington Hall, in |f
England, has gone into bankruptcy. His as- *$::,
Bets are $100 and bis liabilities $60,000. He has
lost $300,000, nearly his whole fortune, on the
turf, and had hard luck in other matters. Sir
F. Farqnhar. who owed Mm $45,000, died with
outpaying him and left no estate/
TMSSssps i^^sM^^^l vm$^m^m&i^v&

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