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The new era. [volume] (Sauk Rapids, Min. [i.e. Minn.]) 1860-1861, October 25, 1860, Image 1

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THURSDAY, OCT. 25, 1960
Give me leave to enjoy myself. That place that does
Contain mv Imoks, the best companions, is
To me a glorious Court, where hourly I
Cmverse with the old Sages and Philosophers'
Written for the JVew Era.
Again wild Boren* with end-finger shake*
The ripened clusters from the crimson vine;
Olsl Autumn, boarding of toe vintage, breaks
A brimming bumper of the glowiug wine ;
While heaping o’er the h irve*t horn he take*,
Pomona’s treasures shine.
Through all the d«y, from the firs* peep of morn,
I hear the creaking of the loaded wain;
I h« the resile of the ripened corn.
And mark the gleaming of the golden grain;
And roam the while where lucious fru>t* adorn
The orchard-boughs agtin.
In path* that deepen in the woodland maze
' Are truants wandering in their joyance free,
Intent with h ardmg, for the wintry days,
The brown nut* showering from bour.tiou* tree
Blending their voices with the wilder lays
Of Autumn's minstrelsy.
There lies a glory on each sobered scene, —
The vale wide stretching to an ampler view,
The hills reposing in their sombering sheen;
The wood* far brightening in the deep’ningblue
Changing their mantle with it* summer screen,
For Autumn’s varying hue.
The noontido lustre is more softly shed,
Like mildest splendor of a sunnier clime.
The brook runs listless in its pebbly bed,
With lowlier murmurs in its rippled chime;
The dry leaves rustle to the failing troad
Of the slow lingering time.
A calm sits brooding in the tempered light,
The sky o’erarched with a kindlier blue;
The morn’s upspringing is more sweetly bright,
The days more lovely, the more brief and few;
The stars do kindle on the dome of night
More tenderly and true.
The cozy hours seem grown supremely,
The loitering sun slants thro’ the dreamy haze;
As he would fain the failing year prolong,
Or cheer his dying with serenest rays;
To thee, oh, Autumn, thee alone belong
Divinely golden days.
And oh, what joy if in life’s waning yoars,
Their summer radiance, with their storms o’er
Our days shall brighten as our Autumn nears,
A heavenly halo on its fading cast,
Their suns still kindle as their beauty nears,
More lovely till the last.
Little Prairie Ronde, Mich.
J 9» 1 1 e c 1 1 U
Garibaldi’s Marriage.
Garibaldi’s second marriage, of which
pi •
much has been gossiped in the journals
at home and abroad is thus ventilated
in the Paris correspondence of the New
Orleans Picayune :
‘’l dare say you have heard a great
mkny allusions to Garibaldi’s marriage,
and have been rather puzzled to form
nn opinion whether he was or was not
married, the whole matter being shroud
ad in mystery. 1 think 1 can tell you
the whole story, lie was engaged to
marry Miss Josephine Raymondi, a
daughter (so everybody said) of the
Marquis Raymondi, a wealthy Milan
landed proprietor. The Marquis Ray
mondi lives with Ronconi’s wife's sister,
and Miss Josephine Raymondi is the
eldest of the five children (all daughters)
that have issued from this uni >n. She
is a tall brunette, with brilliant eves,
regular, but prominent features, and a
rather flat face. She is 22 years old.
Last .summer when the Italian cam
paign was at its height, the Marquis
Raymondi and Iris family were residing
at his summer residence, Kino Castle,
which is some fifteen or eighteen miles
from Milan, and is situated on the west
ern bank of Lake Como. Garibaldi
and his hand were at Verese. lie had
entered Como a few days before, and
made the acquaintance of the Marquis of
Raymondi and his family. The Aus
trians had marched forward, cut off all
communication between Como and Ve
rese, intending to concentrate their
forces by different roads on Verese, in
large numbers, so as to surround and
crush Garibaldi and his followers. The
Podestat (Mayor) of Como was anxious
to communicate this intelligence to Gar
ibaldi, and made a proclamation to his
fellow citizens, calling upon one brave
Italian to volunteer and risk his life for
Garibaldi’s safety. Nobody offered.
When Miss Josephine Raymondi
heard of this she became indignant at
the cowardice of men, and offered her
self as a volunteer> saying to the Pode
stat, ‘Give mo the dispatch; I will go
to Garibaldi and bring back his reply.’
The Podestat hesitated to accept from
a young girl of one and twenty (who, by
reason ot her sex, ran much greater
risks than a man would be exposed to)
services deemed by men too hazardous
to be encountered. But Miss Josephine
Raymondi insisted so strenuously that
the dispatch should be given her that the
Podestat yielded; besides, wiinm else
b*»d he to send? and the danger pressed.
Sha got on her horse and ia an instant
disappeared in the mountains’ defiles.—
She knew every path that lay between
Como and Verese, for from her youth
*ll«ibs4 trod all on fbof or on horseback.
YOL. 1- —NO. 42
She escaped the Austrians, and at sun
rise was at Garibaldi’s camp. She de
livered the dispatch into his hands.—
She returned home as safely as she had
gone to her destination. Being fore
warned, Garibaldi was forearmed; he
forced Borgho Vico defile, and drove
back the Austrians beyond Lake Como.
After the peace was made at Villa
franca, Garibaldi paid the Marquis Ray
mondi a visit at Fmo Castle, for the fair
warrr>r of Como had made a deep im
pression on him . He asked her in mar
riage of her father. The Marquis was
delighted at the proposition, and instant
ly gave his consent, and the marriage
was announced everywhere in the neigh
borhood. and was soon heard of through
out Europe.
When the Marquis told Josephine
that he hid given her hand to the Lib
erator of Itally, she appeared stupified
rather than delighted. She c mid not
refuse to wed G rihaldi, for every I'al
ian regards him as something more
than a demi-god—besides, what pretext
could she give? Her family took her
stupefaction for the emotion natural to
her sex at this supreme hour of woman’s
life, and they hastened the preparations
for the marriage. The whole Raymon
di family were soon collected at Lino
Castle. Garibaldi came with all h:s
friends and a second marriage was soon
negotiated between Garibaldi’s son and
a younger sister (said to be a beauty)of
Josephine Raymondi. All at once, and
the day before the time appointed for
the marriage, Miss Josephine fell sick
It was hoped she would he better the
next day; on the contrary, she became
worse; two—three—four—five days
came and went; Miss Josephine became
worse. The physician said it was no
thing serious, and at last the father of
the bride determined to make her dress,
and have her carried to the altar; the
marriage was 10 be celebrated in the
chapel in the castle. It became neces
sary to take some measure of this sort,
for all tnc newspapers in Europe were
making inquiries on the subject, and
several persons from remote cities had
quitted their ordinary avocations to act
as Garibaldi’s groomsmen; (among
them Mons. Alexander Dumas) and they
could not he expected to wait there in
definitely dancing attendance upon ti
woman’s vapors.
The marriage ceremony took place in
Pino Cpstle Chapel, but after the cere
mony the bride declared she felt worse
than ever, and begged her friends to
excuse her from takieg any share in the
festivals prepared in honor of th j occa
sion, and took t° hod- The wedding
party was, under these circumstances,
gloomy, of course, soon broke tip, leav
ing Garibaldi alone with his new family.
He could not enter his nuptial chamber;
his wife’s illness forbade that. He slept
in an adjoining room The mails next
morning broughthim a letter—an anon
ymous letter—sent, as it stated, by one
of h s friends. It acquainted him that
Miss Josephine Raymondi, or rather
Mrs. Josephine Garibaldi (for such she
was now) had long honored her cousin,
Count , with her favors. The most
irresistible evidence was given, and the
names of witnesses cited. Garibaldi
gavu the letter to the Marquis Raymon
di, who hastened to the bride’s room
and gave her the fatal paper. There
was no denying the charge made. A
distressing scene took place between
father and child. Garibaldi quietly
quitted the house and went to his retreat
on the Island of Cnprera Josephine
quitted her father’s house next lav, and
fled with her seducer to Switzerland,
where they now are. Who sent the
anonymous letter? It c uild not have
been a friend, for a fiiend w >uld have
sent it before, not after marriage. It is
said : t was sent by some Italian
devoted to Austria, or some adherent of
Muzzini, to fever Garibaldi with milita
ry phrenzy, and keep him from the qui
et of a home and a wife.”
Blondin and tue Clergy —Blondin
shows that he has none of the superstit
ion of the Cape Cod skippers, who used
to be reluctant to take Methodist minis
ters as passengers, fearing that they
would prove Jonahs, and bring disaster
upon the craft. The great Frenchman
has offered to carry any clergyman on
his back across his rope, which is
streched two hundred feet above the
ground at Jone’s Wood, in New York.
We fear that there are some parishes
which would be willing to contribute
a minister for the experimen t, of courts
merely to test Blondin’s powers. We
should like to see him try to carry over
all the theological treatises, of a clergy
man we could name. He would have
to enlarge his wheelbarrow.—Providence
The Rev. William Taylor in his late
work, “The Model Preachej,” says:—
“Often when a preacher has driven a
nail in a sure place, instead of clench
ing it and securing the advantage, he
hammers away until he break* off the
bead or «plit« the board. M
Motto—“ Freedom is the only safeguard of Government, and Order and Moderation are necesary to Freedom.” —Mill an
Fall ! liow eloquent the word ! The
flowers fall in the gardens, the fruits fall
in the orchards, the nuts fall in the
woods, the stars fall in the sky, the rain
falls in the tubes, the leaves fall every
where, and Fall it is.
The wind is sighing round the cor
ners, moaning over the threshold, sing
ing at the windows, roaring over the
chimney-tops and harping through the
The gray clouds look anger and sul
len. The great, heavy drops come
driving against the window panes; the
cattle stand in the fields, with the wind
astern; ‘.he sheep gather under the lee
of the barn They banked up the house
yesterday; put the cabbages in the cel
lar the day before; will cover the pota
toes to-morrow
The black-birds, a rabble rout, hold
higlt council of flight, on a dry elm in
lhe“meadow, there is a twitter and a
flutter, and a eteat acclamation. Up go
the swallows in a cloud; away ride the
sparrows on the billowy air. The robin
and his wife hear the sound of wings in
the thicket, and go too. The owl looks
from his hollow tree, and gathers still
closer, his russet muffler about his ears.
The riged and tawny fields look like
corduroy, their rustling and golden glo
ries have depaited. The corn stands
shivering in long lines, wrapped in rusty
overhalls, like a regiment of
“Old continentals in their ragged regimentals.”
The pumpkins lie in great heaps, here
and there, like cannon-shot.
Little ‘flurries’ of snow whirl doubt
fully through the cloudy air, and shift
over the dark old fallow. The sun goes
down with a bounce; it is dark before
The asparagus is bundled out of the
fireplace, the old andirons are wheeled
into the line, the hearth is a blaze, the
windows are curtained, the old circle
is narrowed around the old fashion
ed fire.
Just the season for Saturday nights !
What blessed things they a:e, and what
wonld the world do without them.—
Those breathing moments in the tramp
ing march of life; those little twilights
in the broad and glarish glare of noon,
when pale yesterday looked beautiful
through the shadows, and faces ‘chang
ed’ long ago, smile sweetly again in the
dusk, when one rembers ‘the old folks
at home,’ and the old-fashioned fire, and
the old arm chair, and the little brother
that died, and the little sister that was
Satin day nights make people human,
«t>t their hearts to beating softly as they
used to do before the world turm d them
into wat’-drums and jarred them to
pieces with tuitoes.
Do You Want A Piano?
Can you go into any dwelling, in
these times—a dwelling above the ac
tual presence of want—and not see a
piano? Can you tread your way through
any New York street not exactly inclu
ded within the well-known limits of
downright poverty, and not hear the
sounding chords of this omnipresent in
strument? Did you ever happen to
meet a young woman at home, or at a
neighbor’s, without expecting her to
perform the “Anvil Chorus,” or “Do I
not prove thee?” Do you hope to be
considered a civilized creature, yourself,
fit for something besides paying a lady’s
millinery bills, or carrying her French
poodle to its lunch, if you cannot finger
the keys of a piano with more celerity
than you can count over a pile of bank
notes, and “do” the latest Ethiopian
thanson with the most heart-rending pa
thos you can conjure up into a naturally
pathetic vocal organ?
We put these questions because they
are timely, Read the newspapers, and
you will fine pianos advertised for sale
at prices which quite fordid the idea that
any house should be destitute of such
afflic—we mean—ornament. We have
one advertisement before our eyes a 3
we pen this paragraph, which says:
“One 6-12 octave rosewood piano for
$66, and one for $80; three mahogany
piano* for sl6, S3O, and $45, and
twenty others at bargains. Pianos tun
ed, Second* hand pianos taken in ex
change.” Now, who could resist a
piano at sixteen dollars—particularly if
another socond-hand one were to be
accepted at fifteen, in exchange? No
body, of course: ar.d hence every fam
ily keeps its piano just as it keeps its
cat, and the community becomes, per
force, most musical. Perhaps your
daughter cannot sew a button on a shirt;
but then she can play an overture at
sight Perhaps she knows nothing of
baking bread, and cannot discriminate
between saleratus and corrosive subli
mate; but then she can distinguish four
flats from three sharps, and make glor
ious discord in any key, major or minor.
Isn’t that a consolation ? Isn’t it enough
to make home a paradise, end convert
women into angels? Ahem? do you
want a piano?
Physical Training.
One of the most hopeful things we
see for Young America is, the revival of
physical life and activity. A nation of
puny dyspeptics is of little worth. Now
we have gone to ribirig, rowing, playing
ball, and drilling, with an earnest ef
fort for military superiority, there is
hope. We shall havo physical man
hood, at all events, which is e basis for
intellectual and moral excellence.
Our boys are doing well. Every
town has its gymnasium—every village
its ball club. Our military companies,
instead of meeting once a year, drill
several hours every week. Some of
them have achieved prodigies of strength
activity, and precision. If they never
come into active service against an e ne
my, these accomplishments are invalua
ble. The man who goes through a
course of lessons in boxing, or fencing,
does not expect to fight; but he feels
himselfjust so much inure a man for
having developed his latent powers -
And this manliness comes out in all his
thoughts, words actions. The real Len
efit of all these exercises, then, is not
to make good riders, dancers, rowers,
hall playeis, or soldiers; but to develop
manhood in all its faculties.
But more is wanting. If men h; ve
all the physical development, what is to
become of the future? Our women
have far less opportunities for physical
culture than men. They form no ball
clubs or military companies. A few
lido, and fewer swim. There must be
more exercise proper for ladies
Let us recommend, first of all strong
serviceable shoes, good for an hour’s
ramble over the roughest mountain side.
Secondly, strong, arid not too I ng or
cumbrous dresses, with less length of
skirt, less amplitude of crinoline, and
more freedom of waist. :\o lady can
take useful exercise unless her limbs
are allowed to expend to their full cap
acity. Let the hat be light, airy, pro
tective from the sun, not easily spoiled
by the rain and as becoming as you
YThenovalk', tide, hunt fish, swim, go
sketching, swim, play at battledore and
shuttlecock; play ball, which is a very
graceful exercise; form boat clubs
where there is water; bathe every day;
and live out doors as much as possible.
Pretty dolls, with pretty bonnets,
small waists, delicate shoes, and pearly
complexion, whose utmost e.xeitinnto a
shopping-tour or a dance, are very fas
cinating creatures; but not quite the
mothers we require for the America of
the Future.
How a Lady Presprved Web
ster’s Reply to Hayne.
The Taunton (Massachusetts) Ga
zette, incorporated the following inter
esting reminiscence in a notice of the ar
ticle on “The National Intelligencer
and its Editors,” in the last Atlantic
Monthly :
“ It will be seen from this interesting
narrative that there was a time when
Josoph Gales stood alone among Con
gressional reporters; and to still further
illustrate his position in that line, we
call to mind what we once heard an in
timate friend of Mr. Webster say we
owed to him and his wife with regard to
the celebrated reply to Mr. Hayne.—
Meeting the Massachusetts Senator cs
he was going to the Capitol on that
morning, Mr. Gales inquired ofhim how
long he intended to speak. About half
an hour, was the reply. The editor’s
duties at that time were pressing; but
he ventured to take so much time from
them. Mr. Webster, however, directly
after met Judge Story, who said that he
thought the time had come to give to
the country his views on the Constitu
tion. To this proposition lie assented
Mr. Gales took up his pencil, unaware
ot the new arrangement, and alike un
conscious of the lapse of time under the
enchantment of the orator, and conse
quently he wrote on until the close of
the spell. Some days passing away and
the “proof” of the speech not appearing,
>lr. Webster called on the reporter and
made inquiry. I have the notes, said
Mr. Gales,, ar.d they are at your service,
as I shall never find time to write them
out. This led to some remonstrance
and persuasion, but the over-tasked ed
itor stood firm. Then Mrs. Gales caine
to his rescue by saying that she thought
6he could decipher her husband’s short
hand, as she had formerly occasionally
done so. Mr. Gales doubted, seeing Vulgarity op Life. --Man is inclin
that it was fifteen years since she had ed to give himself up to common pur
tried it. But she had heard the speech, suits. The mind becomes so easily dul
and as the resistless sweep of its argu- led to impressions of the beautiful and
ment and the gorgeous and massive perfect, that one should take all possible
magnificence of its imagery were yet means to awaken one’s perceptive facul
vivid in her mind, she persisted in un- ty to such objects; for no one can entir
dertaking the difficult work In dne ely dispense with these pleasures;
time thereafter, the fair manuscript it is only the not being accustomed to
came to Mr. Webster’s hands for final the enjoyment of anything good, that
correction. Scarcely a word needed to causes many men to find pleasure in
be changed; and soon a set of diamonds, tasteless aud trivial objects, which have
costing thousands of dollars, accompa- no recommendation but that of novelty,
nied the rich thanks of the eloquent One ought, every day, to iiear a song
statesman. Thus was saved to liter** to read a little poetry, to see a good
tore the most memorable oration of the picture, and if it is possible, to say a
American Senate, few reasonable words — Gfaetk*.
>r*jjicr •iii Hi •fti.Ji’ll "fHo) 1 fepfHH.
Editor and Proprietor.
9T J Ji'PH lARJf.t.
God’s rain and sun
Tht if goinl work havo dune.
In the grain-fiekb, fair and vvido;
And with aruied hand*,
Lo ’ the reaper baud*
Tluough the toppling harvest* glide,
tsee swarihe* of gold
From the “cradles'’ rolled,
Gjki the aoi by the scythe* laid bare,
A* ridges of mist,
By the -unset kustd.
Gild the broader field* of air.
The binder* lithe.
Who .Follow the scythe
For the treasures it crop* and leave*,
A* wnb laugh un i song
'I liey hurry ulong,
Leave « w.ike of golden sheave*.
But the h ippiest seeoo
Is the last, 1 ween,
\Y hen o\cr the y ielding loam,
1 he l/si toad is borne
I rom the field* close shorn,
l or thin i* the “Harvest Home.*
’Ti* a blessed toil
From the teeming soil
To garner the nation’* bread.
Let the farmers sir.g
At iher harvesting,
For by them the wo.ld is fed.
'1 hough bunk* may fail,
And m ruin’* gala
Every speculator reel;
The fruitful sod
1* the Bank of God,
And it* wealth no knave can steal.
From the pale green «po*r
To the hoarded ear,
That its peifect growth has won.
He feeds the grain
W th the tempered rain.
And the beams of the ripening sun.
What is Money’* dearth,
While the solvent Earth
Such a glorious tribute yields;
And a Runic mock*,
A* she meets il* shocks,
U ith the shocks of her harvest field*.
O, were I ihc lord
Of some acres broad,
With the strength my land to till.
I’d folio v the plough,
With a beaded brow,
And renounce the ‘‘grey goose-quill.”
For of fi-lds of thought.
Though with patience wrought,
The harvest oft is spurned.
Bat the seeded field,
With a solid yield,
Pays for every furrow turned.
The rich and the Poor.
Mr. Raskin, after many years of de
votion to art, has betaken himself to
political economy, where he is likely
make as much of a sensation as hereto
fore, Not that his views are nltftgclh
er novel, but his way of putting then,
is sure to attract attention.
For example, .Mr. Kuskin, curiously
illustrates the principle of the depen
dence ef wealth upon poverty. The
only value of a dollar lies in the fact
that some man is so in want of it, that
he is willing to give his lab >r in ex
change for it. Otherwise, a million of
dollars would not he of the slightest
use. The greater the poverty, the more
pressing" the wants of people around you
—the greater is the value of your dollar
the more service will it briug you.--
But suppose a whole community rich;
what will you do with your dollar.'
You might as well land on an unliabit*
ed island No man can be rich, unless
somebody else is poor.
Where there is no poverty, labor
must be univeisal I may have the for
ty millions of an A*tor, and yet be com
pelled to black my own boots, and boil
my own potatoes, if there is no one about
me who wants my money enough to be
come my servant. It is clear that one
might possess a million acres of land,
and houses, and property of nil kinds,
with more money than there is in Wall
street, and st.ll be obliged to work day
by day unless there were people around
him who, from choice or necessity,
would sell their labor.
The real element of all wealth, then,
is poverty. The rich are dependent on
the poor. England is rich because
some millions of her people are so poor
as to be obliged to sell their daily labor
for daily bread.
To wish to be rich, then, is to wish
that others may be pour. To wish to
be rich is to wish for the power of com
pelling a certain number of people to
labor for our benefit; and this is true,
without respect to latitude or longitude
—true in Europe iu America—true in
the North as in the South.
Printing Establishment
Second Story,
n "i* V. fe a J ar « p assortment of new and Type*
<-m t-r Cuts, Etc., » hirh enable* iu to turn out some
ot ttw u?»« j.»b wort in the Suite, and at low prioes.
BiuHudi, Po«tf*j, Blakks,
CaM)», Bin.!, Cl KCt LAM,
IxVitatios', Label*, Etc.
And every other description of i tinting except
Cook word, done neatly and promptly at thw office
Bl a nk» of every description prints to order.
It is true that the progress of the He
ro of I tally has in it sonwting of the
moral sublime. The other day, he
made his entree into Naples, the capital
of the kingdom of the Two Sicilies, ac
companied only by his stuff, and receiv
ed by the acclamations of the people
A city of five hundred thou and inhab
itant;! taken without firing a gun. The
capital of a nation of nine millions, with
itsfleet.and army, abandoned to him by
a flying king and court. It is one of
the most rouiarkable eveutsin all hista
•y• r
We are not yet at the end. Victor
Emanuel, in whose name GaribaldictS
as Dictator, feels himself overshadowed
by his general. And it would not be
very strange were the people of Italy to
say: What have we to do with Victor
Emanuel? Garibaldi has freed ns, let
Garibaldi be our king. The Americans
made Washington President; will not
the Italians do as much for Garibaldi ?
Southern Italy and Scity are annex
ed to Sardinia. There remain but the
Papal States and Venitin. Rome is pto
tected by France; the States of the
Church ate guarded by thirty thousand
soldiers under Lamouriciere, a general
of the highest ability, with soldiers who
will fight; and six hundred thousand
Austrians are behind the fortresses that
guard Vt nitia.
Most portentious ot all, Russia shakes
hands with Austria.
Europe apprehends a general war.—
If Louts Napoleon, with England for his
ally, declares for peace, there will be
peace. Providence places the destinies
of millions in the keeping of one human
w ill.
A great number of plants flower well
against walls, nod people are generally
very cateful to n.atihani, a* a preserva
tive from frost; but it is almost, if not
quite, as necessary to mat them when
the sun shines hot and bright. The
cam< iia will do admirably
ugainst a wall out of doors, and will
stand even without a covering; but of
ten all the flowers are seen killed in a
single night of liurd frost—at least nil
the blooms that are expanded—whereat
a mat would have saved them. But two
things should be provided for that are
not often noticed. In the first place, a
ledge or coping should he so placed that
the cove ing may bo fastened under it
so that no vacancy shall appear at the
top, but all shall run otf, and next, that
pens or stops should stick out from the
wall a few inches, to keep the covering
from touching the plant. Then, again,
there is another point to be attended to
—the mat most be placed over them in
the hot sun as well as the cold frost;
and the same must be observed in heavy
showers and cold winds—all ulike in
imical to flowers, and to tire young
growth of plants. The Magnolia pur
purea, conspicua, and some others, show
their flowers very early in the spring,
and very frequently have all the expan
ded blooms killed ofTby cold winds or
frosts. In the open air, and when the
plants attained considerable magnitude,
tfiis cannot be helped; but when trained
against a wall, they may be saved, and
the plant preserved in ail its beauty for
many w eeks, by means of a covering, to
put up or take down as required, accord
ing to the state of the vvea her—but es
pecially at evening.
“Sainbo, did you see them two dogs
what 1 had last ?”
“I believe I did.”
“Dey was nice dogs, wasn't dey?”
'•What breed were they?”
‘‘One was Newfoundlan’ and de oder
was a Foodie.”
‘‘A Poodle?”
"Yes, dat what I said.”
‘‘Dey both died dead, de big one
fust, and de little one next fust.”
“What killed them?”
“One of dem died while I was a cur
in’ him of fleas.”
“Curing him of fleas?”
“Yes, a friend ob mine told me dat
I could cure him ob fleas by soakin’him
in turpentine about two hours, and den
set fire to him, an* he would neber be
troubled wid fleas any more.”
“Did you do as directed?”
Yes sah, but when I come home I
couldn’t find nofin ob de dog but a
grease spot !”
“Why, he must have been burned to
“Gues he did.”
“Well, how did the other die?”
“1 seen dat dog myself. He died e
very singular death. ”
“How go 5 ” .
“Guess dat dog died ds only death
ob de kind on record.”
“How did be die?”
“He stepped out mighty queer.”
“Will you tell me how hq died?**
“Yes; he swallowed a fine-toeta
comb, and tickled himself to death.
The onceHain men •» like a weve of
the soa, foreVer tossed to and fro.

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