The Fairfield news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1881-1900, February 10, 1883, Image 1
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TRI-WEEKLY EDITION.
WINNSBORO. S. 0 \FEBRUARY 10. 1883.
ESTABLISHED 1848
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1876. 1882.
F. W. HABENICHT
Proprietor of the
.;i r—’ '
I respectfully call the attention of the
public to my superior facilities for sup
plying everything Li nff line, of superior
quality. Starting busines* In Winns-
boro in 1876, I Have in all this time
given the closet attention to my busi
ness and endeavored to make my estab
lishment FIRST-CLASS in every par
ticular. I shall in the future, as in the
past, hold myself ready to serve my
Customers with the best articles that can
be procured in any market. I shall
stand ready, also, to guarantee every
article I sell.
I invite an inspection of my stock of
Wines, Liquors, Tobacco, Cigars, etc.
F. W. HABENICHT.
IMPORTED.
♦ ■ - * i
Scotch Whiskey (Ramsey’s).
A. Bin Laubert and Marat Cognas
Brandy.
Jamaica Rum.
Rotterdam Fish Gin.
Ross’s Royal Ginger Ale,
Jules Mumm Sc Co.’s Champagne,
Cantrel St Cochran’s Ginger Ale.
Apollinaris Mineral Water.
Angustora Bitters.
Old Sherry Wine.
Old Port Wine.
DOMESTIC.
Ginger Ale.
Soda Water.
Sarsaparilla.
Old Cabinet Rye Whiskey.
Old Schuylkill Rye Whiskey.
The Honorable Rye Whiskey.
Old Golden Grain Rye Whiskey.
Renowned Standard Rye Whiskey.
Jesse Moore Vollmer Rye Whiskey,
Old N. C. Sweet Mash Corn Whiskey.
Old Stone Mountain Com Whiskey.
Western Com Whiskey.
- Virginia Mountain Peach Brandy.
New England (French’s) Rum.
North Carolina Apple Brandy.
. Pure Blackberry Brandy.
Pure Cherry Brandy.
Pure Ginger Brandy.
Boston Swan Gin.
SUNDRIES.
Rook and Rye.
Osceola Bitters.
Hostetter’s Bitters.
Bergner Sc Engel’s Lager Beer, In patent
stopper bottles and on draught.
New Jersey Sweet, Sparkling Cider.
Tolu, Rook Sc Rye, Lawrence Sc Martin.
Stoughton Bitters,
^ Rook and Corn.
Cigars and Tobacco
... :T Mjf .
Syndicate Cigar, 5 cents.
The Huntress Cigar, 2| cents.
Madeline Cigar—All Havana—10 cents.
Don Carlos (Nub)—«11 Havana—10 cents
Minerva Cigar—Havana filler—5 cents.
Cheek Cigar—Havana filler—6 cents.
Our BoastCigar— Havana filler—5 cents *
Lucky Hit Cigar—Havana filler—cents.
The Unicnm Self-Lighting Cigarette,
(Amber mouth-piece to every
ten packages.) «
The Pickwick Club Cigarette,
(Shuck mouth-Diecee.1
The'Richmond Gem Cigarette,
(Light smoking.)
LIKE THE ITT.
Tlie ooly Biari ani Pool Par
lor in Ton.
Tme love Is like the ivy bold
That clings each clay with flnner hold.
That groweth on through good and ill.
And ’mid the tempest cllngeth mil.
What though the walls on which it eltmbs
Have lost the grace of former times—
Will then the ivy lose Us hold.
Forget the sunny days of old f
Nay, rather it will closer cling
W ith loving clasp, remembering
That It had hardly lived at all
Without the kindly sheltr’ing wall.
True love Is llks the Ivy green.
That ne'er forgetteth what hath been,
And ao, till life Itself be gone.
Until the end it cllngeth on.
What thought the tree where it may cling
Shall har ly know another spring t
What though its boughs be dean and bare ?
The twining ivy cllmbeth there
And clasps It with a firmer hold.
With stronger love than that of old,
And lends it grace It never had
W lieu time was youug and life was glad.
DOROTHY PINK.
ICE! ICE! ICE!
An abundance always on baud for the
me of my customers.. I wil also keep a
supply of '-*•*'} • -*' * * f
FISH, QYSTERS, &C
for my Rqstauraut, which is Jfcdways.
open from thg^first oL^apt^mbor to the
l! rtt of April
I shall euueavor to please all who give
ttfra'talL' i '’
Very respectfully,
.o u. if
f. w. nABENicnr.
if ilitior:- '• . ittn • »•
OPPOSITE POSTOFFCE,
Half way up the steep narrow street
of the little village it stood, the tiny
gabled roofed house, whose small lead-
en-paned windows overlooked with
sentinel-1 ike air the modest shop en
trance beneath, in whose casement was
displayed the stock of feathers, ribbons,
and velvets, which represented the sole
earthly wealth of Miss Dorothy Pink.
Usually the street door stood open,
and behind the diminutive counter was
seen the pale face of the little milliner
rerself ; but to-day the wind rattled in
vain at the bolts and bars ; the space
behind the counter was empty, and in
the little chamber above, peering in
tently into the ancient black-framed
looking-glass, whose cracked surface re
jected back the white dimity curtains,
and the glow of the small wood fire,
stood Miss Dorothy herself, engaged
in fastening a knot of bine ribbon at
the neck of her well-worn but freshly-
ironed black silk gown,
“Who would think to look at me now
that I had once been young,’' she mur
mured, surveying ruefully the face that
gazed pathetically back into her own.
“I do not think that after to-day I
shall ever waar a blue ribbon again.
It may do very well for the maidens
with their fresh flower-like faces, but
not for .a woman of thirty-five, with
streaks of grey in her brown locks, who
boi-ied her youth long years ago in the
grave of the past.”
Something that glittered like a dia
mond rolled down Miss Dorothy’s cheek,
and fell, a spot of moisture on a rusty
1 bid of her dress.
“What, crying ?” exclaimed Miss
Dorothy incredulously, shaking her
head at the countenance in the glass.
Actually shedding tears because
your eves cannot always remain bright
and your cheeks rosy ! and when you
are invited to visit cousin Silas beside !
“For shame, Dorothy Pink!
“You deserve to be left to brew your
onely cup of tea by your solitary fire
side instead of dining on roast turkey
and listening to the voices of your own
kin!”
“Your own kin 1”
The words seemed to float back on
the still air, and before their echo died
away the face faded from the ancient
mirror, and in its place Miss Dorothy
saw a low- ceiled loom, on whose ample
learth the great logs burned redly,
shining on the blue delf and pewter
ware th it lined the generous sideboard,
burnishing the old-fashioned furniture
till it fairly shone in the flame.
A tall grey-bearded man bent over a
white-haired, white-capped matron,
from whose hands the bright knitting
needles had fallen unheeded.
Two handsome dark-eyed lads romped
with a couple of setter dogs, and mid
way between them stood a young mai
den with fair locks cut square on the
forehead, and falling in shinnig curls
over her shoulders; a pretty vision from
the smiling open brow to the small
slippered feet that peeped from the
scant folds of her flowered silken gown.
A smile of delight parted Miss Doro
thy’s lips, and she clasped one hand
over her eyes as if to assure herself of
the reality of the vision.
When she looked again the bearded
man, the white-haired matron, the dark
eyed lads, and the delicate maiden had
disappeared, and she saw only the wist
ful face that always met hers when she
was wont to gaze at her own reflection.
'Gone ! all gone !” she cried ; “(athei,
mother, brothers, and I—only I am
left 1 What would Diek Weatherbee aay
il be could see me now ?
“I, tlie proud girl who refused te
even listen to his suit because he was
poor and in my father's employ.
'How well I can remember his honest
ragged lace, and the soft light in his
grey eyes—they were handsome eyes,
poor lad !—when he promised to toil
nard and win gold and fame for my
sske, if I would only give him one Utile
word of encouragement and the pink
rose that I wore at my belt. 1 smiled
at his words, and threw the flower
wafitonly away.
“The next day he went away, and in
his stead came grim care and dire mis
hap. -
“One by one death snatched my loved
ones away, and not till then did I learn
the terrible truth that my honored
father died a ruined man, and that
was penniless.
“The old homestead was sold along
with the fertile acres, and Deaeon Pink’s
daughter came at last to depend for
bread on the very toil that she had once
so despised.”
Poor Miss Dorothy!
For years she hud toiled and moiled ;
lor years she had lived her lonely life,
keeping the door of memory resolutely
shut, and striving to be content with
'the meagre happiness that fell to her
lot
But this frosty November morning
there was no sunshine without or with
in ; hope unfuHed its wings, and fled
away, and the grey leaden sky that
frowned down on the outside world
seemed a fitting type of her future life.
“And I am not brave enough to look
the morrow in the face,” went on Miss
Dorothy,
“It is rent day, and cousin Silas is a
strict landlord.
“1 owe him already for one quarter.
and I dread to have to tell him that I
cannot make np the amount.
“Dorothy," ho will say, putting on
his gold glasses and looking at me as
if I were a criminal, “you have
aptitude for business; really no aptitude.
“It may do very weU for ladies of
fortune to have whims and fancies, bat
you are too sensitive, Dorothy ; really
too sensitive.”
“I suppose it is kind in him to invite
a plain body like me to share his Christ
mas cheer, jind sit at the table with his
fashionable wife and daughters ; bat
stiU he is hard—the world is hard,-Ufe
is hard, and I don’t know what to do.”
By this time the blue knot was fast
ened, the hair that was inclined to curl
a little on theforchead brushed smoothly
down, and Miss Dorothy was ready for
her visit
As she glanced out of the little win
dow she caught sight of a faint ray of
sunshine that fliokered a moment on
the sill and then vanished sway.
The sight of the unexpected visitor
seemed to cheer her,
“I know what I shall do,” she said
answering her own query.
‘•I’ll pretend just for this one day
that I have found my yonth again; that
1 am not poor aud lonely ; that some
friendly heart on the earth will grow
glad at my coming ; that there is no
such phantom as buried hope—and the
morrow I will leave to Heaven.”
The great parlors of Silas Pink’s
stately mansion were thrown open, and
that august personage himself, a stout,
well-dressed elderly gentleman, with
fat hands and a beaming smile, stood
before the costly marble mantel, warm
ing himself in the glow of the coals, and
chatthiK and laughing with a group of
tindred spirits.
On a velvet couch was seated the lady
of the house—liaughty, severe, and per-
: ectly attired—while her daughters,
fresher pictures of herself, fanned them
selves with languid grace, and perform
ed the graceful duties of elegant hos
pitality.
Pictures adorned the tinted walls;
silver mirrors flashed back the sheen of
silk and the glitter of jewels.
Heavy flower-strewn carpets hushed
the sound of dainty gliding footsteps,
and the merry sound of music and
aughter filled all the scented air.
Bitting alone—as she thought—in the
ibrary, with the cold marble eyes of
the dead and gone heathen philosophers
ooking unwinkingly down upon her,
and row upon row of gilt-titled books
staring her oat of countenance, was
Hiss Dorothy.
The wealth and elegance displayed as
avishly abwut her brought no plesoure
to her beauty loving nature.
day-dream was shattered and
broken.
Rhe had no place in this little world
of beauty and fashion.
They were ashamed of her shabby
dress and lack of ornament.
No faces had brightened at her ap
proach, no voices grown lower and ten
derer in kindly greeting.
tike was more utterly alone than in
the little chamber under the gabled
roof, or in the tiny shop with its meagre
stock of dingy feathers aud flowers.
“I will go home,” she said aloud.
“When 1 Have seen tiilas and told
him of my inability to pay my debt, 1
will go home,
“I want no rich viands, no ruby
wines. I will go back to my lonely
fireside and enjoy it while I may, to
morrow may see me without a roof to
cover my head, ora spot wherein to rest
my weary feet.”
In a dusky comer, turning carelessly
the leaves of a portfolio of rare engrav
ings, was seated a figure, entirely hid
den from view by the high-backed cush
ioned chair against which he leaned in
idle, luxrious enjoyment.
When he heard the voice, he started
and rose to his feet, and Moss Dorothy
saw advancing towards her a portly
grey-haired man, clad in a suit of black
broadcloth.
“Pardon,” ha began hastily, “but
did I not hear you address yourself as
Deacon Fink’s daughter ?”
“What can that matter to a perfect
stranger ?” answered the little figure m
the shabby silk, looking towards the
open door as if to escape.
“She did not want to meet any one
who had known her in youth—the youth
that she had that day burled from sight
forever, poor, lonely, sensitiye, heart
sick Miss Dorothy.
“Naught to a stranger, but much to
a friend.” answered her questioner,
bending his face a little nearer.
And Miss Dorothy, looking np sud
denly, found herself gazing intently in
to a pair of deep, earnest grey eyes,
whose glance held her, spite of self,
completely fascinated.
“Yes, I am Dorothy Pink,” she
managed to stammer, feeling as if a
cruel hand was clutching her throat,
‘and yon are, Richard Weatherbee.”
This man, whose simple, loyal nature
gold and its possession had not spoiled,
looking down at the face of the woman
he had loved in her fair girlhood, read
printed there in clearest type the story
of her life, and realized that care and
not time had wrought the wondrous
change.
“The same Dorothy of old?” he
asked with meaning fi his tones, bat
with the smile she remembered so well,
the smile that alone made him seem
different from other men,
“Nay, not the same,” she answered,
dropping her eyes she scarcely knew
why, wlule the hot blood surged into
the cheeks that had lost their roses
years before.
“In the old days I was proud, aud
vain, aud boastful.
“New 1 am ”
“What ?” he asked, with a little tre
mor in ids deep voice.
“What yod see,” she answered, drop
ping her face in her hands with a bitter
cry of loneliness and pain.
“My poor Dorothy !” he said softly,
“what yon have Buffered I”
And before she Tmew it his strong
arm wns round her aujj-sfc^ was drawn
closely to his broad bniask
“Many years I have spent in foreign
lands,” he* went on, still holding her
captive, “and many faoee have 1 seen.
but strive as I would T^y heart eonld
never forget its one lovoij; its one treas
ure.
“A month ago I cams back to this
my native place.
“Then I learned of yopir losses, your
poverty, and the hard struggle yon were
waging with the world.
“I will give her back-the pleasures of
her yonth, I said, if she will but give
me in return the love she once refused
me.
“I am not the eager hopeful boy that
sought you in the olden doys, but I
have loved you long and faithfully, and
if you say me nay, I will go away quietly
as I came, and no one will be the wiser,
“Which shall it be, Dorothy, go or
stay?”
“Stay,” she whispered, looking np
with suoh a radiant face that half in
amaze he tamed her towards a mirror
that she might see her own reflection,
and pointing, triumphantly cried, “I
have more tlian fulfilled my promise.
“I have given you back youth itself,”.
What mattered the sheen of silk aud
the glitter of jewels ?
What mattered the shabby dress
lightened only by the knot of blue rib
bon? •
What mattered the grey leaden sky
without ?
No jewels could eqnal the light that
shone in Dorothy’s eyes, no grey sky
quench the gladness that filled Dorothy’s
heart
When tiilas Pink was summoned to
the library he grew white withe astonish
ment and red with gratification upon
hearing the news.
“You must make this your home till
you leave it for one of your own,” he
insisted. “Let bygones be bygones,
Dorothy.”
And Dorothy, too happy to bear ill
will, consented to share his hospitality
till she became the wile of Richard
Weatherbee the banker.
Later on, when the guests had de
parted, and they stood arm in arm by
the dying fire talking of that far re
mote time when life seemed a dream of
ceaseless pleasure to the one and of high
rope and youthful ambition to the other,
the musical chimes of the steeple clock
rang out oh the frosty air.
Ten, eleven, twelve,” he counted,
bending his head to listen.
“Dorothy, Christmas Day is ended.”
“The happiest Christmas Day in the
world,” she answered reverently ; “a
day to be ever remembered.
“No other day but one could ever
make me so happy. ”
“I know,’’ said Richard, smilling,
bur weddmg-day.
“Oh, Dolly, darling, do not make it
too iar off. >
“We are net so young as we were,
dear.”
And Dolly smiled, anaomsWa; and
looked very charming, for all her old
dress.
And report says that the wedding was
not long delayed.
Tlie utet ot Children.
Aaron llurr as a Cross-Kxaniioer.
A writer thus describes tlie conclusion of
a case in which Burr wa, one of the law
yers: The evening session opened and
Burr resumed bis cross exan.iuatiou of the
witness. It was a test of the prosound
skill and subtlety of the lawyer, the self
possession, courage and tact of the witness
standing on thrf very brink of a horrible
gulf firmly and intrepidly resisting tlie
efforts of the terribie man to topple him
over. At last,after dexterously leading the
witness to an appropriate point, Burr sud
denly seized a lamp m each hand, and bold
ing them in such a manner that their light
fell instantaneously upon the face of the
witness*, he exclaimed in a startling voice,
like the voice of the avenger of blood: ‘Gen
tlemen of the jury, behold the murderer!”
With a wild, convulsive start,a face of ashy
pallor,ejes starting from their sockets lips
apart,his whole attitude evincing terror,the
man sprang from his ohair. For a moment
he stood motionless, struggling to recover
his self possession; but it was only a momen
tary struggle, shaking every nerve with
paralyzing fear. Conscious that the eyesof
all la the Court room were fixed upon him
reading the hidden deeds of his life, he left
the witness stand and walked shrinkingly
ts the door of the Court room; but he was
prevented 'rom making his escape by the
Sheriff. The effect can be better}imagined
than uescnbed.lt struck the spectators with
silent awe,changing tin whole aspect or the'
trial m an instant, oveitbrowing the hyyo-
thesis of the Attorney General, which he
was convinced would send the prisouer to
the gallows, saving au innocent man from
the deathful hands ot a bold and skilful
oerjurer. The false witness was arrested,
2 indictments were found against him, one
for murder, another tor perjury. He was
acquitted of murder, but subsequently
convicted of perjury and sentenced to a
long term of imprisonment.
Permitting children to sit at table with
their elders is the cause of a good deal of
mischiei and injury to their youthful di
gestions. A variety of dishes should nev
er be permitted, and any attempt at waste
fulness should be checked at once? Econ
omy and self denial can be taught at the
children’s table far more easily than at
school.
Tne diet of children can hardly be too
plain, if they require to be encouraged to
eat by the administration of dainties, there
must be something radically wrong some
where. It is unlikely that something is
constitutional more probable insufficient
exercise is taken, or taken at wrong times,
or the nursery is stuffy, or the bedroom
badly ventilated,or the parent! have forgot
ten that sunshine and fresh air are necessa
ry to the healthy life of a child as whole
some food itself is.
The want of cleuiliness, or frequent use
of the bath, is many times the cause of in
different appetite m children. Without
cleanliness of clothes and cleanliness of
person, you can not have healthy children.
Wittiout this the young blood seems pois
oned, the child has neither buoyancy nor
heart, appetite is depraved or absent,
and he grows up as pale and poor as a sick
ly plant.
Injudicious clothing is another cause ot
dyspepsia. It is bad enough to encase the
body which has attained its full develop
ment iu a tight dress, but it is ruinous for
a child to be clothed in tightly fitting gar
ments. Every organ of a child’s body
requires room to grow and expand; if it
be in any way compressed, the circulation
through it becomes lessened,aud it is there,
for sickly and rendered weak.
Tightness, therefore, of any portion e f a
child's clothing ruins not only the organ
directly underneath the constriction, but
indirectly those at a distance from it, for
ao da liming up of the circulation can be
tolerated by nature. Tightness round the
waist in children and young people is the
cause of many cases of dyspepsia, and in a
lesser degree so is tightness of the necker
chief, by retaining the blood in the brain.
Have yeur children’s clothing loose, then, if
you «ouid see them healthy and happy.He#
too, that at ni^ht they sleep not on leather
beds,aud that though warmly they are not
heavily clothed.
Children should be fed with great regu
larity day by day. The parents having
chosen the hours lor dinner, bre&kiast and
tea, ought to see that the times are strictly
adhered to.
Irregularity in meal hourf; and times of
getting up iu the morning and retiring to
bed ju night, is not only prejudicial to the
present health of a child, but it teaches him
habits which are greatly against his chances
of success in alter life.
1 need hardly speak here about the qual
ity of ti# food that is placed nefore a child;
against indigestible or too rich food.againat
sauces afid apices of all kinds, including
curries, against heavy foods of tne pancake
dough aud dumpling kind, against unripe
fruits, against too hot soup, against strong
tea and coffee,or beer, or against overmuch
butcher’s meat.'
Pray, mothers, do not forget that an In
terval of rest should ensue between the
meals you give your children, and do not
injure their young digestions by cramming
them with cake, or buns, or sweets of any
kind. To do so is worse than cruel,it is a
sin. and a sin which you are but little
likely to commit if you truly love them,
and really wish to see them generate into
strong and healthy men and women. Tarts
and sweets and confectionery would be
bad enough in all conscience for children,
even if they were always pure and una
dulterated. But they are too often posit
ively poisonous. Feed on plain and whole
some food regularly from day to day, per.
mitting no stuffing between meals,and not
forgetting the benefits that accrue from
frequent changes of diet, more espe
cially as regards dinner. Do this, and
your children will live to bless you ; do
otherwise, and expect to see them sickly,
with veins and arteries possessing no re
siliency, with mucous membranes pile
aud flabby,pipes of lungs that the accident
of a slight cold is sufficient to close, mus
cles oi limbs so weak that exercise is a
penance instead of a pleasure, and fl> sh so
unwholesome that pin’s prick may cause a
fester,and all this, because the blood is im
poverished through errors in diet.
Pleaaaut Vales.
Theatre Flopertlr*.
Wliltewood.
Builders tell ns that in the early
days of Philadelphia whitewood was
largely used in house-building in that
oity. It was used for ratters and joists
iu the upper stories, and was much es
teemed for its lightness and strength.
As the wood became soaroe in the
victnity pine yery naturally took its
piaoe. In an article on its present use
the “Woodworker” says:
In the middle, Southern, and West
ern States, where the tree grows abun
dantly, It has been, and still is, exten
sively used, and is considered a good
substitute for pine, red cedar and
cypress, and serves well for the exterior
work of houses as well as for external
covering. The panels of doors, wain
scots, and moldings of chimneys are
made of the wood, and shingles have
been mode in some States. These
sliingies are preferred by some to pine,
beoause they are more durable and not
liable to crack from the effects of in
tense frost and suns nine Lumber
sawed from this tree is used in all the
principal cities for the panels of car
riages. When perfectly dry they take
paint well, and will admit oi a brilliant
polish. It enters largely into coaah
manufacturing, and is used in cars,
wagon-boxes, sleighs, etc. It is par-
tioularlv applicable to any work requir
ing soft wood, easily worked, and re
quiring great strength, especially if
wide work is desirable. It was used
years ago in large quantities iu the
manufacture of trunks, which were
covered with cloth or skins, Large
quantities of tables and bedsteads have
been made from this wood. They are
usually stained to imitate mahogany.
It often enters into the construction of
bureans and general cabinet work,
’particularly where it is the base for
covering with veneer. It Los been
used also in the interior work of canal
beats and steamboats. As it is easily
wrought in the lathe, it is often used
for bowls, brush and broom handles,
and numerous other articles of turned
wares. Fa-mers construct eating and
drinking troughs for their animals ot
the wood, as it stands long exposure to
the weather better than chestnnt or
butternut. It is also used in bridges
in some places; the Indians were won’t
to make canoes from the big trees, and
some of ihorn hod room for iwonijr or
moie persons. -In some parts of the
country tong lines of fences may be
seen that at e made of rails of this tree.
One-third of the lumber used in making
coffins iu New York City is whitewood,
it being used for the sides and tops.
Yery large quantities are consumed in
the backs and legs of pianos. Fnrni
tare manufacturers use it for ebouizing,
and in parts where great strength is not
required. A manufacturer of buugs m
New York uses 500,000 feet annually,
and it is also used largely in making
ays and pumps.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT.
The “properties," as they are termed,of
the tneatre, that is, the unused scenery
and also the machinery and fixtures of old
performances, gradually form an immense
accumulation. The machinery used in
“tiaruanapalus” was of very great bulk,
and is now stored in the rear of the thea
tre, where it may remain till called for.
The storage room in the Booth Theatre is
of vast extent, and embraces an accumula
tion which, no doubt, cost one hundred
thousand dollars, it is in this manner that
the profits are so often sunk. A play must,
betore it can be called profitable, pay for
the expense of getting it up, and hence a
large risk is taken. “Sardanapalus” is
said to have coat thirty thousand dollars,
but as the play had a run the outlay prov
ed s first rate investment. After a few
years it may be revived and have another
run. ’ At present, however, it is almost
forgotten. There is at the present ime
scenery of more than one hundred plays
lying Idle, and most of it will be painted
over, ticene pain ten are now very busy,
aud the artists make fifty dollars per «eek.
They work v.*th rapid touch, and acquire
great skill ia this specialty. The drop cur
tains; however, are very elaborate, and
are often highly admired. It is estimated
’hat twenty fire thousand persona attend
the theatres every night,besides those who
attend other places of amusement. One
reason for this is fouud in the homeless
character of New kork life. Everybody
wants to go somewhere to be amused, and
hence the theatres are crowded.
Fully & century ago the pleasant vales
leading up into the Coast M run tains in
California had been penetrated by the
frontiersmen o’ Mexico, of which country
this whole great region was an ill-defined
province, under the name of Alta Califor
nia. These men were herdsmen or farmers.
Early m the present century a colony of
Russians and Indians from Alaska, under
the leadership ot Alexander Koskoff,
landed at Bodega Bay, and began farming
wnere now is the village of Bodega. Not
satisfied with this place alone, however,
they travelled northward some forty
miles, and established a permanent trading
poet and agricultural station near Salt
Point, the site and many of the luildings
of which are now occupied as the village
of Fort Ross - an anglicized abbreviation
of Fuerte de lot Jiutot, as the post was
called by the Spaniards. The occupancy
of tins strip of coast—for their hold ex
tended all the way between Point Arenas
on the north and Point Ruges on the south
—by the Muscovites from 1811 until 1840,
when they abandoned their station, left its
impress upon tbe names of the region, and
especially clings to the principal stream
watering this portion of the redwood belt
—the Russian River.
Cal'for at* ViniyarAt.
Late accounts from California notice
the great increase m tbe size of the vine
yards there. A plantation of 200 acres
used to be considered a large vineyard;
now vineyards of 500 and 100 acres are
not uncommon, and one of 1,500 acres
was recently planted near Los Angeles.
It is expected that m three years or so
California will poaeess vineyards of 5,000
or 6,000 acres in extent. The total num
ber ot seres at preaent devoted to vine
culture is estimated at about 100,000, all
of which will be bearing in about four
years' time, and producing about 40,000,
000 or 50,000,000 gallons annually. New
wiuer at preaent fetch from 20 to 25 cents
per gallon for dry wines, either red or
white, tiweet wine is dear, ranging from
55 to 75 cents per gallon. Though next
year's prospects are good, last year’s
prices for grapes are not likely to be mam
mined, as the cellars of Ban Francisco are
said to be full
Kattleinake Jim Slain.
I True worth is void of glory.
Modesty is to worth what shadows are
in paiutinga; she gives it strength aud
relief.
Moderation is the silken string ran-
ning through the pearl chain of all vir
tues.
The love of glory can only create a
hero; the contempt of it creates a great
er man.
Next to an effeminate man there is
nothing so disagreeable as a mannish
woman.
Slumber not in the tents of your col-
ums. The world ia advancing, advance
with it.
Nature goes on her owrf^iy; all that
to .us seems au exception, is really ac
cording to order.
The mind is like a trunk. Well pack
ed it holds almost everything; if ill
packed next to nothing.
Take your stand by the altar of truth
and be not led or driven thence by
sophistry or by ridicule.
C .nuuon sense does not ask an impos
sible chessboard, out takes the one be
fore it and plays the game.
Be courageous and noble-minded; onr
own heart, and qpt other men’s opinions
of us, forms our true honor.
Wo think our civilization ia near its
meridian, but we are yet only at the
cook-crowing and the morning star.
Nothing makes the world seem so
spacious as to have friends at a distance;
they make the latitudes aud longitudes.
Bad habits are the thistles of the
heart, and every indulgence of them is
a sea from wliicu will come forth a crop
of rank weeds.
The more methods there are in a state
for acquiring riches without industry
or merit, the less there will be of either
iu that state.
A man of letters is often a man with
two natures—one a book nature, the
other a human nature. These often
dash sadly.
H we cultivate home friendships with
the assiduity that we give to those out
side, they will yield us even richer and
fairer returns.
Oue trade is respectable above jinoih-
or only in consequence of the superior
respectability of the class of men en
gaging in it.
Pleasure may be aptly compared to
many very great books, which increase
in real value in the proportion they are
abridged.
There were neyer in the world tvo
opinions alike, no more than two hairs
or two grains. The most universal
piaiity is diversity.
OKi ago is the nigne or lire, as night
is the old age of day. Still, night is
full of magnificence; and, for man, it is
more brilliant than the day.
Employment, which Galen calls “na
tures physician,” is so essential to hu
man happiness that indolence is justly
considered as the mother of misery.
To think properly one must think
independently, candidly, and consecu
tively, only in this way can a tram of
reasoning be conducted successively.
Character is not out in marble—it is
not something solid and unalterable.
It is something living and changing,
and may become diseased us our bodies
do,
There never did, and never will, ex
ist anything permanently noble and
excellent in a character which is a stran
ger to the exercises of resolute self-
denial.
He that waits for an opportunity to
do much at once may breathe ont his
life in idle wishes, and regret, in the
last hour, his useless inteutious aud
barren zeal
Talk to women as much as you can.
This is the best school. It is the way
to gain fluency, because you need not
care what you say, aud had better not
be sensible.
Nothing so iuoreases reverence for
others as a great sorrow to one’s self.
It teaches one the depths of human
nature. In happiness we are shallow
and deem others so.
We often wonder that our men of
wealth do not give more subjects of na
tive interest to our artists, aud try to
fill their walls with more of the nches
of our own rivem, lakes, vales and
mountains.
It is manifest that the life of charity
toward the neighbor, which consists in
doing wnat is just and right in all our
dealings and occupations, leads to
heaven; but not a life of piety without
charity.
The Christian faith ia a grand cathe
dral, with divinely pictured windows.
Standing without, you see no glory,
nor can possibly imagiue any; standing
within, every ray reveals a harmony of
unspeakable splendor.
Under the laws of Providence, life is
a probation; probation ia a succession
of temptations, temptations are emer
gencies, and for emergencies we need
the preparation and the safeguard of
prayer.
The wise man has his follies no less
than the fool; bnt it has been said that
herein lies the difference—the follies
of the fool are known to the world, bat
are hidden from himself; the follies of
the wise man are known to himself,
but are hidden from the world.
. The use of proverbs is characteristic
of an unlettered people. The common
sense of the lower classes is condensed
into these terse and convenient phrases,
and they pass from hand to hand as the
pence and farthings of conversation.
They are invaluable treasures to dunoes
with good memories. They give a
semblance of wit to the speech of the
dull.
The best things, both id this life and
that which ia to oome, are concealed
from us, and we are compelled to wait
Intelligence lias been received that
“Rattlesnake Jim,” a sporting man
well known from the Missouri river to
the Sierra Nevada mountains, had bit
the dust in Weiser City, Idaho. John
Said, alias Rattlesnake Jim, who had
been stopping at Weiser for some time
past and eudeavoriug to run the town
when;drinking, entered the Gem saloon,
kept by Gray brothers, about tenVclock
Wednesday night and called the houae
np to drink with him. After drinking
he asked John Smith, the bartender,
to charge it, which Smith aaid he oonld
not do. Jack >aid; “You won’t; take
this, then,” at the same time pushing a
large navy revolver into Smith’s face.
Smith dropped behind the bar, when
Jack made a second attempt to shoot
him. at which time other parties inter
fered and indnoed him to put up his
weapon. Jack then made Smith stand
np, look at him and shake hands, re
marking: “I’ll not kill you now,”
Smith summoned George Porter,
Deputy Sheriff who, in company with
two citizens of Weiser, attempted to
arrest Jack od the street. When told
to “throw up,” Jack remarked, “If
you thiuk .1 won’t shoot you are a
,” and he drew his pistol, but be
fore be bad time to set ii the Deputy
gave him a slight wound in the hip.
Jock, however, nothing daunted, filed
four shots at the deputy and posse
without dring any more harm than
powder-burning some of them, The
deputy and posse returned to the saloon
and while disenssing means for Jack’s
arrest much to their surprise the latter
entered and the deputy again com
manded him to “throw np,” which was
answered by a shot from Jack’s pistol,
the ball entering the cal/ of the officer's
leg.
The deputy responded by discharging
one barrel jot a double-barreled shot
gun, the contents of which entered
Jack’s breast just below the right nip
ple. Jack, with pistol in hand, now
pressed the officer to the very wall,
t)ie other barrel of the latter’s gun re
fusing to act, leaving the officer at bin
mercy; but at this junction, when it
wss seemingly impossible to check
Jack in his death rage, Hans Matson, ^r the manifestations that shall be
one of the posse, fired bjs pistol, the
bail entering Jack's back and ranging
upwards, which shot seemed to paralyze
him. Stepping back a feY steps be
fell a dead man.
made to us in the other kingdom.
Whatever oar intelligence may be while
here, it is relatively very slight, and
we grow mine anti mors to knowhow
“darkly” it is that we through
the interposing glass.
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