The Fairfield news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1881-1900, March 22, 1883, Image 1
* n n r a ;;
I A ’ c :' o
TRI-WEEKLY EDITION.
" "t M
WINNSBORO. S. C.. MARCH 22, 1883.
ESTABLISHED 1848
LIITLK BIMPLfCirY.
7—T ;
Golden her tresses, and bine were her eyes,
Beaming with innocence, loving and baby-ltke,
Cheeks like a cherry’s which never disguise
Modesty blushes—whatever they may be like I
Peeping from under her bonnet of straw,
Trimmed in the fashion of simple rusticity,
These, when we met, were the features I saw,
Features belonging to Little Simplicity.
Dressed In a faded and old-fashioned gown,
She, with her prattle so sweet, captivated me,
Gladly forgetting the belles of the town.
Love in a eotthge I fancied awaitedme;
Sighing no longer for fortune and fame,
Life seemed to dance vjltn renewed eiasttoli};
Out in tljf jpe^dowa.1 whls^er^d, “Be iptne
What isyour thdfltatff” asked Little
plicttr
Oh l disenchantment, to ass waat l earned,
I, who had been such a dutiful slave to her,
Vainly I begged she would |hsn $ee ^turned
All the old presents (unpaid for) I lave to her.
This small adventure was ten years ago,
Still am I verging on genteel mendicity,
Five little tflidgesof lo»e’I can show— 1
Wonder now many ha* Little Simplicity?
Tl K DESIRE OS HER HEART.
‘ . ' . - "vi
?
one mo
Ddnt i
•'I tell yon, Jack, the farm is not
yoor vocation. 1' become mote and
more convinced of the fact every day,
less contented With the life we are lead
ing.”
“You arc dissatisfied with yoor lot—
I see that plainly, Nell,” said Jack, a
trifie sadly,
f noasense,” I put in, VJTot
with my lot, nor with yon, only with
the farm, Jack. I'm tired to dea^h
with this prosy, humdrum life, and 1
hate to see yon delving and toiling like
a slave from one year’s end to another.
“But, my dear,” suggested Jack,
“one must live and have bread and
batter.” f /
“To be sure, Jack; but why not earn
it in a more gehteel fashion?”
“Honest labor is always genteel,
NelL”
“Oh. pshaw! you understand me,
Jack. I mean that yon have capacities
for something better. Yoa fonly ding
to the old farm to please your father,
when you could do a hundred-fold bet
ter elsewhere. And besides, where is
oar society in this place, Jack? What
Chance is there for oar children as they
grow up?”
w “Ah, Nell, that is looking so far
ahead,” he said; ‘and, my dear, you
seem to forget that I have lived here all
my life!”
“Oh, no, J don’t forget. And pray
what have you done. Jack!”
“Have led an upright life, and mar
ried you.”
“But you didn’t pick me up amid the
clover blossoms, Jauk; don't forget that,
Yon found me in town, and, Jack, dear,
I’m anxious to get back again to my
native element. I am tired of all this.
You can get on ever so nicely in town.
Jack; and there we can get into society.”
“Uur means are not inexhaustible,
NelL”
“I’m aware of that, Jack; bnt we’ve
enough for a stait, and Vaudborough
offers you a good place in the bank,”
“Aka limited salary, NelL"
“Oh, yes, but you can work youxway
up. Jack—right up to the topmost
round of the ladder. Do let’s go, Jack!
I’ve lived here to please you ever since
our marriage; I think you can afford to
please me a little now.”
“That’s uue,” he said, “yon can’t be
* expected to care for the farm as I do,
Neil. I promised to make you happy
wnen yon consented to beoome my wife,
and i’ll try and keep my word. You
shall have it all your own wav, Nell.”
The continuous dropping of water
wears away the solid stone. I had
conquered my husband at last, and the
desire of my heart was about to be
accomplished.
W hen Jack once made np his mind
to dp a thing he. did it with ail his
nfighh; The matter whs soon settled.
Cherry Hill, as ‘ we call the farm, was
sold at a great sacrifice; and one supuy
morning we turned our backs upon the
breezy dpwns and gulden grain fields
and journeyed city-ward. j ■
“I’m afraid you’ve made a great mis
take,” said Jack’s father, as he bade us
■ gouti-bye; “you’d better have Stuck to
the farm. You remember the old saying
about rolling stones?”^'1
“I don’t believe in old saying s.sir,”
I answered lottliy, “and I think- 1 can
apprec ate my husband’s abilities better
than any one else can.”
Our new home in town was a stylish
residence in a fashionable street. We
established ourselyes in. the. principal
hotel, and then set about the task of
funiisJdng the house,
‘Ttfy’pear child.” said Mr. ?Yandbor-
ough, the haulier’s wife, dropping* in
for an early call, “don’t dream of such
a thing as ingrain carpet. Get Brussels
by ail means, good English Br
You’ll find it much cheaper in
end, and besides it is so much mere
stylish.”
We hearkened to our friend’s advice,
and laid oar rooms with Brussett, and
the cost ran .np into hundreds. ‘
- Then ’ furniture was got te match,
Mrs. Vaudborough and several other
Inends aiding us in cur selection, and
ail sorts of pretty, costly brio-a-brao,
and real lace curtains, and a new piano.
My old instrument was too plain and
clumsy for the new eetaolisunflnt.
“We’ve gdt snug quarters here, Nell,
by George!” he suid, locking through
the extravagantly furnished rooms with
admiring pride. “No one in the town
can outshine us, not eyen Vaudborough
himself. It has lightened our purse a
good deal, I’h admit, but whbt -does
, that signify? What good comes of hav
ing mopey nnleae one^epjoys ft?” ’
“We must try-and^saie up a little
nova, Jack, since we are fixed So nice!
ices and fraita and dancing for the
oung ones? That would do nicely,
’on can throw your two parlors into
one and the new carpets will not get
much injured. I’ll help you to order
your refreshments, and Cecilia will write
out your invitations for you. She’s an
excellent judge as to whom it is expe
dient to invite.”
I mentioned the matter to Jack when
he came home, and he entered into the
spirit of che affair with great excite
ment.
“To be sure, little wife; have a party
by ail ineens.v When one’s in Borne,
ost do au Homans do, you know,
spate expanse, either my dear;
we must make a good show as other
people. And 1 shall take it upon my
self to order your costume. 1 want you
t^ look as grand as a little empress.”
“But, Jack,” I suggested timidly,
“we are spending a great deal of
money.” A
But, despite my fears, our reception
went on, aud it turned out to be a great
success. The best people in town hon-
ojed uc with their presence, and every
thing, thanks to Mrs. Vandboroogh’s
foresight, was carried out in the most
lavish and elegant manner.
“By Oeorgo,” said Jack, “this sort of
thing is jollier than the old farm. I see
now little wife, that you were right—
always right.”
I would ten times rather he should
have upbraided and blamed me for What
I had done. *■
The winter that followed was exoeed-
ingly gay. We were invited everywhere,
ana onr house was constantly filled with
gneets. Balls, soirees, kettledrums,
and the opera seemed to engross every
hour. Jack and I seldom had a quiet
moment together, yet he seemed to en
joy ii all with his whole heart.
When spring came our Iasi surplus
dollar had been expended, and we were
solely dependent on Jack’s monthly
salary.
The warm weather came on aud baby
soon fell ill. I hoped day by day that
Jack would say something about going
back to his father’s for the snmmer,
but he did not even hint at snob a
thing.
The days grew longer and warmer.
The son shone down with a pitiless
splendor, and the paved streets seemed
like heated brass. '
Our fashionable faiends fluttered off
like summer swallows aud we were left
almost alone.
‘“Couldn't you manage to make a
little trip to the seashore, my dear?”
Mrs Vaudborough had suggested, and
Jack had caught at the idea with eager-
“We might, Nell; I think we can.
I’ll try and borrow a few hundred some
where.”
“Oh, Jack, no, no!” I sobbed out in
my remorse and despair. “I won’t go
to the seashore. You see how ill the
the baby is. Oh, Jaok, ask your father
to let us return home. ”
‘‘Oh, you wouldn’t be satisfied, Nell,
if we went back. It is dreadfully stupid
dBwn- there these snmmer days, with
the haymaking and the reaping, and all
that sort of thing. We should never be
able to endure it now.”
I said no more. The long, bright,
bnrning days wore on, aud our bills ran
up higher, aud higher, aud baby’s little
breath seemed to grow weaker and
weaker, and poor Jack himself began to
look dreadfully ill and worn. And one
afternoon he was sent home in a car
nage, quite uncousoious, stricken down
by a sudden fever.
1 put my pride aside then, and wrote
a letter to Jack’s father.
“Jack and baby are both ill,” 1 said.k
“and we are sick and tired of this life.
Pray forgive us, and let ns come home.”
The very next day the dear old gen-
tlemas arrived, but the sheriff wsa be
fore* him, Jjmk having confessed judg
ment in a lawsuit. The rumor that we
intended to leave town got out, and out
creditors rushed in, anxious to seeure
the lio|l’s share off our effects. The
His worn face grew radiant and his
dear arms held me close.
Aud then and there, clasped to my
husband’s heart, in the safe sweet shel
ter of tbe home he loved, I understood
all the past.
“You didn’t mean it, Jack,” I whis
pered. “You only pretended to enjoy
it all to please me.’
“No matter, little woman; the lesson
we have learned has been cheaply
bought. We shall not care to leave the
safe old nest in search of fashion and
society again.
A Hidden Crime.
now^ vacx, eiuoe we are nxea so moeiy, ciosea eyelids.
, 1 said, feeling somewhat terrified at his Beyond tbe open.-wind
gwwing Bfckiesaness. ter glory of the rising i
“Pshaw, chiM Whe-ever-Leard of a
banket’s clerk saving anything? II we
make both ends meet it wiU be more thaU
1 look for.”
“My dear," afid Mrs. Vaadbsroi
when wa ware pleasantly settled In
handsome house and, had hired a couple
of servants, “I 'tappose you Want to
give some sort of a party now? It. is
eu^toamry, you, know, duppose yen
let it be an informal, reception, with
cards aud coffee for the old people, aud
ie li in’i
Brussels carpets, the handsome furni
ture, and costly brio-a-brao, all went
under the hammer at a disastrously low
figure.
“Never mind,” said my father-in-l^w,
not a shadow of reproach on his kind
old face; ‘let them squabble over it if
they will. We must get our sick ones
ho.ue.”
So we got Jaok into' a carriage, and
with bis poor head upon my knee and
baby in my arms, I turned my back
upon the scene of my short-lived tri
umph.
back to Cherry Hill,'*
the dusk
ugh the
dewy stillness of the sheltered land.
“Thq old home has been waiting for
you all these months. I was pretty sure
you’d want to come back.”
I could not uttei one word in answer,
A great full moon was rising above the
distant hills a* we reached theiieuse.
Not the amalldtft tiling woe changed.
The great red roses bloomed on the ter-
raoe, thtffiees droned in thaty hives, and
the cattle bells tinkJkd in the barnyard.
The doors were wide open. We carried
Jack In and laid him down in the broad
breezy rdbm that had been our bridal
chamber. « •
He opened his eyes-and drew a deep
quivering breath as the freshening
breeze touched his throbbing head.
“Nell, where are you?” he said.
“Barely this must be home?”
“I am here Jack,” I answered through
my tears- ''and.tbis is home, dear Old
Cherry Hill,”'
“Thank Qod!” he murmured, aud fell
b?ok upon the pillows, and I saw great
tears triable slowly from beneath his
dosed eyelids.
ow, in the ul-
moon, the old
grandfather sat, with the baby at his
About the year 1875 there removed to a
certain town in Georgia not a 1,000 miles
from Fan-burn, an old gentleman, who
took up his abode there. He bad a daugh
ter of about 15 summers who lived with
him, and was the light and sunshine of his
humble home, tihe was a brunette, beau
tiful in face aud figure and intelligent and
refined. 8ne was tall and graceful, yat
slender, and lithe as the limb of a willow-
To those who saw beaty in womanly perfec.
tlona, in her girlhood she gave the promise
of the beautiful and voluptuous woman
hood, into which ‘he bloomed and ma
tured, At the death of her father, which
occuned not long after their removal to
the place, Miss Blank was left alone, and
she sought in marriage that happiness that
comes alone through sympathy with one
beloved. A young doctor had also made
his appearance iu the place about that
time, and a friendship between tbe two
soon followed an acquaintance which rip
ened into affection. They were married,
and lived apparently happy, and at peace
with the world.
After a time the doctor sought a new
field for tbe practice of his profession, and
removed with his young wife to a city in
Alabama. He was successful in his piac-
uce, and bid fair to lire a long life of use
fulness, but this was not to be. In tbe
same neighborhood in which the young
people had settled lived a man whom we
shall call Blink, for tbe reason that that
was not his name. He was tall and re
markably well proportioned, dark as a
Spaniard, with piercing black eyes, a long
glossy, flowing beard, and a gaze which
was magnetism itself—in short, a hand
some man. Blink, although a married
man, susceptible to feminine attractions,
soon fell a victim to tbe charms of the
doctor’s wife, while she was enslaved by
an admiration for tbe handsome neighbor.
Still tbe love-blind docter saw no guile in
the wife of his bosom, and while he re
ceived Blink at hia home with the hospi
tality of friendship, he was nursing the
adder that gave him his death-sting.
Soon after this intimacy and fondness
Sprang up k»ot«U<D UBTgUftUtl'• U1 WINS KfUl
the dishonest husband, the young doctor
suddenly died and the former lovely Miss
Blank was a more lovely young widow,
lu quick succession followed the sudden
demise of Mrs. Blink. The disconsolate
widower and the charming widow sought
each other’s society ere the clods were
well settled upon the lifeless bodies of
their former partners, and this excited sus
picion.
Suspicion grew stronger, and Mrs. Blink s
body was exhumed tor examination; but
no indication of poison being discovered, it
was again consigned to the tomb.
Three weeks afterward Mr. Blink and
Mrs. Blank were married and, removing
to the Atlantic coast, took up their abode
on an island, where for a short time they
enjoyed tne fruits of their dishonored love
und of the marital relations, which the
sequel proves had been purchased at a
sacrifice of honor and of all the better prin
ciples of humanity.
Time psaed on, and Blink and his wife
went back, to the latter’s former home In
Qeorgia. There the husband lived a life
of utter idleness aud ease. Soon after
their return a store in the town was burg
larized, ana facts were developed which
showed that a wagon had been driven up
to the door of the store, loaded with dry
goods, provisions, etc,, and driven away.
Although it was evident that three per-
soos—one a woman—had participated in
the burglary, uo clew as to their identity
was obtained. The burglary was committ
ed about 1870.
About two months after this time Mrs.
Blink was taken sick unto death; and In
the silence of the death chamber, while
burning with !ever and tortured with re
morse, the euce beautiful and blooming
Miss Blank, but now wan and wasted Mrs.
Blink, opened the secret closet )f her soul
and made a dying confession, upon which
this narrative is founded.
The confession embodied all the forego
ing tacts and further revealed that she had
poisoned her husband to satisfv the unholy
love she entertained for Biink, and that
h» had poisoned his innocent wife that no
barrier might stand in tbe way of their
union. She also confessed that she and
her hut band had committed the burglary
referred to. assisted by another man, who
had dropped dead a short time before her
confession was made. Immediately after
the death of his wife, Mr. Blink left tor
parts unknown. And still the world
moves
rievoa,
feel, flalf hidden in the rank cool grass,
snd even at that lat* hour the pigeons
came fluttering around her as of old,
and she screamed with rapture as she
dlutched at them with he? thin little
hands,,
t free softly and fell on my knees
beside Jack’s low pillow.
' “Oh, Jaok,” 1 sobbed. 1 have been
so wicked. Forgive me, Jack, forgive
me! I am so glad to be at home again,”
Young People’* Pautie* in Cindob.
There are a great many dances taking
place just now m London, several being
what are called * Cinderella*,” commenc
ing at nine o'clock and ending at twelve.
At these entertainments many young girls
not yet “out” are allowed to appear, and
even children attend during the early part
of the evening and take part in a few of
the dances. At some of these the minuet
has been dance 1 by children, and watched
with interest by the surrounding assembly
of elders, who intend later on in the year,
if possible, to introduce tins elegant dance
of a bygone decade. Dress varies greatly
at those entertainments, some of the
guests appearing in full ball toilette, and
others in simple evening gowns with al
most high bodies—certainly the high bo
dies are made to look as dressy as possible;
add many jcung girls wear skirts of either
fine nun’s cloth or flg’tred Madras muslin,
withjcoat bodies of velvet and cream lace
waist criats; either high to the throat or
cdt square and filled up wiih transparent
lace Tbe sleeves reach to the elbows aud
are finished off with ruffli* of cream lace.
Pointed bodies are also worn.
The delicacy of the spectroscope in
chemical analysis is remarkable. Swan
found that sodium lines arv visible when a
solution is employed containing lees than a
two-nulhouth part of a grain of sodium.
The following account of the fight be
tween the Russians and Turks, at Plevna,
is vivid and Interesting: Before daybreak
on the last day of July the whole force
was on the move to the front There was
a long halt in a hollow, where was the vil
lage ot Kadiahovo, into which Turkish
shells, flying over the ridge in front, came
banging and crashing. About midday
Schahovskoy and his afaff, which v/-i ac
companied, rode on to the ridge between
the guns, already in poaition there, and
we surveyed the marvelous view below us
—the little town of Pleyna m the center,
with the Turkish earthworks, girdled by
cannon smoke, sEraround it After an
artillery duel of three hours, the Prince
ordered bis infantry on to the attack. The
gallant fellows passed us, fuii of ardor,
with bands playing and colors flying, and
went down Into tbe fell valley below.
For three hours the demon of carnage
reigned supreme in tn&t dire cockpit The
wounded came limping and groaning back,
and threw themselves heavily down on
the reverse slope in the village ot Radia-
hovo, in our rear. The surgeons already
had set up their field hospitals, and were
ready for work.
Never shall I forget, tbe spectacle of that
assault made by Sebabovskoy’s infantry
men oa the Turkish earth-woras in the
valley. The long ranks on which I looked
down tramped steadily on to the assault.
No skipmshiag line was thrown out in ad
vance. The fighting line remained the
formation, till, what with impatience and
what witn men falling, it broke into a
ragged spray of humanity, and surged ou
swiftly, loosely, and with no close cohe
sion. The supporU ran up into the fight
ing array independently and eagerly.
Presently all along the bristling line burst
forth flaming volleys of musketry fire.
The jagged line sprang forward through
the maize-flelis, gradually falling into a
concave shape. The crackle of the musk
etry fire rose into a sharp, continuous
peal The clamor of the hurrahs of the
fighting men came back to us on the
breeze, making the blood tingle with the
excitement of battle. The wounded be
gan to trickle back down the gentle slope.
We could see the dead and the more se
verely wounded lying where they had fal
len, on the stubble and amidst the maize.
The living wave of fighting men was
pouring over them, ever on and on. Sud
denly the disconnected men drew closer
together. We could see the officers sig
naling tor the concentration by the wav
ing of their swords. The distance yet to
be tiaversed was but a hundred yards.
There was a wild rush, headed by the col
onel of one of tbe regiments. The Turks
id the work stood their ground, fired
with terrible effect into the whirlwind
that tuna niahlmu ■ thpim ,
n«Pe horse went dodto, BW the colonel
was on his feet in a moment, and, waving
his sword, led his men forward on foot.
But only for a few paces. Hu staggered
and fell. We could hear the tempest-
gush of wrath—half howl, halt yell—with
which his men, bayonets at the charge,
rushed on to avenge him They were over
tbe parapet and iu among the Turks like
an overwhelming avalanche. Not many
followers of the Prophet got the chance to
run away from the gleaming Russian
bayonets.
But there were not men enough for the
euterprise. It was cruel to watch the
brave Russian soldiers standing there
leaderless, sternly awaiting death for want
of officers to lead them forward or to march
them back. As the sun set in lurid crim
son, the Knssian defeat became assured.
The attacking troops had been driven
back or stricken down. All around us the
air was heavy with the lew moaning of
the wounded.
Not Juliet and Romeu.
The Bad Bar Again.
“Well, you are the meanest boy I ever
heard of,’’ said the grocery man. “But
what about your pa’s dancing a clog-dance
in church, Sunday! Tbe minister's hired
girl was m here after some codfish yester
day morning, and she said the minister
said your pa had scandalized the church
the wont way.’’ “Oh, he didn’t dance in
church. He was a little excited; that’s
all. You see, pa chews tobacco, and its
pretty hard on him to sit all through the
sermoa without taking a chew, and he
gets nervous. He always reaches around
in his pistol pocket when they stand up to
sing the last time, and feels in his tobacco-
box aud gets out a chew, and puts it in bis
mouth when the preacher pronounces tbe
benediction.) He always does that . Well,
mj chum bad a present on Ohnstmas of a
music box, just about as big as pa’s totao-
co box, and all you have to do is to touch
a spring and it plays “She’s a Daisy, She’s
a Dumpling.’’ I borrowed it and put it in
pa’s pistol pocket, where he keeps his to
bacco box, and when tne choir got most
through singing pa reached his hand in his
pocket and began to fumble around for a
chew. He touched the.srplng, and just as
everybody bowed their heads to receive
the benediction, and It was so still you
could hear a gum drop, the music box be
gan to play, and iu the stillness it sounded
as loud as a church organ. IV ell, 1 thought
ma would sink. The minister heard it,
and looked toward ps, and everybody
looked at pa, and pa turned red, and the
music-box kept up ’She’s a Daisy,’ and the
minister looked mad and said ‘Amen’, and
the people began to put on their costs, and
the minister told the deacon to hunt up the.
source of that wordly music, and they
took pa into the room back of tbe pulpit
and searched him, and ma says ps will
have to be churched. They kept the
music-box, and I have got to carry in coal
to get money enough to buy my chum a
new music-box.”
In the year 1400, Ginevra de Amiera,
a Florentine beauty, married, under
parental pressure, a man who had failed
to win her heart, that she had given to
Antonio Rondinelii. Boon afterward
the plagne broke ont in Florence;
Ginevra fell ill, apparently succumbed
to the malady, and, being pronounoed
dead, was the same day conveyed to
the family tomb. Some one, however,
had blundered in the matter, for in the
middle of the night the entombed bride
woke out of her trance, and, badly as
her living relatives had behaved found
her dead ones still less to her liking,
and lost no time in quitting the silent
company upon whose quietude she had
unwillingly Intruded. Speeding through
the sleep-wrapped streets as swiftly as
her elingiug cerements allowed, Gine
vra sought the home from which she
had so lately been borne. Boused
from his slumbers by a knocking at the
door, the disconsolate widower of a
day cautiously opened an upper win
dow, and seeing a shrouded figure
waiting below, in whose upturned face,
he recognized the lineaments of the
dear departed, he cried: “Go in peace,
blessed spirit,” and shut the window
precipitately. With sinking heart and
slackened step the repulsed wife made
her way to her father’s door to receive
the like benisou from her dismayed
parent. Then she crawled to an ancle’s,
where the door was indeed opened, bnt
only to be slammed in her face by
the frightened man, who, in his hurry,
forgot even to bless his ghostly caller.
The cool night air penetrated the un
dress of the hatless wanderer, made her
tremble and shiver, as she thought she
had waked to life only to die again in
the etuel streets. “Ah!” she sighed,
"Antonio would not have proved so
unkind.” This thought naturally sug
gested it was her duty to test his love
and conrage; it would be time enough
to die if he proved like the rest. The
way was long, bnt hope renarved her
imbe, and soon Ginevra was knocking
1 imidly at Bodinelli’s door. He opened
it himself, and although startled by the
ghastly vision, calmly inquired what
t he spirit wanted with him. Throwing
exclaimed, “lam no spirit, Antonio; I
am that Ginevra you onoe loved, who
was buried yeeterbay—buried alive!”
and fell senseless into the welcoming
arms of her astonished and delighted
over, whose cries for help soon brought
down his sympathizing family to hear
the wondrous story and bear its heroine
to bed, to be tenderly nursed until sbe
had recovered from the shook, and was
as beautiful as ever again. Then came
the difficulty. Was Ginevra to return
to the man who had buried her, and
shut his door against her, or give her
self to the man who had saved her
from a second death? With snob
powerful special pleaders as love and
gratitude on his side, of course Rondi-
nelli won the day, and a private mar
riage made the lovers amends for pre
vious disappointment. They, however,
had no intention of keeping in hiding,
but the very first Sunday after they
became man and wife, appeared iu pub
lic together at the cathedral, to the
confusion and wonder of Ginevra’s
friends. An explanation ensued, which
satisfied everybody except tbe lady’s
first husband, who insisted that nothing
but her dying in genuine earnest could
dissolve the original matrimonial bond.
The case was referred to the bishop, who,
having no precedent to curb his deci
sion, rose superior to technicalities,
and declared that the first ^husband
had forfeited all right to Ginevra, and
must pay over to Rondineill the dowry
he had received with hex—a decree at
wbioh we may be sure all true lovers
in Florence heartily rejoiced.
I/Mt Copytn*.
Take a piece ol turn must id and wrap it
tightly around a ball of .cotton-wool as) big
as aa orange. This forms a dabber, and
should / have something to hold it by.
Then squeeze on to tbe corner ot a half
sheet of foolscap a little color from a tube
of oil paint, lake up a very little color
on the dafeber, and work it about on tbe
centre of the paper lor some time, till tbe
dabber is evenly covered with a tiun coat
ing. A little ell can De used to dilute or
moisten the color if necessary. Then put
your leaf down on the paper and dab some
color evenly over both sides. Place it
then between the pages of a folded sheet
of paper (unglased is bat), aud rub tbe
paper above it well all ova with the finger.
Open the sheet, remove tbe leaf, and you
will have an impreasion ot each side of
the leaf. Any color may be used. Burnt
or raw sienna works the moat satisfactonlr,
After tbe Wcddias.
Two young ladies just from a wedding
up the Hudson, took a seat behind a re
porter on an afternoon train to the city,
and their conversation, conducted in an
excited and vivacious manner, ran as fol
lows:
First Xoung Lady—What do you think
of the bnde’s drees, Maggie!
Second Young Lady—I didn’t like it
extra well, did you t
“No, I must confess I did not But,
Lizzie, I never thought Kittle would get a
beau, did you ?”
“No, indeed. It is too funny for any
thing; but she got a giant, didn’t she! Oh,
my I l never could marry that man.”
“Nor L I think be is awfully coarse.
Kittie don’t like him any too well. She
came very near b&ckine oat.”
“D’d you see her blush f ”
“Gracious, yea. 1 think I should have
fainted if it had been me. I suppose you’ll
be getting warned next”
“Oh, I guess there’s no danger.”
“Hasn’t Harry proposed yet ?”
‘•Goodness, no. He’s been coming to
see me a year, too. Oh, he makes me so
mad sometimes, i oculd pound him real
good.”
“How stupid.”
“Only think of it, 1 could have had half
a dozen good catches if he wasn’t around
in the way.”
“Why don’t you fire him out I”
“That’s the bother of it. I can’t get a
chance to quarrel with him, and yet he’s
so aggravating about”—laughing— 4 ‘you
know. ’
“Oh, I think I’ll be an old maid.'’
“Oh, you fool; I wouldn’t for all the
world.”
Here the train entered the tunnel and
the conversation ended.
—The monks and nuns in Italy num
ber nearly 82,000.
N
When To Take Exercise.
Dr, Sargent recently gave hia views on
Exercise—how and when to take it.”
Hu began with a few remarka explana
tory of the waste and renewal of muscu
lar tissue and its dependence upon the
amount of exertion both physical and
mental, to which the human frame is
subjected. The best result is obtained
from exercise when the body is in a
state of perspiration, as then the blood
is rushing more rapidly through the
veins, the action of the heart is quicker,
and the energy developed is more in.
tense. Owe should be taken not to nse
too heavy dume-bells and weights as the
good which would otherwise be derived
is counterbalanced by the expenditure
of vital energy and the general clogging
up of the system. Suppose a man were
to hold his arm in a horizontal position
for fifteen minutes or half an hour;
gradually the action becomes tedious
and painful, and sharp pains go shooting
through it. This is caused by the
checking of the circulation, and although
the effort made is ten times that of rais
ing a dumb-bell, still the tissue lost in
the first movement is not renewed, as it
is in the second, and consequently not
so much benefit is derived from it as
from the latter. It is of prime impor
tance to use weights proportioned to
one’s strength, neither too large nor too
small, but of medium size.
Dr. Bargent said that the idea preva.
lent that the strongest men come from
the country is an erroneous one, as,
although certain bones and muscles of
those accustomed to manual labor are
larger and stronger, yet the develop
ment of the heart and Jungs does not
correspond, and, therefore, the excess of
energy in one direction is offset by the
loss in another. Neither do the best
physiques come from the city, but in
general, from the large towns, where the
advantages of pure air, outdoor freedom
and the absence of severe manual labor,
are combined. In this connection he
remarked that, for the college student
cf the present day to spend his summer
vacation working on a farm daring hay
ing and harvesting, and all the time
sabjecting a body unaccustomed to this
sort of work to a continued strain, was
-— AUIIAAIUUA, ttl«
though onr forefathers may have done it
with impunity, the physical powers of
the student of the present generation do
not compare wll h those of the student of
the former. In regard to the best time
for exercise, Dr. Sargent said that it
depended to a certain extent upon the
condition and requirement of a person;
if for instance, one was troubled with
sleeplessness, the proper time was in
the evening, but the hour of the day
when the average person can bear exer
cise to advantage is about the middle of
the forenoon, as then the vital energv is
at its height and work -lan be done, both
physical and mental. The next best
time for exercising is the afternoon from
four to six, and the worst time of all the
early morning before breakfast. Tbe
custom in the rural districts of rising
about 4 a. m., and working several hours
before breakfast, especially when but a
light supper is taken the night before,
is, in the doctor’s opinion, simply bar-
barons, as the body is in the very worst
condition possible. During his college
course he was one of the members of a
boat crew which, while in training, was
accustomed to run six miles before
breakfast, and the breaking up of the
constitutions of two of the men was at
tributed to this barbarous feature ef
their work.
Cliarle* Dlckeni.
Niagara Vulgarized.
Every traveller who returns now from
Niagara reports the ruthless defacing which
is being practiced on that superb picture.
It has only to be continued a few years to
almost utterly destroy tbe charm of that
wonderful scene. The beauty of the Am
erican shore of the river is reported now
as almost entirely destroyed. The banks
whlcn overhaug the rushing water were
once softened by a lovely growth of shrub
bery and fringed with the A mencan wild
vines. These have been gradually removed
and In their place are ugly buildings aud
h ideous heaps ot refuse. The pretty island
in the American rapids which used to be
charming with its wild greenery is now
occupied by a noisy paper mill and the
ruins of an older mill In a few years the
owner of this island and of Goat island
will come of age and both will then be
sold, probably to be occupied by extensive
dills and shops and factories. Even the
grand part ot the American rapids is al
ready marred by wing danii aud ice bar.
nera, and a few years will see it utterly
spoiled. Ou tbe shore about tae tails, es
pecially on tbe Americau side, everything
is terribly vulgarized. Indian shops, lager
beer saloons, shows of every description,
barns, factories and mills, with a multitude
of petty annoyances to the traveller, begin
to make tbe whole place unsightly and dis
agreeable. It is but a poor consolation to
reflect that this vandalism has reacted
against the show keepers of this place, and
that tLe tide of travel to the wonderful
falls has fallen off greatly within the last
few yean.
Dog Bite*.
Au absurd superstition prevails that
the bites of all dogs should be eitber
cut out or cauterized, and the poor
animal destroyed* It is not nucassary
to adopt either of these serious courses,
provided the dpg is healthy. In fact,
they are simply ridiculous, and are cal
culate 1 to proauoed groundless fear in*
the person bitten. Of course, in severe
oases erysipelas may supervene, but
with ordinary care, the wound being
cleansed by a disinfecting lotion, no
serious consequences will follow. -In
all oases, however, a doctor should be
consulted.
It is stated, and on the very best
authority, that within the twelve yean
that have passed since Dickens’ death
no less than 4,239,000 volumes of his
works have been sold in England alone.
A long way the first on this astonishing
list stands “Pickwick,” while “David
Coppeifield,” the second, is almost
equally far iu front of “Dornbey and
Son;” “Little Dorrit” has found nearly
as many readers aa ‘ ‘Martin Ghuzxlewlt, ”
while, with the exception of “Edwin
Drood,” ‘The Tale of Two Cities” and
“Great Expectations' take the lowest
place. Nor has his popularity been
confined to England or to English-
speaking people. French, German and
Italian, Russian and Swedish transla
tions of his works appeared daring his
life-time; when he was still but a young
man the pages of “Boz” were devoured,
we have been told, with enthusiasm
iu Silesian villages, “Pickwick,” it
is said, aud ou no less circum
stantial authority was found equal,
when all else failed, to the task
of soothing the sleepless nights of
Mehemet Alt Mr. Foster has publish
ed a story of a strange half human
recluse who had built his cell amid the
eternal snows of the Sierra Nevada, and
who found in “Pickwick” and iu
Nicholas Nickleby,” the only inter
course with humanity that he desired.
If it were true, as has been said by one
who has certainly managed to refute
his own words; if it were true that pre
sent popularity is the only safe presage
of future glory, what au eternity of
glory should await Dickens. And yet
present popularity,how vagne.how brill
iant and irresistible soever it may be,
or what manner of prologue it may
furnish to future glory, is quite another
matter from that glory itself, from the
real definite glory, the one thing, as
M. Renan tells us, which has the best
chance of not being altogether vanity.
That posterity will regard Dickens as
he was regarded in his life-time, or even
as we now regard him, is, of course,
out of the question. “To the public,”
said Prof. Ward, in a lecture delivered
in Manchester iu the year of Dickens'
cf^ l 'iiiscpuja!ure^oiu' uui menlsi’mia
when our critical conscience told us
that he was astray in one of his favorite
directions, the severest censure we had
for him was that he was growing 'more
like himself’ than ever.” That the
critical conscience of posterity will have
far severer censure for Dickens than
tlus one cannot doubt, nor indeed can
any one thoughtful for the fame
of Eaglish literature desire that it
should uot. “No man,” it has been
well said, “can trust himself to speak
of his own time aud of his own con tern-
times and men gone by.” Brought up,
as most of us have been, in the faith of
Dickens, whose earliest laughter has
poraries with the same sureness of judg
ment and the same proportion as of
been stirred by Sam Weller and Dick
Swiveller and Mr. Micawber, whoso
earliest tears have flowed for the sordid
wretchedness of David Oopperfleid’s
forlorn childhood, or for Florence
Dombey toiling up the “great wide
vacant stain,” with her brother in her
arms and ringing as she goes—who
have stolen trembling after Jonas Ghnz-
zlewit through that awful wood, or
stared with face as pale as Pip himself
at that grim midnight visitor in the
lonely Temple chambers; to such it
must surely seem little short of profani
ty to consider too curiously the old
familiar pages, to stand afar offi con
templating with cold, impartial scrutiny
the old familiar figures, as tnough, like
Trabb’s boy, we did not know them.
BT Telephone.
Billy Epply has just got back from
Chicago and telle a sgry funnv story.
He says that when the telegraph com
pany notified the bucket-shop proprie
tors that they could no longer have the
Board of Trade quotations, nor the use
of the “ticker,” except under the new
restrictions, one gay young proprietor
exclaimed:
“I’ll bet they didn’t take my ticker
out of my effioel”
“What will you bet?” asked a broker
“Bet! Why, I’ll bet my soul against
a rotten apple,” he replied.
“Good for you,’’ said a dry old cuss
who was sitting by the stove. *T’m glad
to find a man who doesn’t want the best
of it, all the time, but is willing to bet
on an even thing.”
The roars that followed this sally
could be heard for ten miles—by tele
phone.
Not to bo Inttmldated.
“Mrs. Langtry’s husband is a queer
sort of a man,” said Count Bozenta,
Mme. Mod jeeka’s husband, fc> a knot of
friends. “When I wm last in Loudon
they were telling a strange etory in th*»
dubs about him, which was very funry.
Langtry owns some property in Ireland
and it appears that his agent wrote him
saying that the tenants demanded lower
rent* and had threatened to resort to
the shot-gun policy to secure them. Mr.
Langtry seised pen and paper and wrote
as follows: ‘Dear Sir: You may say to
my tenants that any threats to shoot you
will never intimidate me.’ Queer con-
solaticu (or the agent, wasn’t it?”
.'A - ;'.-
*
|ii|i
'.Tv**
■rX