Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

iv. TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. 0.. APRIL 7, 1883. NOCTURNE. The dry leaves rnatle, the nlght-wlrntg blow The city la hushed and the gas turned low; The cloek In the hall ticks loud ahd slow. Footsteps ring through the echoing street, comrades under my window meet, The watchman comes on his nightly beat. A distant freight train rumbles low, Baby Jacky cries out In woe, Cats through the house like burglars go. The mo-'-n goes down and the night grows dark; The house-dog. rousing himself to bark, siuks down with a lung drawn sigh—and hark 1 ► Tue hour U tolled from ttte Centre Church; The cage-bird c'labTes feet on the perch; The cats go out with their stealthy search. I turn on my pillow—{there’s none to hear) oirft »»uw r v- i ‘u»- —a*. — —»«t Rest quiet, sleep sweetly; Go xl night, my dear.” SER REWARD. Saiute I Sttidoo I W'*ere are you ? WTiy don’t you answer me when I call ?” •‘Yes, aunt Leah—I tun coming In a minute.” “In a minute I” sarcastically repeated the old lady. “It’s always ‘in a min ute’ with you, Saidee I But I suppose, because I am old and helpless, my com fort is a matter of no consequence whatever.’’ “Dear aunt Leah, yon must never think that,” answered a bright, cheery voice; and Saidee Lynn came into the room, with a little tray, where was ar ranged, on a snowy napkin, some tea- h.souits, half-a-dozen pink radishes, a few thin-out shavings of smoked beef, aud a little pot of tea, with a cap and sancer of old china that would have been invaluable to a collector. Yon see I had you in my mind all the time, aunt Leah,” she said merrily. “I gathered the radishes from oar own garden. Don’t they look nice ?” Aunt Leah, a withered, little, old lady, in a dress of worn black silk, and sharp, grey eyes, peering through gold- bound spectacles, tasted the tea, and shook her head. “It’s too weak,” said she. “It isn’t tit to drink !” “I pat in all the tea there was in the canister, aunt Leah,” said Saidee, with a distressed countenance. Aunt Leah pushed away the cap, with an expression of distaste. “It is as 1 might have expected,” said she. “My nieces have too little thought for my comfort to study- my poor aud few necessities. Never mind the tea ; 1 can drink cold water, I dare- say.” Saidee wrung her hands in despair. How could she tell this weak, feeble old lady, above whose decliniug years huug the threatening Damocles sword of heart-disease, of their narrowing circumstances—of the empty exche quer, the clamoring creditors, the nitiful straits to which they were re duced ? “What *h«li I do ?” she asked herself, as she went slowly back to the little kitchen of the ruinous Gothic cottage, which they had obtained for a ridicu lously low rent because it was ruinous. “I've borrowed of the rector’s wife twice, and I’m ashamed to go there again, and I’ve sold everything I can lay my hands on. Bat,” glancing up at a picture which hung in the hall be yond, “there’s the Velasquez stilL A Velasquez is always worth money. Bel le will scold about parting with it, and aunt Leah will mourn ; but we can’t live on air and dew, like the fairies. I’ll take it down to Mr. Bruner, the artist, tms afternoon, and ask him to get us a purchaser. Poor people, such as we are, can’t afford to retain old family re lics.” And so, when aunt Leah was indulg ing in her afternoon nap, and Belle, the beauty of the family, was ironing ont the flounces of her white muslin dress for the morrow’s picnic, valiant Saidee climbed on a chair, took the unframed picture down (it was the head of some old Spanish grandee, with a stiff-pointed raft', and an evil leer in the eyes), wrap ped it up, and crept across the meadows with it to the village. Mr. Bruner was in his studio—a griz zle-headed, blunt old gentleman, in a belted linen blouse and a faded velvet cap. He nodded, kindly at Saidee, who had once taken a few lessons from him, but when she displayed the canvas he shook his head. * ’Howamuch do yen think it is worth ?’ asked Saidee wistfully. “Nothing 1” said Mr, Bruner. “But,” cried the girl, “it is a Velas quez 1” “That a Velasquez ?” said Mr. Bru ner contemptuously. “My dear, there isn’t a picture dealer in the country wbo would give five dollars for it. It’s an itnitation, and ft wretched one at that.” So Saidee tied np tne poor picture, and went home again, shedding a few tears as she walked under the whisper ing trees. “My last hope gone 1” she thought. “Bat I’ll not tell aunt Leah or Belle that it is an imposture. They have al- -vayg taken snob innocent pride m the Velasquez,” As sue came past the old brick house at the foot of the Locust Lane, a load of furmtare was being carried m, for it was the second week in May. Wicker Chairs, twined with blue rib bon, a cottage piano, eases cf books, engravings, bird-cages, plants—all sorts cf pretty things. Saidee paused and looked at them, not without interest. “I wonder who our new neighbors are to be ?” she thought. Just then out trotted a stout, cherry- cheeked old lady, with her cap all on one side, and a worsted shawl tied over hir shoulders. “Oh l” said she, “are you the young woman who disappointed us yesterday It cleaning ?” “No,” said Saidee, crimsoning to her r temple*f, a, dear, oh, dear I” said the old uoy ; “what is to become ns ? All the nimture coming in, and my daughter lame from falling off a step-ladder, and ' the girl gene, sod But,” with an eager look, “perhaps yon can recom mend some one to help os settle ?” *T am sorry to say that I cannot,” answered Saidee. And she vanished behind the lilac- hedge, rather amused at the mistake which the old lady had made. Belle was fall of news tDat evening. “Oh, Saidee,” she cried, “such a nice family is moving into the Locust House 1” “Yes,” said Saidee; “I saw the furniture carts at the door as T came back from the village this afternoon.” “Oh, the village 1” cried Belle, toos- ing her blonde head.’ “It’s strange, Saidee, how much time yon get to ran about and enjoy .yourself, while I am drudging at home. But there’s a young gentleman there—the handsomest man, Alice aik in s*yny”xnsr-8He ever saw— and Mr. Pyle knows him, and he is to be at the picnic to-morrow, to get ac quainted with the young people of the neighborhood. Won't it be delightful?’ “Very,” said Saidee indifferently. But while Belle was talking she had made up her mind what to do on the day of the May picnic. Early in the morning, while the flush of sunrise was still crimsoning the sky, and blonde Belle lay asleep with her yellow hair in crimpin^-pins, Saidee arose, dressed herself quietly, and slip ped out of tbe back door like a little gray shadow. At eight o’clock, aunt Leah rapped with her o&ne on the celling of her room, which was directly beneath the one occupied by her nieces. Belle made her appearance presently, in a faded calico wrapper, rubbing her eyes after a drow«v fasnion. "Where’s breakfast?’' saidauutLeah. ‘ Where’s Saidee ?” counter question ed Belle. “Oh, I know the selfish thing ! She has got up early and gone down into the woods to get some pink azaleas for her hair before the other girls thiak of it. Shewautslo astonish us all at the picnic. But I think she might have told me.” “I‘m afraid Saidee thinks more of herself than she does of us,” said aunt Leah sourly. And Btlle, iu a very ill-hnmor, began to prepare the breakfast—a task gener ally assumed by her eldest sister. While Saidee hurrying down the path by the swamp, took the short-cat across the clover-meadow, and was presently knocking at the door of the brick honse where the load of furniture had stood the day before. Tne old lady with the crooked cap and-cherry cheeks came to tbe door. “Have you yet engaged any one to help you get settled ?” said Saidee, blushing very prettily. “We can’t hear' of a soul 1” said the old lady. * Every one is engaged just now, and ” “If you thonght I could be of use,” faintly began Saidee. “Bless me, child I” said the old lady, “yon are too slight and small. Be sides,” looking closer at her, “yon are a lady,” “But I know how to clean honse for all that,” said Saidee valiantly. “I’ve done it every year at home. We are ladies, but we are not people of means. And I think yon will be suited with my work. It is neoessary that I should earn a little money, and ” “Come in, my dear 1” said the old lady—“come in and have a cup of coffee witn us. I am Mrs. Hart wick—and this is my daughter Kate.” “Saidee Lynn I” exclaimed the soft voice of a pretty young girl, lying with a sprained ankle on the sofa. Toher amazement, our heroine recog nized one of her schoolmates, Cather ine Hartwick, who had been m the same class with her, at boarding- school, two years ago. ' “But you sorelv never have come here to—work ?” said Kate in amaze ment. “Yes, I have 1” said brave Saidee. Why, is it auy less creditable to clean paint and wash windows than to play croquet or do Kensiugton stitches ? And my aunt Leah has lost all her little pro perty, and we are very, very poor ! Bo now you know all about it And when I have eaten my breakfast, if Mrs. Hartwick will give me a cleaning cloth and plenty of soft soap, I’ll show her what I can do 1” So that Misa Lynn was mounted on d step-ladder, polishing off an antique mirror, when Kate’s soft voice was heard saying - • “Oh, Harry ! is that you ? We sup-,, posed, of course, you were at the pic mo. Miss Lynn, this is my brother Harry. Harry, let me present you to Saidee Lynr, my dear old schoolmate, who has come here to help us dean honse.” Miss Lynn made as graceful a bow as she could tinder the ciiecmstaiioes, Mr. Harry Hartwick inclined hie head. “At the picnic, indeed t” he retorted merrily. “Not at all. I’ve been hu_ir ing high and low for some one to help you, and for lack of any success I have returned to do a little whitewashing myself. ” “Oh, have you ?” said Saidee. “I know such a nice recipe for kalaomine— as white as alabaster, and it won’t ran off at all.” “Let’s make it,” said Mr. Hartwick promptly. No picnic could ever have been more delightful than this day among dost, whitewash, scouring sand and brooms. Kate, on her sofa, hemmed curtains; Mr. Hartwick; bustl -d to and fro ; Sai dee with her curly nair tied np in a handkerchief, scoured paints, and Har ry whitened ceilings ; and at twilight they had three rooms in perfect order. “We have achieved*wonders,” said Kate, looking around at the neatly looked carpets—the soft, garnet plash hangings—the pictures on the walls— the crystal brightness of the windows— while Mrs. Hartwick took Saidee mys teriously on one side. “My dear,” said she, “I do not know how to thank yon sufficiently. Bnt I am almost ashamed to offer you ’’ “But I shall not be ashamed to take it,” said Saidee, smiling. “Why should I ? That is, if you really think I have earned it.” * “My dear, you have more than earned it” said the old lady ; “and if you could possibly come to-morrow ” “Of course I will come,” said Saidee. Weary a« she was, Saidee went arouud by the village, to buy some Young Hy son tea for the old lady before she re turned to the Oothio cottage. “Well,” she cried brightly, to her sister, “what sort of a day did yon have at the picnic ?'’ “Awfully stupid l” yawned Belle. “And the handsome yonug gentleman from Locust Lane didn’t come at alt/’ “Didn’t he ?”said Saidee. “And where have you been?” de manded Belle, in an injured tone. “Oh, spending the day with a neigh bor," said Saidee, with a laugh* . They finished tne honse-oleauiag that week. Mr. Harry. J&urtwiok found it neOOS- raiy, we may add, to walk home with Saidee the next evening, and he develo ped a remarkable talent in tbe amateur painting aud kalsomtning line before they got throngb. “Isn’t she pretty, Harry ?” said Kate, when at last they were settled comfor tably, and Saidee had gone home for good. “She is pretty ; “and she ’s brave, and she isn’t afraid of honest work ; and altogether she is my beau ideal of a girl.” “Mamma,” whispered Kate, laughing, af*er her brother had gone out, “I be lieve our Harry is in love with Saidee Lynn.” “I'm sure I don’t blame him,” said Mrs. Hartwick. “She is a little, jewel. ” Aunt Leah never knew where the Young Hyson tea came from nor the sponge cake, nor the white grapes, nor aii the little luxuries winch had cheered her of late ; nor did she suspect any thing nntil one day Harry Hartwick came to her, and formally asked her for her neioe's hand in marriage. “Well, I never 1” said aunt Leah. “Bat how did you ever become so well-acquainted with him, Saidee ?” questioned Belle, half pleased, half jea lous. “Because I cleaned house for his mother.” said Saidee, laughing. And then under solemn seal of secrecy, she told Belie all ; and Belle declared that it was too romantic for anything, never pausing to think that real life is as fall of romance as a summer meadow with butter-cups, ard that fortune comes to those only who go bravely out to seek fortone. Cremation. The craving for cremation is more gen eral than many people suppose. Those who entertain the dread of being buned alive will learn with interest of the report on the memorial which the communal administration of Brussels presented to the Belgian Chamber praying that crema tion should be rendered optional. The report of the Committee on the petition, which was adopted with unanimity, and m whose prayer the provincial Council of Brabant concurred, sets forth that at present cremation is not* sanctioned by the Belgian law. Italy, Germany, Switzer land and the United Stales have permitted cremation, and crematones have been es tablished at Milan, Padus, Cremona, Lodi, and V arese. At Milan, up to the end of 1881, 35.0 cremations had taken place, at a cost of $10 each. In 1799 Parisians were allowed the privilege of cremation on cer tain conditions, but the practice is now illegal in France, and a bill before the Cnamber permitting ev«ry citizen the liberty of being cremated after death has not yet passed into law. The Belgian re port enlarges on the great hygienic advan tages of cremation, and maintains that it wounds neither the sentiment of human dignity or the respect due to the mortal remains of our kmd. It gives to death a conception, if not more consoling, at least more serene and more elevated, not only in ridding death of tbe associations of cor ruption and putrefaction, but clao in sym bolizing the transformation of being in the besom of the purifying element, aud the mysterious disengagement of the spiritual principle. Tbe only objection, that cre mation would render impossible the detec tion of poisons by subsequent exhumation, it proposes to parry by forbidding all cre mation except by the express desire of the defunct, aud by providing that in all cases where there is suspicion cremation must be preceded by a post-mortem. Uraedy Miller** Feet*. Railway Accommodations. In these days when it is fashionable to complain of corporations as purely selfish, it is greatly to the credit of tbe Pennsylva nia Rsilroad Company, that it u constant ly furnishing increased facilities for the accommodation of the traveling public. Recently they have commenced running a through Pullman Sleeping Coach from Washington and Baltimore to Chicago on their Pacific Express, which leaves Wash ing every day in the year at 9 60 p. m„ and Baltimore 11.16 p. m. The arriving time at Chicago is 8.00 o’clock the second morning. The portion of the tram which starts from Washington joins at Harris burg with the section from New York and Philadelphia on which there is a hotel car. This arrangement gives passengers from Baltimore and Washington just the same eating fadlitief as enjoyed by those from New York, as tbe first meal en route is breakfast on the first morning, after the two sections have become one tram. On their West Jersey connection, also, they arranged for placing, since Februw / 19th, a through passenger car between New York and Jersey City as follows: Leave Brooklyn 12:80 noon; New York, 1:00 p. m., and arrive at Atlantic City (via Trenton and Oamuen) 6:47 p. m. Leave Atlantic City at 7:25 a m., arrive at New York, 11:40 noon; Brooklyn 12:30 noon. The car will not be ruu in either direction on Sundays. The latter will furnish not only desirabls facilities for the citizens of New York and northern New Jersey,hut will enable sum mer visitors to New York city on business to take a run down to the “City by the Sea” conveniently and in a few hours. “Talking about eating,” said a tall, thin,' hungry-looking man, easting a wistful look at a fat sandwich that George Kinbaok, the new County Treasurer o^Lackawanna, handed across the counter of his restaurant to a com mercial traveler, “reminds me of Greedy Miller, who lived on Dr. Thropp’a farm just outside the city, a few veai-a «tgn. If Miller was in these diggings now I’d back him for $5,000 to eat a brace of quuil t»ery day for 335 flays in snooes- sion, without interfering with his regu lar meals.” “Did you evor hear oferow he feasted at Billy Mahon’s hotef^&n Olyphant?” said Charlie Robinson, one of the pro prietors oi the Hyde Park Brewery, coming forward on hearing the name of the gtuuatorial hero. “Well,” proceeded Mr Robinson, “this was about six years ago, one pleasant day in the fall. Miller sent word to Mr. Mahon that he wo aid be at his hotel in the evening, with five friends, and he expected him to get np a sapper for six in his best style, in cluding celery and salads and plenty of oysters. Mahon did as directed, and a little before (he appointed time in walked Miller. “Is the supper ready?’’ he asked. ‘Quite ready,” was the reply. ‘Well, put it on the table,’ said Miller, ‘and spare nothing.’ Mr, Mahon thought it strange that none of the others made their appearauce, but Mil ler’s orders were always worth taking, and so he did not stop to question, bat went into the dining-room and set a splendid spread for six. Then he came ont and said to Miller: ‘Everything is ready. Where is vour comnany?’ ‘Rather disappointed,’ said Miller, 'they ain’t come yet, and it’s behind time already. I guess as 1 won’t wait any longer. Pm awfnl hungry. Mebbe they’ll come in before I get through.' The hotel-keeper was annoyed at the idea of the good things going to waste, but said nothing, and so Miller was tamed loose on the dining-room. In dne time he returned, and asked, ’How much is them six sappers?’ Mahon said he conld not expect him to pay for them all, as his company did not come, but Miller merely laughed, and said: *1 ate cm' all, why shouldn’t I pay?’ ‘I can’t believe you,’ said the host. ‘Well, go and see.’ He did, and to his surprise saw that the table had been cleared of all the eatables down to bread, butter, and pickles. ‘Did yon eat everything?’ •he asked Miller. ‘I did,’ was the reply. ‘It was all a joke of mine, Bayin’ I was to have company. I merely did it be cause 1 knew in that way I could get a little lunch, and so I did. How much is the reckoning?’ Aud he paid for the lot.” “I once did some printing for him,’’ said J. G. Coon, and he brought me half a dozen bottles of horseradish, an arti cle which he prided himself on putting np in snperb style at his farm. Of course I did not care for the stuff. So, having heard so much of Miller’s eating propensities. I told him to pnt the horse radish in his pocket, and we would go and have a lunch. He liked the idea, and we adjourned to a restaurant, where lie devonrod a ham and the biggest portion of the radish.” “That was nothiug,” said Treasorer Kinbaok. “The time Charley Sohadt kept on the corner, old Miller ate a whole barrel of oysters on a wager. That was the greatest feat 1 ever saw. Two gentlemen came in wito Miller. They had met him at a place down town, and they asked if I conld not serve a barrel of oysters on the half- shell for a gentleman s lunch. I said I would like to see a gentleman able to eat a barrel of oysters, and they said, Miller will do it.’ I had heard a good deal of Miller's power, but never before had such an opportunity to witnms his brilliant capacity. At first 1 doubted the genuineness of the wager, but tbe gentlemen were in earnest, and said it was all right, adding; T1 he eats all the oysters, we will pay for them; if he fails, he will pay for them himself.’ So I began upon the bivalves, and Miller took a seat near the lonoh-oounter, and appeared to be in the height of his en joyment. I know I' was very tired before I got through. The barrel con tained abont 700 oysters. Oh, be was the most famous eater tha 1 : ever lived.” Wl On adding a few drops of dilate sulpha. nc sold to a mixture of equal part* of gly cerine and distilled water, and then a lit tle alcohol, the presence of lime or lead will be shown by a white precipitate. The latter is recognized by sulphyd.fc acid, which turns the precipitate black, Vi X4Mt Day* of Dloaena. Mr. Merivale in a recent paper says; I have just taken up for the first time the memoir of Charles Dickens in Mr. Morley’s “Meq of LettersThe writer I suppose following Mr, Forster, de scribes Dickens as doing nothing but suffer in his last visit to town (1(70)— not able to go into society except to meet some very especial persons, and then not above the dining-room floor; and, Anally, as leaving London for Gad shill on the 30th of May, to be seen in town no more. On the 9ih of Jane he died. Mr. iuioUu, I flunk, pats this last appearance in London a day or two earlier, as the date of his own last dinner with Dickens, who then, according to him, left London, not to retain, in a state of profound depression, aftti din ing with Mr. Forster. ButMr. Forsttris thonght to have taken a rather iu bjeotive view of his famous friend; and no doubt thought that after himself nobody else can possibly have seen Dickens in Lon don. There is no need to surround a national loss and all its infinite sadness with a fictitious gloom. Will you allow me (with the consent of Mr. Dickens’ chil dren and from my first and last personal knowledge of him) to say that daring tne last weeks of May, 1870, I was at iiia nouse in nyue Bark place almost every day for some hoars, for the re hearsals of a play iu which the charac ters were taken by his two daughters. Mr. Hughes (brother of Mr. Thoim* Hughes, and once the very school-boy who wrote to Dickens to tell him what ought to be done with some of the characters in “Nicholas Nickle- by” and got back the delightful answer beginning “Respected Sir”), Mr. F. C, Grove and myself? Charles Dickens wader took the entire stage management.; and, though he was suffering from his lameness, directed sil the rehearsals with a boy’s spirit and a bo; 's interest fh his favorite art; coaching” np all with untiring kiudness, marking, his “prompt-book” as he marked his read ings, and acting all the parts con amore one after another^ passing from the “old man” to the “young lover” with all his famous versatility and power. The performance same off at Cromwell Honse (Mr. Freake’s) on the 2d ot J me. The later rehearsals took place there, and like the performanoe, on the drow- ing-rocm floor, under Dickens’ active persona] direction. On the night (a stifling on<«) he was behind the scenes as prompter and stage manager, ringing all the bells and working all the lights, and went through the whole thing with infeottons enjoyment I was gloomy about my part and do not forget asking trim in the morning as a last hope (as he seemed uncertain about its bearings himself) whether he thonght it was comic or serious, and the twinkle in his eye when he answered: “My dear boy, God alone knows. Play it whichever way - you feel at night” And I remem ber his enjoyment at the dilemma of one of our company who lost his per sonal clothes behind the scenes and had to slip away as best he might, without joining the company in front, in tbe white regimentals of an Austrian officer IroiB the eoetnmer’s point of view. This story, I may add, is quite confirmed by the second volume of his letters as edited by his daughter and sister-in- law. The last printed letter addressed to Mr. Bancroft refers to his visit to town, and the narrative which conaects the letter says: “On the 2d of J une he attended a private play at ttje house of Mr. and Mrs. Freaxe.” These letters were published in 1880, but appear to have been disregarded by the bio grapher of 1882. In a case of such general interest history should be set right in time. When Charles Dickens’ love of the stage is remembered, this story of his last days is surely as much happier and more touching as it is as suredly more true thau that which the biographer wants to inflict on os. Bio graphies are a fact of the day, and if this is their exactness abont great men recently lost, what &*e we to believe abont those of some centuries ago.” An Artntle Duel. There has been no small stii; in the musical circles of Germany over tbe quarrel between the Berlin violinist, Waldemar Mayer, and Ludwig Hart mann, the musical critic. Early in the present year the Berlin artist gave a concert in the Oewandhans at Leipzig, and was afterward invited to meet a literary and mnsical company, where the talk turned upon the critieiams of mnsic in the journals. “I know for a fact,” observed-Herr Mayer, “that all these musical critics are to be bought.” A student at the University stood np in great wrath and said that he conld name one against whom Heir Mayer dared not make a charge. “Who is he?” asked the musician. “Ludwig Hart mann, of 2\ sden,” replied the student. “Well,” reevtod the other, “if he will not take a briot. into his own hands he will receive one odirectly through his wife. If I wanted Hartmann to praise me in the press I should forward the honorarinm for the favorable criticism of Fran Hartmann.” On the next day Mayer gave a concert at Dresden, and leoeived an invitation to visit Hartmann after the oonoert. To his astonishment, rather than his pleasure, he was no sooner ushered into Fran Hartmann’s saloon than he saw the young student from Leipzig, as well as his hoetess, confronting him. The lady asked him if he would be good enough to repeat to hei what he had said in society at Leip zig. A« he hesitated to do this, Frau Hartmaan struck him across the face with a riding whip and he received a second blow on the back of uis head as he wjs hurrying ont of the room. He went straight to his hotel aud wrote a challenge to Ludwig Hartmaan, winch the critic naturally enough refused to accept. Mayer had already fired his shot at Hartmaan, behind his back, in Leipzig, and Hartmann conceived that his wife had saved him the trouble of firing any shot in return. The duel wi commenced by the musician himself, who had got the wont of it, but the critic did not see that this was any rea- ' son for fighting a second battlo. The Syracuse salt fields of N. Y„ were known to the Indians at a very early period, but Father Lalemantis believed to be the first white man who visited them. - About 1770 Onondaga salt was in common use among the Delawares, and was carried to Quebec for sale. The first made by the whites was in 1788, near Syracuse, by boiling. The nahnaa to ♦h*: Strt-r, which toe brine to manufacturers and receives a royalty of one cent a bushel. Six cents was formerly charged, and the State thus derived a large revenue, but in 1846 the tax was reduced to the present amount, which suffices to pay the ex- pliSe- of pumping^mipeiinten^wace, *** etc. The production has reached the maximum of over 9,000,000 bushels iu a single »ear at Syracuse, The new fields at Warsaw and Le R jy promise to exceed all others in parity, strength of brine and cheapness of production. Tue salt deposit at Warsaw was discov ered, we believe, while boring for petro leum. It is a line deposit of rook salt, lying at a depth of several hundred feet, ana of great purity. The manufacture of salt has already been commenced, and both at Warsaw and Le Roy, it will be rapidly developed and extensive ly manufactured. It is expected that millions of bushels annually will be produced affording a source of supply for the eutire country as veil as a large amount for export. On account of the strength and parity of the brine, salt can be produced in these Western New York districts at a cost which will ena ble the manufacturers to successfully compete with all the world. Already the excitement is at a high piteh, and the material benefits to this entire region, especially to the railroad interest, grow ing out of these discoveries in Genesee and Wyoming counties, most of neces sity be in the greatest degree gratifying and adv: ntageous. A Lon* B.by* Vayage, Though bad enough in American cities, the life of the children of thu streets here is nothing to what it is in Europe. One has only to turn to the pages iu Mayhew’s “London Labor” to find in the accounts given by the children themselves, the ex treme haidship of their Jives. A little watercress seller, eight years old, with ns childish ways or thoughts, and with wrinkles in her face where the dimples ought to be. may ho ‘**“" an example ot the Bufferings of the very young, not only then, but in countless cases now. She sold watercresses at the rate of four bunches for a penny, making a profit of four-pence a day. She had a home, and in this degree was in advance oL many others <?.! her class. Bat th#Be vffircher ish children of eight years in brighter homes can best understand the terrible hardships implied in this poor little trader's account of herself. The water- cresses had to be bought at Farringdon Uarket before six o’clock in the morning, and from six o’clock till ten, she traversed tbe streets to sell them, before tasting food. What simple eloquence of poverty is in a few of her answers to the questions asked by the compiler of the book 1 ‘It’s very cold,’ she replied, ‘before winter comes on reg’lar—specially getting up of a morning. 1 get up in tbe dark, by the light of the lamp in court. When the suow is on the ground, there’s no “cresses. ” I bears the cold—you must; so 1 puts my hands under my shawl, though it hurts ’em to take hold of the ertsees, especially when we takes ’em to the pump to wash ’em. No, I never see any children crying —it's no use.’ The vast number ot newspaper-boys and flower-girls earn less than sixpence a day, in return for which poor wages the little traders wander (ill late at night in the great public school of anything but high influence or good example. The stand- keepers look upon them as rivals; they say tbe children, as sellers, prevents others living, and ruins theirselves; and at least one hail of the jealous remarks is too often sadly true. Large numbers of them have no settled dwelling, or the worst substitute for a home. Many take their meals w the streets, buying a ‘penn ’orth of pudding’ as a sustaining dinner; and the homeless, or those that are afraid to go home with stock unsold, find a retuge in crowded lodging houses, or hide in stairs or markets, or lie in some corner under a dry arch. . Other children who live and have their being in the streets are of a still poorer and more numerous class, though some of them are included in the class of free traders. They buy in the markets and sell at the corners; but they more fre quently live by their wits, dishonestly or honestly, and doing odd jobs, such as holding a hone or carrying a parcel. Joe, in “Bleak House,” forms the typi cal representative of the whole class, or at least of the hundreds that, in reference to the rest of humanity, are more sinned against than sinning, even m that untaught struggle for existence. Joe is a living por trait ; there is not a touch of exaggeration aboig it; and some there are who hold that the bay crossing -sweeper, with his whole life and character dashed in by a few touches, is the tmest character-drawing the novelist ever did, and as noble preach< ing for humanity’s sake as was ever found in a popular Action. Joe’s Ignorance is extreme, but not without a glimmering, that faintly brightens and goes out. His mind is.a blank ; but he has a conscience —God made him, and man neglected him. He is described in half a dozen words; we all have* seen him—“very muddy, very hoarse, very ragged.” He can say for himself that he never got into trouble, “ 'cept not knowin’ nut dm’ aud starwa- non. ” He knows that a broom is a broon , and that a lie is bad; and when he is re quested to tell tbe truth, he has a forcible formula; “Wishermay die it 1 don’t sir 1” There is one jewel in him, among the mud, the hoarseness and the rags—one diamond. He has a heart; he has grati tude, “He wuz very good to me, he wuz 1’* cries poor Joe against his ragged sleeve, when the man who had said kind words to him, the nameless, friendless man, is “stitched ’—dead. That part of tbe portrait may, be disbelieved, but only for want of knowledge of tbe poor. It there is no warmth of feeling, no faithful ness, no gratitude, It Is because there has been no sympathy. “uotalde of u.e Huun*.’* “Suppose,” began a little red-headed man with a wild look in his eye as he halted a policeman on Porter street the other day—‘•suppose my mother-in-law drops down upon me in October and re mains right along until now, occupying the best room, fretting at the children, putting my wife up to be cranky, and greeting mc daily with such epithets as brute, hyena and miser?” “Yes, suppose she does?” “Suppose that 1 finally cease to endure and bounce her out. Can she have me arrested ?” “If you assault her she can.” “Would I be fined over $10?” “1 think not—not for cany ing her out doors in your anna.” “Thanks. Between this and 4 o’clock some one will get bounced. In other words, 1 shall pass the Rubicon. At 10 o’clock that night the same officer found the man in a drunken sleep in a lum ber yard four blocks from his house. As he hauled him out into tne light he found one eye closed, his face scratched, his collar torn off and his vest so split up the back that it would button twice around bun. “Here—wake up—wake upl you are drunk 1” shouted the officer, “Vesh, shome drunk,” was tbe thick reply. “You are the man who was going to bounce las mother-in-law ?” “kes, shame man—shame man.” “Wei' where did ahe go?” ‘ Where’d ahe go f On, yes, I ’member now. Bhay ?” “Yea.’' “When er man bounces Ins mother-in- law which of ’em goes?” “She does, of coarse.” “Then (hie) then it theems that (bic) sowobody La* made thumping big mi*take t’r I’m the party let’ on outside ci a’honael” ; ^ ' V , ^ The persistence of the -magnetic proper* A TO ? lia mUi ™ tyoheerved in certain trees is attributed by mamed boirowed money of his ^tended M, Laroque to the transportation by light mother-in-law to purnhaee * ”*» Ding of small partmiea of iron held in sue- and naed it to marry the daughter o* pension with other matter, which makes another woman. It is needless to state up what is known ss the dust of the air, ‘ that he was an Ohio After the fearful deluge occurred at the Cut-off a man named John Olazer was rowing around in a light bbat, pick ing up what had floated from the homes of the unfortunates, when his attention was attracted to a strange-looking ob ject bobbing up aud down ontbewavee, some distance out, and having the appearance of a miniature honse. Impelled more by a sense of curiosity than anything else he rowed across to head the object off, and to his astonish ment discovered that it was an old-fash ion baby cradle setting upright in the water. A few vigorous sto kes of the oar drew him alongside of the floater and catching it by the edge he pulled it in toward the boat Great as his sur. prise had been, it was doubly so when his eyes fell upon the form of an infant, apparently several weeks old, cuddled up among the blankets, from which it peeped out with eyes dilated by aston ishment and fear. The little stranger was carefully lifted from his uncertain bed and placed in the skiff, the cradle which had sheltered it.it being forgotten in the excitement and left to pursue its lonely jour .ey toward the Father of Waters. The child was comfortably dressed in swaddling cloths, having a long flannel gown wrapped about his little shape. It had evidently been born of “poor but respectable” parents, but as to who they were or where they lived not the slightest clew oould be tonnd. Tbe baby was taken home by Mr. Olazer and comfortably provided tor, where it will be kept till its parents claim it. The snppooition is that the little stranger floated down from thia city, its home being swept away by the creaking of the dam at the Cut-off. it will be remembered that a cradle con taining an intuit was seen to float past Olay street early in the evening of the day following, and, although efforts were made to capture it, they proved fruitless. Meanwhile the littla Moses will remain at his new-tound home until the proper owners claim him. Hone. Breaking In Japan. Hokusai was never weary of studying horses and their fanny ways, and of all creatures Japanese Jiorsee are the most amusing. These nags, which wear laced-np shoes of straw, drink out of a dipper, take hip baths of hot-water, and stand in the stable with their months tied np higher than their ears, are broken in to the paek or saddle in a very rough way. In Hokusai’s days, horses were neyer harnessed to wagons, nor did they draw anything. The ponies were usually “broken in” in tha large open yards attached to temples. Fires, also, are usually kindled, and the oolts are driven close to them, so that they may become accustomed to such a common sight. The method of break ing them in was as follows:—Tlie young horse was duly harnessed, and a mail on each side held a bridal to jerk him to the right or left, while another mag in the rear beat him with a bamboo stick, keeping well away from his hoofs. Twelve or more men and boys then took hold of the long ropes or traces, and a lively shouting began. The hone plunged and galloped off, expecting to get rid of the noisy crew, but soon found that this was no easy task. It was a twelve man power that made him go here and there, fast or slow, occa sionally stopping him short and giving him a tumble. When utterly exhausted, his tormentors led him back to the sta ble. After a few such trials, the pah? was considered broken. Snob crude training, though fun for the men, rains the hones, making them bard-mouthed and vicious with both beds aud - .'VVM*:' ‘ifi mmmt •' ■