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.

L- ' s r -k. v J"'- ■ ' i* hT- y r- \ . . t/> nl' ■ Sss ki TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. C.. MAY 8, 1883. ESTABLISHED 1848 A LULLABY. Sleep, my child! the shadows fall; Silent darkness reigns o’er all; Bird and bloom are lost to sight In the folded arms of nieht; ^will soon from clc While white silks and blue merinos, but there was no look or feature in all the gay assemblage which might suggest the French Marquise, and (JhMfagjfl/jt,.™» h : in hiuiselfNignwd vanities, all is ’rom cfoud-towers peeg, gopher of old, ‘Vanity of lies asleep. * vanity 1’ ‘I wish I had stayed at 1 Breathe thou softly! Rest is sweet For tired hearts and aching feet; No dull care nor toil is thine— Nor sin, thou blessed child of mine; Tranquil on thy soft couch rest, With dreams of heaven in thy breast. Buds are sleeping, close thine eyes. Waken with a soft surprise; Greet the morning with thy smile, And sweet prattle without guile, Scents lie slumbering in the flowers; Slumber till the daylight hours. Sleep! Thy Father guards thy rest; Lay thy head upon his breast; Safer than these arms which hold thee, His dear love will Arm enfold thee, Higher love than mine shall He Give, beloved one, to thee! Sleep! The waves have long been sleeping; Angels o’er thee watch are keeping; O’er us both the pale stars a kino With a radiance half divine. Slumber, innocent and light, Fal’ from heaven on thee to-night. HAUNTED BY A FACE. Only one glimpse of it was all that Julian Chest wick caught in the swaying crowd that filled the rooms on the night of Mrs. Pelgrove’s masquerade ball, yet it struck on his consciousness like a new sensation, a revelation of untried capacities and possibilities within his heart. Julian Chestwick had always laughed at the idea of love. ’There is no subh thing,’ he said, ‘Love forsooth! People marry because its a mutual convenience, an established custom!’ But when he saw the case at Mrs. Pelgrove’s masquerade ball, he furled his banners and sent in his letters of capitulation to the little blind God with the bow and arrows. Julian Chestwick in spite of the theories of a lifetime, fell in love with a Marquise of the time of Louis the Fourteenth, with big black eyes, a pale oval face, and a mouth whose sweet archness corresponded not illy with powdered jetty locks, patches, and dainty high heeled boots. It came and went like a shadow—the bewitching face—and Julian Chestwick hastened to his hostess with a heart that throbbed and cheeks aflame with the fevered quest: ‘Tell me, Mrs. Pelgreve, who is the Marquise in the velvet tramed dress and the red heeled boots and the diamond stomacher?’ Mrs. Pelsgrove stared. ‘My dear Mr. Chestwick, there are at least half a dozen Marquises here.’ Julian bit his lip. To him, there was but one in all the world. He haunted the rooms like an unquiet spirit all the evening, until people began to believe tliat the Hungarian Prince, vith the tawny moustache and the velvet blue eyes was an ubiquity; but. the face shone upon him no more. ‘So you won’t marry Miss Pearlfleld?’ quoth his uncle, a choleric old gentle man who was particularly fond of two things in this world—nutty-flavored port, and his own w ay. ‘No, sir,’ said Julian recklessly. ‘And what the—the deuce is the rea son?’ ‘Because I love somebody else.’ ‘Who?’ Julian looked awkward; he could not very well say, ‘a face,’ nor yet could he describe the quaint loveliness of the days of Louis Quatorze. So he said nothing at all; and in consequence there of his uncle went home in a passion and altered his will Miss Pearlfleld married somebody else, and Julian Chestwick worshiped at the wdsh I had stayed at home,’ thought our self-absorbed hero. But Lucia Dallas took him in hand and made him talk, whether he was willing or no. ‘It’s all nonsense about your being a Diognes,’ said the sprightly young lady. ‘Where’s your tub and your lantern?’ ‘They’re coming down by the next train,’ said Chestwick, with the utmost gravity. ‘Well, then, until they come, I shall make the most of you,’ said Lucia, nodding her curls. ‘Do you dance?’ ‘No.’ ‘Do you sing?’ ‘No’ ‘Do you flirt?’ ‘No.’ ‘My goodness gracious!’ said Miss Dallas, putting the tips of her plump fingers together; ‘what do you do?’ ‘That’s precisely what you must find out for yourself.’ Lucia looked at him meditatively. ‘Are you fond of pictures?’ ‘Yes. Did you bring your album?’ ‘No; I was thinking of the old picture, gallery up stairs. Only imagine it—the portraits of the Pakenham ancestry for two hundred years back!’ ‘They must look awfully ancient!’ ‘Oh, they do. I’ll show them to you to-morrow. Lucia Dallas kept her word. She was not one lightly to let off a captive knight, consequently Julian’s pleas of ‘letters to w r rite’ met with no considera tion in her eyes. ‘At all events,’ thought Julian, as the spicy little damsel dragged him off, ‘I’m glad it isn’t leap-year!’ The Pakenham picture gallery, how r - ever, was, well worth seeing. A long, lofty room, lighted by a dome of glass, its walls lined with portraits, it remind ed one of the same old baronial hall in England. Julian Chestwick looked dreamily round, and shuddered a little. ‘I prefer the future to the past,’ said he briefly. And then turning his eye fell upon a pictured face which thrilled him through and through. A dimpled, smiling face, with black eyes wliich seemed to melt and glow, even against the opaqueness of the meaningless canvas, a mouth full of arch expression, and a dress of the time of Louis Quatorze. Julian Chest wick stood staring as if he had seen a ghost. • ‘Field,’ he said, turning to his host, with features as pale as if they had been carved in ivory, ‘who is that lady? ‘Who teas she, you mean,’ laughed Field Pakenham. Why, you know she’s been dead these two hundred years or morel’ Julian Chestwidk felt an odd, icy tremble through his veins. Was he then in love with a ghost? He remem bered the vow he had registered in his secret heart to wed none but the Mar quise whose fair face had haunted him so long. Could it be possible that this shadow should rise from the grave of centuries to claim his vow?’ It is Marie de Itoudise, of Normandy, France, afterwards married to Gerald Pakenham, who. died ii^ Jerusalem tw r o years after’•her marriage—my great, great grandmother—and a very good- looking woman too,’ added Field, rather irreverently. Julian Chestwick listened silently. He was not superstitioqg, yet there was something in all this that he regarded almost as an omen. Lucia Dallas’ gay chatter had lost all interest for him now. The jewelled finger of the beautiful Marie de Itoubise seemed to beckon said Julian earnestly. And then he 1old her how, when and where he had first fallen iu love with her! ‘And^Ym. have feally loved me all his time?’ she asked. ‘Yes, I have!’ Dear me—I didn’t know there was so much constancy in man!’ ‘Man is too often a misjudged indiv idual,’ said Julian sententiously. Nor was he altogether in the wrong. With the Lion Tamer. Lalla Rookli is seventy-five years old and Sampson over 100,” said George Conklin, the lion tamer, recently, “ Jim, tie ’em loose and we’ll take ’em into the ring and show how to break elephants. Lalla Rookh only came back to me three weeks ago, and she’s a little cranky from the accident which happened tothe Kir- alfy show. You remember that about a month ago there was a collision in which four train men lost their lives, and Lalla had her head projected through a freight car, which blow knocked her silly, but she will soon be all right, I guess. That tackling there I use to teach them to stand on their heads. I make Tom lie down and my assistants hitch that chain and pulley to his hind legs, after which another elephant is put in harness and hauls Tom’s feet up into the air and makes him balance on his head. All the elephants shed their milk teeth when about twelve years old. Here’s one tliat Lizzie cast about t wo weeks ago. Samp son is a heavier elephant than Jumbo, but not quite as tall. He is, however, the largest Asiatic elephant in America to-day. I come of a circus stock. My brother, Pete Conklin, is a clown, John is a Hercules, or cannon ball manipula tor, and my father was a tamer of wild beasts.” “Is your life insured.” “No; the agents never bother me, and those to whom I have applied for insurance, refer me to the company, who invariably decline the risk. Bitten? Oh, yes; I’m scarred all over, but I am not maimed as you see. I got the tryo lion cubs up here all right the other day, and shall begin to perform them as soon as possible, but I’m afraid that fellow with his eye partially scratched out ain’t going to make much of a trick lion. I put him in there with those two old lions yesterday after putting a collar and chain on him, and you oughter seen the wool fly for ten minutes, but he got enough and is quieter now.” Mr. Conklin then opened the door of the den and entered, after jokingly invi ting the reporter to join him. He per formed the older lions, placing his head In their mouths, but the green fellow who left England but three weeks ago would accept none of his overtures, and growled ominously. “ Can a zebra be broken to tricks?” “Ye», but -we don’t 4o it because the people could not be made to believe other than that it was a painted trick mule. Ostriches can be broken, and Bamum will have boys ride them around the ring for races. The rhinoceros, which lost its horn a few weeks ago, is sporting an other, you see. I’m going to teach that hippopotamus to stand on a pedestal and dance, but he’s good now for nothing but showing his lungs through that big jaw of his. The most interesting ani mal here is that kangaroo, wliich lias a daughter six months old that she carries in her pouch yet. Look down in there and you’ll see the young one’s head stick ing out, and the little eyes looking shyly at you. The baby kangaroo will stay in the pouch for two months longer—funny, ain’t it? I lost my sea lion a few weeks ago; it committed suicide by drowning." “How?” “Laid down on the platform and put its head in the water until it died; you see it had heart disease and was very weary of life. Sea lions are often afflict ed with heart disease.” Fanie Among Cattle. Last fall, a Urge herd of big steers for market were being driven across the country from Musselshell to Bil lings, on the Northern Pacific railroad, where they were to he shipped on the cafla for Chicago. There were about 2,000 head, I should judge, the prop erty of a Mr. De Hass, a very young man. One evening a military camp had been made just ahead of the cattle, and on the same side of the creek with them, up which the herd was beini driven. A storm was coming np, am and the cattle exhibited some signs of uneasiness. Mr. De Hass sent word to. Vest Pocket Dynamite. the military ofitanr that he had better get his men, wefnns and animals on the opposite side JA the creek »nd ont of the way, as he feared there was going to be a “night run,” The herders were instructed to keep their horses saddled and be ready to mount at a moment’s notice. The cattle were very uneasy, getting up, lying down again, and s nil ting about. At last, about midnight, there came a sharp flash of lightning, followed by a heavy peal of thunder, and in an in stant the whole herd were upon their feet. “Mount and whip out!” cried De Hass, and the herder who was at the head of the column drove off a few of the leading steers in the direction they were to go. All the others followed, ana the herd was soon in full flight. The herders made no effort to check or control thorn further th^a to keep them going straight; they rode at the head of the oolumn, one on each side of them swung to the right or left to keep the trail; blnffs and precipioee were avoided, and the open flat ground courted. The ran lasted about two hours, when a gorge was being neared, in which the cattle would crowd and break their limbs. They were now quite tired, and the herders determined to exen their anthority and stop the ran. The head of the oolumn was bent out on ine prairie, and circled round and round until the cattle became tied np m a huge ball and could not move at all. In this way they were obliged to stand until mormug, the herders riding round and round them, and keeping them completely tied up. At daylight, they were obliged to “open out.” First, the outer edge scattered, tnen layer after layer, until the large pile of beef was a herd grazing as quietly as if nothing had happened. The 8t. Bernard Dogs of Rome. shrine of the oval face, contented with arched, jetty brows to con its remembered smiles as they haunted | f rowu i n giy # ‘You are mine,’the dimpled lips seemed to syllable, and the if- i its remembered smiles as his dream. ‘I shall see her some day,’ he told! himself, ‘and until then I will wait | patiently. He haunted the galleries of photo graphic artists—be pored over the albums of the various friends and ac quaintances—he stalked up and down the sunny side of Broadway at times when the tides of fashionable promenade inundated it most overwhelmingly, staring persistently into every feminine face that passed—but all in vain. ‘I shall see her,’ he kept repeating, ‘if I only bide my time!’ When Mr. Field Pakenham invited him down to a Christmas party at Pakenham Court, aii old-fashioned place with wide-throated chimneys and groves of holly and laurel and nodding ever greens, Julian Chestwick hesitated. New York was a great human beehive; in New York his chances of realizing the dream of his life-time were as five to one, compared with any other place, and yet Julian Chestwick was too good a chess-player not to comprehend that the tide of luck needs a change now and then.® ‘You’d better come,’ said Field Pak enliam, ‘we shall have no end of larks!’ ‘Shall you have a large party?’ asked Chestwick, with a sort of lanquid inter- 6St> ‘Twenty or thirty,’ answered Paken ham ‘Lots of pretty girls.’ ‘It will be such a bore?’ ‘No, it won’t.’ ‘AH right, tlien; I’ll come.’ ‘But when?’ demanded Pakenham, who, having been ordered by his sisters to ‘be sure and secure that liandsome Ir. Chestwick,’ was naturally desirous i clinch the nail of assent. ‘N et me see. Ciyristmas is on Friday. ^ ft oome down. the Court Thursday ftenioon.’ ‘All right,’ said Pakenham; ‘and mind you fail us, we’ll have you hung, rwu and quartered? Why, man alive, here are fifteen girls coming, and if I on’t get some musculine help I haven’t idea wiiat is to become of me!’ ‘Don’t get discouraged old fellow,’ Julian cheerily; ‘I’ll stand by youl’ Pakenham wrung his friend’s hand ad went on his way rejoicing! Mr-Chestwick’s eye roved skom face i face, as he took his seat at the long "Bant, table in the antique old dining- orn, oak-panneled and low ceiled, at teuliam Court. There were blondes l brunettes, and blue eyes and gray, throat and dimpled Moulders, New Ways of Ourlna Consumption. haunting eyes, full of strange meaning, filled his heart with a vague dread. Had it then been a ghost whose beau ty had gleamed on him once, at Mrs. Pelgrove’s masquerade ball? And was it possible for men to look on the face of a woman who had been dead two hun dred years, and yet live? He followed the gay party down stairs, comprehending nothing of what went on around him—walking like one in a dream. ‘Marguerita has come,’ he heal'd Mrs. Pakenham say to her son. ‘Was it not lucky? We had just given her up.’ ‘The more the merrier,’ said Field, philosophically. Mr. Chestwick had taken his seat at 'dinner in a mechanical sort of a way. when a young lady glided into the seat opposite him—a young lady in a black velvet waist and a diamond necklace. ‘Merciful fate!’ he ejaculated, half starting from his place—‘Marie de Rou- dise!’ ‘Hold your tongue,’ whispered Field, dragging him back into the chair; ‘it’s only my cousin Marguerita Leslie. Stop staring, and let me introduce you like a Christian.’ And as Field Pakenham spoke their names to each other, Julian Chestwick found himself looking directly into the lovely dark eyes of the radient Marquise of the days of Louis Quatorze. ‘I never thought of it before,’ said Fieid Pakenbam; ‘but she does look like the portrait of our French ancestress.’ T dressed like it for a masquerade ball in New York last winter,’ laughed Marguerita herself, ‘and you would have fancied I had just stepped out of the frame.’ ‘Before you went to Havana?’ asked one of the Mira Pakenhams.’ ‘Yes, beiote I went to'SSLYSYA.’ ‘The riddle was solved at last. Juliaii Chestwick’s heart grew light as a feath er within his breast, and life became a possibility of brightness once more! ‘I’ll marry that girl,’ said Julian to himself, ‘or I’ll die a bachelor!’ You see our friend hadn’t cured him self of the habit of rash vows even yet. But he kept this one. When he went away from Pakenham "Court, Marguer ita Leslie had promised to become his wife. ‘It’sa very short acquaintance though, ’ observed Miss Leslie, with a demure shake of her diamond ear-drops. > ‘No, it isn’t; it’s a very long oaa,’ •‘Going to the Bali. A good story is told of a well-known Boston physician who was much puzzled to know how to treat consumption. Learning that the disease was unknown among the lumbermen of Maine, he instituted an inquiry as to diet and habits of the wood-choppers. To his surprise he found that their chief diet was salt pork, and their principal drink was whisky, whereupon he prescribed pork and whisky for his Boston consumptive patients, not however, with happy re sults. The real secret of the immunity of the lumberman was that he lived in the pine woods and had abundant exer cise in the open air. Two Paris physi cians MM. de Bore and Beaumetz, have invented a system of treating consump tion which is said to be quite successful. It consists in a practice styled super- alimentation, which is not only over- fceding but forced feeding by means of pumps and other appliances. It is found that patients who can not retain food In their stomachs in the ordmary way are not inconvenienced when literally im mense quantities of food are introduced into the system by a pump. The diet is a composition of minced lean meat, which is dried and then pounded into a powder. It is then mixed with milk or bouillon, and sometimes raw eggs are added. This is found to be highly nu tritious and easily digested, and has proved efficacious in hysteria and other wasting diseases as in consumption, for which it was first devised. The first dose given is not more than twenty-five grammes per meal, but the quantity is gradually and rapidly increased until the large portion of six hundred grammes is daily given, which is equivalent to about four pounds of lean meat. How large this quantity really is shown by the fact that one pound of meat is quite sufficient for an ordinary working man, and two litres of milk and several eggs are re- in $?. ^inistration of the dose. The report is tliat the consumptives, if not too far gone, have rapidly gained in weight under this process, their daily average increase having ranged from eighty to one hundred grammes. The cough is less frequent, and the lungs A New York letter says: l remember, a good many years ago, whan one * « city was to give a fancy ball, that I was at Bryant’s Minstrels, when Dan Bryant and Nelse Seymour discussed their costumes and their probable reception at the great event. “What shall yon go as?” asked the middle-man of Seymour, who was about the size of seventy - four inches of gas-pipe. Weil,” said Nelse, “I was thinking of braiding my legs and goiug as f coach whip.” “Chalk your head and go for a bil Hard one,” put in Dan. “I suppose yon are going to the ball yourself?” said the interlocutor to Dan. “To be sure I am,” responded Dan; “I am going to put some red pepper on my brow, carry a piece of lemon in one hand ana a cracker in the other. “I’m going as a raw oyster.” Now, aii this chaff was extempora neous “patter.” The ball was a local topic, and every night for some time the house screamed at the new funni- ments perpetrated by those lost favor ites. In the new piece called “A Muddy Day,” by Harrigan and Hart, there an Arion summer-night festival, to which all the actors and simmers and public people go in procession. The heads and masks are periect, and the andienoe will roar as John McCullough escorts Billy Birch and Lawrence Barrett brings on F. T. Bamum. Harrigan, who is always tianking ont new “jingles” or “wheeaea” as he terms them in his peculiar phraseology wants to introduce into the procession, towards its dose, a few ban of “Anlc Lang ttyue,” and the dearly loved forms, vise nnfcugotten faces of the mighty d. ac —Edwin Forrest, Charles Fete her, Don Bryant, the big, bulgy-eyed head George Uhriaty. Why, the house would rise to receive the cherished semblance of George Fox. I can imagine no greater sensation than this transition from gay to grave would make, for New York holds warm and fresh in its heart the memory of those bright spirits who contributed so largely to its happiness, and who have never been displaced by eqnal ability in other actors. Prior to his departure for Europe, about a week ago, to attend the coming coronation of the Czar, Professor Mezz- roff had a long conversation in his lab oratory with a reporter, in which he explained to him the wonders and beant- ies of science aa illustrated in the de structive power of some of his recent inventions. “The progress of invention in this department of science, said the great dynamitist, “has been so rapid that it is diffionlt to know where to begin, hut if there is any special point that yon wish to ‘snggest, I am prepared to give you the desired information, saiMitific- ally, of course.” “I should like to be more fully inform ed about your new ‘No. 60,’ which dy- namitists have so frequently referred to?” “That is tri-nitro-glyoerine with fifty times the power of gnnpowier. It explodes at the rate of 300,000 miles a minute. To get n more comprehensive idea of its power or momentum, suppose yon take 100 pounds of it The mom entum of this, which is found by multi plying the weight by the velocity, will be found to be 20,000,000; that is to say, 100 pounds when exploded has the same force that 20,000,000 pounds of any other material would have moving at the rate of a mile a minute; that is as quick as a fast express train. Just im agine the execution this enormous mass of rock, say, would do moving through the air at that rate and coming in collis ion with any ordinary object? such as a house or a fortress. Then you will have some idea of the latent power that dwells in 100 pounds of tri-mtro-glyoer- ne.” “And this, yon say, can be handled in any quantity, large or small, without riak. Will you explain how this is?” “I shall, in so far as I can do so with out giving away the secret. The e plo sive is perfectly harmless, or, paradoxi cal aa it may aeem, it is non-explosive until another substance is brought in contact with ib” - „ “What is that sabstanoe?” “That is just the part tnat can’t be given for publication, and that, as yon are aware, is the qaalitity that gives it value as a secret. ’ “Gan it be applied without danger or sospioion?” "It can. Tnis is the beauty of it, You can carry it in your vest u xsket, and if it should be found with you, nobody would suspect what purpose it was for, and it would not injure a fly until it is brought in contact with the other compound, which is also harmless when alone.” ia .a!aAovtaAral AftwasoA a# tri-nitro-glyoerine being so enormously powerful f “The chief reason is that it contains oxygen within each molecule. This renders its combustible force quick aud irresistible making the explosion in stantaneous.” “How did yon make the discovery for exploding so readily ? r " “As all great discoveries have been made—while trying to find out some thing else, I discovered it in Germany a few years ago, while working at some ei penments on Bunsen’s lamp. Through the substance was in a very diluted form, 1 had a very narrow escape from a fatal blow in the first accidental exper iment. I saw its power again tried at Plevna on a pretty large scale, with terrific effect, where the gallant Bkob- eleff barely eaoaped with his life. On that occasion 1 saw dynamite that was supplied by the henchmen of DisraeU treebr used by the Turks.” “What object have you in view in the manufacture of this infernal compound, as the newspaper term it?” “My first great object is nnmanitarian. I am convinced that it will eventually destroy the art of war, and that nothing else will do. What have all the peace congresses amounted to "since the move ment began? Do yon think the rnling powers of Europe have any faith in per manent peace? Yon Moltke, whom . take to be a pretty fair exponent of the minds of the governing classes in Eur ope,” said Mezzroff, “I think, has ex pressed the prevailing notion in those circles in a letter to my friend, Professor Blnutsohli. He says: ‘Eternal peace is a dream, aud not even a beautiful dream. War is an element of the order of thii established by God. The most noble virtues of man develop themselves in it courage aud self-abnegation; faithfnl performance of one's duty aud the spirit of devotion; the soldier offers his life. Without war the world wooid begin In Rome there is as fine a collection of four-legged dogs as can be found in any city of Europe A certain tourist said he wooid “rather he a specimen of the canine family in Rome than the Mayor of Birmingham!” Chacvn a ton gout. It is proposed to have a dog show in Rome! Well, we have had worse shows. Bnt we are pleased that the St Bernard dog is to have a local habitation and a name in it There is hut one place where we know the simon pure St Bernard. This is the Ganton Vaud. V 0 The raee of this fine dog is^espt vig orous and pore there, thongh all through out the canton we have noticed a number of these animals which evidently have strains of other blood. In fact, except ing from the St Bernard Monastry, it self, the Valaisians say yon can not procure a thoroughbred dog, and not always even there. Their peculiar mining fur the assistance of wayfarers begins, of course, only on the mountains, and it was from the Monastery on the St. Bernard that the Prince of Wales obtained, when passing there, the fine canine apeoimans which are the orna ments of his kingly kennel at Sandring- tun. These dogs are fed three times a day with vegetable and animal food. The Ghrisiian dog there, oortrary to some ‘ 'dogs of Christians” elsewhere, observes the monastic regime, and is united on fast days and days of abstin ence in his food. Next to London joint stock companies we never saw canine creatures with so much “limited liabil ity.” There are about 200 dogs held there in training orders for the final les sons in humanitarian seeking and find ing on tit. Bernard’s bleak top. These dogs have most attractive names, and respond to them as intelligently as a corporal’s guard on roll-call. A sort of stud-book is kepi, which, for its details and accuracy, would draw tears of envy rom the racing authorities of Newmark et and our Roman “Jockey Club,” and or learned in dog pedigree^that they would amaze and amuse a Darwin in a Herald's College. The first family of dogs here are as proud of their Hneage as if they belonged to the bluest blood of all dog- dom chronicled in the ‘ 'Bow-wow Peer age,” or the canine ‘iWho's Who!” or Aiuinuaou uo vjomcn a One old family traces its origin to the dog-days of the celebrated Bishop of Leon, who was hurled from his palace windows m the fourteenth oeutnary by a spendthrift nephew, who was the roue onr of the canton. We may mention on the subject of these dogs and their sense of smell that it is keener than in dogs of the smaller and more domestic type. It is by the smell they are guided in their chief works. It has been said that ’ ‘pet dogs, ” lap dogs, and dogs unpaged, if we may use the term, by siUy fondling and fe male nursing, are leas strong iu their sense of smell than the natnr d dog pure and simple. A dog deprived of smell ing power ceases to be a dog. Schiff, in iiis treatise ou dogs and their facul ties, says the dog with a loss of smell loses its faculty of Attachment and faith fulness towards its master whom it re cognizes and love? simply on account of his individual perfume. He caused some young dogs to be deolfaotorized, and forever after they forget their cun ning and knew no master, be he ever so kind- The olfactory nerve in the Monnt tit. Bernard mastiff is particularly large, Uberally containing sinuses for inoreas- ing the olfactory surface, and yon do not discover it so developed in small dogs. Xli* Houoe oi L.orrta. to rot, and would lose itself in material ism." Ninety Days. Remeinoer my Son. Remember my son yon have to work. Wbeiher you handle-a pick or a pe». a wheelbarrow or a set of books, diggi-g ditches or editing a paper, ringing an auction bell, or writing tunny things, you must work. If you look around you, son, vou will see that the men who are the moat able Ui live the reat- ot their d»y* without work are the men who worked the hatdest. Don’t be atraul of killing your self with over work, son. It is beyond your power to do thst. Men cannot work so hard as that on the sunny side of tbirt)'. They die sometimes, but its because they quit work at • p. m and don’t get home until 2 a. m. It’s tie. Interval that kills my'son. The work gives you an appetite for your meals, it lends solidity to your slumbers, it gives you a perfect and grate- tul apprecitfilo” ot a There ^ When William Foster came out into the Mayor’s office at Detroit, he looked around him ia the greatest astonishment and after a time turned to the desk and signified by signs that he was deaf and dumb. “Well, you are a pretty subject to get drunk, 1 must say!” exclaimed his Honor. “Where do you live!” The prisoner shook his head “What are you doing here!” Another shake. Then the court wrote the first question a a slip of paper and handed it over, and the prisoner took the pencil, run out his tongue, and after a great effort wrote in answer: “I live in Tawrontow.” “Oh. you do? They ought to have learned you how to spell tiefore they let you traveL You were not only drunk, but ugly, and something ought to be done in your case.” Then came a period of silence as the court looked the man over. The prisoner stared around him in a stupid manner, but gave a start of surprise as a spectator young men who do not wc*^ “Iv<? ut I ">«* »P ‘* ,le(1 out ,' . the world is not proud of l ^ eru - ** ^ oe * "YdiP -Honor, can 1 speak ? gi r .” - begin to heal under this forced feeding, Whush^ it is addtd, works as well in dys pepsia as in phthisis, never producing nausea or vomiting, the food being pass ed down tbe throat without any objec tion on the part of even hysterical women. No doubt the experiments of these French physicians will soon be tested in this country. not know their names, eTeu '< it simply speaks of them as old boys, Nobody likes them; nobc^J ^ em * the great busy world d<f“® 1 e *®“ kD0 * that they are there. 8# «« wha‘you want to be and to d<* k 00 * an ^ u * e your coat and make a dJ*»» »• wor,(L The busier you are Ow]** deviltry yon will be apt to get into, t U e sweeter will be your sleep, the brighter af«* >' our holidays, and the better world be with yc\ will the “The pnsouer there lit saaiyning on you.'’ * T 'rre. “Yon are a liar i” promptly replied the deaf and dumb man. He tried to take it back, but tbe jig was up and he went to the Work Bouse for ninety days. The hardest thing in the world ia said to feel that the lie told about your neighbor is the truth. This branch of the legislature is com pose! of hereditary landowners, who collectively own 14,258,627 acres of land, and whose collective incomes are about £15,000 000. They have persistently opposed, so far as they dared, every measure of reform brought forward dur ing tbe present oentoary, and more es pecially every measure that has militat ed against their own class interests. Not only are they conservative in the real sense of the word, bnt in the party sense. When a conservative ministry is in power they are useless; when a liberal ministry is in power they are act- lively pernicious. Notwithstanding their wealth, they are not independent. They are place-hunters; they are clam orous for decorations, and they dip heavily into the pnbUe exchequer. In pay, pensions and salaries they annual ly divide among themselves (including the salaries of the bishop) £621,336 per annum. It may be an open question whe ther the system of one or two chambers is tbe more desirable. No sensible per son, however, can advocate a chamber, destined to sot with controlling impart iality, composed of enormously wealthy men, draining vast Incomes from lands, absorbing large amounts of public mon ey in pay and pensions, and perpetual ly intriguing to «ccnre the triumph of the party to which the great majority of them permanently belong. It is sor- raising that so astounding a legislative ^ if -a/ K . . a. _ 0 V i. FOOD FOR THOUGH!. . Holiness is an unselfing of ourselves. Laws are the sovereigns of sovereigns. Hope is the cordial of the human heart, A man may hold his tongue at the wrong time. Beal glory springs from the silent conquest of ourselves. True wisdom, in general, consists in energetic determination. Chance is a word void of sense; noth ing can exist without a cause. Sunshine ia like love, it makes every thing shine with tta own beauty. ^He will easily be odhfipat aud at peso* whose conscience is pure. HI fortune never eroshed that rnan whom good fortone deceived not. One pound of learning requires ten pounds of oommonsense to apply it. There are mere paella who cau forget themselves than govern themselves. The tongue of slander is a sword which is seldom allowed to otow rusty. That man has attaiued/to wisdom who can do everything ft the proper time. The very nature of lovh is to find ita joy in serving others, nof for one’s own benefit bat theirs. Don't judge a man bji his failure in life, for many a man fail), because he is too honest to succeed. Character is higher tAan intellect. A great seal will be as string to Uve as well as strong to think. A man that stndieth revltage keeps his own wounds green? whichwfijierwiae would heal and 4o well. He who doea a base thing in zeal for his friend, barns the golden thread that ties their hearts together. There is a fellowship among the virt- utes by which one great, generous pas sion stimulates another. Every He, great or small, is the brink of a precipice, the depth of which nothing but conscience can fathom. “It will pass away, weak parents say of some fault of their children. Ob, no! it will not pass away, it will de velop. Certainly man is of kin to the breath of his body, and if he be not of kin to God by his spirit, he is a base and ignoble craature. Books are the true leveUers. They give to all wh©^ faithfully use them the society, the spmtaal presence, of the greatest and best of onr raee. Political parties cannot forever Uve that he has “seen better days.” Feelings come and go like the troops following the victory of the present; but principles, Hke troonm of the line, are undisturbed and stand fast. There are men in this naughty world so mean that they would even consent to “take the beam from their eye” if they could ouly sell it for timber. Wrong-doing is a road that may open fair, but it leads to trouble and danger. Well-doing, however rough and thorny at first, surely leads to pleasant places. Satire can no farther go than when Sam Johnson said to a booby, ‘if I have said anything that yon understand, sir, I humbly crave the pardon of the rest of the company.” There Is always a best way of doing everything, if it be to boil an egg. Maimers are the happy ways of doing things, each once a stroke of genius or of love, now repeated and hardened into usage. There is nothing which so thoroughly depletes and robs moral oharaoter of all substance, there Is nothing whioh so effectually destroys all robust in dividuality. as the oontinnons asking of the question, “What wiU people say?” Always say a kind word if yon can, if only that it may come In, perhaps, with singular opportuneness, entering some mournful man’s darkened room like a beautiful fire-fly, whose happy convolutions ho cannot but watch, for getting his many troubles. The thought of time is solemn and awful to all minds in proportion to their depth, and, in proportion as the mind is superficial, the thought has appeared Httie, and has been treated with levity. Let but a man possess himwalf of that thought—the deep thought of the brevity of time, the thought that time is short, and that eternity is long—and he has learned the first great secret of unworldliness. We Hve, bnt our beloved ones who have died also Hve; we stand weeping on this globe, floating in infinite space, bnt onr glorified dear ones are, Hke ourselves, in God’s world. We are not separated. No time Hes between ns; for we, like them, dwell in eternity, rest in the arms of God, If God gives me work to do, I will thank Him that he has bestowed on me s strong arm, if He give me danger to brave, 1 will bless Him that He has not made me without courage, bat I will go down on my kaees and beseech Him humbly to mane me fit for my task, if He tells me it is oniy to stand and wait. It is a celebrated thought of Socra tes, that If all the misfortunes of man kind were oast into a public stock, in order to be equally distributed among the whole species, those who now think themselves tne most unhappy wonld prefer the share they are already possessed of, before that whioh would fall tc them by saoh s division. A man's transit from one H' . . , other, or from one wojM ^ £ e ofeher> Ifthn^and 0 ^^^ °“ e P 1 * 0 ® 40 “ 1 ' P®*®**- ^S^skes with him all things in himself as a man; vj that hap — sssmbly as our o( lord8 v l 1 ® tfea it^MunoTbesaid that -v man after ousted, so long in a country inhabited by sane human beings, and its existence iu any country where the paramount as sembly ia sleeted by a numerical major ity would, of course, be out of the ques tion. death, his death being only that of the terrestrial body, has lost anything that belonged to himself. He also carries with him his natural memory; for every- - thing he ever heard, saw? reed, learned or thought from his earliest infancy to toe lest day of his life he still retains. ■ .1' : V .