Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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i * 1 4 crd &. TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. 0.. SEPTEMBER 20. 1883. ESTABUSHED 1848 BCTTKR THINGS. Better to smell the violet cool, than sip the glowing wine; Better to hark a hidden brook, than watch a diamond shine. ' Better the love of a genial heart than beauty’s favors proud; Better the rose’s living seed than roses in a crowd. Better to love in loneliness than to bask in love all day; Better the fountain in the heart than the fountain by the way. Better be fed by mother’s hand than eat alone at will; Better to trust in good and say, “My goods my store-houce fill.” Better to be a little wise than in knowledge to abound; Better to teach a child than toil to fill per fection’s reund Better to sit at a master’s feet than thrill a listening state; Better to suspect that thou art proud than be sure that thou art great. Better to walk the real unseen than watch the hour’s event; Better the “Well done!” at the last than the air with shouting rent. Better to have a quiet grief than a hurrying delight; Better the twilight of the dawn than the noonday burning bright. Better a death when work is dene than earth’s most taveu-ed birth; Better a child in God’s great house than the king of all the earth. TRYING HER POWER, “1 can hold him against the world.” The speaker was a tall girl, with dark face, from which eyes of witchery looked out. Sue had lips which were slightly compressed, as she finished the sentence. “J would not be so sure, if I were you,” was the response from the other person, who stood on the path which led to the road from the country house behind them. The two girls had strolled down the walk in the crisp winter sunlight, and they looked as unlike as two people could well be. Julia Stallo turned her head with a quick, imperious movement, as she ex claimed: “Why would you not feel sure, since I am sure? Do you think I would give my promise to a man who did not adore me?” “But men may adore at one moment and be indifferent the next,” returned Miss Branch, stopping to tw'ist more closely about her head the blue, puffy mass of w'ool which protected her from the cold. “The man whom T love will not do so ” was the quick reply. Miss Branch, who was four or five years older than the magnificent brunette beside her, looked at her curiously, in silence for a time. Miss Branch was small. One at first would have said she w r as plain, but one might discover that her face possessed a wonderful pow r erof expression; there might be a concentrated spark in her eyes that w ould possess force in what ever way she chose. After a pause, she said, quickly: “I should imagine it might be easy for a man to be faithful to a creature like you. Is Mr. North coming to day?” “Yes.” “I think you make a great mistake in loving a man so much. Ah! what is that?” The exclamation was caused by the sound of something rushing through the shnibberry of the evergreens at the right of where the two girls were stand ing. Julia Stallo shrieked a little and shrank to one side, and at the same moment, a huge, dark-colored dog dashed out from the cedai hedge. His head was down, his mouth scattered foam, and his eyes emitted sparks. While Julia, who had sprung away, had gone directly in the path of the infuriated animal, Miss Branch, who had remained where she had been standing, was several yards from him. The brute was going on with that unswerving leap which is so terrible to see, and had passed Miss Branch, who had not moved, toward Julia Stallo, who seemed petrified with terror in the spot where she stood. “For God’s sake, jump out of the way?” cried Miss Branch, shrilly, “he will not turn!” If Julia heard her she gave no sign; she was incapable of moving. Miss Branch could not stand quietly There was a dash of physical courage in her which enabled her to spring for ward, slipped off the crimson shawl from her shoulders as she did so. and then flaunting it full in the face of the wild-eyed animal, who moved to one side, and wavered in confusion, while Julia Stallo sank to the ground in a heap, and her white face was like the face of the dead, save for the protrud ing eyes of horror. The dog, baffled for the moment, and uncertain, now turned toward Miss. Branch. Useless for her to try to run. She clasped her bands and stood still. Only for a breath of time, however. The sound of a footstep on the frozen gravel might have been heard by the girls, if they could have heard any thing. The footstep was that of some one running furiously. The figure of a man appeared. He had a pistol in his hand, and though there was a terrible fear in his mind that he might not aim correct ly, he could not hesitate. The flash, the report of the pistol, and the dog rolled over on his side, with a moan, his teeth set fast in the skirt of Miss Branch’s dress. It was to Julia Stallo’s side the man sprang, hardly glancing at Miss Branch who coolly drew a penknife from her pocket, and stooping, cut her dress away from the grip of the dying dog’s teeth. “That, I suppose, is Mr. North,” she said to herself, looking at him at tentively, as he bent on one knee over Julia, whose senses had come back to her sufficiently to enable her to recog nize her lover. “Yes, evidently he loves her. I wish she had not been so sure of him. It is such a temptation to prove her words false.” This is what the quiet-looking girl was thinking, as she again wrapped her shawl about her and walked slowly down the path. In a few momemts, she heard her name called, and pausing and looking back, she saw the two coming toward her. Wnen they were a little nearer, the man hurried forward, and raising his hat, said, in a tone which was not quite steady: “I do not know what you will think of us. I confess I was for the moment capable of thinking only of Miss Stallo. You will forget that, I know. I can not tell you how grateful I am to you.” “Indeed! Why?” asked Miss Branch. Although her words were abrupt, the voice in which she spoke then was far from being so. There was a silky soft ness in it that Julia Stallo had never heard before, and which made her look quickly at the girl who had spoken them, while a pain, that was almost like a knife thrust, suddenly went through her heart. Miss Branch had only glanced at Mr. North as she had replied, and he had not given any thought to her, so pro foundly was he absorbed in the danger which had so recently threatened the woman he loved. When the two walked away again, Miss Branch turned into another path, and walked rapidly toward the house. There was a flush on her cheek and a spark in her eye, and aspect although different from that which she had worn an hour before. When she reached her own room, she sat down before the fire without remov ing her own wraps. Looking into the burning coals with an insane gaze, her face gradually changed, until Julia Stallo would hardly have known it. The white hands were held* tightly together until their beauty—and they were very beautiful—was marred by the rude pressure. “What do I owe to any man among them?” she asked, at length, in a half whisper. “And as for Julia, she is a baby in her feelings, and will not suffer much.” She rose and walked with a deter mined air across the room. At this moment some one knocked. She open ed the door and Julia stood there. “May I ceme in?” asked the girL “I was just coming to discover if you were still frightened,” responded Miss Branch taking Julia’s hand in her own, and looked with more than ordinary keenness into the girl’s face. “Don’t speak of it,” cried the other with a shudder. “I can never be able to see a dog again without a shudder. I shall never be able to see a dog again without a fright. Think of what might have been, if Luke had not come! He says he admires you for your presence of mind, although you are—but how I do chatter!” catching herself up with a blush. He admires you so much.” “Even though I am plain,” calmly remarked Miss Branch, no flush stain ing her cheeks as she speke words dif ficult for a woman to accept. “But I did not mean to tell you that,” caressingly said Julia. Miss Branch laughed, not bitterly to the ear in the least. “Oh, I don’t mind it at all,” she said, lightly. “I am plain, and I know other people know it.” In her heart, the women was saying: “He shall pay for those words.” In the days that followed, it would have been a curious study lor one not vitally interested to have watched the change in Luke North’s manner toward Miss Branch. Gradually, from a polite listener to her, he came to turn with an apparent ly irresistible inclination toward that part of the room where she happened to be. He stood near her chair; he looked at her if he spoke; he listened with a pe culiar vivid look upon his face when she made any remark. This attention was not marked; on the contrary, it almost seemed as if he were desirous of concealing even from his own consciousness the attraction which Miss Branch held for him, and which every day he felt more and more powerfully. Had he ever thought her unprepos- ssing? When Julia reminded him one day that he had said Miss Branch was plain, he uttered an exclamation of astonishment, but made no other reply. His betrothed, in a troubled tone, persisted on dwelling upon the subject. “I suppose she must but be fascina ting. is she not?” she asked wistfully. The man’s face wore a strange smile. He averted his eyes, as he remarked, in a harsh voice: “Fascinating! Yes, 1 think that must be the word by which to describe your friend—and she is your friend, is she not?” asking the question sudden ly- Julia Stallo trembled a little, and turned pale. Sne seemed to struggle a moment with herself, and then she said, faintly: “Oh, yes! Of course she is my friend.” The winter days ran on. Miss Branch had come to stay with her friend until spring. How did it happen that Mr. North could now sometimes come to the house, and remain, perhaps, for a couple of hours before Julia would come into the room? He always scrupulously called for her the moment he came, but he ap peared to forget she had not come. On one of those days when Julia had not come, North had been strolling about the room in silence. Though he did not speak, his eyes returned again and again to the woman who sat so quietly on the sofa. There was a reck less resolve in his face, and that look was mingled with something which could not be interpreted, which any woman might do well to fear, even though she could not understand it. North came and leaned over ihe girl. His voice vibrated, as he said: “Miss Branchl” She looked up—a light, bewildering and enthralling, was in her eyes, and diffused in a lovely glow over the hith erto unlovely face. “What would you say to me if I were to tell you that I love you?” he asked quickly. There could be no mistaking the ex pression in her eyes; there could be but one reading of the curves about the mouth, The binding loveliness that was in the gaze at that instant made the man’s heart almost stand still. Did she really love him? “Need I answer?” she asked, softly. “Yes, answer!” imperatively. “Then I should say that I love you,” was the low spoken reply. Something in the man’s face made Miss Branch suddenly rise to her feet, while her face grew palid, and the glow died from her eyes. “You are mocking me!” she cried, in a smothered voice. “You do not really l©ve me?” V I am thinking of a young man, my half-brother, whom I love more than brothers usually love,” returned North, in a stem voice. “You may recall Morris Loring. Ah, I see you do! You killed him, that you might be amused. Perhaps it was not manly of me to re solve to avenge him in some slight de gree. But I did not think of so base an action until I fancied you wished to play with me. I do not love you, Miss Branch, but I can understand how a man might be infatuated with you. It was beneath me to stoop to such a course as this. I don’t ask you to for give me.” “No, no,” said Miss Branch, her voice husky and strange. “Do not ask that, for I never could do so.” “And why?” “Because I love you. At last I love Do not speak to me. I tell you that for the first time in my life, I love. Do you think I am sufficiently punished for trying my power? Do you pity me, Mr. North?” She stood looking at him for an in stant, then turned and huiTied from the room. North gazed blankly at the door which had closed behind her. He had not known how much he could despise himself, and there was a curious pul sation in his "heart which made him un willing to see Julia. It was a week before he returned to the house. When Julia unformed him of Miss Branch’s departure, he would not allow himself to nu’uifest any in terest. The few weeks that had passed had formed an episode in his life which he could not wish to remember. A Seal in a Sack. Jlii interesting incident, illustrating the maternal affection of an animal for its young, was brought to notice during the visit of an excursion party to Ana- capa Island. A young seal pup only a few months old was brought away from the.island by little Ernest Whitehead, who desired to take it home for a pet. The little animal was secured by a rope around one of its fins and tied within a small yawl belonging to the sloop. Shortly before sailing a large seal was noticed swimming around the sloop an chored off the cave where the capture was made, uttering loud barks and at times howling piteously. No particular attention was paid to the animal at the time or to the little captive, which at times barked in response to the old dam’s plaints. The boat sailed away making for the Yentura shore. When off San Buenaventura a calm in the wind decreased the speed of the boat, when a large seal was noticed near by. On reaching the wharf at Santa Bar bara at two o’clock next morning a seal was again discovered swimming about the boat. It was not supposed that this was the mother of the captive or out of pity for its misery the pup would have been thrown overboard. To better secure the pup until daylight the rope was taken from its fin and it was tied up in a jute sack and left loose on the deck. Soon after coming to anchor the seal responded to its mother’s invitation by casting itself overboard all tied upas it was within a sack. It is asserted by the man on deck that the seal mother seized the sack and with her sharp teeth tore open the prison of her offspring. This, however, is a mere conjecture. If it did the little pup was saved other wise it would drown tied up in the sack. The incident was the more interest ing from the fact that the old seal had to follow the sloop at least eighty miles over the ocean in a hopeful endeavor to rescue its young. The Dead. . Most everybody is dead, says Bill Arp, that is. all the old folks. There are mighty few left of the old stock that used to move around so lively and take the lead in business and public affairs. Some of us are getting lone some now. The ranks keep filling up, but we don’t know the new recruits. Old Father Time is a conscript officer and he won’t take any substitutes nor give anybody a bomb-proof place. There are no quartermastere nor com missaries nor potash getters in this war, but it is fight, fight, fight all the time. Fight as they did at Thermopylse where there were only 300 against 1,000,000, and there was no possible escape. Sooner or later all of us have to go. We can’t desert nor dodge nor play sick nor shoot a finger off, and there are no furloughs and no pensions and no discharge. There is not even a promotion for good conduct or noble daring. There is nothing but to do and die. Well, it’s all right I know or it wouldn’t have been so. but it grieves me to hear the bell toiling all about and to see the old stock passing away. —Wurtenberg, Germany, has over 8000 breweries. —Albany’s brick-making industry has reached a production of 1,000,000 bricks a week. -In Borne a «nall Egyptian obelisk has been discovered in an excavation behind the Church of Uanta Maria sopra 1'inerva, near the site of the Temple of Isis and Serapis. It lies at a depth of -mad GanW.” It is morning on the )mrle. To the east is the gay sunrise and the dim, far-away outline of a moun tain range; to the north a shadowy line which may mean hills o< timber; to the west and south a broad, level ocean of green grass which has no limit. It seems as level as a floor to the eye, but it is cut up with dry ravines and ditches, and there are sharp ridges and dips and sunken spots. The sun is warm, the air still, and every blade of grass is loaded with dia mond dew-drops. There is no bird to chirp, and no crickets to call out, but there is no feeling of loneliness. One who faces that morning Ar' , j » na the vastness of the prairte ■ lost ln Qutet amazement. Th**? t 18 ^ upon him akin *- mat which man feels when i,c sees the ocean lashed to mighty fury. The one is an exhibition of Divine anger —the other of Divine peace. See! A rough-clad, full-bearded man, of iron muscle and fearless courage, suddenly rises from a hollow, tosiee aside his blanket, and slowly turns his head in every direction to scan the green grass sea. At the same moment his horse emerges from a dip which has heretofore slieltered him, and, with a whinny of recognition and pleasure, advances straight upon his master. Alone! Man and horse are the only living creatures in sight. They are as much lost to the world as two grains of sand washing to and fro in the Atlantic. The master’s hand steals up until it rests upon the horse’s neck, and the faith ful animal crowds a bit nearer, Both are awed by the broad expanse. The mighty grandeur of Nature steals in upon the man’s soul, and it seems to pass like an electric current to the horse. He raises his head. His nostrils ex pand. His eyes grow clearer and larger. Surely he must see the picture spread out before him there, and something of its beauty must be felt. See that! The man’s hand goes up to his eyes. He is looking stiaight to the west. He stands like a rock, and his eyes are as keen as an eagle’s. The horse is looking in the same direction, ears pricked forward, lips quivering and every muscle in his legs tightened up as if for a race. What is it? A fluiter on the surface of the prairie caught the man’s eye for an instant and then dis appeared. It was two miles away. It was only a trifle; but on that trifle de pends his life. A shipwrecked sailor catches his breath at sight of every white cloud creeping above the water line.- The hunter on the prairie feels his heart pound at the flutter of a bird’s wing—the bark of a coyote—the hoot of an owl—at sight of a hoof-print or a broken bush. These may mean nothing, or they may mum an ambush —a race for life—capture and torture. “Yi! yi! yi!” The level seeming prairie is broken two miles away by a dry ravine deeper than a man’s height. This curves and bends and leads on for miles. Scramb ling out of its depths, and each one sounding his war-whoop as he mounts his pony, are a score of Indians. For two days the hunter has swept the horizon in vain. He was alone on the great ocean. Night had been tranquil and full of sonud sleep. Here, now, rising like specters from the earth be fore him, is a band of blood-thirsty de mons raving for his life. The sight stuns him for a few seconds. Then, with a growl of chagrin and defiance, he flings the saddle upon his horse, picks up his rifle, and while yet the In dians are a mile and a half away, he mounts and heads for the east. A race for life has begun. The hunter’s horse strikes into a long, steady gallop, which would keep him alongside of a train of cars. There is a chorus of yells from the redskins as they made the first rush. Then the silence of the prairie is broken only by the thud! thud! of horses’ feet. The very silence is ominous, and speaks of a grim determination to run the victim down. Steady ? now! The hunter’s horse de vours mile after mile of the green prairie, now at the crest of a swell- now almost hidden in a dip—for an in stant out of sight of those who follow. They gain a little. The hunter plans that they shall. Every yard they gain requires an extra speed that will take ten minutes off the race after high noon. At 10 o’clock they have gained half a mile. Then the pace is even, and neither loses nor gains. There is something terribly grim in following a man to his death. Not a shout—not a call—not a rifle-shot. Thud! thud! thud! over level and ridge and always to the east. The sun mounts higher and higher, and now and then the hunter glances back with a faint hope that the pursuit has Veen abandon ed. No! He might as well expect a wolf to quit the pursuit of a wounded deer leaving its life-blood to stain the grass at every rod. It is high noon. The pursuit began over sixty miles away, but the breeze brings to the hunter’s ears that same monotony of hoof-beats, and he glances back to see that same dark line strung out at his heels. It has become a question of en durance. If he can tire them out he will escape. He shuts his teeth anew, reaches forward to caress his horse He is down! A burrow caught a foot as the horse sped onwards and man and animal roll to the ground. The race is finished. The poor beast whinnies an apology for his fall as he flounders about with a broken leg, and the exultant shouts of the redskins hardly reach the hunter’s ears before he is down alongside the crippled horse and his rifle aimed at the approaching foe. It is another bright, peaceful day. Here are the same pure air, the same blue sky, the same panorama of grass and flowers and dimly outlined moun tains. A band of hunters are crossing the prairie at a steady gallop, instead of a single man riding for his life. A vul ture rises up with a hoarse scream— a second—a third, and the odor of de cay reaches the nostrils of i iders and horses. The band halts, rides to the left, and presently all look down upon a sight which tells its own story. The swollencaaoassof ahorse,the scalped and disfigured body of a hunter—tramp led body of a hunter—trampled grass— spots of blood—broken ai rows—the earth uptorn by hoofs. One with stouter heart than the rest dismounts and picks up a dozen flatten ed bullets and a score of arrows. Then he circles round tha spot and gathers up the empty shells thrown out by the hunter’s Winchester. Bullets, arrows and shells are deposited in a heap by the corpse, and ihe man joints out one— three—five—seven spots on the prairie where the trampled grass and stains of blood show the foil of horse or man. a a voice in which sorrow and fire mingled ne whispers: “Poor Tom! But he died game!” The U.iHniihed Manuiorlpt. Some, time ago the writer visited Prof. Gailnet, of Little Bock, Ark., and while sitting In the library, en gaged in conversation with the enter taining gentleman, observed a roll of manuscript tied with a strip of black cloth. We asked him if it were some thing designed for publication. “ft will never be published,” he said, and began to unroll it. “See how it ends,” and glancing at the bot tom of the last page we read the fol lowing: “While he sat alone, deeply musing, a hearse passed the house, and —’’here the sentence broke off. Re questing, almost imploring, the Profes sor to tell us the history of the curious manuscript, he finally consented. “I came to Arkansas when I was a young man. One night I sat in my library writing a story for a magazine. I was in good health and had cause to feel elated over the success I had just attained by the publication of a small volume of sketches, but still I felt the heavy weight of melancholy depression. I arose and walked out, but soon re turned, not experiencing any change. I bent myself to the work of writing a dreary story and worked with surpris ing rapidity until I wrote, ‘A hearse passed the house and—’ Here I stopped. A strange presentiment told me that I would never finish the sentence. Next day I took up my pen to finish it, but I had not touched the paper with the pen when a piercing shriek caused me to spring to my feet and rush from the room just in time to see a horse, at tached to a buggy, dashing wildly to ward my gate. A frightened woman was in the buggy and I rescued her. I put the manuscript away and devo ted myself to my new acquaintance; our friendship grew into love and fin ally we married. Then followed ten years of happiness. I did not tell my wife of the unfinished manuscript, but one day she found it and begged me to finish it. I did not like to confess my foolish fears, and finally I told her that I would. The next night,, after my wife had gone to bed, I took down the story and read it over. I would finish it for her sake. I took up the pen and was just in the act of touching the pa per when my wife called me. I ran to her and found her in a dying condition, having been attacked by rheumatism of the heart. “Have you ever attempted since to finish it?” “Yes. After my wife had been dead for several years I determined one night to finish the story. I went to the desk, but had no sooner dipped my pen in the ink when a noise in an ad joining room attracted my attention. Hurrying in the room I found my sou lying on the floor dead. He had al ways been in wretched health and had committed suicide?” “Do you ever expect to finish the story?” “I expect to try again. It is impossi ble for me to remain superstitious, even though I may have a powerful cause for doing so. Of course, all this would have happened even if 1 had not begun the story. I think that next Tuesday night, if I feel like it, I shall devote myself to the completion of the work, for I desire to see it in print. Come up and see me start off.” We were busy when Tuesday night came, and—cowardly confession—were not sorry that something kept us away. Early Wednesday morning we hurried to the house where for years the pro fessor had lived. The horrible thought seized us that he had taken up his pen to finish the story and had fallen dead. Some time elapsed before we had the courage to knock at the door. At last we rapped. No answer. Another rap. No answer. With blood almost at freezing point, and with hair standing ercet, we shovea open the door. The old man sat lean ing back in his chair, eating pie. “Comein,” he said cheerfully. “You see I have just finished that story, and it gave me an appetite for pie. Pie’s a good thing to eat after you finish up a story, but you want to wait until you are through writing.” “Did you hear any strange noises?” we asked, “when you began to write.” “Well, yes. a calf over in :\n ad joining yard bawled for a while. Oh, yes, you are thinking about that story I told you some time ago. Well, my dear fellow, you should not have been so foolish as to have believed me. I never was married, you know. Have pome pie.” - —The prince of Wales delights in black costumes. —David O’Connell’s birthplace is a neglected ruin. —Several new comic operas have re cently been brought to Europe. —The duke of Abercorn owns 100,000 acres of Tyrone county, Ireland. —A thorn in the hand is worth several in the bush, for probing purposes. —Dining cars have made their ap pearance on a French railway line. —There are fifty-six shops for the sale of horse-flesh as food in Paris. —A reaction of public sentiment in fovor of the English sparrow is observ able. —A “mysterious” disease is reported to be killing off a great many horses in Utah. Bohemian Chiefs. “There” said Jack Ryder, formerly Artemus Ward’s agent, last evening, as he produced his scrap book and pointed out a cut of an elderly man with a short pipe in his mouth—one of these pecu liar, thick-set pipes that are indigenous to newspaper offices—“there was the king of the Bohemians, Harry Clapp. He died in New York, where he had swung a sharp quill for many years. He handled the most saucy and fearless pen of any of the old school of Bohe mians that used to hang out at Pfaaff’s, on Broadway. Clapp made Pfaaff rich, although he himself died poor. Harry used to take his meals there, and one day the coffee and victuals so impressed the celebrated Bohemian’s palate that he wrote a column about Pfaaff’s cara vansary. True, it was a puff, but Clapp could make the rankest kind of a puff so witty and interesting that it would be acceptable to any journal. Clapp’s dissertation on Pfaaff and coffee and articles that the other journalists subsequently wrote on the same subject, made Pfaaff famous, and to be famous as a New Y ork tradesman is to be rich. It strikes me that it ought only to be necessary for a needy journalist to prove that he was one of the fraternity to get the best that Pfaaff’s place affords. It was a great gang that hung around Pfaaff’s in the days when Charlie Brown was delivering his one hundred lectures at Dodworth hall. One night long, lank; hoosiery Josh Billings, then a poor auctioneer, called on Brown. Bill ings had written but little then. He wasn’t one of the Bohemians. He was too thrifty. “A few days ago I met him in New York for the second time. He has be come a dignified, almost courtly gentle man with considerable polish, and all the evidences of prosperity. He has grown rich, owns his own housein New York and drives his own carriages. The gentleman of them all, however, is Bret Harte. He is a man of medium height and build, with full beard and moustache and a general air of elegance. If he takes a fancy to a person and gets warmed up he is one of the most schol arly and entertaining conversationalists that I ever met. If Billings is rich— and, mind you, I don’t undertake to belittle him, for there is a great deal of him intellectually—Harte ought to be rolling in wealth; but he is usually hard up. Such are the freaks fortune plays literary men. Strange that so many humorists who amuse others have so little themselves to enjoy of this world’s goods! Bailey, the Danbury News man, called here once to see me with reference to Artemus Ward, who was his god as a humorist, and told me in cidentally that he had a friend here among the journalists who was a hu morist and a man of genius and who had done considerable work for him, The individual was Leonard. I had never heard of him, but I believe he was on the Leader, The poor fellow died in the hospital, I think, and Bailey bought his articles, as long as he was able to write them. I don’t remember any other humorists besides Brown, Griswold and this otner man Leonard then on the Cleveland papers. Yes, Griswold was a humorist—when he was drunk. He was absolutely the funniest man when he was in liquor that I ever saw. Artemus Ward was not always an amusing man under the same cir- cumstan'’es, although he would load up with ideas that would work out hi great shape wheh he was sober. ‘Gris’ was once advance agent for a show, and while he was at Nashville one night he was seized with a desire to go on a drunk. He didn’t know a soul, but he stepped up to the bar and began talking to himself, as if he had met a friend. ‘Gris, take a drink,’ said he to himself in a changed tone of voice. ‘Oh, no; I’ve sworn off.’ “The imaginary man urged ‘Gris’ to drink until the latter yielded. The bar tender, who evidently took ‘Gris’ for a lunatic, set out one glass, but the imag inary man gruffly ordered him to furnish another glass. ‘Gris’ took a glass in each hand, clinked them together, and with the ‘Here’s lookin’ at ye’ of ‘Gris,’ and ‘Drink hearty’ of the imaginary man, ‘Gris’ drained both glasses. Then the imaginary man urged ‘Gris’ to sing a song, and after demurring for some time ‘Gris’ complied with the request. ‘Gris’ kept up this circus for more than an hour. It was a fashionable resort and some of the bloods of the city heard of it, gathered around and enjoyed the fun a while. Then they rushed forward, took ‘Gris’ in hand—well it was one of the tallest times that a gang ever saw in Nashville. Charles Brown was careless of money, but of course he aimed to get all he could out of his business. That’s how he came to leave Cleveland. Gray was paying him $1,000 a year. He de manded an increase of pay. Gray was unable to grant it, and when Vanity Fair of New York offered him $1,800 a { ear he accepted the position. Vanity ’air died at the end of 18 months. Ward ut.ed to say that he killed it, and then Artemus brought out his lecture. I was formerly unable to appreciate Nasby. His letters are not funny to me, but he has a little thing in Lotos Leaves entitled John Upanddownjohn, which is really fine. ” Older than Ha Looked. Colonel George L. Perkins, of ATor- wich, Conn., who celebrated his 90th birthday Sunday, August 6, and is as hale and hearty as most men at 50 years, was a witness in the Tilton- Beecher trial in 1875. When his name was called the crowd in the Court-room saw a good-looking, dignified gentle man, apparently about 60 years old, step briskly to the stand. Having an swered the usual questions as to his name and residence, Mr. Evarts pro pounded the succeeding question: “How long have yon lived in Norwich, Colonel Perkins?” “Eighty-seven years,” responded the Colonel with the utmost gravity. The lawyers dropped their pens, the spectators stared, the Judge looked puzzled, and the jury were in evident doubt whether there was a lunatic loose or a new liar had arrived. A ripple of merriment suc- seeded as Mr. Evarts, with great seriousness, inquired a moment utter: “Colonel Perkins, may I ask where you have spent the rest of your life?” NEWS IN BRIEF —11,368 acres in London parks. —Caterpillars have ruined the foli age oi the “grand old elms” on Boston Common. —The oldest grave in the Frankfort- on-the-Main Jewish cemetery dates back to 1272. —From $10,000 to $15,000 it is said, will cover the deficit left by the Stenger- fest in Buffalo. —The umbrella trade will feel cheered at the intelligence that Vennor predicts a dry August. —The Nashville iron furnaces liave all been making money, many of them handsome profits. —The latest estimate of the corn crop in Kansas this year puts it at 100,- 000,000 bushels. —There is said to be 90,000,000 acres of land in California admirably adapted to grape growing. —Charlestown, Mass., originated the system of town government in New England, in 1634. —The grape yield along the Hudson Valley will be unprecedentedly large judging from present indications'. —The stay-at-homes enjoy the rest ing spells of cool weather much more than the summer hotel keepers do. —A soda-water fountain in a Brook lyn candy store exploded a few days ago and broke the proprietor’s arm. —Mr. and Mrs. Northcote, nee Fish, daughter of the ex-Secretary of State, are in England on their bridal tour. —The pneumatic plan of clearing the Paris sewers is said to have been at tended with excellent result to health. —In 1876 there were but 1,870 theo- logical students in Germany; now there are 2,707 Protestants and 758 Catholics. —The French press is animatedly dis cussing the vivisection' question, and the anti-vivisection side appears to be gaining ground. —Texas, on whose ranges over $15,- 000,000 worth of cattle are running, has this year 1,000,000 acres planted in sugar. —Exclusive of lunatics in asylums and vagrants, London’s roster of pau pers during the last week in Juno num bered 85,555. —Evansville, Ind., is getting rid of a large number of English sparrows by virtue of a bounty of a cent for each one killed. —At the age of 83, the mother of General Phil. Sheridan is still living in the house in which the General was born, at Perry, O. —Three young men of Utah, con verts from Mormonism, are candidates for the ministry under the care of the Presbytery of Utah. —The receipts of the Patent Office for the current year will exceed 31.- 200,000, according to the estimates of Commissioner Marble. —The Duke of Newcastle recently re turned to his tenants one-fifth of their rent for the year, in order to relieve the depression in agriculture. —Mr. SergeantBallantine, who visit ed Utah, is credited with the opinion that polygamy is an institution emi nently suited to a new country. —Arrangements have been made to bring out Wagner’s last opera, “Parsi fal,” foi the first time in England, next winter, at the Royal Albert nail. —A Swede, 40 or 45 years old, has been sent to the Lazaretto, at San Fran cisco, Cal., suffering with genuine le prosy. He alisorbed the taint in China. —The salaries of the clergymen of the United States are about $6,000,000 A year, and' the Commission of Agri culture says it costs $50,000,000 to feed them. —A man whose beard is already 27£ inches long and steadily lengthening, is living in Todd county, Ky., and has not yet given up farming to go with a side show. —Valentine Yeske, a Pole, tried to commit suicide recently in the Colum bus (O.) Jail by partially swallowing a large iron spoon, which broke when being taken out. —M. Gustave Aimerd, the well- known writer of tales of adventure, who died recently, was styled the French Fenimore Cooper. He had travelled the world over. —The Sultan has conferred on the Emperor of Germany the Grand Cor don of the Order of Chefeat. Kaiser Wilhelm will probably have it put on ice until cool weather sets in. —Sir Linthorn Simmons, speaking of the British army, says: “The non-com missioned officers have also deteriorated in the last ten years, the record of cases of reduction to the ranks and imprison ment having nearly trebled.” —A cave on the Colorado river, over one mile in length, and in some places thirty feet in width, is attracting con siderable attention at Lampasas, Texas. This cave is about 16 miles from the town, and has two small streams run ning through it, which are about two feet deep. —The highest salary paid by the French Government to any of its Di plomatic officers is that of 284,090 francs to the Ambassador at St. Peters burg. Envoys and ministers of the second class, as at Washington, forex- ample, receive 49,000 francs, or less than $10,000 per annum. —An agitation for a farthing stamp for printed matter under an ounce is going on in England led by Mr. Graves, who took an active part in ob taining the half-penny stamp in 1869. The rate in Holland is one-quarter pence, in France one-fifth pence, and in Belgium one-tenth pence. —The sweeping of the Paris streets, according to the latest official returns, costs 5,234,000 francs. The number of persons employed in the work is 3016, including820 sweepers, 2010 “auxiliary sweepers 30 centimes per hour. The total cost of maintaining, cleansing and repairing the roadways is 8,402,000 francs a year, and of the pavements and crossings 1,265,000 francs, or 9,767,200 francs altogether. l! f 6 rnmm