The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, September 27, 1882, Image 1
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ABBEVILLE PRESS AND BANNER. M
BY HUGH WILSON AND H. T. WARDLAW. ABBEVILLE, S. C.. WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1882. NO. 17. VOLUME XXVII.
The Parting.
Not "Farewell!" Oh. speak it never!
Time and distance in it find
Limit never?flying ever?
Leaving darkened hope behind.
Soon yon quiet vessel's motion.
Soon shall yonder rolling ocean,
Throw my spirit o'er the past
Closing now etween us fast.
Bid me, then, if aught be spoken.
Bid me cheerily. "Good-night:"
So that, waking, aye unbroken
Memory link it with the light.
Thus shall every morning cheer me,
Bring thine image ever near me.
With that word that seems to say,
"Part we only for a day."
Yet I know not why I ask thee
Now to play a hollow part:
.No, l will not, wiIJ not task thee
Thus to vail an aching heart.
Truth and thou were never parted:
Part not now. though, broken-hearted.
Truth thy faltering tongue compel
Bitterly to say, '"Farewell!"
Speak it, then, nor stay the sadness
Brimming now within thine eyes:
Weep, oh weep?nor think it madness
Thus thy burning tear to prize.
Man to woe was ever plighted:
Then be mine with thine united.
Oh, 'twere bliss, to him unknown,
Mourning for himself alone.
? IVaxhinyton All.-itmi.
Bread Cast Upon the Waters.
After threescore years and ten spent
in accumulating fame and fortune
Colonel Yining had lived ten moretosee
his fame a tiling of the past and his
fortune take to itself wings and fly I
away. Ten years too long, said the
woridly-wise; hut not so thought the
great reaper, for he often leaves his
fruit to he mellowed hv the early frosts.
or?/l in tlir^cn ton vonrc tliP fiTilltit i<)ll?
diction he felt that he was indeed
blessed, though he turned from the
grave a wrmderer; for the ancestral
home was sold by eager creditors ere
the days of mourning were at an end.
Kith or kin there was none in the
world to whom he could turn, and as
he sat in the oflice brooding over his
lonely condition his sad face touched
the heart of Major Legere.
"Yining," said he, "life in this
sleepy town of ours is rather a dull
thing for a young fellow like you.
How would you like to get away and
see something of the world V"
"Like it," said Yining, in a tone
I meant to oe cneenui, -way (ion i yu?
ask me how I would like to go to
heaven?"
" I don't wish you so well away as
that, but if you can content yourself
with a shorter journey I will help you
on the way. I have business in New
'York which requires personal attention
for the coming year, and there is
no one to whom I can so confidently
intrust it as to you. "Will you go ?"
"I should like to go?if"?and Yining's
glance rested sadly upon his
rusty clothes.
"Then the matter is settled, and I
expect you to leave here the first of
next week. Here is money to defray
your present expenses, and I will give
you a letter of credit to my banker.
Take it," he continued, noticing the
doubting curve of the sensitive lips,
" it's a small part of what I shall owe
you for transacting this business. Had
your grandfather been a man to boast
of his good deeds you would feel it
Iwas your aue, ior ne muue u man m
me. So count on one friend as long as
Bob Legere lives." The lawyer's rugged
face softened at the recollection
of the old days when he had cherished
a hopeless passion for the beautiful
Margaret Yining.
At the appointed time the young
man, with a hearty " God bless you"
from Bob Legere, was speeding northward.
New York, with its Babel of
tongues, its rush and roar of human
life, its squalid poverty and glittering
1 splendor was a revelation to Vining,
accustomed as he had been to the decaying
gentility of a southern town,
with its horror of modern ideas :md its
devotion to the traditions of a dead
past.
At an early day Vining presented
himself at the banker's, Mr. McKaehin's,
and was admitted into his private
office. The low-ceiletl room, with tlie
ight straggling faintly through col>webbed
windows, the dying coals in
the grate emitting a feeble glare, and
the opened letters scattered around on
dusty desks, formed a fitting frame for
the central figure, a small, spare man
with iron gray hair; erect as porcupine
quills, a face like a withered crab
apple, and keen blue eyes, in which
twinkled a gleam of humor, as lie
caught the critical glance taking in the
appointments of the room. A puzzled
expression deepened the wrinkles in
his forehead, as he looked from the
card in his hand to the face of his
visitor.
"E. V. Coulac," repeated he, as if to
himself. "Excuse my curiosity, sir,
but your face is strangely familiar,
though I am sure I have never heard
your name oeiore. \v nat is it in i nil i
"Edward Yining Coulac."
"Any relation to Colonel Vining, of
Bel Air?"
"He was my grandfather, sir," said
the young man, drawing himself up
proudly.
The banker grasped his hand eagerly,
exclaiming, with a tremor in his voice :
"Mr. Coulac, for his sake you are welcome.
There is no human bcinsr that
|H| was near to lilm but what has al laiin
H on John MeEachin."
Bjjl Then in a brisker tone than usual, as
^B| if ashamed of the emotion into which
H he had been betrayed, he resumed the
HH conversation on business topics; yet
his gaze lingered ahnost fondly upon
the bright face turned to him, and as
BH9 Vinir j rose to go he said: "Mr. Coulac,
H to-morrow is an anniversary with me,
nnd if you will dine with my family
;md a few guests I will explain to you
why the sound of your grandfather's
nf forty years
schoolboy's
received liini cordially, and presenting 1
him to his daughter Flora, said: " Mr. |
Coulae lias special claims on our hospi-1
talitv which you will gladly acknowl- \
edge after the story I tell you to-day." |
A soft hand was extended in friendly
greeting, and a pair of merry blue eyes j
shot coquettish glances ol' welcome |
from under brown fringed lids. lie
; was beguiled into such forgetfulness of
j time and place that when, at the close
| of dinner he was roused by Mr. Mcj
Eachin's voice, lie felt like one waked '
from a dream.
i
" Mr. Coulae, I have long promised
my family a story of your land forty ;
years ago. anil if you will not tluiiKme i
rude I will toll it in your presence."
' You can say nothing, sir. to make !
mi' love my country less, as I believe
you would say nothing to wound the !
feelings of your guest."
The hanker nodded with an amused
smile as if to say, "We'll see about
that," and proceeded:
" It is now some forty odd years
since a peddler could he seen plodding
his way through one of those prairies
whose rich hind has given the name of
'the black belt' to many counties in the
southern part of Alabama. Xot that
the appearance of these travelers was
an unusual occurrence, for it was in
the good old days when the planter
ruled his domains like a feudal lord,
and extended the hospitality of his
home to tlie passing stranger, and the
peddler with his pack served to while
away the leisure hours of the ladies of
the mansion, and to vary the monotony
of tlie plantation life for the dusky
Dinahs of the quarter. This particular
tourist carried all his worldly gear
in his pack, but he was rich in youth,
in health and in Yankee pluck. Ashe
trudged along under the October sun
he whistled as joyously as the mocking
birds in the magnolia groves near the
great house he was approaching. It
man became even as a little child. Of
the vast landed estates once his, only
enough was left to defray the expenses
of his burial. The friends who had
gathered around him in his day of
power had all gone before him to the
spirit land. The grass grew green
over the graves of two noble sons and
three lovely daughters, and the sole
scion of his race was Edward Vining
Coulac, the son of his best beloved
daughter Margaret. With her wit and
beauty she had been the pride of his
heart; but in an evil hour she had met
Henri Coulac, an unprincipled adventurer,
and in spite of the -warning of
friends and the prayers of her father she
trusted her fate to his keeping. Ere
the honeymoon had waned the man she
had sworn to honor had earned her bitterest
contempt: and after squandering
her property and humbling her pride,
he deserted her when her situation
would have excited the sympathy even
of a stranger. A few months after her
return to her old home a wailin<r infant
was placed in her arms; she scanned I
his features eagerly, then with a nmr-1
mured " Thank God, lie is all mine,"
placed him in her father's arms and
found fur herself the rest of the
broken-hearted.
Deprived of father's and mother's
love, in the midst of poverty and sorrow,
the boy yet throve like the magnolia
of his own southern swamps,
which hides with beauty and fragrance
the deadly miasmas of its birthplace.
Ilis ambitious spirit and buoyant
temper cheered the last days of his
grandfather; when the trembling hand
was laid upon his head in dying bene
was near the hour or noon, ana as ne
was near the quarter he thought lie
would rest there, and perhaps secure
sonic savory additions to his scanty
lunch. As he opened the gate a towheaded
urchin called out: 'If you uns
comes in liyar I'll sic my
valler purp on . you.' Just
then a woman, whose shining black
face and portly figure could belong to
none other than the cook, sallied round
the house carrying a rough, unpolished
horn. Upon this she blew a blast so
loud and long that the traveler fancied
the walls of another Jericho were to
tumble at its hoarse summons: Seeing
the stranger at the gate, her native
hospitality prompted her to accost him,
whereupon the boy again called out:
' You ole C'hloe, if you don't make that
'ar beggar go away from thar I'll tell
mv par.' Now the recollection of sundry
dimes, tied up in an old stocking
leg in her ' ehist,' made her very sensible
of the duties the community
owed to this class of pilgrims, so setting
her arms akimbo and muttering,
4 You shut up your gab, you poor sanddigger,'
she proceeded to arrange with
the peddler for his noonday repast.
The overseer* rode by and regarded
them with a scowl, which in no wise
interfered with Chloe'sgood humor, for
she repaid him with supreme contempt.
With a keen eye to her own
interest she had not failed to consider
the good of her fellows,
and had arranged for an exhibition
of the peddler's wares
while the overseer enjoyed his
evening siesta. So a merry group
gathered in front of Aunt Chloe'scabin
at the appointed hour, and a brisk
barter was being carried on with much
lively chatter when they were interrupted
by the grufT voice of the overseer
: ' (Jit out of here, you rascally
peddler, with your worthless traps.
These chaps heads are so full of your
nonsense that they are no manner of
account.' Then turning to Cliloe:
4 You black wench, you, when my
family orders you to do anything you'd
better do it.'
one iHMiin.ru 11110 iit-i icium, mu
frame quivering with indignation as
she replied: 'Mas'r didn't send me here
to be ordered round by the likes of that
tow-headed Billy.' Meanwhile, the
peddler wasleisurely packing his wares,
when the overseer, his wrath increased
by Chloe's impudence, ordered him to
trot nj).'
"'1 walked on to your land and I'll
walk off, and nothing you can say or
do will make me trot,' was the cool
reply.
" 4 I'll make two of these chaps take
you down and beat the life out of you,
you impudent rascal,' said the overseer,
in a voice choked with passion.
'"You'll have one negro the less,
then, foe while they are doing it I shall
certainly kill one of them,' replied the
peddler, straightening up and taking a
calm survey of tht* brawny Samsons
around him.
"'Cyrus! Major! tie that Yankee
sneak down and give him liftv,' came
the order.
" The negroes slunk back, affecting
more fear than they really l'elt, for they
rejoiced in the opportunity of paying
off old scores against their brutal
tyrant. 'I das'ent to touch that white
man,' said Cyrus, trembling, 'fur he'll
kill me shore.'
" 'I'll show you how to come here
teaching these black apes sass,' said the
overseer, almost beside himself with
rage and seizing the peddler; whereupon
ensued a scuflle in which his brute
strength was no match for the youth
fill agility of his rival, and he scion
cried lustily for quarter. The peddler,
seemingly well satisfied, released his
hold, and with a friendly nod to the
negroes went on his.way. lie had
reached town in the afternoon and was
exhibiting his wares when lie was
roughly seized and a sherill's warrant
thrust into his hands, lit* was arrested
upon the grave charges of intlicting
the slaves to resist lawful authority
and a murderous assault upon the person
of their overseer. In the midst of
strangers, and almost penniless, lie was
thrust into jail to await his trial before
the ensuing court. Humors of his dangerous
character and incendiary mission
lloated like thistle-down upon the
wings ol every wind ; lor it was at an
era when the seeds of sectional distrust,
destined like the teeth of the fabled
dragon to spring up armed warriors,
were being sown broadcast.
" A lew days before the trial lie sat
in his cell thinking sadly of his far off
home and his widowed mother, when
lie was roused from his reverie bv the
grating of the rusty bolt of his door,
which swung open and admitted the
jailer. He was followed by a man in
the prime of intellectual and physical
vigor. Aristocrat was stamped upon
every line of his linelv chiseled face,
and he carried himself proudly as ona
born to rule. 'Colonel Vining,' said
the jailer, 'has come to see what he
can do for you.' A sudden hope sprang
up in the heart of the prisoner as lie
looked into the calm dark eyes and noted
the confident bearing of his visitor.
They were left alone, and after a conference
that lasted far into the nijjht
they parted with a fervent, '(Jod biess
you, sir,' from the peddler. 'If my life
is spared," said lie, 41 will repay your
l\lliuur.?.
" rnderstand. young man, J don't
espouse your cause for the sake ol' a
fee. I have just heard that none of
these pettifoggers would defend you,
and it. shall never he said while Edward
Vining lives that a helpless
stranger could lind no advocate in the
courts of Alabama. It's not the first
time by many that I have done what
they don't dan? to do.*
"The day for the trial rolled round
and public excitement was at fever heat.
'I reckon Vining will hardly get a jury
to his liking from this crowd,' said a
lawyer, looking over the sea of surging
angry faces. 'I don't know; I've
l Jiever seen him fail to bend them yet,'
HfcLiiis. reply; 'fyit if hj^acafigla
hero, I think there'll he an appeal t<
j Judge Lynch before yonder sun goe?
! down.' The jury was impaneled. and
the witnesses examined. * The whok
weight of evidence bore heavih
against the prisoner, for the oversew
and his family were the only witnesses
whose testimony could he received
The prosecuting attorney summed u]
the evidence, llien painted him as :i
midnight assassin sharing the hos]?itality
of the simple planter and
stealing from his fireside under covei
of darkness to array his slaves against
him. A hush like that of the grave,
broken only by the labored breathing
of angry men, fell upon the room a>
he took his seat. This ominous silence
was broken bv a low murium
like the sweep of the distant tornadi
as Colonel Vining rose and began t<
speak. Soon the low, llute-like voici
stilled the rising tempest, and the audience
with impassive faces settled
themselves to listen.
"'lie's got 'em dead now,' whispered
the lawyer. 'Nobody ever listens to
him without going his way.' He too
summed*up the evidence, and with such
clearness did he present it as a tissux1
of falsehood that men hung their heads
for having accepted it. With wither
in*jf sarcasm lie lore into snrwis me
character ol' the plaintiff, liis petty
dislionesties, his known intemperance
and liis unvarying cruelty. Then the
silence became more intense, and men
leaned eagerly forward, as with a touch
of pathos in the silvery voice he recounted
the leading facts in the prisoner's
life. Now a mere hoy, he had
left his Xew England hills to earn a
living for a widowed mother, who (-veil
then was watching for his return, little
thinking that her hoy was in jeopardy;
attracted to Alabama l?y reports of her
warm-hearted, open-handed children he
had learned to love them for their kindness
to t ho wandering stranger. Then
in glowing words, each one ' as a nail
driven into a sure place,' he appealed
to them by the memory of their own
struggling youth to show mercy to the
boy. One face softened, then another,
and another, till under the spell of Ids
matchless eloquence many a heard-featured,
grizzly-bearded man saw himself
once more in the young prisoner. Then
a hand would steal quietly up to brush
away a tear from a furrowed cheek, and
even the keen gray eyes of the judge
were dimmed by a suspicious moisture
"When Colonel Viningsat down such
n yfnrin nf imiiliiimp slionk flip house ;is
had rarely waked the echoes of that
sleepy burgh. When the jury broughtin
the verdict, 4Xot guilty,' he led his
client through the crowded room, entered
his carriage and drove home.
There they sat down to a bountiful repast,
after which Colonel Vining ordered
his buggy, and pointing to it said :
"There, my young friend, is your chance
for safety. Jerry will drive you to the
next town and here is $20 to help you
out of the State. Your baggage is all
in there. These people are brave and
generous, but like a lot of dry wood,
only needing a spark to set them in a
blaze, and your enemy is an unscrupulous
rascal ready to furnish all the tinder
they may need. Lot ine hear from
you as soon as you reach a place of
safety, for 1 had a hard pull lor your
life to-day."
" 'God bless you, sir: if lie spares me
1 shall surely repay you for this day's
work,' said the peddler.
'"Ten thousand dollars wouldn't
huvfi temnted me to do what I have
~~ " " " I ?
done for you to-day, so don't worry
about tho debt: but while Edward
Vining lives it shall never be said that
a stranger was hounded to death in
Alabama and not a voice raised in his
defense. But go now, for time hastens
and my work must not be undone.'
'"May John McEachin's right hand
forget its cunning, if he ever fails to
remember this day,' said the peddler,
as looking his last upon the lace of Ids
preserver he rode away.
"Y.ou see, Mr. Coulae, you needed
no letter of credit to my bouse; your
name is a passport to my home and
heart. Let us rise now and drink to
the memory of Colonel Edward Vining,
the bravest man I have ever known."
Beverently the guests rose and responded
to the toast. This tribute to
the nobility of Ids grandfather gave an
added luster to Vining's dark eyes and
a prouder grace to his lithe figure,
Little wonder that Flora McEachin
saw in him the hero of her girlish
fancy; and as the days lapsed into
weeks and the weeks into months, together
they conned the old, old story.
With Mr. McEachin's assistance Vining
established himself in his profession
and rapidly won friends and position.
When another Christmas tide rolled
round the marriage bells of Vining
L'oulae and .Mora -uchiacmn nore tneir
part of the burden of peace on earth
and good will to men.?SprimjJkld
Itepubliran.
A Sea Captain's Revenge.
It has often been said that there is no
despotism in the world equal to that
exercised by the captain of a vessel
when at sea. This, of course, does not
apply to yachts, for those are not registered
vessels, but sail under a license,
and the captain of such a craft could be
discharged by the owner when in midocean
if for any reason the owner found
fault with his management, lint with
merchant vessels when once out of port
the authority of the captain is, bv the
laws of every nation, supreme. It is
necessary that this should be so. A ship
when at sea represents a number
of different interests; those who
own the vessel, those who own
the cargo, thofce that insure the
mill and us eonicms, aim un-u j.im,
but not least, arc the lives (if crew and
possibly of passengers. There must lie
a responsible directing head, armed
with the legal power to enforce any
order he may think necessary for the
protection of these different, interests,
and this authority could be lodged nowhere
but with thecaptain. 11 is judgment
maybe at fault, but if at the end
of a voyage he can make oath that h<
considered what he did to be necessary
for the protection of the interests intrusted
to his keeping, it is almost impossible
to punish him for his mistakes.
An example of this arbitrary power
was given some years ago by the cap
tain of a merchant vessel sailing from
one of our Atlantic ports. The sliij
was bound on a voyage to the west coast
of South America, and her owner invited
one or two of his friends t<
I go down the bay in her and re
turn on the nilot boat. When outsuh
the weather became somewhat threat
ening, ami the pilot, lioat was not inline
cliately on Jiand. The captain ha<l lonj
cherished a grudge against the ownci
and saw in tiie situation an opportunity
of revenging himself. In spite of com
mands and then of appeals made for t In
owner, Ins friends and the pilot, he jar
his vessel upon her course and sailei
out to sea. His involuntary passenger
were, of course, in a wretched state u
mind, coining, as they did, wholly tin
prepared for a voyage around ('api
Horn, and well aware that their rela
tivesand friends would havcdouhts a
to their existence. This led the owne
to resort to methods which led the cap
tain to construe to he mutinous, am
hence he had the former placed in con
lineinent, while the entire party, witl
the exception of the pilot, were treatci
very much as if they had heen com
rnon sailors, so far as their food suppl,
was concerned. When the ship arrive*
at her port of destination the captaii
was instantly dismissed ; hut that wa
all the punishment that could he visite
upon him.
Why does a duck go into the water
For divers reasons.. Why does it com
out ? For sun-dry reasons. Why doe
it go back ? To liquidate its bill. * Wh
does it come out again ? To make a ru
.An thft hfljilr
> | BULL RUN*.
> I
[ How llcnrv J. Itiivumml nml Dr. Kiimm'II
of llu> l.ondoii "TinifH" Itoilc I.Ike 31ml
lor Washington?Humor* of the Ocrn-|
"ion.
i'rohahlv the best description of the
; wild .stampede which followed the hat
tie of Bull Bun ever printed appeared
' in tlie I'ittshiirjx Disjxitch recently.
1 The historian is Kennedy Marshall, of
" Butler. I'a., a prominent lawyer. Mr.
1 j Marshall at the date of the buttle was j
a member of the Pennsylvania legisla
11 urc. and with hundreds of persona ]
[ followed the army to see the eonfeler
i ates crushed bv McDowell. Marshall
' was accompanied by Henry J. Kay'
j inond, editor of the New York Times,
' j :uid Dr. Russell, the famous war corre':
spondent of the London Tim<s.
I "Raymond, Russell and I," began
' j Mr. Marshall, " were seated on the
' { roadside, taking lunch, at .'i o'clock in
! he afternoon. While we were talking
together we heard locomotives
whistling over on the Manasses rail'1
road. The trains stopped in a cut, out
1 of sight. Pretty soon out marched a
lot of soldiers in gray, with a stand of
brigade colors, and came at a double
1 quick across the lield. It was Kirby
' Smith with tin- last installment of
I Johnson's army from Winchester,
which had eluded Patterson. The
panic which seized our troops when
II these fresh lighters hurled themselves
at the Union lines, already tottering
with exhaustion, was wilder than
anvthiii" in military history
j since three Austrian soldiers, coming
out of the woods to surrender
after the battle of Solferino, put the
winile J'rench army to rout fur a time.
Regiments that had stood up to their
work bravely since, i) o'clock in the
I morning, melted away in a few min|
utes at the si^ht of the gray charging
j columns. There was no knowing
I what force was behind Smith, anil
Hunter's men did not wait to see.
j They took the road to (Yntreville pellI
mcli, every niiin for himself. The infantry
charged their own batteries, cut
the liorses loose, jumped on their
backs and went to the rear at a gallop.
Russell disappeared on the tide at the
top of his speed. . Raymond drifted
away from me, and I did not let
many pass me in the race myself. It
was the further the faster, and after
covering what seemed to mo about
live miles, 1 dropped exhausted beside
the road to rest.
" By-and-bye Raymond came along,
lie had .found his barouche and he took
me in. We whirled along in the crush
fof ambulances, artillery horses, priI
rates. officers ami camp-followers on
1'oot. ladies and politicians in carriages,
and 200 or MOO steers, ;dl making the
best of their way to Washington. A
drove of cattle had been driven out behind
the army to be slaughtered after
the battle. They were stampeded with
the rest and added to the confusion.
Tnere were m;iny amusing incidents.
Earlier in the day I had noticed L. L.
McCuflin, of New Castle, since judge
in this judicial distinct, now dead. He
was carrying water to one of the Held
hospital-;. Ifc had been one of the 'On
to Richmond' crowd, had come down
to stiffen up the President's spine, and
was loud in advocating a vigorous
prosecution of the war.
" lie was a large man, and wore a
long linen duster. When the rush in
the rear began he ran with the rest.
He was fat, and as the crowd gradually
swept, past him lie at last began to
nlnmcf within
L-IilllK till* lllUOl HC (UIIIV7V II4VIU*.
?rasj? of his living duster tail. Blind
with sweat and dust, he tripped on a
log and fell flat on his stomach, or as
Hat as he could fall on such ;t? round
stomach. A zouave, who was hard at
his heels, came down with emphasis on
top. Mr. McfJullin was certain that
the Philistines were upon him, 'and j
with a weak endeavor to roll his eyes ]
around that he might see his foeman's
face, exclaimed: 'Great heaven, gentlemen,
can't this thing he compromised
?'
' lie fore Raymond and 1 had driven
far an ordnance wagon crushed intoour
harouche and demolished it. I
mounted one of the carriage horses.
Raymond was in despair.
1 " ' (Jet on the other Horse, 1 crieu.
' 4 Hut I can't stick on.'
"'Then gootl-evening; I'm going to
Washington.'
"'Ilohl on; 1 can ride behind the
nigger,' exclaimed the distinguished
editor, and he was about to climb up
behind the colored driver when a carriage
drove past with some (.'ongrcssj
men whom he knew and he got in with
them.
" I galloped away, but before I had
gone far I saw a regiment drawn up
in line across the road, with lixed bayonets,
stop]ling the fugitives. I took
to the fields, executed a llank movement
and got past with a lew others.
When I came to the little field telegraph
ollice, near Fairfax Court House,
1 was riding ahead of my party. A
wire had been laid out thus far and
dispatches from the Held were carried
here and wired to Washington. The
last messages sent had told how our
troops were driving the enemy.
'" What news from the lieldV cried
the little operator, with his linger on
the key.
'" Our men are routed. They are
" * * I + 1...-.I- 4
running mis way, i mikhih-w n.u-n t># i
him as I galloped past. 11 ? cut loose
his instrument, tucked it under his arm
and took to Ids heels. When the next
orderly came with a dispatch he found
the 1 lattery dismounted, and that was
how 1 came to he the first t<? carry the
| news to Washington.
" I overtook Hull Kun l'ussell, and
we rode together for a while; hut his
horse was fagged and mine was fresh,
so 1 soon left him. Aft^r that I rode
foremost and alone. At Hall's Cross
lioiuis 1 was challenged hy a Dutch
> sentinel. lien Morgan had my pass
! through the lines, hut I had an annual
. I over the Pennsylvania railroad, signed
, l?v Tom Scott. I showed llie* sentinel j
till' name of Scott, told liini it was
. General Winlicld Se<itt, the coin
lnander-in-eliief, and lie passed me'
. through. 1 got over the
. Long bridge at Washington at 1)
o'clock, just as tin1 countersign was lie
ing given out lor the ni^ht. 1 rode
. uji to Willard's hotel through streets
i thronged with people, wild with cxi
citenient over the favorable dispatches
I that had come in from the front. The
. j brass bands were out in force, and
, soi n body was making a rousing'On
. J to IJichmond' speech from the balcony
. of the hotel. 1 walked into the ollice
. under the sound of his inspiring words,
. knowing how soon those cheers would
r be hushed to whispers of affright.
' ' ?- - i 41... i n.,.?
C I IliUlWM'K WilS Ivccjuiijj Iin- min i un ii,
and as I pushed up to "(lie desk lie
. stared at me, bareheaded and strcam.
ing with dirt and sweat as I was, and
O # ? |
f finally recognizing me, asked me where'
j I had been and what was the matter.
s "4 J ediue from the front. McDowf
all is licked out (if 1 lis hoots, and tin*
. wreck of our army is not far behind
me.'
" C'hadwick dived back into his pris
vate office with a scared face, and in a
r few moments came back and took iiih
. in with him.
1 ' There sat (Seneral .Mansfield, who
. was in command of the troops around
Ii Washington, with a bottle of chamj
pagnc before him.
"Mr. Chadv.ick informs me, sir,
v that you report our anjiv retreating.
[\ Are you a military man, sir?'
"4 No, sir.'
s " ' Then, how do you know, sir, that
,1 they were not merely making a change
of front or executing some other military
maneuver, sir?'
? '4 Well, general,' I replied, as calmly
e as I could, while the gray-haired old
s martinet eyed ine sternly,' 1 saw whole
v regiments throw down their guns and
it
guns and caissons and gallop away. I
saw officers, men, Congressmen and
Texas steers running neck and neck
down the road toward "Washington,
and steers were the only things that
had their tails up. It may have been
a change of front, as you say, but?'
* I don't believe a single word of
it,' broke in the general, who had listened
to me with evident impatience.
"'Good-evening,' I replied, and
walked out of the door. The crowd
had got the news by this time from
Chadwick, and I was almost pulled to
pieces. Somebody noticed that 1 was
wearing a gray suit, and shouted:
* He's a rebel.' There were several
suggestions that 1 be lynched for trying
to stimulate a rising of the rebel
element in the city. General Mansfield
hurried oil' to the war department,
and pretty soon a sergeant and a
squaii ot souuers came ior me ann iook
iiih to the department. President
Lincoln and liis entire cabinet were
there, with old General Scott, anxiously
waiting for news from the front.
Simon Cameron had known me as a
member of the legislature and vouched
for my loyalty. There was very Jittle
said while I told my story briefly.
" The President sat with his liead
bent down upon his hand, and was evidently
very much depressed. Simon
Cameron, then secretary of war, was
the coolest head in the cabinet. lie
immediately consulted with Scott as to
hurrying reinforcements across the
Potomac, and orders were issued to
stop all fugitives at Long bridge. They
asked me very few questions, but after
I had told my story and was dismissed,
the newspaper correspondents nearly
devoured me. Just its I came out .of
the war department I met one of General
McDowell's aids bringing in the
? * r.e ??
ICjIUlb UL \.:UI1U IKlllUX l >7 urtuavi
Harvest Homes.
Says the Pittsburg (Pa.) Dispatch:
Tlio old-time harvest home picnic
which, like so many other excellent old
customs, has dropped out of general observance,
is just no*?v receiving a great
revival. A couple of years ago it suddenly
sprang into usage again among
some of the lainous farmers of Middle
New York, and has rapidly spread beyond
the conlines of that State, and beyond
the limits of the farminfi class
alone. In the rich farming country of
Eastern Pennsylvania, and in Ohio and
Illinois to the west of us there have
been notably large gatherings.
The farming folk have not been able,
if they so desired, to make these picnics
exclusively farmers' affairs. It
has become quite the fashion among
city and townspeople as well. The
festivals being under the management
of representative men from the countrv
inuiipi.il n roannr-trihilitv nt?il
decorum which does not always attend
picnic parties which go from tho city
to the country. It. never degenerates
into a carouse, but retains its character
as a decent, rderlv gathering for a
day's enjoyment in the woods. Parents
with large families of children, of the
inconvenient size that tumble out
(d' boats, gather stray toads to
their bosoms, get beetles down their
neck and squall have seized upon this
new enterprise as an opportunity for
taking them for a day of merrymaking
at a picnic where there is no
drinking and no lights. Besides, there
is a fragrant suggestion of red apples
and broad slices of bread and butter
about a real farmers' picnic tli.U is
very taking to city-living people. Of
course, the farmers and their families
constitute the largest }>art of the attendance,
for the obvious reason that
they can see more of their neighbors
tliers than at any other place.
Many a horse trade is consummated
at the harvest home
and new varieties of seed wheat
. velirinirpii The wives and daughters
go partly for the fun, and largely because
it is the latest fashion. The railroad
companies have not been slow to
promote an enterprise which cultivates
sociability, and hence conduces to visiting
and consequently traveling. The
rates of fare to anil from the harvest
home are usually lower than on any
other occasion.
The custom of celebrating the gathering
in of the harvest by a feast or
merrymaking is older in England than
the introduction of Christianity, and as
formerly practiced had many features
^>f the old Druid dispensation. In England
generally this festival passes under
the name of the " Harvest Home." In
the northern counties it was called the
" Mcll Supper." In Scotland it was
hailed under the designation of the
" Kirn " or " Kirn Supper." And there
were perhaps outer ioc;u n;uiie*.
In tin1 old simple clays of England,
tlic harvest home was such a scene
as Horace's friends might have expected
to see at his Sabine farm, or as
Theocritus described in his Idyls. In
these days the working people ol' a few
contiguous farms only united in the
celebration, but subsequently whole
counties came together. The grain last
cut was brought home in its wagon,
called the bock cart, surmounted by a
figure formed of a sheaf with gay
dressing, presumably representing the
goddess Ceres. Sometimes the figure
on the cart, instead of being a mere
dressed-up bundle of grain, was a pretty
girl of the reaping band, crowned with
(lowers and hailed as " the maiden," or
in Scotland "the har'st queen," Of
this we have a description in a ballad of
liloomliekTa:
"Home came the Jovial hockey load,
Last of the whole year's crop,
And (iracc among the green boughs rode,
ltight plump upon the top.
" This way and that way the wagon reeled
And never queen rode higher;
Her cheeks were colored in the Held,
.And our* before the Are."
1 * - il.- i 1 I
1IC1TJCK (leseriocs me Ii.li vest, miuiiof
liis (lay, the earlier half of the seventeenth
century, and chronicles the
cheering virtue of the "all-templing
friimentie," the "smirking wine" and
the "stout heere" which llowed freely
upon the occasion.
A custom obtained at the close of
harvest of " Crying the Mare," as it
was called in Hertfordshire, the"Xack,"
as it was termed in Devonshire,
"(Joohhir Uhacagh" or "the ('rippled
(Joat," as it was named in the Isle of
skye. The last handful of grain cut
l?y a farmer who.got through his harin
ti.nl im in !i liiimilti
* *~*?" > ! ,
tricked out with ribbons and sent with
some rude preliminary ceremonies t?>
tardier 'neighbor who still had som*
grain still standing. lie in turr
when lie completed his harvest work
passed it on to the nearest tardy one
and so mi until all the
grain being cut in a neighborhood
it was time for liarj
vest home. The last man holding the
handful of grain, which constituted the
Mare Xack or Goat, was esteemed a
| sluggard all the year through. In Seotliiml
this last handful received more
honorable treatment. It was cut by
the bonniest lass in the district, tied
j up with ribbons and usually preserved
I in the farmer's parlor l'nr the remainder
of the year.
The modern celebration of the inI
gathering of the harvest is by no
i means the rude festival of former
days. The progress of the farmer
socially is very well illustrated bv a
comparison of the festivities mentioned
above with the amusement resources
provided for at a picnic next
Tuesday. There is to be a band of
music on the grounds, and fat men's
races, sack races and a boat race on
the Ohio river opposite the ground.
Swings, flying horses, croquet, baseball
and the like amusements will
make glad and tired the young generation.
Altogether, the farmer of to-day
provides his family with a decidedly
greater variety oi euju,yiuem.? in<m ins
remote ancestor in the days when "the
TI1E.FARM ANI) HOUSEHOLD.
Diiftt lintlm for Poultry.
Cleanliness' is most important in
fowl-houses. Dry earth in the form of
|*U?UL*I, SCclLLUlCU CVCi%> \Minw, ? ill cll?sorli
the bad odor.s, giving a wholesome
atmosphere to the hen-house, and
at the same time preserve the manure
in the least offensive condition. Besides
these purposes, a box of dry
earth should be in a convenient corner
of every fowl-house for the fowls to
roll in. Dust from the highway is
most convenient, lleplace the same
by ijn equal quantity of good gravel,
and the public will be the gainer.?
Live Nlock .Journal.
Iluein .
An English gardener, Mr. Barnes, of
Devonshire, in giving an opinion of the
importance of hoeing, said he " did not
agree with those who say that one good
weeding is worth two hoeings. 1 say,
never weed any crop in which a hoe
can be got between the plants, not so
much for i!;e sake of destroying the
weeds and vermin, which must necessarily
be the case if the hoeing be done
well, as for increasing the porosity of
the soil to allow the water and air to
penetrate freely through it." He adds:
"1 am well convinced, by long and
close practice, that oftentimes there is
more benefit derived by crops from
keeping thorn well hoed than there is
from the manure applied. Weeds or
no weeds, I still keep stirring the soil,
well knowing from practice the very
beneficial effects it lias."
llnrroiriMff Wet Ground.
Avoid harrowing the ground when
wet. It is also of little benefit to work
it when dried hard. The best time is
between the two, when the ground will
work lip easily and become mellow.
Some soils require two harrowings at a
time to get the desired effect. Use the
harrow pretty freely rather than sparingly.
If the land is to be stocked
down sow the seed before the hist harrowing.
"We must have a favorable
jook so iar as me ury seasons are concerned.
With the wet it is more difficult.
Fortunately we are not much
troubled with an excess of wet, our
seasons in this respect being more favorable
than the condition reported at
Kothamsted. It is with dry weather
that we have most to do, and this not to
prevent the loss of nitrogen but of
water; and the mulch of fine soil must
be the means to accomplish this.
A (iood Cow.
The only way to raise a good cow is
to choose a good calf, feed it well and
judiciously, and feed it faithfully, and
do not get weary in well doing. It is
belli by some that a calf fed upon such
food as stimulate milk secretion will be
greatly intluenced in the formation of
milk glands. Certain it is that milking
traits are hereditary, and this can only
be secured by breeding under the farmer's
own supervision?selecting the fittest,
and feeding to attain the end
sought. By raising his own cows the
farmer has two chances as against one
where lie buys His rows, it lie tans in
selecting a good cow it usually happens
that it takes her body and the milk
credit she has made to equal the purchase
money, not counting the summer's
labor in milking her or the keep.
If the heifer fails the farmer turns her
into beef; the funds received are added
to capital stock, the actual conversion
of so much grass, corn and hay into
money.?Oh io Farmer.
Selecting Si'ed Corn.
The importance of sowing of planting
good seed cannot w ell be over-estimated.
The law of "Like produces
Like," is forcibly illustrated in the case
of corn. There are instances where a
difference in the seed made all the difference
between a paying and a losing
crop. In selecting seed corn great care
should be taken that it is the best. It is
not always an easy matter to decide
which are tlio best points. For example,
some farmers may prefer two medium-sized
ears instead of one large one
upon a stalk. We are content with one
good ear to the stalk, but it must be
long, sound, well filled out, heavy, early
ripened, and one that is husked with
ease. We ask for only one such ear,
anil it is asking enough of any single
cornstalk. An equally good ear with a
nubbin on the same stalk is not preferred.
In the latter ease the product
may revert to tin; poor ear, to which it
is so closely related. The selection
should be made while the stalks are
standing, and, if necessary, give the
chosen ears special advantages for early
and perfect maturity bv removing the
"suckers," or anything else that would
* XI .1 11- 1.: 4.1. ^ 1 4
ucpnvc mi' HicUK ui niiiMii^ nit* urai
growth. The stalk can be esisily marked
1 iv some straw or cloth tied around it.
So soon .'is ripe the seed ears should lie
husked and placed in a safe place. It
is a good plan to hang them in bunches
hv their husks to the ridge-pole of the
corn-house, thus providing good and
safe keeping for the corn.
The C'urliiiK of liny.
The New York Times says that as a
rule we sun-dry our hay too much; we
scorch it with a dry heat instead of curing
it with a moist heat. By our common
practice we drive out the essential
oils of the hay; we bake it and reduce
it to the condition of a dry chip, in
which its delicate llavor and aroma are
lucf. uolnliln liln?r i? rliiimri'il tn in
digestible wood, and the tender Laves
and honey-laden blossoms are dried
until they are so brittle as to be reduced
to powder and utterly lost. In this.regard
we might learn something from
the foreign fanners. Once upon a time
a quantity of American hay was
shipped to England as a speculation;
hay was cheap here and scarce and dear
there, but the bales of green, dry,
crisp stalks, devoid of tender leaves
and of all fragrance, were neglected
and despised, and were brought back
again for want of a purchaser at any
price. Our practice need nut be described
particularly, it is too weil,
known ; hut it may be compared with
that of the English, farmers, and some
American farmers who make use of
their system. The grass is cut and exposed
for some hours to the sun and
w;nd until, it is thoroughly wilted and
freed from outside moisture. It is then
raked and the same day put up into
cocks about four feet in diameter and
five feet high. These are carefully
built so that they will shed considerable
rain, but hay-caps are provided to
secure the cocks from slight wetting.
In this state the internal moisture, the
sap of the hay, ferments and produces j
considerable heat, which drives oil' the
water in the grass and softens.
and chemically changes the sub- j
stance of the fiber. Smic oi tin; woody j
liber is changed to starch, and sonic of
the starch to sugar, and in fact the very
same process is undergone as in the
ripening of a fruit in which the indigestible
wotxlv liber and the acid are
changed into yellow and digestible pulp j
and nutritious sugar. After a suflicicnt
time, usually two or three days,
the curing process is complete; hut
four or live days, or even longer, will
do no harm to the hay. Then when
the whole crop has been cut and cured,
the first cut is ready to be put away.
The cocks are thrown over, the hay is
aired for three or four hours, and is
then carted to the barn or stack. There
it undergoes a second heating, in which
it becomes soft and sweet and full of
that peculiar aroma which gives to
butter made from it the same delicious
ilavor which it gains from gniss in its
best stage.
Farm unci Garden Note*.
Two or three-year-old cattle will add
one-third of a pound more per day to
their weight upon prepared hay and
roots than upon the same materials un
der available the plant food already in
the soil, without itself supplying any
significant amount. Liming cannot,
therefore, be successfully repeated except
at considerable intervals.
Where potatoes are planted deep, as
they should be, the soil must be worked
correspondingly deep, and the manure
well and deeply mixed with it. The
seed lying on the cold, raw subsoil, will
not do well. Working the soil so as to
get a few inches of mellow, rich eartli
below the seed is what is wanted.
It appears from experiments that a
heaping teaspoonful of paris green to
twelve quarts of water is just as certain
to destroy the potato beetle as a
larger quantity; but one pound of the
poison mixed with 100 pounds of plaster
may be applied by the hand, as it
is Droved bv repeated tests that no bad
results follow taking it in the bare
hand when mixed in those proportions.
The plaster is worth to the crop all the
labor expenses.
More care is required to make line
velvety lawns than is usually supposed.
It is necessary to have plenty of rich
loam, suilicien't well-rooted manure or
fertilizer, and the best of seed. If the
subsoil be sandy or gravelly, a greater
depth of loam is needed, or- the bottom
must be partially puddled with either
clay or peat; if not, any manure or topdressing
of any description soaks away
and disappears entirely.
Professor Bell, of the Michigan Agricultural
college, says that the young
tree must be treated very much like a
hill of corn; therefore, raise hoed crops
in a young orchard. lie also, like most
intelligent horticulturists, says it is a
good plan to keep young trees mulched,
to prevent rapid evaporation from the
soil, keep the surface mellow and prevent
the soil from freezing and thawing
in winter and, from becoming overheated
in summer.
In n&ny. respects grass culture has
not kept pace with improvements in
nth or br:inrhes. We are continuallv
getting new plants, trees, new fruits,
new vegetables, new grains, but a new
j;rass is never thought of. "We have
the same orchard grass, the same redtop,
the same timothy that we had
over a hundred years ago, and, so far
as the drift of thought goes, we shall
have the same grasses for a hundred
years to come. And yet there is no
reason that we can see why there
should not be improved grasses as well
as improvements in any other thing,
and there doubtless would be if public
attention was drawn to the matter as
it should be.
The time for trimming must con
form to circumstances. A very light
pruning must be performed at almost
any time; but the removal of considerable
portions of a tree after the buds
have opened or while the tree ia growing,
always checks its vigor. But if
very thrifty it will do no harm to give
it some check. Peach trees are less'
checked than apples. Pruning apple
orchards in summer is frequently
recommended, because the wound dries
and heals sooner, but if the trees aro
not vorv vigorous it should be done
sparingly. On the whole it is better
to prune large branches late in winter
and coat the wound when dry with
paint, grafting wax or shellac in oil.
Reclpcs.
White Mountain Cake.?One cup
of sugar, one-half cup of butter, onehalf
cup of sweet milk, one-half cup of
corn starch, one cup of flour, the whites
of six eggs, a little vanilla, two teaspoonfuls
of baking powder; bake in
layers. Frosting for above: Take the
whites of Ave eggs, twenty tablespoons
sifted sugar beaten very light; a little
vanilla. Spread between layers ' and
outside of cake.
Tomato Salad.?Take the skin,
juice and seeds from nice, fresh tomatoes,
chop what remains with, celery,
and add a dressing made of two hardboiled
eggs, rubbed line and smooth, one
saltspoon of English mustard, the yolk
of one raw egg beaten into the other.
Add very best salad oil poured in by
very small quantities, and beaten as
long as the mixture continues to thicken,
then add vinegar till as thin as desired.
If not hot enough with mustard add a
little cayenne pepper. .
Black Coffee.?To make coffee
srood it should never be boiled, but
boiling water should be poured on it
just the same as for tea. A great deal
of the aroma of coffee is lost unless it
has been freshly roasted, and one
reason why Germans and Freneli excel
in their coffee is simply because they
roast each day sufficient for the day's
needs. It should never be ground until
it is wanted for use. To make excellent,
strong, black coffee, allow one
and a half ounces or one and a half
tablespoonfuls of ground coffee for
each person, and to every ounce of
coffee allow one-third of a pint of boiling
water.
Warm and fiot Springs.
The springs called thermal springs
are found in all latitudes, at various
elevations above the sea, and in most
of the geological formations. The word
thermal does not, however, denote a
spring of any particular degree of temperature,
and is far from signifying
that the springs to which it is applied
are all equally warm; for any spring is
thermal, the water of which is warmer
than the mean annual temperature of
the place where it occurs. In the equatorial
regions, where the mean annual
temperature is about eighty degrees, a
thermal spring should have a temperature
of about eighty-live degrees,
while in the northern parts of the
earth, as, for example, at Yakutsk, in
Siberia, where the year's temperature
does not exceed thirteen degrel\s, it
need be only a little above that. The
waters of thermal springs maintain an
equable temperature, and must therefore
come out of depths in the earth at
which the variations in the tempera
I lire 01 T.11(* air l in? iiuiiiuK f. iit.~
cording to Uoiissingault, this depth in
the tropics is only 21 little more than
our or two-feet, hut between fortyeight
decrees and lifty-two decrees of
north latitude it is between sixty-six
and ninety-three feet helow the
surface. JJesides the springs that
are called thermal, many springs
are found the temperature of
which exceeds the highest mean
tciniieralure of the year, and j
arc called warm springs. Samples arc*
the .spring at Carlsbad, 107 degrees;,
that of Wiesbaden. 158 degrees ; those
of Haden-Haden, l-r?4 to 111 degrees, J
etc. The depth from which the waters
come may be approximately calculated
by the rule that the temperature increases
one degree for every ninety
feet below the surface. Ilence the
water of the bubbling spring at Carlsbad
is supposed to come from a depth
of 7,900 feet. I
A third class of springs, the boiling
springs, geysers or hot springs, whose
temperature is near the boiling point
of water, are peculiar in respect to the)
places where they appear. They are I
found only in volcanic regions; are nil-!
merous in Iceland, where there are
more than a hundred of them; on the
North island of New Zealand, where
they are most abundant, in the neighborhood
of the Roto Mahada or Hot
.in,l nivir flu. VelloWstoriP lilkp.
the Fire-hole ami the Madison rivers, |
in the region ol' the "Wind River moun-!
tains, in the United States, where I
some 800 of them are grouped within
a certain well-delined area.?Popular
Science Monthly.
"I want a good match safe," the
customer said. And the boy promptly
dipped a box of matches into the water
pail and handed them out. " There,"
he said, "You can't buy 'em any
safer'n that in all America. Wouldn't
A JUST RETRIBUTION. 1
A Wretch's Perflily and a Young Glrl'a Infatuation?
A Plot \VhIch Was Partially
Carried Oat.
Early on the morning of July 6,
1878, a carriage drove up to the Parker
house, in Boston, from which alighted j
a young and handsome man.. He
gazed about him for a moment and
i then entered the coach. lie had hardly .
seated himself when a young'girl,
scarcely nineteen, with a face as purely ,
beautiful as a rose-blossom, approached i
the vehicle and seated herself beside .
the occupant within. The coach then
proceeded on its way through the city, 1
until it reached a retired spot. Here ]
it stopped, the two alighted and the ;
driver was discharged. The girl was ;
Kate Roberts, one of two daughters of
a poor woman who at that moment lay
dying of consumption in a room in the ]
poorest section of Boston, and her \
companion was George Davis, a gam- \
bier. '<
Along a path the two walked, and, \
sioppmg neiore wnat appeared a ]
gloomy-looking mansion, the man (
knocked. The door was opened and .
the two entered and were ushered into \
an ante-cluunher, where stood a woman j
of harsh and forbidding features, and <
beside her was a man who purported
to be the officiating clergyman. lie (
opened some book, the ceremony was ]
mumbled over in a strange indistinct ,
manner, the ring was placed on the ,
finger of the bride, the pair were pro- !
nounced man and wife, the book was
closed, tucked under the man's arm. ,
who, receiving his fee, immediately (lis- ,
appeared, From State to State the 1
couple traveled, and the young wife
soon discovered that her husband was ;
a brute.
In the spring of 1859 Davis took up
his abode in Cuba, and his treatment
of his wife at this time had become ,
more brutal than ever. Having established
a gambling den in company with
one Scares, in that part of Havana
known as the Caldera, he began to
prosper rapidly. A shoit time had
elapsed when Davis' wife mysteriously
disappeared, and, though numerous
theories were advanced as to her
whereabouts, no definite clew was obtained.
Among the many rich planters residing
in Havana was an old'Spanish
gentleman named Angelos Rio. He
11ci/1. fu'n Vmoiiflfiil An
lique and Isadora. The former was a
perfect type of the Spanish beauty, with
lustrous hair, and speaking, sparkling
orbs that flashed like diamonds when
reflecting the sun's rays. Angelique
had met Davis and had fallen madly in
love with the fellow. "When her fdther
ascertained the fact he grew frantic
with rage, but his action seemed only
to spur the daughter on, until one
morning Cuban society awoke to learn
that the rich and beautiful Angelique
had clandestinely married a gambler.
As a revenge for the ingratitude of his
daughter, Senor Rio disinherited her
and willed his entire fortune to. his
daughter Isadora. It was shortly after
this that he died.
Moved by sympathy for her sister,
Isadora brought Angelique and her
husband to the family mansion, where
they continued to live in apparent happiness.
Senor Varlville, the famed lawyer of
Havana, sat one morning in his office,
when Isadora, accompanied by her
maid Mercita, entered, and, with a
winning gentleness, informed him that
she desired him to draw up a new will .
for her, having decided, she said, to revoke
all others. The lawyer turned to
his desk, and, arranging his .papers,
awaited the necessary instructions.
Isadora, with a singular inflection of
determination running through her
tones, spoke as follows:
" I, Isadora Rio, bequeath my entire
estate, with ail my personal enecis, 10
my beloved sister, Mrs. Angelique Davis,
of Havana, Cuba, making her sole
executrix."
The paper having been signed, witnessed
and sealed, Isadora, in company
with lier maid, left the office. The difference
between this last will and the
former was that in the former she had
bequeathed two-thirds of her estate to
lier sister and the remainder to Davis,
besides making him one of her executors.
She had satisfied herself that
Davis was a villain at heart, though
she kept the secret foolishly to herself.
On the night of April 9, 1880, the
servants in the Rio mansion -were
startled by the report of a pistol, and,
following the direction of the sound,
rushed to Isadora's boudoir, where
they found their mistress lying dead
upon the lloor with blood flowing from
a wound in the head. The police were
notified and detectives began an immediate
search for a clew to the assassin.
Davis was found in his room ;ipparently
asleep, but the whereabouts of
Angelique were at the time unknown.
The belief that she had met with foul
play from the same source began to be
entertained by many, while the officers
were beginning to si pcct her of some
complicity in the crime.
In this condition of affairs she entered
the room, her hair disheveled and
her dress almost torn to shreds. When
informed of what had occurred she fell
into convulsions and would no sooner
, return to consciousness than to again
relapse into delirium. On the follow'
ing morning she was arrested on the
charge of murdering her sister.
In her evidence at the trial she stated
that on the previous night, while walking
in the garden adjoining the manj
sion, she was seized from behind by
| some unknown person, and in struggling
to free herself was felled insensible
to the ground. Upon recovering !
consciousness she made her way to the
1 1 ' 'i'?" '"'irnoil r\f tlio mnrrlpr I
j llOHSt', itlli I 1111" it iiutiiwi v/
i of her sister.
I The fact was elicited that she had,
Jon the night of the murder quarreled
? with her sister. This was an import[
ant link in the chain of direct evidence,
I while the circumstantial evidence was
I equally as important. Iler story of her
1 absence at the time of the murder was (
considered a weak fabrication. The
pistol with which the murder was com- :
j m it ted, and which was identified as be- ,
i longing to her, was found on the
i veranda near where Isadora was mur- (
j dcred ; her handkerchief and neck-scarf
; lay in the garden, but a few yards from
! where the shot was fired; footprints
? ? +i,,.
answering 1UTS weir lUimu in uir awm
mold of the garden, and a pair of
gaiters belonging to her were discovered
hidden beneath some underbrush,
t The evidence was overwhelming?so
the jury thought; for, after a short
absence, they returned a verdict of
guilty. She was sentenced for life, and
1 taken from the court-room insensible
Though regaining consciousness, it was
only to enter into the delirium of brain
' fever.
I Angelique lay -in the hospital ward,
her death momentarily expected. Davis,
as an executor in one of the wills
i made, determined to expedite matters,
and applied f?>r administration papers
urimi?rtv of the murdered Isa
dora. On the day that he made application
.a detective accosted Davis, and,
placing his hand upon his shoulder,said:
* Davis, I have a warrant for your
arrest on the charge of murdering
Katie Davis and IsadoroRio."
Davis treated the matter coolly, and
walked quietly before the committing
magistrate. When the judge had finished
the charge, Counselor Vnrville
arose and said:
" Your honor, the charges will be
fully substantiated. Besides, 1 will
add," he continued, " I drew up for the
murdered Isadoro Rio a will live weeks
after the one on which this man claims
right to the estate. At the proper
time this, also, will be substantiated."
On the day preceding the occurrence
of tin; facts just narrated. Mercita, the
ten by Lopez Soares, the former asso- - ^HH
ciate of Davis. It stated that, believ- . ;~JHH
ing he was.about to (lie from injuries
received in a drunken brawl, he wished "jMHflj
to state some facts regarding a crime
which he partly abetted.
After he and Davis had opened their . H
gambling den he discovered that Davis r
was accustomed to brutally beat his HHR
wife. One evening the three took 9
sail. Davis, supposing Soares to be
asleep, struck his wife insensible to the " *
[leek, and in an instant had lifted the
body and tossed it into the sea from the
stern. A great wave grasped it, and it
was seen no more. Soares glided from
under the tarpaulin where he had been
lying, and reached his bunk unseen. '
Presently Davis approached, and with
apparent excitement stated that his
wife had been washed overboard. .
When Davis had succeeded in having - -
himself made one of the executors of H
the will, he, at the moment, determined .
to rid himself of both sisters, and he
selected Soares to assist him, allotting
to him the part of abducting Angelique.
"When Angelique was attacked
m the night of the murder she resisted ^
30 desperately that her assailant, fear- ? \
ing detection, abandoned his job and
fled to Cienfuegos. The handkerchief, . 9|j
jcarf, pistol and gaiters belonging to
Angelique were placed in their differ- - ~
?nt positions by Davis, in order that no
link in the chain of circumstantial evi?'
:lence might be wanting whereby An- |HH
gelique might escape conviction as
being the murderess.
At the trial the evidence would be
such as to convict her, and as a consequence
he would fall into possession of
the vast estates. His part of the bloody
work was to make away with Isadora,
and well he succeeded. With such facts '
as these in evidence, Davis* trial a few |^H
months ago was of short duration, and, .
upon a verdict of guilty being ren- .
rlprpfl lie was spntenned for life to the
quicksilver mines of Alameda, in
Spain. In those mines every breath
inhaled is poisonous. Eating ulcers, '
that bleed and fester, fasten upon the .
unfortunate's flesh; eruptions and ma- ' V
lignant sores cover the body. The hair .
falls out; the jaws rot; the bones ' 9B|
crumble, and the skin turns green.
Ilere Davis was conveyed, a just retribution
for his past^heinous crimes. An- JSq
gelique, recovering from her sickness, ' '
was immediately liberated, and at once .
took possession of her just rights, in
company with her faithful maid, Mer- H
Dr. A. E. Macdonald, superintendent
of the asylum for the insane, situated H|
on one of the islands adjacent to New
York city, in a lecture on insanity,
Many learned men have been endeavoring
for a long time to settle just
? llcllf luoaiilby lJf OlIU 1U 4g UVW WV ?*VM y
to say that they have not yet suoceeded.
But if I cannot tell you just
what insanity is I can tell you one or two
things that it is not.
Insanity is not a disease of the mind.
The poet speaks of the "mind diseased,"
but the physician does not. The *'.
mind is no more subject to disease than s
is the soul to death. The disease is in
the brain, as purely physical in itslocation
and characteristics as disease of ' I I
any other organ, and if the mind shows '
its presence and effects it is only because
mind is the product of brain
action, and an unhealthy organ must
always give rise to disturbed action.
Insanity is so diverse in its degrees and
phases that it is hard to draw the
line and say just where soundness of
mind ends and unsoundness begins. In
fact, it is a good deal a matter of majorities.
We who call ourselves sane happen
to lie in the majority just now, and '
we have set up our standard and looked
up a number of people who fail to meet
it. Their number is increasing all the ;
time, and bv-and-bye, if it keeps on, they .
will be in the majority, and then they
will turn around and look us up.
Between the men manifestly cf
sound intellect and those confessedly
insane, there are arrayed rank upon. .
rank of those in whom p. defect, greater
or less, is seen. In some there is unmistakably
insanity, in others eccentricitv
as we call it; in others again
depravity. Many men of mark have
been found in these ranks. Some have
occupied thrones, like Charles IX. of France,
George III. of England and
Frederick II. of Prussia, and have imj>ressed
upon the policy ot nations the '*1H
stamp of their disease; others, like
Mohammed and Kwedenborg, have
colored with the delusions of insanity
the tenets of refigious sects; and es
pecially from among men of letters
have these ranks been largely recruited.
Johnson, Swift, Pope, Gray
and "Wordsworth; Byron and Shelley;
Cowper, Southey and Charles
Lamb?in all there was either
marked insanity or a close and . v*
undeniable approach to it. ' ^jj^H
The one great predisposing cause is
the inheritance of a tendency toward
insanity begotten in some defect in the - j^H
ancestrv, not necessarily itself insanity,
but possibly some other nervous disease,
and possibly, too, intemperance.
The immediate causes may be either .
moral or phys/cal in their nature. Now
we have come to look more for physi- . |H
c;d causes. Of these intemperance
and other vicious indulgences are the j
most productive. ; v
The simple rules of life which afford Bfl
the best protection iron other diseases
should be followed by those who
would avoid this, tjie most terrible of H|
all. The keynote of the whole is the
remembrance that insanity is a physi- w |H
cal disease, whence it follows that its
])revention must come tlirough atten- *|H
tion to the general laws of health.
Amber.
The best pieces of amber are now
taken in the rough by Armenian merchants
to Constantinople, where they
are carved and chased and polished by
the hand of the engraver, as mouthpieces
Tor pipes. In the pipe bazaar
of tlie great Byzantine edifice?which
contains mosques, fountains and a
labyrinth of arcaded streets, each a
separate bazaar?are hidden away.
amber mouthpieces, of fabulous value, I
in every shade of color, lustrous as |H
crystal, and set with diamonds ana |H
rubies. Sunuorted bv sculptured col
unins, anil decorated with arabesques, '
tins dimly liglited city in the heart of
Stamljoul is full of marvels and treasures.
Through its narrow thoroughfares
camels and carriages and horse
? Umir ivni omnnff n rlonco
lllt'Il HUVC til VII M H?, UlUVMg M UVMWV
throng of people of every nation and Hj
type?Turks in muslin turbans, Per
sians in pyramidal bonnets of Astra- SB
khan fur, Hebrews in yellow coats,
with Greeks, Armenians and running
footmen in gorgeous liveries; and in .
this shifting crowd are dignitaries of
the court, who spend perhaps 50,000
francs on their pipe collections; and . IB
harem ladies wrappe.l in long white
veils, who come for gray amber, gold- |H
embroidered bags of musk and sandalwood,
and the sweet - scented gums '
made by the women of Ohio, -which
are sold in the perfumery bazaar of this
great oriental fair. Amber, l:ttle es- 19
teemed ;is it is at the present time in jH
Europe, and although no longer the
important source of wealth that it H
once was, still has a place in the lux- B
ury and religion of the East. H
According 10 me nocnesier umvu
a boy called at the side door of the resl- [fl
dence of a gentleman of that city re- H
cently and begged for something to eat.
The servant said they had nothing. *
"Give me only a piece of bread," said H
the boy. A white terrier dog that had ? H
stood beside the girl was momentarily
missed, but quickly returned, bearing H
in her mouth a large piece of bread fl
that had been previously given her to.
eat. The dog wen^directly up to