The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, March 28, 1883, Image 1
v ABBEVILLE PRESS AND BANNERl
BY HUGH WILSON. ABBEVILLE, S. C.. WEDNESDAY, MAECH 28, 1883. NO. 41. VOLUME XXW?|JB
i A WELCOME.
B Far in the sunny South she lingers,
B Yet slowly eor*es alonj,
"With fairy girlands in her fingers,
B With snatches of sweet song.
Her eyes with promise are beaming,
J Her smiles will rapture bring,
H The sunlight from her hair is streaming?
E Thrice welcome, lovely Spring.
I She brings us gifts, the royal maiden,
I Fair flowers to deck the hills;
B With primroses her arms are laden,
Bluebells and daffodils.
I Pale crocuses have come bofore her,
M Wild birds her welcome sing;
Ten thousand longing hearts adore her?
u.The gray world's darling. Spring.
I ?J. If. Elton*
AFTER MANY YEA 11$.
" Thin, you see. my own Ilortense,
that I mu3t leave you. I shall proride
an inc >me of a hundrei louis for
your expenses. Look forward constantly
to my return; and when fortune
again smiles upon me I shall
come back, n nx?r again to be separj
ated until death."
The weeping wife could not be comforted.
It was hard that, so soon after
V her marriage, when the world seemed
_ ^ so bright and gay, and when wealth
\ and fortune smiljd so serenely upon
her, all should be swept away, and she
left, like a lone widow, to protect herself.
The husband was almost distracted
with th? thought of leaving
her. His heart had been bound up in hi*
beautiful Ilortense. She had been his
Idol from boyhood, the bright dream
of his existence; and when he had attained
the distinction of one of the
merchant princes of Montreal he mar- 1
ried her and placed her in the very J
heart of luxury.
Misfortunes came on swift wings to '
the happy pair. One by one his pos- 1
sessions li ft him, and worse than that, ;
others were involved in his affairs who
were less able to lose than himself. lie
could not look upon the ruin of those
around him; for he had a kind
heart anil would not wrong any one
for the world. They that lo3t by his
ill fortune admitted that M. Valentin
w;is a strictly lioneet m;in; and that is
great praise from those who are injured
by a man's ill luck. People are
but too apt to call it dishonesty.
There was but a single bright spot
before M. Valentin. Australia gleamed
up warm and golden, and with a desperation
bom of love to his wife and
justice to his creditors, he secretly embarked
for the land of promise. There
was a nine days' wonder as to where
he was gone and to what purpose; and
then he died out of the thoughts of the
community as thoroughly as if he had
been deal and buried.
The weeping Hortense removed to
another locality; the fashionables who
had strained "every nerve to get invited
to the house of the rich merchant,
never pause I to ask after his
wife; and lonely and miserable, without
friends or relative?, Hortense
drooped and pined, until the bjauty
which her husband so praised was
changed into dimness. She never
heard from M. Valentin. No single
word had ever che3red her solitude
since he left her. As month after
month dragged its slow weight along
and no tidings reached her, her heart
nttpplv sunk within her. and sho hp- I
lieved him dead. "What indeed could *
she think? It was better to think so 1
than to believe him unmindful of her, 1
and day after day she watered his j1
memory with tears of genuine sorrow, J,
as one sorrows for the beloved dead. '
She put on the deepest mourning, r
- kept her room for months, and when T.
she finally went out again, and that J
only to church, her sorrow was written *
plainly in the face, which if it had lost J
some of its beauty, was yet most *
deeply interesting. So at least thought e
the young Eugene Stanbury, an *
B Englishman of unblemished character c
and prosperous business. He saw her .
B at church, devised some ingenious ex- 11
I pedient to be introduced, and begged
the privilege of waiting upon her. '
B The lady pleaded her inability to enter- ^
B tain company, the impropriety of her *
I receiving gentlemen, and a thousand ^
fl reasons why he should not visit her. *
k He overruled them all, besought her
Hto waive all ceremony with him, to i c
W consider him as a deeply-attached! c
B friend, a brother, anything in short, if J
B he might be permitted to see her someB
times; and Hortense, weary of her 8
B monotonous and dreary life, at last 11
B consented. 13
vnce naving renewed me aeiicious ~
consciousness of a protecting presence, ^
she found it hard to give it up for the *
mere punctilious fair of what the n
world would say of Iter. Indeed she
had long since shaken hands with the
world, and parted from it. She owed
it no favor. It had no right to criticise
her conduct. Thus she reasoned while ^
listening to Eugene's impassioned entreaties
that she would lay aside her J1
sorrow for the dead and become his ^
wife. (
Still she hesitated. She truly be- *
iieved in her husband's death; for
would he not have written had he
been living? Of the many letters she
had written him, the many inquiries ^
she had instituted, no answer could be j ^
obtained. Xo one knew anything of j
M. Valentin. ^
\ In an hour of more than usual lone
liness and trouble she whispered to | "
1 herself that should JSugene press his
suit anew she would consent to marry g
him. She liked him. She was weary
of her own life, caged and cribbed as i s
she was; she longed for freedom from t
the restraint that poverty and widow- C
hood were constantly imposing upon v
her; and all these combined operated
wonderfully in Eugene's favor. The
marriage was strictly private; and S
half Mr. Stanbury's friends had no y
gr suspicion that she had ever married at
r all until she became his wife. n
He took her to a pleasant home, as
comfortable if not quite as luxurious g
as the one she had shared with M. i:
Valentin ; and all that she could ask
for was showered upon her with gen- v
erous profusion. Their dwelling, two 1
or three miles from the heart of Mon- i \
treai, was surrounded with trees and j r
flowering shrubs of every description. 11
Inside there was every comfort that a s
* loving heart could suggest. The heart |
of Hortense awoke to life, to love, to ] 1
happiness; and to see her thus, rejoiced 11
that of her husband. ' i
Two years of almost unmingled | c
bliss went by, but the third year com- j *
menced with some alarm for the health J f
of Eugene. Twice had Hortense seen | <
him draw a handkerchief from his j 1
lips, which was steeped in blood; and j 1
often his nights were passed in cough- j t
. ing until nature was exhausted, and j <
fij me morning sieep louna nun urencneu i
0 in the terrible sweats which so surely
portend consumption. Ilortense strug- i
B gled against this new and terrible sor-' f
E row. It was the first time that she 1
B had watched over one dear to her. It 1
was the first time that she had seen I
Wt~ the effects of this insidious disease, <
m and hope and fear alternated in her i
breast, until at length she hoped :
H against all hope, and the blow came i
H down upon her all the harder that she i
H/. It was hard to see him parting with f 1
the mute evidences of his brief happi-! <
ness. Every window where he sat
with her, every arbor where they had :
rested, every tree under whose shades
HB. t.hey had walked, or whose trunk he i
MR had" carved with her name, all received <
a farewell look.
B est r" he asked, after his painful jour"Eagene!
do not name it," she said; 1
Bft - you will break my heart."
heaven that I leave you above want.
Promise me, dear, that you will never
leave this home. Trust me; I will be
with you in spirit when the form is
laid in the earth; watching, guarding, i
if possible, speaking to you."
It was his last night on earth. "When
the morn broke his eyes were closed in
the slumber of death.
Hortense wandered for months about j
1 1 lil.rv ,,nrf?rKn,l I
hcr ucituvnui numc jmc n jicnuiui/u ,
spirit. There was nothing that had ;
been touches by Eugene that had nut
a solemn and a sacred value in her
eyes. The trees he had planted, the '
bowers he had formed, all had a meaning
to her that no one else could understand;
and yet upon each one of :
these and upon her whole heart and i
life seemed written, "the glory has departed."
:
It is time to go back to the days of 1
M. Valentin, and see what became of '
the fond husband, the courageous ad- '
venturer. At first he w;n almost dis- 1
tracted at the thought of parting with 1
Ilortense; but once the ltubicon,5
passed, he became more calm. A few *
years he thought would find them together,
never to part; and perhaps ''
they would be all the happier for the 1
separation. 1
Full of hope he went to the mines s
of Australia. Day by day he wrought ?
there, enduring hardships unheard of 1
before, but bearing them with the r
courage and fortitude of a hero. Ever ?
before him was the word Ilortense. It *
nerved his arm in the Touch mines, .
when he struck his iron into the gold- "
giving soil; it soothed him when he lay
burning with fever in a rude shanty in 11
the mountains; his thought by day and ?
his dream by night was still his own
Ilortense Not a word, however, ever ?
reached him from her; and often he
shuddered at the fearful probabilities ?
that arose to his mind. Ilortense might 1:1
be sick, suffering; might deem him
lead or unfaithful; no, that could
never be?she would have faith in him
as in the sun. Come what would she ^
would not be shaken in her trust. Hut f1.
*s he lay in the miserable shed which ^
lield his sick bed he would have given !'
worlds for one glance from her eye, one ;
pressure of her hand to show that he
was not forgotten, and as he watched P
the stars overhead; shining throughthe
crevices of the I jw roof, he thought .,
.hat if Ilortense were dead she would '
ippear to him then in his need.
The rude miners were too intent on J1
jain to watch beside his bed, and ^
many were the long days and nights in :'.r
which he lay untended. Aid came at J1'
last in the shape of a child?a young ?
aoy whose father was at work in the
nines and whose mother supported P"
lerself and child by washing. Hours
1I/-1 1 In T^on f'nln oif houirln liim I
ivatching every movement and trying
;o give him ease; or, bringing water
:rom the spring, he would' batlie his ,
'evered forehead with his little hands,
i tender nurse indeed was little Ben, P1
md on his recovery 31. Valentin made
;he laundress happy by providing for
he boy.
M. Valentin had been richly re- 1S
varded for his enterprise. Gold had
;howered in upon him in idmost fabu- 9
ous profusion, and now he seriously p
bought of returning home. Somevhat
enfeebled by his late illness, he
vas struck with dismay at again being ei
uostrated, and to find that his disirder
was the dreaded smallpox. That v(
le lived through this was only because a*
lis constitution was so excellent that P1
iven this enemy could not vanquish it.
Ie did live, but his own mother could ?*
lot have known him, so deeply scarred
ind disfigured had he become. With
lis first returning strength he set out n(
or home. Ilortense! Montreal! were ^
iow the beginning and end of his aspiations.
One only thing marred his c0
oy on the homeward route. "Would *?
Iortense love the scarred and disfig- is1
ired face that looked at him from the
iffio ioc.o ??> Vn'c } w..ni.i te
iVUC ?1 two tu Uia UIU1U M VU1VI OllV
sndure the long, shaggy beard by al
vhich he was enabled to cover a part
?f the deep scars? cc
He had taken passage in an Amer- Jn
can vessel bound for New York. He c(
arrived safely, and the next hour saw
lim on his way to Montreal. He bent n'
lis course to the neighborhood where di
Iortense had proposed going after his
leparture. He inquired everywhere ^
or Madame Valentin. No one knew UI
ler. He himself was not recognized, w
ven when he haunted the old places
if business. Another name, of course, ar
r&s upon the familiar door; and hither re
ie turned his steps, to see if haply
ome old friend of former days might Sfc
tot have heard of her. Even the
lame was unremembered, or pretend- ?I
d to be; and yet the person he asked ^
vas one whom he remembered as plot- ^
ing zealously to be invited to his din- ^
ler parties. ni
Thftff will ppmnmhpr mo whan thru*
mil I ;un rich again," said Valentin to *3
limself, bitterly.
lie turned into a by-street and saw a ?
ieggar sitting in the sunshine. It was ^
he most cordial and happy face that
lad met his gaze since he came back. ls]
Che man did not ask for anything
ither, nor show him the withered arm ln
hat hung loosely under his coat; and
lopeless ;is the question seemed, he w
liought he would ask it.
As he dropped money into the ragged 01
iat that lay on the ground beside the ^
ieggar, he said, carelessly:
" Can you tell me where Madame }?
/alentin lives now, my man?" ^
"I used to know her when she lived st
a Queen street. Was that the one?" Yf
It was the street where M. Valentin's ^
;rand house stood. ct
' She is gone from that house, but a(
he did not forget old Jack, and many's
he penny she has given me since. ^
Had enough was I when I heard she
k-as married again." ^
" Married!" exclaimed M. Valentin.!
"Bless you, sir, yes; married to Mr.
tanbury; but, poor man, he died a
ear ago." a
Do you know where she lives h<
tow ?" * h(
"Somewhere out of town. I don't a(
;o so far now I am so old. I think it hi
s in lilooinsbury Place, West Terrace." tli
To paint M. Valentin's feelings b]
vould be a hopeless task. I lor tense Sc
narried, but still free! A painful re- bj
idsion took place in his mind, and he g(
esolved, as all seemed to forget him, al
hat he would not yet discover him- re
elf. n<
That night he visited the neighbor- pi
loodof liortense, read " Stanbury" on 01
he door, and managed to secure the ti
lext house, which happened to be II
piite empty, and having its garden hi
uljoining hers. The next day he
'urnished it richly, brought a number b<
)f servants, bought a fine carriage and 01
lorses, and under the name of Richie ai
le settle ! down to watch at his leisure
he movements of hi3 neighbor. lie tc
:hose all his private rooms on that side tn
)f the house that overlooked hers. j st
Tiie first time that lie saw her was j si
v? n.ir/lim lnr.l* >/l ctill hrlTlfl- I lis
?ome, but very sad and pensive. lie y<
wondered if it was for his loss or her pi
ate husband's. He soon became satis- ll<
ied that she lived a very retired and di
juiet life; that she had little company w
md kept early hours. It was early ! a:
spring, but he had plenty of flowers j
ind l'ruit in tlte greenhouse, and he i n:
sent some for her acceptance with Mr. is
Richie's compliments. Again and
again he repeated the gifts, and each I]
time with a s?lection that marked a u
ielicate taste. t<
Hortense was charmed with her new s<
neighbor whom she had not seen. v
The flowers had been sent several
times when he added to them a re- v
quest that he might call on the lady.
She returned a favorable answer, and p
under the cover of the twilight hour
he found himself in the room with
Hortense. The sound of his voice g
filled her with indescribable emotion,
because it resembled that of her first
husband; but she persuaded herself t]
that it must be fancy. She found her U
neighbor agreeable and attentive. He
did not neglect any opportunity of
being with her. They rode together,
sung together, and often his voice
would thrill through the soul of Hortense
like a remembered lay from some
far-off land.
Insensibly she was becoming interested
in him. He had told her much
that was true of his past life, and
openly mourned some being whom he
said was lost to him?he did not say
by death?but Ilortense saw it in that
light. More and more tender grew
their intercourse, for the lady seemed
utterly to disregard his scars, until she
was scarcely surprised, and certainly
not ofTendcd, at receiving an offer of
liis hand.
She was alone in the world; she had
no one to consull, no one who had any
riirlit to blame her for trusting to one
:>f whom she knew so little. It was
ler own risk, and she accepted him,
'rankly tolling him how well she had
loved him who had gone from her
sight, and promising that she would
ry to love him as well.
M. Valentin exulted greatly in this
mswer, and came near discovering
limself; but he had desired to delay it
o a certain date, and he checked him calf
in time. The wedding day was
ippointed, and everything was in read
ness for the occasion. In exchanging
ings llortense looked fixedly at the
>ne which the bridegroom gave her.
t was the very ring which M. Valenin
had given her at their first weding!
She fainted on the spot, and he
egan to think that he had carried
matters too far. He hung over her
rith an anxiety such as ho never
new before. If she died now by his
wn folly, what would become of him?
[e execrated his scheme, and repented
ven with tears that he had been led
o pursue it.
But llortense awoke to life, awoka
d the new joy of his presence, to ask
is forgiveness for the past, and inpire
new hope for the future. Thero
ad ever been an inexplicable attrac
on toward him on her part, from their
rst interview, and, as she confessed
lis, her husband was quite inclined
) be satisfied, and to forgive the aparcnt
disrespect which he fancied she
ad paid his memory.
As M. Valentin predicted, the inliabants
of Montreal, as soon as they
>und out his wealth, were happy to
take his acquaintance, and reinem?red
him as an old friend. "With the
ue spirit of an honest man, he has !
^uidated his debts to the last farling;
and now, with his still beautiil
wife, he is traveling through Eu>pe,
happy as any couple can possibly
j on their bridal tour.
Leading Isms Concisely Defined.
The following aro a few isms which
ie Baltimore Episcopal Methodist
lblishes for the benefit of readers not ;
jrsed in the conflicting beliefs of the
ly:
Atheism?A disbeliever in the ex- ,
tence of God. :
Deism?A belief in the existence of
od, but a denial of revealed re- ]
sjlon. Deism and rationalism are
vins.
Polytheism?A. belief in the existlce
of many gods. (
Pantheism?A belief that the uni;rse
is God. Spinoza was a pantheist ,
id so was Hegel, a recent German J
lilosopher. ,
ZJnitarianism?A belief in the unity 1
God, as opposed to the orthodox her
if of a trinity in unity.
Materiilism?A belief that there is
>thing but matter in the universe. \
'hat we call mind and soul are to ma
rialists only properties of matter. Of .
urse, materialists deny immortality
man. Death is annihilation of ex- ;
tence. ,
Snirltuaiisni?The opposite of ma- '
rialism; originally was a belief that '
1 matter is really spirit, and that
terefore the universe is only God's j
>ncentrated thought. Latterly it j
eans those who believe in tho inter- (
lurse with the spirit world.
Fatalism?A belief that all events !
ecessarily happen?that is, are or- j
lined and cannot be altered.
Mohammedanism?The doctrine of
le Mussulmans, who believe in the j
lity of God, aud that Mohammed (
as his prophet. They are fatalists. ,
Calcinism?The leading doctrines ,
e original sin, particular election and ,
probation, particular redemption, ef- j
ctual grace in regeneration and per- <
verance of the saints. ]
Arminianism?Is very nearly the j
>posite of Calvinism. Its beliefs are: .
irst?Conditional election and repro- ]
ition. Second?Universal redemp- (
jti, limited in its benefits only by ,
? ~ - a. i.:? M 4.^
?U1 3 ill U JU IW?J liiUUJg tU UL- j
jve and obey. Third?Regeneration c
absolutely essential and instantly t
allows justifying faith. It is the j
ord of the Iloly Spirit given of God.
here is no irresistible grace, and ^
jostatisin is possible. Both Oalvinm
an-l Arininianism believe in total
jpravity and future eternal punishent.
UniversaUim?A belief that all men *
ill be finally saved.
Buddhism?Nominally believed by ?
le-third of the human race?teaches
lat there have been so far four sucissive
incarnations of the Deity, folwed
by stages of unconsciousness,
he highest god is Nirvana, or the (
ate of repose. The last incarnation ?
as called Guadma, 500 years before '
hrist, and in after ages another will *
>me to lift man up. Meanwhile its ]
Iherents are practically idolaters.
Minor isms are almost as plentiful 1
i the leaves of the forest. Most of
lem, UKe lulling leaves, nave naa <
leir day. (
Fire Years a Sentinel. :
One of Napoleon's sentinels met with
remarkable adventure, and though j
; did not exactly " stand and wait,"
} secured through his quick wit the
I vantage due to such a service. lie :
id been posted in a retired spot on
ie Isle of Rugen, which was occupied 1
r a detachment from Davoust's corps.
>me alarm caused the troops to emirk
with precipitiition and they forjt
this sentinel, who himself was so
>sorbed in a newspaper containing a
port of Napoleon's recent victory ;is
A to observe their departure. After
icing his post for several hours, withit
being relieved, he became itnpaent
and returned to the guard-room,
e found it empty, an I learned that
s comrades had left the island.
" Alas!" he cried, in despair,441 shall
? looked upon as a deserter?dishon ed,
lost?unhappy wretch that I
n."
A baker, pitying the poor fellow,
iok him to his house, consoled him, <
night him to make bread and after *
iveral months had shown that he was
riart and industrious, cave him his
lughter, Justine, in marriage. Five (
ars after a strange sail was seen aproaching
the island. The inhabitants,
ackinff to the beach, discovered on the
eck of the ship ;i number of soldiers
oaring the uniform of tho French
rmy.
" I'm done for now," cried the dislayed
husband of Justine. " My bread
; baked."
An original idea revived his courage,
[e ran to the house, slipped into his
niform, seized his firelock, returned
) the beach and posted himself as a
jntinel at the moment the French
rere landing.
" Who gK'S there?" he shouted in a
oice like thunder.
"Who goes there? yourself," relied
one in the boat. " Who are you?"
" A sentinel."
** How long have you been on
uard V"
" Five years."
Davoust. for he it was, laughed at
tie quaint reply, and gave a discharge
i due form to his involuntary deserte*
THE FARM AND HOUSEHOLD.
Ringworm.
This disease of the skin, known as
" ringworm," is describrd in our standard
works as a fungus parasitic disease.
These fungi are capable of
being imparted from one animal to another,
from man to animals and from
animals to man, and is, therefore, contagious.
Many different preparations
are recommended for the cure, which
consists in the destruction of tho parasitic
growth, but perhaps an ointment
made of one dram of iodine and simple
cerate will answer every purpose. Any
scruff on the skin should be removed
with soft soap and warm water previous
to the application of the ointment.?Chicago
Intcr-Occaiu
Watering Plants.
No one having a knowledge of plants
will direct that they should be watered
so many times a day or so many times
a week. Such instructions are not
only worthless, but absolutely harmful
as far as followed, and can only result
in spoiled plants, and consequent
disappointment. It is like following
the medical advice of an ignoramus;
there is as much quackery offered to
the public on horticultural as on medical
subjects. When a plant should
have water depends upon the dryness
of the soil, and this is contingent upon
other conditions, such as the moisture,
the heat and the movement of the
atmosphere. Judgment must determine
when a soil lacks water and by
practice one can determine t11/3 puiut
with great accuracy.
Breeds of Sheen.
The Southdown is too little. The
merino is ugly. The Cots wood is generally
deficient in constitution or wool
too coarse. I think a very good way
for a plain farmer to do is like Robert
"\V. Scott did a few years since. Ha
bred in one direction awhile and then
in another, hoping to build up a breed
with a fixed type with some good
qualities of all the breeds within his
reach. But I have no idea that he succeeded,
for I think that it would take
more than one lifetime to do this. I
think it would do very well for a man
to continue this mode of breeding all
his life if his object is merely to sell
wool and mutton. But I would leave
the merino out of the programme, for
he is located so far at one end of the
species that he hardly divides his qualities
with any of the breeds. All efforts
at establishing a fixed type between
the merino and any of the English
sheep have failed. The crosses bred together
have generally run in the direction
of the little unsightly body without
the valuable fleece of pure bred
merino. I think it will do Very well
for such farmers as you and I to guerilla
around among the Southdowns, or
rather the Walsingham (which is an
improved Southdown, being more
woolly), Oxforddown, Hampshiredown,
Leicester, Cotswold, otc. The finest
sheep I ever saw was an Oxforddown.
He combined more size with a model
form and more wool with reasonable
fineness of fiber.?Farming World.
How to Kill Cabbage Worms.
The ravages of the caterpillars of
the cabbage butterfly caused a good
ieal of trouble last summer at the
State agricultural experiment station,
Geneva, N. Y., particularly those of
the second of August brood. In order
to test the efficacy of various reputed
remedies for the cabbage worm, the
iirector applied them to special collections
of worms and noted the effects.
One specimen confined for three hours
in a bottle partly filled with black pepper
crawled away, discolored by the
powder, but apparently unharmed.
ine secouu, repeaieuiy luiiiiursrii m <i
solution of saltpeter, and a third in
ane of boracic acid, exhibited little indications
of inconvenience. Bisulphide
of caibm produced instant
leath when applied to the worm,though
its fumes were not effectual. Tnefumes
:>f benzine as well as the liquid caused
ilmost instant death, but when applied
to the cabbages small whitish excrescences
appeared on the leaves. Hot
water applied to the cabbage destroyed
\ portion of tho worms, causing also
ihe leaves to turn yellow. One ounce
3f saltpeter and two pounds of common
salt dissolved in three gallons of
water formed an application which
was partly efficient. The most satisfactory
remedy tested, however, consisted
of a mixture of one-half a pound
iach of hard soap and kercasne oil in j
;hree gallons of water. This was ap- ,
died August 2ti; an examination the i
,'ollowing day showed many, if not all, i
he worms destroyed. The growing <
:abbage presents such a mass of leaves
n which the caterpillars may be con- 1
sealed that it is haruiy possible to i
each all the worms at one application, <
;t is important, therefore, to repeat <
he uso of the remedy at frequent inervals.
I'nrm and Garden Nolo*.
The success of an orchard depends
jreatly on its early treatment. Cul,ure,
pruning and manuring are most
mportant during the first few years; 1
i lack of them at which time can
lever be atoned for by subsequent ,
:are.
The answer to the question of deep
>r shallow plowing depends upon the ;
soil. Deep clay loams and alluvial ;
soils, with subsoil and surface alike,
:an hardly be plowed too deeply. Wet ;
and should not be plowed deep. On ;
;hin soils do not stir below the avail- \
ible plant food.
Abutilons that have blossomed in i
:he garden in summer can be kept
jver by letting them stand until the
weather becomes pretty cool in autumn, i
md the wood is ripe, and then remov- i
ng the plants with a ball of earth to
the cellar, and placing them in sand,
[n spring plant again in the garden.
Loss of cud or suspension of rumination
in cows is due to indigestion,
from inaction of the muscular coats of
the stomach. The remedy is to clear
the bowels and stomach of the gathered
indigested matter by a brisk purgative;
for instance, a quart of linseed oil or
twenty ounces of Epsom salts, and
then to give some easily digested and
laxative food, as bran mashes or linseed
meal steeped in water twelve
hours.
A veterinary professor says that
" the great majority of ringbones in
young houses come from the failure to
shorten the toes." To this may be :
added that ringbone is apt to be formed
if colts are allowed to stand on a plank '
lloor, or anywhere else where the footing
is hard, during the first eighteen
months of their age. Whether in
stable or yard during this period let 1
them have earth for standing or walking,
free from stone or gravel.
A correspondent writes to an ex-1
change asking whether phosphates are |
fjood for potatoes. We have manured !
potato ground with barnyard manure, j
well rotted and mixed, and have had !
as beautiful potatoes us ever were seen.
We have used phosphates with the
same results. We have used a mixture
of the two with the same results.
But we fancied that the potatoes from :
the phosphated soil were a little the j
firmer and more solid.?New York j
Herald.
There are many farmers who have
extra good butter cow3 and do not
know it. They have poor pastures in
summer,and no shelter and indifferent
feed in winter. In the house they '
have no convenience for making but- j
ter; the milk is set where there are no i
arrangements for keeping it co;)l in '
summer, and in the livinf room, exposed
to the odors of the kitchen, in
winter, and neither the quantity nor
the quality or any index of what a cow
can do is Kept. ,
The tuberose Is not dlffloult to
I
manage when you know how. First
procure sound bulbs and then plant
them in good rich soil as soon in the
spring as there is no danger of frost.
While the bulbs are dormant they
should be kept dry and warm. Do not
place them in a cellar, but in a warm
room where the temperature will range
at sixty degrees or over; a living
room is none too warm for them. To
hasten the blooming season the bulbs
can be potted early and started in the
hot-house or hot-bed, and afterward
transplanted outside.
Ilonsrhold Hints.
Hard Soap.?Four gallons of
water, six pounds of washing soda, six
pounds of clean fat, three and one-half
pounds of stone lime. Put the lime
and soda in the water and boil until
the soda is dissolved; then pour it into
a tub and let it settle; then pour off
the water gently, with as little lime as
4.1 ..J J 4-U? Kai'1 if
I jiussiuie; uiieii ?uiu mo ntu ouu uuu n
until done. Take a little out in a
saucer, and if no water remains under
when cold it is done. Pour it in deep
pans or a tub, and when cold cut in
bars.
Cleaning Bedsteads.?The Rural
New Yorker says: Cut a pound of
bar soap into thin slices, and add to it
an ounce of pearlash and a quarter of
an ounce of sal soda. Pour a pailful
of boiling water upon it and stir it up
until well dissolved. Put some warm
water into a tub, and add a quart of (
tha soap solution. Put in the heavy
bedspread, beat it well, turn it over
often, and squeeze out the dirt until (
the water is quite soiled. Then change
it, putting in another quarter of the
solution, and proceed as before. Rinse
in two waters, barely warm to the
hand. If possible, pass it through a ;
wringer; then dry it on the clothes
line. '
To Clean a Silk Dress.?Take
six tablespoonfuls of the best soft soap,
or four tablespoonfuls of yellow bar
soap scraped into thin shavings with a
sharp knife, and dissolve in it just
enough boiling water to melt it, four
tablespoonfuls of honey, half a pint of !
alcohol and half a pint of hot water. 1
Beat all to a froth and spread the i
breadths of the dress, one at a time, 1
upon a sheet, and with a sponge dipped 1
into the mixture rub it over the silk, ;
talrinor rare t.n mark thfl noilpri nlar.es <
before it is all wetted, so they can have 1
extra rubbing. Dip each breadth into 1
cold water as soon as it is cleansed, i
sousing it up and down in the water, 1
so as to take out all the soapsuds, but 1
do not wring it out or crease it in the f
hands. Shake and snap the silk to 1
clear it from the water, and hang it 1
out of doors till it is partly dry, then ]
roll it into a towel or sheet. Proceed in 1
this way till all the parts of the dress 1
are cleansed and partly dried, and iron <
them on the wrong side of the silk, or 1
over a newspaper, till perfectly dry. ]
Rvclpes.
Orange Ice.?Squeeze the juice
from six large oranges and two lemons;
pour about five gills of boiling i
water over the broken peel and pulp
and let it stand until cool; then strain
and add the water to the orange and <
lemon juice. Sweeten to taste with
loaf sugar and freeze.
Fried Tomatoes.?Cut the tomatoes
in slices without skinning, pepper and ;
salt them; then sprinkle a little flour
over them and fry in butter until i
brown. Put them on a hot platter and :
pour a little cream into the butter and
juice. "When boiling hot pour oyer i
the tomatoes. This dish is very nice 1
served with bird3. 1
Kice Fritters.?If you have plain 1
boiled rice for dinner, and have a little
left, it is by no means necessary ;
that this should be thrown away; it
will help to make delicious fritters; <
add milk and (lour and one egg for the 1
batter; if you h:ivc fruit to put in, so *
much the better; drop by spoonfuls in '
hot lard and fry till a delicate brown; j
a little sugar in the batter helps to 1
give it a brown tinge. 1
Lemon Puddino.?The juice and j
grated rind of one lemon, a cup of ,
sugar, the yolks of two egjs, three ,
well-rounded tablespoonfuls of Hour, a j
pinch of salt, one pint of rich milk; <
mix the flour and part of the miik to a '
smooth paste, add the juice and rind of J
lemon, the cup of sugiir, yolks -wellbeaten,
the rest of the milk (after having
rineed out the egg with i1;), line a
plate with puff paste one-fourth of an
inch thick, bake in a quick oven until
done, lieat whites to a stiff froth, add
twotablespoonfuls of sugar, spread over
the top, return to oven and brown.
Serve with very cold cream, or for a
very nice dish add whipped cream.
Ihis is a rich but not expensive pudiing.
The recipe makes sufficient for
3ix. The pudding should be eaten
:old.
How England's Rulers Died.
The following is an account of the
[leaths of the kings and queens of
England :
William the Conqueror died from
enormous fat, from drink, and from
the violence of his passions.
"William Rufus died the death of the
poor stag that he hunted.
TT? 4 U* "17;-of f
IlttUJJr L11C I'USl U1UU Ui. glUULUlljr.
Henry the Second died of a broken
heart, occasioned by the character of
his children.
Richard Coeur de Lion died like the
animal from which his heart was
named?by an arrow from the bow of
an archer.
Ilenry the Third is said to have died
a natural death.
Edward the First is likewise said to
have died of a "natural sickness," a
sickness which would puzzle all the
college of physicans to denominate.
Edward the Second was most barbarously
murdered by ruffians employed
by his own mother.
Edward the Third died of dotage
and Richard the Second of starvation.
Henry the Fifth is said to have died
of " fits caused by uneasiness," and uneasiness
in palaces in those times was
a very common complaint.
Henry the Sixth died in prison by
means known then only to his jailer,
and known now only to heaven.
Edward the Fifth was strangled in
the Tower by his uncle, Richard the
Third.
Richard the Third was killed in battle.
Henry the Seventh wasted away as
a miser ought to do.
Henry the Eighth died of carbuncles,
fat and fury.
Edward the Sixth died of decline.
Queen Mary is said to have died of a
" broken heart," whereas she died of a
surfeit from eating too much black
puddings.
Old Queen Bess is said to have died
of melancholy from having sacrificed
Essex to his enemies.
James the First died of drinking and
of the effects of other vice3.
Charles the First died on *Ji? scru;fold.
Charles the Second died suddenly, it
Is said, of apoplexy.
William the Third died from con- i
sumptive habits of the body and from )
the stumbling of his horse. t
Queen Anne died from her attach- i
ment to "strong water," or, in other i
words, from drunkenness, which the {
physicians politely called dropsy. j
George the First died of drunken- j
ness, which physicians politely called ?
an apoplectic fit. t
George the Second died of rupture c
of the heart, which the periodicals
of that day called a visitation of
God.
George the Third died as he had lived c
?a madman. $
George the Fourth died of gluttony l
and drunkenness. ]
WiJliam the Fourth died amid the (
sympathies of his friends. c
A NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL
THE CAEEER OP "DAff" tfOBLB, A
WEW YOSTC TH1BP.
A 8*75,OOO Robbery?Cheating Bli Pali
and Livid* In Luxurious Eoae?Endl^j
Ills Days in a London 1'rlson.
A New York paper gives interesting
details of the life of " Dan " Noble,
once a noted criminal of that city, who
has ended his days in a London prison.
We quote: A man whose miserable life
was recently ended in one of the prisons
of the city of London held so
prominent a place at one time in the
eyes of the public and was the object
of such solicitous interest on the part
of the police authorities that his death
deserves, perhaps, a few lines beyond
the mere announcement of it. Mr.
Dan Noble was certainly eminent in
the walk of life which he chose for
himself. He was a thief, and, like all
habitual thieves, in spite of a trite and
obnoxious maxim, defrauded his "pals"
oo nifnl 1 o oaf nf flio
tt tu UJ UiiU I1UUWU VWU Vfc wi??j
community. The origin of Mr. Noble
is involved in obscurity, and it is not
likely that his British jailers were
overparticular in marking the spot
where they buried his body. Mr. Noble
had learned his profession in all its
branches before he achieved notoriety
by his first great deed, which caused
his name to become, for a time, familiar
as a household word. On the
morning of December 10, 1866, two
decent-looking men entered the office
of the Royal Insurance company in
this city and engaged one of the officers
in conversation. Another man
stood at the door, By the use of skill
which had been laboriously acquired,
the two men, who were both thieve?,
gained possession of a tin box full of
securities for invested moneyand passed
it to the third man, their confederate,
at the door. The man with the
box left the neighborhood as quickly as
possible. His associates, bidding the
gentleman whose attention they had
field a respectful "good-morning,"
leisurely left the office. The box contained
United States bonis worth
1275,000, and the man who carried the
box to the thieves' rendezvous was Mr.
Dan Noble. His companions did not
?? 1" ft /vfl 4-V? ? ? MMAMAtlftt f U A*T
tVULUVV tilC VOIUO KJL H1C pi wjcy
lad stolen, so their magnanimous
issociate decidedly had the advantage
>f them. Moreover, the gentleman
with whom they had talked retained a
tolerably accurate impression of their
appearance, while Noble had scarcely
aeen noticed at all. It will be seen,
;herefore, that Mr. Noble received more
mbstantial benefit from the "haul"
than the others. The three thieves
went to Kingston, Canada. Mr. Noble
produced $75,000 in bonds, which, he
told his friends, was the extent of the
booty, and this sum was divided
svenly between the three. It is said
that one of Noble's associates is now
keeping a hotel in Toronto ; the other,
at that time, established a gambling
house at Dansville, in this State. As
for Mr. Noble, he took things leisurely.
Nearly five months elapsed before he
returned to the United States, and
then, Instead of making his aboda in
this city, he established himself in the
pretty town of Elmira, situated in
Chemung county. Here he could
m:ike his monev aro further and create
a stronger impression with his wealth
than in the busy metropolis. He
purchased a fine house and bought fast
horses; he gave dinner parties to the
gilded youth, and his table became
famous for its fine wines. He clad his
erect and shapely form in broadcloth
and wore diamonds that flashed in the
eyes of the common herd as he walked
or rode through the streets. He delighted
to exhibit his proficiency in
what is called the manly art, and, in
short, he became known as a thoroughly
" good fellow," not " cultured," of
course, but manly, independent and?
rich. But the villainous police were
on his track. A clew led them toward
jriffin, that thief who had put his
ihare of the money in a gamblinglouse
at Dansville. Griffin was warned
md fled to Canada, but most of his
noney was jjpne, and tidings reached
lim of the prodigality of Mr. Noble in
Elmira. Then his suspicions became
iroused, and when he learned, finally,
;hat Daniel had obtained a trifle of
^200,000 more than he had of the pro;eeds
of the robbery, he promptly went
;o New York and made a clean breast
>f the matter to the officers of the in;uranco
company. So Mr. Noble's
jlorious career was ingloriously
:he?ked. Both of his accomplices
,urned State's evidence, and after four
? * -? 1- ? -i-f ? i. _ .1 1.1
<n;us, justice uemg ueieau;u turee
iimes by the powerful friends the
icoundrel had made during his career
13 a " capitalist," Noblo was convicted
ind sent to Auburn. After a year's
mprisonment he escaped and went to
England, but the London police were
;oo much for him. The Elmira Gazette,
which recalls the events of this man's
ife, records the fact that he i3 rememjered
in Eluiira as having been " a
levoted husband and a kind father."
[lis death resulted, to use a familiar
'orm of speech, from natural causes; in
>ther words, the tastes which he inlulged
when he had money were such
hat his powerful constitution was unlermined,
and he breathed his last
wreath on a convict's pallet.
Brea<l.
Bread, properly so called, was transnitted
by the Greeks to the Romans;
ind either the latter or the Phoenicians
nay have introduced the cultivation
>f corn into Gaul. \V bile, however,
he land was covered by immense
'orests, a long time must have elapsed
jefore the practice of eating acorns,
ihestnuts and beech m;ist was aband)ned,
and even when corn was reguarly
grown, ripened and harvested,
;he grains were merely plucked from
;he ear and eaten raw or slightly
jarched. The next step was to infuse
;he grain in hot water for the making
>f a species of gruel or porridge, and
l long time afterward it may have oc;urred
to some bright genius to pound
;he corn in a mortar or rub it to a
lowder between two stones. Subsequently
came the hand-mill; but it was
lot until after the first crusade that
;he windmill was introduced from the
East, whither it had probably found
ts way from China. The first bread
nras evidently baked on the ashes and
mleavened, and the intolerable pangs
)f indigestion brought on by a coniinual
course of "galette" or "damper"
nay have suggested the use of a fernenting
ageDt, which, in the first instance,
was, probably, stale bread
urned sour. Pliny has distinctly told
as, in his "Natural History," that the
villus leaveneu tneir urunu \wui yean,
nade from lye of hear, yet, strangely
;nough, they abandoned the use of beer
cast, and did not resume it until the
niddle of the seventeenth century. Its
evival in France made the fortune of
nany bakers; then the medical faculty
iounded an alarm, declaring the yeast
nade from beer was poisonous. Its
employment was prohibited by law in
.G8G, but the outcry raised by the bakers
ind the public was so vehement that
n the following year the decree of prolibition
wan canceled with the proviso
hat the yeast was to be procured only
roin beer freshly brewed in Paris or
ts immediate neighborhood. Some
orm of fermented bread, however, the
French had been eating for 1,600
'ears, in contradistinction to the gruel
ind pulse-eating Italians and Levaninesand
the purely vegetarian Hinloos.?New
York Hour.
The cost of American railroads, ac:ording
to the census report, is over
>4,000,000,000, or an average of $47,)00
a mile. Their gross earning in
.880 were $580,450,594, and the net
5119,844,597, or less than three pe?
:ent? on their coat.
SCIENTIFIC AND INDUSTRIAL.
On August 1 an international electric
exhibition will be opened at
Vienna, and a fine display |is anticipated.
The coal deposits of Colorado are
practically inexhaustible, and they are
to be found in almost every portion of
the State. Two millions of tons were
mined last year.
A German firm has put upon the
market some transparent paints to use
on coarse-lined cloth. The effect is
said to be a perfect imitation of
Gobelin tapestry work for wall display.
Tn fJ-rptit-. "Rrifaln t.hn laxrrA sum nf
$40,000,000,000 is invested in railways.
Some of the engines weigh forty-five
tons and take a load of ninety tons at
a speed of from forty to fifty miles an
hour.
English silk merchants are thinking
about acclimatizing a species of spider
which has been discovered on the
African coast. This spider makes a
thread very like yellow silk and almost
as strong.
It has been proved by numerous experiments
that flour cannot bear the
action of the sun, even when not exposed
directly to its rays. When flour
is exposed to the heat of the sun an
alteration takes* place In the gluten
similar to that produced by the heating
of the stones. For this reason it
is advisable that the transportation of
flour should take place, if possible, on
cool days or by night, as well as that
flour should be stored in a cool place.
The ancients knew a great deal for
which they get very little credit. A
short time ago a collection of surgical
instruments was dug up at Pompeii.
It was evidently the property of some
single establishment, and was quite
elaborate. Of course, the " find " was
removed to the Naples museum. One
nf flia annlinnr.ps at.t.rant.wl crrpat at
tention. It was a long rod with a metallic
plate fixed at one end at an angle
of 135 degrees. At first it was thought
to be a cautery for internal operations,
but its resemblance to the modern
laryngeal mirror suggests the probability
that it was so used.
The increasing cost of wood in
America has led to a great number of
experiments in preserving from decay
all kinds of wooden structures exposed
to the weather. Among the
more recent plans suggested is one for
impregnating wood with asphalt, combined
with some kind of antiseptic
material. The finished wood, ready to
be put together, is first submitted to
heat to drive out the moisture, and is
then placed in a hot tath composed
chiefly of asphalt and carbolic acid.
On cooling, the solvent of the asphalt
evaporates, leaving a skin or coating
of the asphalt on the surface of the
wood that resists water and keeps the
antiseptic material securely locked
within the pores of the wood. The
exterior of the wood presants a smooth,
black surface that does not need to be
painted.
WISE WORDS.
Study to be what you wish to seem.
Woman is most perfect when most
womanly.
The man has not lived in vain who
plants a good tree in the right place.
Hard workers are usually honest;
industry lifts them above temptation
lie is happiest, be he king or peas
ant, who finds peace in his own
home.
Men usually follow their wishes till
suffering compels them to follow their
judgment.
The sleep of memory is not death;
forgotten studies are certain aptitudes
gone to sleep.
We never know the true value of
friends. While they live we are too
sensitive to their faults; when we
have lost them we only see their
virtues.
The best rules to form a man's
character are to talk little and hear
much, to reflect alone on what has
pUSSCU ILL UULUJJttUjr, IiKJ UiOLi uou uut- o
own opinion, ancl value others that
deserve it.
It is easy to live in this world's
opinion; it is easy in solitude to live
after your own ; but the great man is
he who, in the midst of the crowd,
keeps with perfect sweetness the ipdependence
of solitude.
If there is anything which even a
very clever young man ought to congratulate
himself on, it is the knowledge,
early acquired, that he is not a
genius. For if he thinks otherwise,
the chances are that the mistake may
spoil him ; while if he proves to be a
genius, the world will find it out before
he does.
A Farmer's TYife Kills a "Wildcat.
F. L. Beacham is a farmer living
two miles from Midland, Mich., and he
has good reason to be just a little bit
prouder of his wife than most other
uen. One forenoon recently Mrs.
3eacham heard a commotion in the
hen-house, and, in the absence of her
husband, seized a muzzle-loading shotgun
and proceeded to investigate. On
reaching the spot an enormous wildcat
emerged from the fowls' abode, and a
big turkey gobbler appeared at the
same time?with the assistance of Mr.
"Wildcat. This was a " fowl proceed'
ing " which Mrs. ISeacham did not ap1
prove of, and she snapped her gun at j
the intruder, but the thing missed fire.
She then seized a sharp ax and endeavored
to do some fancy carving,
' whereupon his felineship showed tight
and drove the gallant woman backward
to the house, she constantly striking
at him with the ax and the animal as
adroitly dodging every blow. Her
screams, however, frightened the intruder
off, and he disappeared, unharmed.
When Mr. Beacham returned
at dinner-time and learned of
the occurrence, he reloaded the gun
with a charge of buckshot that would
go oif upon easy provocation, and
asked his wife to call him if the fowlhunter
again appeared. Mr. Beacham
was scarcely out of sight when the
wildcat was seen uy 1113 wuc iu cut?
the hen-house. Taking the gun, the
lady started to pass around the henhouse
to give it to her husband, who
was near by, when the wildcat came
out of the door and, with mouth wide
open, made straight for the lady, clearing
at one great bound a high wagonbox
which lay in his way. When in
mid-air the crack of the woman's gun
was heard, and the savage animal fell
at her feet dead, shot through the
head, a genuine "out on a fly."
Curious Indian Belief.
Lately Robert S. Gardner, a special
agent of the interior department, has
been inspecting and investigating the
tribes of "noble red men" who cumber
the eartli in various parts of
Washington Territory. In an interview,
Mr. Gardner made some interesting
statements about two tribes in
Eastern Washington. We extract
what follows: The Sanpoel tribe numbers
about 400 Indians, and they all
belong to a sect known as the dreamers.
They are looking for another
Hood, which they expect soon to come
upon the earth. In order to bo prepared,
they have secured all the necessary
material for the building of an
ark, in which to sail off, as Noah did,
when the flood comes. Among the
material is 50,000 feet of lumber. The
ark is to be fifty feet long and about
fifty or sixty feet wide. The dreamers
have a small following among the
Indians of the Palouse, Snake liiver,
"Warm Springs, Umatillas and other
tribes. They believe that the whites
will all be drowned when the flood
comes, and that they only will be able
to live oil the fat of the land without
having to work at *11
! THE TRICKS OF SHARPERS.
BTJJTCO PESTS WHO UUPEBT THE
ITBZETSOr nWTOBZ.
Dtricea by Which Unwary Strangers Are
TrdpDedw-Farorlt# Hannu and IMeth di
of Metropolitan SirludlenAn
observing downtown New York
merchant said to a Herald reporter :
There is a corner over there at
Chambers and Chatham street, where
Duane street makes a sharp cut, and
leaves one street visible from another
through the windows of a saloon. I
have seen a pair of these fellows take
some poor, inoffensive booby in tow on
one side, while their pals, as sleek and
innocent-looking a3 you please, chatted
tncrptlipr annn.rpnt-.lv ahmit. lmsinesa on
?o rr j ?
the other, and all the time watched
what was going on and signaled what
to do. It is nothing new for strangers
to be captured by bunco steerers all
the way up from Cortland street ferry
to Chatham street, but the case I referred
to happened in the latter. An
Irishman came from Pennsylvania to
the hotel I stop at. He was a man advanced
in years, good-natured, openhearted
and a person of some importance
in his own town. He went out
of doors and was at once pounced upon.
The fellows have agents of some kind
who slip into the hotels, study the register
and glean information about the
guests. They had his name pat, and
knew a lot about his part of the country
and the people in it. One of them
hailed him, piofessed the greatest surpiise
and delight at meeting him, and,
after a walk, asked him in to have a
drink. The old man was abstemious
and only took cider. What was bothersome,
he showed himself to be a
hard-headed old fellow, who couldn't
easily be led into staking his money in
any game of chance. But it wouldn't
do to spend their tima without getting
something out of it. The "steerer"
told the man he was about to go down
his way on business, and asked him if
he wouldn't bring some of his cards
along to dispose of there. The other
agreed to it. Friendly relations were
established, and they rose to depart,
when a stranger entered the barroom.
" The old dodge of putting down two
five-dollar bills for which the bartender
had no change was resorted to. The
old gentleman good-naturedly produced
the pocketbook to supply the change.
One of the sharks snatched it; there
was a scramble; a third appeared, of
course, as an impediment to pursuit,
and the rascal got off. The stranger
lost his money, but he was so exercised
lest news of it would get in the papers
that he made no complaint, but slipped
away as soon as he could. He was so
flustered by the affair he was never
able to tell where the barroom was.
"Just after that another strangerhe
was a keen fellow, too?got into the
clutches of the bunco men. He was
*- - 1_! .1 -i> J _1 J ^
up 10 me incus ox uaru piayuig ituu tue
dice. They found that out and played
the other game on him. They led him
to show up his money on some pretext,
and they got off with $100 of it. These
are everyday occurrences. Any one
living in a downtown hotel will hear
of them day after day. The reason
they do not reach publicity in every
instance is on account of the shame of
the victims. Most of them are respectable
business men, many of them
church members, and they keenly feel
the disgrace of being mixed up with
any of these swindlers. What is due
such visitors to the city and the public
at large is that thoroughfares be altogether
rid of these sharpers. They are
well known to the police. When they
appear on the street they are always
bent on mischief. A bunco man lay
ing tor a guy/ as tney cau n, 13 every
bit as suspicious a person as a burglar
with a jimmy in his fist. They ought
to be dealt with the same way, and arrested
every time they show their
faces. That is the only way to deal
with such rascals."
The lower end of the city is the favorite
haunt of a class of bunco men.
The ferry, railroad and steamboat
lines which empty so many strangers
into the city daily converge within a
narrow radius of the postoflice, and
thereabouts the "handshaker" finds
it of great avail to do his " prospecting."
Business men coming into town
frequently are aware of this, and are
accordingly canny about accepting
greetings. An amusing instance of it
occurred on Broadway the other day,
when a gentleman from Pike county,
Pennsylvania, was accosted by an oldtime
friend, who had pursued him
from his establishment, which the
Pehnsylvanian had just passed. Hailing,
greeting, remonstrance were all
thrown away upon the visitor. He
stalked on as though he never heard
them. At length his pursuer, panting,
out of breath, and the cynosure
of a score of wondering eyes, overtook
him, and cried: " For God's sake stop.
Don't you know me?" But the Pennsylvanian,
without ever turning his
head, flung out the slang defiance:
"Xixie veeden, cully, I'm an old circus
man myself," and left the amazed
storekeeper hopelessly staring after
him. He only recovered his equanimity
when a policeman, who had witnessed
the scene and was evidently
learned in such matters, exclaimed:
" He's been touched by some bunco
men and thinks you're on the same j
lay."
One difficulty about getting rid of
these sharpers is the tolerance ' accorded
them. The knowing person
who is accosted by one of them, glory|
ing in his own shrewdness, laughingly
turns away with a jest, and leaves
him to ply his arts at the expense of
somebody less experienced. The person
who attempts to pick a pocket is
given into custody. But the bunco
man, when he fails to victimize, is dismissed
with a laugh. There was a
sort of poetical justice in the case of
a man who told a " handshaker" he
knew his game, and suggested his trying
his cunning on a loutish-looking
fellow who was passing. The sharper
went off, and the simple-minded person
he went after soon reappeared in
a disconsolate condition. His wife
was dying, he said, and he had lost
the week's wages he was bringing
home. The knowing gentleman who
made the suggestion to the trickster
was moved. He felt guilty and he
gave the victim |5 of his own money,
to find later on that the fellow was
himself one of the gang, and the
sharpest of the lot.
Motions or Ships In a Calm.
A correspondent of Knowledge offers
a plausible theory to explain the onward
motion of a ship in a calm. If
a wooden sphere or hemisphere, he
says, be dropped from any height intc
the water, it will sink and rise alternately
until it comes to rest on the surface
at the exact spot at which it first
struck the water. This is because the
resistance its surface offers to the
water is equal In all directions. If. I
however, the form be altered to that of
a ship, it will not be found to remain
in the same spot after repeated oscillations,
because the bottom offers more
resistance at one end than the other;
and, of course, the ship moves in +he
direction of the less resistance. Now
a ship is constantly being raised and
allowed to fall again into the sea from
a "swell" which exists even in calm
seas. Thus it is always oscillating up
and down, at one time a little more
out of water than it would if the
mass of water was perfectly still, and
at another time a little deeper in than
it would be under the above-mentioned
circumstances. This up and down
motion of the sea is always acting;
but when the surface is rough, this
action on the motion of the ship is infinitesimal,
compared with that due to
the action of the wind, and so is not
noticed; but when there is a calm,
there is no other force at work, and,
therefore, that in the only one noticed.
THE HAPPY TBT.ATOa ^9
Ho roams about the town from 4m tUf fll
dark,
An old mam with beet form and
hair,
Who dreams the earth he treads on Is a
That sails to find a shore forever fair, 9
The shore so many seek and do not findB
Among the busy crowd, he heeds It nojfic j&yW
I But goes and comes to all our pleain^Hsl
blind;
The world he lives in seems by him fotflp^D
Sometimes he stops one in the cro-aJBfrflffl
throng n
And questions thos: "Why do we saifl^jSJ
far?
I know fall well the vessel's cours^gMffiBH
wrong, uJUnl
For farther sonth the Happy Islands afl I
And we are near them, for last night I hejEj M
The sound of mosio coming from tSofifl
shores,
And caught the scent of flowers, and
vj-J SShbU
vuguu l/UU Flew
homeward, over us, to roam no
I almost thought I saw them in the dftf^KSQMB
Fair as the rosy peaks of Paradise; am B
Bat when the day broke folly they weregHg|M|
Far, farther f.onth the shore we se?rcl|Hp&B51
Fray God they turn the vessel ere too lafl|gSB
Must we sail by, as many times befot^KjiSH
They make mistakes and lay it all to Eb^H^NH
That we have never reached the longeflNnHgl
shore."
And as he talks the old man's eager
Are looking southward, where he hopJH^Kg
see ipHBE
The purple peaks, crowned with gtraMgBBa
glory, rise
*Keath fairer skies than those of ItaiyHnBgl
No sight of land breakB on his hopeMe^BraEfi
"Ah, we have missed them, as so oft JN H
fore!
And we were near, so near to them/'MK^W
cries.
"Must we sail on and on forevermoiW'V'-isfiM
Where are our Happy Islands? Must w??^t?2 jt
Forever past tiiem when so near tfjjStaM
Blow from the shores we left, Oh favodHw;-:!
And waft ns to the shores that haunt
Oh, fellow voyagers, pray God we find
The land we seek and do not pass it by!
Oh, blow us to the south, inoonstant windt -^f
For there, we think, the Happy Islands
?Eben E. RexforO, in Tht Continent,
==?= = - ;S18
HUHOB OF THE DAT* yitfjUm
A fat office?Th8 soap-boiler's.'
Headquarters?The hatter's stor^Rj^H
Carvers of their own fortunJfflH
Butchers.
The early angler catches the ifiHSH
and a cold.
Every carpenter has a plane
before him.
To the average Athenian the dfirafl
est spot on earth is the Greece spotJK]9E
A sermon always seems short toBSgH
woman who wears her new bonneHgflH
church for the first time.?New rHBH
Commercial.
"There is a coolness Between MEBgn
good-bye," said the fish under theMnM
to the fisherman on top, who was SbhH
ing to break through and catch hlnMflfl
The Drummer. gyfflBHB
If the report that General SheraflBSfl
kisses every girl to whom he is inS^H
duced has any truth in it, we d<fle@9
wonder that so many of our you^^H
men have military ambition.?Oil
Oliver Wendell Holmes says tha&fw<i
bad air, bad whisky and irregularhab*>|9H
its keep the doctors alive. He musrejBs
be mistaken. Those very things hawlBs
killed several doctors in this city.? /Jl
A man at a New York hotel iajwjgaj -t
the other day, had some Limbuxgef^: 4
cheese sent to him. A little boy j
sat beside him turned to his motjj^M^te
and exclaimed: "Mamma, how I wmH
I was deaf and dumb in my nose." H|gflKB
Mme. Scalchi, of the Patti troujBfej?a|
-- *'??? tim/w o nraolr flnrl aMHSsfSMK
billga tilico WiiU^g a vivua Trm-i QnmCBHH
$2,500 per month. She began life
scrubber in theCovent Garden theaME^Sa
Her voice, therefore, should MEyjMB
soap ran o, but it isn't?Pittsburg TSm 9
graph.
This is the way that a GalvesM^pM
(Texas) paper "drops intopoetr^E^fl
" Early to bed and early to rise maW^H
a man healthy, wealthy and wise; hKsIm
still it won't work, however hard
tries, in bringing him wealth unljBpfflfll
he advertise."
What can a man say to this excBp&M
mation from the Woman SuffratfES^SB^
"Women are called the 'weakersBj|?i||
and yet, up to the hour of going ftd&H
press, not one of her sex in this co^^^H
try has shown enough inteUectfl|g|jfl
weakness to embark in the weatB^&M
prophet business, or attempt to K^|H
sixty quail in thirty days.' M H
Ti V? xiook ViaoTl aCMffilinoH
It 1103 UCYOl VliUt Muvv.n^.^
cisely what the scorpion lives on.
haps he is sustained by the consdoBMjlfl
ness of knowing that he is a pedipME&aia
pous pulmonary arachnidan. WeZu^E^^e
'{nown some people with high-soa^K^9
ing titles whose mode of making bJp^jgjM
ends meet was a profound mystery
the general public. Nobody ever
been known to die from the rebuke
a scorpion, but that they cause a sj'-^l
cies of madness will not be denied
anybody who has been stung. If
sufferer is not mad for the time^
talks as if he was.?Siftings.
IBS ELOPEMZNT.?A TALE. ?
Their pa- From winRents
said Dow ope
They must There hong ^
Not wed. A rope,
By which " - 3
Quoth he, To slope.
" flu ^
To par- Without - mjSH
Son nigh." A sound
Quoth she, She reached
"Ay! Ay!" The ground,
Her lor- '??:
One night Er found. J ' 3
I She rose,
Took her They fled,
Best clothes, Were wed.
While Pop Enough e&id. . 3S1
Did doze.
?Arthur Lot, in Puck, \ ^
Traiued Nurses.
As employment for women is a trfr
quent topic, says a New York corre*
spondent, I am led to remark that -V*
tiiere is at present a great demand for '!
trained nurses at a very handsome rate j
of pay. A physician said to me re*
cently: " 1 am treating the case of aa ^
old lady who was injured by a fall, and J
we have the b2nefit of a trained nurse.
This is of great importance, as such a |
nurse can be fully depended on." He
then pdded that the pay was $20 per -a
?-i- ??,i hnai.,i iviiif'h fa rfirtalnlv -
>YCCIV OiiU uwatu, n??v.. ? - 'W?t*
doing better than many other kinds of
woman's work. These nurses are educated
here for this purpose, and about
thirty are graluated every year; but
this is far short of the demand. *j
In a great city accidents which, in
other places would be mere trifles,
often lead to extonsive need of medi?al
aid. A rainy spell brings an increase 1
in colds, and also leads to pneumonia, ?
which is one of the most fatal of all
Hispasfis. Slinoerv sidewalks will bring
broken limbs to the hospital from all $
parts of the city, anil in this manner
there is a constant demand for nurses.
The terms at the Presbyterian hospital
for pay patients is $7 per week in the Ljj
wards?that is where a large number
of beds occupy a spacious hall?but for ~J-:
a private room with a special nurse
$30 is added. The "free beds" are
supported by endowments for the ben- ^
efit of the poor, but there is always a
number of patients of the most expen- - ^
sive character, and hence good nurses
are well paid.
A California paper acknowledges the - "^jj
receipt of a hen's ?gg which measured |
six and one-half inches in circumfo 1
snce at the middle and seven and on* 1
lalf inches around its length, 9
jjU
- 'mit'