Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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HOW TO BE HAPPY. Are you almost disgusted With Iifo, little man? I will tell you a wonderful trick That will bring you contentment, If anything can; tv* e^mAhhinc for somebodv. auick; Do something for somebody, quick! Are you awfully tired With play, little girl? Weary, discouraged and sick? I'll tell you the loveliest Game in the world; Do something for somebody, quick; Do something for somebody, quick! Though it raius like th? rain Of the flood, little man, ( And the clouds art* forbidding and thick, You can make tho sun shine In your soul, little man: D? something for somebody, quick; Do somjthing for som?body, quick! Though the skies are like brass Overhead, little girl, And the walk like a well-heated brick; And our earthly affairs In a terrible whirl? Do something for somebody, quick; Do something for somebody, quick! ?Mary Brainard. The Deacon's Daughter, Dora Maxwell was the prettiest girl in Dacre?a village which produced crops of pretty girls, just as naturally as it did big rocks,' shaded roads, cool glens, and picturesque and highly dangerous waterfalls. Everyone liked Dora! The young men, because she was handsome ?.nd unaffected; the girls, because she was amiable, and always had the prettiest patterns of any one in the village, and was quite ready to lend them; and the mammas, on account of her substantial charms?such broad meadows, such goodly cattle, such i stores of linen made up by the hands of; the thrifty Dora, such wealth of massive silver and old-fashioned china as be- j longid to Deacon Maxwell, and a gondly j portion of which must go to his eldest j and handsomest daughter, would have j made even a squint, red hair, and bad i temper endurablo in their eyes. So all the village regarded her as a sort personal property, and every mother j who had a marriageable son watched r\rr&* Viar ?rJfH a wi c ri 1 art and intflrnst V? Vi uyi III.VU M ? ? , tru y surprising, and which ought j utterly to confound those who | don't believe in the natural goodness and ! purity of human nature. Spite of which, I in her twenty-third year, Dora was Dora i Maxwell still?a fact which, she didn't j take at all to heart, though some of th? I envrous had commenced to whisper, j "old maid." It was the first Sunday in June, a warm, | balmy, smiling, fragrant morning, just j deepening into noon, as the deacon and I his family came home from church. Mrs. Maxwi 11 had on her loo.?e dress, and was fanning herself by the window, while ' Dora and her two sisters, having laid j away their hats and parasols, were getting dinner, wheu their mother exclaimed: "Diarmp if there ain't Enh Schenok comin' up the wa k." The girls giggled, and Dora reddened. Eph Schenck was a long, tall, shambling, freckled, red-haired youth, who had a disagreeable way of driving over j to church fcom his father's farm (tea miles distant), and then concluding to take dinner with Deacon Maxwell. She knew just how it would be. He would sit there, in that corner, by the ei^ht-day clock, his chair tipped back, his huge mouth open and his eyes fastened on her | in stupid admiration. He would choke | himself at dinner, and break out in j a perspiration, trying to say something ! ' * "u ? 'il i tender in ner ear. ne wouiu go wuu them to church, and tumble up tl c steps; he would tread on her dress and | tear it; he would insist on singing out of the same book with her, and to a dolefui tune of his own imagining; be would stare at her during the .?ermon, and wipe his shining forehead, alternately, till lio had all the younger portion of the congregation engaged in doing their best not to giggle. He would go back and choke himself again at tea, and after tea father would go out to look at the chickens, and mother and the girls to gee about the work, and then who could tell if he wouldn't take it into his stupid heal to :?sk her to b3 Mrs. Eph Schenck. _ Down went the cloth from Dora's hand as this host dreadful possibility presented I itself to her mind, and away she ran, j like a s artled deer, across the garden | and out oi a little back gate into the bro.id meadow, where in her haste she j almost rushed into the arms of James j Van Bu-kirk, the clear-headed son of a good-for-nothing father, who bade fair to j retrieve the position which his father had lost, but being only half way up the hill, was only partially countenanced by all those prudent and worthy people who will j nearly shake your hanu off when you are 6afely at the top. Dora was about to pass him with a dignified bow, but the young man, whose da; k eyes were dancing with mischief, | Stopped her, by gravely inquiring: If she had the dyspepsia, and was running for ! exercise? "No, sir, I am in a hurry," tartly ; answered Dora, who thought that it was < cone of his business. <lnV> inrlp rl Hnn't lot mr> rl^fnin vrm then," and turning, he coolly walked on ! bc4de her. j Dora bit her lip. James Van Buskirk i was the smartest, the worthiest, and the i most j'greenble young man of her ! acquaintance; but she was a Maxwell. She would not be uncivil to Mr. Van Buskirk, but of course she could not en- ! cournge him; and holding hor head at a much lo tier angle than umal, she marched on erect, and in silence. "I think I saw Mr. Schenck drive by a few minutes ago,'' remarked James, ! "did I not?" "It is quite likely, but what of it?" "Nothing, ouly it struck me as a little extraordinary, that according to my calculation you must have gone out the back door precisely as he entered tlie lront one " -ni'S wa> too much for Dora's gravety, and she burst into a hearty laugh. "You may think it does not concern me," proceeded the younarman, with the same imperturbable gravity, "but I am only in pursuit of information. Am I to understand, Miss Maxwell, tint when I wish to see you, my best way will be to knock at your father's door, and then take the shortest cut for the meadow!" Dora could scarcely credit her senses. James Van Buskirk visit her? Wish to j gee her? In doubt whe her to give him a saucy, or a coldly-scornful answer, she looked up; but, in spite of herself, her cheek glowed with blushes, and her eyes fell before the kiudling glance that met her own. James smiled to himself. "You have not answered me," he said, after a short pause. "I?I don't know what you mean," she stammered. "My father's house is open to all." The young man 3hook his head. "I do not dou^t taut, but tuat is not tl^ question. It is you I care for. Will you receive me? Do you say that I muj come?" Dora was silent. "Speak," he said, impetuously. 4il have no fear or shame in asking you to be my wife, heiress though you are. I want nothing that is your father's, noi would I take it; but I swear to you, that if you will only have the courage to acknowledge the love that I know has long been in your heart, I will at no distant day place you in a position farabow the one in which you now are." Dora trembled, for his words awakened i echoes in her heart for which she could nowise account; but pride and prejudice -- -1 Iava on/1 aliit I IS blIUIlg?SUUU^Li man IVIV/, uuu w??v only answered: "Here we are at Mrs. Fleming's. Good morning, Mr. Van Buskirk,'' and flitted away up the walk before he could stop her. Summer merged into autumn, autumn gave way to winter, but no greater I changes took place around her than were developing themselves in the mental economy of our little Dora. From that ! memorable Sunday, James had never ap ! proached her. She had met him constantly in ttondance on other girl?, and es pecially with the squire's daughter? j whom, it was whispered, he was about to j marry?and he always bowed gravely to : her, but no more. How handsome ho i was! how dull and insignificant other i young men seenu d beside him. "What a j good son he was! What a rising young man I With what manliness had he ad- 11 ? dressed her! Why did he never speak to i j j her now? Such were the thoughts that ^ j were continually running in the foolish J little girl's head, and that especially tor j ! mented her, as she was on her way to the ?^ j wedding at Farmer Wentworth's. Would j ( m of Viim 1> WftS th<> first frol- I I ic of the season, and her heart throbbed j at the idea. She stopped at the door, and j looked into the large "keeping room,' | where was going on a most vigorous j handshaking, and how-de-doing. f "How are ye?" said a voice close in her ear. "Feel skeery? I do. Let's go in together, and kinder take the edge off," Eph. Schenck's arm was thrust out to her, like a bent pumphandle. "Lots of folks here," pursued Eph. "Knew there would be. Folks allers likes to come here, they give such good feeds. Gracious! there's Jim Van Buskirk. Ain't he fixed up? Look at that air shirt, and them studs! Guess he thinks he's some, now he's goin' to oniiinu'o / !u'' r?nrn lnolcfid < munj vuy o v4<?*vv,&? v. I . up in time to meet the roguish glance of jj James, who had heard Eph's remarks. ^ "There cornea the bride," went on the j inexorable. "Nice gal she is. Should a j made up to her myself, only I'd made up j my mind for some one else. They say she's had nine new dresses made. IIow j would you like to be married, and have ^ so many gowns?" Fortunately the cere- ^ mony here intervened, and Eph was obliged to be quiet, but scarcely was it j over, when he commenced again. "Tluit's ^ quick done, ain't it now? Nil thin1 so dreadful, is it, after all? Come on. ^ Everyone's goiu' up to kiss and shake l hands, and then they'll go in for sup- t per." Dora looked around her in desperation, f There was a small door open behind her, j which led, as she well knew, into tho ( * kitchen' and without stopping to reflect, i she darted through it and began to ' a run toward home all the fustcr that she r * * 1 1 1 1 *? J 1 A.Z 11 tancieci sne neara n.pu uemuu uer, im in her haste she stumbled over the root j j of a tree, and fell to the ground, sprain- a ing her aokle severely. t "How could you be so imprudent, and j. what made you run so?'' said James' I j voice, the moment after, as he stood by j r her side. "Did you think I would let j. you fjo home so? Are you hurt?" j "I don't know," answered Dorn, faint- < ly. He stooped and tried to raise her. E She groane.i and shrank back. "I'm j a afraid that I can't stand.'' J x "Then I will carry you," he said j promptly. I j. "But I am so heavy, and it is so far." j c "I wish it was twice the distance," he \ j. whispered. Dora made no reply, but her j j j head rested quite confidentially on his j. shoulder, and her little hand lay against his cheek. He eairied her in silence, till s they could see the lights of the deacon's j. house. "Now, Dora, speak," he burst c out. "You have had a long time to re- c fleet. Quick, Dora, for this is the last j time I shall ask you." ^ It was the faintest of all possible whis- j pens "that answered him; but if James' ? face, when he rea -hed the light, was any 1 j index of his feelings, it must have been ^ a satisfactory one. ^ There was a wedding shortly after. All ^ themammas with marriageablesonsshook j their heads, and the deacon and Mrs.Max- J c well groaned whenever it was referred to, ' * ana saia tney a aor.c rneir oest. out uur? j. : was a headstrong girl, and the will of Providencc must be done. r There wa? none of the "linen, and j china, and plate" went into the cottage j that James fitted up for his bride, and all the broad lands and fine cattle remained < for the dowry of the other two girls. c There were few visitors, either, at the j cottage, and of these very few who ever ^ failed to lament, in a roundabout way, j. over "Dora's dreadful mistake," r.s her j family call,-d it; but James only laughed, jf while his wife obstinately persisted in j ^ growing handsomer and merrier every j j day, and the last I heard of them he had 0 fulfilled the promise he made her on that c -? * * ? "? i_ 1 June morning, ana tne cien?on was speaKing with exceeding respect and pride of ^ his son-in-law, Senator Van Buskirk. jj ?? s Inoculation Against Yellow Fever, b One of the very latest theories of inoc- ft illation to prevent disease is the alleged ? discovery of a well known physician of j 1 Mexico?Dr. Carmona?of the cause or * causes of yellow fever and his j eouliar R praventive to protect a ]>erson against ( e this dread disease. Eminent American a and European physicians have i v for many yours been investigating i51 j this important matter, with v | the view of discovering some way or some ^ j ])lan whereby the mortality in certain j j parts of the world from yellow fever : 6 might be lessened. Th?s Mexican physi- a clan claims that he has discovered the ! C cause of this disease to be a microscopic fungus, and he asserts that by inoculat- | * ing this fungus in the blood persons can j 8 b-* protected from yellow fever in the ' s same way as vaccination is a security ^ against smallpox. Whether his plan is ' J feasible and will accomplish the greatly ! desired results time and careful iuvesti- ' gatioa will alone determine.?Panama 6 Star and Herald. ? Bret Harte has written a poem "On a ! Naughty Little boy. Sleeping." This, \ j. says the Springfield Union, recalls some | j. very striking lint s ou a nauguty nine ^ boy, wide awake, produced by a rliyth mical mother, that we knew a good many j years ago. i Thousands on thousands of men in ^ London live the year round at tlie rate ol J ten or twelve pence a day, equal to twen-1 J ty-four cents of American money, incluaive of food with shelter. j c 'CURIOUS PEOPLE. THE MARRIAGE OF DIME MUSEUM CURIOSITIES. Midgets and Giants Mated?The Living Skeleton Who Married a Pretty Girl?The Love of Other Freaks. "Freaks fall in love, fall out of it, mar rv, have children, grow jealous, wander off to other fancies, and are happy and miserable just like ordinary people,"said a dime museum official, uand they make some of the queerest matches imaginable. It is said that in selecting life partners people generally choose their opposites, and it is certainly true of freaks. There was Mrs. Hannah Battersby, one of the fattest of all fat women. Her husband. John Battersby, was a living skeleton. No sooner were they married than she began to lose flesh and lie to gain it. His weight increased so rapidly that he soon became too stout to exhibit as a skeleton, and, like Othello, his occupation was gone. "Baron Littlefinger," the Italian dwarf, is only a little over three feet high, but he married a woman who Btands five feet six inches in her stockings. They have had children, one of whom is already larger than his father. Dwarfs very frequently seem to fancy people of large size. This was the case with Che Mah, the Chinese dwarf, who married Louise Coleman, a full size, at j tractive young lady of Brooklyn. They bad some trouble in getting married at Srst, because the lady was a Catholic and tto priest could be found who would marry her to a heathen Chinee. But this dif- j Bculty was overcome by finding some 5ther ecclesiastic or some magistrate who j consented to tic the knot. "Just as dwarfs prefer large people, so i ?iants ?gem to find their affinity among those of low stature. Colonel Goshen, i man about eight feet in height, married a woman rather under the medium annflicii* rnrv fall j 3i6U? vuiv/uuI JJUbCO) UUWUV4 ?v?j I ?iant, was married to at least one or two : jrdinary-sized women before he wedded , ais present wife, Anna Swan, the Nova ! Scotia giantess. This couple have a de- | lightful residence at Seville, Ohio, that1 is quite like a giant's castle out of a fairy jtory. The ceilings and doors are of *reat height, while the beds, tables, ;hairs and other furniture are like that lescribed of 'Jack, the Giant Killer.' "Quite often freaks show excellent judgment in their matrimonial ventures " _-1? ?U1? ina marry persons auruiriiuiy kuiluu iu ;hem in all respects. Every one knows low happily Mr. and Mrs. Tom Thumb ived together, and the latter bids fair to . >e equally contented in her second mar- ; iage with Couut Maggi, th'e nobly born , ,'talian dwarf. Then, there is Pat j )'Brien, the Irish giant, who marrifd the J German giantess. They arc a splendidly natched couple, and, with their bounc- , ng baby, are as happy as clams at high ;ide. "Freaks make their strongest matches ! . ? t vhen they marry persons in no way con- | lected with the business. They appear j 0 have an irresistible fascination for j ome ' >eople, and the more monstrous and remlsive they are* the greater seems their >ower to charm. I once saw a very pretty, I vell-dres' -d young girl gizing with an i sxpression of the most intense admiration ! it Tom, of Tom and Hattie, the wellcnown Australian wild children, who is 1 driveling imbecile. For fully half an lour she stood apparently spell-bound, ind it was only by the most earnest onreaties and the use of gentle force that ier friends were finally able to induce ler to leave the spot. Everybody who ! eads the newspapers must remember I iow a handsome .Brooklyn gin 01 gooci j family was completely fascinated by 'Charlio," one of Barnum's blackest, aost repulsive Zulu-;, a few years ago, md married him in spite of all her riends could do. "The first taetooed man ever on exhi- ! A? il ! - J. ? C I >111011 ill iu1s uuuun j wjio a vriccxv. ovtb :aptain, said by some people to have >een a pirate, who traveled with the Barnum show, and had a number of very landsome diamonds. He had been made \ prisoner by the inhabitants of some avage island and tattooed as a means of orture. There was not a place ?n his entire body the size ?f a pin's head that had not >een treated in this way. His face was attooed in such a manner as to make tim anything but attractive in appear.nce, and his savage tormentors even haved off his hair and tattooed "very nch of his scalp. Notwithstanding these Irawbacks he married a very handsome Vmerican woman, who was devoted to j it t-ml naa rvirrmnnf 1 mil, iiisicau u*i inc uui j./i^uivnv generally used by tattooers the savages i mployed indigo, which finally produced >lindness and other serious ailments. "Everybody will remember J. B. Garison, the living sk leton we had on exlibition at Ninth and Arch streets durng the season of 1883-84, who acquired uch ee'ebrity under the sobriquet of the I Skeleton Bridegroom,' from his having j harmed and married a woman of West j Philadelphia. Her parents and friends leclared that she was temporarily insane, >ut most prob ibly she was only suffering rom that power of l'aseinaton which reaks seem to have over many people, fou would have been greatly surprised f you could have seen the large number . ?f love letters which Garrison daily re- j eived. "Apropos of the skeleton bridegroom, j icfore going into the museum business ! ic was a merchant cm South Eighth J treet. Although his body was so thin us face always continued quite piuinp, nd when dressed in ordinary costume here was nothing in his appearance to ndicate that lie was so very much leaner ! han m>ny others. When dressed in a! kin-fitting bla :k shirt and tights, howver, his extraordinary thinners was very . pparent. There arc many other people talking our streets who could do the kcleton business to pcrfectioo if they fere dressed in the same way. Poor i Jarrison died of consumption very shorty after his wife had obtained a legal eparation from him and a few weeks ftcr marriage. IIL3 real name was /harles Fowler. "In Pittsburg, pome years ago, when Iajor Barncll, an old showman, long ince gathered to his fathers, ran a mu- | cum on Fifth avenue, his list of curiosi- ; ies, included a Circassian girl. A fine! oung fellow of about twenty years, bconging to one of the wealthiest and best amiliesof the Smoky city, saw her in the how, fell in love with her, made her ,cquaintance, and was soon engaged 0 be married to her. His mother, who, intil he came of age, had absolute conrol of the fortune left him by his father, hreatened to withdraw all support from lim meanwhile unless he gave up he girl. As a consequence he became nsane and was placed in an insane asy * * ? ? 1 um. TJacre tie passed ms iweruy-urst, >irthday and came into his property, shortly afterward the doctors declared iim perfectly cured and discharged him. le immediately hunted up his lovely Circassian and married her. At last aclounta they were living in a magnificent; r. f residence on Squirrel Hill, one of the toniest places about Pittsburg, surrounded by a fine growing family and as ! happy as dickey birds. I "Snmfi frnnfcs m:ver ??et married. There is Millie Christine, the doubleheaded colored girl. She has had many offers, but declined them all, apparently not caring to follow the example of the late Siamese twins, each of whom married and raised a family."?Philadelphia Times. THE FAMILY DOCTOR. Exercise for Aged People. M. Bnuchardat, professor of hygiene at the Paris faculty of medicine, protested in strong terms at a recent lecture against 1 the advice given by some hygicnists who recommend almost complete rest to the aged, in the following terms: "I pro: J?<-U/ , nft- onrtonfn/^ o'lnoro tVinf j ICM {1^1111)1 tllC l/lt m>4WQv v**v?v ! old age is the age of rest. This sentence i has led to a very great error in hygiene, j The regular general exercise of all organs 1 of nutrition and of locomotion is neccs' sary to persons of all ages. The greatest attention on this point is all the more necessary that the tendency to rest brings on j a gradual diminution of the strength, j "If the old man docs not resist, his strength will visibly and progressively diminish, and the few days he may have to live may be transformed into just so many hours. In proof that regular daily exercise is beneficial to the aged, one has only to observe the results in : some of the handsomest old men, who take little or no rest. Moderate exercise, particularly walking, should be the leading precept of the hygiene of the aged, without which longevity is wellnigh impossible." Professor Bouchardat also recommends that old people should maintain their intellectual faculties, or otherwise they will get into a state of incurable torpor. This is best accomplished by having some steady intellectual pursuit, a id by taking an active interest in the events and progress of the day. In our boyhood we remember a very old man, who told us he k-'pt in as perfect health as an old m?m can be by cnopping wood for an hour or two every day. This he regarded as sufficient exercise for him. Another old man we know finds his health greatly benefited by sawing wood with the ordinary buck saw.?Herald of Health. Till the Doctor Comes. A family doctor says in CasselVs: At Inverness last summer, I saw from a distance a little boy fall from the high wall near the bridge?I being at the other side of the river?a height of probably fifteen feet. A sturdy Highlander marched around and shouldered him. From the shrieks of the lad thus roughly mounted, I felt sure a bone wa9 broken, and found out afterward I was right. The accident puts mo in mind to say here that we cannot be too careful in the manner we lift or carry a person who has received an injury of this kind. Oh I fancy, if you can, the agony produced from, say, a fractured thigh rudely handled, the jagged end of the bone perhaps thrust thiough the quivering flesh. Keep a wounded or injured person on the levelif possible; be very,very gentle. The handiest of all stretchers is a lanje shutter or door, with a mattress or pillows on it. Or a plaid or blanket used as a hammock will do, or a net hammock itaol f if nnfl hp hftlldv. While one party id carrying home, or to a chemist's shop, the injured person, some one must be sent to procure surgical assistance. The sooner surgical aid is got, the more chance of a speedy recovery wiU the patient have. Be careful not to give brandy in injuries to the head. "You migut commit a fatal error. The bast way to distinguish a fracture from a dislocation is to find out by manipulation whether there is motion in the injured part. In dislocation the bone is immovably fixed. Many dislocations oan be treated successfully on the spot by the sufferer's friends. Just a word about street accidents. Somehow or oth -r, ia such cases, one ot the crowd usually turns out to be a surgeon, but if not, let one be speedily fetched. Meanwhile, ask the crowd, with all respect due to crowds in the latter end of the nineteenth century, to stand back and give the patient air. On a summer day he may do better, for a time, out of doors thnn in a shop. I got a man on to a hand-cart once, and there be remained until the first shock of the accident was dispelled. But I kept the crowd at bay, and as quiet as possible. Nothing is more likely to make bad worse than a yelling crowd, crying, ! "Do this," or "Do that," round an injured man. Hunting: for Grouse. "Occasionally a mighty Nimrod from the city comes out to hunt game in my neighborhood," said a Greenfield farmer yesterday. "A few days ag> 1 saw a swell of a chap edging up t irough my sugar bush to the wheat hi Id He had on long-legged boots, and \sas toggled and belted and strapped out in regular hunting fashion. He looked just too purty for anything. He carried a darling of a gun, and he went dodging aronnd as if he expected to start up a Bengal tiger from behiud every stump. I took a short cut to the barn and turned the old peacock loo:-e. The old bird understood 1 * 1 - TT _ 11,.^ what was wanted 01 mm. nu puuw down his eye at me and startod for tho back lots. I followed down along the fence, and pretty soon I saw the swellhunter break cover from the woods. He was after quail, and he soon sighted the peacock. The bird had his tail fanned out and his head up, and could be seen half a mile away. Niinrod got his gun off his shoulder and began to creep up, und by and by he blazed away. I saw the whole charge of shot tear into tne ground yards away from the old bird, but he knew his business. Down he fell, wings and legs flopping, and pretty soon he expired. The young man with the darling of a <run reached him about the same time I did. " 'Beautiful shot,' says he. " 'I reckon.' says I, 'but what aro you hunting?' " 'Grouse,' says he, 'and this is the finoct und T /?vpr miw.' " 'Grouse, you numbskull, but you have killed my peacock!' "'Well, the usual results followed. Ilis chin began to quiver, the cold ?weat started out, and he wanted to know how much I would take to let him off. I sent him to the house to see the old woman. She has got a way of wiping her eyes and choking her voice over the death of that peacock wlrch always brings in $5 extra. She let this young swell off for $10. which is the u-ual price, and as he started down the highway for Detroit the old bird got up and marched back to the barn with a < huekle that set every hen to laughing. rJ h it's five times we've played it ou tfco swell Nimrods within six months, and I expect more fun this summer than a horse can draw."?Detroit Free Ft*m. ( BUDGET OF FUN. HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. What they Thought?Couldn't Fool Her?Romance of Chunder Ram Chowder ? "My Lord, the Juke"?-Lost Collar Button. "Ha! ha! liaI" laughed a Detroiter as he met a lawyer at the postofficc yester- j day; "but a very funny thing occurred i in connection with my trip to Chicago i last week." "Yes." "Stopped at one of the big hotels, you know, and the night I camc away I forgot to pay my bill. Yes, sir; walked right off without saying a word, and } never thought of the mutter again until half way home." "I see." "Wonder what they'll think?" "Why," replied the lawyer, as he drew j a letter "from his pocket, "they have al- . readv forwarded me a requests to sue and ; collect. The bill is $9.75, and my fees are $1.25. Please call at tiie office at once and save expense!"?Free Press. Couldn't Fool Her. As Mr. Krewskin was going home the other day at noon, he s iw the wagon of ] a traveling photographer. "I will stop and have a few tintypes < taken, just for fun," he mentally re- ] mark d, entering the peripatetic establishment. "There," said the photographer, show- i ing him a proof, "I think that is a pretty good likeiie-s." j Krewskin looked at it with a puzzled expression, and fina ly said: "I guess it'll do." When he got home he showed the tintype to his wife, and jokingly . told her it was a picture of the ''Wild i1 Man from Borneo," down in the dime j * I museum. j1 1'You can't fool me," said his wife. | * examining the pi*tire critically. 'Tve * seen the wi.d man from Borneo, and he 1 is not h-ilf so homely and frightful look- ( ing as this." e Romance of Chunder Ram Chowder, f Chunder Ram Chowder, the Reverend * Marmalade of Dowwal agalla, when a; young prince, was enamored of a beauti- j ful girl, the daughter of a merchant. He pawned his dress suit, and for throe j days fed the object of his love with ice 2 cream and caramels. At the end of this ! short siege, having persuaded her that his facilities were unequaled for.continu- ' ing to supply her with unlimited quanti- j ties of caramels and ice cream for an in- \ definite period, she yielded and agreed j to depart with him to the wilderness. TH- < ?*rVfilA f lio minno nroQ InltOf Z IJttl VVhil^ |^i Jiiivv ?? no *vibv* g ing under her window with a ladder, her father appeared and kicked him clear over * the top of a grove of banyan trees, and ! when he came down a bull dog as big as a i r yearling calf, was waiting for him, and sat down with him to a plain but sub- j c stantial luncheon, at which, however, the | j prince ate nothing. The next morning, ^ on his way to the hospital, the beautiful girl met him and said, reproa hfully: ^ "Last night you were to fly with me." _ "Ah, ye9," replied Chunder Ram j Chowder, "but last night your father 1 _ was too fly for me." j j He then entered the convent of the ' j Hadda Nuff I han'/, who took upon them- ? j selves vows of celibaey and wore sheet j iron trousers; nor d d he again see his I Q charmer until live years afterward, when V... mnt Vir.r of thn fnnpr il nf her third i husbind, the other two having been di- * vorced.?Burdette, in Brooklyn Eagle. g f "My Lord, the Juke." 0 The late Char'cs Ke:in was once fulfill- n ing an engagement at one of the smaller & country theatres, the ''stock" of which did not contain many future Henry Irvinirs?in short, the corps dramatique was decide lly mediocre. < At the rehcrsal the eminent tragodian j. was mu h shocked when one of the i actors, who had to assume a very minor ^ character in the p;e:'e, announced to him, "My lord, the d)ok!" j "My good man," said Mr. Kean, "for j | heaven's sake be ciirelul not to say that at j, nicrht; the correct word is duke?jr. diilro " [ The humble Thespnn announced that ' it would be "all right" at night. | The scene was gone through again, j( when the actor, who was not goo 1 at pro- 8 nuncintion. this time announced, "My a lord, the iukel" ^ This was too much f >r Kean's irritab'e j j. temperament. T^re was a st'.rm rn that I n stage. The delinquent was handed o er ? t"> the care of a more intel'igcnt member t e of the company, to be well drilled for; j the evcn;ng. ! g The night came, the luckless utility 1 g man was in a s'ate of exe ssive nervous- j j, necs, anrl had to be a!mosf pished on the f ! stajje. When he got- before the great f] man. the small modicum of self-posses- j j siol he had left entirely deserted him, 1 ^ ard he hastily b'ur'ed out. "My lord, the ^ dook?duke?juke!" Tableau. s The Lost Collar Button. "Mv deai-," sa;d Mr. Spoonendyke, feeling up ?-he chimney, "have you seen ! n mv jjnld collar button?" j ^ "T it the day you bought it." an- \ ^ swered Mrs. Spooo^ndvke, cl^ecrilv, ! ^ "and T thought it very pretty. "Why do c you ask?" 0 " 'Cause I've lost the meisly thing," n return d Mr. Sroopendyke, running the l c broom handle ur> into tne cornice, ana ? shnk:ng it as if it were a carp-1. , n "You don't suppose it is ur> there, do j c you?" inqnirrd Mrs. Spoopendyke. I ^ "Where did vo \ leave it?" I Sl "Left it in mv sMrt. Where do you !a suppose I'd leave it?in the hash?" and ! 0 Mr Snoonendvke tossed over the things 1 8? in h'f wife's writing desk, and looked 0 out of the window after it. j v "Where did you leave your shirt?" j? asked Mr*. S-ioo^endvke. ; 8 ' Where did T le *ve mv shirt? Where ! f, do yoM suppose I lert it? Where doe^ a j v m?n gene "allv le-ive his shirt. Mrs.Spoon-1 n endvke? Th;nk I Kt't in the ferry-boat? j b Oot an idea that I left it at prayer meet- 1 fl] inT, haven't you? Wei'. I didn't. T left! b it off, Mrs. Spoortond\'ke: that's whore I I tj left it. I left it off! Hear me!" and Mr. ? S'^oopr-ndvkc ' ullod the clothes out of the | Bi redar che t that hadn't been unlocked h forn month. | r< "Where is the shirt now?" persisted Mrs. Snoopendyke. ''Where do you suppose it is? Where do yo i imagine it is? I'll *011 you where it is, Mrs. Spoopendyke, it's pone to j Bridgeport, as a witness in a land suit. [ Idea! Ask a man where hi* sh'rt is? You I know I haven't been out of thi* room ^ sin^e I came home Inst ni^M, ard took it! ? " ""'l Vf.a QnnnnflndrlfP Qilllpfl f]')WIl ! ^ UU, nuu *HO. Li|nn/|r mul.v .... ? . ( st'iirs, and raked the tire out of the C kitchen range, hut didn't find the button. A "Mavbe you lost it on the way home," 0 susrjre^ted Mrs. Spoopendyke, ashorhus- k band came up, hot and anirry. and began a to null a stuffed oanary to piccea, to see b if the button had got inside. t< "Oh, yes; very likely. I stood up, d against a tree, and lost it. Then I hid behind a fence so I wouldn't sec it. That's the way it was. If I only had your head, Mrs. Spoopendyke. I'd turn loose as a razor shop. I don't know any tiling snarper tnanyouare: ana ivir. Spoopendyke clutched a handful of dust off the top of the wardrobe. "It must have fallen out,'? mused Mrs. Spoopendyke. "Oh, it must, eh! It must have fallen out. Well, I declare, I never thought ol that. My impression was that it took a buggy and drove out, or a balloon and hoisted out." And Mr. Spoopendyke crawled behind the bureau and commenced tearing up the carpet. 4 'And if it fell out. it must b3 somewhere near where he left his shirt. Now, he always throws his shirt on the lounge, and the button must be under that." A moment's search soon established the infallibility of Mrs. Spoopendyke's logic. "Oh, yes. Found it. didn't you?7' panted Mr. Spoopendyke, as he bumped his head against the bureau, and finally climbed to a perpendicular. "Perhaps you will fix my shirts so they won't fall out any more; and maybe you'll have sense enough to mend that lounge, now that it has made so much trouble. If you only tend to the house as I do to my business, there'd never be any difficulty ibout losing a collar b ltton." "It wasn't my fault?" commenccd Mrs. Spoopendyke. "Wasn't, eh? Have you found that joal bill you've been looking for since Vlarch?" "Yes." "Have, eh! Now, where did you put 4-9 Wliora rlirl TTnn 4in/1 if?" V. "UW "In your overcoat pocket."?Stanley Huntley. New York Street-Car Horses. The average serviceable life of a horse n street railroad work is only from three | ,o three and a half years, and the Third 1venue railroad company uses up about 500 horses a year. A knowledge of the 'act might well alarm and depress any eflective liorse. And yet the work laid )ut for the horses does not seem so very tevere. Sixteen miles a day on the Third ivenue line, which is, by reason of its grades, the hardest; or twenty miles oi ts branches are deemed a sufficient day's ;vork for a horse. And then an effort is J nade to give each horse one day of rest n seven, or, failing that, to make up its equivalent to him by diminishing his lours of toil. But the fret and worry, ind strain of frequent stopping and starting the car, and the continual pounding >f the feet on the hard, round cobbleitones, and the cruel sprains inflicted by ilippiner on the smooth- rails, all these oon wear out the poor horse, break his leart, and make him a mere wreck, fit >nly to suffer a little longer between the hafts of a huckster's cart, or, by a hap)ier fate, go to the knacker's yard at ince. There is a good hospital here for ick horses, capable, with the gangways eservea for this use, of accommodating is many as 100 sick and lame horses at >nre, but, except when the epizootic was n the stables, not so many animals worth reating have been in it at one time. If | , horse is used up, or very sick, it is not ! vorth while to bother with him here. Tem- I >orary lameness, caused by slips and falls, " i- -1 Xt- ^ 1 s tne principal ining created in tue u-js>ital. Last April, when the police enorced the ordinance forbidding the sandng of the tracks, there were seventy-five torses lamed by the slippery pavements ,t one time. The hospital is in charge if a veterinary surgeon, whose duty it is o be on hand all day, and all night too f he is wanted, and who gets $25 a reek. He has as helpers four or five killed old stablemen, who are selected or their possession of some knowledge >f rough horse doctoring, but who get no nore pay than the others.?New Fork Jun. A Georgia Dog. The New York Sun tells the following: 'Setter Van, of Macon, Ga., is well ;nown as one of the best bird dogs of he land; but now he has immortalized timself. His master was exercising him n a field wheie a drove of cattle was [razing, and Van came to a point in beau iful form. "While his master was walk- I ng slowly up, enjoyiDg the sight, a big mil walked out from the drove and ad- | anced upon the motionless dog with j ;reat confidence. To his astonishment, I he dog didn't stir. The bull stopped, o )ked surprised and took a few more | teps. Then he stopped and looked and ! gain advanced, and so by degrees he ! cached the dog and brushed the exended tail with his nose. Then Van ;ave evidence of being alive by curling he tail deftly between his legs, but othrwise remained as motionless as a graven mage. Somewhat emboldened by this ucccss, the bull, apparently still in doubt, lowly put his horns under Van's hind j egs ar d carefully lifted them a couple of j eet from the ground. Van never '< linched. Just then the birds arose and , he master fired, whereupon the dog \ .! r J -1 ] I urned on tnat duil wiui iury, huu cuuacu i iim until he had fully avenged the in- , ult." . Eesult of Eating: Thread. One of the most remarkable cases in lateria raedica was brought to light at >ov, Mo., recently, by a post mortem i ield to determine the cause of Mrs. John | \ Green's death. Mrs. Green only re- | cntly married. She was twenty years f age. Her illness dated back two lonths, when she began to find it diffiult to retain any food on her stomach, ler condition became alarming, and a umber of physicians called into the cage ' oncluded she was suffering from a tumor, er mother having died with one. Conrat was given to hold the post mortem, nd the discovery was a most remarkable ne. In the passage leading from the \ tomach to the intestines a ball made up I f small niepes of silk thread was found, | eighing one aud one-half pounds. The assage was entirely filled by the sublance. Its presences is explained by the ict that before her marriage Mrs. Greea ras employed in a mill upon work that lade it necessary for her to frequently iteoff the ends of silk threads. These hxe swallowed, and they formed into the all found. The ends of the threads at- ! iched themselves to the lining cf the ;issage, and remained there. Mrs. Green j iffcred greatly before her death, due to j er inability to take any nourishment and | jtain it. 1 Matricide. A French investigator of criminal stastics proves that there are 2,680 infantiides, 100 suicides, and forty-live patricides ) one matricide A man will kill his ch.ilren by the dozen and attempt his own fe a hundred times before he will lift a - 1 - *1 A 4. 1 L ?1. ? ana against ?:s wutucr. ai icuou buu aucas an man of the nineteenth century, mong the Botoeudos Indians of the rinoco, where suicide is almost unnown, a stout youn</ man will th nk it shame to let his old mother become a tirclen to the tribe if he can find a club ) dispatch her at the first symptom of otage.?Felix L. Oswald. MAKING A NE.W ARM. A WONDERFUL OPERATION' IN A NEW YORK HOSPITAL. Catting Strips of Flesh From a. Man's Side and Back and Successfully Grafting Them on a Diseased Limb. A recent issue of the New York ... Tribune says: A surgical operation of exceeding interest is being performed at tlie Hahnemann hospital. It is one of . v| those cases that cannot be finished at a single sitting but which must be carried through various stiges in a progressive '; way from the beginning to the end. It was begun about three weeks ago, and . from the present indications there is little doubt that the result desired - will _ be attained. , , ; The pafient is Christopher Doll, a German, thirty-one years old. He received his injury accidently. He waa v extremely fond of smoking a pipe. One evening about nine months ago he waa ' enioying a quiet smoke in his room and i while reading fell asleep. In some way [ the pipe which he still held in his mouth was overturned, and the hot ashes fell i from the bowl upon his shirt sleeve and ! set it on fire. It smothered a time and j burned several sm ill holes in the sleeve* ' and then it burst into a flame and the sleeper was aroused. The fire had reached his flesh, and he tore at the burning cloth madly. He rolled over on the floor, and finally the flime was extin- , ' guished. His right arm from the wrist to the shoulder wjis terribly burned, and > it looked as if the flesh could be scraped from the bone without trouble. The_ pain was intense, and from the natnre of the wound it appeared as if the arm would have to be amputated close ?p to the . shoulder. Private medical treatment was tried for a time, but afc it did not accomplish any material benefit DoR went to a hospital. He remained under constant care for two months. By this' time the fore-arm had healed, leaving & ? inguiiui oi'iir, wiin tut; i;i<ucrtiiui<u udouw drawing in every direction. Despite tho^ . most persevering treatment the upper . portion of the arm from the elbow to the shoulder could not be healed. The pa- . ! tient went to several hospitals, but could ; | get no relief. There was suoh a largeA surface of exposed flesh in the wound.. that the pus formation was unusually . large, and the antiseptic precautions which were taken did not prevent the trU absorption of the poisonous matters into the patient's system. Thus a dangerous condition of blosd poisoning was -set up. He grew pale ant emaciated, lost his : strength and coururp, and when he was ; admitted to the Hahnemann hospital, 1 about two months a<ro, he was a living skeleton with hardly muscular powerfij enough left to raise his hand. As soon as he was admitted measures were taken to stamp out the blood contamination. which were eventually sue cessful. and the patrnt began to recover strength. When he got strong enough 1- v and his body was sufficiently free from ? the incidental disease, it was determined * r. by the attending surgeon to make a new upper arm from the flesh of the patient's body, and to heal up the wound by cover-. : ing it over with healthy tissue. At first small pieces of flesh were taken fromvar- '' f ious parts of his body and placed in differ- ' ent spots upon the raw shoulder as a matter of experiment, to determine whether the flesh could be successfully * grafted. The experiment was successful. The little pieces of flesh and skin united ? and made little oases on the diseased shoulder. These minor operations were performed several days apart and without the use of any other than a locW anaesthetic. Everything had gone on so well that about ten days ago it was determined to begin the more important part of the operation, which consisted in covering up a large portion of~ the arm at one time with flesh. The pa- : tient was first put under the influence of. an anaesthetic. Then all the cicatricial ;' tissue upon the upper arm was scraped with a knife until it bled profusely and was entirely raw. While the arm was held away from the boly two incisions were made about three inches apart running upward from the small ribs for about seven inches. At the lower end of these incisions a crosscut was made, and then .> ' the strip of flesh wai dissected up from the ribs, the full length of the incision, making a large flap. This was left * united at the upper end. Then the patient's arm was brought clo e to his side and this loose flap was laid over on the raw flesh on the arm and carefully pressed and fitted into position. When this had been done ther? was still a large section of the upper back arm remaining nn overed. Two incisions were again made similar . to the first two, running up and down v the upper portion of the side of the back. ?- - " # * ' 1*- ?I-a The flesh was imcK 3r irns pwim, permitted a free dissect'on. While the upturned flesh was yet pa'pitating with tbe heart influence, it v:?; put over the bleedin? surface of the n m and fitted into place. Then the two flaps were securely fastened into position by long bands of sticking plaster, while larger bands were run over the lower portion of the arm and around the ablomen and back, and interlaced so that all motion of the arm was stopp?d. After the whole wound had been covered with an antisent'e dressing, the ether rone was taken off the patient's face, an 1 he ?oon recovered consciousness. He suffered little from the shock, and the hemorrhage was comparatively slight. The arm was kept securely fastened to his side for a week, anl the wound was carefullv dressed every day. At first it was not thought that the flesh from the side would adhere to the flesh on the arm, but after two (lays it took a firm hold and grew as if it belonged there, and little shoot9 of new flesh branched out in every direction. Two days ago the ends uniting the two flaps to the body were severed, the loose j>ortions were drawn around the under side of the arm, the edges trimmed so as to mukc it a perfect fit, and were then united with sutures. In continuing the operation it x will bo necessary to alter the 9hape of the flaps in some places. Only a Kttle * 1 1 1 ?^ V* % O IkOfl sloughing nas i?Ken pmcu, ?uu m.o *,?o bad no injurious effect. The arm now prescnts a comparatively natural appearance. The biceps muscle will be somewhat restricted until it gets ined to the new covering, and then it will move as freely as ever. The patient is physically strong, and since the pain has subsided in his arm has improved prereptibly, and the prospects are that he will be able to leave the hospital in about a week with a new arm. In no part of the Southern Hemisphere is population increasing so rapidly as in Sydney. In 1870 the population of the city and its suburbs was about 140,000; nt the rlose of 1883 it was estimated at 290,000, having more than doubled in fifteen years. The lines that tailors hang clothea oa ?Mascu-Hnes.