The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, January 15, 1896, Image 6
*
msmoe
A Tale of English Life.
BY WALTER BE SAN T
I
1
CHAPTER VJL
r r XiVT AOAIX.
"Hush?" Naomi held up her finger.
*1 think she is in a sleep."
"At last you have her again," said the '
librarian. 1
"Yob?at last. They let her go because
she was ill, and the time 'was so 1
close at hand when she would have hei 1
tioket-of-leave. I brought her home
yesterday. She was a good deal excited, 1
poor) child, but at night she grew com- ]
g)sed and told me more than I knew. '
e was her husband?her husbandthink
of that? The man went into the
witness box and sent his own wife to
p?nal servitude. She did not stab him
In her misery because he had deserted
her?she wanted tb kill herself. I will
tell you all presently. He knew that,
too. Oh, villain!?villain!"
"Villain! villain!" echoed the librarian.
"You shall see her directly. But she
frightened me this morning. She doe6
not know me. She thinks Bhe has got
her baby in her lap?it was born in the
prison, and died in the prison. But she
Is a married woman, remember, bne *
thinks her husband?oh, her husband <
?is with her. Tell me what I should 1
do. Come in. Her eyes are closed. I 1
think she is sleeping."
It was a Sunday morning In mid- '
winter. Outside, the church bells j
rang, but it was not a quarter 1
where the call to prayer is heeded, and (
the feet of the people were not set J
churchwards. Within, a bright fire, a *
clean room, and in an easy ohair the '
prisoner set free. She had put off her '
prison dress; they had suffered her hair
to grow, her beautiful light hair curling
about her forehead; her face, refined by (
long suffering, seemed in its delicacy 1
and pale beauty to be the face of some 1
coinf anont. V?pr in *
vuiigviuu vuxuw i?**v wjtvmw j _ ___
, holy meditation; her eyes were closed, {
but at the sound of the voices and the
shutting of the door she awoke and looked
around.
'* "Naomi, dear," she said, smiling.
Thank God! She was once more in hei
right mind again.
"I have been asleep, I think. I forgol
that I was released, and I thought I was
In my cell again."
"Dear," said Naomi. "Forget the cell.
Oh! Try to forget it. See, I have
brought you my friend?my best friend.
Oh! my dear, he knows all; he will adTise
us and help us. He has been very
good, and kind to me, dear?while we
"Were parted. . Because it was lonely
without you?and when one thought?
^ no, no, it is all over. Oh! my dearay
dear?it is all over and we are together,
and I can bear anything now?
anything." a
The librarian tried to speak. But he 6
turned away his face, and the tears 11
rolled down his cheeks even to his great ?
. gray beard. 'Twas a soft-hearted li-' 1
brarian. "
"You have got to grow quite strong 1
and well again, my dear," he said, tak- 0
1ng her hand and holding it while he sat 11
Aiwn haniria her. "Quite strone and 8
well before you think about anything. J
Poor child!"
"I shall never get strong or well a
gain," she replied. "I heard the doo- v
tor in the infirmary say so. That mat- u
ters nothing, except that I shall be such a
a troubfe to everybody. Oh! Naomi,
dear, What a trouble I have been to you! "
"What a dreadful trouble. I have spoiled 6
your whole life, my dear." ?
"Not you?not you, Ruth," Naomi an- !|
wered, hoarsely. "But that villain? 13
oh! that villain!"
"Don't, dear. It hurts me that any- ^
body should call him names. At first I v
was hard upon him for the sake of my :
- i
vll A ;
"i think she is in a sleep."
baby. It is very terrible for a child to
he born in prison, isn't it?and for its
mother to bo a conviot. No child can
ever get over that disgrace. But God j
took the child, and then I was happier.
There was only myself to think about,
and I began to feel that it was worse for
him than for me. Nothing can undo
the past. I came to forgive him, dear,
and would forget him if X could. But i
you can't forget your husband. Women
are made bo "
"They are," said the iiDrarian. ~uoa
knows they are."
"Naomi, dear, you thought I waB over- 1
whelmed with the disgrace and shame ?
of it. No, dear. I never could feel any t
disgrace?not even in the court. The i
convict dres6 was nothing to me, nor i
toe prison rules. I obeyed the rules,, i
and I did not mind them. You see,
dear, I was innocent. But I had a sentence
at first far more terrible to bear.
It was the sentence of my child's disgrace.
It was only when I thought of ,
you, dear, that I felt the disgrace to me '
?and this only?for your sake. For J
my own I felt nothing. When I told
the doctor?it was only the other day? !
he cried about it. Is a kind man .
though he is a prison doctor.*" I
"Will you have some breakfast now,
dear? You would not eat any an houi .
go."
"I thought we had breakfast at 7.
tI?lP o nf nnri n n ri * *
JLA.au U J/I41W WWW uuu MMM -]
She looked about her with troubled .
eyes; her brain was wandering again.
"I must clean the cell and roll up the 1
blankets before work begins. The [
matron lets me do her room; they are
all kind to me. Of course they kuow ] '
never did it." She shut her eyes as if
trying to collect herself. "Give me mj !
baby." She started up and opened hei
eyes and held out her arms. "Give m< ^
any baby. Oh! my precious baby. 1
Hush! He is asleep." She thought th? j
jcnlld was in her lap. "He Is asleep, j
'Sir, Naomi. You didn't know I had <
such a lovely baby, did you? He has <
Sot his father's eves exactly, hasn't
e? Come and look at your son, Harry, i
Kiss him, dear. He shall grow up ae i
handsome and as good as his father." }
"Ob! my friend," said Naomi. "What 1
shall I do? What shall I do? It tears <
my heart to hoar her and to look at 1
her." i
Well, there was very little tcbe done, j
The librarian, who now 6howed himsel? l
a perpon of infinite resource, went away i
that very morning and brought back [
pvith him a medical man of wonderful j
\
[ Ml S M
^ > .1 "V vu
6K111?quae a magicai menicai man?to
see the girl, and told him pieces of the
story. The medical man said that, considering
everything, it was fortunate
she had not died in prison, and that she
would certainly die before many weeks;
that to such an organization as this
woman seemed to have, love and happiness
were the food of life; then he
added, "What a murderer!" He recommended
something or ctfcer and went
away. But he did more. For this medical
magical person had a daughter, one
of those who spend their lives in good
works. And 6he, moved deeply by the
Badness of the thing, oame to nurse the
girl, and instead of reading to the pa- ,
tients in the hospitals, sat all day long
with Kuth while her sister was at work,
and talked to her and prayed over hei
continually with the sunshine of sym- ]
pathy and friendship. She also sent in
a piano and played to the sick girl. In
the evening Naomi came home, and j
when the librarian could get away, he,
too, came and read or talked of grave
things, thoughts concerning men and \
women and the conduct of life and the
teaching which is read aloud in the ]
churches without ceasing, and remains |
is much neglected as ever. So they
:alked her poor wearied brain into rest, j
But ever and anon the dying girl's eyes
crould wander troubled round the room, ,
ind she would go back to her prison ,
jell, and she would call again for her
saby and dandle the pretty child before
lis father?the father so handsome and
>o good.
One evening, when 6he felt a little
stronger than usual, she told her sister
ibout her marriage.
"Harry wouldn't marry me openly and
ake me to his own people," she said,
'because he was dependent on his
lather. But he wouldn't give me up,
ind one day he told me that he had
jverything ready and would marry me
secretly in a registrar's office. But I
aras to tell nobody?not even you, dear;
md I promised. He took me in a cab, I
lon't know where. One of his friends,
Mr. Middlemist, who wa6 a clerk in his
'ather's office, came with us. "NVe got
)utf,of the cab at the office, and went
within So that, his father should not
Ind out, he signed a false name. He
;ook his mother's name, and signed himself
'Henry Hendrioksen.' "
"And you rememoer the place, dear?"
"No, I do not know where it was, be:ause
I never thought of looking. Afterwards
he told me that it was a sham
egistry, but I know now that it was
lot, because people who have sham
>ffices do not put up brass plates and
>rint the name of the office in the pilars
of the door. Besides, we had to
wait while another couple were married.
[ am his wife, dear, as much as tho law
:an make me."
When Naomi told this to the librarian,
le said that now they knew the particuars
nothing would be easier than to
ind out where the marriage took place,
because a register is kept, and can be
;onsulted. And he took certain tfteps
inknown to the two sisters.
After this they talked no more about
he past. As the bodily frame grew i
veaker her mind became more restful.
during the day 6he seemed to forget the t
last. She listened, her hollow eyes t
ooking far away, while her nurse?the t
ihysician's daugeter?played to her; on j
he wings of the music she was borne
,way to the land of holy thought. When '
he talked it was of the future?now so i
lear?when her child should be re- i
tored to her. The past, as she truly 1
old her sister, had left upon her soul ]
io touch of sham!?not the lea6t touch,
'hat It had killed her was nothing, be- n
ause life had nothing left for her. Only r
- ni/vVif okn ttaii 1A n TIT oli'Q oris) V
Li IUC ?^Ul nv,UiU ?? V U.14V1 u
tretch out her hands, feeling for the \
rails of her cell, and rcoau and w?>ep in
hinking of the child, born in the prison
,nd dead in the prison. Then Naomi
rould weep with her and soothe her,
ntil the dying girl, in her turn, soothed
nd consoled the girl who bad to live.
One evening, towards the' end of
ipril, when there was a soft breath of
arly spring, Ruth began to talk of the
Id days, when the swifts flew about the
Dwer of the cathedral, and the leaves
egan to come out upon the trees; and
he spoke or the sW?et service on the
iunday morning, and of the quiet shop,
pjth its shelves of books, round which
he canons of the cathedral would slowly
ralk, reading the titles; and of the
lean, who always came to shake hands
rith her father, and patted her cheek?
.11 the old life?so long ago, so long
.go. She talked about this all the j
ivening; it seemed as if she could think
if nothing else. When she laid her T
??vAn iKft ni 1 lmr cKa mil rmnrcH ?
ICOU U^VU ViaV ?T DMV ****** V.M,
Naomi, dear, there is nothing worth re- ;
aembering but the old days?and you, <
lear, and you?unless it is my baby. ,
)h! he is "waiting for me. I can see his ]
retty face; he holds out his pretty ]
landa" Then, with no more words, ,
ler eyes closed and she fell asleep. Na- i
?mi watched her; she was breathing ,
BBS ALBO BEST 15 A PIANO AND PLATED. 1
reely and lightly: shn went to bed her- ,
self. An hour afterwards she awoke in
Moian a/^ TJ nfk rrr-i e V*
ng lightly and regularly. Naomi fell .
isleep agakin. When she awoke again it
pvas morning, and Kuth lay dead. (
CHAPTER VII. (
LOnO PEHIYALE. ]
Mr. Harry Stwke bad finished break- )
'ast, and was waiting his wife in order 1
so go to church with her as a respeeta- '
We And God-fearing gentleman should i
an Sunday morning. His wife?for be
tiad married with his father's sanotion
inG approval?was none otner than Lady
Beatrice, daughter of the Earl and 1
Countess of Tbordisa. He wa6 himsell
the Honorable Harry, eldest son of Lord
Perivale, the newest creation. No one
. ould grudge elevation of a man who
iad achieved, single-handed, what all
the men in the City are perpetually tryng
to do with the aid of partners, anjeetral
connections, inherited capital,
ind "the brains of paid servants; he had
imassed an enormous fortune; all govsmments
love to honor the City and the
successful children of the City; there- 1
'ore there was but one murmur of apirnvfll
whfin \Tr -Tnhn nf TViMfui. <
needle 6treet, was elevated to a peer- i
ige. And the fact that he had so much
noney was a sufficient reason for makrag
his children and his children's children,
so long as the stock should last, a
:aste apart, and hereditary legislators.
The honorable gentleman looked perectly
healthy, happy, and contented
with himself. Why not? His partnership
enabled him to occupy a good
louse in a good square; his marriage- (
tpened a great many good houses to
lim; he had a brace of fine, strong 1
children, one of -whom, the heir to the
peerage, a little boy of 2, had teen 1
jrought down to play with him, and
was now rolling on the hearth rug.'
Fhe ohoicest gifts in store had been
joured into his lap, which was Uke a
E<T~-r
sack for capacity, ana was ready to re<
ceive more choice gifts?the more anc
the choicer the better. Heaven cer
tainly seems very good indeed to th<
ircher creatures.
A footman brought him a card.
"Who is it?" he asked; "I don't knon
the name. What does he mean by com'
ing on Sunday morning?" ?
"Gentleman says he has to speak t<
you on most important private busi'
noss." 1
"Oh!" He thought it must be som<
message from the city, or from his father.
"Show him into the study. No, lei
him come here."
The visitor was an elderly gentleman
dressed plainly, who entered, bowed
and waited to be asked bis business.
"Well, sir," asked the Honorabl<
Henry Stoke, "what do you want witl
me? You said you had important private
business with me?"
"Yes. I have brought you some
news."
"What news?"
"You gave evidence in a trial abou
inree years anu a m?u agu.
"What about that trial?" The Honor
ble Harry turned very red and ther
pale. ""Who are you?"
"I am librarian of a free public libra^
ry. It really does not matter who I am
You gave evidence in a case of allegec
Btabbing and wounding. Your evidenc<
sent your own wife to penal eervitud<
for seven years."
"My wife? It's a lie~a lie, I say.'
He said more, but the terror in his eye;
greatly detracted from the strength o
his words.
"It is true," said the librarian, calmly
"Your own wife."
"Prove it, if you can."
"I can. It can be proved very easily
You took lodgings in a certain parisl
under the name of Hendricksen. Un
der that name you were married at th<
registrar's of that district to Rutl
Heron. You continued in your lodg
ings, and your wife, who lived with he:
oictoi- vScitari vrtn there. One of vou:
friends, a man named Middlemist, thei
a clerk in your father's office, was ii
your confidence, and was preseat a
your marriage."
"Middlemist is dead."
"Not at all. He lost his place in youi
office and had to go abroad. He has
low come back again and has made an
VCT
V
'HARRY, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS/'
iffidavit of the facte. We have al6o ob?
ained an affidavit from the landlady oi
he lodgings. There is no doubt pos>ible."
"What aie you going?going to do?"
The man caught the back of the chaii
md showed a ghastly face. "Man, it if
uin?absolute ruin?to me. You don'1
enow what mischief you may be doing,
[ will pay anything?anything."
"At tne trial your wire woum -ay
lothing; a word from her would have
uin id you. A word from you would
lave saved her. What forgiveness?
rhat consideration can you hope?"
"I will buy silence at any price. Look
lere, there are only you and I present;
t doesn't matter what I say. It's all
rue; I did marry her. I told her it was
l false marriage because I was driven
learly mad. 1 suffered terribly at the
ime, she ought to think of that; I sufered
terribly. I thought it was all over."
"In her lifetime nothing was said. But
rtMr mifA in rifiiiri "
"Dead? Is Ruth dead?" His face
jrightened again. "Dead! Then it is all
ight! It doesn't matter to anybody."
"It matters to her memory and to hei
riends. She is dead, and now the story
shall be told. Yes, Mr. Stoke, you will
ace the whole .truth "
Just then the door was thrown open,
ind Lord Perivale himself walked In; he
>ore in his hand a little bundle of pa?
>ers. which he threw upon the table.
"What is the meaning of this anloancement,
sir?" he asked his son;
'and this, and this. In the St. James
Sazette?in the Pall Mall?and in the
Dbserver this morning. What does il
nean. I eay? 'On Friday, April 29,
,v % ' " * TT UU
Kutn, wne ci ine nuuuiuuic jLiciiij
fiendricksen Stoke, of Chester Square
Led Threadneedle Street, daughter ol
;he late Nathaniel Heron, J. P., of Bar. hester,
aged 25.' "What Is this, I ask?'
His son looked at the announcement,
DUt made no reply.
"What Is it?" reared his lordship.
"It means," said the librarian, "whal
t says. Your son's wife is dead."
""Who put in this announcement?"
"I did."
"Then, sir. you shall smart for it il
:here is law in the land."
'It is true," the librarian said, quietly,
'Your son's wife Is dead."
"Who is dead?"
It was Lady Beatrice who stood a1
:he door, dressed ready for church, and
>s!<ed this question.
"Who is dead?" she reDeated,
'This man's wife is dead," said tb<
loranan, pointing to ner own nusoano.
"His wife? What do you mean?"
"His wife died on Friday. She will be
juried the day after to-morrow."
"Harry! what is the meaning of this?"
she caught her husband by the arm.
'Speak! what does this mean?"
"It means?it means " but he
?ould not finish the sentence.
"It means that his lawfol wife is
lead," the librarian continued. "Thit
man was married fixe years aeo, at a
egistrar's office, to Ruth Heron, undei
the name ol .Henry nenancKsen, wnicn
was hie mother's name. She died yesterday
at her sister's lodgings."
"Harry! speak."
"It's a lie," he repeated, but feebly.
"By 6aid Lord Perivale, "I believe
it is true."
"It is true," said the librarian. "Hit
wife'6 sister 6ends me to inform him ol
this news. All the papers and prooft
ire in a lawyer's hand6. There is nc
doubt possible."
"Then what am I'" asked Lady JEieatrice,
looking around helplessly.
The librarian was silent.
"And what are my children?"
"Madam," said Lord Perivale, "II
this 6tory is true, you are almost as illused
a woman as the other, Ruth Heron
You, sir, it ?'38 your own wife?youi
own wife?your own wife?that yo\
sent to a convict prison!"
* ? * * *
J ne reason "wny .Liaay .eeawice eey
arated from her husband is not known
Nor is it generally known why thf
Honorable Harry Stoke left his father'i
firm and went abroad. His btothei
knows, however, that he is forbidden 01
any pretext whatever ever to return t<
his native country. And what will b(
done when he dies, and the question o
the succession to the title will arise, ii
doubtful. The second son, the Honor
able Joe, is determined that It shall pro<
ceed in the legitimate line?that is U
say, to himself. And as for Naomi, sh<
is married to the librarian. At sixty
you see, one begins to ieel the want of*
wife.
[thx end ]
Copyright, by the Authors' Alliance. />?
rights ' ?
m-MV;
-? '
! ARTIFICIAL LIMBS.
MAKING SUBSTITUTES FOR MISSr
IXG LEGS AND ARMS.
An Industry That is a Boon to Hu3
inanity ? Various Processes of
Manufacture Described?Cost
of Replaced Members.
IT CCIDENTfc will happen and
/ \ 10 rrc o v? rl onmo Uo VvnAlran a*
/ ? uuu OX LUO WW t/A WA^U U1
, crushed so that amputation
becomes nocessary, and then
J the artificial article is truly a blessing.
1 It -appears to be a difficult task to determine
the date of the first appearance
of this great boon to humanity.
For centuries the unfortunate cripple
was an object of pity, neglected and
t entirely at the mercy of the unskilled
Burgeon. Crude and cruel methods
' were adopted by the ancients in cut1
ting off a limb. It was not until the
seventeenth century that any humane
means of stopping the hemorrhage was
i discovered. Previous to that, after a
3 leg or arm had been knocked off by
? the use of a mallet and a chisel, the
stump was seared over with red hot
irons to stop the flow of the blood.
| And even after all Jthis torture .the
Eufferer was compelled to hobble about
as best be could without the slightest
hope of ever having his condition
ameliorated. And yet some substitute
. for a missing member was certainly
1 found by the ancients, for Herodotus,
' who died in 408 B. C., tells us in some
* of his historical works of a prisoner
who amputated his own foot to free
r himself from the shackle, and was thus
c\ enabled to escape and return to his
1 home, where his friends provided him
i with a wooden foot. An artificial leg
* was found in 1885 at Capua in a tufa
tomb and is now on exhibition in the
Academy of Sciences in London. At
[ the feet of the skeleton where this
j relict was found lay three vases bearing
the date of 300 B. C., proving that
the art of making artificial limbs is an
old one.
The beginning of the present centurv,
however, marks the tin^e when
' <?? BVOC? J?'
S^Tfi F'RSf^ooY
ipill FOR NAT
i villif FIRST
? 11L start
HV'rrs
wmARTIFICIAL
LEG IN VAKIOC
' real improvements were made in artificial
limbs and shapely legs and arms
and hands began to take the place of
the cmtch and the etiff and immova,
ble wooden peg. Although frequently
[ spoken of as "cork" legs, that very
useful material has never been a factor
in,the making of an artificial limb.
Artificial limbs are. made generally
' from red or English willow. This
comes to the manufacturer in blocks
| J after a thorough seasoning of twc
. | years. Fur legs, these blocks are long
enough to form either the iower or
calf or the npper or thigh part of the
; limb. Then there is the foot block.
All the work is done by hand. Invention
has not yet devised machinery for
" making artificial limbs. The first
r thing the operator does is to he t the
i foot block into some roagh semblance
I of a human foot, and into this is put
one part of the ankle hinge. Then
the skin is rudely formed and the other
' portion of the ankle hinge is adjusted.
; I) f'l
^ JfpEG
\ JfiEG Jr ^artificial
I fH \ V w *?*
' i ? i II THI
I I //, \ IMPUTATION
I ,
I When these two parts are put together
and connected a natural working
, ankle joint is produced. The ordinary
make has only the back and forward
motion, though m some cases a
joint having a lateral action is found
' necessary. This, however, is not often.
The next point to which the workf
man gives his attention is the toe
j joint. This is a simple contrivance
;i to look at, but it is an ingenious piece
of mechanism. It is difficult to get
this hinge to exactly suit the step of
the wearer. Then comes the socket
for the reception of the stump. This
j 16 a work of great care, for in the per.
feet fit here lies all the comfort or disi
comfort. In one end of the original
r block as it arrives at the factory is a
j round anger hole. With a peculiar
tool, shaped like a hook, with a sharp
edge, the workman begins enlarging
this hole until he has made it fit the
J stump 60 that it touches with precisely
j the same bearing every portion of it.
p If the amputation has been below the
i knee then comes the stout steel knee
> joint. The making and fitting of this
' psrt of the limb requires great skill.
' TLe necessity is found for a separate
' knee piece of wood. This is fashioned
into a shapely knee cap, and so ad,
justed that each end works smoothly
j and steadily in either the top socket
01 the lower limb or the bottom part
? of t>e upper limb.
Th& making of the various hinges
(
which form the joints is an important
part of the work. They are made of
steel and car-spring rubber, and must
be simply perfect in their adjustment
to insure satisfactory results.
ABTIFICIAIi LEG FOB AMPUTATION BELOW
THE KNEE.
When the leg ha8 been fitted and all
the joints have been made to -work
perfectly the wood is smocthed on the
outside. It is then covered with a
coating cf thin rawhide and enameled.
Bat with all the care exercised in the
manufacture, the most difficult tank,
perhaps, falls upon the person who is
to wear the contrivance. In many
cases it is difficult to learn to use it.
According to all accounts people have
more trouble learning the use of an artificial
arm or hand than they do the
leg. If but one arm has been amputated,
the remaining member is made
to do all the service. People as a
usual thing find it much easier to
learn to write with the left hand than
.or)
8 STAGES OF MANUFACTURE. J
getting the knack of holding a pen 01
pencil between a wooden or robber
finger and thumb, but if both hande
are missing it becomes necessary.
In regard to artificial arris and
bands some great results have bees
attained. The work on these is much
more complicated than on the leg, but
still hands are made with fingers thai
will pick up a pin or handle a sword
with wonderful facility. The simplest
contrivance for making the fingers
work naturally is a strap which goee
over the shoulder. By "hunching"
or working the shoulder joint thic
strap is made to act upon a mechanism
id tne,iorearm ana acnua m mut> liuumunicated
to the fingers so that they
will open and shut.
While it is advisable for anyone who
intends procuring artificial limbs to
visit the factory in person to get a
perfect fit, it is possible to get fairlj
good results from a plaster of Pane
cast. It is sometimes impossible for
people to reach large cities where this
work can be done as it should, and in
such cases the plaster cast serves a
good purpose. So also in regard to
the cost of limbs. A perfect leg will
! cost about $75, while an arm, owing
j to the complicated mechanism, will
cost from $40 to $100.
There are what the makers call peg
i lecra. These are finished legs except
that they have no foot. They are
made with a peculiar joint at the
knee, so that the peg can be either stifl
or, by turning a screw, can be made
to work on a hinge, as the wearer likei
best The socket receptacle is hollowed
out in the complete leg, and
they can be made very comfortable.
There is a wide difference of opinion
regarding the time that ought to elapse
after amputation before the artificial
limb should be tried, but a fair average
of all jadgments on the matter
6ets the time at three months, and it
will then take two weeks to turn out a
limb.
Remarkable Privilege of a Baron.
The thirty-second Baron Kingsale,
who died recently, had the privilege
of keeping his hat on his head in the
presence of the sovereign. No other
nobleman in England had this privilege,
which came to his ancestor, John
^ ? arm .Trthn ({(>
lie VjU) IUU jcmo K6v> ?.
Courcy was a faithful friend of Richard
the Lion-Hearted, and King John
cruelly caussd his imprisonment in a
dungeon. When the King of France
sent a challenge from his most valiant
knight to the most valiant knight of
Britain John de Courcv had to be
released. He won the battle, and then
exacted as a reward the right for himself
and his descendants to remain
with covered heads in the King's company,
and to salute him only with a
shake of the hand.?New York World.
Smoking Kills the Bacteria.
TTrtiolr /-vf Vionno Vioq r?p.
II I U1CDCU1- iaujon, vi v ? ~
clftred thftt smokers are less liable to
j diphtheria and other throat diseases
I than non-smokers in the ratio of one
I to twenty-eight. The learned Doctor
Sehiff also gives us to understand that
smoking is always positively forbidden
in bacteriological laboratories, because
it is known to hinder the development
of bacteria.?Boston Traveller..
- ' - . v ' . ; .. :\-t. ; ^
-''3-- - r**:W '* .* >.' i^ V'y
~ . , . ' * " T
A 5ABLLESS HORSESHOE.
An Important Invention That May
' , Prove a Boon for Horses.
In-one respect the 1m man race has j
made very little improvement daring 1:
the past few thousand years. This is. 3
in the matter of horseshoes. Onr pres- c
ent method of shoeing horses has not
changed materially for centuries, and ^
has always been rnde And irrational. j
One of the chief objections to the ays- .
tem is that the hoof is made to fit the
shoe instead of the shoe to fit the hoof. '
This involves a lot of cutting and ,
scraping, and is the chief cause of
lameness and stumbling. The nse of 1
nails is also a serious objection, as, no j
matter how careful the blacksmith t
may be, there are cases when a tender
spot will be penetrated. It is quite j
obvious that nature never intended .
nails to be driven into a horse's hoof.
The .accompanying illustrations, 1
says the New York World, show a j
novel horseshoe that has been sub
jeoted to a careful and thorough trial 4
on half a dozen horses. In every in- 1
stance it has worked to perfection. ;
The inventor is GK L. Beynolds, of Auburn,
tf. Y.
Like a great many works of genius,
the one in question is extremely sim- ,
pie. It consists of a band of metal j
about an inch high, which fits around 1
the lower edge of the hoof. At the j
base of this band there is a sort of .
projecting shelf, or flange, which is 1
made to fit into a groove which runs j
around the inside of the shoe. The
latter is made of steel, of the usual ]
shape and style. The only difference !
T A
THE HOESESHOE WITHOUT KAILS.
between it and the ordinary shoe is the
presence of the groove and the absence
of nail holes.
When the band is fitted to the hoof
(which is done very readily), the sho^
in tnrn is attached by slipping the
flange into the groove. It now remains
to clasp the arrangement by two)
screws in the rear. These may, be
turned to any degree of tightness deoinorl
anil a tv4arlava a ia an#_
Oil HUU %M UiUUUOVO iO out
fioient to prevent the shoe from coming
oft The whole arrangement may
be pnt on or taken off in a moment.
As the shoe is not nailed to the
hoof, there is a perfect freedom for
expansion and contraction. This is a
very essential point, as all horsemen
know. The growth of the hoof is not
prevented, and if there is any growth,
instead of splittling the hoof, it serves
pnly to tighten lihe shoe. All the
strain on the band as it is tightened
oomee over the toe and around the
lower edge of the hoof at the point
where it is the hardest.
The ease with which the shoe may
be put on and taken off permits its
fortnnate wearer to enjoy a luxury
that has been denied him up to the
present time, for now the horse may
remove his shoes before retiring for
. the night. We all know what a relief
it iB to take off oar footgear, especially
> in damp weather. There is so reason
; why .the horse should not feel equally
I I/OWEB PABT OP SHOE.
relieved when deprived of his heavy
iron ologs.
Another point of advantage, on
' which the inventor properly lays much
i* stress, is the fact that the shoe is
. grasped firmly tq the hoof at every
point. Under the nailing system the
i aavi/v ?aa? a?a
t lttob iittUD tuvruu* iiuc xcoi nic uxivoju
' about half way between the heel and
> toe. This leaves one-half of the shoe
on either side unfastened. There is
? 1 thus a considerable leverage, and it is
for this reason that so many shoes
come off. If this shoe is caught, say
in a traok, at the rear end, it is almost
sure to come o?L This difficulty is
obviated in Mr. Reynolds's shoe. In
faot, some persons have objected to
this shoe on the ground that it will
never pull oft in an accident, thus rendering
the hoof itself liable to injury.
' The fastening in the rear is made by
i means of a spring clinch, which may
i be of any strength desired. It has one
end fast to the hoof of the rear upright
extension of the calk, and the
other end has a metallic bearing, attached
to the hoof an inoh or more
i
UWUM rAifi' ur aaw.
farther back than where the last sail !
is usually driven. The point of the
screws, as they are turned in, press
upon the centre of this spring, and
thus, while the screw presses the clinch
fiimly down to hold the shoe and hoof
tightly together, the spring reaots
upon the screw with equal pressure.
This spring eases the solid, dead blow
that is ordinarily given by the hoof |
when the shoe is fastened by means
of nails. ]
The Limit of Folly. \
It seemB about the limit of folly to ,
hide money in a 6tove and leave it to
the risk of fire, but even that line was ]
passed by some unknown near Norway,
Ga., who 6tored a lot of cart- 1
ridges in a stove. A woman started a 1
fire in the stove one day last week and ^
the cartridges exploded, destroying ,
the sight of one eye and otherwise in- I
junngher.?New York Sun.
? n? 4 i At i j
The late xu. ntamDuion was a coi- j
lector of postage stamps. He bad ,
about 40,000 of them, some of great
value. i
l
White willow, the chosen wood fcr 1
the cricket bat, is said to be disap- 1
pearing from England.
fj
1 ?
lOXZt) DHJNX8 T3ZW- I
An effort been made by the ^StJ
The desalts are somewhat startling. 1
ording to amASfAB made of samples' oolleH
' 1, a devotee of the onp ml got oil M
"an and get whisky; in fact, thauomW*
ions evolved by the Board are as numeroW
In the soft drinks, 80-iaLiety*|?japd b^fl|
common custom seejas^to
irug is everywhere recognized as hanui9?^^H|^H
In theanalysis of samples^of whtet^OTj
nainder of its ingredients an excess of
i^id and the balance brandy. In anothexjcaal
ih^whtekjrwas chteQy brandy.; _ 9
'chiefly wWfiky^flavored with acetio etfcMJ
iDThe * "beer" was dLlguated in
Lb other oases by one of the tvro abevnSfl
poisons. ..
"Coriander flavor," "whisky." '^SHB
and "ani?e" masqueraded as "gin.^Sfi^H
ky," "ohiefiy alc^oi/^'fusel ofl" and olj
BEEB A>"I) G&I3XX., I
men ugly, but beer seems to make, mfl
stolid and callous and <jo 1 dbloode d. ' Tfl
haunts of anarchists are lager ban sal&cifl
frsA ?kA 1 nr.Aa.~r, 4~ OMft WlK
?uu UIO WBUUJLO 4U numuuj u?v vyvi.
and beer drinkers. Says the Pacific Medio?
Journal: n|
A w?iisky drinker will commit
only under the direct excitement of liqu^^^^HB
% beer drinker is capable of doing It
Long observation has assured, us thafl
large proportion of marders, deliberate?
planned and executed without passion
oalice, with no other, motive than the lj^MH
qnlsition of property or manor, ofte&a^^^^^|
trifling value, ore perpetrated by
drinkers. H
We believe, further, that the. heredita^H|^^H
evils of beer-drinking exceed those pil
ceeding from ardent spirits; fiLm>
cause the habit Is constant and without
oxyamal interruptions, which admit of soH
recuperation; secondly, because beer drji?
ictr is practiced by both sexes more g%nenu^^^9H|
than the spirit-jinking; and, thirdly. t9
cause the aulmAlizln? tendency of the hatfl
Is more uniformly developed, thus auta;^H^^H|
izing the presumption that the vicious
suits are more generally transmitted.
"the demon of thx hows. b
When the demon of drink enters the borrS
tin'angel of peace departs; poverty foil 01?
in the demon's wane, for drink is a spen?
ihriit vice. It is terrible to ruin tbe hodr. ?
is terrible to ruin the home, but ittsrao*^?^^K
tppHhlo f-n niin the son I. ttut inarkoI/Ckld^^^H
intelligence. We ^tesplse the* thief;
witfsay that this unloving, onthiiulng, xijqflB
reasoning thing i6 a man? God made mall
little less Than the angels, but the
makes himself little less than the brute. Tbfl
demon of drink goes up to high heaven atyH
defies the mercy of^God, for^ no dmat^wgH
?wer side of the drunkard's grave empttaflj
into hell There are 75.000 drunkards gota^H
down to their graves every year. If this l9
-what drink will do, what will you do? WdBHH
cannot sit down and fold our hands. If
have a heart that loves humanity wemosfl M
do something, and there is one. thing w^oanH
do;'we can abstain frOm'the use o? taWsi-M
eating liquors.- The way to stralfhtejpi^^^^H
crooked stick is to bend it in the oppogltaBj
neighbor of your strength il ^ is' weak.~8
DASH EOWH THZ CTTP. .'"..y
Charles Lamb wrote: "The waters hav(H
gone over me, bat out ef the black depths!
could I be heard, I would cry out to ailtBQp^HBH
who have set a foot in the perilous flood* D
Could the youth to whom the flavor of thM
first wine ^is, as delicious ^ag^the opwiittfjj
desolation, and be made to understand whajl
a drearv thine it to when be .shall feet
self goiigdown a predpiee wfttfi.
and passive will?to see &Ugpdliaeasemp(M^^^^H
out of him. and yet not be able to
time it was otherwise?to bear
piteous spectacle of bis own ruin: jeUldAM
see my feverish eye, feverish with last
drinking, and feverish looking for tonigs'^H^^B
repetition of tho folly; could hebntfeenjh^^^^H
body of death out of wMah I ery hataprfj^H^H
with feebler outcry to be delivered, if
enough to make him dash the sovktUu^^^^H
beverage to the earth, in all the pride Of
mantling temptation.'
A CHILD Tmrrwirtun. I
This is bitter weather for children to etarvfl
in. Yet two oases, and one even worse tha^MHfl
starving, were called to the attention of
authorities. Bat the saddest case of all
that of Thomas Tferney, twelve jrean ol^^^^^H
of No. 167 Tenth street, Jersey City.
lad was found in a vacant lot at Tweit^H^BH
and Erie streets, that. city, stupefied
drink. He was taken to the Second Preoin^^^^^l
Station House, and there he exhibited evq^^^^H
symptom of delirium tremens. The
surgeon was hurriedly sent lor andgsv^f^^^^HI
child medicine to quiet his nerveejuid^^H^^B
the danger passed away. Young Tlenh^KHH
would not give the name of the dealer
bad supplied him with liquor. If he decid^^H^BB
later to name the 'man, eftieens stand
to prosecute him to the full extfeat OfjaMHH|
law. The boy was taken to the Oitylfy^BH^B
pltal. and the doctors think be will
though It will take his system a wear
more to recover from the terrible slioot-a
New York Journal. "
A NEW JPZX II
A Boston despatch tells of a new devie^l
which liquor-sellers have to oonoeal
evil doinsrs. One of the cleverest device*
that have lately come to the notice of the pofl M
lice was discovered on Wednesday at a SoutS
Cove boose. The police felt oertaln that
occupant of this house was dealing In UquoMB^H
illegally, and they searched the place
peatedly. but failed to find any sabfltaatll^^H^M
signs of guilt. At last one man, while mak^HHH|
ing a search at this house, happened to opai^H^BH
the door to an innocent-looking tall clock
when, lo! a faucet was revealed to hisstghf.H
He turned the handle of the faucet, and bee^^^^H
flowed from' lk freely. Tearing the elooj|^^m
from tie wall, he s.:w a pipe, which lea mm t|^n|
a cutely-covered hole In a dark cellar, wher^^^^H
several barrels of beer were found.?Ohri^^^^^H
tian Stateman. H
BZXB DBINKIN'G IN CRUSES HOBTALITT. II
Shepard Homans, the well-known actuar^M^HH
long the President of the Provident Life
euranee Society, shutters another popnla^^^^H
superstition. He says; "It is my ooservi^^H^^H
tion that malt liquor, taken habitually by tl^^^^^B
moderate drinker, tends to increase morta^^^^^H
ity. for it Is a fact that the rate of mortali^^^HH
is greater among the Germans than amoi^^^HH
our native American people."?Natton^H^^H|
Temperance Advocate.
rEMTEKANCE KZWS AKD NOTES. B
The first glass has tbe most poison in
A drunkard's throat has no bottom to
Th-i cloven foot is often covered with patfl^H^f
-|HH|
Fill man with whisky and he can give
pig points. H
Most of the gambling dens are annexes^^^^^H
the saloon.
New Tork City has over 7000 man trapt^^^^^H
licensed saloons.
New York and Chicago have more th^HHJH
twice as many saloons in proportion to
lation as Boston has and almost four times
mnnv as Philadelphia.
Tbe devil agrees witb tbe man who claij^^|^H|
be can drink or let it alon?. H
Unn i? rta
? ueru JS uuc unuiuu^ L/iaw m tuv
Stutes for every ninety-three of the
A result of the Sunday closing of rumshc^^^^^HR
in New York City >6 the reported incre^^^^^^B
3f $2,900,000 in tho workingmen's
The startling statement is made that if
tho liqu' saloons of the United States
put on both sides of one street, aliow^^^^^H|
twenty to each block, the street would be
nlles
A "College of Scientific Temperance"
3e established in the American (Method^^^^^^l
University at Washington, and the Tem^HD^^^H
mce Educational Association agrees to
>250,000 for ... _.
00|