Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, November 15, 1893, Image 1
i-kwis m. grist, Proprietor. j ^ii Jndcpendent ^aniilij Dcicspaptr: Jw the ?romotion of the folitical, Social, ^jriniltiiral and (fi.oinmfi;riat Jntercsts of the J>outh. j TERMS?$2.00 A YEAR in ADVANCE.
VOL. 39. YOBKYILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, NOYEMEEJt 15, 1893. MO. 43.
ROBERT!
A
DRAMATIC AND '
SYNOPSIS.
On apt Kit I?Robert Mueaire, a vagabond
criminal, strolls into the secludes
village of Chariuont-sur-Pont and wind
for a bride Marie Heaumont, the prettiest
girl in the place and the daughter of the
wealthiest farmer.
Oiiaptkr II?The lucky rascal carries
things with a high hand and stirs up
jealousy among rivals suitors for Marie.
Pierre Lamar quarrels with him and mysteriously
disappears.
Oiiaptkr II I?Macaire dogs his fatherin-law's
steps and sees him bury gold.
Mario is also alert, suspects her husband
and secretly removes the treasure.
Oiiaptkr IV?The three are at cross
purposes over the hidden treasure, and
Marie retains it on her person. Pierre
Lamar's IkxIv is discovered, and Heaumont
misses his money.
Oiiaptkr V?Marie confesses theft,
vaiiuy trying 10 wnni on sus1 : h?ii mnu
the man she loves.
CHAPTER VI.
THE ESCAPE.
The sergeant of the gendarmes now
took a decisive attitude. Calling to the
men under him, he ordered them to arrest
both Marie and her husband, as it
would be necessary to bring them before
the magistrate of the commune.
Mme. Beaumont protested vigorously.
Her poor child was in no fit condition
for a journey; that there was no charge
against her that would warrant such a
thing; that her father would not prefer
the charge against his own child; that
the whole thing was a mistake; that if
any harm should happen to Marie it
would be a murder?nothing but a murder?and
that he, the gendarme, would
be the murderer, and for all his smooth
ways and words that they all knew now
to be false would hereafter perish in everlasting
torment, for that the le bon
Dicu was just and would not suffer such
things. A thousand such things the
poor soul said in her distraction, to the
'satisfaction of the neighbors and to the
growing anger of the other gendarmes,
who would fain have resented them in
some forcible way.
But the sergeant was a strong and
masterful man and knew how to keep
his subordinates in order. He was himself
full of pity for poor Marie, but he
believed that she was screening some
one?most probably her husband, to
whom he had taken a strong aversion.
There is generally an instinctive feeling
against the other on the part of both the
predatory man and the man of the law. !
Besides all this there was the mystery
of the death of Pierre Lamar to be
cleared up, and the sergeant had somehow
got it into his head that in some
way or other Robert Macaire was con- |
cerned in the matter. He had not got
any ostensible ground for the belief, so I
he did not venture to even hint as yet at
such a thing, but he had every intention
of following up the train.
He had fully made up his mind to keep
his eye on him, and he was not satisfied
how it was that a man so different from
oil arnnTid Viim hn/1 nr\ma fn K) in
this little unknown village. Indeed j
were the most secret thoughts of the
astute gendarme known ? not those
which had actually found a voice to his '
own suspicion, but those which as yet
his instinct had not revealed to his reason?it
would have been found that he
half suspected him of being in the category
of "wanted."
Robert tried at the first go off to take
a high hand in the matter and claimed
the righfs of a citizen, but the sergeant i
took such a prompt and decided view in
the opposite direction that he quickly
succumbed to the inevitable and determined
to trust to the chapter of accidents,
the more so as the views of the j
gendarmes were accompanied with ap- i
propriate action in the shape of manacles, j
The party that set out over the moun- j
tain path that afternoon was a sad one [
indeed. Marie was quito broken down
witji grief and pain. She had not even
the consolation of a kind word, for Rob- j
ert not only kept scowling at her all the
time, and treating even any direct ques- i
firm wViinh bVia michtask him with silent
contempt, but he resented her speaking
to any of the gendarmes, who now and
again proffered some little kindness of |
speech or action.
fD TtSt I
The party that set ou* over the mountain
path that afternoon uas a sad one.
Moreover, tho cart which carried her
carried also a ghastly burden, the remains
of i>oor Pierre, which had been
found at the foot of the precipice and
which the sergeant thought might be
necessary for his later investigations.
It was late in the afternoon when they
started, so that the sun was beginning to
throw long shadows through the mountains
when they had reached the scene of
Pierre's death. When they had arrived
at the fatal ledge, the sergeant culled to
them to stop. Then he pointed out to the
others the disposition of the ground and
made a rough sketch of the place, remarking
to Robert, in a voice of casual
unconcern, which chilled his wife's heart:
"The juge de paix will require you
to tell how and where you passed the
night that Pierre Lamar left his home
and why you predicted that ho would go
for a soldier and would probably never be
heard of again unless he got promotion."
<- Robert made no answer, but scrowled
at his wife when no one was looking in
a way that boded ill for her happiness
and even for her safety in case he should
have her in his power.
The night seemed endless. The rude
cart bumped and shook to a degree that
would have rendered sleep impossible
under the most favorable conditions.
The gendarmes walked stolidly along,
i ; ?i? v.?*. *
itet'piiig ivuuci t ai?aj o uctwccii tvvuui
them, for they seemed to fear that at
any moment he might make an effort to
escape. As for poor Marie, they took little
heed, for they never thought for an
instant that it would bo possible for her
to make the necessary effort.
When the morning broke, cold and
gray, and a wider range of country was
under their view, the gendarmes relaxed
their vigilance so far as to let Robert
walk behind the cart, holding on to its
back as they ascended a hill. Hitherto
there had been to Marie a hideous and
ever increasing doubt as to her husband's
guilt as regarded the death of Pierre, but
his attitude the very instant he got an
opportunity of saying a word to her in
private turned the doubt into an appalling
certainty.
When his face came opposite the opening
of the curtains of the tilted cart, she
was struck with the expression which
she saw there?an expression quite different
from any that she had ever before
seen there. It was one of brutal, unmitigated
ferocity, such a look as the
galleys or the hulks only can produce.
When a man descends in the scale of
humanity to his very lowest, he can be,
where his safety is concerned, more calp
lous than even the bru.'es. The better
MACAIRE.
THRILLING STORY.
' qualities of mind and heart can disappear
altogether, and the relentless in- !
stinct of self preservation can be seen in j
I all its possible baseness.
Such was the look which met poor Ala- j
rie's sleep forsaken eyes as they sought
for some gleam of hope in the gladness
of the morning and chilled her to a pitch j
I requisite to hear unmoved the terrible
confirmation of her fears.
She hardly knew her husband in the j
cruel looking, remorseless wretch who
glared at her and spoke in a fierce :
whisper:
I "Do you hear? I must getaway somehow
or they will sottlo me for that affair
of Lamar. Yuu must do it for me. I
I shall make some excuse to get into the
cart. Be ready to change clothes with
i me. Then put out your head and ask to
be allowed to walk a bit. Then lie close, !
no matter what happens, or it will be >
worse for us both."
She attempted to remonstrate with
him, but with a terrible oath fiercely j
whispered at her he enforced his order.
Half paralyzed with this new fear, she
I heard him ask the sergeant to let him
rest in the cart for a bit, as he was tired
to death and chilled with the cold.
The sergeant consented with a con|
temptuous oath, but refused to stop the j
cart. So with a clumsiness quite unusual
: to him, for he was a man of great strength 1
and activity, he half scrambled, half I
tumbled into the cart, breathing male- !
dictions on everybody and everything. i
, Once in the cart and hidden from the :
j view of the gendarmes the change was |
easily effected, and with Marie's petti- j
i coat and cloak over his own clothes he
j was ready for the next step of the es- '
j cape. By his instructions Marie, with
her little shawl over her head and her j
body hidden in the interior of the cart,
asked the sergeant to let her walk for a i
! little while, as her limbs were cramped
j with sitting so long in the cart.
The sergeant could see no harm in so
simple a request, 60 told the driver to stop j
for a moment while she got out. But at
the very moment that the cart stopped
Robert slipped down in her stead, im- j
itating, with a skill that showed that '
at some time he must have l>een an actor,
the peculiarity of her gait, so that the
soldiers never suspected there was any I
trick on hand.
For awhile he walked behind the cart
holding on as if to aid in walking. But
after awhile he began to fall behind.
Now and again the sergeant looked back
to see as iu duty bound that his prisoner
was still there. One of the others asked
him if he should not make her hurry up,
but he answered that it was all right, as
the man was safe in the cart and that
the woman could not go far.
fAmn litflii fimo fliov tirnrrwicuflil
Jl VI OVXXAW 4UV4V V*u*v VMV^ v^? vuuvu
in this fashion. Marie's state of mind }
was terrible, and she only longed for j
death to put an end to her sufferings, j
All the light seemed to have gone out of
her life. As yet 6he could not realize ,
the blow that had fallen?her husband
a murderer, herself arrested as a thief j
and even now on the way to some un- j
known peril, while the author of it all, j
the man whom she had loved and loved j
still in spite of all, treating her not even J
with a cold indifference, but harshly,
and threatening her.
When the cart 60ine little time after ,
came near a wood which stretched for
many a league around ntfray to the fron- j
tier, the sergeant tnnw4 mouim! to. tell .
his female prisoner that it was time to
get back into the cart or to come again :
into line with the rest of the party. He j
could not see her. With a quick rush I
he ran to the cart and dragged back the '
curtaip, calling:
"What does this mean? If your wife j
has escaped, it will be the worse for you.
Get up, you lazy"? Here he started
back in amazement, for his eyes met
those of Marie, dilated with fear.
"Sacrel' ho called to the others, "he j !
has escaped! Run, mes enfants. Quick! , :
He cannot be far. He was here but a ;
moment ago. Do not hesitate to shoot
if he does not stop at the word."
The gendarmes ran back and scoured
the road right and left, but all in vain,
for Robert Macaire had broken from
prison and escaped from custody too often
to be caught napping when there was a
chance to escai>e. He was already safe .
in the wood and under cover of its shelter,
putting each moment a great dis- I !
a i??/i i,;?
IttllUU uctwccu HiaiOCll UUU MB puiouu^,
while they were vainly searching for him
on the ground which he had passed over.
Seeing that search was in vain, and
that the only chance of recapturing hint 1
was by raising the hue and cry from the
Btation, the sergeant called his men back.
They came, naturally enough thoroughly
angry at the way in which they had I
been tricked and vowing vengeance on
Robert Macaire in case they should ever
lay their hands upon him again.
The sergeant said nothing to Marie for
awhile. He was a merciful man according
to his lights, and he knew it would
only cause her more pain without doing
her any good, and ho felt that it was only
natural for a woman to help her husband
under the circumstances. Besides, he I
was not at all sure in his mind from the [ :
first that she was guilty. He could see
that there was some mystery on foot, and
he thought that in all probability she was
npt the most guilty party in whatever
ill doing was on hand. Presently, how- '
ever, he came to the cart and said to her !
gently enough:
"I wanted to treat you as kindly as I
could. You mustn't blame me if there
is any rigor shown to you after what hus
happened. Poor soul! I pity you from
the bottom of my heart. And you so
young, too?little more than a child. 1
have girls of my own, and who kndws
but some day they may need a friend
or some hand of pity stretched out to
them? Well, there! he's a worthless
wretch to my thinking, and perhaps
you're well rid of him?but he has escaped,
and we are so near the frontier
that if he is decently careful he may get
away all right, so don't fret yourself
about any danger coming to him, but
keep your strength for what you have
soon to go through."
This kindliness was too much for poor
Mario after all tho bitterness she had ;
gone through. A floodtide of gratitude
rushed to her heart, and with a rush of
tears she bent over and kissed the rugged
hand that lay on the back of the cart as
the old soldier walked along trying to
comfort her.
From thenceforth Marie had a stanch
ftiend in the old sergeant, who made up
his mind that he would aid her all lie
could within tho line of his duty.
CHAPTER VII.
AT THE SHRINE.
After a few hours inoro journeying
the party reached their destination. For !
Marie it was a time of blessed peace, for
the kind words of the scnreant had
brought her such relief that wearied (
nature asserted her power, and she slept, j
So weary was she that she lay as one
dead, and even bad dreams came not to
her. The road had got somewhat j
smoother as they drew nearer to the valley,
so that she was less jolted than had J
been the experience hitherto on the jour- j
nev.
When they arrived at the gendarmerie,
the sergeant would not have Mario
awakened. "Let her sleep, poor soul, j
while she can," ho said. So a couple of
men lifted without awakening her and j
placed her in a room, where the ser- i
geant's wife had her laid on a bed as 1
good as was to bo had. Tho door was i
locked, and she was left alone to sleep
until tho morning, when sho was to bo
taken beforo the magistrate.
When sho awoke, after a long sleep,
tho sergeant's wife gave her a comfortable
meal, and in many little ways such
as kind women know helped to ease her .
distress. I
In the morning she was taken before j
the magistrate and charged with the
theft of the money. Of course the sergeant
had to tell the story of the escape of i
the other prisoner. Those in the court- <
room wero much interested in the recital, |
and when his description was given one of I
the gendarmes who had newly come to <
the station said: ?
"That must he the very man who cs- i
caped from the galleys at Marseilles i
after killing two of the guards." ( i
He was immediately interrogated as 1
to the antecedents of the murderer, and
Marie had to listen while the whole cat- ! 1
alogue of her husband's iniquity was unfolded.
With growing horror she learned i
that ho had been many times in prison, I
from which ho had by some trick or sub- ]
terfuge escaped on each occasion; that !
he was a criminal of the deepest dye <
?remorseless, pitiless, cruel; that his 1
want of gratitude to those who had ;
UoVftil V%-?TVk liia fiwoo f\f irnnhlft VifL#1 (
UC/i^U A44AA* tii UUJ v? ..???
alienated even those who had clung to I
him the longest; that he had been accused
of several murders and suspected
of many more, but that his cunning had
been such that he had been able to prove
on nearly every occasion that tho guilt
had rested with some of his dupes; that
he had never hesitated to betray his fel- |
lows and accomplices when it had !
served his purpose. In tho opinion of
the speaker thero was not so black a
criminal in tho whole roll of crime. '
Finally he had been convicted on a
charge of murder and condemned to
the galleys for life. Ho had been in tho
gang at Marseilles for only a short time
when he had escaped by an effort of des- i
perato courage, having in tho doing so 1
murdered two of the guards under cir- .
cumstances of peculiar atrocity.
When the recital had come to an end,
the magistrate said that so far as the
charge of tho theft was concerned he
would have been content to let it lie over
until a later time had there not been di s
rect evidence of tho woman having taken
the money and its being discovered in
her possession. As from the fact of her
husband being such a desperate character
it would have been presumably as a J
tool in his hands that she had committed 1
the theft. As, however, ho had escaped ; t
with her assistance, it would be neces- t
sary that she should be held in custody c
for both charges?that of the crime with ^
which she was charged and the addi- t
tional one of conniving with and aiding c
in the escape of an arrested forcat. "At
the same time," said tho magistrate, "on *
account of the prisoner's extreme youth '
and owing to the urgency of her condi- ,
tion, and further relying on the fact that c
she may have on her trial some explana- .
tion to give which may mitigate in the 1
Awflfl r\f nnnrf hor mnrnl ^oli'nnnnTi/iv C
CJVO Vfc I-MV Wi**v "V. vAVi.M^uv.ivj
in the matter, I am willing that every
kind of personal consideration should he c
shown to her consistent with her safe cus- \
tody." a
The hint of the magistrate was nut ^
lost on the sergeant or his kind hearted 0
wife, and when sho returned with them 11
to the gendarmerie they shared with her J
whatever comforts they themselves pos- a
sessed. But though sho had some measure
of comfort her state of mind was pitiablo ^
in the extreme. At ono fell blow she had n
lost all that earth had to give her?hus- a
band?for was not tne discovery of his v
true character worse than death??father ?
mother, home, friends, honest name, all a
that makes the happiness of life. Nay, j S
was she not even at the moment a prisoner
on a criminal charge? A prisoner, j "
so that her child must bo born in prison "
and be stained for all its life with the ^
prison taint! o
The idea appalled her, and in the great j ^
anguish of her soul a wild idea came to
Efer. 5H0 vroum rtnr away if she could ' ^
from the prison. She had every oppor- "
tunity, for the room she occupied was n
not even locked, 6inco no ono thought it
possible that sho could even mako an at- 1
tempt to escape. She would seek a shel- , "
ter somewhere?any where?in her trou- v
ble. She might die, starve or perish : v
from the cold, but death had no terrors v
for her. All she hoped was that her 6
child would not bo born in the prison. I1
She felt that if she could once get out y
into the free air, no matter where, her "
little one might escape the prison taint? a
that it might not be cursed with the sins 81
of its father or with her own unhappi- | n
ness. v
While the thought was upon her she
rose up and stole to the door. It was c
night. Not a sound was to be heard Q
save the gentle rustling of the trees. She lJ
was a mountain bred girl, and the sound j v
?this voice of nature to which sho was a
accustomed coming through tho still- v
ness?brought an unutterablo relief to
her soul. A sense of freedom came to e'
her through all the pains that racked her. ' ^
She passed into the night and fled on n
her way with one blind hope ever before
her?that her child should not bear tho > ?
prison taint. h
As the morning was breaking she found e
herself close to a little wayside 6hrine. v
Her strength was going fast, but tho c
sight gave lmr renewed energy. As sho s;
looked through the grating that guarded ?
it in front she saw the figuro of the di- 11
vine mother, and her heart gave a glad
throb as she sank to her knees in the
dust and bowed her weary head while v
Bho prayed. She felt no fear now. With c
that divine image of motherhood and 0
suffering before her she felt that her ?
prayer was heard, and that her child
would bo free from the curse of its fa- a
therhood. There alone, save for what .
she felt to be tho presence of the Mother
of Sorrows, she endured all the pangs of j.
her maternity. . .
As tho light grew in the east her
thoughts hovered between the child that
lay upon her breast and that other Child
whose star was seen in the eastern sky so ?
many centuries ago, and the solace of ^
her ]>ain came in the joy that a man was ^
born into tho world. ^
^ J
"H. ;;
* ? t
sr." . ( ?
... _ .. i 41.., ,...,7 t,
?>/(C Sllllli III Iter lillirH III mv utini UIIII ilineal
her weni'ii haul while she jn ni/al.
As the morning grew, however, a new li
fear began to assail her. She thought S
that she might be captured and taken a
back to the prison again. Tho fear that, ti
after all, her son might yet get tho taint v
of tho prison gave her strength to stir y
herself, and she looked around her eagerly
for some clew through the maze of t<
doubts beforo her. She thought that e
tho best thing that she could do was s:
to put her child some place where it d
would bo taken care of and where it 1<
would never know the sufferings or tho
despair of his poor mother or his father's 1
shame. The thought of leaving him almost
broke her heart. ?Sho faltered in a
tier Tiiiriin^e 0
Suddenly she listened. There was tho v
sound of a horse's feet quietly cantering.
The thought came to her like an inspiration
that it could not he any one pursu- y
ing her, or tho paeo would have been '
quicker. Slio made up her mind?she t
would trust her child to the mercy of
this stranger. fi]
Hastily wrapping him in her woolen n
shawl, she laid him tenderly at tho foot tl
of the shrine, after kissing him with passionate
fervor, and hurriedly hid herself v
in a clump of trees that grew thickly
around the shrine. ( si
The horseman approached at an easi
pace. She peered out eagerly througi
tho leaves to see to what, kind of persoi
sho was about to trust tho fate of hei
child.
Ho had thrown tho rein on tho horse'i
neck and was to all seeming unconscioui
Df what went on around him. Ho wu:
evidently in some deep distress, for tin
tears wero rolling down his cheeks. Thi
mother's heart grew glad, for the eye:
seldom weep when the heart is hard. Ai
lie drew near, the child, which missed tin
warmth of its mother's breast, gave t
Feeblo cry.
The horseman instantly stopped, anc
it struck Mario with surprise that hii
first glance was upward, as if he sup
posed that the voice had come from th<
sky. She understood the reason, how
jver, with a gush of thankfulness frou
tier motherly heart when she saw bin
jump from his horse and rush to the fooi
af the shrine, where he fell on his knee:
mil raised the baby tenderly in his arms
is ho exclaimed through his tears:
"Tho good God has pity on my loneli
ness and sends me this little one that ]
may cherish him in the stead of mylitth
Charles. Look down today on me, mj
young wife, from your high place beyonr
:ho stars. See for your sake and that oi
>ur little Charles, whom I laid in the
iarth on your breast so little while ago,
[ take this little one whom its parents
lavo abandoned to bo my son."
Mario sank to the ground with a heart
:ull of gratitude, and as the strangei
rode away holding the child in his arm?
die bowed her head in her hands and
(aid:
"They may take me to the prison now
f they like. They are sure to seek foi
lie, and if they seek they must find me,
'or my strength is gone. To thou,
Mother of Sorrows, helper of the afflict;d,
be tho praiso of my tears today, foi
hou hast guided my footsteps to this
ipot and hath rescued my child."
CHAPTER VIII.
AFTER LONG YEARS.
In all tho department of the Saone-et^oiro
there was no man more generally
iked and respected than M. Dumont,
he proprietor of Les lions Amis, a
hriving auborgo which stood in the
>utskirts of tho village of Simard, just
vhere the highroad to Montret passes
ho end of the lane leading to the old
:lmrch.
M. Dumont was a widower, having
ost his wife some 120 years before. They
lad gone to Marseilles to see her father,
icr only remaining relative, who was
lying. The fatigue of tho journey had
>een too much for her, and 6he had died
n giving birth to a son, their first and
?nly child.
Having laid his young wife and her
>ld father side by side, M. Dumont reurned
to Los Bons Amis with a little
lark eyed infant, a few weeks old, to bo
lenceforward tho great joy and interest
{ his life, for he never thought of reaarrying,
but devoted himself to the
(ringing up of his child and the care of
lis inn and his farm.
In course of time the little delicato
aby grew up to be a tall, strong young
.ian, the pride and joy of his father, the
pple of his eye. He was a general faorite
with old and young, while his genie
manners and soft dark eyes made
iin specially popular among the young
iris of the surrounding villages.
Things had all gone well with M. Dulont,
and at the time of which we write
e was a very prosperous man, as he well
eserved to be, for he was always generus
and ready to help his poorer neighors.
An air of well being pervaded every llufa
llOUUl?LliU tllUMU llllfl (UIH1I Vila
driving fields of golden grain, now allost
ready for tho sickle, were a picture
3 behold, while rows of great pot bellied
ellow courges lined the furrows. From
ruuk to trunk of the slender poplars
ere festooned the carefully cultivated
ines, already showing promise of a good
mtage and a ousy 111110 rur me voiiuuneurs
who a little later would gather the
urple fruit and tread it out in yonder
arns, with many a laugh and jest, for
1 those days when the century was still
ut young such simple methods were
till practiced, and modern improveicnts
were quite unknown in that quiet
illago in the heart of France.
Tho auberge itself was a picturesque
Id building, with high peaked roof and
uaint little dormer windows lighting
lie spacious roomy grenier, where the
,-inter store of fruit was kept?apples
nd pears and nuts of various kinds,
,'hile from lines stretching from rafter
0 rafter were hung bunches of grapes,
aoh bunch snugly ensconced in its own
ag and carefully separated from its
eighbor.
And the kitchen?kitchen but in name,
or 110 rough work was ever done there?
ow comfortable it was and liow pictursque,
with its deep fireplace, where in
,-inter time great logs blazed and
rackled, its roof hung with well
moked hams and many a bunch of
weet and savory herbs and pepper pods,
:s rows of shining flagons and well pre?rved
quaint old china and earthenware,
:s polished oaken tables and settles, the
ivid color of its red tiled floor! In the
orner by the fireplace was the picture
f tho Virgin, with a jug of fresh flowers
n the little carved bracket beneath it,
or they were pious, these simple people,
nd tho Virgin never was without her
ttlo offering.
Up stairs what piles of soft wool matresses,
with store of snowy homespun
lien sheets and cozy blankets! Then the
est room, with its armoire a glace, its
cd damask covered chairs and sofa in
tie style of the first empire, tho tall
ilt framed mirror over the chimney, the
roups of wax ami paper flowers under
lass shades, and on the wall facing tho
,-widow the portraits of M. Dumontand
is wife, taken when they were first mariod.
Thero was not a girl in tho comluno
who did not envy the future inisress
of that room, for Charles, tho only
on of M. Dmnont had made his choice,
ml the pretty, hloml, blue eyed Clemntino
Germenil was to be the future
listress of Les Bons Amis.
M. Germenil was a wealthy farmer
,-ho lived at Brocard, on the borders of
ho forest of La Murche, some miles on
he other side of Siinunl. Ho was an old
rieml and crony of M. Dumont?a warm
nan, too?who could give his only daugher
a nice bit of money. The two old
icn had long planned this marriage and
ad watched with satisfaction tho growng
affection between the young people,
ml hardly a Sunday morning passed
hat did not see the carriole of M. Garlenil,
with its owner driving and his
aughter beside him, arrive at Les Bons
Linis just as the bells began to ring for
lie midday service. The carriole was
hen put up, and the four set off together
o tho church.
M. Germenil pretended that he liked
otter the preaching of tho good euro of
iiuard than that of the euro of Brocard,
ml that was why ho came. But for all
hat every one knew quite well that it
,-as but a cunning devico to give tho
oung folks an opportunity of meeting.
Charles was a little shy, but at hist
jok courage and sluice as ho and Clemntine
walked home from church side by
ido under the tall poplars which borered
the stream, while the elders folDwed
slowly at a dis..-root distance.
"Clementine!"
"Yes, Charles?"
A long pause, during which she gives
sidelong glance at him out ol' her blue
yes, having a pretty correct idea as to
rliat he is trying to say.
"Clementine!"
"Well, Charles, what is it? Why do
on repeat my name like that?"
"Because?because? Dear Clemenine,
may I speak to your father?"
"Sneak to mv father! Whv. of course!"
lio replies, perversely pretending to
lisunderstuml liim. "I hope you don't
[link I wish to monopolize you!"
"You know what I mean, Clementine,
. hen I ask you may I speak to liim!"
"Indeed, I don't, M. Charles. IIow
hould I?"
! "I lovo you, Clementine, and 1 want '
1 you to let 1110 ask your father's consent
i j to our marriage. You know I love you,
r and that in my eyes tliero is no girl in all
, the country to compare to you. If you 1
3 refuse me, I will never marry any ene.
3 Say you lovo me a little, Clementine, and
3 that you will be my wife!" I
' "Say you love me a little, Clementine." i
"I don't know, M. Charles! And what j
I about Jeanne du moulin?"
' i "Jeanne du moulin I What is she to >
1 me, Clementine?"
"Oh, well, you danced with her often I
I enough at the fete last week, and then
j you"
Charles interrupted her, crying:
! "If I spoke to her at all, it was only I
: because you made me angry by your
! civility to that great lout Francois."
1 I "I don't know why you should call
j him a 'lout!' I am sure ho is very gentil
I to me always."
"Well, don't let us quarrel about him, 1
I Clementine, only tell me you like me !
' | well enough to give me leave to ask your
I father's consent to our marriage, and
there won't bo a happier or a prouder
1 man in all France. Speak, dear Clemen1
tine. You know how much I love you j
and know mv father wishes for no dauerh
1 ter but you."
1 "Well, Charles, I do like you very
much, and perhaps after a time?a long j
time, you know?wo might?get?mar- i
ried."
"And I may tell your father now, may j
1 1 not?"
"Well, yes, since you are so persistent!" j
And so it was all settled, and thero I
was much rejoicing when on their nr- j
rival at tho inn Charles told what had ,
happened and made his request.
"With all my heart, mon garcon," said
Germenil. "I have longed wished this.
A good, steady lad like you is just the j
husband for my girl. Your father and
myself have talked it over many a time.
But, Sapristi, we began to think you
would never make up your mind to
speak. Eh, Neighbor Dumont?"
"The boy has been my right hand and !
comfort this many a year," said Dumont,
I "and now he brings me the daughter I ,
desired, and their little children will i
cheer my old age. On the day he marries,
neighbor, he will become the owner ;
of this inn, and when I die he will inherit
all my savings."
"Oh, father!" exclaimed Charles, tears !
standing in his dark eyes.
"And I," said Germenil, "will give !
Clementine a dot of 12,000 francs, and at i
my death? But there, we are not going I
to die yet, my old friend. We must not !
?frmd; that Morn u-a diqjQ-^.linvfi. tfwdance
at the weddings of our grandchiT- j
dren. Eh, old crony?" And tho two old I
men laughed, while Charles and Clementine
looked away. "Wo have many a
hearty year before us, I trust."
It was then urranged that M. Germenil
and his daughter should como to Lcs
Bons Amis tho following Wednesday.
The contract should then bo signed and
the wedding take place tho next day.
|
TO UK OONTINt'KH XKXT WKKK.
|
WHAI A MUUtm U\U.
A Buoy Community Found Time to Go to i
u Greut Deal of Trouble.
It was a sweet Juno day in town. The j
hour was on the stroke of 10. The peo- j
pie of Amsterdam avenue had breakfasted
and were gazing from the windows
of the six story flats upon the j
steam drill, the shovelers, tho blasters, j.
the masons, the roofers, tho hodcarriers,
tho iron workers and tho other similar !
characteristics of that booming neigh- ! ,
borliood. Tho distant hum of the great ;
business city seemed to come purring { ,
among the solid rows of brownstone
palaces like the sounds from a sleeping 1
kitten, anon rising above the nearer
sounds of tho builder. Nature appeared
to smile ui>on busy man and to graciously
approve of his industry. Tho sun
shone upon not a single visible idler.
Upon this scene a little, innocent, li
inch mouse obtruded. Ho had come from
somo debris of the morning and frightened
by his own temerity or calculating
on tho general occupation to pass unnoticed
hurriedly sought to cross the road.
A grocer's boy forgot his lazy gait,
quickly dropped his basket and dashed
after tho terror of elephants and women.
A driver stopjied his cart and jumped
down and headed tho fleeing animal off.
He struck wildly ut him with his whip,
and the grocer's boy yelled with pain.
Four men at work on a new excavation
joined in the chase, and two shovels were
smashed to fragments on the stones.
Work on nil tlin ndinceilt buildiinrs
ceased, and i>eople came out from tho
stores and markets and took a hand in
the scrimmage. They butted against one
another and stamped on each other's toes 1
in attempting to put an end to his frightened
mouseship. 1
In tiV: meantime tho latter, so everlastingly
scared that it had im wit left, ran
about in a circle and this way and that,
untouched, from tho sheer multiplicity
of its pursuers. Getting nearer the op- 1
positecurb it finally discovered the friendly
grocer boy's basket and made a break ! i
tor it. So did tho now frantic mob. In 1
two seconds the walk was strewn with
green peas, tomatoes, cucumbers and ' >
other garden truck. One man who had
uo part in any of this stepped on a tomato
and fell with force enough to break
| every bone in his body, but only spoiled
I a suit of clothes. Tho grocer himself ran
out and kicked the boy for setting down
the basket. The whole neighborhood was
excited and demoralized.
The mouse got away. Evading tho
kicks and blows of a dozen men and 20 |
boys, it dashed into a cellar head first. It !
had found tho world pi 2tty busy, but not
too busy to knock off and give a mouse
a little exercise.?New York Herald.
A I''Iorl?ti? FIhIi Story. 1 !
A prominent Pittsburg business man, ,
who with his family spent a winter at ;
Lake Worth, Fla., has this story to tell, '
which, unlike fish stories generally, is
true, every word of it: Along the coasts
of southern Florida sharks were unusuj
ally abundant during the winter. As a
rule, they keep well out to sea, but that
winter they ventured closer to shore than j
usual. Our party succeeded in catching
one. When we hooked hiin.it looked at
first more like his taking us to sea than
our drawing him to shore.
But we gave him rope until in time ho
exhausted himself, and bv one long, 1
11 ft*. ,,tl nil )
?" ?"?? I""' v. ,
in landing the shark on toe beach. The j 1
ladies of the party beat a masterly re- *
' treat, fearing the fate of Jonah. Tho | 1
1 shark uninsured 0 feet in length, and ac- , '
I cording to the opinion of natives weighed
J about 400 ]iouiuis. He was of no value J
for food. With the exception of tho
j glory of catching such a fish, the only 1
! result from that fishing expedition was
j a cane made of the shark's spinal column, '
| which one of our party carries at this I
j time.?Exchange. | I
IHisccUancous grading.
SPOTS AM) KL'TI RKS.
A HI'MORors VIKW OK COTTON Sl'KCfI.ATION.
When the heart is full and the brain
teems with sorrows, there is nothing
so soothing as cotton. Its chief recommendation
is that it is as clear as noonday.
There is no painful figuring
about it. Railroad stocks, mortgages,
income bonds, construction company
shares, wheat, pork, lard, and other
real and transferable things are too
complicated for pleasure and too uncertain
for business, unless one gives
his whole mind to them. They are
like chess; not a recreation, but a
wearying labor. The "dolce far
niente" of speculation is to be found in
cotton. Nothing could be simpler.
Two minutes with your broker does it.
The unit is one hundred bales, just as
in stocks it is one hundred shares.
You take a hundred, say, of "September."
It may be 11.8:5 or 11.89, or
anywhere along there?that doesn't
matter?the main thing is to get in at
something. The "margin" is $2 a bale,
and your brokeais charges, say, $25.
The "ante," then, to borrow a convenient
term from a kindred diversion, is
$225. At this point the sport begins.
You have nothing to do but watch the
tape, the morning and evening papers
through all their editions and extras,
the bulletins and reports of the Department
of Agriculture, the bulletins
from all the cotton exchanges in the
country, the shipping movements,
ocean freights, Surats, mill takings,
the weather, the cotton worm, and the
guano trade. Of course, you must be
already familiar with the condition of
each of these things for everyday of
the past five seasons. The game is
based almost wholly on comparisons,
and to be a master of the data implies
incomplete preparation.
This technique is petty, of course,
but essential. Before going into cotton
one ought to be able to take the
worm aud guano statistics, acreage,
condition, forward movement, port
receipts and any good estimate of the
probable size of the "city crop," at a
glance, in the twinkling of an eye,
unerringly foretell the number of bales
in the year's crop; anil incidentally
it may he added that the ability to
foretell next year's crop with equal
precision is a gift of 110 mean value.
Leave "hammering" to the cotton exchange
folks and the professional
speculators. It is their business to
magnify or minimize the crop as their
interests dictate. A speculator who
has sold half a dozen coming months
is certain that the top crop and late
pickings will show the season's yield
to be not only abundant hut excessive,
while the gentlemen who buys is secretly
confident that unprecedented
takings for Liverpool and the Continent,
coupled with an enormous demand
for the New Ktiglund mills, will 1
practically exhaust a crop that is at
the very least a million bales short, j
But the indecent lust for gain is the
ruling passion. Let the amateur speculator
be content to take the fruit as
it drops into his lap. What can he,
with his puny one hundred bales, do
to ufl'ect the market ? He would be
outlined at every point, and in these
matters a sense of inferiority is humil- !
i&aP;. Ms - %??. %#-!
nave SuICT TTgaTa I\Ji iliCl* uiuial ,
natures and confine themselves to the :
innocent watching of the tape, the
bulletins, port receipts, etc.
The perfect case with which the
profits or loss resulting from the market
fluctuations is computed is the j
supreme charm of cotton speculation. |
The changes are registered in cents
and hundredths of a cent per pound, j
The hundredths arc called "points,"
and on a hundred bale investment each
one of these points represent $4..r>0
For instance, some East Haddam or
Glastonbury gentleman, with a little i
money and plenty of leisure, reads
this article and comes down to take a
hand in the pleasing diversion. He
buys, not one hundred, but five hundred
bales, and takes a seat by the
"ticker." It happens to be an afternoon ,
on which the discovery is made that j
the cotton crop has been bought four '
or five times over by the speculators,
and about 2.30 o'clock there is a sudden
tumble of say 20 points. The
Connecticut amateur hastily does
something of this kind on the back of ;
an envelope : $4.50 x 5 is $22.50 x 20 |
is $595. Now, as a matter of strict j
mathematics, this is ten dollars out of
the way, but the nervous cipherer is
never quite respectful toward the mul- ,
tiplication table ; besides, this particular
Connecticut gentleman is probably
in some worry lest he may miss the
last train for East Haddam. This
purely imaginary example illustrates
the astonishing ease with which losses
on cotton futures may be reckoned.
Another winning feature of this i
fascinating recreation is the delightful
uncertainty about the cotton you are J
buying, supposing, of course That you
leave vulgar "spots" to men who want
cotton to make bags or shirts of, and
confine yourself to the idyllic "futures."
It is easy to imagine that one
bale of the hundred may be on an
East river wharf, another in the hold
of a coasting steamer. Another in the
ponderous jaws of a giant compress,
another in an Alabama gin house in
the seed, and others in the baskets of
bent old black men all the way from 1
Currituck to the Itio Grande. As a
matter of fact, the cotton is nowhere? ,
except for the unlucky last buyer who
is pinned for delivery. There are I
more Southern than Northern speculators
in "futures," and it is said that
the South loses in this way the annual ,
sum of $30,000,000. A very good
rule, so cool headed "operators" say,
is to find out what the Southerners
are doing, and then do just the other
thing. There is no law to prevent
any East Haddam gentleman from
trying the experiment.?X. V. Times.
A PLEA FOR THE KICKER.
A writer in The Arkansaw Traveler
makes a strong plea for the kicker.
He says :
Some folks don't like "kickers." I
do. I shouldn't like to be one, but I
like to have them around. They
are as essential as the brakes upon a
locomotive, or the governor upon a
steam engine.
Of course, you say this is untrue.
Well, maybe it is ; but you haven't
proven it. There is a difference, you .
know, between saying a thing and
proving it. One man may make a
statement that a dozen men can't disnrnvp.
Rut I have said that the kick
it is ft necessary evil.
And I stick to it.
Kickers in England catnc to America
and set up a little government we
would bleed for to-day. And we have
been kicking ever since.
The kicker is the worst enemy of
the political schemer. Two or three
politicians lay their wires with astute
ncss and say we will nominate this
man ; or we will adopt this measure.
No! The kicker raises the alarm, and
the best laid schemes of the tricksters
come to naught. The people have
i voice where they would not, had the
kicker not come to the rescue.
One redeeming quality about the
kicker is his unselfishness. He steps
into a waiting room where the lire is 1
Dut?frost is hanging on the stove. 1
I'old as whizz?everybody shivering?
nobody has nerve enough to raise any i
objection to he being frozen to death )
>v a heartless railroad company. The j
kicker comes, and he raises a howl,
ile swears at the agent, and threatens
to report to the company if the fire is
not started. Soon a roaring fire warms
up the waiting-room, and tlie people,
as they thaw out, bless the kicker.
One man will eat burnt steak every
morning for three weeks, rather than
murmur. Another will look the waiter
square in the eye, and say : "Now,
I don't eat charcoal! If you've got
1 anything fit to cat, trot it out!" and . :
! if there is any edible steak about the
premises, the kicker will get it.
He is a much-abused personage?
and why? Because he insists on hav- | i
ing his rights, and is constitutionally j
opposed to being trodden underfoot. ,
No, I am not a kicker. But I have
j a great deal of respect for that individ- | ,
itai. J,et us weaK-Kiieeu icuows learn j
, a lesson of independence, copy the good |
; points of the kicker's makeup, discard
! his weaknesses, and be not like "dumb, j
driven cattle." I
FOR THE MOTHERS. ; <
As boys grow up make companions | '
of them ; then they will not seek com- ' '
j pauionship elsewhere.
Let the children make a noise some- ( I
i time; their happiness is as important i
as your nerves. 1
Respect their little secrets. If they
have concealments, worrying them |
will never make them tell, and patience *
! will probably do the work.
Allow them, as they grow older, to f
| have opinions of their own : make in- \
dividuals and not mere echoes. 1
Remember that without physical
health mental attainments are worth- 1
less; let them lead free, happy lives, (
which strengthen both mind and body. '
j Rear in mind that you are largely j
responsible for your children's inherit- '
cd character, and have patience with
! faults and failings.
Talk hopefully to your children of I
; l:fe and its possibilities; you have no *
right to depress them because you J
have suffered. J
Teach hoys and girls the actual facts J
of life as soon as they are old enough '
to understand them, and give them the j
sense of responsibility without sadden- j
: iug them.
Find out what their special tastes .
arc, and develop them, instead of |
| spending time, money and patience in
forcing them into studies which are repugnant
to them.
As long as it is possible, kiss them ,
1 good-night after they are in bed; they I
(lo like it so, and it keeps them very j
; close. i
If you have lost a child, remember
that for the one that is gone there is j
nothing more to do ; for those remaining,
everything; hide your grief for
their sakes.
Impress upon them from early infancy
that actions have results, and they ''
cannot escape consequences even by
being sorry when they have ucted : v
wrongly. I v
As your daughters grow up teach ''
I them at least the true merits of house- a
keeping and cookery ; they will thank 11
you for it in later life a great deal j
more than for accomplishments. I ?
Try and .sympathize with girlish j ^
Hights of fancy, even if they seem ab- ; e
surd to you ; by so doing you will re- *
tain your influence over your daugh- c
ters. and not teach them to seek sym- ; *
pathy elsewhere. j
Remember that although they are all '
your children, each one has an indivi- \ "
dual character, and tastes and quali- > s
Cultivate them separately, and not as :
if you were turning them out by machinery.
0
Encourage them to take good walk- j c
ing exercise. Young ladies in this I d
country are rarely walkers. Girls I d
ought to be able to walk as well as ^
boys. Half the nervous diseases which
afflict young ladies would disappear a
if the habit of regular exercise were ; ^
encouraged. *
Keep up the right standard of principles.
Your children will be your v
keenest judges in the future. I)o be h
honest in small things as well as in ^
great. If you cannot tell them what
they wish to know, do not decive them. 11
Reprove your children for table bear- A
ing; a child taught to carry reports i c
from the kitchen is detestible.
Remember that visitors praise the j u
children as much to please you as they ^
deserve it, and their presence is oftener
an affliction than not.
S
WILDING FROM THE TOP DOWNWARD. | }
A great building of twelve stories in j j
course of construction in Chicago pre- t,
sents a sight that would dumfound an v
architect of the old school. The steel >
skeleton framework is finished up to q
the twelfth story, and the stone-work t<
is done from the foundation to the first j
storv. Then there is a skin of two
stories, and the exterior walls of terra p
cotta, in imitation of stone, have been j,
started at the third story and are being \
run up from that point. In other
words, the exterior of the upper part jj
of the building is being completed, i Cl
while the lower stories are mere skeletons
of uprights and cross pieces, but
being of iron they furnish a strong p
enough support for the operations of the s|
builders. This method of construction ..
is becoming very common in Chicago, I *.
and it is thus explained : According to t]
contract, the building must be ready 0
for occupancy by next May, and the j.
contractors cannot afford to waste any
of the brief time allowed them. The a
walls of the first three stories arc to he , t(
of stone, and as that portion of the e,
work will not he completed for two S(
months yet, the contractors started the -j
terra cotta section of the walls where %v
the stone will leave off, and are travel- ^
ing upward, leaving thej stonework of ^
the lower stories to follow. The terra -s
cotta blocks are so made that they lit <y
exactly around the big upright steel t(
beams. At the same time steel rods, t|
or anchors, as they are called, are run
through the wings of the beams, there- 1
t -i tr. :
uy aiirnuitu^ uiu iuiuici iu iuu lauvi.
It is these anchors that hold the terra ! ^
eotta walls in place and furnish the tj
supports for the blocks to rest upon.? tj
St. Louis (ilobc-Democrat. ?i
?
UENKSIS OF THE STEAMBOAT. ' n
The first steamboat was built by b
Dennis Pa pin, who navigated it safely el
down the Fulda as long ago as 1707. ' p
rnfortunately, the pioneer craft was tl
destroyed by jealous sailors, and even ai
tbe very memory of it was lost
for three-quarters of a century. In
177o Perrier, another Frenchman, built V
an experimental steam vessel at Paris, h
Fight years later, in 1793, Joutl'roy li
took up the idea that had been evolved w
by Papin and Perrior and built a steam- ai
er which did good service for some fi
time on the Saone. The first Ameri- di
can to attempt to apply steam to nav- m
gation was John Fitch, a Connecticut w
mechanic, who made his initial experi- hi
ments in the year 1785. To what ex- gi
tent Fitch was indebted to the three sr
illustrious French inventors named ai
above we are not informed, but that tl
his models were original there is not T
the least doubt. In the first he em- tl
ployed a large pipe-kettle for generat- in
ing the steam, the motive power being hi
side paddles worked after the fashion In
of oars on a common rowboat. In the tc
second Fitch crntt the same mode or si
propulsion was adopted, with the ex- ai
eeption that the paddles were made hi
to imitate a revolving wheel and were tl:
affixed to the stern?clearly Ibreshad- In
owing the present "stern-wheeler." F
The last mentioned boat was the first sa
American steam vessel that can he io
pronounced a success. It made its :
first trip to Burlington in July, 17SS. to
Hut after all, it was not until after the . st
opening of the present century that j lu
I
steam navigation started into actual
life. In 1807 Robert Fulton (whom ,
every shool child knows was an Amer
ican), in conjunction with one Robert
R. Livingston, built the Clermont, and
established a regular packet service
between New York and Albany.
The success of this undertaking was
so satisfactory that four new boats
were built before the end of 1811, at
least two of them being designed for
service in other rivers.
PATENTS FOR SMALL THINGS.
It has been said that two-thirds of ;
the wealth of the United States is due
to patents inventions. Often, too, pat- ?
ents for small and trilling things have
won fortunes for their lucky inventors ; ,
a shoe-peg, a heel plate or a toy prov- i
ing to be a bonanza.
Here are some of the little things 1
which thoughtful people have devised :
A metal paper fastener, for keeping j
the pages of documents together, the
metallic shoe-tip, the rubber pencil tip, j 1
i wooden screw, wooden pegs for shoes,
the inverted glass ball, which is hung
aver gas jets; the return ball with a
rubber string, and the ball and socket
^love fastener.
Children have taken out quite a
number of profitable patents. Arthur
[r. Smith, of Rockwood, Illinois, at ! 1
iwelve years of age, invented and pat- i
jnted a rowing apparatus. Donald M. . 1
Murphy, of St. John, Canada, when 1
six years old, obtained from the Unit;d
States exclusive rights in a sound- j i
ng toy. i
(Icorge C. Pyle, of Wilmington, Del., <
it the age of eighteen, patented a majhine
which makes sixty horse shoes a i 1
riinute. He sold it for a sum sufficient ]
o lift the mortgage off his father's
lomo.
Benjamin F. Hamilton, of Boston, <
vhen seventeen years old, took out i
natents on a number of devices for , i
,i \r.,Koi t
ncuu it; auu uicvatcu iuin> ajo. iuuuti <
Toward, of Washington, I). G\, eleven 1
,-ears old, invented an ingenious game i
"or an invalid brother and got a patent i
or it. (
Common sense has sometimes been 1
nore useful to inventors than a me- ]
:lmnical education.
Many eggs used to get broken on i
heir way to market by rail. A conn- <
ryman conceived the plan of packing <
hem in trays of pasteboard, with a 1
eparatc compartment, in which each
gg might stanil upright. The happy
hought was worth a fortune, and f
uch trays are now universally used, i
In using bath bricks for cleaning t
:nives, housewives formerly found that i
he most troublesome part of the job i
ras scraping the powder from the t
>rick. One day it occurred to some- , f
tody to sell the bricks ready powdered | 1
n neat packages, and he got a fortune 1
>y it. (
Formerly inventions were nearly al- t
rays made Imp-hazard. People hit j
ipon them accidentally. Now the i
liscovery of new ideas in mechanics is j t
, profession. The inventor is a skilled 1
nan, employed by a firm of manufac- ; r
urers with the understanding that all c
lis inventions shall belong to them. i f
)ne electric company picks up trained I
lectricians all over the world, sets 1
hem to work and gives them every : s
onvenience for producing new indus- i t
rial applications of electricity. j 1
These salaried inventors are excelt ! c
jntly paid. PMectricity is the greu- ! t
eld for invention now. Twenty thouand
electrical patents have been granttUaimia
138flU m ..
The Nation's Capitals.?Any boy 11
r girl who might be asked the difier- i
nt capitals of our country would no u
oubt give them in the following or- i (:
er, Philadelphia, New York and j 4
Vashington.
That answer would be correct so far I
a Jf rrAOC? Knf tlin friith ic thflf WA llflVO S
,3 IV -'UV V.V- V VW. I..V.V ..v.,^,
ad ft good many more capitals than I
hose named. a
During the Revolution the British f
rould have liked very much to get i
old of the "rebel" congress; and, I
nowing this, that body kept moving. >
Wherever congress went, it took the
ational capital with it, and so the *
allowing named places were really the a
apital at the dates named: j <!
Philadelphia, from September 5,1774, i *
ntil December, 177G; Baltimore, from i ^
)ecember 20, 177G, to March, 1777; ! >
n. ;i ? r. ht.% i 1 rrr
llllUlieipilIU, Hum in a 11; n i, i ill, iu
eptember, 1777; Lancaster, Pa., from !
eptember 27, 1777, to September 30, f
777; York, Pa., from September 30, s
777, to July 1778 ; Philadelphia, from s
uly 2, 1778, to June 30, 1783 ; Prince- 1;
an, N. J., from June 30, 1783, to No- s
ember 20,1783 ; Annapolis, Md., from j t
Tovember, 1783, to November, 1784; "
'renton, N. J., from November, 1784, ; o
a January, 1785; New York, from fi
anuary 11, 1785, to 1700, when the n
jat of government was changed to , a
'hiladelphia, where it remained until n
800, when it was finally removed to e
Washington. x
Thus it is that nine different towns n
ave figured as the capital of our p
ountry. j "
The Temperatureof the Body.? 0
f you take a thermometer on a hot v
immer day anil watch it until it runs
p under the influence of the sunshine ' '
) 1)8.4, you will sec it, when it reaches j
int point, at the exact temperature j
f your body, if you are in normal
ealth. I 81
Your temperature may lluetuate a | ?
action above or below 1)8.4, according 1
) the time of day or night, but it nev- i ?.
r varies to any extent until fever or 1
)ine other kind of disease sets in. i 8
hen the temperature begins to do
hat the pulse does not do?tell just j
ow dangerously sick the person is. j ?
.nil one of the strange things about it
that it does not vary many degrees ^
-oiii this normal point of 98.4, no mat- ,l
;r how ill the patient may become. If !l
lere is a high fever it may run up to ,
f)3 or 105, and sometimes to 106, but a
seldom stays at this point for any
ngth of time. If it goes up to 108
le good physician who is watching at 7
le bedside of the sick person concludes , 11
lat death will soon put an end to v
ic suffering. j*
Sometimes, as in cases of cholera, it 7
lay drop several degrees below 98.4, *'
ut it seems to be impossible for it to ^
tiange many degrees from the normal
oint. There are cases recorded where 'l
ic temperature ran up to 110 or 112 n
nd the patient recovered. a
? i tl
Thk Faulk of thk Hoksk Siiok.? f
on know the German fable about the 11
orsc shoe. In the olden times in a
ttle village of Germany a blacksmith ' 0
as hard at work. The sound of the I
nvil and the lurid flames from the
irnace attracted the attention of the
evil. lie saw that the smith was n
laking horseshoes and thought it t!
ould he a good idea to get his own p
oofs shod. So the devil struck a bar- tl
lin and put up his foot. The black- $
nith saw with whom he was dealing w
id nailed a red-hot shoe on, driving G
ic nails square into the devil's hoof, cl
he devil then paid him and left; but '
le honest blacksmith threw me money i
i the fire. He knew it would bring , 31
in bad luck. Meanwhile the devil gi
id walked some distance and began ni
> sutler the greatest torture from the
toes. 'the more he danced and kick ?d ]
id swore the worse the things hurt si
in. Finally, after he had gone pi
trough the most excrutiating agony, li
j tore them otfand threw them away. p<
roin that time forward whenever he n
,w a horseshoe he would run oil", anx- ri
us only to get out of the way. The F
erman peasantry all believe this story pi
day, and one can scarcely find a door- la
ep, or a barn door, that hasn't a is
irseshoe nailed up. j Si
Takinc Fori. AirOut ok a Well.
I saw, says a writer in The GlobeDemocrat,
a curious method used the
other day in Illinois, to lake the foul
air out of a well. The well was to he
cleaned, but the man that took the job
was afraid to go down until he had ascertained
the quality of the air at the
bottom. He let down a lighted candle,
and when it descended to about six
feet of the bottom it went out as suddenly
as though extinguished by a
whiff of air. That was all he wanted
to know. He was then sure that the
well had poisonous gas in it, and took
a small umbrella, tied a string to the
handle and lowered it open into the
well. Having let it go nearly to the
bottom, he drew it up, carried it a few
feet from the well and upset it. He
repeated this operation twenty or thirty
times, with all the bystanders laughing
at him, then again he lowered the
light, which burned clear and bright
even at the bottom. He then condescended
to explain that the gas in the
well was carbonic acid gas, which is
Uion nir aiul fliarafArA
4V/* "llv* V?lV4VlVr.W
he brought up in an umbrella just as
though it was so much water. It was
a simple trick, yet perfectly effective.
The Peanut Industry.?The
"goohcr" industry of Norfolk is unique.
Here is a little city in Virginia
that has become the greatest distributing
center of peanuts in the world.
A. peanut is a pretty small item, but
an annual crop of something like
a,000,000 bushels, worth millions of
lollars, makes a pretty big item.
The demand for goobers has doubled
within the last five years, and the supply
does not fill the growing demand.
Pew people know the curious uses to
which the goober has been put in trade
af late years. No other single plant
raised in this country is used in so
many different ways. The Chinese say
the cocoanutpalm has as many uses as
there arc days in the year. The goober
is not so universal as that, but it has as
many valuable qualities as there are
lays in the week. The solid part of
the nut is peculiarly nutritive and supplies
fruit and food for many a family,
flie vines make fine, fodder, some say
is good as clover hay, while hogs fatten
in what is left in the fields after the
Top has been gathered.?New York
[ndependent.
The Busy Bee.?When you eat a
spoonful of honey, you have very little
lotion as to the amount of work and
ravel necessary to produce it. To
nake one pound of clover honey, bees
mist deprive 02,000 clover blooms of
heir nectar, and to do this requires
5,7">0,000 visits to the blossoms by the
iees. In other words, one bee, to colect
enough nectar to make one pound
>f honey, must go from hive to flower
md back, 3,750,000 times. Then, when
ou think how far bees sometimes fly
n search of these clover fields, oftener
ban not one or two miles from the
live, you begin to get an idea of the
lumber of miles one of these industrials
little creatures must travel, in orler
that you may have |the pound of
loney that gives them so much trou>le.
It may also help you to underlain!
why the bee is unamiable enough
o sting you if you get in its way.
rVheti one has to work so hard to acomplish
so little, it is quite irritating
o be interfered with.
Greetings of all Kinds.?The
ate
ire of a very varied character.
The American or the Englishman
isks, "How are you ?" or "How do you
lo?" The Frenchman wants to know,
How do you carry yourself?" The
>wede puts the rather indefinite quesion,
"How can you?" The Arab
ays to his fellow Arab, "Allah be
iraised, how are you ?" The German
sks, "How goes it?" or "How do you
ind yourself?" The Russian formula
3, "How do you live on ?" and the
Egyptian anxiously inquires, "How do
'ou perspire ?"
There is a wonderful affinity between
his greeting from the land of the Nile
.nd the crocodile and the familiar
[uestion put by the Americans, from
he Atlantic to the Pacific and from
akes to the gulf, "Is it hot enough for
-ou?"
Lazarus and the Rich Man.?
Cver since the days when your Sunday
cliool teachers tried to teach you
omething which they very imperfecty
understood themselves, you have
poken of the aristocrat who refused
o befriend Lazarus, the beggar, as
Dives," being well satisfied in your
wn mind that was his name. The
lets are these: Dives is a Latin word,
leaning "rich." It is a common or
ppellativc noun, but is often regarded
s a proper name, especially when refrence
is made to the parable in Luke
:vi. It is said that the mistake origially
arose from the fact that all old
ictures on the subject were labeled
Dives et Lazarus." My authority
ays that it was quite natural that unducated
persons would take the first
,-ord to be the rich man's name, as the
ist was unquestionably that of the
eggar.
Don't Talk Loudly.?Nothing
larks a true lady or gentleman more
nrely than a low voice ; and a man
an have it as well as a woman. A
)ud voice arises either from extreme
arclesstiess or low breeding. No one
kes to walk beside a person in the
inllro 1 n 1AI1<1 IfAI/lA Til O
Li i't'i ? nu uuiva in a iuuu ? wi\>* , a mw
tmc rule applies to girls and boys,
lay is one thing and conversation is
nother, though the former need not
e boisterous. Children may have
ood lungs and use them in cheering
t the right time ; hut when they talk,
low distinct voice marks one who
as been accustomed to good society
ml possessed of innate refinement.
Why Bio Men Have Little Wives.
-There is a very general and ancient
npression that big men, in choosing
ivcs, prefer small women. At first
lance this would appear to be true,
ecause the number of big men with
ttle wives is certainly in an overhelming
majority as we see them. In
lie live years I have held my office I
avo learned a thing or two through
tedium of the marriage license office,
nd it is my impression that it is not
Iiut big men prefer little women, nut
liat little women prefer big men, and
, is the experience of the world-wise
lint what a woman wants and starts
ut to get she generally captures.?St.
,ouis (ilobe-Deniocrat.
Waf" The costliest mile of railroad is a
die measured on the steel portion of
le Forth bridge. The length of this
ortion is a mile and twenty yards, and
le cost of it was considerably over
10,01)0,000. The most expensive railay
system in the world is the "Inner
ircle" line of London, which cost, inluding
the purchase of the land, from
1,000,000 to $5,000,000 per mile,
he last constructed mile, between the
rausion House and Aldgate, cost altoether,
including "compensations,"
early $10,000,000.
Jka)"" The three Slavic States of Kusa,
Koumania, and Servia, are said to
assess the highest percentage of ilteracy
of any in tlic world. Eighty
er cent, of the people are unable to
ad or write. Of the Latin-speaking
ices, Spain heads with 48 per cent.,
ranee and Belgium having about 15
jr cent., Austria thirty, and Ire,nd
21. In England the percentage
15, Holland 10, United States 8, and
L'otland 7.