The Aiken recorder. [volume] (Aiken, S.C.) 1881-1910, April 11, 1882, Image 1
The
Recorder.
BY DRAYTON & McCRACKEN,
AIKEN, S. C., TUESDAY, APRIL 11, 1882.
VOL. I. NO. 26.
In Future.
It seems to me the bad of expectation
Baa not yet swollen to the perfect flower
That with its wondroTs exhalation
The world of faith will dower. .
The lamps we light are bat the stars of promise
The faintest reflex of a distant sun
That wakes an eager salutation from ns
’Till nobler heights are won.
The past was bat the preface of the story
In which the romance of our lives is wrought;
The deeds that win imperishable glory
Live scarcely in our thought.
Whate’er we do falls short of our intending;
The structure lacks the beauty we design;
And tortured angels, to their home ascending,
Depart and leave no sign.
Ry a.l the doubts and trials that so vex us,
By all the falls and failures that annoy,
By all the strange delusions that perpiex ns,
And yield no fruits of joy.
Wo know that unto mortals is not given
The btrength of knowledge (hat is yet in store
lor us, ere yet wc* walk the streets of heaven,
And dream of heaven no more.
The hear of earth lias secrets yet witholden.
That wait the dawning of some future day, *
When angel hands from sepulchre so golden
Shall roll the stone away.
Man has not touched the zenith of creation;
The godlike thought that filled Jehovah’s mind
lias had in Him but feeble revelation,
Uncertain, undefined.
The days uluren time reache* its fruition,
•With moments wtiahted with no vain regret,
Ibose days of which the soul has sweet pro
vision,
Di*. ,v nigh, but are not yet.
—JusephinePollard.
£
THE QUAKER ARTIST.
" I toll tboo now, Richard, that thee’ll
never get a cent of my money if thee
keeps on with this devil’s work.”
The speaker v. as Friend Joseph Har
ris, and he held ut arm’s length a small
picture in water colors, the features of
which \v*. re hardly discernible in the
gloom of the winter morning. Friend
Joseph hud been ut the barn, as was his
custom, to fodder the cattle and feed
the horses before break fat t, and had
•iiscoverfd this humble bit of art in a
Book in the granary. He did not have
to bo -told that it was bis eon Richard’s
work, whose inclination to such ungodly
pursuits had been the distress of his
parents’ lives.
Full of suppressed wrath Joseph
burst into the kitchen where the family
were waiting breakfast, and without
preface t d 1 ressed his sou with the threat
which ho considered the most dreadful
he could use—ibat of disinheritance. It
meant something, too, for in spite of his
plain surroundings Joseph Harris owned
nearly two hundred a-res of land wortn
ft hundred towl •jollatf'
id his’visits to tho county town o_,
the first of April of each year were not
to pay interest but to receive it. A
1*11, straight figure, ho was nearing
sixty years of ago, bat as vigorous as a
-outb, with quick motions and sharp
'lack eyes, indicating a violent nature
chained for life by the strict discipline
of the Society of Friend3.
His sen Richard, now turned of twen
ty two, was of a different mold, short
and stoutly bui:t. His face at first
sight seemed heavy and vacant, but
this was in fact the abstraction of the
dreamer. His soft brown eyes, and
hair clustering in thick curls over his
low but broad forehead, made amends
for his somewhat commonplace feat
ures.
The moment his father entered the
kitchen Richard felt th-t his secret
labor had been discovered, but his
anxiety was more for it than for him-
fcelf. He rarely dared face his father’s
anger, for Joseph Harris, like many of
his sect, made up in severity at home
lor the smooth and passionless exterior
he maintained abroad.
• “ Will thee give it to me, father?”
Slid Richard, advancing toward the
outstretched hand which held the
sketch, while the hand’s owner contem
plated it with unspeakable disgust.
Poor little painting ! It was a frag
ment of an autumn afternoon, during
which Richard had been husking corn
in “the hill field” and which had
abided in his memory clothed with tho
halo of a hundred day-dreams. There
was a corner of a woods, the foliage half
green, half shading into tints of
brown and red. A rivulet leaving a piece
of meadow still pay with autumn flow
ers and green with late grass, flowed
rippling and sparkling ont of tho sun
light into the shade of the dying leaves.
What courage and hope it must have!
Richard followed in thought its waters
as they flowed on to Chester creek and
then to tho stately Delaware river, and
far out till they met the mighty ocean
which washes tho shores of all the
world.
And as;ho mechanically plunged his
husking knife into the shucks and
turned ont tho gokleu ears one after
the other, he humbly took this lesson
to himself, as was hia wont, and said:
“I, too, must have more courage,
firmer Lope. Why should net I go tor-
ward in my study of art with greater
faith ? I must, 1 will.” And to fasten
the vow he had painted two studies of
this little piece of meadow as a constant
reminder, snatching the time on First
days and Fifth days, when his father
and mother were at meeting, and he
and Mose Riddle, the colored man,
were left to look after the stick. One
copy he had sent on a venture to a com
mission house in New York, tho other
he had hidden in the barn.
It had acquired a kind of sanctity to
him, and each tree had become a sym
bol of some rebuff or danger he was
fated to encounter in his future life.
He had, moreover, described it to Sib-
billa Vernon, and bad promised this
sole confidante of bis aspirations that
he would bring it over some time and
let her see it. But Sibbilla lived two
miles away, and as her parents were
also strict members of meeting, who
regarded every work of art os profanity,
this would have to K< managed with due
caution.
Richard’s first impulse, therefore,
was to secure the picture. But his
father had a double cause of displeas
ure, and his anger was deep. He had
agreed to give Richard a fourth share
iu the profits of the farm this year, and
not only was this painting business an
ungodly amusement, but also a waste of
precious time and a loss of mouey. It
must be stopped.
“ I’ll put it where it deserves to go,
and where thee will follow unless thee
turns thy steps from the world and its
follies. But the fire that thou wilt
meet will be that which is not quenched,
and where the worn dieth not.”
With these words, which Friend
Harris spoke slowly and with that
slight chanting intonation which char
acterises the utterances of the speakers
in meeting, the solemnity of which was
further increased by the use of the
formal “thou’’ instead of the usual
“thee,’’ he stepped to the kitchen
fireplace, where a goodly wood fire was
burning under the crane, and striking
the picture against the eoruer of the
mantelpiece tore a rugged split through
its center and threw the whole into the
fiames. In a moment it was a shriveled
cinder.
There are ceitain natures whose in
herent strength can only be developed
by a violent shock. Full of latent power,
their weakness comes from a native
humility. They distrust themselves
through a genuine admiration of others.
Such was Richard Harris. But the
necessary shock had come. He gazed a
moment at the cinder, his face crim
soned, but the severe discipline of the
Society and the family exercised the
sway that it usually does even on the
very young among Friends.
“ Father,” he said, in a low and even
tone, “I repeat what I have often told
thee; I have no light that there is evil
in painting; but as thee thinks there is,
I shall bid thee and mother farewell
to-day, and seek employment else
where. I shall not ask thee for any
share in thy estate.”
Taking his hat from the window-sill
he passed out of the kitchen door, leav
ing his father speechless with amaze
ment at this rebellious utterance, and
his mother—a poor weak woman, con
stantly in misery between carrying out
the severe rule of her husband whom
she feared, and yielding to her tender
ness for her boy whom she loved —
wiping her tears without emitting any
sound, either word or sob. As for his
two sisters they sat demure and motion
less through the whole scene, at heart
rather pleased at it, as they had no
sympathy with their brother’s taste for
forbidden arts, and thought him a queer,
wasteful, uncomfortable member of the
household. Moreover, though younger
than he, they were not too young to
see at once the pecuniary advantage to
them of his renunciation of his share
of the estate.
Richard went toward the barn and
took a seat in a nook of the corn fodder
stack that was built along the side of
tho barnyard. He did not feel the cold
raw air of the early morning. His mind
was too full of the step he was about to
take and what had led up to it. Now
or never he must quit the farm, re
nounce the teachings of the bociety,
throw aside the coat with standing col
lar and the quaint broad-brimmed black
hat, give up tho plain language, reject
the counsels of the venerable facers of
meeting who would surely be appointed
to visit him, and prove a recreant to ti e
revered precepts of Fox and Barclay.
bias for art.
Why was ho born with it? Whence
came it? Tbesa questions he had often
asked himself. For six generations his
ancestors had never touched a brush or
palette; not a painting nor a statue nor
a musical instrument nor any drama or
work of fiction had been allowed in
their houses How had he been created
with a passion for color and form, with
a love of poesy and music, which neither
the dreary farm work nor tho colorless
life, nor all tho frigid, deadening dis
cipline of the Society could quench?
Going back to his earliest memory
ho could recall that when four jears
old he was left for a few hours at the
house of Mike Wallis, an Irish tenant
on a neighboring farm, and that Mike’s
wife had kept him in the utmost bliss
by showing him a colored print of the
Virgin and tho lufant, and telling him
the pathetic history as it had pictured
itsdlf in her warm Irish heart. But what
was the horror of his parents next day
when he toddled into the room when
they were at dinner and called :
“ Mudder, mudder, como see God.”
His parents ran to the door to see
what this strange appeal meant, and lo!
there, on the floor of the front porch,
chalked in rude but faithful outline?,
were the Child, with rays of glory
around his head, and the Mother, by
his side, holding a cross. He could
still recall the scowl that came over his
father’s face aud his mother’s impetu
ous rush for a bucket of water aud
scrubbing-brush. Nor had he forgotten
tho violent shake and immediate spank
ing he himself received for his artistic
endeavor.
His memory leapt till he was a boy
of ten, and to his intense delight at
effecting a trade of a Barlow knife for
a box of paints. Many an hour of joy
had they given him, hiding himselt in
the garret of the old house, in the back
part of the hay mow near the dusty
gable window, or in a little hut he ha d
built in tbo woods. But bis prying
little sister betrayed him one day, and
not only was his treasure confiscated
but be himself was tied to the bedpost
by his mother and given such a whip
ping as would have discouraged most
youthful artists.
Later in life, when he was too old
for such vigorous measures, many lec
tures had he received on the frivolity of
such tastes and the wickedness of min
istering to them.
These scenes passing through his
memory convinced him that it was vain
to battle with such inflexible rules, and
that to be free be must leave the farm
and all its associations.
There was but one which had really
held him. This was Sibbilla Vernon.
Tho daughter of rigid parents, her
mother even a “ public friend,” whoso
voice at monthly and quarterly meet
ings was familiar to all members of the
Society, Sibbilla was a not unusnal typo
of the advanced thought of her sect.
Calm, self-possessed, clear-headed, she
had announced when but fifteen to her
family that her own conscience was her
guide, and that in ail essential matters
she should follow it.
From childhood she and Richard
Harris had delighted to play and talk
together; and though uo word of love,
no kiss and no caress had ever passed
between them, both their families and
themselves considered their union
merely a matter of time and money.
Not did this absence of the nsnal pas
sages of love seem to any one concerned
a strange circumstance. They were
accustomed to the repression of all
ontward show of feeling. In neither
household had the children ever seen a
kiss exchanged among its members,
young or old.
Thongh devoid of any passion for art
herself, Sibbilla understood and re
spected the forbidden tastes of her
lover. She looked upon His peculiar
abilities as gifts of God for use in life,
»sd she quietly but firmly put aside the
traditions of her sect, which condemn
them indiscriminately.
“Wilt thou presume to deny the
many testimonies of Friends, both in
England and America, against these
sinfnl arts ?” her mother wonld ask ;
being a “ public friend ” of considera
ble local fame she never employed the
incorrect nominative “thee,” even in
family life.
“ Mother,” replied the daughter,
“ they spoke for their day. I must act
in mine by the light I have, not by
theirs.”
Her mother wisely avoided argument,
trusting that the Spirit wonld enlighten
her daughter in time.
Leaving the fodder stack Richard
wilfecd across the bare fields toward
tho plain brick house which was Sib-
billa’s home. His mind was made up.
Ho would go to New York and devote
himself to the study of art. He had
saved since his majority about three
hundred dollars. He had youth,
strength, talent, love—was not that
enough? Would Sibbilla approve of
it? Would she make tho serious sacri
fice it involved ?
As he approached the house it was
about 10 o’clock, and all the males were
out at work. He knocked at the front
door, instead of the side door as usual,
and Sibbilla herself opened it and
gazed at him with considerable surprise
in her hazel eyes, quickly changing, to
an expression of pleasure, which Rich
ard did not tail to note, and which
filled him with both joy and anxiety.
“ Why, Richard, what brings thee
here at this Lour ?” was her exclama
tion.
“Sibbilla,” he said, “I wish to see
thee," and stepping in he closed the door,
and they both stood in the wide hall,
obscurely lighted by the transoms at
each end. He paused a moment to re
cover his control, and then spoke in a
low, vibrating tone: “ I am going to
leave tho farm in order to^tndy art. I
shall have to give up my membership
in the Society, as thee knows. Father
says he will leave me nothing if I do,
and I know thy mother agrees with
him. But I am not afraid. All I ask
is that thee approve of my decision and
will become my wife as soon as I am
able to offer thee a home."
At that supreme moment of resolve
all the strength which for generations
had been nurtured by the noble Quaker
theories of seR-reliance, all tho passion
which for generations had been muffled
and smothered under the narrow Quaker
system of formality and repression,
burst forth and were expressed in the
face of Sibbilla Yernon. She seemed
to rise in stature, and looking him fall
in the ejes, laying one hand on his arm
and passing the other round his neck,
she said:
“ Richard, I will come to thee then,
or I will go with thee now.”
The tone was low and the words with
uht ha&rarPM hMEho llcaru it ffelr Ui
his inmost soul that no oath could be
stronger.
“ Thank God and thee,” he uttered,
and for the first time in their lives each
felt the magic meaning of a kiss of
love.
Seated on the wooden “settee,”
which is the common furniture of the
country hall, he told her his father’s
words and action and his own unaltera
ble determination to seek his future in
art. It was agreed that they should be
married by a magistrate as soon as Rich
ard should have an income of seven
hundred dollars a year.
Full of quiet joy he went home, an
nounced his intended marriage and im-
’ttediate departure, packed his trunk,
aud told Mose to have the dearborn
ready at 6 o’clock in the evening to
take him to the station. After the 5
o’clock supper the members of the
family maintaine i almost entire silence,
his molhor quietly crying, his father
reading the “Book of Discipline,” his
favorite literature.
The dearborn drove up with Mose,
who had been to the station with tho
milk, and stopping at tho country store,
which was also the postoffice, had
brought a letter for Richard. It was
rather unusual for any member of the
household to receive a letter, therefore
Mose announced it with considerable
emphasis, addressing his master by his
first name as is the enstom in strict
families:
“ Joseph, by’nr’s a letter for Rich
ard. Hiram sez it’s a letter from York,
and ’pears as if it mout be on bizness.”
Joseph took the letter, and resisting
a strong inclination to open it passed it
to his son. It was from the firm in
New York to whom he had sent a copy
of his picture, and it read:
New York, January 18, .
Dear Sib: We have the gratification
of informing y on that the study you
sent us on sale has attracted the atten
tion of one of our patrons, to whom we
have parted with it for §500. Deduct
ing comm., stor’ge, insur’ce, del’y, etc.,
as per inclosed statement, leaves a net
bal. of 8372 G2, for which find our c’k
herewith.
You mention a duplicate of the study
yet in your possesion. We will take
that at the same figure, cash on deliv
ery, aud will give you an order for five
more studies to bo completed withiu a
year. Respectfully,
Smiles, Wiles & Co.
As he read this letter the check foil
from his hand on the table. The sight of
the colored and stamped paper was too
much for his father. Glancing at tho
large amount, as much as he received
for the best wheat crop his farm could
raise, he snatched the letter from his
son's hand and eagerly read it. Richard
stood by in silence.
“ What does he mean by the dupli
cate study ?’’ said his father, in an un
certain voice.
“ He means,” said Richard, quietly
“ the picture you threw in the fire this
morning.”
A new light dawned on his father’s
mind. So long as his son’s taste seemed
nothing but a time-and-money-wasting
form of idleness it had no redeeming fea-
nres; but Ahe incredible fact that there
were people willing to pay hundreds of
dollars apiece for such vain images now
stood right before him. He was too
shrewd to misunderstand it and its re
sults.
“Richard,” he said, with a softened-
voice, “I desire that thee would post
pone leaving us for a few days. Thy
mother and I will accompany thee to
the city, and will be present at the cer-
mony. * I think Sibbilla’s parents will
also not refuse to attend.”
As he went ont he said to Mose, who
was waiting with the dearborn :
“ Mose, thee shonld always be slow to
anger, and avoid the committal of rash
actions when out of temper.”—Our Con
tinent, ®
FOR THE LADIES.
Mrs. A. T. Stewart.
Mrs. Stewart has passed seven years
of widowhood, and during this timr has
occupied the most spacious house ever
built in the Fifth avenue—previous to
the Vanderbilt palace. She lives here
entirely alone with the sole exception
of her housekeeper, a half-dozen sett
vants and the coachman. The estab
lishment is kept closed, and in appear
ance, at least, is one of the loneliest
places in the city. The palatial struo -
ture stands back from the street at least
thirty feet, for Stewart’s taste required
a display of retirement: Viewed iu
front the immenaa a*—«*w BCClfir.
consecrated to silence. The enrtains
are down aud the broad porch
which graces Thirty-fourth street is
seldom entered till evening. In
fact the enormous building noa-
suggests the idea of a mau
soleum. What is to become of it? This
is a very interesting question. Its oc
cupant is old and cannot last long, an \
hence the place is peculiarly liable to
the law of mutation. Mrs. Stevart sel
dom leaves the building, but the ser
vants can easily step out by the rear
gate, for they never use tho grand en
trance. Judge Hilton and Mr. Libby
often makes calls and Dr. Maroy is oc
casionally in, but these exceptions
hardly break the long reign of silence.
The first floor contains the receiving-
room, drawing-room, dining-room aud
picture gallery. The ceilings are eight
een feet high, except the last mentioned,
which is nearly forty. The furniture
is elegant beyond description. Ascend
ing a marble staircase tho library Is
reached and also the Stewart bedroooi
and apartments for guests, all gor
geously furnished. Think of so grand
an establishment being solely occupied
by a widow and her servants.
This palace, like most structures of
the kind, is highly inconvenient. One
wonld think, indeed, that it was built
more for appearance than for com fen
The latter, however, is rarely consid
ered in the domestic architecture of a
great city. Had Stewart been disposed
to make a spacious and accommodating
house he could easily have accom
plished his object, but what would the
world say ? The determination to excel
that gone before him led to the con
st luction of this showy but inconveii-
ent place. Readers, think of that feeble
old lady being obliged to make the as
cent of thirty-six steps (each six inches)
in order to reach the family bedroom.—
New Yorfc Letter.
The
tiqtift
/
“peculiar
first pre-
Fasblon Notes.
Ribbons grow wider.
Shot silks are revived.
New cheviot mantles are short.
Rhadames silk is very popular.
Jtat’s-tail chenille is a new fringe.
Wh.’U o«ago-»«
Satin stuffs are in their decoder
Soft gros grain trims spring bonn
English silks have come into fashii
Short skirts are plaited from
to toe.
Lace frills are used inside of poke
bonnets.
Sunflowers are embroidered on new
parasols.
Linen guipure lace, like Macrame, is
new for millinery.
Pom-pon passementeries trim satin
dresses handsomely.
Cloth shoes to match cloth dresses
have patent leather foxiug.
Puffs of satin and crepe lisse are worn
around the neck and wrists.
Bayadere stripes are imported for
trimming self-colored dresses.
Many more straw bunuets of dark
colors are seen than of white or yellow
tinted braids.
Lengthwise tucks in the upper
breadths of overskirts appear in many
silk costumes.
Embroidery bands edge the parts of
many handsome costumes wherever a
baud of trimming can be applied.
Grenadine lace for trimming grena
dines comes with designs to match the
bro^he flowers of the grenadine.
All blues, from porcelain and navy to
gray blue or greyhound, and sky to
water blue, are found in new veilings.
Some of the open necks of new
French corsages are cut in lyre shape in
stead of square, or in Vandyke fashion.
Rose is the favorite color for the solid-
colored ginghams or zephyrs that come
with open-work embroidery bands on
tho selvages.
Cotton sateen and light alpaca are
frequently used by economical dress
makers for tho foundation skirt of silk
and veiling dresses.
Plain, tight-fitting bodices, full panier
or tabiier draperies, and much trimmed
skirts are the rule for spring suits of
light woolen stuffs.
Very stylish spring walking costumes
are snown, made of olive, gold and
bronze chovoits, trimmed with facings
and pipings cf Japanese red.
Taking Loaf Photographs.
A very pretty amusement, especially
for those who have just completed the
study of botany, is the taking of leaf
photographs. One very simple process
is this: At any druggist’s get au ounce
of bichromate of potassium. Pat this
into a pint-bottle of water. When the
solution becomes saturated—that is,
water has dissolved as much as it will
—pour off some of the clear liquid into
a shallow disu; in this float a piece of
ordinary writing paper till it is thor
oughly moistened. Let it become dry
in the dark. It should be of a bright
yellow. Oa this put the leaf—under
it a piece of black, soft cloth and
several sheets of newspaper. Pat
these between two pieces of glass (all
the pieces should be of the same size),
and with spring clothespins fasten them
together. Expose to a bright sun,
placing the leaf so that the rays will
fall as nearly perpendicular as possible.
In a few moments it will begin to turn
brown; but it requires from half an
hour to several hours to produce a per
fect print. When it has become dark
enough take it from the frame and put
it in clear water, which must be
changed every few minutes until the
yellow part becomes white. Some
times the leaf veinings will be quite
distinct. By following these directions
it is scarcely possible to fail, and a little
practice wifi make perfect.
The total number of blast fnrqace and
rolling mill establishments and atesl
works in the United States was 808 in
1870 and 1,005 in 1880. The value of
materials used was 8135.526,132 in 1870
and 8191,271,150 in 1880.
The Baking Business,
e baker comes down to us from an-
tiqt\?ty and has always figured more or
less prominently in sacred and profane
history. Witness the conspicuous part
played by Pharoah’s baker, and the ap
pearance of the functionary in nursery
Ipre in connection with the butcher aud
the candle stick maker. The baker aud
his cavernous oven belong to many land^
and many ages, but it was reserved for
modem days to transform the industry
from an enlargement of the domestic
process into one of the branches of
trade-employing labor-saving ma
chinery. ,
Let us first inspect the cracker de
partment. The cracker is a
institution.” Tho dough is
pared iu long troughs. It is then put
into a “worm,” where a device which
resembles a huge corkscrew turns and
twists it, gives it its final kneading and
forces it into a trough, from which it is
passed through rollers and appears in a
Idbg sheet, ready to be cut into crackers.
This work is performed by a cutting
machine, which by sliding the sheet of
dough on a table under a die cuts out
720 crackers a minute. Theso are taken
from the table on a flat woodoa shovel
aud deposited in the oven, and the clip
pings are thrown back into the dough
trough. Gazing in at the mouth of tho
oven wo see a spacious compartment
which we are told measures twenty feet
square and thirty feet deey. It is heated
by a furnace in the basement of tho
building.
The oven contains eight shelves, nine
feet long and three feet wide, arranged
on a revolving frame and holding two
and a half barrels of crackers. Eight
minutes are required for the baking,
aud as soon as one shelf is emptied it
is filled again from the cutting table.
The baked crackers are conveyed to
bins in the upper story by an arrange
ment somewhat similar to that by which
grain is elevated. The backets empty
the crackers into a bin where they are
allowed to cool and fall into a recep
tacle beneath, from which they are
taken and packed. The packing ma
chine is a curiously contrived device,
and arranges the crackers in rows so as
to greatly facilitate the work of the
packer. About thirty-two barrels per
day is the product of the establishment
of which we speak.
Let us pass to that part of the bakery
where ginger snaps are made. Long,
thin sheets of “snap” dough pass be
neath a cutting machine, similar to that
used for crackers, which punches out
twelve snaps at a stroke or 864 per min
ute! The cakes are then passed through
steam and water to give them a glossy
appearance, and are then placed in the
oven, which has tables revolving hori
zontally. One turn of the tables bakes
the thin snaps, and two turns does the
business for the thicker ones. The time
taken to convert the dough into a baked
Asm lailfll I
per hoar, or 500,000 per
50,000 snaps
day is the product.
After all, bread is tho most import
ant product of the baker. Here we see
a revolving crank in an iron trough
mixing ten barrels of flour in eight
minutes. The bread is given four
“risings,” and the weight of each loaf
is ascertained before it passes to the
oven. The number of loaves turned
out every day is 3,100. About 500
loaves of brown bread are baked daily,
some cooked by beat and some by
steam, the latter process requiring six
hours.
Recovering from a Broken Neck.
About five months ago, says a recent
issue of the San Francisco Chronicle, the
daily press published a short item re
garding a teamster named John Oollery,
who attempted to drive his team through
a barn door, and in so doing bad his
head forced down on his breast; until
his neck was broken. Police Surgeon
Stambaugh made an examination of the
injured man and found that the seventh
cervical vertebno was fractured, and
that the spinal cord had been stretched
nearly t wo inches. So serious was the in
jury that the reporters, after chronicling
the* incident under the head of fatal acci
dents, paid no further attention to the
matter, and failed to inquire after Col-
lery’s condition, considering him dead
and buried. A Chronicle reporter was
therefore exceedingly surprised yester
day afternoon to meet tho supposed
corpse near the city prison looking re
markably well for a man with a broken
neck. In a conversation which ensued
Mr. Collery stated that ho was almost
as well as befoie the accident, a slight
stiffness in his right side constituting
his entire “ unhealthiness.” After his
removal to his home Collery states ehat
he was laid flat on his back with a sort of
fence about his neck and head which kept
him immovable for over two months.
Both tho body of the vertebra) and
the arching laminoe were discovered to
be broken, and the operation of joining
them together without pinching the
spinal cord where it had sagged be
tween the ragged edge is described as
one of the most difficult ever performed.
For a month the patient lay on
his back, completely paralyzed in one-
half of his body and with but little
feeling in the other. If ho moved in the
slightest degree during the first fort
night he could plainly feel tho jagged
edges of the bone grate together, and for
hours after such an attempt ho was con
tent to lie on his hard bed without at
tempting to move a muscle for fear that
the spinal cord should bo crushed and
his existence ended in a twinkling. The
straightest position attainable was re
quired, and to this end Dr. Btambaugh
was compelled to refuse him a mattress,
forcing him to lie on a wide plank.
Collery said that before his eight weeks
of enforced quietness were ended he
thought that Doard was made of ada
mant. The most dangerous time ho
experienced, he says, was one day when
an attendant told him that a
man whose neck could stand break
ing as his had was not born to be
hanged. His desire to laugh was irre
sistible, and the shakiog up his merri
ment gave him caused his fastenings to
burst and the fracture came near being
ruptured afresh. Daring the first five
weeks he did not move over a foot from
his first posture. The paralysis Las
now almost entirely disappeared, and
Dr. Stambaugh yesterday promised him
that he would be able to go to work
within six months. The average fatal
ity in cases of clearly defined Iracture
of the spine is estimated at 999 in 1,000.
It is estimated that 325,090 cords of I
wood will be cut in Vermont this year|
for ndlxoad uses.
EARTHQUAKES.
Some at the Shocks that Have Vlsttq0 the
. Western Hemisphere
The last great earthquake which
visited Central America was on March
19, 1873, when Sm Salvador was ut
terly destroyed. That part of the world
is peculiarly exposed to these convul-
s'ons, but the disaster of 1873 was not
so fatal as that just reported, for,
though three successive shocks were
felt, the inhabitants, warned by previous
noises, were able to find places of safety,
and only about 500 perished. Earth
quakes have been so frequent in the
Central American States that the In
dians are accustomed to say that it is
“the land that swings like a hammock.”
The city of Caracas was entirelv de
stroyed in fifty-six seconds on March
26, 1812. Quito, in Ecuador, was almost
destroyed on March 22, 1859. In Peru,
Caliao was destroyed in 1586, and the
accompanying soa wave was ninety feet
high. It was again destroyed in 1746.
An earthquake which will bo readily
recalled was that ol August 13 and 14,
1868, in which Avica suffered severely.
The tidal wave carried a number of
ships inland, among them the United
States steamer “ Wateree.” A United
States storeship was also lost by it. In
Chili destructive earthquakes have oc
curred. One in 1822 caused a perma
nent elevation to au extent of from two
to seven feet of fully 100,000 square
miles of land lying between the Andes
and tho coast. February 20, 1835, the
city of Concepcion was destroyed for
the fourth time; there were felt over
300 successive shocks withiu two weeks.
April 2, 1851, a severe shock was felt
at Santiago.
In tbo United States have been many
severe shocks. The most severe which
ever visited the Eastern and Middle
States was that of November 18, 1755.
The shock felt in Now England was
undoubtedly promulgated from either
the same center which emanated the
disturbance that had destroyed Lisbon
on the first day of the month, when
60,000 persons perished in six minutes,
or from a center whose activity had
been stimulated by the continual
quaking that then prevailed from
Iceland to the Mediterranean. The
earthquake of the 18th began in
Massachusetts with a rearing noise like
that of thunder. After a minute’s
continuance of this there came a
first severe shock with a swell like
that of a rolling sea—a swell
so great that men in the open fields
ran to seize something by which
to hold on lest they should be thrown
down. After two or three lesser shocks
then came the most violent of all, pro
ducing a quick horizontal tremor with
sudden jerks aud wrenches; this con
tinued two minutes, and after a short
revival died away. Numerous other
shocks followed in the course of a
month. In Boston many buildings
vpmnt .... —w wr
shape. Oa October 19, 1870, occurred
the most considerable shock that has
been observed in the Middle and East
ern States during the present century.
The source of this disturbance has been
traced, with some probability, to the
volcanic region fifty to 100 miles north
east of Qaebcc. From this region
the shock spread to St. Johns, N. B.,
and thence was felt westward
to Chicago and southward to New
York. The velocity of the wave or
shock was about 14,000 feet per second.
The occurrence of the shock felt at
Quebec was telegraphed to Montreal by
tho operators of the Montreal Telegraph
company in time to call the attention
of those at the latter city to the phe
nomena, about thirty second) before
the shock reached them. In California
the earthquake of 1852 destroyed one'of
the Southern missions. That of March
26, 1872. was the most severe that has
occurred there during many years.
Special damage was done in San Fran
cisco by the cracking of the walls of
fine public buildings. Iu Nevada the
mining regions suffered in 1871 by the
destruction of Lone Pine and other
settlements.
Hair Turning White in a Single Night.
About fifteen years ago a young man
named Henry Richards, who lived at
Terre Haute, Ind., was going home one
eveving about dark from a visit to a
friend, aud was walking along the rail
road track. Some little distance from
town was a very high trestlework over
a creek, there being no planks placed
across for walking, so that people had
to go over on tho ties.
Richards was walking along at a
lively rate, and when he arrived at the
bridge he did not stop to think that a
train coming in was then due, but, be
ing in a hurry to get home, he started
to walk across on the crossties. Ho
had gotten nearly half way across the
bridge when the train came slipping
around a curve at a lively rate. He saw
the train at once and started to run, but
saw that it was useless as it would cer
tainly overtake him before he could get
off the bridge.
He was now in a terrible plight. To
jump off was ceitain death, and if ho
remained on the track the train would
crush him to pieces. There was no
woodwork beneath the bridge for him
to hang on to, so he saw that his only
chance was to swing on to a small iron
rod that passed under the crossties. No
time was to be lost, as the train was
nearly on tho end of the bridge. So he
swung himself under the ties, and in a
few moments was hanging on for dear
life. The engineer had seen him just
before he swung under the bridge, and
tried to stop the train, but did more
harm than good, as ho only succeeded
in checking the speed of the train and
made it a longer time in passing over
the form of Rickards. As the engine
passed over the coals of fire from the
ashpan dropped on his hands, burning
the flesh to the bone, as he could not
shake them off, and to let go would
have been ceitain death.
The trial was at length over, and,
nearly dead from fright and exhaustion,
with his hands burned in a terrible
manner, Richards swung himself upon
the bridge again aud ran home. When
he reached there his hair had not
turned, but in a short time afterward it
began to get gr »y, and by morning it
was almost perfectly white.—Louisville
The Tame Alligator.
•• You see that item in one of the
papers abont taming young alligators,
I reckon,” said the Gravesend man,
capturing the city editor by the button
hole and drawing him into the door
way. “ You know the paper said it
was a fashionable thing to do.”
“ I don’t remember. Perhaps I did.
"What of it ?’’ asked tho city editor.
“ I tried it,” said the Gfrisjpsend
man. “A friend of mine brought me one
from Now Orleans, and Pm taming that
aUigator for the children to play with.”
“ How dees the experiment come
along,” asked the city editor.
“I don’t know abont the experiment;
the alligator is thrivin’. Ho was six
weeks’ old when I got him two months
ftgo.and he is seven years old now.
People in our patts say he’s all the al
ligator I’ll ever need.”
“ What does he do ?”
“ Well, it’s here. When he came he
was a sportive little cuss and just wab
bled around friendly. He was chiefly
mouth, and we used to feed him for the
fun of seein’ him eat. Now we skin
around when we see him cornin’ for the
fun of seein’ him go hungry.”
“Is he dangerous?” asked the city
editor.
“ I haven’t been close enough to see.
Ho eat up my dog, aud when 1 left this
mornin’ he was in the sty arguin’ t io
question of pork as a diet with the pig.
My wife thinks if the pig has any luck
he will find the cow we lost.”
“Better get rid of him, hadn’t yon ? ’
suggested the city editor.
“ I don’t know,” said the Gravesend
man. “We’ve stored so much away in him
now that it se’erhs like givin’ up most of
our property, and my eldest girl says
she can’t hear of havin’ her leg go ont
among strangers.”
“ Did he bite her leg off?” demanded
the horrified city editor.
“Sure,” responded the Gravesend
man. “ Took it off short! Then here’s
the baby. We hate to part with the
baby’s grave, so we try and keep the
alligator along. My wife insists on
keepin’ him, ’cause she thinks she saw
a couple o’ peddlers go in oue day,
packs and all, and she’s got au idea the
packs may come to the front again if
we hold on. Besides, she seen that
item about tame alligators being fash-
’nable, and she’s got a good deal on
style.”
“But do you call that alligator
tame ?”
“ Oert’nly. He comes right intone
house, same’s any of us, and keeps
himself. He’s got that heel,” and the
Gravesend man pointed to a mutilated
foot. ^‘There’s my son’s wife, too.
She’s part alligator now. He eat her
np a week ago and the boy hasn’t got
over his arm yet. The alligator got
the arm, too.”
“Great scott 1” ejaculated the city
When he puts himself up he’s busi
ness. He s the lightninest alligator for
a tame one you ever saw. When we
first got him we used him for a tack
hammer, drew nails with him; but now
he’s the head of the family, except
payin’ the rent. When there is any
mysterious disappearance around
Gravesend the coroner comes and views
the alligator. That ends it. When
the baby was snatched they held
the inquest in a tree. The jury was all
on one limb, and the alligator under
neath looking up. Biraeby the limb
broke, and the jury disappeared in a
row, just as they sat. We didn’t wait
for any verdict. The coroner gave me
a permit, and after the fnneral we shied
an empty ccfflu at the alligator. Then
the minister said dost to dust, aud we
all dusted. Do you remember whether
that item said what a real tame alligator
ought to be fed on ? ’
“ Don’t recollect seeing it at all.
Aren’t you afraid he’ll eat up some of
your family?”
“Think he’s liable to?” asked the
Gravesend man, with a curious expres
sion of visage.
“He might. Suppose he should got
your wife ?”
“Ah!” said the Giavesend man.
“ He mierht get her, mighten he ? You
think I’d better keep him, then ?’’ and
the Gravesend man leaned against the
door and gave himself up to reflection.
“ So he might, so he might,” the city
editor heard him say as he drew away
and left him there. “ That beautiful
young tame alligator may get her yet,”
and the gloom of nightfall enveloped
the frame dilating with a new hope.—
Brooklyn Eagle.
A Poor Memory.
Without question the memory may
be cultivated. The habit of attention is
one of the first to be acquired in work
ing toward this end; but there are
other helps, such as the habit of order,
and tho advantage arising from proper
classification, and last, bat not least,
the aid of the imagination, in making
mental pictures. The grocer and the
apothecary know the value of order in
their business; the bookseller, too, with
his thousands of volumes; see him step
to the place in his store where he
knows the volume yon are asking for
shonld be; he merely reaches forth his
hand and takes it from the shelf.
Watch the type setter at his work; you
would think his fingers work automat
ically, as they take up from the box ar
rangement before him the exact letters
composing the words of his copy. Ob
serve the fingers of the piano player; as
f endowed with intelligence or mem
ory, the right key goes down at the
proper time; it matters not what the
speed of the movement may demand,
there is no [hesitation. Now why can
not we accomplish with facts, figures
and ideas what the type-setter accom
plished with his type, the pianist with
his keys. All that is necessary to do
this is application and a determination
to succeed. •
A Catfish in the Parlor.
The Cairo (Ul.) correspondence of
the St. Louis Globe Democrat famishes
the following in the course of an inter
view with a merchant of Columbus,
Ky., relative to the flooding of tho
town:
“ How high did the water come ?'
“ Well, the Belmont hotel was built
[above high water mark of 1867, tho
highest flood ever known, and the
water was two feet deep in the house.
Why, the proprietor actually caught o
Danenhower’s Life In Yakutsk.
Mrs. Danenhower has received a long
letter from her son, Lieutenant Dan
enhower, of the Jeannette explor
ing expedition, dated Yakutsk,
Siberia, December 30,1881. It contains
n^flk)wa which h*w not been anticipated
by^llegraphio dispatches, but it gives
some interesting details with regard to
the life of tho Jeannette survivors at
Yakutsk. In the letter Lieutenant
Danenhower say8:T^
We are passing toe time quietly but
impatiently. It is daylight here at about
8 a. m. We get up and have breakfast
at a little hotel that is handy. The
forenoon I spend reading a little, writing
a little and in attending to any busi
ness I may happen to have on hand.
About 2 r. m General TschemiefTs
sleigh arrives, and I go to dine with him;
generally return about 4 w u , and if I
do not have visitors I take a nap and
kill time as well as 1 can until 9 v. si ,
when we have supper at the little hotel,
and then go to bed. As I have told you
before, I have found nice people in
every part of the world that I have •
visited, and this place i i by no • means
an exceptioif Last evening, for instance,
we spent very pleasantly at the house of
a Mr. Oarreikoff, an Irkutsk merchant,
who entertained us very well. His wife
is a charming lady, and it was very
pleasant to seo tho three beautiful chil
dren. They have a fine piano, the first
one we have seen since leaving San
Francisco.
Yakutsk is a city of 5,000 inhabitants.
The houses are built of wood, and are
not painted. The streets are very wide,
and each honse has a large yard or
court. The principal trade is in furs.
In summer a great deal of fresh meat is
sent up the river. Daring nine months
of the year snow and ice abonnd. In
the winter the thermometer falls to sev
enty degrees below zero. Since our
arrival it has been sixty-eight degrees
below, and to-day it only thirty-flvo de
grees, or thereabouts. In the summer
the temperature rises as high as ninety-
five degrees Fahrenheit, but tho nights
are cold. There are many horses and
cows in this vicinity. The natives, the
Yakutzs, eat horse meat, but the Rus
sians eat beef and venison. Potatoes,
cabbage and a few other vegetables, a
few berries, wheat and rye are grown in
this vicinity. There are a few sheep
and poultry also.
Dr. Kapallo has examined my left eye
and he says that a very ordinary opera
tion is required to make it a. very effi
cient eye. What is called an “artificial
pupil ” will have to be cut in the mem
brane that now clouds the vision. He
advises mo to wait until I get home, for
after the operation I will have to remain
ic a dark room for a month or two. Mj
general health is excellent. I am stont
and hearty.
Of course there is very little Ameri-
place, but
it here and there. The death of Gar
field is a topic often mentioned, and,
from the accounts here I learn that he
was shot by Guiott on the train near
Long Branch. A great deal of interest
and sympathy is manifested, by the
Russians. Last evening I sa v a Tomsk
newspaper, which said that the Alliance
had made a cruise in search of the Jean
nette, and had reached latitude eighty
degrees fifty-five minutes north on the
west coast of Spitzbergen. Had our ship
held together ten (two years she would
arobably have drifted out in that vi
cinity. About 900 miles south of this
place there lives an Englishman named
Lee, and from him I hope to learn a
great deal of news.
W here the Boulders Come From.
AU who have seen the immense boul
ders called “lost rock” in some sec
tions, scattered over the northern part
of the United States, which have little
or no resemblance to any mass of rocks
anywhere in the vicinity, and have per
haps asked tho question: Where did
they come from? Also the heaps of
sand, gravel and cobble stones of vari
ous sizes which form many of our
ridges, knolls and hills, and which are
totally unlike any fixed rock near them.
All these phenomena are attributed to
a single cause, aud that is the great
sheet of ice which nature stored up
years ago without th6 necessity of pro
tecting it in an icehouse. According to
Agassiz the sheet of ice extended in this
country as far south as South Carolina
or Alabama, and was thick enough to
cover all the mountains of the east
ern part of North America with
the exception of Mount Washington.
This peak projected, a lone sentinel on
that vast waste of ice, two or three hun
dred feet. In the latitude of Northern
Massachusetts ho conceives tho ice to
Lave been two or three miles thick. The
boulders were all torn off by the ad
vancing ice sheet from the projecting
rocks over which it moved, and carried
or pushed as “ bottom drift,” scrateh-
iug and plowing the feuriace over which
they passed and being scratched and
polished themselves in return, till they
were finally brought to rest by the
melting of tbe ice. They were not car
ried as far south as the ice sheet ex
tended, seldom beyond the parallel of
forty degrees north. Tho native copper
of lake Superior was drifted four or
live hundred miles south, and the pud
ding stones of Roxbnry, Mass., were
carried as far south as the Island of
Penikesc.—Scientific American.
| huge catfish
gronnd floor.’
in the parlor on the
meet of Heat on tho Nerves.
Dr. William A. Hammond, the dis
tinguished neurologist, in an article in
Ovr Continent with the taking title,
How to Escape Nervousness,” warns
against overheated apartments. He
says: An overheated apartment al
ways, enervates its occupants. It is no
uncommon thing to find rooms heated
n winter by an underground furnace
np to ninety degrees. Fi&hts and
murders are more numerous in hot
than in cold weather, and the arti
ficially heated air that rashes into our
rooms, deprived as it is of its natural
moisture by the baking it has under
gone, is even more prodnetive of
vicious passions. It is no surprising
circumstance, therefore, to find the
woman who swelters all day in such a
temperature, and adds to it at night by
superfluous bedclothing, cross and
disagreeable from little • everv-day
troubles that wonld scarcely ruffls her
temper if she kept her room at sixty-
degrees and opened the windows every
now and then.
An English thief, on a stolen horse, L
was captured by a policeman on a I
bicycle. 1
The largest orange grove in Florira
| is that of Maj. H. Norris, who want
from Chicago to Spring Garden, Fla.,
in 1872. He now has a grove of 11,000
thrifty orange trees which bear about
500,000 oranges in a year.
The best thing known for the restora
tion of falling Lair is the nse of Ameri
can petroleum, which should be rubbed
on the head quickly with the palm of
the hand. It should be applied six or
seven timeg ip ally at intervals of th*©Q
days,
* t A
v » 'V/y* /
*/
i, e o *+
•s.
‘6/,
67