Port Royal standard and commercial. [volume] (Beaufort, S.C.) 1874-1876, November 02, 1876, Image 1
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ipoirt
^ Standard and Commercial.
VOL. IV. NO. 48. BEAUFORT, S. C., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 18-76. $2.00 per Aram Single Gop? 5 Gents.
This Day Last Year.
This day last year?was not the same thrnsh
singing ?
We stayed our talk and hushed our breath
to hear;
The b;rd'? n >ie quivered through our silent
rapture,
And broke upon cur hoarts?this day last
yeer.
8ilont we watched the self-same shadows
deepen
'Neath the young leaves that caught the
straying light;
^ Each bud, each blossom, brought its tithe cf
gladness.
Even the happy tears that b'urred my eight.
Mutely we breathed the language of hands
clasping;
No need for murmured vows or low replies ;
Each sun d eked leaf, ta:h sadden shadow
passing,
Cast some vague memory to ouj dreaming
eye*.
To-day I crave no thought of vanished sweet
net*-,
I do not a-k for my lo?*t love again ;
Only that t-omo one throb of wakened yearn
ing
May thrill the numbness of my heart to
pain.
I stra-'n my ear. Toe song has loet its secret
My heart etire not; my weary eyes are dry.
I pray for tears, where onoe I dreamt bnt
gladness;
Has life?has death itself?a sadder cry ?
NORA AND JAMESY.
" To the memory of Patrick Connor
this simple stone was erected by his fel
low workmen."
These words you may lead any day
upon a white slab in a cemetery not
many miles l'rom .New York; bnt yon
might read them a hundred times with
out gueesiDg at the little tragedy they
indicate, without knowing the humble
romance which ended with the placing of
that stone above one poor and humble
man.
Jn the shabby fiieze jacket and mud
laden brogans, he was scarcely an attrac
tive object as he walked into Mr. Bawn's
great tin and hardware shop, one day.
and presented himself at the counter
with an?
44 I've been tould ye advertised for
hands, yer honor."
"Fully supplied, my man," said Mr.
Bawn, not lifting his head from his ac
count book.
"I'd work faithful, sir, and take low
wages till I could do better; and I'd
learn?I would that."
It was an Irish brogue, and Mr. Bawn
declared that he n* ver would employ an
incompetent hand. Yet the tone attract^
rd him. Ha turned briskly, and, with
his pen beuind his ear, addressed the
ruau, who was only OLe ot the fifty who
i_?.i ..n.r. nj.1 Kio d.Suprtispmpnt for four
iVU Uiu wv. ?. .. ?
workmen that ru< rning.
" Whnt makes you expect to learn
faster tban other folks?are you any
smarter?"
"I'll not say that," said the man;
"but I'd be wishing to; that 'ud make
it aisier."
" Are you used to the work ?"
"I've done a bit of it."
"Much?"
" No, yer honor; I'll tell no lie. Tim
0 Toole hadn't the like of this place;
but I know a bit about tins."
" You are too olt' for an apprentice,
and you'd be in the way, I calculate,"
said Mr. Bawn, looking at the brawny
arms and bright eyes that promised
strength and intelligence. " Besides, I
know your countrymen ?lazy, good for
nothing fellows, who never do their
best. No, I've been taken in by Irish
hands before, and I won't have another.
"
"The Virgin will have to be after
bringing 'om over in her two arms,
thin," Raid the man, despairingly;
" for I've tramped all day for the last
fortnight, and niver a job can I get; and
that's the last penny I have, yer honor,
and it's but a half one."
a Uo Vio cTvrPft/1 his rtslm onen
ao IJC n^vau jaw > x-v ?? j
with an English halfpenny upon it.
"Bring whom over?" asked Mr.
Bawn, arrested by the odd speech, as be
turned upon his heel and looked back
again.
" Jist Nora and Jamesy."
" Who are they?"
" The wan's me wife, the other me
child," said the man. ** Oh, masther,
thry me. How'l they e srer come to me
if no one will give me a job ? I want to
be aiming, and the whole big city seems
against, it?and me with arms like
them!"
Ha bared his arm3 to the jshoulders as
he spoke, and Mr. looked at
thorn, and then at his
44 I'll hire you for the week," he said;
" and now, as it's noon, go down into
the kitchen and tell the girl to get yon
your dim.er?a hungry man can't work."
And with an Irish blesring the new
hand obeyed, while Mr. Bown, untying
his apron, went upstairs to his own
meal.
Suspicious as he was of the new
hand's integrity and ability, he was
agreeably disappointed. Connor worked
hard, aud actually, at the end of the
week, ho was the best workman in the
shop.
He was a groat talker, but nut fond of
drink or wasting money. As his wages
1 1 a-J on/1 lrnro
grew, ue noarueu evt-jjr pcuiij, -v.*,.
the same stabl y clothes in which he
made Lis Sr.fc appearance. ''Beer costs
m^r.ey," Le said one day, "and ivery
cint 1 spind puts olf the bringing Nora
end Jamesy over; and as for the clothes,
them I 1ihvo must do me?better no
clothes to mo baca than no wife and no
boy to me fireside; anyhow, it's slow
work raving."
it was slow work, but he kept at it ail
the sime. Other men, thoughtless and
full of fan, tried to make him drink,
made a jest of his saving habits, coaxed
him to accompany them to places of
amusement and share ti.eir Sunday
frolics. All in vain. CoDiior liked beer,
liked fun, liked companionship ; but ho
would not delay the long looked for
bringing of Nora over, and was not
" raane enough" to accept favors of
others. He kept his way?a martyr to
* his own great wish?living on "little,
k
workiDg at night on an extra job by
which he could earn a few shillings, by
j running errands in his noontide hours
of rest, and talking to any one who
would listen of his one great hope, and
of Nora and little Jamesy.
That seemed a sort of charity to him.
i Still he was helped along. A present
! Jrom Mr. Bawn at pay day set Nora, as
i he said, "a week nearer," and this and
that and the other added to the little
hoard. It grew faster than at first, and
Connor's burden was not so heavy. At
last, before he hoped it, he was once
more able to say, "I'm going to bring
them over," and to show his handkerchief,
in which, as before, he tied up
his earnings ; this time, however, only
to his friends. Cautious among strangers,
he hid the treasure, and kept his
V - - ** _ V A I
[ vest buttoned over it day ana nignc,
until the tickets were bought and sent.
Then every man, woman and child,
capable of hearing and understanding,
knew that Nora and her baby were coming.
I At first the men who prided themselves
on turning out the best work in
the city made a sort of butt of Connor,
whose " wild Irish" ways and verdaucy
were indeed often laughable. But it
won their hearts at last, and when, one
day, mounting a work bench, he shook
his little bundle, wrapped in a red 'kerchief,
before their eyes and shouted :
"Look, boys, I've got the whole at last!
I'm going to bring Nora and Jamesv
over at last! Whoroo ! I've got it !*'
all felt a sort of sympathy in his joy.
There was John Jones, who had more
I of the orute in his composition than
! usually falls to the lot of man?even he,
| who had coldly hurled his hammer at
I an offender's head, missing him by a
hair's breadth, would spend his ten
minutes in the noon hour in reading the
Irish news to Connor. There was Tom
Baker, the meanest man among the <
number, who had never been known to
give anything to any one before, absolutely
bartered an old jacket for a pair '
of gilt vases which a peddler brought in
his basket to tho shop, and presented
them to Connor for Nora's mantlepiece.
And there was idle Dick, the appren- !
tice, who actually worked two hours on
Connor's work when illness kept the
Irishman at home one day. CcDnor felt
this kindness, and returned it whenever
it was in his power.
And the days flew by and brought
a letter at la9t from his wife. "She
would start as he desired, and she was i
well, and so was the boy, and migbr the
Lord bring them safely to each other's
arms and bless those who had been so
kind to him." This was the substance
of the epistle, which Connor prondly
assured his fellow workmen Nora wrote
herself. She had lived at service as a
girl with a certain good old lady, who 1
Kan mton K#?r an fidnoation. the items 1
of which Connor told upon his ,
fingers. "The radin,' that's one, an J
ihe writin', that's three, and moreover
she knows all a woman can." Then he
looked up at his fellow workmen, with
the tears in his eyes, and asked :
"Do you wondher the time seems
long between mo an' her, boys ?"
So it was?Nora at the dawn of day?
Nora at. noon?Nora at night?until the }
I news came that the "Stormy Petrel "
I had oome to port, and Connor, breathless
and pale with excitement, flung his
cap in the air and shouted.
It happened on a holiday afternoon,
and half a dozen of men were ready to
go with Connor to the steamer and give
his wife a greeting. Her little home
was ready; Mr. Pawn's own servant had
I put it in order, and Connor took one
peep at it before he started,
j "She hadn't the like o' that in the
j ould counthry," he said. "But she'll
J know how to kape them tidy."
Then he led the way toward the dock
where the steamer lay, at a pace which
1 made it hard for the rest to follow him.
| The spot was reached at last; a crowd of
I vehicles blockaded the street; a troop of
; immigrants came thronging up; fine
cabin passengers were stepping into
cabs, and drivers, porters, and all manj
ner of employees were yelling and
shoutiDg in" the usual manner. Nora
would wait on board for her husband?
| he know that.
The little group made their way into
j the vessel at last, and there, amidst those
- i
who sat watching for coming inenas,
! Connor searched for the two so dear to
; him; patiently at first, eagerly, but patiently;
but by-and-bye growing anxious
and excited.
" She would niver go alone," he said.
" Shf d be lost enthirely. I bade her
wait; but I don't see her boy. I think
she's not in it."
i "Why don't you see the captain?"
asked cne, and Connor jumped at the
j suggestion. In a moment he stood bej
fore a portly, rubicund man, who nodded
to hira kindly.
"I am looking for my wife, yer
honor," said Connor, "and I can't find
j her."
"Perhaps she's gone ashore," said
j the captain.
"I bade her wait," said Concor.
; " Women don't always do as they are
KJ/1 fr/vn tnnw " said the earttain.
j "Nora would," said Connor. "But
j maybe she was left behind. Maybe she
didn't come. I somehow think she
didn't."
At the name of Nora the captain
started, In a moment he asked:
" What is your name?"
" Pat Connor," said the man.
" And your wife's was Nora ?"
" That's her name, and the boy with
her is Jamesy, your honor," said Con,
nor.
The captain looked at Connor's friends,
! they looked at the captain. Then he
said, huskily:
" Sit down, my man ; I've got something
to tell you."
j "She's left behind ?" said Connor.
"She sailed with us," said the captain,
" Where is she?" said Connor.
The captain made no answer.
"My man," he said, "we all have
! our trials. God sends them. Yes, Nora
star ted with us."
Connor said nothing. He was looking
at the captain now, white to the lips.
" It's been a sickly season," said the
captain. "We had illness on board?
the cholera. You know that ?"
; "I didn't," said Connor; "I can't
! read?they kept it from me."
1 " We didn't want to frighten lum,"
i said one man, in a half whisper.
" Yon know how long we laid at
quarantine ?"
"The ship I came in did that," said
Connor. "Did you say Nora went
ashore ? I ought to be lookin for her,
captain."
" Many died," went on the captain?
" many children. When we were half
way here your boy was taken sick"?
" Jamesy," gasped Connor.
" His mother watched him night and
day," said the captain, " and we did all
we could ; but at last he died?only one
of many. There were five buried that
day. But it broke my heart to see the
mother looking upon the water. ' It's
his father I think of,' said she ; ' he's
longing to see poor Jamesy.' "
Connor groaned.
" Keep up if you can, my man," said
the captain. " I wish any one else had
^ T Tlmf ninrlif UAfft
it IU LC11 iniiiiOl lllHU Jit xunu mguv ^ v*m
was taken ill, very suddenly. She grew
worse fast. In the morning she called
me to her. * Tell Conner I died thinking
of him,' she said; 'and tell him to
meet me.' And, my good man, God
help you. She never said anything
more?in an hour she was gone."
Connor had risen.* He stood up trying
to steady himself, looking at the
captain with his eyes as dry as two
stones. Then he turned to his friends :
"I've got my death, boys," he said,
and then dropped to the floor like a log.
They raised him and bore him away.
In an hour he was at home in the little
bed which had been made ready for
Nora, weary with her long voyage.
There, at last, he opened his eyes. Old
Mr. Bawn bent over him; he had been
summoned by the news, and the room
was full of Connor's fellow workmen.
"Better, Connor?" asked the old
man.
"A dale," said Connor. "It's aisy
uow; I'll be with her soon. And look
ye, masther, I've larnt one thing?God
is good. He would not bring Nora over
to me, but He's taking me over to her
and Jampsy?over the river?don't you
see it?and her?standing on the other
side?to welcome me?"
And with these words Connor stretch
ed out his arms. Perhaps he did see
Nora?God only knows. And so he
died.
Returning a Favor.
A tinker was traveling in a country
town; and, having traversed many miles
without finding anything to do, he
stopped, weary and hungry, at a tavern.
Here he got into conversation with a
glazier, to whom he related his troubles.
The latter sympathized with him deeply,
and, telling liim he should have a job
before long, advised him to go to his
dinner and eat heartily. The tinker took
his advice, ate his fill, and, when he returned
to the barroom, he was overjoyed
to hear that the landlord required his
services to mend a lot of pans and kettles
which had evidently 44 sprang aleak."
The tinker was at once set to
work, accomplished the task, received a
liberal sum in payment, and started on
his way rejoicing. Upon reaching the
outside of the house, he found the
glazier, who said : 44 Well, you see, I
told you the truth. I procured you a
job of work, and how do you think I accomplished
it?"
" I am sure I cannot tell," replied the
tinker.
4I will tell you,"rejoined the glazier.
44 You told me you were weary, hungry
and dinnerless. I knew the landlord
was well off, and doing a good business;
and so I watched the opportunity, and
started a leak in every utensil I could
get hold of."
The tinker, with many thanks, and a
heart full of gratitude, resumed his
journey; but had not proceeded many
yards before he reached the village
church, when a brilliant idea struck
him. The glazier had befriended him;
he wou'.d befriend the glazier. The
ohurch, he thought, could afford to bear
a slight loss in a good cause; so, taking
a position where he could not be seen,
he riddled every window in the edifice
with stones, and then, highly elated with
his exploit, he retraced his steps to notify
the glazier he would speedily have a
very important job.
44 Sir," said he, 441 am happy to inform
you that fortune has enabled me
to return the kindness I received from
you an hour since."
44 How so?" asked the glazier, pleasantly.
441 have broken every pane of glass in
the church," answered the tinker;44 and
von. of course, will be employed to put
them in again."
The glazier's jaw fell, and his face assumed
a blank expression, as he said,
in a trem dons tone : "Yon don't mean
tha% do yon ?"
"Certainly," replied the tinker;
"there's not a whole pane of glass in
the building. One good turn deserves
another, vou know."
"Yes, answered the glaziei, in despair;
"but, you scoundrel, you have
ruined me; for I keep the church windows
in repair by the year."
Moral Character of the Oyster.
In temper he is even mild to placidity,
although he is sometimes slightly ruffled,
on his edge at least. He is quiet
always, and usually very well behaviDg;
and yet he participates in nearly every
scene of debauch aad revelry. He frequents
midnight suppers and is the companion?the
bosom companion we may
say?of wild fellows of every degree.
He makes no noise, and does no quarreling,
but be is present in well nigh
every riotous company, and is found at
table with wines and liquors of every
kind, name and quality. In himself,
and so far as his personal behavior is
concerned, the oyster is perfectly respectable,
and gentlemen and gentlewomen
have him at dinner without
scruple; but there can be no doubt that
his name is suggestive of dissoluteness
and dissipation, precisely as the horse,
noble as he is, is indissolubly associated
in our minds with certain forms of
knavery and with jockey ism "in all its
branches," as the street signs say.
Dickens, we believe it was, who pointed I
out the fact that the moment that auy
man falls into the poverty which comes
of drunkenness and idleness, he begins
to eat oysters as a regular diet, and notwithstanding
the high estimation in
which the b'cf of us hold this mollusk,
hi3 name sonic-how suggests irregularity
of living, late hours, unwholesome
I h ants and potations of gin.
Fashion Notes.
Felt has had its day for hats.
In ornaments silver abounds.
Some of the feathers are tipped with a
jet. t
Link buttons are again fashionable in i:
place of sleeve studs. e
Russian belts studded with silver nails I
are a novelty. s
Velvet will be the fashionable material ^
for dress bonnets. ?
Many tourists are investing in Indian
cashmere costumes. ^
The most fashionable earrings are t
arrows of small diamonds. 1,
There are bright silk pockets intro- c
duced to wear with any toilet. f
Tha new blue violet velvet makes up
charmingly into fanoiful bodices.
Silk skiits of cardinal red are talked
about to wear under cream colored polonaises.
After foliage and flowers fancy feathers
will be the favorite trimmings on
winter bonnets.
There is no doubt but that the peculiar
shade known as " cardinal red "
will be much patronized.
Six cards for fans and chatelaine bags,
and moire bows for the same purpose,
are replacing meta hooks and chains.
There are velvets of two colafe, such
as Havana brown and chestnut brown,
separated with thin yellow lines of silk.
The new navy blue is almost blaok, it
is so dark in shade, and it is most stylish
when in combination with cardinal red.
In artificial floral trimmings, foilage is
preferred to flowers, especially dark,
quaint autumn leaves, spotted as if by
decay.
The crowns of some of the new
capotes are made entirely of feathers,
and the brim is bordered with a band
co correspond.
New bonnets have high, pointed
crowns and close fitting capote fronts ;
in fact, the brim, or front, is so near the
head that there remains only space for
a slight plaiting of lace or silk, or a
small twist.
At a recent fashionable wedding in
London the bride was dressed in ivory
colored satin, richly trimmed with point
lace. She wore a tulle veil over a
wreath of real orange blossoms and jessamine.
Her six bridesmaids were attired
in corn silk, with muslin trimmings
and wreaths of blue forget-me-nots and
white flowers. They carried bouquets
and ivory prayer books, with silver
monograms, the gift of the bridegroom.
Arabic Justice.
An idea of Arabic justice may be
gathered from the story of a trial had
recently in Algeria. On matrimony
bent, Ferhat-Ben-Amar, young and rich,
sought and obtained the hand of a girl
named Messaonda. Her parents being
- * 1 * "? a. n
dead, ner legal guaraiaus, iwu uumew, gave
their consent to the marriage, and, v
in accordance with Arabic custom, the 8
brid egroom handed over to the guardians c
of the bride a certain portion of his c
estate to bo held in trust for her. r
Scarcely had the marriage tables been *
cleared, and before the honeymoon had F
reached its full, the perfidious groom j
called upon the uncles with the complaint
that the bride failed in affection E
for him. This was tantamount to re- E
claiming the dowry, 6ince the law per- *
raits a husband to put away his wife for *
such cause and demand the restitution J
of'the money be had advanced. The E
uncles endeavored to induoe Amar to v
send his wife back f;o them for a short ^
time, that they might remonstrate with .
her upon this failure to let her young 11
affections follow her hand. She was re- 8
stored to her relatives, but had dwelt E
with them for a day or two only when *
Amar pranced back on a "red horse" a
and demanded that she be restored to his E
arms. Asserting that he had ill-treated *
her, she refused to return, and ran from a
tho house, declaring that she would E
seek a divorce from the cadi. The gal- J3
lant Arab galloped after, and, over- Jj
taking her, leaped from his saddle and E
brained her with a bowlder. Having 8
thus made himself a widower, he rode ^
home. The facts as stated were sworn t
to by eye-witnesses, and there was not a J
shadow of doubt as to the man's guilt. *
He proved an alibi to his own sstisfac- c
tion, but not to the jury's, who found *
him " guilty, but in extenuating cir- 1
cumstances. The extenuating circum- '
stances seemed to be that the victim was 4
his wife. 1
Tom Cooke, the Actor,
8
At a trial in England ill 1813, between }
certain music publishers, as to an al- }
leged piracy of an arrangement of the
song of " The Old English Gentleman,"
Cooke was subpoenaed as a witness by
one of the parties.
On his cross-examination by Sir *
James Scarlett for the opposite side, *
that learned counsel questioned him 6
thus: J
" Now, sir, you say that the two f
melodies are the same, but different;
now, what do you mean by that, sir?" *
To this Tom promptly answered: ?
"I said that the notes in the two *
copies were alike, but with different ac- J
cent, the one being in common time, the J
other in six-eighth time; and conse- f
quently the position of the accented (
i. I.'XIC L >1 ?
1IOICH WHS Uliisreub.
" Now, pray, sir, don't beat about the ?
bush, but explain to the jury, who are F
supposed to know nothing of music, the *
meaning of what you call accent." )
Cooke : "Accent in music is a cer- i
tain stress laid upon a particular note, 1
in the same manner as you would lay a J
stress upon any given word, for the pur- 1
pose of being better understood. . Thus, ?
if I were to say : 'You are an ass,' it (
rests on ass; but if I were to say : * You 1
are an ass,' it rests on you, Sir James." 1
Shouts of laughter by the whole court
followed this repartee. Silence at length
I having been obtained the judge, with j
much seeming gravity, accosted the j
counsel thus : g
" Are you satisfied, Sir James ?" f
Sir James (who had become scarlet in \
more than name), in a great huff, said : (
"The witness may go down." ]
i
The true test of civilization is not the 1
census, nor the size of cities, nor the <
crops, but the kind of men the country i
t ires out. j
f
LIFE IN WALL STREET.
k Picture from Life of n Noted Flnaucler.
Unlike most financial operators, sa} s
. New York exchange, Jay Gould loves
o keep out of sight. He never appears
n Wall street when he can avoid it,
specially of late. If he is seen there,
lis appearance is always interpreted
ignificantly. Somebody always preends
to know exactly what ho is doing
ir intends to do. The rumor runs:
' Gould is on the street; what mischief
s he up to now?" And, of course,
here are certain persons who, assuming
o understand why he is there, go around
ooking owl-like for the remainder of the
lay, and gaining thereby a reputation
or mysterious wisdom. The great
peculator is very retiring by nature.
T/? Jo n/%f in fVio lpoof orrAOTftHnnR. not
AO 10 UVV *" vaiv Q. J
iven social, although always polite and
jentle. Very domestic, he seems to
lave no private vices, and spends much
f his time at home. He nas four or
Ive children, the eldest, George, being
lis. frequent companion. His wife is
ntelligent, amiable, and said to be ineresting
; but scarcely anybody knows
ler. She cares nothing for society, and
s wholly devoted to her husband and
nmily. She dresses plainly, but richly,
.nd invariably refuses to be put down as
nanager of any of the public balls or
intertainments given during the season,
ike is said to be quite charitable,
eldom refusing when asked for donaions,
but never wanting her name menioned
or published. . Her husband
jives no parties of any kind. Occasionilly
his brokers dine with him when
hey have something to talk over ; but
ie generally dines alone with his family,
le is a very moderate eater ; drinks no
vine but half a bottle of Bordeaux at
linner; rarely attends any place of
imusement; goes to bed about eleven
j'clock and rises at six. He has an
>ffice and several clerks at work in his
louse on Fifth avenue, and a telegraphic
vire connecting with his office down
own.
He frequently drives in the park on
deasant afternoons with his wife and
ihildren, and sometimes with his boy,
>eorge. His turnouts, of which he has
evtral, are vary plain, not calculated to
dtract the least attention. His own
Iress, while it is exceedingly neat?his
inen being of the finest, and his outer
garments of the best?is entirely quiet,
tnd usually of black or dark brown
>olor. His person is well known from
epeated illustrations and caricatures in
veeklies. He is under the medium
leight; quite light; dark complexioned;
vith very dark eyes, hair, and full
J ??J MviniAAha TTl'a fa/U) lfl AT.
>earu uuu muoi^uu.
reinely calm, not unpleasant, nor winjing
either?what might be called veilid.
Its expression does not exactly reect
confidence; but no one would be
>pt to repose confidence in the mystery
hat is behind it. While the man does
lot appear selfish, there is an absence of
J1 sympathy. When he speaks, his
'oice is very low, and not devoid of
weefcness. His manners are of the
irrietest, and his general outgiving,
imitting the affectional element, is alaost
feminine. What is understood as
ho moral seems omitted in him; he imiresses
one as an intellectual force, too
ntelligent to hate and too thoughtfal to
ove. He scarcely ever smiles, and he
lever employs a superfluous word, or
ifts his voice above a common conversaional
key. He appears to be a man
rhom nothing could excite, and one of
lis brokers says you never can tell from
lis expression when he reads a telegram
whether he has made five millions or lost
en.
Jay Gould is, on the whole, the most
acomprehensible of New Yorkers. Ho
eems to be a financial genius, an em>odiment
of the money making faculty,
le has no friends so far as known, and
host of enemies, many of whom have
lever seen him; enemies who have been
osers, as they believe, through his
gency. In alf probability he consults
lis own interest alone; he has no priniple
but gain; his life is in great speeuations;
they are like opium to the con
- * ?i?
trmed opium eater; ne budbisuj uu men
ixcitement and cannot give them up.
doney has become subsidiary with him
o the sensation of making it, the plan,
he prosecution, the ingenious adaptaion
of means to ends. He is the spirit
>f operating incarnated. In his busiiess
he is, no doubt, utterly selfish; he
s the opposite of a model for any man. i
But he is not materially worse than the |
nen he is associated with. He is a diect
and natural outgrowth of the stock
txchange. His greatest crime, in the
>yes of his fellow speculators, is that he
ucceeds in doiDg to Wall street what
iVall street is perpetually trying to do to
lim.
Brine to Preserve Batter a Year.
Among the many devices for keeping
ratter in a manner that will preserve the
resh, rosy flavor of the new, with all its
iweetness, is the following from the
Dutchess Farmer, which is said to be
ratirely successful:
To three gallons of brine, strong
raough to bear an egg, add a quarter of
i pound of nice white sugar jmd one
ablespoonful of saltpeter. Boil tiie |
5rine, and when it is cold strain carefully, j
Vfake your butter into rolls, aud wrap i
iach separably in a clean white muslin
jloth, tying it hp with a striug. Pack
i large jar full, weight the butter down,
md pour over it the brine until all is
mbmerged. This will keep really good
rmtter perfectly sweet and fresh for a j
vhole year. Be careful not to put upon j
ce butter that you wish to keep for any ,
ength of time. In summer, when the j
leat will not admit of small jars, take |
arge ones, and, using the same brine, |
illow it to cover the butter to the depth j
)f at least four inches. This excludes I
be air, and answers as well as the first !
nethod suggested.
Mr. L. Rossiter, a Chicago refinert
publishes a statement as to the adulterlion
of sugar. He says that most conmmers
judge of sugar by its appearince,
rather than by its intrinsic value,
:>uying what is known as 4'coffee
;rushed," in preference to the raw West
[ndia, which has more saccharine mat;er.
In whitening sugar sulphur and
ike reagents are used, and then other
jhemicals are applied to obliterate the
races of the first. Much of the sugar is
injurious. '
ADVICE TO YOUNG DOCTORS.
An Old Physician Gives the Young Members
Some Healthy Advice.
Never betray the confidence of a patient,
said Dr. Crosby to the members
of the Bellevue College course. It may
happen that yon will be called into the courts
to testify, but I think our secrets
should be kept as secret as those of the
confessional. I should never testify
except under express order of the court,
and even then I can imagine cases where
I should prefer to pay the penalty of
contempt of court and spend a season in
jail than to betray the confidence of my
patient. Even flaws and idiosyncrasies
of character should never be exposed.
Humor is a very good thing in the sick
room. It is much better to carry a
cheerful air and excite a mild spasm of
the diaphragm in the patient than to ap
1"*"> ?n" nnrfflvfotor "Rnf whiif!
?JCAI~ ilAO OuJ ujuuvi. vuu.ua ?
humor is a good thing and, as has been
aptly said, "laughs with you," wit is an
edged instrument not to be used in the
sick-room, for wit, unlike humor,
"laughs at you." Another point of
delicacy with young medical men is the
question of frequency of visits. It is
difficult to determine the just mean between
making more frequent visits to a
patient than the family wants to pay for
and making fewer than the case really
needs. In this case adopt the golden
rule, and do unto others as you would
they should do to you." If in your own
case you should deem more visits proper,
make them, and if not, stay away. ~ Of
course, there may be cases where the
family or friends are anxious to have
you call oftener than is really necessary,
but, if it is an understood thing, and
you conscientiously inform them that
the case does not really require so much
attention, and still they persist, why
then you will be justified in going six or
ten or twelve times a day, or ev; n sleeping
a month in the house, and let them
pay you for it.
IN HOPELESS OASES.
Beware of making scarecrows of yourselves.
A medical man should refrain
from a doleful demeanor and not present
the appearance of an undertaker on
the verge of bankruptcy. To be sure
there are times wften it becomes necessary
to give the signal of danger, but
this should never be done by the doctor
to the patient. - Give the warning to
some near and dear friend. The medical
man is relied on by the patient and
for him to abandon the case as hopeless
would be apt of itself to produce a fatal
depression and relapse. Confidence is
everything, and there is often more in
the manner of giving medicine than in
the medicine itself. The incurable
cases are the most difficult and distressing
to the physician. He is conscious
that sooner or later the enemy must win
the battle, and he should conduct himself
so that when the struggle is over he
1? Viomni* omnAf.h<v1
may uo uuuaciuua ui uaiue
the path and afforded all possible conso
lation. Consultations should be promoted,
but the greatest good to tbe patient
lies in the one man power. A
young man who is intrusted with sole
charge of a case is likely to give greater
enthusiasm and more study to it than
if he is obliged to lean constantly upon
the opinion and assistance of older men.
An important matter is the frequent appeals
of a patient approaohing dissolution
for religious consolation. In those
cases I would never, whatever my own
religious convictions might be, tell a
patient that the gray substance of the
brain is the only God. Hold out some
hope in such cases.
KEEP CLEAN AND SOBEB,
Medical men should'be clean. There
are a number of first-class physicians
who present a second-hand appearance.
Soap is cheap and should be freely used.
The moral effect of a dirty doctor is
horrible. Medical men should also be
pure men. I believe there is more average
morality among our craft than exists
in any other. For one renegade physician
there are fifty renegade clergymen.
The physician whose purity is not above
suspicion would not be admitted to
practice in any family. From practicing
honor out of expediency it eventually
becomes easy to practice it for its own
sake. They should also be temperate.
T Hnn't. believe anv medical student is
ever improved by smoking tobacco or
drinking ram. Not that I would cbject
to an occasional cigar or a glass of wine
once in a while. But there are great
temptations in a city like this, and
though I am aware that medical students
are the most docile, lamblike and moral
young men in the world, yet I am afraid
they hear the strokes of the midnight
clock of tener than is necessary.
QUACKS AND OTHER THINGS.
The first professional success is the
sweetest thing to a young physician?
next to the first kiss. He is apt to feel
a desire to publish it, to get his name in
the newspapers, or to tell it at the street
corner. If any of you should ev?.r do
this, I would call you quacks, and shun
you and go on the other side of the way.
It is one of the courtesies of the profession
that one physician should attend
another gratis. Dr. Aloozo Clark on one
occasion pulled a young student through
a severe illness and refused to take a
fee. " But I'm not a regular doctor,"
said the young man; "I'm only a student,
and not entitled to the favor."
"Never mind," said Clark, " dogs don't
eat puppies." 'It is an extraordinary
fact that the greater number of medical
J-~ Tlior <-<al 1 other
Ill til lilt! U1 UiOiyiMiviWi auvj ?
physicians to attend them, younger men
perhaps, who defer to the age and experience
of their patients, and, fearing to
express their own opinion, do no treat
with the confidence with which they
would treat other cases. As to the treatment
of poor patients, there are many
cases where they have to be treated free
of charge. Do not shirk the poor, bnt
do not treat poor shirks. As to a system
of charges, remember that the laborer is
worthy of his hire, bnt do not follow the
example of a distinguished doctor of
New York city, who, when asked what
his charges were, replied: "Why, I add
up what I owe, and charge it." Expose
quacks when they come in your way. It
isn't necessary to go across the street
and drag the quack out of bed and scalp
him, but when yon can, expose his pre-1
tensions; do it calmly and rationally,
never with anger.
Matters or Geueral Interest.
A man was kilJed in Georgia for stealing
a kicking mnle. The mole was the
executioner.
Mr. Blank?" I always found that at
school the stupidest boy oarried off all
the prizes." Miss Sparkle?" Did you
get many ?"
The young lady who always wanted
her sweetheart at hand, explains it on
the ground that it was only a nigh dear
of her own.
A man wants to sell a farm in which.
" J?' InTnri.
meanueruig bucuuo ^/v&uavhw -t-?w
aDt pastures while majestic oaks and
stately maples attract the eye of the beholder."
Victor Hugo wrote to a "fraternal
banquet" of workingmen that he
"couldn't be present, bat sent them a
shake of the hand from the bottom of
his heart."
Byron wrote: " How sweet to hear
the watchdog's honest bark." From
which we infer Byron never attended a
midnight sociable in a farmer's water
melon patch.
A smart yoong milk wagon driver in
Louisville lately hit upon the bright idea
of putting vinegar into the buckets,
cups, eta, which he found in the doorways
of those who patronized other milk
firms.
An Illinois girl couldn't securo a certificate
as a school teacher because she
couldn't tell the committee why the
hind wheels of a wagon were the largest.
All the answer she had was: " 'Cause
they are."
A licensed drover at Brentford, Eng.,
who, while driving a bull along the rjad
several weeks ago, struck a cat with a
thick sfcck, was ordered to be sent to
prison, with hard labor, for a month,
without option of a fine.
Horace Greeley congratulated himself
on his success in raiting turnips at a
shilling apiece, but on amateur farmer
on the Hudson river offers his guests
milk or champagne, sadly remarking
that one costs as much as the other.
Such is agriculture.
"It was a popular notion- of the an- '
cients," said a showman, "that this 'ere
animal, as we call a leopard, can't ohange
his spots; but it's now known that he
sleeps in one spot one night and in an- .
other spot another night, and is continually
a-changing his spots." ^
The White Sulphur Springs correspondent
who wrote the following seems
to have been incited by personal feeling:
" The flirt is the painted hyena of society,
the lamb-fleece-disguised ravening
wolf of the affectional fold. Her
fangs drip with the gore of the foolishly
fond and true."
When the first newspaper was started
in Japan the editor asked a Japanese
gentleman if he wished to have the
paper sent regularly. "No, I thank
you ; I have a copy," he replied. The
gentleman of the old school had no idea
that a newspaper contained fresh matter
with every issue.
Good fanning?" Sambo, is you mas
" ' ^ -1
ter a good farmer ?" " Oil, yes^ nrsi-raw
farmer?he makes two crops in one year."
" How is that, Sambo ?" w Why, he sella
all his hay in the fall, and makes money
once ; then in the spring 1.6 sells the
hides of the cattle that die for want of
the hay, and makes money twioe."
A French lady announces her intuition
of visiting a circus. Her maid, with
deep solicitude, says: "If I were
madame I would not go. "And why
not, Josephine?" "Because, they eay
there's to be a horse there which will
stop in front of the biggest fool in the
audience, and you know he might happen
to 8top before madame."
A fancy, originating in Paris, is the
wearing of a ball dress made entirely of
flowers. The garment is really an overdress,
although it is so long as nearly to
cover the other. From beneath the edge
falls some drooping flowers, like fuchsias,
and entirely covering the upper
part, generally made of muslin, are
flowers of one species or a mixture of
all kinds.
The cowardice of men who, in adversity,
kill themselves, and leave their
families without support, is illustrated
in the case of George H. Russell, once a
prosperous broker in San Francisco. He
wrote to his wife, before committing suicide,
as follows : "I prefer death to
seeing you and our children in want for
the necessaries of lifer. If I could sapport
you and them I would like to live."
A dramatist is hard at work on a sensation
drama in three acts and five tableaux.
In the second act the rich banker
oomes down stairs at midnight to his
parlor and discovers a scoundrel picking
the lock of the safe in which is concealed
the will of his ward's grandfather, and
says: " Who are you ?" The scoundrel
stamps his foot, folds his arms across his
bosom and replies, with a sardonic
' l-Ai-? ?i_
sneer: "i am a cooi, calculating ??lain!"
It is believed this scene will
bring down the house.
Joe Butts was in a Cincinnati jail accused
of robbing a bank in another part
of Ohio. He wore a long, heavy beard,
and the sheriff, who daily expected the
arrival of one of the bank officers who
could identify the prisoner, gave a strict
order that the whiskers must not be cut
off. One morning, however, Butts' face
was found clean shaven, and the altera*
tion in his appearance was so great that
the bank officers could not recognize him
as the robber. An investigation is to
be made to find out who enabled him to
shave or be shaved.
His Own Medicine.
How many doctors would be willing
to take the medicines they prescribe ?
Or how many inventors are willing to
risk their own lives to test their own inventions?
Once upon a time a man
wont to the Duke of Wellington with a
patented article.
" What have you to offer ?" asked the
duke.
" - >?
" A bullet proof jacket, your grace.
" Pat it od."
The inventor obeyed. The duke
rung a bell. An aid-de-camp presented
himself.
" Tell the captain of the guard to
order one of his mm to lead with ball
cartridge."
The inventor disappeared forthwith,
and no money was wasted ?w that invention/