The Beaufort tribune and Port Royal commercial. [volume] (Beaufort, S.C.) 1877-1879, August 09, 1877, Image 1
Or
THE BEAUFORT TRIBUNE
AND POET EOYAL COMMERCIAL.
VOL. V. NO. 36. BEAUFORT, S. C., THURSDAY, AUGUST 9, 1877. 12.10 jer Hun. Suit Cm i Can
? - ? " t
The Country Las*.
Although I am a country lass,
A lofty mind I bear ;
I think myself as good as those
Who gay apparel wear.
My dress is made of homely gray,
Yet is my skin as soft
As those who using choice perfumes
Do scent their garments oft.
At times I keep my father's sheep,
A thing that must be done ;
A garland 01 the fairest flowers
Oft shades me from the sun.
And when I see them feeding by,
Where grass and flowers spring,
Close by a crystal fountain clear,
I sit me down and sing.
I take my part in household work,
I card, I sew, I spin,
I milk the cows at early morn,
Kind Robin's smile I win ;
I bake and brew with sister Sue,
My brother's hose I darn ;
At harvest time the sickle wield,
And winnow in the barn.
My ruddy cheeks with glow of health
Seek neither paint nor patching;
At church I have my duty learnt,
And need no constant watching.
With Robin at the Whitsuntide
I dance upon the green,
While pipe and tabor cheer the throng,
A merry set, I ween.
I envy not the ladies fine,
With skirts that sweep the ground,
Nor trained to any useful art,
They're gojd for nothing found.
In idleness their days are spent
Abroad for recreation;
We country lasses bate their pride,
And keep the country fashion.
Then, do not scorn the country lass,
Though she go plain and meanly ;
Who takes a country gy^l to wife
That goeth neat and cleanly,
Is better sped than if he wed
A lady from the city,
For there they are so idly bred,
They're only worth our pity.
________
ELINOR MARCELON'S LOVER.
" Is that you, Elinor?" The pale face j
was raised eagerly and turned toward !
the door, as though the bandaged eyes j
could see through their covering, and
then, as the newcomer came swiftly !
across the room and sat down on the low
seat beside the sofa, the disheveled head ;
settled back on the tumbled pillows with i
a sigli of relief ami satisfaction although
she had been gone from the room only a
few moments.
" Yes, it is I;" and the deft fingers
straightened out' the cushions and
smoothed back the rough hair from his
forehead as they did so many weary
times daily. " How are the poor eyes? (
? it is time to attend to them now;" and i
the same light, skillful hands adjusted
the bandage quickly, but tenderly.
"The doctor says yon are improving
every hour?it is only patience that you !
need now, for a little time?and then? |
oh, Max?I am so thankful!" and the !
cheerful voice broke down suddenly, as 1
Max Valentine's arm drew her close, and |
the bright face was hidden for a moment'
on his bosom.
" And I owe it all to you," he whispered,
holding her closer yet "No
other could have brought me through it!
us you have done, dealing !" And Elinor i
Marcelon, as she rested her tired head !
there, felt that she was more than repaid 1
for all the work and worry and unrest of
the past weeks?all the weariness aud
misery of it?now that he was so nearly j
well again.
It was a very narrow escape this of
Mhx Valentine's?a long, hard struggle
Tor life it had been; but with Elinor to
help and pray for him, he had con-1
quered. ;
Fortunate it was for him that he had j
fallen into such hands; for, although j
Paul Marcelon's household and housekeeping
was of rather a "mixed" and
Bohemian style, he was honestly fond of
his friend, and, when he saw (he illness
coming on, had taken him in and given
him the best of everything?even to the
only spare chamber, and his own sister
for a nurse.
" Don't send for nhy one." That was
Max's cry from the first. 'fThey will kill
me if they come sniveling around Promise
that you won't let any one know unless
you must;" and that promise being
made, he gave himself up to delirium ;
and fever, and Elinor Marcelon nursed j
him through it, and brought him almost;
out of the "valley of the shadow of
death," feeling, with every hour that she
passed by his sick-bed, that he grew
nearer and dearer to her.
He had made love to her in a light,
careless way eVer since he first began to
drop into Paul's 6tudio now and then ;
and she, being quite used to that style
of thing from most of Paul's numerous
acquaintances ever since her childhood,
had accepted it as a matter of oourse
/ until he was taken ill ; then it came to j
her suddenly and clearly that he was me j
one man in all this world to her, and
now she knew that she had saved him, j
and was thankful.
"I've some news for vou, Max," 6he j
said, suddenly breaking the little silence
which had fallen between them. "Ij
know you long for something of the
kind, shut up in this dreary room. We J
have a new arrival?a far-away cousin i
of outb?who has taken a fancy to study
art under Paul's guidance, and is to stay
with us all winter."
"I hate new people," Max answered
savagely. "I hope he doesn't intend to
monopolize you, Nellie. I purpose doing
that myself."
" ' He ?' " laughed Nellie. " I don't
think ' he' cherishes any such intention.
' He ' is a young lady, Max, and one of
the loveliest ones I ever saw?Alice Borden.
I am sure you will like her."
"I trust so, "'answered Max, dryly;
" but on general principles. I hate uew
people." And then the subject was
dropped.
After this, Max grew rapidly better.
But even after the bandage was taken
from his eyes, and he was able to walk
up and down the dimly-lighted room
without assistance, Elinor was in constant
requisition. Like most petted
individuals, he grew very exacting, but
Elinor was only too glad to feel that she
was a help and a comfort to bim. Once
or twice the new cousin came up to sit
with him and Elinor for a while, but she
declared the dimly-lighted room "poky" J
and the patient "cross," and he never i
took the trouble to urge her to stay.
" We r?re happier alone," he said,
when Elinor gently remonstrated with
him for his plainly evinced indifference.
" But you have not seen her vet," persisted
Elinor. She is just lovely, Max?
they all rave about her in the studio"?
but Max was loftily uninterested.
The first day that Max ventured downstairs
with his hand resting heavily%on
Elinor's shoulder, he came suddenly upon
the "new cousin" sitting in the sun
snmy, uuuuy mut: Euuuug-iuviu, mui i
Mrs. Paul's baby in lier arms. He had |
thought very little about the "new j
cousin," and this sudden meeting was a j
revelation.
He had seen many beautiful women, but
this woman, with her fair face, her great
dark eyes and her wonderful crown of
glittering golden hair, was even to him a
surprise and a wonder.
The bright sunlight fell on her bowed
head, and on the pure, sweet, almost unreal
face, and she looked up and smiled.
For a moment he gazed at her as
though spellbound; then with a sudden,
awkward consciousness of having expressed
in his look ap admiration which ho
had no right either to feel or show. He
greeted her lightly, and in a moment
was his whimsical quizzical self again;
laughing and jesting as in the old days
before the dreary sick-room was even
thought of.
That night Elinor, watching Alice as
she brushed out the glittering waves of
her hair before the little looking-glass in
their chamber, felt a new, sudden pang
of?was it ??jealousy in her heart; and
when Alice, turning suddenly, 6miled
down at her through the golden veil, sho
shrank back in the shadow, half fearing
the great, dark eyes would read her
thoughts.
" A fine fellow, that Max Valentine,"
said Alice, as though following out a
train of thought ; " odd for him to come
here to be ill. He is his uncle's favorite
nephew, and will have a mint of money
sometime. You didn't know it ? You i
are the oddest people, you and Paul,
that I ever saw. I haven't been here
two weeks yet, and I know more about
all your friends than you do. However,
it's so;" and the white elbows were
placed on the shabby bureau, the dimpled
chin resting on the pink palms, and
? ? ft\nn rroto/1 of if
(/lit; OW11W Ol llic pcncvn in\.o v. ?v > i
long and earnestly in the mirror, J
while Elinor sank into an astonishingly
sudden and deep slumber, from which
she awoke as suddenly when Alice was
at last asleep beside her.
Those next days were very dreary
ones to Elinor. Her loyal heart refused 1
to believe at first that Max could be untrue
to her even in thought; but daily
Alice's fascinations were exerted, until
at last, even Paul noticed it, and spoke '
of it in his rough way.
"The girl shall go," lie said ; "she
shall not ruin your life in this way,
Nellie. Max does not really care for
her, but she monopolizes him-; and, if
it comes to that, he is yours in honor
boundbut Elinor pleaded with him.
"I care for him, she said, "more
than for all the world?so much that my
happiness is nothing if he be not content.
Would you have your sister marry
a man who cares for another woman,
Paul ? Let him choose between us, if it
comes to that."
And so Paul was silenced; but, one
day, Max returning from a walk with
Alice, called " Nellie " in vain, and Mrs.
Paul, with the ever-present baby in her
arms, handed him a little missive directed
to him in Elinor's clear hand:
"Dear Max (the note said)?I am
going away for a time. Don't come for
me, don't write to me, until you are sure
of your own heart. Remember that you
can do me no more cruel injury than to
many me when you love another. Let
no false idea of honor influence you.
You know me thoroughly. Learn to
know her, and if you love her, God bless
you both. Think of this well for a
month, and then do as your heart tells
you. As ever, Elinor."
Slowly the days went by, dragging
wretchedly along to Elinor?slowly, all
too slowly, to Max Valentine, although
he was Alice Barden's constant companion
all the while. He missed Elinor's
bright smile, her ready, helpful hands;
he missed the long, quiet evening talks;
- - ? i i _ />
in fact?and every day maae nun sure oi
it?he missed Elinor.
At last, one morning, as Paul Marcelon
was working industriously (for a
wonder) in his studio, he was interrupted
by the advent of Max Valentine,
pale but very determined.
" What is it, old fellow ?" said Paul,
looking back over his shoulder, with a
brush uplifted; and then Max brokeout,
savagely :
"I'll be hanged if I can stand this
kind of thing any longer, Marcelon. Tell
me where Nellie is. I must go and
bring her back. She told me to do as
my heart told me, and my heart tells me
that she is the only woman in the world
whom I can love."
The uplifted brush fell to the floor,
and Paul Marcelon's hand, adorned with
divers daubs of paint, grasped Max Valentine's
heartily.
"I was sure of it !" he said, enthusi-j
astically. " I knew it would come out j
all rightand before another day had I
passed Elinor Marcelon knew that all j
distrust was at an end, and that her lover !
was hers, and here alone, in very truth, j
A Festive Turk.
A war correspondent writes: I have an
item relative to the Turkish commander
of the Danube army, Abdul Kerim. The
! old man has the most gigantic appetite
| in Europe. His dinner ordinarily consists
of an entire roast kid, twenty-live i
! or thirty boiled eggs, and, when in g?>od
form, he tops off with a goose or a j
chicken. I have this officially. When !
not occupied with digesting* a small j
j lunch of this character, the venerable j
j warrior is supposed to be looking after
' the movements of the Muscovites.
A Core for Burns.
People generally will be glad to know
that charcoal has been discoverd to be a
sure cure for bums. By laying a small
j piece of cold charcoal 011 the bum the
; pain subsides immediately. By leaving
I the charcoal on for au hour the'wound is
healed, as has been demonstrated ??u
, psveral occasion*
TRAIN WRECKERS DETECTED.
How n Faithful Engineer Went Down to 111m !
Death?* I Could have Jumped nnd Saved
.Myself, but the Trnin Would havo Gone j
Down."
The cases of Leroy Oliver, George B.
Gibson, James Long, and Allen M.
Greenstreet, the four desperadoes who
are held as the wreckers of the Texas express
upon the St. Louis and San Francisco
railroad, on the night of June 2,
were called before a grand jury at Dixon,
the county seat of Pulaski county, Missouri,
a special session of that body having
been ordered. The details of the affair
were slow in developing, owing to
the suppression of the facts up to the
time of the capture of the four men.
bank to wnere tne wrecaeu engine iaj.
emitting angry volumes of steam. Word
passed that there weae men beneath.
Willing hands set to work. The body
of the fireman was taken out, burned,
scalded, and mangled. He must have
died instantly. Next the searchers secured
the remains of Dr. Atkinson.
Then they came to poor Frank Caton,
the engineer. He was burned, scalded,
and crushed, but he was still alive. He
clung to life with a tenacity that was
wonderful, and it was full two hours be- i
fore death put an end to his sufferings.
Speaking slowly and with an effort that
was agonizing, he told those who gathered
about him how he had noticed the
obstructions, how he had tried to save
the train, and how he and his companion
had gone down to death. When he
had told his story he feebly gasped: " I
could have jumped and saved myself,
but the train would have gone down."
These were his last words.
,
i
Drowned in the Surf.
Moore Beatty, a wealthy builder of
Philadelphia, was drowned at Atlantic
City while attempting to rescue Mrs.
Matilda Phillips, of New York city, who
had gotten beyond her depth. Just be- i
fore the accident Mr. Beatty, with his |
wife and little daughter, were sitting in ;
the Surf House watching the bathers.
Suddenly Mrs. Beatty exclaimed: "I
believe that woman is drowning," pointing
toward Mi's. Phillips, who was some j
distance beyond the other bathers.
Answering: " I believe she is," and j
throwing off his coat and boots, Mr. j
Beatty plunged into the water and swam
out to her. He got hold of her and made i
1 a desperate attempt to bring her to
shore, but the drowning woman seized j
his legs and dragged him under. By I
this time a large crowd had collected on !
the beacli and boats put out to their !
assistance. The two did not sink, but
| were hauled on board one of the boats, i
At first it was thought life was extinct, 1
but when the boat reached the shore j
' both began to gasp. A physician was '
sent for, and means were takeu to resus- I
j citate them. But though they con1
tinned to gasp for nearly an hour, both !
i ;
On the night of June second, wiien
the Texas express entered the gloom of
the Ozark mountains, a terrific storm of
wind ami rain was raging. The storm
was a tempest in force. Little streams
had swollen to torrents. In the cab of
the engine, Frank Caton, the engineer,
stood with his hand upon the throttle
and peered into the tempest, keeping a
sharp lookout for any obstructions that
the storm might have thrown upon the
track. By his side was Sam Richardson,
a hardy young fellow, the fireman of the
engine. There was one other man on the
engine, a friend of Caton's, Dr. E. L. j
Atkinson, who had stepped aboard to
ride a few miles. The train was on a fill.
Forty feet below was the level of the
grouud.. The engineer observed a heap ;
of rubbish and leaves upon the track. ,
At the same instant his eye, accustomed
to dark nights and the distinguishing of ,
objects in dim light, saw the form of a
man stealing into the deeper darkness, |
away from the light of the engine's bea- (
con, far down at the base of the hill. He (
suspected foul play. With one hand he
pulled the cord, and the engine gave a ,
warning shriek. Then he seized the reverse
lever, and, with a desperate pull, '
reversed the engine and applied the air J
brake. Too late ! With his hands yet
upon the lever, he went to his death. 1
The engine reached the seeming obstruc- I
tions. A trap had been laid. Two rails
had been loosened at one end, and their !
course diverted. The intention of those
who did it was to plunge the train into4
the depths below. The engine passed
over the brow of the hill. It rolled down
the embankment to the very base and J
stopped with the wheels in the air. Tiie
three occupants of the cab were beneath j
it, crushed and mangled.
When the engine left the track and (
started upon the path made by the mis- .
placed rails, it gave a wild plunge and '
bound. The coupling between the ten- i
der and the baggage car gave way, but .
not until the heavy car turned upon its j
side. The remainder of the train came ^
to a dead stand still, safe upon the track.
There were but few passengers on '
board. The traffic is generally Light on
Saturday night. Some of them were doz- 1
ing in their seats. Others sat looking (
out into the gloom, listening to the howling
of the storm. When the warning
shriek of the engine was followed by the
"" - v J J # it. _ j! *?
sudden and violent stoppage 01 me train,
the passengers sprang to the windows to
jiscertain what was the matter. A. H.
Wilson, the conductor of the train, was
seated in a rear car. He seized the lantern,
and jumping from the platform,
started forward. He had struggled
through the mud and weeds at the side
of the track but a few feet when a pistol
shot was heard. A bullet passed through
his hat. The bullet came within au
eighth of an inch of his scalp. The sensation
stunned him partially, and he fell
to the ground. His lantern was extinguished.
Seven more shots were fired
in quick succession, and then everything
was quiet. The 6hots came from the ravine
upon the side of the fill down which
the engine had plunged. One passenger,
with his face close to a window, saw by
the flashes of the pistol five men, huddled
together in the shadows. It became
evident that the parties who had
done the firing had fled, and the passengers
came out of the cars. Walking forward,
they saw at a glance how the rails
had been tampered with. One man
picked up a new monkey-wrench, a claw
hammer, and a common laborer's pickaxe.
These had been used to tear the
rails from their strong fasteniugs.
All hands groped down the muddy
* 1_ _ J ! 1
FARM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD.
Keclpes.
Spioe Cookies.?Three cups of sugar,
one cup of butter, four eggs, four tablespoonfuls
each of cloves, cinnamon and
nutmeg, one cup of currants, sufficient
flour to make it stiff enough to roll out.
A Good Custabd. ?Scald a quart of
milk, take off the scum, and pour it hot
on the beaten eggs. Take live eggs;
throw out the yelks of two; three tablespoonfuls
of sugar, a pinch of salt, a
chip or two of lemon or orange and a
little vanilla. Set it to steaming in a
vpHsftl. and steam five or
UAV/UVr w f V/* w* ? 1 ? .
ix minutes; then set it on ice, and it
certainly is delicious.
Pickled Onioxs.?Take some small
onions, peel and throw them into a stewpan
of boiling water, set them over the
tire, and let them remain until quite
clear; then take them out quickly and
lay them between f^wo cloths to dry. Boil
some vinegar with ginger and a whole
pepper, and, when cold, pour it over the
onions in glass jars, and tie them cloeely
over.
Bbown Bread.?In a gallon crock mix
one quart Graham flour and one quart
white flour. Make a hole in the center,
put in two tablespoonfuls of molasses
and two of brown sugar, a pinch of salt
and a cup of warm water. Stir thoroughly
and add half a cup of good yeast. Set
this sponge at night; in the morning add
a little warm water, mix stiff and raise
again, mould into loaves, and, when sufficiently
light, bake two hours in a slow
oven.
Jams. ? In making jams the fruit
should be carefully cleaned and thoroughly
bruised, as mashing it before
cooking prevents it from becoming hard.
Boil fifteen or twenty minutes before J
adding the sugar, as tiie flavor 01 ine
fruit is thus better preserved (usually
allowing three-quarters of .a pound of
sugar to a pound of fruit), and then boil
half an hour longer. Jams require almost
constant stirring, and every housekeeper
should be provided with a small
paddle with handle at right angles with
the blade (similar to an apple-butter
''stirrer," only smaller), to be used in
making jams and marmalades. To tell
when any jam or marmalade is sufficiently
cooked, take out some of it on a plate
and let it cool. If no juice or moisture
gathers about it, and it looks dry and
glistening, it is doue thoroughly. Put
up in glass or small stone jars, and seal
:>r secure like jellies. Keep jellies and
jams in a cool, dark and dry place.
Farm Notes.
Asses.?Do not allow ashes of any
kind to be wasted. It will pay to haul
Leached ashes several miles, when one
HasTEs own team and a laborer at fair
wages. Goal ashea when spread around
berry bushes of any sort, or around
grape vines, will aid materially in producing
large and fair fruit.
A correspondent of the Pacific Rural
Press says: "The only effectual remedy
for wire-worm I know of is a thorough
cultivation of the soil. Those that are
troubled with them will find by examining
their soil that it is cold, and by stir
ring it tnorougiiiy it win get warmer.
By so doing they will kill the wire-worm,
its it cannot live in warm ground."
Prevention of Swarming.?A correspondent
of the Bee Keeper* Magazine,
iu relation to the swarming of bees,
says : "After I have had all the increase
I desire, when a hive shows an inclina
tion to swarm I move it to the place of
some weaker hive. In that way I make
all my colonies strong, and when I have
accomplished that object but still have
a hive that threatens to swarm I change
places with another, that may also show
signs of swarming. The change of
workers destroys the propensity of
swarming for the time being, and by
giving them plenty of box room they
will store honey, and if they are again
inclined to swarm, you may move back
again and it will have the effect."
Keeping Down the Weeds.?The
London Garden remaks: "The only
remedy for weeds is prompt destruction
in a young state. Weeds are easily
eradicated if never allowed to advauce
beyond the seed-leaf. Once let their
roots run deep and wide, and their tops
rise high, and then the weeds are mas-1
ter3 in the garden. It provokes one to
see the complacency with which some
cultivators allow weeds to establish
themselves in flower beds or borders, or
on roads and walks,and their subsequent
futile efforts to subjjigate them. Prompt
destruction will vanquish the very worst
of them. Plantains, grass, thistles and
docks, are perhaps the most difficult to
eradicate. But if by any neglect these
have gained a strong footing iu any
garden, constant beheading alone will
destroy them. No plant can live long if
never allowed to form leaves or stems,
and the shortest, surest, easiest way to
eradicate the worst weeds is by incessant
cutting off all their visible parts."
Canning Cold Berrien.
Mrs. L. C. Pennell, the inventor, lias
been successful in canning cold berries
and fruit so that they will keep the
season through, and housekeepers generally
will be glad to learn how she does
it. Taking berries, peas, beans, or corn,
she fills the jar, bottle or tumbler brimful
of the raw, fresh and perfectly sound
fruit. She then pours in clear cold
water to fill the interstices, screws on the
cover or puts in the cork, turns the vessel
upside down, and that is all. If by
accident any of the fruit show signs of
- 1 - 1- - 1 ?1 11
fermenting, it can ne cooaea in ine oiu
way. .
The Miller and the Camel.
The Arabs have a fable of n miller who
was one Jay startled by u camel's nose
thrust in the window of a room where he
was sleeping. "It is very cold outside,"
said the camel, " I ouly want to get ray
nose in." The nose was let in, then the
neck, and finally the whole body.
Presently the miller began to be extremely
inconvenienced at the ungainly
companion lie had obtained, in a room
certainly not large enough for Both.
"If you are inconvenienced you may
leave," said the camel; "as for myself,
I shall stay where lam." The moral of
the fable concerns all. When temptation
occurs we must not yield to it. We
must not allow so much as its "nose"
to come in. Everything like sin is to be
turned away from. He who yields, even
in the smallest degree, will soon lie overcome,
Fashion Notes.
Bunting is the seaside dress.
The new shade of pink is rose tremicre.
The latest notion in kid gloves is half,
fingers.
Ivory white berrgc is in favor for evening
wear.
The latest novelty fti printed cambrics i
is Indiennes.
The Serbian costume is the rival of the |
Breton.
Black lace mitts are worn with all kinds ,
of dresses.
Embroidery appears on nearly ail summer
dress toilets.
Plaided and plain hosiery is more fash-1
ionable than striped.
Lace fichus and collerettes, with cuffs
to match, grow in favor.
Grenadine is full dress for matrons,but
not for young girls.
The French twist is still the most fashionable
morning coiffure.
Black satin shoes covered with embroideries
are very fashionable.
The most fashionable lawn dresses are :
moonlight blue and sorrel green.
Handkerchiefs and neckties for morning
wear are trimmed with colored
torchon laces.
Narrow bands of black velvet ribbon
worn around the hair in Grecian style are
coming in vogue.
Navy blue percale, trimmed with white !
embroidery and Clovis lace, is the cos- !
tume of the moment.
TTkrt ooaai^a Viafn arA nf whitd
JLiiO picvuvov CVW?WV I
Panama, trimmed with white bunting i
scarfs and deep red roses.
A stylish costume is effected by trimming
colored cambric with salmon colored
torchon lace and salmon ribbon
bows.
Ivory mohair braids, embroidered in
black or in color to suit the materials,
appear on many of the most stylish summer
suits.
White bercge evening dresses are prettily
brighted up with colored ribbon !
bows, such as ruby, Mandarin, or tur- j
quoise color.
Dentellc filet is a new, durable lace, of;
the character of guipure d'art,which, to j
some extent,is taking the place of torchon '
for underwear.
Fine white torchon laces edged with |
oolor?blue, red, pink, tilleul, or black?
is made up into fichus, collars, and cuffs
of various styles.
Some of th% newest balageunee are of
white plaited muslin,embroidered on the
edge jn^color to match the- dress with
which they are worn, or edged with colored
torchon or Clovis lace.
There is a run upon green; we have j
had Holbein, sage, myrtle, willow, I
bronze, and moss green, and now we I
have Oseillc cuite (cooked sorrel), a yellowish
green shade, which combines with
singularly stylish effect with either pale
blue or pink.
The mousquetaire cuffs of lace to be
worn outside the sleeve have been herfnr
Rnmft time, and are now found
among the importations. They are six !
inches deep, and square, or else they are
closetl in gauntlet shape for the hand to
be slipped through. At present they
are only shown in the white and colored
torchon laces that are worn with summer
costumes. Accompanying these are
broad collerettes that fasten behind and
have long jabots in front.
Diamonds inJBrazil.
The operation of working for these !
precious gems is a very simple one. The
alluvia soil (the cascalhoa) is dng up
from the bed of the river and removed to
a convenient spot on the banks for working.
The process is as follows: A rancho
is erected about a hundred feet long, and
half that distance in width ; down the
middle of the area is conveyed a canal
covered with earth; on the other side of
the area a flooring of planks about sixteen
feet in length, extending the whole
length of the shed, and to which an inclined
direction is given; this flooring is
divided into troughs, into which is
thrown a portion of cascalhoa; the water
is then let in, and the earth raked until
the water becomes clear; the earthly
particles having been washed away, the
gravel is raked up to the end of the
trough; the largest stones are tlirown
out, and afterward the smaller ones; the
whole is then examined with great care
for diamonds. When a negro finds one,
he claps his hands, stands in an erect
posture, holding the diamcnd between 1
his fore-finger and thumb; it is received
by one of the overseers posted on lofty
seats, at equal distances, along the line
of the work. Ou the conclusion of the
work, the diamonds found during the
day are weighed and registered by the
overseer en chef. If a negro has a good
fortune to find a stone weighing upwards
of seventeen carats, he is immediately !
manumitted, and for smaller stones proportionate
premiums are given.
A Cossack and His Horse.
Many stories are told of the cleverness
of the Cossacks in obtaining what they
need for themselves or horses, and all tend
to show that their morality is of a different
type to that of European civilization
generally. Some of the stories may
possibly have been invented, but they
j show the general tone of feeling, and
' what is expected from these quaint,
' reckless, merry troops. Passing through
the streets of Galatz, the thin, wearyi
looking horse of a Cossack fell suddenly,
| and lay apparently lifeless on the
I ground. Its master was moved even to
! tears, and bewailed the unhappy fate
which had not only deprived him of a
i favorite, but left him horseless just at
the most interesting moment of the war.
A crowd gathered around, and in it were
men whose kind hearts would not suffer
them to leave the poor man without
some practical expression of their pity.
A subscription was made, aud the man,
taking the saddle from the lifeless animal,
went on his way with dried tears,
for lie had actually wept. As the crowd
were bending over the little horse in
pure sympathy, a whistle was heard at
the other end of the street. The horse
sprang to his feet, and with a joyful
neigh joined his master, whose trick was
i much admired, even by Hiram whosnfI
fered by ii
PROFITS OF LITERATURE.
Well-Known Authors, and What they I.ive
On?Interesting Figures.
Longfellow is independent in circumstances?probably
worth $100,000 to
$200,000 ; but the greatest part of it has
como to him through his wife, long
since deceased, who was rich in her own
right.
Emerson has not made, from his remarkable
little volumes, over $20,000.
He has gained nearly as much more by
lecturing; and yet, by excellent management,
which one might not expect
from the high idealist, and by a serene
philosophy of a practical sort, he continues
to live on his small property.
won!- ia /->ffon as an instance of I
nijauu xo viwu vivv\* . _ ?
a rich author. He is rich, but not by
authorship. All the money he has
directly earned by his pen, outside of
his journal, would not exceed, in all
probability, $25,000, notwithstanding
his estate is estimated at $500,000.
Hawthorne was poor to his dying day,
and might hav? suffered but for his
appointment to the consulship at Liverpool
by his friend, President Pierce.
Lowell is independent in circumstances?no
thanks to his fine poetry
and essays, however.
Whittier, like most thrifty New Engenders,
owns his own house, and beneath
its humble roof, it is said, he has
sometimes subsisted?he is a bachelor?
on $500 a year.
Holmes is well off bv the practice of
the medical profession, f)v marriage and
inheritance, albeit not by poems, lectures,
novels, nor "Autocrats of the
Breakfast Table." All that he has written
has not brought him $25,000.
J. G. Holland is frequently named as
"" TrrV>r\ Vino nmaoaml vpaHIi. Hl8
Oil OUUiUl TT UU UUM m??*./uvv. ^
books have sold as largely as those of
any American -writer, and, whatever may
be thought of his ability, he still has a
vast constituency. He is not at all rich
in the New York sense ; he may be worth
8200,000, but most of this he got by his
partnership in the Springfield Republican.
George William Curtis is dependent
on his salary from the Harpers ; so is
Mr. William D. Howells dependent upon
his editorship of the Atlantic.
Bret Harte, T. B. Aldrich, James Parton,
J. T. Trowbridge, B. H. Stoddard,
T. W. Higginson, mainly upon fugitive
writing.
Thoughts for Satorday Night.
Through woe we are taught to reflect,
and we gather the honey of worldly wisdom
not from flowers, but thorns.
Frowns blight young children as frostly
nights blight young plants.
The surest remedy against scandal is
to live it down.
A good man will be doing good wheresoever
he is. His trade is a compound
of charity and justice.
The vices of the rich and great are
mistaken for errors, and those of the
poor and lowly for crimes.
The current coin of life is plain sound
sense. We drive a more substantial and
thriving trade with that than aught else.
The moral courage that will face
obloquy in a good cause is a much rarer
gift than the bodily valor that will confront
death in a bad one.
Never seek to be entrusted with your
friend's secret; for no matter how faithfully
you may keep it, you may be liable |
in a thousand contingencies to tiie suspicion
of having betrayed it.
We ought never to believe evil of anyone
till we are certain of it We ought
not to say anything that is rude and displeasing
even in a joke ; and we ought
never to carry jokes too far.
It is the most beautiful truth in
morals, that we have no such thing as a
distinct or divided interest from our race.
In their welfare, is ours, and by choosing
the broadest paths to effect their happiness,
we choose the surest and the shortest
to our own.
It is a great misfortune to have a fretful
disposition. # It takes the fragrance
out of one's life, and leaves only weeds
where a cheerful dispoaitition would
cause flowers to bloom. The habit of
fretting is one that grows rapidly unless
it be sternly repressed; and the best way
to overcome it is to try always to look on
the cheerful side of things.
1 Turkish Town in Asia Minor.
The streets of Erzeoum are compared
by a correspondent to a net of wriggling
eels. No squares, no good-looking
houses, offer anywhere a means of setting
oneself right; everywhere nothing
but houses, rising* slightly from the
ground, with grass roofs, on which may
frequently be seen muffied-up women,
children at play and lambs frisking
about. Children and lambs sometimes
fall through the chimney into the house,
in which men, horses, oxen, cows and
sheep live together. In bad weather the
chimneys are covered with flat stones,
and then the smoke fills the room or
stable, whichever one chooses to call it.
A small part of this room, devoid of light
or air, in which a fire made of dung and
finely-cut straw burns, is separated by a
railing. Here paterfamilias sits on a
rug, smoking his chibougue or nargileh,
! and receives guests. The preparation of
l food gives little trouble; a penny a day
j suffices to satisfy the palate and stomach, i
i even in wealthv families. A little bread !
and cheese, perhaps a cuqnmber, nnder
favorable circumstances a pilaff, on feast
days a piece of mutton, which the Armenian
women roast particularly wellthat
is the whole bill of fare.
Large Wheat Yield* '
! The Dayton (Ohio) Democrat says :
On the second of July a farmer named
Long, who resides several miles south
of this city, began to harvest his wheat,
a twenty-acre field of nice grain. Being
in want of cash, he shelled some of the
grain and took a sample of it to a miller
and asked what he would give him for
his crop per bushel. He struck a bargain
at SI.65 per bushel. On inquiring
how much his crop would yield, Mr.
Long said it ought to be fully 400
bushels. But he was most agreeably
astonished when the threshing was completed,
and the grain measured in the
field, and it turned out to be almost 800
bushels instead of 400, yielding almost
forty bushels to the acre. Mr. Long informs
us that there ure a number of fields
of wheat in his region which are quite
as heaVy, or heavier than hi?t
She Came to He.
She came to me,
And her coming seemed to be
Like the coming of the daw?
O'er a dark and silent sea ;
Like a swell of music, born
In perfect harmony.
She came to me,
And her ooming seemed to be
Like the blooming of the rose.
Fraught with sweets alone for me:
Like the falling of the snows,
In spotless parity.
She came to me,
iVnd could I her slave bnt be?
TLe deep love light in her eyes,
On her lips the laoghter free,
Bade my slumbering soul arise,
* s ~s t I.J
Ana sing in uieiuuj.
She came to me?
Mine, my sweet through life to be,
Nor death the bonds can sever?
My beauteous mystery,
My soul's sole queen, my erer
Peerless divinity.
Items of Interest.
When are eyes not eyes ? When the
wind makes them water.
Woe to the inexperienced little fish
who goes ont to enjoy himself on his own
hook.
Thinness is sn unpardonable fault in
Turkish women, ana is considered as
good a ground for divorce as snoring or
grinding the teeth in sleep.
"The worm will turn." Quite so;
but the Italian organ grinders are not
aware of it, or assuredly they would impress
him into their service.
There were 25,527 dozens of eggs,
" * ? 11 Ar OKA LT
31,488 pounds 01 ouwer, ao,ouv ultub
and 10,220 boxes of berries consumed in
a Chicago hotel in one season.
There are at least eight smart young
ladies in Macon, Ga. They graduated in
gowns of their own make, and then put
into type their "compositions" for publication.
If the czar just wishes to perfectly
annhilate the Turks, he should arm his
soldiers with firearms "suppoeed to W
empty." They do more damage now-adays
than any other weapon.
" Would you believe," said a thriftless
young man to a friend, " that I had a
fortune in my grasp the other evening?"
" How so ?" asked the friend. " I shook
hands with a girl whose fingers were
covered with diamonds."
A Miss Buchanan, once rallying a
brave soldier on his courage, said: " Now
Captain , do you really fn??n to tell
me you can walk up to the cannon's
mouth without fear ?" "Yes," was the
prompt reply, "or a Buchanan's, either."
And he did it.
"Suppose we pass a law," said, a se1
vere father to his daughters, "that no
girl eighteen years old who can't cook a
good meal shall get manled till she
learns how to do it ?" " Why, then, we'd
all get married at seventeen," responded
the girls in a sweet chorus.
How Mr. and Mrs. Fly Take a Wash.
The toilet of the fly is as carefully attended
to as that of the most frivolous
of human insects. With a contempt for
the looking-glass?an article whicn he
reserves for the most ignoble uses?he
brushes himself up and wabbles his little
round head, cliuclu full of vanity,
wherever he happens to be, Some-'
times, after i long day of dissipation and
flirting, with his six small legs and little
round belly all soiled with syrup and
butter and cream, he passes out of the
diifing-room and wings his way to the
clean white cord along which the morn*
?'* " ?n iVtia
lug giones mimu^ uuu m vu&o av?uv^
spot, heedless of the crafty spider that
is practicing gymnastics a few feet above
him, he proceeds to purify and sweeten
himself for the refreshing repose and
soft dreams of the balmy snmmer night,
so necessary to one who is expected to
be early at breakfast. It is a wonderful
toilet. Besting himself on his front and
middle legs he throws his hind legs
rapidly over his body, binding down Ins
frail wings for an instant with the pressure,
then raking them over with a backward
motion, which he repeats until
they are bright and clear. Then he
pushes the two legs along his body
under his wings, giving that queer
structure a thorough currying, every
now and then throwing the legs out ana
rubbing them together to remove what
he has collected from his corporeal surface.
Next he goes to work upon his
van. Restiug on his hind legs and mid- * ^
die logs, he raises his two forelegs and
begins a vigorous scraping of his head
and shoulders, using his proboscis every
little while to push the accumulation
from his limbs. At times he is so energetic
that it seems as if he were trying
to pull his head off, but no fly ever committed
suicide. Some of his motions
very much resemble those of pussy at
her toilet. It is plain, even to the naked
eye, that he does his work thoroughly,
for when he has finished he looks like a
new fly, so clean and neat has he made
himseif within a few minutes. The
I white cord is defiled, but floppy is himself
again, and he bids the morningglories
a very good evening.
Origin of 6eniit?.
Columbus was the son of a weaver,
and a weaver himself. Claude Lorraine
was brought up a pastry cook. Moliere,
the great French comic writer, was the
son of a tapestry maker. Cervantes
served as a common soldier. Homer was
- 11
a beggar. Hesiod was the son 01 a smaa
farmer; Demosthenes of a cutler. Terence,
the Latin comic writer, was a slave.
Oliver Cromwell was the son of a brewer.
Howard, the philanthropist, was an
j apprentice to a grocer; Benjamin Franklin,
the son of a tallow chandler: Dr.
Bishop, of Worcester, son of a linen
draper. De Foe, the great En0lish political
writer, was the son of a butcher.
Whitefleld was the son of an innkeeper
at Gloucester; Cardinal Wolsey the son
of a butcher. Ferguson was a shepherd.
Virgil was the son of a porter; Shakespeare,
of a wool dealer; Horace, of a
shopkeeper; Lucian, of a stationer. Hogarth
was an apprentice to an engraver;
Dean Tucker, of a small farmer, and
came to Oxford on foot Bishop Prideaux
worked in the kitchen at Exeter College.
Edmund Halley was the son of a soap
! boiler.
/