Aiken courier-journal. (Aiken, S.C.) 1877-1880, December 27, 1877, Image 1
8. C., THURSDAY, DECEMBER 27, 1877.
$2.00 per Annum, in
“Artist little faint,” I said. “Here, ! upon a tree, listening to no bird-song
P> '
Mi
nt
the biscuits. Stop away a bit.”
I ran back, and made him take some
refreshments; and, thus revived, ho rose
and thanked me.
“ What are you going to do?” I said,
starting.
“I’m going back to town, sir,” he
said quietly, but with his lower lip
trembling. “ I am not tit to undertake
the task. I thank you, but it is too
late. I am not well.”
I looked at him as a business man,
nud in that brief glance, as in a revela
tion, I saw the struggles of a poor,
proud man of genius, who could not
battle with the world. I saw the man
who had sold, bit by bit, everything lie
owned in his struggle for daily bread;
and as I looked at him I felt ashamed
that I should be so rich, and fat, and
well.
“Mr. Grantley,” I said, taking his
hand, “ I am a rough man, and spoiled
by bullying people, and having my
own way. i beg you pardon for what I
have said and am going to say. You
came down here, sir, to paint my little
girl’s portrait, and you are going to
paint it before you go back to town; and
when you do go you are to have fifty
guineas in your pocket. Hush ! not a
word, sir. My old friend Eden told
me that you were a gentleman and a
man of honor. Tom E len is never de
ceived. Now, sir, please come into the
dining-room and have some lunch. Not
a word, please. If good food won’t
bring you round, you shall have the
doctor ; for, as the police say,” I con
tinued, laughing, “‘you’remy prison
er’—but on parole. ”
He tried to speak, but could not, and
turned away.
“ All right,” I said, “ ail rightand
I patted him on the shoulder, and walk
ed away to the window for a few minutes,
before I turned back to find him more
composed.
x’luit afternoon we all three wei^t out
day.
insisted
nd then
pro
as a
*y
and I uv.
now, but with a far-off longing look in
her eyes, that swept away the last sclflsh
thought from my heart.
I did not let her see me, but went
straight up to Elden’s, learned what I
wanted, and a short time after I was
in a handsome studio in St. John’s Wood,
staring at the finished picture of my
child—painted, of course, from memory
—framed, against the wall.
As I stood there I heard the door
open, and turning stood face to face with
Grantley.
Wc looked into each other’s eyes for a
few moments without speaking, and then
in a trembling, broken voice I said:
“ Grantley, I’ve come as a beggar now.
My poor darling—God forgive me ! I’ve
broken her heart!”
It was my turn to sit down and cry
like a child, while my dear boy tried to
comfort me—telling me, too, with pride
how he hail worked and become famous,
and in a few more months had meant
to come down and ask my consent.
But there, I’m mixing it up. Of
course he told me that as we were rush
ing along, having just had time to catch
the express ; and on reaching the station
there was n© conveyance, and we had to
walk.
The scoundrel would not wait, but ran
on without me, and when I got there,
panting and hot, 1 found my darling’s
heart was mended with all of that be
longing to the good man from whose
arms she ran to hide her rosy blushes
on my breast.
I’m not the selfish old fellow that I
was about Cobweb, for here in the old
place, where they’ve let me stay with
them, I pass my time with those two
flossy-haired little tyrants, Cobweb the
Second and the Spider, as we call little
Frank. As for Cobweb the Second,
aged two, she said to me this morning,
with her tiny arms round my neck, and
her soft clnrub-cheek against mine:
“ Oh, gan’pa, dear, I do yove oo !” as I
love her w.th all my selfish heart.
\
. r,\
ittjlie \wur
fair-haired girl of eight, who found it so
hard to believe that her mother had been
taken away never to return, only to live
irvoiir memories.
And then I thought of my other sor
row—the future—and pictured with an
agony I cannot describe the day when I
should have to resign my claim to an
other, and be left alone a desolate,
broken old man.
I am natilrally a very common, hard,
and business-like old man, and terribly
selfish. Cobweb had woven herself so
round my heart, that in my peevish,
irritable way, I was never happy when
home from the city without she was
waiting on me.
A fortnight later and wo were settled
down; and really, with all my London
notions, I began to find the calm and re
pose of the country delicious. Cobweb
was delighted, and constantly dragging
mo somewhere or another into the
grounds of the pretty’old place, where
she arranged garden seats in the snug
gest, shadiest sjmts for my especial be
hoof.
There was a wilderness of wood ad
joining the garden, which the former
possessor had left in a state of nature,
saving that he had the footpaths and j
tracks widened in their old winding !
ways, carefully turfed, and dotted with |
chair here and there.
One day I found Cobweb leaning on a
dead bough which crossed an opening in
the wood, where all seemed of a delicate
-twilight green. She was listening in
tently to the song of a bird overhead, i
and as I stopped short gazing at the
picture before me, I said to myself with
a sigh—
“All that’s bright must fade! My I
darling I wish I had your likeness as
you stand. Time flies,” I muttered,
“ and the winter comes at last, with bare
trees to the woods—gray hairs and
wrinkles to the old.”
A day or two later I was in the city,
where I always went twice a week—for
I could not give up business, it was part
of my life—when an old friend dropped
in,'and in the course of conversation he
said—
“By the way. Burrows, why don’t
you have your portrait painted ?”
“ Bah ! stuff! What for ?” I said.
“ Well,” said my old friend, laughing,
“ I don’t know, only that it would give
a poor artist I know a job; and, poor
feUowfLe wants it badly enough.”
“ Bah ! I’m handsome enough with
out being painted,” I said gruffly.
Then as a thought Airshed through my
mind—for T saw again the picture in the
wood with Cobweb leaning on the branch
—“ Stop a minute. Can he paint well ?”
“Gloriously.”
“ And is terribly hard up?”
“ Horribly, poor fellow.”
“How’s that?”
“ Hon’t know. He’s poor and proud,
and the world has dealt very hardly with
him. It isn’t so smooth with every one,
Jack, as it is with us.”
“True, T©m, old fellow.” I said.
h
fen
ling
country
'accomplished
'every object he
5hder how he learned
found time to paint as
handsome young fellow. But I remem-
bered Tom Elden’s words—“ He is a
gentleman and a man of honor’”—and,
casting away my suspicious thoughts,
I entered into the subject at once.
“ I’d half forgotten it,” I said. “She’ll
make a good picture, eh ?”
“Admirable, sir. That position struck
me at once as I entered.”
“I’ll show yon a better one than
that, my boy,” I chuckled. “ But I’m
a business man ; what’s your figure—the
price, eh ?”
He hesitated, and his hand trembled
as he said :
“ Would—fifteen guineas be too
much ?”
“ Fifteen I” 1 said.
“ I should take great pains with it—it
will be a long task,” he said, eagerly;
and there was trouble in the wrinkles
of his forehead. “ But if you think it
too much—”
“ I think it is an absurd price, sir,”
I said, testily, for Eldeu had said he was
very poor. “ Why, Mr. Eldeu gave
four hundred for a bit of a scrap of
canvas—”
“ By a very clever artist, sir,” he said,
with a grave smile.
“Look here,” I said, “Mr.—Mr.—
Grantley. You make a good picture of it
and I’ll give you titty guineas.”
He flushed, and looked pained.
“ Less than half would pay me well,
sir,” he said.
“Tut, tut! stuff, man! Eldeu told
me you were very poor and hard up.
You always will be if yon are not more
of a man of business.”
“ Sir !” he exclaimed, rising and look
ing at me angrily, “ I came here expect
ing the treatment—”
He stopped short, saua into a chair,
covered his face with his hands and sob
bed like a child.
“ My dear sir—I—really—I—I didn’t
mean—” I stammered, perspiring at
every pore, for the position was most
painful.
“No, no,” he said, hastily. “I beg
your pardon. But— but,” he continued,
striving manfully to master his emotion,
* I h ave been very ill, sir, and I am
weak. I have been unfortunate—almost
starving at times. I have not broken
bread since yesterday morning— I could
not without selling my colors. I—I am
much obliged—forgive me—let mo go
back to town. Oh,my Gcal ! has it come
to this?”
He sank back, half fainting, but
started as I roared out: “Go away!”
for Cobweb was coming into the room.
“ Thank yon,” he said, taking my
hand as he saw what Iliad done. “It
was kind of you.”
“My dear fellow,” I said, “this is
terrible;” and I mopped my face.
“ There, sit still—back directly.
I ran out to find Cobweb in the hall.
“ Oh, you dear, good father!” she
cried, with tears in her eyes. “ What
a kind surprise! But is anything
wrong ?”
pic-
I say it was a happy time for the first
j three weeks, and then there were
! clouds.
Cobweb was changed. 1 knew it but
, too well. I could see it day by day.
1 Grantly was growing distant, too, and
; strange, and my suspicions grew hour
; by hour, till I was only kept from break-
1 ing out by the recollection of Tom
j Elden’s words—“ He is a gentleman and
a man of honor,”
“Tom Eldeu never was wrong,” I
j said one morning, as I sat alone, “ and
: for a man like that, after my kindness,
; to take advantage of his position to win
1 that girl’s love from mo, would be the
• act of the greatest scouu—”
“ May I come in Mr. Burrows ?” said
j the voice of the man of whom I was
j thinking.
•‘Yes, come in,” I said; and there we
: stood looking in one another’s eyes,
j “He’s come to speak to me,” I said,
: and my heart grew vei'y cold, but I
: concealed my feelings till he spoke, and
| then I was astounded.
“Mr. Burrows,”he said, “I’ve come
to say good-bye.”
, “Good-bye,” I said.
“Yes, sir, good bye, I have wakened
from a dream of happiness to a sense of
misery of which I cannot speak. Let
me be brief, sir, and tell you that 1 shall
never forget your kindness.”
“But you haven’t finished the
j ture.”
“ No, sir, and never shall, he said,
bitterly. “ Mr. Burrows, I cannot stay.
I—that is—I need not be ashamed to own
it, I love your child with all my heart.”
“ I knew it,” I said, bitterly.
“And you think I have imposed on
; your kindness. No, sir, I have not,
; for I have never shown by word or
j look ”
*• No, you scoundrel,” 1 said to myself,
“but she knows it all the same.”
“And, sir, such a dream as mine could
never be fulfilled—it is impossible.”
“ Yes,” I said, in a cold, hard voice,
“ it is impossible.”
“ God bless you, sir ! good-bye.”
“ You will not say good-bye to her?”
I said, harshly.
He shook his head, and as I stood
there, hard, selfish and jealous of him,
I saw him go down the path, and
I breathed more freely, for he was gone.
Gone, but there was a shadow on my
home. Cobweb said not a word, and ex
pressed no surprise, never even referring
to the picture, but went about the house
slowly, drooping day after day, month
after month, till the summer came round
again, and I knew that in my jealous sel
fishness I was breaking her young heart.
She never complained, and was as lov
ing as ever ; but my little Cobweb was
broken, and the tears spangled it like
the dew whenever it was alone.
It was as nearly as could be a year af
ter, that I, feeling ten years older, went
to seek her one afternoon, and found her
as I expected in the little wood, standing
dreamy and in her old position leaning
The Squire’s Umbrella.
“ Leu’ me yer umbrella a minit!”
Such was the exclamation of Jones as
he rushed jui>. the office of Squire Lick-
shingle yesterday
“Certainly, certainly!” said the
squire, laying down his newspaper and
taking a fresh chew of fine-cut, “glad
to accommodate you,” and he opened a
drawer in his desk and began rummag
ing through his legal forms and blanks.
Jones darted into the comer, seized
the green gingham relic, and was pre-
paring to fly with it.
‘ ‘ Stop, stop, stop 1” said the squire,
raising his hand majestically ; “not too
young man. Wait till I have made
' outlhene^Uy^ftpers.”
Jones dropped the*'ffiil , rellu. On Ins i
corn, of course. After puiapuig lui j
lame foot up and down, and tying a hard
knot in his countenance, and undoing it i
again, he echoed:
‘ ‘The necessary papers !”
“Yes,” said the squire sternly, “ the
necessary papers,” and he continued his |
search among the blanks.
As Jones read the paper, his knees
knocked together. It was a mortgage
on his house and lot as security that he j
would return the umbrella in good order |
within fifteen minutes. He faltered :
“ Wh-why, squire, I only want to bor- !
row your umbrella to run across the |
street with. I’ll fetch it back in two i
seconds. ”
The squire shoved his spectacles up :
over his bald spot until they formed two ;
sky-lights in his intellectual roof, and 1
looking Jones full in the face, said :
“You only want to run across the j
street. You’ll return it in two sec
onds. Young man, that’s what they all
say. I have lived a long time. I have
accumulated a fortune. Why ? For the I
simple reason that I have not spent my
substance in buying umbrellas. That
umbrella which you hold in your hand
is certainly not of uncommon beauty,
nor is it of groat value. It is simply a
gingham umbrella. A green one, at
that. But it answers the purpose for
which, etc. I have had it since I was a
boy. Because no man, neither the son
of man, has ever taken it beyond the
range of my vision without signing over
his estate that he would return it in
good condition. It may not seem neigh
borly, but it’s business. Here is the i
mortgage ; there is the umbrella; with- |
out beats the rain of heaven. You have
your choice,” and the old man resumed
his newspaper.
Jones thought of his wife and babies
and the pleasant home that was all his
own. Then he looked at the rain that
was pounding at the doors and windows,
as if to get in out of the wet. A glance ,
at his new overcoat, and Jones was do- i
cided.
“I’ll risk it,” he said, and, stepping j
to the desk with measured tread and
slow, he clapped his name to the mort
gage, and was off with the umbrella.—
Oil City Derrick.
Cattle Plains of Colorado.
A correspondent of the Baltimore
'American writes : Running all night
through an agricultural district, we ap
proach towards morning those great
plains stretching along the valley of the
Arkansas river, formerly thought to be
utterly worthless, but to-day feeding on
their nourishing grasses numberless
herds of the finest cattle in the country.
In every direction trails cx-oss and re
cross each other, some having been
made by the thousands of buffalo who
formerly crowded the valley, and oth
ers by the cattle which come to drink of
the waters of the Arkansas. From
Dodge City to Pueblo the cattle are
frequently seen, some herds numbering
fifty or a hundred, while others moixnt
up into the thousands. They are never
herded, as we understand the term, but
twice or three times a week the “ cow
boys,” as the herders delight to call
themselves, circle the range of their em
ployer, this necessitating sometimes a
ride of twenty miles, and see that the
“ cows ” are not straying too far, or are
not being molested in any way. Once
every fall the “ round up ” occurs, when
the calves are branded, the herd count
ed, stray brands sorted out, and then all
Hre turned out again. This cattle bus
iness is growing to enormous propor
tions, and offers a splendid field for
those whose health does not admit of
close confinement, being much less
arduous and more remunerative than
farming. At Lake Station we stop for
breakfast. This is the wildest spot on
the road, the hills in the immediate
neighborhood abounding in deer and
antelope, while not unfreqnently small
herds of buffalo cross the track within
sight of the hoxxse. Our host served his
guests good slices of buffalo Inxmp for
breakfast, his assertions to this effect
being simply attested by two reeking
hides and shaggy heads that were lying
close at hand. A great many tourists
sto} here during the season to enjoy the
hunt, the landlord being quite a Nim-
rod, and owning all the necessary
“outfit”—dogs, guns and horses. The
vegetation is almost entirely sage bushes,
mesquite and spear grass, the two lat
ter being the most fattening that are
known for cattle, and possessing the ad
vantage over other grasses that during
the entire winter, though apparently
dead, they are full of sustenance.
As You Like It.
There was one man on the Woodward
avenue car the other rainy morning who
felt as if the weather couldn’t be abused
enough.
“Don’t you hate such weather as
this ?” he asked of a portly acquaintance
opposite.
“No, sir,” was the decided response;
“ I don’t bother about the weather. If
it’s fair, aiVvgJxt; if it’s foul, all ught.”
“ But you can’t like SXidix a mdfiASgf
as this ?”
“It’s just as good for me as any other
sort o’ morning,” was the calm reply.
“And you like to see rain and mud
and slush, do yoxx ?”
“ Yes; I am perfectly satisfied.”
The grumbler was out of patience,
but he secured revenge sooner than he
hoped for. In getting off the car the
fat man slipped and sprawled at full
length in the mud, to the intense delight
of the other, who rushed to the platform
and shouted:
“ Don’t say a word—it’s one of your
kind of mornings ! If it was one of mine
you’d have fallen on a bed a£ nice, clean,
soft, white, beautiful snow ! Stand up,
till I look at you !”
The fat man stood up. He was mud
from boots to chin. He looked at him
self and then at the car, and feebly said:
“ I kin lick you and all the weather in
the coxxntry with one hand tied behind
—Detroit Free Prcxx.
A Useful Delusion.
In the month of May, 1814, it wan
unexpectedly discovered that in a remote
but populous part of the island of Java
a road had been constructed leading to
the top of the mountain Sunbeng, one
of the highest in the island. An
inquiry being set on foot, it was dis
covered that the delusion which gave
rise to the work had its origin in the
province of Banyxxmas, in the territory
of the Susunan ; that the infection
spread to the territories of the sultan,
whence it extended to that of the Euro
pean power. On examination, a road
was found constructed, twenty-two feet
broad, and from fifty to sixty miles in
extent, wonderfully smooth, and well
made. One point which appears to have
been considered necessary was, that the
road shoxxld not cross rivers ; and it
winded in a thoixsand ways, that this
principle should not be infringed.
Another point as peremptorily insisted
upon was, that the straight course of
the road should not be interrupted by
any regard to private right; and, in
consequence, trees and houses were
overturned to make way for it. The
population of whole districts, occasion
ally to the amount of five and six
thousand laborers, were employed on
the road ; and among a people disin
clined to active exertion, the laborious
work was nearly completed in two
months. Such was the effect of the
temporary enthxxsiasm with which they
were inspired. It appeared, in the
sequel, that a bare report had set the
whole work in motion. An old woman
had dreamed, or pretended to have
dreamed, that a divine personage was
about to descend from heaven on the
mountain Sunbeng. Piety suggested
the propriety of constructing a road to
facilitate his descent; and divine ven
geance, it was rumox-ed, would pixrsxxe
the sacrilegious person who refused to
join in the meritorious labor. These
reports quickly wrought on the fears
and ignorance of the people, and they
heartily joined in the enterprise. The
old woman distributed slips of palm
leaves to the laborers, with magic letters
written upon them, which were charms
to secure them agaixxst wounds and sick
ness. When this strange affair was dis
covered by the native authorities, orders
were given to desist from the work, and
the people returned without murmur to
their wonted occupations. It seldom,
however, happens in Java, that these
wide-spread delusions terminate so hap
pily as in this instance.
Ages of United States Senators.
which can be had al
. ones,
; cents per paper.
A Washington correspondent gives! Gale, the English longdistance pedes-
thc ages of the United States Senators ; jias obtained such complete mas-
in the order in which they were born, aa tery over his physical powera that he
follows: Hamlin, 180 9; Morrill, 181Q> flle©ps occasionally while walking.
Armstrong and Christiancy, 1812 ; Thxxr- Medical evidence has been taken on this
man and Kirkwood, 1813 ; Anthony, point, and the fact is beyond a doubt.
1815 ; Dawes, Eaton Howe and K«rnan, The A nti-Horse-Thief Association has
1816; Saulsbury and Saunders, 181, ; 3G1 lodgeB and 8)000 memberB in Mis-
Harris, Johnston and Barnum 1818 ; sonrij Iowa and IlliuoiB> It doe8 no t
McDonald, 1819 ; ^ lee-Presiden xee - enoonra g e lynching,although that course
er, 1820; Sharon and Withers, *! is permitted in places where the officers
Peck and Dennis, 1822 ; Davis (\\ . a.), Q £ £j ie j aw Cftn not be relied on to prose-
Hill and Grover, 1823 ; Matthews, Mor- j cu £ e thieves.
gan, Oglesby, Rollins, Whyte and Burn
side, 1824 ; Lamar, Maxey, Hereford,
Booth and Chaffee, 1825 ; McMillan,
Randolph, Ransom, Cameron (Wis.),
1826 ; Windom, Ferry, 1827 ; Edmunds,
Bayard and Yoorhees, 1828 ; Conkling,
Coke aild Allison, 1829 ; Blaine, Jones
(Ncv.), Merrimon, Paddock, Patterson,
Teller and Kellogg, 1830 ; Wadleigh,
1831; Gordon, Garland, Jones (Fla.),
1832 ; Ingalls, McPherson, Mitchell and
Cameron (Pa.), 183-3 ; Cockerell, 1834 ;
Spencer, 1836 ; Plumb, 1837 ; Conover,
1840 ; Prince, 1841 ; Dorsey, 1842.
The ages of Wallace, Hoar and Butler
are not given.
The deceitfulness of appearances is
nowhere better illustrated than by a
comparison of the ages with the looks of
Senators. Edmunds looks to be a hun
dred years old—the oldest appearing man
in the Senate—yet forty-two, or more |
than half, of his associates are older |
than he. Yoorhees, who is the same
age; Ferry, who is one year older;;
Booth, Hereford, and Chaffee, who are
three years older, all look young enough
to be Edmunds’ sons. Morrill, who is
nearly twenty years older than Edmunds,
looks twenty years younger as he sits
beside him.
ON A RECEST SAD EVENT.
“I am dying, Darwin, dying !”
Said old Pongo at the last.
•‘ Yon are ill, eh, my gomlla V”
Uttered Darwin, half aghast.
‘‘Yes, I’m ill, eh, your gorilla,
I am dying—yes—I think,’'
Groaned old Pongo, then departed
Like a good old missing link.
Sweden do-xs an enormous business in
lucifer matches. The largest establish-
! ment is at Jonkoping. It was foxxnded
in 1845, and in 1872 employed 250 men,
1 849 women, 105 boys and 141 girls,
j About foxxr-fifths of the production,
which steadily increases, are exported.
The chemicals used mostly come from
England.
A little boy of Des Moines, Iowa, who
writes to his “fren Jimmy” that he is
! going to run away from school and be an
editor, thus closes his letter: “ Tel yer
sister Katy I don’t hav nothin moar to do
with that Jinks gurl, an I am troo to her.
I wont get prowd and forgit her if I do
be an edytur, nor yon neether Jimmy,
if yore folks is pore and onery. Yores
Truley, Johnny.”
A little five-year old could not quit©
understand why the stars did uoi
shine one night when the rain was pour
ing down in torrents. She stood at Hie
eron
ried.
Of the Senators, Anthony, Wheeler, .
Sharon, Burnside, Chaffee, Ferry, Cam- 1 window P°ndermg on the subject w th
(Pa.) and McDonald are unmar- 118 much 8™^ as . 0ab J eo whou 10
I looked at the swxngmg lamp in the
— cathedral of Pisa, and with equal suc-
Tlie Rights of the Finder. cess, for all at once her countenance
A curious case as to the lights of the i lighted up, and she said : ‘ Mother, I
finder of lost property, whose owner is : know why the stars don ts line. God
unknown, is reported from Rhode Is-j l ias pulled them all up sons tohllhe
land. The plaintiff bought an old safe 1 wa l er come through the holes.
me :
The First Ulster.
Donizetti, the composer, was xeally the
first inventor of the ulster. One day, at
Paris, he sent for his tailor to measure
him for an overcoat. The tailor found
him at the piano, surrendering himself
to the rapture of composition. Never
theless, he was persuaded to quit the
beloved instrument, and deliver himself
up to the man of tape aud chalk. The
tailor made the first measurements, then,
stooping, began to take the length of the
garment.
“ To the knee, sir ?” he said, timidly.
“ Lower, lower,” said the composer, in
a dreamy voice.
The tailor brought the measure half
way down the leg, and paused iuquir-
iugly.
“ Lower, lower.”
The tailor reached the composer’s
ankles.
“ Lower, lower.”
“ But, sir, you won’t be able to
walk.”
“ Walk ? Walk ? Who wants to walk ?
Why, sir (with an ecstatic lifting of the
arms), I never walk—I soar.”
An Extraordinary Monstrosity.
A paper published in Mexico contains
an account of an extraordinary phe
nomenon in human natxxre. The mother
of this living curiosity is named Antonia
Garcia, residing in Rosario, State of
Smaloa. Her husband is Lorenzo Rod
riquez, a M atiYe_of Chapuderos, District
of Concordia, in the samff 6tAe>-. Abtiai-
nine yeax-s ago Antonia gave birth to
twins, boys, who still live. Two years
afterwards she gave birth to three chil
dren, all of whom had reached a natural
state. About a year ago she gave birth
to another, which promises to develop
into a monstrosity. This boy child was
born at Copula, aud as soon as the phe
nomenon was known to exist the parents
had good grounds to believe that it
would be stolen, so they moved to
Rosario, The child, according to the
stoi’y of its progenitors, was born with
out other defect than having an indenta
tion on its skull in the shape of a cross.
But in a little while the head commenced
to grow enormously, and at the end of
one year was from twelve to fourteen
inches in diameter. The indentation, in
another sense, may be said to resemble
a hand-grenade, in the form of a cross,
conuneucing at the forehead aud running
back to the nuca or nape of the neck.
The other part of the cx-oss extends from
ear to ear. The indentations are from
two to three inches in width and slightly
covered with hair. In the night-time,
by pxxtting a light across the head, the
brains and other material can be plainly
seen, as if a lighthouse were shining
tipou them. The eyelids of this creature,
instead of being above the eye, are
below, aud almost encircle it, growing
upward. The forehead has almost dis
appeared on account of the deformity of
the head. The whole body is extremely
rickety, and the skin appears to stick to
the dry bones. The monstrosity weighs
a little over ten pounds, is healthy, and
promises to live many years, and is
beloved by its parents. Dr. Rio has
offered to make a scientific study of the
phenomenon, and the results of his
investigation will be given to the public.
aud offered to sell it to the defendant.
The defendant woxxld not buy it, but
agreed to take it and sell it if he coxxld,
using it himselt in the meantime. While
it was thus in his possession he found a
roll of bank bills inside the lining. No
one knew to whom they belonged. The
defendent tlxerefore concluded to keep
them.' The plaintiff, upon learning the
discovex-y of the money,
return of the safe jn
According to the correspondence of the
Washington Capital the wife of a New
York banker appeared the other evening
at a party as Capital. The dress was
covered on the skirt, so as to make it
appear one piece, with one hundred and
five-hundred dollar bills. The waist
and sleeves were $1,000 bonds sewed in,
and her fingers and ears blazed with
dexnaadnd. *ixre 1 diamonds. The tiara was said to have
it was when ' been worth $80,000, and the total value
as
Wifely Obedience.
The late Chief Juct’ce Chase’s mother
once bore her part in a little comedy
which was almost Shakespeai'ian. With
her husband she was visiting two of his
brothers who were also married. The
three gentlemen, sitting and talking to
gether, made some playful wagers on
the subject of the temper of their wives,
and agreed to test them. So, walking
into the room where the three ladies
were sitting by the fireside making caps,
wlxich at that time were very fashion
able, the trial began. The first brother,
after some slighting remarks concerning
caps in general and his wife’s handiwork
in particular, commanded her to throw
it into the fire. Naturally the indignant
lady paid small attention to the order.
The next brother’s attempt met with
similar success. But no sooner did the
Mysterious Disappearance.
A case of mystexnous disappearance
comes from the southern seas. The
account is given bya Chilian newapaper:
About 150 miles from the Straits of
Magellen, the Danish ship Lutterfield,
J. O. Lxxgineex-s master, saw, during the
night, a rock orislai'd apparently about
one hundred feet high. He lay to till
daylight, not finding any rock or island
laid down in the char's. At 5:40 a. m.
wtxat in the night appeared a large rock
or island, had diminished to one-half of
its former dimensic n 8. Captain Lugi-
neers, with the mate and four hands
went on shox-e. The island had the
figure of a cone with an extension of 100
to 150 square yares ; the ground was so
hot that the men could not remain on it,
but returned immediately into the boat.
No smoke was seen, but the sea around
chief justice’s father command ! ;jp wifej was in a state of ebulition. At 8 a. m.
taSTsland h*xd entirely
to toss her
went into
mo
i-capjnto ibfijfb o*”;. . Jje ca^^pf thesameday
1 the flan;. I
Lutterfield sailed
delivered. The defqAdant returned it,
but without the banly bills; whereupon
the plaintiff’ sued for their value as
money found. The , snpr“me court held
that the finder uao. entitled to retain the
property as againsft the party who put
the safe into hisi hands; and the* au
thorities generally maintain the
right of the
ilH
owner.
of the notes and diamonds on her person^
was $260,000. Two pages carried her
train, and watched lest the jewels and
greenbacks should fall to the floor.
At a fire in ihe convent at Limoges,
France, on Nov. -19, 1838* it was sud
denly discovered that one of the children
of the girls’ school there hail Jot been-
r, in this class of cases, rescued. She was in a distant room,and
persons except the real l doxxbts were expressed of the ability to
I save her. A young lady said : “I vill
1 i try,” and rushed between the flames on
An Intci'esting Experiment. each side of the entrance. She was re-
has generally been accepted as a ; 1 f t ’ but buaiiy .^red with
! the child in her arms, king Louis Philippe
j sent her a gold medal, and a young
., . . ... ,. j captain in the army, who witnessed her
an impermeable varnish, death would If ... m, . • ■ „
\ , . i i act, married her. The captain is now
ensue in a very short time ; aud the ; ’ ., L t
evidence upon which the belief is based
It has generally been accepted as a
scientific fact that if an animal such as
man, is almost completely coated with
is stated to bo some story about a boy
who, the better to represent an angel in
a religions ceremony, was completely
covered with gold leaf. A German
scientist has exploded the notion by an
experiment upon two healthy men, who
allowed their limbs to be covered with
impermeable plasters, and the remainder
of their bodies with several coats of
flexible collodiou. At the end of a week
no lleffects were experienced, and the
president of the French republic, and
the ladv is Mme. MacMahon.
Undiscovered Mines.
In almost every mining town aud camp
of the “ Golden State,” says the Vir
ginia City (Nev.) Enterprise, the old
settlers tell of the places where streams,
gulches and ravines were immensely rich
placer gold up to a certain point,
in
when they suddenly ceased to pay.
Somewhere in the neighborhood, doubt-
pl'y-" 'logical results were/«7, except the j Iegg Ues the channel whence c«no the
demonstration of the fact that the boy j go]( | found beIoW) but uo man has ever
was not killed by the simple stoppage of j be6n able to hit upon 't—it is one of the
the functions of the skin. It is re- , minM thftt have uever be eu found,
markable, however, that animals treated
in a similar manner to the men speedily
die, unless the coating is removed.
great
IMoiigliing the Bed of the Ocean.
During the past summer we wit
nessed deep-sea ploughing in the harbor
of Belfast, Maine. The bottom of the
bay is covered with a tenacious, clayey
deposit, into which the steam shovel
penetrates with difficulty ; and to loosen
it a huge Michigan plough was set at
work under the water, drawn by steam
power on the shore, using a wire rope to
form connections. The water at high
tide was about twenty feet deep when
the plough was working. The man that
held it was encased in the diver’s armor,
and supplied with air by a flexible tube
connecting with an air-pump on board
of a vessel floating above. He came up
at our request, and after removing his
air-tight helmet and conversing a few
moments, was again put in connection
with the pump, and disappearing under
water, went on with the ploughing.
This to us was a novel proceeding, and
so far as we can learn, it was the first
experiment of the kind ever made.—
Boston Journal of Chemistry.
An American Girl and a French Count'
A correspondent writing from London
says that she has just made a discovery.
A young, handsome American girl mar
ried a French count, with nothing but
his title, aud that probably fraudulent.
After getting her money in his posses
sion, he ran away with her maid, leaving
her with only her jewels. Nothing
j daunted, she went to work and started a
laundry. She leased an old manor
1 house with two or three acres of ground,
and with the aid of a few old friends she
began her business. She has now eighty
; women employed, and is making money
| rapidly. Every department of the house
is complete, aud she does not now do any-
j thingbnt keep her books. It is “stylish”
now to be a patron of Madame S.’s
j laundry, aud she will soon enlarge her
; house. The moral of the whole matter
is, if you design marrying a French
count serve an apprenticeship to the
\ family laundress.
The temperance folk of Yarmouth, N,
8., a few days ago, attended a sale at the
custom-house -ought up all the liquor
aud emptied it jl toe sewers,
Ancient Dentistry.
The practice of dentistry can hardly
bo included in the modem arts ; for as
early ns 590 B. C. gold was used for
filling teeth, and gold wire was employed
to hold artificial teeth in position, and
! does not seem then to have been a new
art. A fragment of the tenth of the
: Roman tables, 450 B. C., has reference
to the burial of any gold with the dead
except that around the teeth. Herodo
tus declares the Egyptians had a knowl
edge of the diseases of the teeth, aud
their treatment 2,000 years B. O. In
Martial, Oasselius is mentioned as either
filling or extracting teeth ; but he spec
ified that he would not polish false teeth
with tooth powder. Lucian mentions an
old maid that had but four teeth, and
i they were fastened in with gold. These
i facts cover a period of six hundred
’ years.
mines that have uever
i Sometimes en a flat or in a sag on the
side of a hill or mountain, the
| miner has unexpectedly fc
quantities of bright q_uartz gold, or
j fragments of quartz rich in gold. In
S vain he searches for the lode from
| which came the gold and the quartz ; it
i remains one of the mines that have never
! been found.
In places not only fragments but also
great blocks aud bowlders of quartz
filled with gold are found, and for a
time diligent search is made for the
place whence it came ; but one aftor *m-
other the prospectors become discour
aged, and finally the source of the gold
is set down among the mines that have
never been found.
We might furnish a list of not a few
such places as are spoken of above, but
shall leave a particular account of them
to be given by the man who shall, one
of these daya, write the history of the
mines that have never been found.
Such a history would make quite a
thick pamphlet, would include many in
teresting and romantic stories ami wouhl
prove an incentive to prospecting and
mining in many now almost deserted
camps, provided some pains were taken
to get at the facts in all cases.
In California there is, doubtless, to
day more gold in mines that have never
been found than remains in all those that
are known and worked.
The Transmission of Consumption.
Recent experiments have demonstrated
that when an animal with tuberculated
lungs (consumption) is yoked to a
healthy animal, and the two arc housed
aud fed together, the latter before long
exhibits symptoms of tuberculosis.
Krebs asserts that tubercle virus is
present in the milk of cows, even when
slightly affected, and he has produced
tubercle in auimals by giving them
from those which were diseased)
accidentally induced the disease in act
by feeding it with the milk of a tn'
oulous cow,
x.
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