The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, June 15, 1880, Image 1
I' 37 , Vyff
TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO, S. C., JUNE 1-6p 1880.
UGHTS AND BRADEB.
The gloomiest day hat'i gloams of11 Abi,
The darkest wave bath bright foam near it;
And twinkles thtough the cloudiest night
Some solitary star to cheer it.
The gloomiest soul Is not all glooM,
The sa Idest hour is not aU saduenss;
And sweetly o'er the darkest doom
There shines some lingering beams of sad
ness..
Despair is never quite deipair,
Nor life nor death the future , loses;
And round the shadowy brow cf care
Will hope and fanoy twine thor roses.
Two Loyal Hearts.
In a quiet street off one of the (uiet
squares there is a tall, gloomy house, with
narrow, dusty windows, and a wassive
double door, that still bears a brass plato
with the words "Gourlay Btothers" en
graved thereon.
The lower part of the house was used as
an office, but the blinds were rarely drawn
up, the door seldom swung back to the en
getic push of:9customers, the long passage
echoed no hurried footsteps, and Eli Hag
gart, the-clerk, was, to all appearance, the
idlest man in London, till one came to know
his inas ers.
The Gourlay Brothers were never any
busier than their faithful old servant
never hurried, flurried, or worried; never
late and never early. Every morning at
ten o'clock they entered their office to.
gether, read their letters, glanced at the
paper, loft instructions for possible callers,
and then went to the city. They always
took the same route; at eleven they might
be seen passing along the sunny sble of
Cannon street ; at. half-past one they en
tered the same restaurant, and sat down for
htncheou. Wet or dry, shade or shine,
smunner or winter, every working-day for
thirty years they had gone through the
same routine, always excepting the month
of September, when they took their annual
holiday.
They were elderly men-John tall, thin,
ielancholy-looking, with light gray eyes,
scanty gray hair and whiskers and a gen
eral expression of drabness pervading his
whole face and faultlessly neat attire.
Roger was shorter, rounder, more cheerful
and generally warmer In color. His per
vading hue was brown, keen reddish eyes
that must have been merry once, crisp
auburn hair that time had not yet quito
transmiuted to sliver, a clean-shaved, ruddy
face and brown hands full of dents and
dimples. John was the elder ; still he
looked up to Roger with grave respect, con
silted him on every subject, and never,
either in our out of business, took any step
without his advice and approval. And
Roger was no less delerential. Without
any profession of affection or display of
feeling, the Gourley Brothers dwelt together
in closest friendship and love. Their life
was a long harmony, and during all the
years of their partnership no shadow had
fallen between them, and their public life
was as harmonious at their private inter
course. In business they were successful
every speculation they made prospered
everything they touched turned to gold ;
and as their whole lives were spent in get.
ting, not spending, they were believed, and
with reason, to be immensely wealthy
' Cold, hard, stern, enterprising,'' men
ca'led them, with an acuteness of vision
and a steadiness of purpose, only to be ac
quired by long and close application to
business. Reserved in manner, simple in
their tastes, economical in their habits, the
(hourlay Brothers wvere the last men in the
worldl to be suspectedl of sentiment, their
lives the least likely to contain even the
germs of romance. Aiid yet they had not
been always mere business machines; the
so)le aim and end of their existence had not
always been money. In early years they
had brighter dreams, nobler ambitions.
At school John had (lhstinguished himi.
self, and his brikf university carner gave
promise of a brillhant future. Roger had
b,een a bright, ardent boy, with a taste for
music that was almost a passion, and a tab
(lnt little short o1 genius. With his deep)
earnestness, intense steadliness of purpose,
and clear, vigorous intellect, John could
scarcely have failed to make a distinguished
lawyer. Ro'ger was a born artist, with a
restless, lofty ambition. Life seemedl very
bright for the brothers ; there wvas nothing
to prevent, and everything to assist, each
in followIng his inclination. But In the
very dlawnl of their career thair father died,
and they were suddenly rediuced from afflu.
ence to actual poverty. Nothing remained
from the wreck of a magnificent fortune but
the bitter experience that always acconm
panics such reverses. Fine friends failed
them, flatterers looked coldly on their dis
tress, ttIose who hind most freoly partaken
of their lavish hospitality passed b)y on the
sthmer side, Not a friend remained In their
adversity but one, and ehec hiad indeed tihe
wIll, but not the p)ower, to 1he11 them.
Th'ie ioys left the college and turnedl their
thoughits to business. It was hmopeless to
attempt to follow uip their professions with
ani inivalid miother and( idolized only sister
depending on themi for support. Jolhn
se lured a situation as clerk in a city ware
house. .Roger accep)tedi a desk in the office
of Bernard Russell, an 0old friend of his
father's. They moved to cheap lodgings,
and for several years plodded on waarily,
lihe only gieami of sunshine in their altered
home6 being the occasional visits of 'Alice
Russell to' their sister. Maudo Gourlay
and Alice had been selroolmates and friends;
they usually spent their vacations together
andi Alice felt the misifortumie that had fal
hen on the family as if it had overtaken her
own. But she could do nothing except
pay them flying visits, send trifling gif'ts of a,
fruit and flowers, and write pretty sympa- t(
thetle notes to Mande. t
A few years of hardship and poverty told u
on Mrs. Gourlay'q always feeble frame, 1
still for her daughter's sake she clung to o1
life with a strange tenacity; but when n
Maude's lover, who had gone to Australia oi
to make his fortune, returned, not wealthy,
but sulflclently so to claim his bride in her t<
altered circumstances. Mrs. Gourlay r<
seemed to have no other object to live for. f(
Maude's marriago was hastened, and the at
very day after the ceremony, the poor, t
weary, broken hearted mother died. George e
Leslie took his wife back with him to Syd- j
ney, and John and Roger Gourlay were C
literally alone in the world.
As if in bitter mockery of their loss, and it
loneliness, Injiediately after their mothel's t
death the brothers inherited a small for
tune. " 1yt it was too late for John to go C(
back to his studies, too late for Rtoger to o1
return to his piano. They had fallen lIto
the groove of business, and John at least a
was seized with a feverish eagerness to turn a
his amall fortune luto a larger one aut be- s(
come wealthy. So they went into business t
on their own account as Gourlay Brothers, u
with the firm resolution of retrieving the R
position their father had lost, and a very s1
few years saw them established in Whittier a
street, and fairly on the high road to for.
tune. 'hen one quiet summer evening, as
they sat over their dessert, John opened
his heart to his brother and told him of Ids i
hopes, dreams and ambitions of his future. a
" You will be surprised, and I trust a
pleased, to hear, Roger, that I love Alice ai
Russell," he said, laying his hand on his ti
brot her's arn, "' I can hardly remeiber the w
time when she was not dearer to me than
all the world beside. The uItterest part of lJ
our misfortune to me was that it separated it
me from her ; the only thing that has sug- am
tained me' through our long struggle was
the hope of some day winning her; nothing4 j
else can ever compensate me for the ruin a
of all my hopes and glorious ambitions. I al
once dreamed of being famous, Roger; for
her sake put that behind me, and grubbed re
for gold like a miser. We, Gtourliy
Brothers, are on the high road to for- it
tune; I may aspire to *the hand of Alice c<
now! I
"Surely, John," and the younger at
brother's voice was husky, and his hand w
shook as lie took up his glass.; "I drink to ti:
your success."
"Thank, brother. I should have told
you all this before, I should have confided h
in you. but I feared troubling you on my n
acount, you would have seen a thousand
shadows across my path, you would have de
been more unhappy than I was myself. I
And now I want you to promise that it a'
shall inke no difference between us. We h
shall be Gourlay Brothers still." p
Id
Roger stretched his hand aoross the table, o
and John grasped it heartily. I
"Gourlay Brothers to the end of the
chapter, old fellow, and may you be as
happy as you deserve. God bless you b
John." R
John's face became a sliade or two paler A
with-emotion, and lie walked up aid (own
the room a few minutes ; then lie stood be
hind his brother's chair. P
"Roger, y6u will think me very weak,
very nervous, but I dare not speak to Alice c~
myself. I could not endutre a refusal from
her. I hiave never even given her the imost b
dlistant hint of my feelings. I have not the I
slightest reason to suppose that she regardis
me as othier than at mere acquaintance, at
most as Maudle's brother. Roger, we haveh
always been friends as wvell ais brothers
stand by mc In this ; you are less shy and
miore accustoma'd to women ;aee Alice for
me, ask her to be my wifc."
it!'John, you're miad ! You (1o not mean
"1 (10; it is my only chance. Plead for
my happiness, brother, as I 'would plead
foir yours. I am a man of few words, h
but I teeh deeply. A refuisal from her lips R
would kill me ; I cuhi hiear it from you." g
''As you will, John1); I'll do miy best." b
andtt Roger leaned his head on lisa hand and
shmadiod his face from the lhght; "'I'll call on r<
Alice to-mnorrowv."
Th'le next day was the ionigest of John el
Glourlay's life-a bright, warm, happy day, TI
that madie pleople even in the city look glad ia
and checerful. IIe went about lis business hi
as usual, ate his luncheon, and walked home rc
leisurely. Rogemr was standlig at the win- li
dowv watching for him, and lie kept, lis back ti
to him wvhen lie entered the room. -9
"Well,'' Johni said, gently ; '"well, ~
Rlogeri, have ycou seen her ?" d
"4Yes I've seen her," andi Roger faced 0
around suddenly. ''Jelhn, old1 fellow, it's
no use."
''Brother I" and lhe lifted his hand ias if
to wardl off a b,lowv.
'"It's no use," Roger wvent "n in a hard
voice. "She (lees not love you ; she loves t<
somne one else. Be a man, John, and hiear og
it, for there's no haope.''
One low, stifled groan, and then .John i
Gourlay wrung his brother's hmandt amid
walked steadlily out of the room. Wht lie a
suffer'ed in the hours that followed no one sl
ever knew, and1 when lie appearefl at the
(dinnier table lhe was calm anid self-possesse8d, j
but somethmng had either come into his face I
or gone out of it that altered him. But of E
the two, Roger looked the most unhappy. h
'l'e bilow had really fallen most most heav. J
Ily on hIm.
"Jack, old fellow, we're Gourlay Bro.
titer's now to.thte end of the chapter," lie
.saidl, huskily. "I know you'll never mar
ry, and nelither will I," and somehow John
felt that Roger meant what he said
, Twenty five years passed by, and a quar
ter of a century of changes and chan-es,
id still the 0ourlay Brothers held the even
inor of their way. They were rich beyond
keir wishes or desires, and not altogether
ahappy in their solitary friendship. Alice
ussell seemed to have drifted completely
it of their lives; her name was never
ientioned, and whether she was married
dead they did not know.
One morning about the middle of Sep
-mber they were walking along the King's
)ad at Brighton, whither they had gone
)r their annual holiday. Roger entered a
top to purchase something, and John
ood outside looking dreamily at the pass
sby. Suddenly he -,-dvanced a step as a
dy in an Invalid chair was wheeled by.
haneing to look up, she met his glance
Ith a smile of recognition, "Mr. Gourlay,
surely is, it. must be you. I am so glad
see you !"
"And I to meet you," John said, with a
)urteous bow. 11 have not the pleasure
knowinr-"
"My name---i am Alice 'Russell still,"
ke said frankly. At that moment- Roger
)peared. For an Instant the *blood for
iok his rudy face, while a hot crimson
lash rose to Alice's pale cheek as she tried
> stammer out some words ot greeting.
oger was no less confused, and the expres
on of both faces was a revelation to John
ourlay. lie felt as if the world had sud
3ily drifted away from hiu and he was
ft solitary In some unknown, infinate
)ace. But there was'nothing of that in
is voice as lie asked Alice for her address,
id permission to call upon her in the
ternoon. Then taking his brother by the
ni ie led himt away, and they continued
ieir wnl without exchanging a single
ord abont the strange encounter.
in the afternoon John called at Miss
ussell's hotel, and in a few moments lie
>un111d himself seated beside her In a pleas
it sitting room, overlo:king the sea.
"Alice,'' lie said, plunging into the sRb
-ct at once, "do you remember a conver.
tion you had with my brother a long time
t;o ?''
"Yes, I remember, Mr. Gourlay," she
plied sadly,
"He1o imade a request for ie theii which
was not in your power to grant ; I am
me to make a siilar one for himl now.
oger loves you, Alice. He has loved you
I these long, weary years, though you
Ill at least believe I did not know it
lei. "
"Poor Roger I" Alice said, softly.
"You care about him I You will make
it happy. even at this late hour ? Tell
ic, Alice, that you love my brother I "
" Yes, Mr. Gourlay, I do. Why should I
)ny it? I have loved him always, though
did not know that lie cared about me,
id if the little life that is left me can make
m happier, I will devote it to him gladly,
roudly-poor Roger I You see I am too
d for pretenses, Mr. Gourlay, and I fear
am dying ; therefore, I tell you all."
"Dying, Alice? No, no! yoli will live
tany years yet, I hope, to make my dea r
.other happy-brave, loyal, great-hearted
oger. Let me send him to you now, and
lice, for my old and long affection's sake
ake him happy. He deserves it, and
iat. is the only way I can ever help to re
ly the devotion of his life.''
"II love hini, " Alice replied, simny ; "I
mnnot ( any more." -
In their lodgings John Gourlay found his
other pacing restlessly uip and down.
"Roger, I've found out your secret and
3r's," he said, laying both hands on his.
coulders ; "'loyal, faithfuid friend, go to
3r; she loves you, she Is waiting for you."
"Poor Alice ! how she must have suf
redi ?"
"hlow we all hav'e suffered ! lbut it's
arly over now, Roger-the grief, pain,
gret. It's clear and bright. Roger, dear
lenid, can you lorgive me ?"
"Forgive youu, John ? Say rathier can
u forgive me ?"
'"True to the last," John mnurmiured, as
wrung his brother's hiand. "'Now
oger, go to hor'; she is waitIng for youi.
lie loves you-loves you,' Roger ! U >odl
r'e, and miay you both bie happy !"
Late that evening, when Roger Gour-lay
turned home, full of deep, quiet gladness.
s found his b)rother sitting in an easy
lair near the wvinidow, ap)parenitly aslheep.
lie futll nioon shone down on his Pale
ace, and( shiowedl a smile on his lips ; his
indsI wer-e clasped on an open boo0k that
Wstedl on his knee. The attit,ude was life
ko, but at the very first glance Roger felt
lit his brother was dlead-. The doctors
11id he had died of disease of the heart.
erhaps they were right. , More. people
ie of that malady than the world knows
Freinetay.
As Monsieur IIenri de Chiarville, a gential
asistant, at the Maison D)oree, San FrancIs
>, was saunitering up Market street near
,e Palhace the oilher miorning, on his way
where his short gingham jacket hangs
a a peg behind the (door, lie spied a
i-ace of female kids1 with hair-banged fore.
cnds and black stockings, in charge of a
amsel, the roacaic haue of whose cheeks,
to quiet, gray of whoso skirts, the dheleouls
'lhiess of whose cap and alpron-.In
iort, the comphleteness of whose Parisian
get-upl'' lbrought I4mn back to the Blouhe
urdls, the Champs Elysee, the Jardin (les
'lantes, amid all the rest of themi. D)ollng
Is hat, with hisa politest bow, as was lis
ont in his home of his boyhood, ho saluted
[ademoisello thusaly: "Boil jour, m'mselle.
e suis enchanto (10 vous voir ce matin."
[ademolselle looked at himn a minute, anid
men in thme choicest Parisian, repiedt:
F"wat do yez take me furr, anyhow? 1Do
ez think I'm a Choiinay ?"
-T'here are 796,000 paupers in l-ng..
--Boston was incorporated as a city
ai 1822.
The Ronanoo of Hotel Keeping.
"Having staid too long In the bath at
Long Branch recently, I lost the train to
the horse-race, and Col. Presbury, of the
%I est End Hotel, a gallant old beau, of flue
worldly style, offered to take me out. He
was about to give away $1,000, as It
proved, to George Lorillard, and had only
time to sue that stake run kor and the fol
lowing two miles and a.quarter. As we
went along the road I said: 'You were the
first big hotel man I ever saw, and I have
been afraid of you for ab6ut twenty years.
How did you start?' said tl1 straight, mil
Itary-like old nin. '1 came fron Balti
more. My mother was a. Howard. I was
cashier of the Bank of Maryland, and' also
Af the Bank of Louisville.; I had put by
mine money, and one! day Air. Billings
came to me and said, 'Colonel, there Is a
big hotel to be orceted in Philadelphia,
called the Girard House. If you will let
ine have some money to furnish it, I think
L can get it.' I was banking then in St.
Louis. I went on with M1liungs to see the
liotel, and as it cost a large sum to furnish
It, $V,000, I was compelled to be a part.
ner. Weo leased the hotel. Billings made
1100,000, which I paid to hin. lie wasn't
equal to so much luck, and is dead. My
inside steward was named Darling. I got
Iim from the Tremont House, Boston, and
paid $2,500 a year. lie was so efficient
with tie that lie got the new Battle
House at Mobile, uiade money and was
unabled to take the Fifth Avenue Hotel,
New York. There he became the wealth.
lest American hotel iuan, and is worth $3,
D00,000. If I had begun busines with as
good a inan as my present partner, Ifil
:lredth, I would have been as rich as Dar
l4ng.'
" 'How cane you to go to Washington
D'ity during the war?'
" 'I had to give up the Girard IIouse af
er running it four years, on account of the
lIoggishlnes of those who owned it. I asked
for a reduction of rent on the ground that
the Continental Ilotel, a much liner struel
ire, wiis going up right opposite me. They
iaid that was a reason for raising my rent.'
'Very well,' said 1, '1 will sell out the fur
Uiture and close the Girard House for a
rear, and you will never make money out
>t it again. They never have. I went to
3altimore and the war broke oul, and Lthe
irst thing I knew Simon Cameron, Secre
ary of War, telegraphed ie to come to
Washington. I went down there and he
)pened the conversation:
''resbury, I want you to taie Wil
ard's Hotel. It will be the Ulion head
:uarters. I want a man In control there
vhom I know P 'Gen. Cameron,' 1 ro
Aied, '1'n -hardly your man. While I
,hink our people are foolish to talk about
caving the 'Union, ny%ympathics are with
lie State of Maryland whatever she does.'
'0, pahaw I' lie said, 'You goand (ake that
otel. Willard is scared, ajd you can get
t cheap.' I called on thie Aillards, They
ffered ine the hotel for $100,000, furniture
Ind lease. had the pioffer written out
md signed. I rented it without looking at
t, seeing there were six hundred guests.
When I went next Monday to take the
lotel, Willard said, 'Presbury., we don't
want to give this up. What will you take
:o give the prope:ty up ? We'll give y3u
150,000 for your bargain.' Sald 1, '0en
lemon, I will take $100,000.' I got the
20tol and miade $1o5,00 the first year. I
heu sold the lease to my partners for $140,.
100, which they paid in full, except $20,
)00. In the West End Hotel here I have
nvested with Mr. Hildreth $250,000, and
1pent $100,000 on the property, and we get
M10,000 a year out of it."
A Mysterious ,ta,ber.
Considerable excitement has been aroused
ovithin tie last few days at btrasburg by
the extraordInary proceedings of a myster
ious stranger, who makes his appearance
regularly at nightfall In one or the other of
hei less frequented thoroughfares, armed
with a sharp, double-edged polnard, andl,
1s soon as lie p)receives an ''unprotected
[oemale," saunters up to her In a leisurely
way and strikes her on the right breast with
is weapon), Inflicting a slight wound( of
from half to threcquarters of an Inch deep.
Since thme 18th uilt., lie hias succeed: d in
italbing no fewer than fifteen women and
girls In this manner, upon each occasion
taking t) flight as soon as he hind made his
coup, and before lis panic stricken victims
had sufficiently recovered from their terror
to raise an alarm. The ImperIal p)olice
smthorities have made search for this
cecentric miisdlemeanant--describedl by
those who have felt the point of lisa dagger
is young. slight in build, and well dressed
In all thme hotels, Iun, andl lodging houses
of the veneralhe cathedral city, but as yet
to no purpose. TIhecy have placarded the
town ith ollcial warnings addressed to
heads of families, urging thoni not to
p)ermlit their wives and daughters to traverse
t he streets alone after dark, and( exhorting
the miale population of Strasburg to assist
the police in discovering and arresting this
mnale-factor. Thme lacfards In question were
pubilishied early one Sunday evening.
Three hours later two young ulrls were
stabbed, both in the r y J breast, while
returnig home from vespers through
mtrcets by no means voh(l of pedertrians at
that time the resp)ective assaults wecre coin
mit ted. A large reward ls now ofrered by
the Government for the seizure of the
dexterous bravo, whoe hias rendlered the
gloaming so terrible to 8trasburg's fair
laughiters.
WY hat WaN In Efier.
It was nearly a year ago wvhen L,eadville
was first showing what was in her. There
were several newly madle bonanza kings
about Denver then, and among them was a
mian who had1( prob~ably never hiad $20) ini
his p)ocket at one time p)revious~ to his strike.
To hiiii the posses.sioni of a watch was the
natuiral evIence of a competence, andi as
lie mad(e miore than a competence, he felt
that the fact should be indicated by th'
p)urchmase of several watches. These he(
had1( deposIted In Grand Central hotel ramfe.
One night he caume Into the oflice ver~
munch the worse for liquor, lurched to thm(
lhar and hiIe-ooughmed out to the clerk,
"GOimme a watch."
A timepIece was palssed to lis unastead)
hands, but endeavering to thrust it into hu
trousers pocket lie left it slip and fall upot0
the floor. Without casting a glance at thc
fallen watch he lurched againist thme counte:
again, reached out lis shakIng hand, nius
terod all his faculties to thme task of speak
lag and then bhuited out I",
"Glmmo 'nuther l''
Can the Indifference of afiluence go be
yond thin9
00oeornionr Oyeionee.
Every oue shot.ld know what a cyclone
is, but the general ideas of the subject are
rather vague. Take a small butter-pot,
and set it (own on your largest map of the
world at about 20 degrees North Latitude,
anywhere in the Atlantic between two
continents, say cast of the West Indies.
Then, with a piece of whalebone twice as
long as from the butter-pot to the North
Pole, bent Into a parabola, with one end at
the Pole, the other at the butterpot, ma I
out thus the cyclone. The apex of the
bent whalebone will be somewhere in the
Western United States. Imagine your
butter-pot to be revolving In its own centre
In the direction on the hands of a watch,
at the rate of a hundred miles an hour. Its
northwestern edge will be the dangerous
storm-rim, blowing a hurricane, lashing the
seas, and precipitating the rain ; the other
edges"will be' br cezy, but n't so stormy,
;A they contain less moist air. The centre
will be the low barometer and calm area,
because here the air has less weight and is
flowing upward. Now move your butter.
pot slowly along the parabo!a, still suppos.
ing it to be turning. By the time you
reach the centre of the United States ex.
change the pot for a saucer, with the same
supposed coalitions, only by this time, if
wintry, a snow-storim will take the place
of the rain. Keep it moving circularly,
and northwards also along the parabola,
and abput Hudson's Bay change to a break
last-pllate, and In Greenland to a dinner
plate, and about the 80th degree North,
before the storm reaches the size of a bug
gy. wheel, it breake up. Thus you see
the space over which the storms travel
enlarges as it passes North, the winds blow
around its ritm, and the ealineentre moves
with it. Mariners now carry what is called
a horn-card, transparent piece of litt cow's
horn, with a circle on it, inside which are
several smaller circles, with arrows point
ing a1s a WatCh's hails travel. Whenever
the barometer changes, and clouds scud by,
this horn-card Is placed on the chart. at the
ship's )osition. Knowing the wInd's direc
tion and the weight of the air, the horn
cards tells whereabouts in the cyclone the
ship is, and from this is reasoned -how to
sail to avoid the cyclone ; or, If unavolda
ble, how to manage in it. Not many de
cades ago, ships were driven thousands of
miles from their course by not having inas
Zers possessed of this knowledge. Now.
idays, meteorological information is as
necessary IA) the navigator is his sextant.
In outh Latit tides storms pass in the same
way toward the South Pole, by way of a
western bend, only the circular motion is
reversed, and the southwestern is the
stormy edge.
At the Dopot.
A ludicrous scene occurred at a depot re
cently. The train which gos up the Creek
backs down to the depot, then uncouples,
and the locomotive and a couple of cars go
over Centre street to allow a car from the
Valley train to be switched in. As the
picee ot train moved off, a person oil the
1tatiottnary car yelled "There goes the
train!" and 9tarted in purstilt. Iis x
ampoi was contagious. Everybody believed
that the train was leaving them1, and rushel
widly out of the car. Two men tumbled
over the railings in their haste and fell in
the mud. A fat woman with a basket of
purchases rushed out of the car door, slip
ped, and bounced down the steps on to the
platform, like a bag of lard io'lig down
stairs. And when she struck in a pool of
water ont tie boards, it soutided like slap
ping a griddle cake :n to tie iron. Then
she yelled murder and called for the police.
A fat old gentleman got stuck in the (door
way, until the crowd pushing from behind
suddenly loosened him, when he shot out
of the door and off to the end of the car
Into thte armnsof the braketman, with a speed
which confused the old man into the belief
that he had collided with the locomotive.
A nervous man followed and attempted to
jutmp over the fat lady, who hadi not yet
arisen. LIis toe caught in her waterfall,
and he phmitgedl head-first into the stomach
of a man whio was rushing to assist the
lady, doubling him up on the ground,
while a yard of false hair Iluttered from the
nervous mtan's toes for a moment as he
waved them in the air, lookitng lhke a well
worn rag on the end of a black stick. Two
men who had gained the train just at,
Syciamre street, said to the btrakeman,
''Well, we caught it."'' Yes, you caught
it, thotugh what in thlundler you run hmke..
that for wvhen we're going to back up) again
is more than I can tell." Tlhe two men
got right oil amnd stood looking into each
oilher's faces for five mlinuIte.s withouit Speak
ing. Thlen said onie, ''is there anything
st rong entough fotr us tin dIrinkc in this town?''
Matters were fitnally arranged at tihe plat
form. Th'ie fat old gentleman was assistedi
into thme cars again and1( two mn helped up
the 01k1 lady and( her puirchiases ; proctured
a portion of her waterfidl--a dog had run
off with the other panrt--nd lby telling hter
that nobody hadl beent hurt by the collision,
pcrsuiaded her to take her scat in the car
once more. The nervons gentlemnl was
discovered trymg to p)ull a ptlug hat off
from his htead and shoulders, while in tihe
face of tihe man p)rolpped up ini one corner
of the deplot, wvith both hand(s over h:s
stomach, could be discerned the feature of
himt who broke thme nervous gentlemada
fall.
Unen~, of WiaIte Papier.
A writer says that few housekeepers are
aware of thme many uses to which wvaste pa
per nmay he put. After a stove has beena
hblackedl, it can b)e kept lookintg Svell for a
long timne by rubbing It, with paper every
morning. Rtubbing it withi paper is a muich
nicer way of keeping thme oIutsideC of a tea
kettle clean thtan the old way of washing it
in sudls. Rubbing them with paper is also
the best way of polishing knives andl tin
wnre after scouring them. If a little. soap
be held on the paper inl ruibbing tin ware
ait' spoomis, they shine like new silver.
F"or polishinig mirrors, windows, lamp
chimneys, etc., pape,r is better than dry
cloth. h,cee.s e.aid p)ickles keep much
better if brown paper instead of cloth is
tied over the Jar. Cannted liruit is not apt
to mould if a piece of writing paper cut to
fit each can, is laid directly upon the fruit.
Paper is much better to put under carpets
than straw. It is thininer, warmer and
makes less noise whten one walks over it.
Two thicknesses of paper placed between
the other coverings on a Lted arc as warm
as a quilt. If it is necessary to ste p upon
a chair, always lay a Paper upon it, and
and thus save the paIut and wood-work
.trom damna.
C40p Living.
For cheap living, the Island of St. Mich
al, the pearl of tie Azores group, is abou
the best place in the world. The climate
is soft and agreeable, the scenery lovely,
aid the people noted for their simplicity
and kindness. Labor is very cheap, anc
consequently the roads leading from th
town of St. Michael are of the finest char,
acter. The streets are kept marvelously
clean. The island Is about thirty iniles
square and picturesque. One can buy five
eggs for two cents, a chicken for twelve
and a-half cents, beef for three cents a
pound, and hire a good house for $7 a
month. You can live well for $ti00 a year
and handsomely of $700, and live in supert
style, keeping carriage and horses for $1,
OU0. The gardens are beautiful features of
the island. In one garden there are 4,OO
plants of different varieties. The land Is
owned by a few rich people, and rents very
high. A quarter of an acre brings $15 it
year. The peasants or laboring people go
barefooted, and live very economically.
Probably $100 a year mupports a small
family. The fashions In dr-ess have net
changed within a hundred years, and this
applies to the best society. 'T'l women
wear copakeF, a garment reaching from the
neck to the feet, and bearing soic resen
blance to the "il8ter" which the ladies of
this country wear. The head covering is
,ailed a "capilla," and is like one of the
Ald-fashioned New England bonnets, but it
s attached same way to the copake. A
girl, seeing a stranger approaching, coi
.eals her face with the capilla. The native
y!ople recognize their friends by their feet.
A Tigu Adventiure.
Captain 11aul Boytonl, the renowned
;winimer during a recent interview said:
"The Tagus is perhaps the most remark.
ble river I ever navigated. I left Toledo,
ii Spain, and paddled (down through that
,outntry and Portugal to the Atlanti e Ocean
t distance of 850 miles. For over seven
miudred miles it is not navigable for ves
t-Is, but winds in an erratic and-to me
innoying ianner through the most weird
cenery that Spain posseses. Between
'oledo and the ocean its descent is 3,000
eet. At its source and for a short distance
town the shores are lined with luxuriant
rees and grasses, but soon these utterly
hiappear, giving way to arld and stoney
)anks, which in turn grow into precipitois
nountains sides. For the first three days
[ paddled along satisfactorily, but as the
iunber of days since I began my Journey
nereased my troubles augmented. Then
ny course wound through a continued ser
es of canyons, whose gloomy walls were In
)lace8 so high antd steep that they almost
not and nearly hid the sunlight from the
yawning chasm benethi,. Towards night
t required no great stretch of fancy for me
to imagine that I was being swiftly carried
ilong through a mysterious subterranean
passage. The river was studded with
boulders, hurled fon the mountain tops by
fearful storms, and often as I was bowled
flong under the pressure of the roaring
wiud and rushing current 1 was thrown
igainst one of these obstacles and my senses
mcarly shaken from ite.
"To Increase my peril the river was fu1ll
f falls amiI rapids of utnuisual violence, in
laces a shalldw eurrent would dart toward
lie rocky imotintain-side and then turn at a
liarp angle an([ merge into a deep and
Waceful shoot of water. I blessed those
iavens, for they afforded ie a chance of
nking much-needed rest. Looking into
hcir clear depths I could see the hideous
Ish darting about, but the bottom was a
1athoiless pit. Words are wanting to ple
ure the loneliless of my situation. For
en (lays I saw not a shrub, not a blade of
.rass, not a single sign of man's abode.
MIy diet was nauseating and I felt with
ilarm thiat I was gradlually losinig my
itrength.
"One day, it was the twelfth of my
lourney, as I was floating on the bosomi of
1 sort of lake, suddenly I wvas pi)ngedl head.
Irat over a fall and struck with such force
igainst the p)rechiis wvall of the canyon
thiat I lost consuis~iness. llapipihy my
rubber suit saved me from what would
have been otherwise a certain (death.I
recovered my senses after an interval, 1
know not how long, and, with a prayer on
my lips, was about to resume iiy voyage,
when to my norror I found that miy tender
was lost I It had been sucked into a whirl
pool1 probably, and the current was rapily
bearing me away mrom the scene. I was
nearly frantic. My tender was gone, my
hopes0 wvere blasted, my life was not worth
a straw I The contents of the lit tle float
were at that moment as precious to ie as
all the wealth that a king could bestow.
"I paddled on for severail hours, trusting
to findf a way out of the river, If I could
only find ai shepherd generous enough to
share with me lisa frugal meal I was savedl.
But my hopes were vain. Encumbered by
my rublber armor, with waning strength
and1( tremulous nmovemnents I made maniy
futile attemplts to clambe.'r the slippery
mnounmtaim sidles but in every ease I t:inbledl
back into the river exhiaustedi. For thmrebi
(lays I was urged on, I know not ho9w,
b)y the impetuo)us waters. I was ravenous
with hunger, my limbs quivered like as
p)ens, a chill sweat oozedi all over my body,
and my brain was delirious. I swvore like
a madlman. heaped imaledictions upon the
Ta'gus, and at times sang wild snatches of
s<mig. Tok ftis (liy I cannlmot aiccount for
the supe)rnIaturail strength giving ime during
those seventy-two hours of agony. Theli
howlinig of wolves andt the hooting of owvl
during the nights heightened tihe eombire
current of my reflections. On thme morning
of the thIrd dlay, Just after dlaylight, I en.
tered the canyon of C'asaras. I swallowedi
a pint or t.wo o,f water and stoodi upr)ight ii
my rublber suit. I listened for the tinking
of a b)ell, or some sound that wouldi givl
token of a hiabittin. Nothing broke th<
silent hut the disant fall of waters. As I
sank( back in the river, in dlespair, to m11
Joy I thought I saw a thin veil of smok<
coming over the edlge of the high plateau
andt falling on the water. My heart beal
rapidly as I paddled on for five minutes it
the tdirectlon of the smnok'e. At last I es
the bluish haze rising from behind a gigan
tIc rock. With acceleratedl steps I'left thn
river andl clambered along the rocky bank
Several times I slipped and fell, rceivinf
numerous bruises.
"I was compelled to make many dhetour
to reach the plateau, but finally reached it,
almost dead freim fatigue. I peered arot
the edge of thme large rock that I had ob
served andi saw the fire whIch caused thn
smoke. A large pot was suspended fron
a tripod over a fire kindled with sticks ant
matted grass. The pot contained what:
now bolieve to have been a mess hardly fi
for dogs, but which I then judged from the
greasy odor to be hardly second to the dish
of the gods. Two men, In active oonver
sation, stood near the fire, with their backs
towards me, and one of them stirred the
savory mess while he talked. They were
dressed in the garb of mountaineers, and
were most probably shepherds. . Both were
clothed.in faded garments, but all the colors
of the rainbow were there, more or less ob
scured by the dirt of years. My hunger
was keen, so I introduced myself without
the tediousceremonialsso highly appreciated
in Spanish society. I Inflated my dress,
and, standing forth in full view, let my
paddle fall to the ground. Startled by the
noise, the men tuined about and gazed at
me In superstitious terror. With shrieks
of fear they swiftly turned about and
scampered off at the top of their speed.
Then I went over to the pot and ravenously
devoured its half-cooked contents, scorcf -
Ing my throat and spilling half of.the food.
I never saw my impromptu ho-ta after, nor
did I care to see them, In fact. After my
repast I disrobed my armor, and, stretch
ing at full leng:th on the award, -was soon
slumbering. When I awoke I hid my rub
ber covering and walked for a few miles,
when I came to a farm house and managed
to buy another lot of greasy bread and in
digestible hard-tack. From this point to
its niouth the river was navigable and I
never more was troubled about food. Ont
the eighteenth day I arrived at my journey's
end. I was met by the Governor of Casa
ras, his sauite and many ladies and gentle
men who had anxiously been expecting
tuo. The whole party rode on gayly caparl
soned niules to the castle of the Governor
where I received a royal welcome and' rested
for a fortnight. Thus ended my navigation
of the Tagus, the first and only tinie that a
mnan had ever descended that terrible river
from its source to to its mouth. Perhaps,
after many days, the story will be told In
whispers aniong the Spanish peasantry of
how, once upon a time, while two inoun
taincers of Casaras were cooking their
morning imeal, the devil appeared to thein
in a horrible form, horns, hoof and tail,
surrounded by tire, and caused them to fle
for their lives.''
Limnburger Chjeese,
One of the marked successes of our dairy
men, ha been the production of a variety of
Lniburger cheese, that is said to be a
decided improvement upon the original,
and which has dirven the Imported article
almost entirely out of the market. Thou
sands of tons of Limburger are now pro
duced every season-mostly in the States
of New York and Wisconsin-at a cost of
less than half the Imported article. It
finds its market and Is consumed mostly by
our Ameri -an and German population. It
is more profitable to the farmer and maker
than any other kind of cheese; first because
from a given quantity of milk more weight
is obtained, owing to the mode of making
and curing; also because the price it brings
Is usually from 10 to 40 per cent higher
than that obtumod for the standard Ameri
can cheese. In neighborhoods where its
manuifactutre has been commenced it usually
spreads to the exclusion of other kinds.
Even the fastidious and shrowd Yankee,
with his everlasting eye to the main chance,
has found that the odor, so execrable at
first, smells somehow of greenbacks. The
cheese is made in factories capable of work
ing the milk from 100 to 400 cows, rarely
exceeding the lattdr number, as m:>re
would re(uire a larger area of country than
would be desirable, as the milk Is hauled
and choese made t ice a day usually. The
nakers generally buy the milk from the
farmer at a p ic 3 r g -oed uprn for the Peason
for six months, beginning about the 1st, of
May. Tho process of manufacture In its
first atages does not differ from the usual
way, except that a lower temperature is
kept wile tile curd Is forming, the amlmal
heat alone in summer being often high
enough--Great care is taken to use pure
milk, free from taint or filth, anld cleanli
ness is requisite In every stage of the
making. Upon the curd being formed It
is slowly and carefully cut into -square,
pieces the size of dice, low temperature and
careful handling being necessary to avoid
breaking the butter globules,upon whioh
the richness of cheese depends. It is
slightly scalded and stirred, most of the
whey drawn off, and, without being salted
tihe curd is dipped out into perforated
wvooden boxes or molds, about five inches
square, and left to drain without 'imy pies
sure being applied. In a few hours the
p)ackages are carried into the curing,.collar,
and placed edgeways on shelves, like bricks
se', to diry. Every day thereafter they are
roiled in salt, and replaced when they have
absorbed enough salt. Thdy are turned
alnost every day, and the slimy moisture
which exudes is rubbed with the hand
evenly over the surface, which serves the
dlouble purpose of keeping the cheese moist
andl to elose all cracks Into which files
might lay thir eggs. Tis outside mots
ture decomnposes while chleese ripens, and
being mostly composed of albumen, like
fresh meats, eggs, etc., the same results
follow the decomposition, and in this case
the Limb)urger odor Is dleveloped, which
never forsakes it. After eight or ten weeks
it is p)acked in pap)er and tin foil, and Is
readly for market. In consistence, contents
andl nourishment it is; the richest cheese
thlat can be m1ade, but, to tihe uninitiated a,
malicious andi premleditated outrego upon
tile organs of smell.
Ileavy, old-fashioned- English cut glass
is coming again into fashion, but the favor
it,e glass of the oay is clear and thmn and ~_
b)eautifully engravedi. Tis should all
match-goblets, wine glasses of vjarlous
sorts, dlecanters, carafes, ice-cream sets and
fliger bowls. At fashlionable dinner parties,
where hair a dlozen or more different wines
are served, the glasses are by no means an
lnconailerable feature of the service. The
tine-honored castor In tile centre of the
table is decidedly oldl-fashoned ; the mode
nowv is one, two, thrnee, or four small
cantors, according to tihe length of their
table. More stylish still are Individual
sets-silvyr pepper and salts, in quaint de
signs; solemn-looking owls wit ii ruby eyes,
Englisha pug dogs andI even toads. Where
those are used, small pitchlers of Venetian
glass hold vinegar, and the mustard pots
two of which are a set-are of artistio cliina,
either matching the dinner service or of
sufficient beauty to stand alone. Thle tail
orgnes, once so much admired, are
bought no longer. People who possess J
very elegant ones use them, but the prefer
ence is for ornaments and centre-pleeee,
which do not hinder conversation yolh.
structig the view of one's vis -e M
table,