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About The Cartersville express. (Cartersville, Ga.) 1875-18?? | View Entire Issue (March 28, 1879)
Tilt BE C'U<MKN A II*!'- Tlkre com** • time wbn we grow oil, > D‘l, like a tuoeet, down the tea. Sop. grwdual, and the night wind, Mid, Come> wbiffurleg, nd and chlQicgl/! And locks are gray la wiu'er’adey And eyes of radleat blue heboid ~ The leatca all weary drift away, And lipa of faded coral aay There come! a time when we grow old. There comes a time when joyoua hearts, Wh eh leaped aa leaped the laughing main, Are dead to all save memory, Aa pruoner in hts dungeon chain; And dawn of day Ha; h passed away. The moor, hath into darkness ro led. And by the morning, wan and gray, I hear a toice In wbi*per aay: Th ie cornea a time when we grow old. Tb t cornea a time when manhood a prime la shrouded In the mist of years, And beauty, fading like a dream, Hath passed away in silent tears ; And then bow dark! But, oh, the spark Thf t kindles youth to hues of gold Still burns with dear and Meady ray, And fond affections lingering ray: 1 here cornea a time when we grow old. There comes a time when lan.hing spring And golden summer cease to be, And we put on the autumn robe To tread the last dselirity ; dot o’er the slope With rosy hope, Beyond the sunset, we behold Another dawn with fairer light, While watchers whisper through the ulght There comes a time when we grow oil. THE MILL OF ETRETAT. E: re tat was not always the pretty and coquettish little nook it is now, where •oik bathe and dance, the piano tinkles *nd voices sing day and night. There was a time when bathers did not prome nade the beach >n oilskin caps and harle quin suits. Indeed, it is barely thirty years -ince the shore knew no other fre quenters than Btout, hoarse sailors, fish ermen and their wives and little ones, tanned by the sun and salty air and c a'rely clad. ■ ore that—so long ago that the tmmoryof that time survives but as a tout tradition—Etretat had no need ol city and fashionables, the strangers who v'ariy go there to barter their money or fresh air. “ They bring water to the mill,” the local proverb hath it, and w ter is' precise y what Etretat stands ‘ tely in nevd of. There folk must drink the water precisely as they find it, inetimea turbid, sometimes brackish, : t put their dependence mainly in the t *. ns, when with infinite trouble the far mers fnl their cisterns. Indeed, bo scarce i- water there that a majority of the country folk have entirely renounced its use, and instead slake their thirst with a particularly fine cider, or a particularly vigorous brandy. Once upon a time there were no scarci ty of water at Etretat. Then in the midst of the lowland, between poplars, willows and fair apple trees, ran a charming brook that bawled and murmured over its pebbles and among its cresses, and at last sought the •ea m ar the spot where Mother Hatville tm v serves up a very excellent dish of fr< -h fish with a cream sauce which is marvelous. 1 oere was then at Etretat a poor wo man, Coquin by name, a widow, with children. Her hund&nd. Ludwig man-at-arms in the service of the Lord ■>f Criquetot, was so handsome, so re splendent, so proud in casque and cui ress, that bis companions called him Ludwig Ie Coq, a name changed to Lud tvig Coquiu, and of which the wearer yyat) dcacrvciliy proud. But Ludwig Coquin, who had followed l is lord to the second crusade, after per forming prodigies of valor and sending scores of infidels down to the shades, had at last fallen in the Holy Land upon the body of his master, the Lord of Crique tot, and nothing had ever been heard o him, snd his poor wi e, Clotilda, lived with her two little ones in extreme poverty, awaiting the return of him who was never ti come back. Uj>on the brink of the brooklet, hard by the cot she owed to the generosity of the Lord of Criquetot, was a mean shed in which was a heavy millstone to crush the c -rn from which the peasants made their black bread, but the stone ha I to be turned with the same painful labor applied to the fisher’s capstan on the beach. This was of little consequence when the stout Ludwig was there to ap ply his broad breast to the bar, but since h s departure and since the boat of A loti Ida's father had gone down at sea with all its crew, the task had been found well nigh too arduous for the poor woman, although her eldest son, young Ludwig, brought willingly to her assist, ance the strength of his small arms. Only with the utmost difficulty could she ob tain by her labor enough to satisfy her daily wants: nevertheless she endured her hardships with patience, awaiting hopefully the return of her husband and the growing in strength of her boys. But all her troubles had not been told, for her younger son, a child of four, was stricken with one of the cruel com plaints that are so often found in Nor mandy, a ma'ady which wastes their flesh, saps their forces and at last kills them, thß local name of which is car reau. One evening, as little Jehan, pale, weak, his visage shrunken with pain, lay moaning in the cradle, wtiile Clotilda and little Ludwig wers straining at the bar that turned the millstone, an old man approached, walking with difficulty, and seated himself at the stone bench at ihe door. He wa sheltered but indiffer ently from the sharp breeze of evening in the folds of the remnant of a torn cloak, and his bare feet were dusty and bleeding. He did not speak, but his as pect spoke for him. Clotilda ceased her labor at the mill, and approaching him said : “My fath er. you are tired and doubtless hungry ; G< id knows there is little enough for the children and me, but what there is, I be seech you, come and share with us.” “ Be blessed, my daughter,” said the old man, in a gentle voice ; “ you alone o' ihe whole country-side have opened your door to me.” And entering the cot t j ge he sat down to meat, not without having cast a searching and pitying glance at the humb e surroundings. Noticing the cradle of little Jehan, the e i man went to it, took the child in his arms, and laying his hand on its hard and rwollen stomach, pronounced a britf prayer. “ There woman,” he said, giving her the little one, on whose cheek the rose of health had suddenly bloomed, “jour child is cured. This work is too hard for you; hereafter let the water which runs before your door do the work for you. It will enrich you and they so long as you and they remain as I have i and you pious, compassionate, succor ing the poor and trusting in Gi and ” At that moment the menu hovel shone with a celestial light. The old man was transformed and becam young; a golden hilroet glittered cn bi s head ; his h east plate giowed like flams; he mi unted s white horse that an .angel, clad in wh.t *, VOL, XX. NO. 9. held at the door; on his shoulders he wore the same fragment ol a cloak the needy wayfarer had wrapped himself in. Clotilda, pressing her two children to her breast, fell upon her knees, for she recognized the great Saint Martin,* who often appeared in Normandy, where still dwelt descendants of his family. Saint Martin stretched his hand to ward the stream —toward the hut; his horse sprang forward, and the vision vanished in a luminous ray. Next morning, when Clotilda and the children awakened they could n-t be lieve their eyes. The little rill had be come a broad creek and the shed a great stone building. Ada n stretched across the stream, whose pent up waters drove a huge wheel that filled the air with its harmonious tic tac and turned six beau tiful sets of millstones—stones that gave a fkour so fine and white that never had there been seen its like in all Normandy. Besides this, the stream watered and fattened the land through which it flowed, the fields it watered yielded triple crops, and the cattle that pastured there throve as none others did. The mill of Etretat became famous throughout the country. There was no farmer so far off but he sent his grist to it, and soon Clotilda’s poverty gave place to wealth, and she and her children died rich, happy and full of days, after having done great good upon the earth and never having closed their doors to the poor. Long, long afterwards the possessor of the famous mill, naturally a descendant of Clotilda, was one William Coquin. He was rich, as none of hiß forefathers had been, but he had inherited none of their good qualities, being hard to his servants, greedy of gain, haughty wards his inferiors and pitiless for the poor and unfortunate. “If they suffer,” he would cry, “it is because they de serve to suffer.” Unhappily, all the country-side followed his sad and cruel example, so prosperous and independent had Eiret&t become. One evening William Coquin was en joying the cool of the day in his arbor, listening to the murmur of the mill stream and the joyous whirr of the whee that never rested night nor day; on the table were a fine mug of cider, a fair, white wheaten loaf and a delicious little cream cheese. Looking up, the miller beLeld approach timidly an old fisher man, old and bent—so old and bent that he seemed well nigh broken in twain. He was tanned as brown as leather and a ragged fragmentof a cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, “ Master,” he said, humbly, “ a mor sel of bread and a draught of cider—l nave walked a long distance to-day and am worn out; my boat has been ship wrecked and I have lost all but these rags. Have mercy on me, and I will firoy for you.” “ Out of here! Get out!” screa-ned the angry milier, falling into a frightful passion; “ away, you d< g! How dared you, miserable vagabond! enter my grounds without permission ? Go ! Had you behaved yourself you would not have had to beg and sponge on others. Off—to the devil with you 1” And as the old man still begged a bit of bread the miller called his men to drive him out. But they had not laid hands on him, when a tremendous gust of wind smote the country and laid everything level with the ground—mill, trees, dwellings, barns The earth trembled, the skies were black as ink; the roaring waves ran up and swallowed the ruins. The old fisherman was none other than the great Saint Martin. The white horse on which be now appeared cast a lurid light, and the rider’s cuirass glowed like lightning in the pitchy darkness. •' William Cequin,” said the saint, sternly, “you have proved false to the faith and promise of your fathers. Of the fortune and wealth God gave you you have made an evil use; you have neither been liberal nor just towards the poor and unhappy, who are the friends of God Ttherefore you shall become poor and more wretched than the meanest of them, and your name even, hitherto blessed and honored, become the designa tion of all that are wicked and all that are vile. He said this, and disappeared at a gallop, in the midst of a great sheet of lightning that cast a baleful glare over the wrecked and ruined country-side. On the morrow no trace could be seen of mill, stones, or creek ; nay, there was not even the original rivulet le t. History records that the wicked miller was reduced to such frightful destitution that he was forced to dispute with the swine the rotten apples that the farmers cast aside as worthless ; at last he van* ished from the Norman country—no one cared to ask whither. As the great saint bad predicted, the name of Ci quin assumed anew and disgraceful meaning, and when now a days it is said of a man that he is a co quin there needs not be said much more about him. Nevertheless, there still live at Etretat a family of excellent, honest folk, descendants of Clotilda, who have nothing in common with the unworthy miller except the name. As for the river, if you ever go to Etretat you can see for yourself that no trace of it remains, neither is there a mill, nor yet any source of prosperity save the tide of strangers that once a year breaks upon the lonely and rugged shore. At low tide, however, Saint Martin, having pity upon the poor w> men that needed soft water for their washing, has permitted the logt creek to reappear here and there in little pools among the j boulders of its old btd, so that >or a | little while daily or nightly they can beetle their linen. When the tide comes in, however, you see no more of the stream than if there never had been such a thing. Finally, as for the great Saiut Martin, j it is many a long day since Ins appari tion in Normandy has been credibly re corded, possibly because of his indiffer ent success oa a previous occasion. It is, however, known that at the begin- I nirg of the last century a family tracing | its descent from him, iived and flourished U Normandy, and it is altogether proba ble that its representatives survive to this day. Indeed, less than forty years ago such representatives dwelt in the chateaux of Lion—la-Fored and Neuf chatel, to whom their great progenitor had bequeathed the power of curing the carraen by the imposition of hands ; so that annually, in the month of Septem ber, the sailors and peasants brought their children from all parts of the coun try to invoke the protection of the saint, through the instrumentality of his de scendants. Such as it is, this is the legend of the Mill of Etretat and the Great Saint Martin. * Saint Martin,* it may be remembered, cut his soldier’s cloak in twain to give half of the garment to a beggar. He always ap pears wearing the fragment. t Coquin—Knave, rascal. Hasslar’s Eccentricities. Hasslar was hampered and embarrassed continually by limited appropriations. His operations were not of that character easily seen ; congress wondered continu ally what he was about. While he was systematizing methods and training as sistants, congress was shrugging its shoulders and clamoring because results was inadequate to all the expenditure. Hasslar was an eccentri cman of irascable disposition and great independence of character. On one occasion a committee from congress waited upon him at his office to inspect his work. “ You come to ’spect *my vork, eh? Vat you know ’bout my vork ? Vat you going to ’spect! ” The gentlemen, conscious of their ignorance, tried to smooth his ruffled temper by an explanation, which ’only made matters worse. You knows netting at all ’bout my vork. How can you ’spect my vork, ven you knows notting ? Get out of here ; you in my vay. Congress be von big vool to send you to ’spect my vork. I ’ave no time to vaste vith such as knows notting vat lam ’bout. Go back to con gress and tell dem vat I say.” The committee did go “ back to con gress ” and report, amid uproarious laughter, the result of their inspecting interview. When Hon. Levi Woodbury was sec retary of the treasury, under Jackson he and Hasslar could not agree as to the compensation to be allowed to the super intendent, and Hasslar was referred to the president, at whose discretion the law placed the settlement of the dispute “ So, Mr. Hasslar, it appears the sec retary and you can not agree about this matter,” remarked Jackson, when Hass lar stated his case in his usual emphatic style. “ No, sir, ve can’t.” “ Well, how much do you really think you ought to have ? ” “ Six thousand dollars, sir.” “ Why, Mr. Hasslar, that is as much as Mr. Woodbury, my secretary of the “ Mr. Voodbury ! ” screamed Hasslar, rising from his chair, and vibrating his long forefinger toward his own heart. “ rilen-ty Mr. Voodburys, plen-ty Mr, Everybodys, for secretary of de treasury; vone, vone Mr. Hasslar, for de head of de coast survey ! ” And erecting himself in a haughty attitude, he looked down upon Jackson in supreme scorn at his daring comparhan. President Jackson, sympathizing with a character having some traits in com mon with his own, granted Hasslar’s de mand, ancf%t the close of the next cabinet meeting told the joke, to the great entertainment of the gentlemen present. Nw Theory About Mummies. Journal of Chsmistry. Having heard that Egyptiau mummies could be divided into two classes, one embracing those bodies which have been embalmed intact, and the other includ ing those bodies which has been evis cerated, Dr. Gaulselbach, a Swedish chemist of repute and professor in the University of Upsal, has formed the opinion that the mummies of the first class are not really dead, but are only in a condition of suspended animation ; though, unfortunately for historians, the secret of bringing them again to life has been lost. In support to this theory he adduces the results of his own re searches and experiments, one of which consists in submitting a snake to a pro cess, the details of which are of course kept secret, which petrifies it. In this condition it has been laid aside for a year or two at a time, and is then restored to life by some equally mysterious vivify ing process. This has now been going on about 15 years, and the Bnake does not seem to dislike it. Dr. Gaulselbach is said to have applied to the Swedish gov* ernment for leave to experiment on a condemned criminal, the understanding being if the experiment be successful the criminal shall receive pardon, because of the isei vice thus rendered to science, and, possibly, to humanity. Instinct in a Crab. Dr. Darwin, in hi- “ Voyage of a Nat uralist/’ thus describes a crab which makes its diet of coaconuts, and which he found on Kneeling Island, in the South Seas: It is common on all parts of dry land and gro vs to a monstrous size. It has a front pair of legs, termin ated by a strong and heavy pincers, and the last pair by others which ars narrow and weak. It would at first be thought quite impossible lor a crab to open a strong cocoanut covered with the husk, but Mr. Liesk assures me he has repeat edly seen the operation effected. The crab begins by tearing the husk, fiber by fiber, aud always from that end un der which the three eye holes are situa ted. When this is completed, the crab cjmraences hammering with its heavy claws on one of these eye-holes till an opening U made, then turning round its body by the aid of its narrow pair o pincers, it extracts the albuminous sub stance. I think it is as curious a case of instinct as I ever heard, and likewise in adaptation in structure between two ob jects apperently so remote from each other in the scheme of Nature as a crab and a cocoanut. .. Tenderness is the genius of simple minds. If passion knows no obstacle, ten derness knows no bounds. Passion is the attribute of a soul which no longer con trols itself; tenderness that of a heart which no longer belongs to itself. GARTERSYILLE, GA., FRIDAY, MARCH 28, 1879. SUNDAY READING. The DlfT-rrc-nee. Two babes were born in the self-same town, On the very same bright day ; They laughed and cried io their mothers arms In the rery self-same way.J And both werr aa poor and aa innocent as falling flare* of snow. But or>e oi then lived in a terraced bouse, And one in the street below. Two children played in the Bel.'-same town, And the children both were fair; But one had her curls brushed smooth and round The other had tangled hair. Both of the children grew apace, A§ all our children grow; But one of them lived m the t traced house, And one in the street below. Two maidens wrought in the self-same town, And one was wedded and loved ; The other saw through the curtain’s part, The world where her sister moved. And one was smiling, a happy bride, The other knew care and woe; For one of them lived in the terraced house, And one in the street Delow. Two women lay dead in the self-same town, And one had tender care; The other was left to die alone, On her pallet to thin and bare. One had many to mourn her loss, For the other few tears would flow ; For one had lived in the terraced house, And one in ti e street below. Jf Jesus, who died for rich and poor, In wonderful, holy love, Took both of th i sisters in His arms, And carried them up above; Then all the difference vanished at last, For In Heaven none would know Which of them lived in the terraced house, And which in the street below. —AivotaU and Guardian. hall ;We Know Each Other In Heaven The doctrine of future recognition is not so often positively stated in the Word of God, as implied, ynd you know, my friends, that that is after all the strongest mode of affirmation. Your friend travels in foreign lands. He comes home. He does not begin by arguing with you that there are such places as London, and Stockholm, and Paris, and Dresden, and Berlin. But his conversation implies it; and so this bible does not positively state this theory, as all up and down its chapters take it for grunted. What does my tea t imply ? “I shall go to him.” What consolation would it be to David to go to his child if he would not know him? Would David have been allowed to record this anticipation for the inspec tion of all ages, if it were a groundless anticipation ? We read in the first book of the bible, Abraham died end was gathered to his people. Jacob died and was gathered to his people. Moses died and was gathered to his people. What people ? Wt y, their friends their com rades, their o.d companions. Of course it means tha.. It can not mean any>< thing else. So, in the very beginning of the bible, fow times that is taken for granted. The whole New Testament is an arbor over which this doctrine creeps like a luxuriant vine full of the purple clusters of consolation. .Tamo, i~i— and Peter follow Christ into the moun tain. A light falls from Heaven on that mountain and lifts it into the glories of the celestial. Christ’s garments glow and His face shines like the sun. The door of Heaven swings open. Two spirits come down and alight on that mountain. Ihe disciples look at them and recognize them as Moses and Elias. Now, if those disciples, standing on the earth, could recognize these two spirits who had been for years in Heaven, do you tell me that we, with our heavenly eyesight, will not be able to recognize those gone out from among us only five, ten twenty, thirty years ago? II those disciples could have recognized those two who have been gone thou sands of yeais, will not we be able to recognize our friends, our relatives, who have gone only a short s pace of time ? [Dr. Talmage further argued in favor of such recogr ition, basing his reasoning on the script ires and on the universal hope and expectation of the human soul, and then concluded as follows:] My idea of heaven is while you are seated there with your family talking and enjoying the evening heur, there is a knock at the. door, and the door opens and there comes in a brother that has been long absent. He has been long gone ; for years you have not seen him, and no sooner do you make up your mind that it is certainly him, thar you leap up, and the question is, who shall give him the first embrace ? Tnat is my idea of heaven—a great home circle, where they are waiting for us. Oh, will you not know your mother’s voice there? She who always called you by your first name long after others had given you the ormal “ mister.” You were never anything but Tames or John or Mary or Florence to l.er. Will you not know your child’s voice ? She of the bright eye and the rt.ddy cheek and the quick step, who came in from play and flung herself into your lap, a very shower of mirth and beauty. Why, the picture is worn in your soul. It cannot wear out. If that little one should stand on the other side of tome heavenly hill and call to you, you would hear her voice above the burst of heaven’s great orchestra. Know it! You could not help but know it. Now, I bring you this glorious con solation of future recognition. If you could get this theory into your heart, it would lift a great many shadows that are] stretching across it. When I was a lad I used to go‘out to the railroad track and put my ear close on the track, and I could hear the express train rumbling miles away, aad coming on, and to-day, my friends, if we only had faith enough, we could put our ears down close to the grave of our dead and listen and hear in the distance the rambling on ot the chariots of resurrection victory. O Heaven I sweet Heaven ! You do not spell Heaven as you used to spell it. You used to spell it H-e-a-v-e-n, heaven. But now, when you want to spell that word, you place side by side the faces of the loved ones which are gone, and, in that irradiation of light, and love and beauty, aad joy, you swell it out as never before, in songs and hallelujahs. O ye, whose hearts are down under the sod of the cemetery, cheer up at the thought of this reunion. Oh, how much you will have to tell them when once you meet them. How much you have teen through since you saw them last. On the shining shore you will talk it all over. The heartaches; the loneliness; the sleepless nights; the weeping until you had so wore power to weep because the heart had withered and dried up; story of vacant chairs and empty cra dle, and little shoes only half worn out, never to be worn again, just the shape of the foot that once pressed it; and dreams and dreams when you thought that the departed had come back again, and the room seemed bright with their faces, and you started up to greet them, and in the effort the dream broke, and you found yourself alone! Talking all over, and then, hand in hand, walking up and down in the light, no sorrow, no tears and no death. Oh, heaven ! beautiful heaven ! Hea ven, where our friends are. Heaven, where we expect to be. In the east they take a cage of buds and bring it to the tomb of the dead, and then they open the door of the cage, and, the birds flying out, sing. And T would to-day bring a cage of Christian consolations to the grave of your loved ones, and I would open the door and let them fill all the air with the music of their voices. Oh, how they boui.d in, these spirits before the throne. Some shout with gladness. Some break forth into uncon trollable weeping for joy. Some stand speechless in their shouts of delight They sing. They quiver with excessive gladness. They gaze on the temples, on the palaces, on the waters, on each other. They weave their joy into garlands, they spring it into triumphal arches, they strike it on timbrels and then all the loved ones gather in a great circle around the throne of God. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters, lovers and friends, hand to hand around aiwut the throne of God—-the circles ever widening--hand to hand, joy to joy, jubilee to jubilee, victory to victory, until the day breaks and the shadows flee away. Turn, then, my beloved, and be like a roe, or a young heart upon the mountains of Beersheba. —[Extracts from a sermon by Rev. T. DeWitt Tal mage. • ' Recent Postoflice Rulings. Western Postal Review. Pocket knives are unmailable. It is the duty of a mail carrier to re ceive mail matter properly prepaid and inclosed in United States stamped en velopes, when one mile or more from a postoflice. A paper printed in one county and published in another can not be sent to subscribers residing in both counties. A mark calling attention to some par ticular paragraph in a newspaper does not subject it to any additional postage. Crayon drawings are subject to letter rates of postage, the same as any other matter pioduced by pen or pencil. The postal laws prohibit the exchange of postage stamps of one denomination for those of other denominations. Some part of a publication must be printed m the county wherein the claimed office of publication is located, tc enable the same to be sent free to subscribers residing in said county. (See ruling No. 3.) There is no law excluding postal cards from the mails because of notices of in debtedness being printed or written thereon, but no indecent language, terms or epithets will be allowed in such notices. All letters having one full-rate pre paid must be forwarded. Second and third class matter must be fully prepaid. When a newspaper has been refused, by the party addressed it is simply the duty of the postmaster to notify the publisher that such is the case, after which, if the paper continues to arrive in the mails, he should place it with other waste paper, to be sold at tho end of the quarter. The postal law forbids the renting of boxes in postoffices to twe families or firms. * A printed business card may be mailed at third-class rates, provided it has no writing upon it other than the address. Regular newspapers cannot be admit ted to the mails at ponnd rates when a handbill or circular is inclosed. A publication not entitled to be sent in the mails at pound rates cannot be sent as an “ exchange ” at the pound rates. Postmasters at other than letter-car rier tJlces are obliged to distribute local (county) newspapers, intended for regu lar subscribers, from the boxes or gen eral delivery of their offices free of charge; provided the same are properly dried, folded and addressed. A postmaster cannot use the post office boxes as a medium to advertise his business without fully prepaying all postage, the same as any one e Ise would be required to do. The postoffice department rules that no postcMee shall b 8 kept iu a bar room or a room directly connected there with, nor must any mail be opened or de livered in any such room. Letters passing through the mails can not awfully be opened by any officers of the law for the purpose of detecting criminals. The postoffice department is not re. sponsible for matter lost in the mails. It is no part of a postmaster’s busi ness to inquire of a person receiving newspapers, prepaid at pound races, whether they are subscribers or not, nor is there any restriction in the number a person may receive, except in the case of free country newspapers. Cadaver Poison. It is said that the natives of Austra lia and New Zealand are familiar with the deadly properties of putrid animal m tter, and that many of their poisoned arrrows and spears are simply smeared with the liquids from a putrefying corpse. According to Tafin, the.Narrin geris, who inhabit'the lower Murray Dis trict of Australia, frequently procure the death of an enemy by this poison. The instrument used is called a nieljeri. It is a sort of spear, whose tip consists of a sharp pointed piece of human bone, six or eight inches in length. This is poisoned by plunging it into the flesn of a partially decomposed human body and tying about it a bunch of hair or feath ers saturated with the fat of the decom posing body. It is easy enough to un derstand how the slightest prick from such an envenomed point might prove sometimes, if not uniformly, surely and speedily fatal. MODJESKA OUTDONE. The Terrible Ditngrra That Mrnarml Bob Burdette, Wabash (infl.) Cor. Burlington Hawkeys. I have suffered such a terrible fright since leaving Carlisle this morning. One of the numerous trains on which I travel every day was late, of course, and the consequence was that I had to wait over in Peru several hours. This is the city where ail the Peruvian bark used in the United States is manufactured. I saw a Peruvian dog manufacturing some. He had a boy up on the fence, and was giving him Peruvian bark enough every minute to scare all the agues out of America for the next ten years. But I digress. I went to a hotel in Peru, and took room with a fire, a lame window-curtain, an invalid water-pitcher and some other portable articles of furniture in it, and left my baggage carelessly piled up in great stacks around the room. Judge of my dismay, when after leaving the room for a few moments, I returned to discover that a desperate attempt had been made by a party of men, who had evidently been following me for several days, to steal my diamond necklace. You remem ber the necklace very well, of course; it is the same one I lectured in last season, and was a present from Khalil Bey, to whom it had descended among the family jewels. It was originally obtained by his grandfather, who was a Buddhist priest and stole the necklace from the image of Rhuudal-up-Ghud, in the hill district, Jabbal-al-Jal. The stones were unusually large and brilliant, and some of them weighed nearly four ounces when killed and dressed. It was valued at $34,000. The robbers, four in number, who had probably seen me wearing it, and had followed me for several days, were masked, and effected an entrance into my room by climbing a telegraph pole about two miles down the Wabash track. Thence they “ cooned ” along the wire until they got into town, when they got onto the roof of the station and descended to the ground, went around behind the hotel, found a ladder probably left there by some accomplices, got on to the roof of the hotel, entered the chimney and worked their way down it into the cellar. It was then easy work to come up the cellar stairs, go into the wash-room and wash their hands and remove their masks, and then they came out into the office and asked the clerk the number of my room. Then the deed was all but accom plished, when, by a piece of wonderful ortune, I returned to my room, having been out in the back yard stealing enough wood to make the fire last fiftee minutes, just in time to prevent the spoliation of my jewel-case. The rob bers escaped, leaving the hotel and the city in the same manner as they had entered it. I think, indeed, I have been lai/uci muisoreet, seeing uu. * ■ alone, in wearing so much valuable jewelry I inclose necklace herewith. Hang it up on a nail in the Hawkeye office until I return home, and don’t let Newt wear it every time he goes to a party.J Avery thrilling accident happened to the train in which I went to New Car lisle yesterday. We were crossing a long bridge at a very high rate of speed, the captain’s chronometer indicating a gait of 2:17£ on the first quarter, when sud denly the engineer staggered into the special drawing-room car in which I al ways travel-—big coal-stove in the mid dle, tool-chest at the end, and long seats at the sides, so you can lie down and pound your ear when you are aweary— the engineer came in with a face ot ashy paleness and said to the conductor: “We are lost 1” “ What has happened ?” eagerly asked the conductor. I leaned forward and caught the engineer’s agonized whisper: “ She’s blowed all the packin’ clean out of the a3h-pan I” Few, few of the other passengers reals ized the peril through which we were passing; bnt I sat and listened j to the labored sound of the men at the pumps, and silently prayed that night or Blucher would come. Night came along after a while, and we were saved; but Blucher did not put in an appearance, and I afterwards learned that he was de tained by deadness. I am enjoying one of the pleasantest lecture tours I ever made, and Provi dence is evidently on my side. I have nqarly lost my diamonds, like Modjeska; had a railroad accident, litre Hoze; got myself scratched with a cat, like Cary : sprained my back kicking over a piano stool, like Nilsson; had a row about my dressing-room, like Minnie Hauk (jani tor wouldn’t let me hang my overcoat on the gas fixtures); eat onions like Kellogg ; and spell my name with a J, like Wilhelmj. The .men who plunder the people from the platform have too long neglected their opportunities, and I propose to make the stars of the musi cal world hump themselves around like comets it they have any more advertising incidents happen to them than I intend shall occur to myself and my colleagues. Tlie T allies Turned. A man who bad gone out fishing caught several splendid bass, which he promptly threw back into the river. Being remonstrated with for his ap parently foolish act, he replied : I take no interest in bass. I came out to catch cat-fish, and when I come out for cat-fish I want cat-fish.” A hnnter, after lung following a grizzly bear in the direction of his den, suddenly abandoned his pursuit, and when ques tioned as to bis motive for doing so, said that the trail was getting “ too durn fresh.” A Frenchman who had been to India, being interrogated as to the pleasures of the chase, replied: *" Oh, ze tigai/e hunting—zat is a sport magnifique where ze Frenchmen bunt ze tigaire, but when ze tigaire hunt ze Frenchman--parbleu, zat is quite anozzer zing! ” .. A mechanical curiosity is a wooden watch carried as a time-piece by Mr. N. Devolt, oi Bristol, Tenn. All the works, except some of the finer parts, are made of boxwood, the ca e of brown olive wood and the dial of buffalo horn. It weighs only half an ounce, .. No one is more proioundly sad than he who is obliged to laugh. OUR BEEF SUPPLY. The Orerat Cattle Bualuess of Triu, Illi nois, Hlmubi-I aed Ollier State*. That Texas is one of the largest cattle producing quarters of the civilized world none who have seen her almost countless herds can deny; not even when the cat tle produce of Texas shall be compared with the vast herds that roam the steppes of Russia or those that wander on the great stations of Australia. Still, bound.* less as the production of beef may appear to be in Texas, the quality is so indiffer ent that other states of the union, though numerically tar inferior, are, in point of wealth derived from cattle-growing, greatly in advance of Texas. Probably the cattle .interests of the state of Illi nois represent the largest capital and the richest revenues derived from this branch of industry. While other states have certain seasons of the year during which their trade in cattle is active, Illinois from the Ist of January to the 31st of December ships from her broad prairies and from her numerous feeding farms. Not alone is the feeding interest closely and diiligently attended to in Illinois, but the rearing of calves is steadily car ried on. Corn-fed steers are always to be found on the great cattle markets of the state, and such herds invariably com mand the highest prices, and when sold on net weight obtain the most liberal al lowance. Kentucky as a beef producing region can justly lay claim to some of the very finest and best bred herds that can be found; she might, without fear, challenge the British Isles and Canada for high bred stock, from whence are drawn those animals purchased for the purpose of improving the blood of the herds of the western states and territor ies. During the summer months, when the pastures are rich in blue gra-s, the herds of Kentucky are at large, and from the early days of August up to the end of October or the middle of November, should the weather continue mild, the grass-fed herds of Kentucky arrive on the eastern markets. Their beef is very wholesome, being light, nutritious and full of juice, most suited for invalids and children. The carcasses do not inwardly contain the most proportion of fat as do those of beeves corn-fed; still the adipose matter is generally spread throughout the muscle, and the color and flavor of Kentucky beef are excellent. Some few feeders there are in Kentucky who use corn, and who ship off their herds all through the winter and Bpring. Ohio as as a cattle state ranks next,to Kentucky, save that she can not boast of as much excellence of blood as her sister state en joys. In Ohio,where the blue grass flourishes, the herds are pastured ; while in o her sections of the state corn feeding is the rule. Ohio steers come to market most neeiy irom tile ist 01 n.ugusi to tue enu of February. Their quality is go id, sometimes even superior. Where the blue grass flourishes in Virginia the practice observed is the same as in the states heretofore named, save that less corn is fed than in Ouio, and that in the mountain districts the cattle of Vir ginia are small and apt to be scrubby. Virginia cattle are shipped for the east all through the year, and are in prime condition occasionally rather than in variably. Missouri is rapidly becoming a great cattle center. About mid-winter Missouri steers are at their best. At other seasons of the year the herds from Missouri are coarse and light in flesh. Toward the end of the summer is the time of the heaviest run of great fed Missouri csttle. The quality is inferior and the carcasses dress to slight advan tage. The great markets of New York city and that at Brighton, close to Bos ton, are supplied from Albany and Phil adelphia, as the two nearest points for rest and feed and water for the herds arriving from the west. Deposit is a great resting station an the Erie rail road. .The western markets for east, bound herds are East St. Liuis and Chicago, both in Illinois. Cincinnati and Pittsburg are also great cattle points of union. To these places resort the eastern shippers, and buy of the deabrs or owners, as the case may be, the herds they need for their eastern trad a. The great carrying lines oi this country are the New York Central, the Pennsylvania Central and the Baltimore and Ouio, being fed by the roads that diverge from Kansas City, from East St. Louis, from Chicago and from Cincinnati. Another feature of the cattle trade is the fattening of cattle on trewers’ slop. Bulls condemned to die are thus fat tened ; also dry cows in small numbers, but in great numbers and with much profit are the lean grass-fed steers of Texas converted into fat, heavy leeves. When the grass withers up on the prai ries of Texas the herds must go north in search of pasture or be shipped for sale. The routine of the Texas cattle trade is this: In July and August the herds are rounded up, the calves are branded, and all are again lot loose. Early in April the great droves commence. Carefully laid out cattle trails are observed, and the herds pasture as they march. Ells worth, on the line of the Kansas Pacific railway, is a wonderful place for a few weeks of the year. Early in summer it is thronged by Texan ranchmen and drovers; also with immense herds of Texan steers. At this point the herds are shipped. S >me never change hands, but in general sales are effected at Kan sas City. From Kansas City',these grass fed Texans drift ofi into Missouri and Illinois, there to bo pirt corn-fed and -hipped eas*. in September; and up to he first of September others are for warded direct and are sold in New York, Philadelphia, and Boston for what they fetch. The flesh of the grass-fed Texan steer is coarse and hard, the color is bad and fat is scarce. Again, other herds from Texas, those that constitute the end of the run, are purchased by feeders and. being housed, are fattened on brew ers’ refuse, and are to be found on the markets of New York from March till the middle or end of May. Bulls doomed te execution arrive on the east ern markets earlier in the year than do the still-fed Texan herds. From Texas, by Ellsworth, also through Denver, Col., pass year by year countless droves oi Texan cattle. These droves, old and youpg, cows, calves and steers, go to S. A. CUNNINGHAM. feed Indians and miners, and such like people, forced to live on the skirt* of civilization. Rarely, indeed, are bulls driven from Texas. The herds in Colo rado, Wyoming and Montana are a rug ged, hard-boned class, bred from the Texan cow and native bulls obtained from the eastern states. Thus is the breed improved; and even already some bulls of undoubted pedigree are to be seen west of the great rivers. Eventu ally Colorado and parts of Wyoming will be the source from whence the east will derive its supply of beef. The climate of Colorado in two winters renders a Texan steer healthy; that is the beast loses the incipient disease known a Texan fever, a loathsome jffle'im that is to be found in the liver of even th otherwise perfectly healthy Texan steers, and a sickness that is highly contagious, so much so that herds supposed to he clean have been known to leave the dis ease on their trail, and serious loss has thus been sustained among native herds which have passed over or been pastured on the tainted lands. The weekly average of beet cattle sold on the open market for the ’year ending December 81, 1878, was 9,625 head. About B,ooo’ head.'gupplies weekly for the home trade. In this is included New York city, Brooklyn, Jersey City, Newark, Patterson, Staten Island and many minor places lying adjacent. This gives jan average of close on 2,000 bead weekly shipped for foreign ports. The export trade demands the most choice herds that reach the Atlantic seaboard, and has been carried on through all seasons of the year both by trade in dressed beef and by the shipment of liv* cattle. The recent order of the privy council, which now hampers trade in American cattle, is the result’of tor much haste on the part of American shippers. The fear .of contagion is proper, and should have been guarded against. Had the best course been observed lor the general benefit of the trade, no ship ments of live cattle should have ben made after the Ist of October unul the Ist of April. A fat beast taken from an open cattle-yard, and shut below hatches is far more likely to develop dbess than were he exposed to the most seveie weather. The hot air between decks causes feverishness and congestion of someone or other 'of the inner organs, and pleuro-pneumonia is most frequently developed, albeit the .beast was sound and healthy when placed on board. On the other hand, animals carried as a deck-load in fine weather, improve after the first two or three days, the sea air invigorates them, and the total rest causes them to improve in condition and appearance. The great dealers iir Texan cattle are N. Morris and 8. W. Allerton, of Chicago. The great feeders lette, Alexander, Monn and Mike Sulli van, the latter being a king among cattle men. In Texas the firm of Allen & i'oole not long since represented an immense business in cattle. They are shippers of beeves and beef. They own a territory of land close to Galveston, and had con tracts from foreign governments. In California ‘he firm of Miller & Lux ab solutely control the cattle business of the Golden State. There are many lesser lights than those named, many of them eminent in their business as dealers, feed ers and shippers. “ Rock and liye.” A law suit in New York over a patent right to a pulmonary medicine, has de veloped the following receipt for a decoc tion which is said to be of great benefit to consumptives: Take five|pounds of pure white rock candy dissolved in a gallon of old rye whisky—the older the better. The whisky must be distilled in the old fashioned way with a copper worm. Steam distillation develops the latent poison of the berry, and fills the system with fusil and other deadly oils. Col ored rock candy is poisonous. The yel low tinge shows the presence of an in soluble earth deleterious to the stomach and is dangerous. The pure white rock is pure crystallized sugar, the most nour ishing of all substances. The five pounds of candy should be pot into gallon of whisky. The deniijono shou and be well shaken three or four tim-s a day, and the mixture is not to b<* used until the candy is dissolved. The patient may take a sherry wine glass full on go ing to bed, two-tnirds as much on hd empty stomach in the morning. He can carry a flask in his pocket, and take a spoonful half a dozen times a day. Night sweats will disappear and the pa tient will get a long and refreshing sleep. Lung fever will go, and he will leel no more pain in his chest. While taking this cordial the patient must limit hu diet. He must keep his stomach em ployed in taking up rich and nourishing matter. Ali vinegars, pickles, sour wines, and malt drinks and salt provisions must be avoided. Touch no fresh pork for it promotes ucleration. Do away with coffee for it fevers the blood. Drink black tea. Eat roast beef rare, broiled steaks, mutton chops well done, toasted broad, and all kinds of vegetables, 'the great object is to enrich the blood. One of the best articles of food is a rum om elette made exclusively of the yolks of eggs. Sawdust in Mortar. Some time since the use of sawdust in mortar was ‘recommended as superior even to hair for the prevention of crack ing and subsequent peeling off of rongh casing under the action of Btorms and frost. Someone of the name of Siehr says that his own house, exposed to pro longed storms on the seacoaat,:hbd pieces of mo; tar to be renewed each spring; and after trying without effect a number of substances to prevent it, he found, sawdust perfectly satisfactory. It was first thoroughly dried and sifted through an ordinary grain sieve, to remove the larger particles. The mortar was made by mixing one part of cement, two of lime, two of sawdust and five of sharp sand, the sawdust being first well mixed dry with the cement and sand. . .The triumphs oi truth are the mos glorious, chiefly because they are the most bloodless of all victories, deriving their highest lustre lrom the number the saved, not of the slain. WAIFS AND WHIMS. THE SAFEGUARD. ' lnhy crept to his father's knee, nd was ittto-l up and luilal to rest, II the b aj eyes clost-l, so Ur. and was he, tnd his little head Ml peacelnlly Vt ease on the ready shoulder there, h bile the baby h*< and so soft and fair, l ey like a shield on his father’s bresst. Of old ’twss raid that when men drew near To fierce temptation or deadly strife, And lost their way in a mase ol fear, Or periled their souls for worldly g“st, Hy a way unknown an hand Would lead them out of the daugerous land nto the light of a noble life. 1 e story Is true for the world to-day We see no white-robed angels mild; But out of the dark and perilous way ( Where men and women forget to pray, Into the peace ol a purer laud They are led by a gentle, shielding band— ’ihe hand of a little, helpleea child. A felon on the hand is worse than two in the penitentiary. ..Absence id the greatest of evils when it isn’t the best of remedies. ..When fortune caresses a man too much she is apt to make a fool of him. . .The Turkish language is spoken by about 14 000,000 of people in Europe. .. A Chinese proverb says: “ Great souls have strong wiils; others only feeble wishes.” ..Some men cling to their opinions more teuaoiously thau they ever will to seU*respect. ..The beauty of the face is an envia ble thing, but the beauty of the heart lasts longer. . .In the midst of life we are in debt. - [Court Journal. Shake!—[Stillwater Lumberman. .. The rarest, and surely the happiest marriages, are between those who have grown in love. ..The Mar eillaise hymn has been formally recognized as the national an them of France. ..There are 700,000 cattle ruminating on the plains ol Colorado, and about half as many in Montana. .. An ill-tempered word and a stone are alike in that, when once thrown they cannot lie recalled. DESTINY. Laura "Us watching the ol mils overhead. >• Wh re are th. y going, l wonder ” p ro .aic Tom, from th do if of toe ah 01, “ I guess they > going to tuuoder I" “ Where are they go'ng ?” Ethel l uul e% Watching the cowa aa ney piss Rudely ahouts Bill wlih a voice like a crier’s, * l uck. u they are going to gniasi” ..Value tine friendship of him who stands by you in the storm ; swarms of insects w.l! surround you in the sun shine. .. Be ve y careful, if you regard your* self as tlw ; uardi&n of your honor, tha you do not occupy the position of a sin ecu re. ..No matter how many of our laden ships may come tafely into port, that one which was lost at sea will always seem to us to have carried the richest cargo ..Some people talk hours and say nothing; others there are who, by the mere lifting of an eyebrow or the gest ure of a hand, are comparatively elo e nt. ..He who is false to present duty breaks a thread in the loom, and will see the defect when a weaving of a lifetime is unrolled. ..I know not which of the twain lifts genius lifts him above others, gentleness out of himself. .. He that hath really felt the bitter ness of sin, will fear to commit it; and he that hath felt sweetness of mercy wil fear to offend it. ..If Paul Boy ton should get stuck in the mud and frozen to deatn, there are people who would miss him. He may have creditors. _ _ There is a peace more destructive of the mannood of living min than war is destructive of his material body. Gu&ins are worse than bayonets. . .A paragraph about a mule will kick up more attention than one about any other known thing. The reader always hopes to hear of the death of the mule. It’s a good thing that the Chinese can’t read English. If they could they would be putting on airs about this time, and raising the prices for washing collars. . .Talk about the missing link as much yju will, the whU IS lars3 will kae both eyes fixed on the young man who makes bis first appearance in society in a claw-hammer coat. ..“I never thought but once,” said old Daacon Webbing, “ that it was a sin to steal an umbrella.” “ And when was that? ’ asked a friend. “It was when som* pesky thief stole my new silk one,” mswered the deac m. .. It’s funny, but a soft-palmed woman can pass a hot pie-plate to her neighbor at the table, with a smile as sweet as dis tilled honey, whil* a man, with a hand as horny as a crocodile’s back, will drop it on the floor and howl around like a Sioux Indian at a scalp dance. . Things are great or small according to the end of the micioscope through which you look. Some people manage to look at their troubles through the up per end, and .so incontinently magnFy them, and at their good fortune through the lower end, and so minimize them. Sereuity in Death. Perfect serenity in regard to death is not to be obtained by any effort of the will, or by any process of reasoning ; it is rather the result of a happy combina tion of bodily and mental conditions. The chief of these conditions, the assured hope of a future beyond the grave, in comparison of which the brightest earthly visions fade like a candle before the dawn, is not given to all ; and in these days, especially, it is for many over shadowed, if not altogether blotted out by doubts and questionings which can no longer be hidden from the multitude. Even to thoße who most earnestly cling to the hope ot immortality it would seem that our troublous inheritance of sym pathy must ca-t many a sid*- ight upon prospects in which of old the faithfu were able to taae undisturbed delight However this may be, the mere prospect of prolonged existence beyoDd the sr'ave, apart from other reasons tor joytui c..n fidence, must be taken rather as enlarg ing the scope of our hope'- and got fears than as necessarily altering the balance between them. Habitual hopefulness may color the prospect beyond the grave with the same glowing tints which it throws over this world, so that in some cases the same cause which makes life delightful makes death not unwelcome. Such a state of mind, though rare, is not unknown. But perhapi a perfect bal ance of leeling is more readily to be found at A Offer i§vel of expectation
