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A RUSSIAN’S TERRIBLE SUICIDE.
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A most extraordinary suicide has just
taken place in the Russian town of
Jhitomir, under exceptionably fearful
circumstances. The story is told by the
St. Petersburg Zeitung: “A few days
S;o, a well-dressed trailer arrived at the
otel de France, stating that he was Mr.
Joseph O , a colonial agent, and that
he wished to stay a short time in Jhito
mir on business. A room on the second
floor of the hotel was assigned to him,
and he spent two or three days in walk
ing around the streets, although the
weather was unusually wet and stormy.
On the fourth evening he retired to his
room and locked himself in. Next
morning lie was called at his usual hour,
but returned no answer to the summons.
After a good deal of futile knocking and
shouting, the hotel proprietor became
alarmed at his tenant's protracted silence,
and caused the door of the room to be
broken open. A terrible spectacle pre
sented itself to the household.
Mr. O s body was lying cn the bare
bedstead, from which the mattress and
bed-clothes had been removed; one of
the sheets partly covered the legs of the
corpse, which was otherwise in a state of
nudity, its left hand pressed tightly upon
the regiou of the heart, ana its right
hand convulsively clutching the hair.
The eyes were wide open, fixed in a glassy
death stare, and the features distorted
with agony. An oppressive odor, as of
scorched fat, pervaded the room. No
wound was perceptible upon the body,
but the chest was transversely barred in
several places Ify dull, red stripes.
A3 soon as the police, accompanied by
the local medical officer, had made its ap
pearance on the scene of this horrible
tragedy, the corpse was turned upon its
face, when the cause of death for the
first time became know n to the terror
stricken spectators. A deep and broad
burn was exhibited in the middle of the
back, and the spine was completely car
bonized. Upon the floor, underneath
the bedstead, were discovered the wicks,
embedded in a little blotch of cold stear
ine, of three candies, which had been
taken out of the candesticks and fixed
up on a planking upon a layer of melted
frease, and the flame of these candles
lr. O. had laid upon the skeleton frame
work of his bedstead, and suffered his
3pine to be slowly consumed until'he
died. A manuscript placed upon a table,
close to the bed, contained not only a re
sume of the reasons which prompted
this unfortunate man to undergo self
inflicted martyrdom, but minute details
of the torturing process by which he had
chosen to destroy his life. It was writ
ten in four languages—German, Russian,
Polish and Czechish —and commenced in
a firm, bold handwriting, the last few
pages, how r ever, being scarcely legible,
having evidently been penned in dire
agony.
The first paragraph, in German, ran
as follows: “ I thought it would cease,
but it ceases not. So be it, then. Here
by, I propose to solve an important
question—namely, are suicides in their
right senses, or are they victims of self
abberation? Thus the question is com
monly put, but I fancy that it does not
touch the real point at issue. A man
makes up liis mind to put an end to his
life when betakes no interest in it, when
he cannot discover in the whole wido
world the least thing which awakens
sympathy in his breast. The question,
therefore, is not whether the suicide be
mad or sane, but whether or not he has
anything to hope for from life. I hope
for nothing in life, but my intellect is
perfectly "clear. (In Russian.) There
is still another question to solve. (In
German.) Are suicides cowards? That
lover who allowed himself to be dragged
to death by a horse before the eyes of
his betrothed, affords no proof to the
contrary. Perhaps he would have cast
himself loose from the cords that bound
him, had it been in his power to do so.
That other fellow', w'ho burned himself
to death in Odessa, was probably no cow
ard, for he might have thrown away the
Eetroieum, and thus saved his life. Yet
is clothes were already on fire, and the
straw he was lying upon, w r as smoulder
ing; still he may have wished to escape
death, had it been feasible. Now, a
burning candle, to the flame of which
the backbone and spinal marrow are ex
posed, must certainly make an end of
life; that sort of death must be attended
with atrocious sufferings, and the person
inflicting such agony upon himself hay
ing no pow T er to contend with but his
own proper will and pleasure, can at any
moment interrupt the process by the
slightest movement of the body. I will
.submit myself to this torture. (In
Russian.) Should I not succeed in en
during the pain, the question will be
settled, at least for the present, in the
sense that suicides are cowards. But, if
my corpse be found exhibiting proof
that I have obtained death by two
agencies—by burning candles, as minis
tering factors, and by my dominant will,
which has not blanched before excrucia
ting torments—that will be proof-posi
tive that men may die of tlieir own free
choice. Let me begin.” Here the writing
became irregular, and progressively more
and more illegible. “ I arose from my
fiery couch amid hideous sufferings, but
still not so terrible as I had anticipated
and feared. 1 arise, but not to save my
self. No! life is as obnoxious to me as
ever. But I must send you (in Czechish),
my mqther, my father, a last farewell;
my last \ remembrance, my last senti
ments are dedicated to you! I think,
also, of those who are the unwitting
cause of this my dreadful death. Un
wittingly—for they know not that their
love was indispensable to my life. 1 die
without their affection, like a fish
without water, like a creature of
God without air. My breath fails me.
Farewell! You will follow me mk.ui.
Consideration of your feelings—you, !
who alone has loved me—has prevented
me for a long while from putting an end
to myself. I cannot do otherwise. It
is so*’easy to follow the dead. But it
would lie better were you to forget me.
Think not of me! lam dying, the ex
periment will succeed: the worst pains i
are past. Ido not suffer so much now.
Pain has at length become my friend.
“ I repeat it—l am in the full posses
sion of my faculties —my heart beats as j
steady as usual, but my pulse seems to
me a little deranged. Poor Werther! !
the star-gemmed skies still interested
uii.i. I uLii* have gazed at it —it is a
desert there above, like here beneath,
like everything else! (In Polish.) I j
return to my strange, silently burning j
bed. I must put something under the j
candles to raise them up a little. Only
one thing annoys me, that one can not
die nobly and pleasantly—the evil smell
of my own consuming body offends my
nostrils. Y n Czechish.) Mother! father!
forgive me! (in German.) Perhaps I
should also set down that I forgive the
being who has caused my death. But
that would be a lie. I curse her; and if
spirits have the power to return in
ghastly terrors,oh! I will do so, and leave
her no single moment’s peace. It would
have been easy for her to have made me
happy, or at least contented. If I could
remain alive, my life should be vowed,
exclusively, to vengeance on her. But
lam going fast. Be she accursed with
my last breath!” Such were the last
w'ords scrawled on this extraordinary
document by an obviously dying hand.
Knew When He’d Had Enongh.
[John A. Haddock in the Philadelphia Times.]
In the year 1859, I made the cele
brated trip with Prof. John La Moun
tain, from Watertown, New York,
which was the second longest trip
ever made by an air-ship, and the only
one I ever heard of where a second as
cension was made after remaining eight
hours at night tied up to the top of a
tree. Liks Professor Wise’s late ascen
sion, we started near night, and in the
same month in September. We traveled
over four hundred miles in a little over
four hours, but whither we were being
borne, or how fast we were traveling,
we were as ignorant as two children, for
it was a dark night, and in a balloon
you can never tell your course of flight
unless you can see the earth. Instead of
being thirty or forty miles from home,
as we supposed when we anchored to a
tall tree for daylight, we were 400 miles
from our starting-point, and instead of
being in an inhabited country not far
from some friendly farm-house, we were
in the great Bosketong wilderness to
Canada, which extends from the river*
Ottawa on the South to the arctic circle
on the North. I will not further enter
upon details, save to say that, after
thirteen days of the most painful ab
sence, we at last worked our way out of
civilization, two of the raggedest and
distmit, but gladdest men that ever
lived. From that time three square
meals a day, and store-clothes, and tele
graph offices, all assumed new import
ance to us, and I made up my mind that a
balloon might be a good thing fo
“ professors ” to fool around with, bu
for a “ steady thing ” the solid earth wa
good enough for me.”
A Steam Road Wagon.
[Pittsburg Leader.]
A buck wagon, owned by Mr. Isaac
Mills, of Braddocks, has just been com
?leted, and will be propelled by steam.
t is built to carry two persons, is a four
wheeled concern, and the body of the
wagon is similar to that of any ordinary
wagon of the same variety, excepting
that the slats are much heavier.
It is propelled by an engine with a
two and onc-haif inch cylinder and six
inch stroke. The steam is supplied by a
regular locomotive boiler, two feet long
and ten inches in diameter, and the
wagon is guided by a tiller rope similiar
to that used in steering steamboats.
The boiler is supplied with water by a
miniature injector, which receives and
distributes the water from a small beer
keg which is attached to the under side
of the frame of the wagon. It is calcu
lated that the wagon will make about
twelve miles per hour on an ordinary road.
When fully equipped and painted the
wagon will present a handsome appear
ance. It was shipped to Braddocks, yes
terday, and if any of the suburban resi
dents see something which doesn’t give
them time to make a mental diagram of
it, they may know that it is Mills and
his flyer.
Women Who Never 66 Smell the Wind.”
An American lady, writing to the
Boston Traveller from Damascus, after
describing the life of the Syrian ladies,
who “ never go out of doors,” and her
interview with “ Madame Mershaka,”
says: Referring to our free, untram
meled life, madame, putting her hands
to her mouth several times, and throw
ing them out gracefully, said: “How
happy you must be to be able to smell the
wind!” She did not doubt but that in
the three days that we had passed in
Damascus, we had seen more than she
had seen in all her life.
According to the custom of her race,
the women almost never go outside of
their own doors. Having been married
at fourteen, she is now, at twenty-three,
the mother of five or six children, and
shut up with them within these walls from
one year’s end to another. We sympa
thized with her most heartily when she
sighed over the dullness of the life it
was their lot to lead. Not, however,
nearly as hard for those who have known
no better, as we know it would be for us,
unless it became a necessity from ill
health. _
The amount of deposits in the saving
banks of the United States is estimated
at $1,500,000,000.
Paris’ Style of Interviewing.
lf/orri*vi!le Courier-Journal.l
It is the dull season in Paris journal
ism, and the papers have had recourse to
political interviews to make interesting
matter for their readers. Scarcely a day
passes without a conversation between a
reporter and some great personage. They
usually proceed somewhat after this
style:
Reporter—“ What do you think of the
political question?”
Great Personage—“Ah! I might say
to you: That does not concern you; let
me alone. But as 1 know well that you
will not reveal what I tell you, I shall
talk to you without reserve.” *
R.—“ Then, you do not authorize me
to publish our interview?”
G. P.—“ I forbid it, formally.”
R. —“ Very well, then; I shall merely
print it in our paper.”
G. P.—“ Thank you; I shall be satis
fied with that. And I shall not hesi
tate, therefore, to inform you that my
deliberate opinion is that the political
situation is very serious.”
R.—“ How do you think it will event
uate?”
G. P.—“ It will not eventuate.”
R.—“ What will it do then?”
G. P.—“lt will eventuate, perhaps,
but it will renew itself. Let us remem
ber, my friend, that all ends well that
does not end ill ; that events succeed
each other; and that a ministry can not
maintain itself in power after it has
been succeeded by another. Bear that
fact in mind, young man! And I have
something of importance to communi
cate to you: The republic will not endure
if a monarchy takes its place! ”
R.—“ You appall me!”
G. P. —It is nevertheless my firm be
lief.”
R.—“But who are the men who
oppose the Republic?”
G. P.—“ Every sign leads me to believe
that they are those who are not Republi
cans.”
R. —“Willthey triumph?”
G. P. “ Incontestably, if not de
feated.”
R. —“ Then you predict a terrible
series of disasters? ’
G. P.—“ Great disasters are inevita
ble, unless they are averted. But I have
already said enough; more I will not
even consign to the oblivion of your
A Cat’s with Bees.
[Virginia (Nev.) Enterprise.]
Charles Kaiser, who has the only hive
of bees in town, says that when he first
got his colony, his old cat’s curiosity
was much excited in regard to the do
ings of the little insects, the like of
which she had never before seen. At
first she watched their comings and go
ings from a distance. She then flattened
herself upon the ground and crept along
toward the hive, with tail horizontal
and quivering. It was clearly evident
that she thought the bees were some
new kind of game. Finally, she took up
a position at the entrance to the hive,
and when a bee came in or started out,
made a dab at it with her paws. This
went on for a time without attracting
the attention of the inhabitants of the
hive.
Presently, however, old Tabby struck
and crushed a bee on the edge of the
opening of the hive. The smell of the
crushed bee alarmed and enraged the
whole colony. Bees by the score poured
forth and darted into the fur of the
astonished cat. Tabby rolled in the
grass, spitting, spluttering, biting, claw
ing and squalling as a cat never squalled
before. She appeared a mere ball of fur
and bees. She was at length hauled
away from the hive with a garden rake,
at a cost of several stings to her rescuer.
Even after she had been taken to a dis
tant part of the grounds the bees stuck
to Tabby’s fur, and about once in two
minutes she would utter an unearthly
“ yowl,” and bounce a full yard into the
air. Two or three days after the adven
ture Tabby was caught by lier owner,
who took her by the neck and threw her
down by the bee-hive. No sooner did
she strike the ground than she gave a
squall, and at a single bound reached
the top of the fence, full six feet in
height. There she clung for a moment,
with a tail as big as a rolling pin, when,
with another bound and squall, she was
out of sight and did not again put in an
appearance for more than a week.
A Ferocious I)og k
The Arlcansian relates a horrible story:
Mr. Jesse Cole left home with his team,
hauling rock. Mrs. Cole sent Tommie,
the eldest boy (who is small for his age),
to feed a bitch tied under the bank.
When Tommie arrived where the slut
was tied, they found their dog lying be
side her. The dog growled at him, and
he not suspecting danger, picked up a
little stone and cast it at the dog to
drive him away, when the dog sprang
upon him and threw him to the ground.
The dog was large and powerful, and in
his fury began tearing him in a frightful
manner. The cries of Tommie brought
his mother and Willie—in fact, all the
children—when they did all they could
to pull the dog off Finally Willie
struck him with a stick, when he let go
of Tommie and sprang on Willie, press
ing him to the ground. Mrs. Cole and
all the children fought desperately, but
could do nothing until the dog got satis
fied and slunk away with liis mouth
dripping with the blood and flesli of the
two boys. Tommie’s right arm was lit
erally torn to pieces, and both bones of
the fore arm broken, and the little finger
of the left hand torn off, and bitten,
bruised and mangled generally. Willie’
left arm was mangled frightfully and
the flesh torn away.
Baby’s christening robe is made of
Valenciennes lace and embroidery, with
shoulder knots and a sash of white satin
ribbon. The important name is not
whispered, but is engraved on a card,
which the godfather presents to the
clergyman. .
The Value of Military Studies.
[Atlantic Monthly.]
It is Worth while, in more ways than
one, for a people to know somewhat of
the art of war. D is worth while to us
as a people of r \adcrs— as a people which
takes. I think, a particular interest in
history—as a people which, because it
manages its own affairs, ought to read
history understandingly. Now no other
portion of the chronicle of humanity is
m general so incompletely presented and
so imperfectly comprehended, as that
which relates to military events. As
history is usually written, an ordinary
civilian may read about campaigns and
battles all his life, without ever really
knowing why one army failed and an
other succeeded. His first supposition
probably is that the victors were braver
than the vanquished. Then he is puzzled
to account for the apparently resulting
fact that Germans, for instance, are
sometimes braver than Frenchmen, and
sometimes not so brave. If he is a liberal
in politics, he explains this by talking
about “ the spirit of an age.” If he is
a hero-worshipper, he speaks of the
genius of Frederick, or the genius of
Napoleon. But in neither case can he
show the process by which liis favorite
cause produced the given effect.
On the other hand, the intelligent mil
itary student really and clearly sees why
this or that battle ended as it did. He
concedes, of course, a difference in the
morale of armies, and a difference in con;’
manders. But he investigates more
minutely than this: he inquires into the
particulars of organization, discipline,
and other preparation; he studies the
geography and topography of the scene
of action, and the handling of the oppos
ing columns; to this final circumstance,
indeed, he attributes an almost decisive
influence. Examining the details of Ross
bach, for example, and remembering the
principle “ not to make a flank march
within sight and reach of' an active
enemy,” he understands why forty-six
thousand French and all ies were beaten
by twenty-two thousand Prussians. Ex
amining Napoleon’s first campaign ir
Italy, and remembering the principle
“ not to make detachments on the eve of
a conflict,” he understands how seventy
five thousand Austrians and Piedmontese
were crushed by forty-four thousand
French. With the same ease many
minor mysteries of military history are
unlocked by the minor keys of military
science. An outpost is captured, or a
convoy comes to grief, through lack of
small precautions, all well known to the
educated soldier, though sometimes neg
lected by him, and all beyond even the
;guessing range of the mere civilian,
The Duty of an Audience.
[Emily Faithful in the Theater.]
Surely the obligations of the public to
ward their entertainers is not discharged
by the mere money transaction that
secures to the one a seat, and compels
the other to perform certain pieces.
Society would crumble if our dealings
with our fellow-creatures were conducted
on the hard-and-fast lines of contracts
alone, setting aside all considerations of
courtesy and good feeling. We pay our
servants, and yet clothe our commands
in the dress of politeness. We are not
obliged to express in a theater what we
do not feel, but we are obliged if we ad
mit that courtesy is among the canons of
good-breeding, to abstain from indiffer
ence so pronounced. We go even
further and assert that audiences, when
pleased, should show their approbation
frankly. They would be great gainers
by affording such cordial encouragement.
Artists are proverbially the most sensi
tive of mortals. They cannot do their
best for lymphatic spectators; applause
is to them like water to the thirsty; it
puts fresh life into them. English
audiences are painfully cold, and in
fashionable theaters, indifference is chic.
The passionate enthusiasm of an Italian
or Viennese house would be voted
absurd by our languid youths and insipid
maidens of the gilded order, and, there
fore, it is to the pit and the gods that
the artists look for encouragement.
Silent indifference is, however, negative.
No one has a right to meddle with peo
ple because they are too stupid or to af
fected to take an interest, or, if they
take it, to show it. Talking is positive,
and as it is insulting and annoying to
both actors and honest play-goers, it
ought to be put down. Behind the
scenes notices are posted up requesting
the artist not to speak in the wings dur
ing the performance of the play. A
notice, “ Talking is prohibited,” might
prove useful in the slails and boxes, and
we think one or two additions could be
made. We would suggest the following:
“Gentlemen requiring constant refresh
ment are requested to return to their
places before the curtain is rung up
again, and not to begin searching for
their hats and coats before the conclu
sion of the play.
. ——————
Noble Qualities.
IGrecnbush (N. Y.) Democrat.]
H You know more of the w T orld than I,
Augustus,” said she. “Tell me, are there
many people in the world?”
“ Not many,” said he.
“Where do people in thewprid live?”
she asked confidingly.
“ In winter on Fifth avenue; in sum
mer at Newport. Long Branch, Saratoga
and a few in Europe,” said he.
“ And are those all?” said she.
“ All,” said he, softly.
“Tell me,” said she, in her silver tones,
“ how much must one be worth to be a
gentleman or lady?”
“ At present not less than $1,000,000
In old times one might go in society foi
$500,000, but prices rule higher now. In
fact, mere millionaires are but justtoler
ated in good society,” said he.
He slipped on her finger a SI,OOO ring.
“ Remember, I am but a poor man,” said
he.
“ I care not,” said she. “ You are good
and noble, and those are qualities better
than wealth.”
Mrs. Bingle’s Butter.
[ Virginia '’hronicie.l
“This is beautiful corn-bread, my
clear,” remarked Mr. Bingle, as he sat at
breakfast this morning.
Mrs. Bingle smiled approvingly.
Air B. slit the corn bread, inserted be
tween the sections a liberal flake of but
ter. and then began to eat. A slightly
rank taste manifested itself, and in a
timid wnv lie ventured to remark
the finest butter he had tasted in town
was at Bevans’ restaurant.
Mrs. B.’s eves flashed fire and there
was a look of awful determination on her
face.
“ What’s the matter with that butter?*
she asked.
Mr. B. saw at once that he had made
a faux pa*, and cunningly endeavored to
retreat in good order.
“Oh, nothing, my dear,” he replied,
cheerfully—“ nothing the matter with
this, but—”
“ But what, now? but what?”
“Why, I’m not finding fault with the
blitter, my dear.”
“ What arc von talking about that
restaurant butter for, then? Isn’t this
butter good?”
“Well, now, Tabitlia, if you insist
upon a direct answer, truth compels mo
to say that there is just a very little —
rank taste; but I probably got a slice from
the outside of the roll.”
Mrs. B. contemplated her lord in silent
amazement for a full minute.
“ Well, confound you, you confounded
old fool! You’re never satisfied with
anything on your own table. A woman’s
a fool that tries to please you, anyhow.
You’re bound to growl at everything.”
“ Why, my dear Tabitlia, I haven’t
growled at anything. You asked me if
the butter was good, and surely you
wouldn’t have me say it was if I
thought—”
“ Oh, shut up! shut up! You don’t
know what is good or what isn’t. Talk
about you restaurants, confound you!
I wish you’d go and live at a restaurant
altogether. I declare I’ve been married
to you for thirty years, and I never in
my life heard you praise anything on
your own table.”
Mr. B. had a fine opening for him to
say, “ what, never?” but he lacked the
courage to takh advantage of it. He
just stared blankly at his wife and be
seechingly protested that she was too
severe on him. Her meat pies, he
avowed, brought a heavenly bliss to his
soul, and the way she broiled a steak was
unequaled; in fact, only a few minutes
ago he had highly praised her corn
bread.
“ You did not—nothing of the kind!
You never praised anything cooked for*
you at home. If you did, I’m sure you
didn’t mean it.”
In an agony of despair, the hapless
husband grabbed his hat and rushed
from the house. This afternoon he was
treating the crowd continually in the
Magnolia saloon, and singing, “ What a
(hie) jolly old cockle am L”
The Largest Sapphire In the World,
| Paris Letter.]
I have recently been favored with the
sight of one of the famous jewels of the
world—a stone that has its history and
its pedigree and is celebrated in the
annals of the noted gems of Europe; I
have held it in my hands and admired
beneath the rays of the sunlight the
finest sapphire that is known to exist.
This beautiful and well nigh priceless
stone combines in a singularly perfect
degree the leading qualifications of size,
shape, color and water. In form it is a
flat oval, being about two inches long by
one inch and a half wide. It is cut
slightly en cabochon on top and into a
multitude of small facets beneath. Its
hue is perfect, being a warm, lustrous
Marie Louise blue, not so dark as to show
black beneath the gaslight, but having
all the velvety softness and purity of
tint that are required in a really fine
gem of this description, its weight is
300 carats, and it belongs to a noble and
wealthy Russian family, in whose pos
session it has been for the past two cen
turies, and it has been placed by its
owner in the hands of one of the great
diamond merchants of Paris for safe
keeping. One of the Rothehild family
has offered for it no less a sum than $300,-
000, but the offer has been refused. £
asked the courteous gentleman in whose
care it has been left as to the actual
value of the stone. Fie told me that,
being, as it was, perfectly unique, no
precise valuation could be set upon it,
but that he was inclined to estimate it
at some $400,000- He also showed me
a string of enormous graduated pearls of
extreme purity and fineness (the center
one was as large as a small cherry;, and
he told me that the necklace belonging
to the noble Russian waa composed of
six similar strings of equal beauty and
exceptional size. The great sapphire
was mounted to be worn as a brooch,
being surmounted with large diamonds
of some twenty carats each. Its guardian
imformed me that the pendant belong
ing to its brooch was composed of a large
pear-shaped sapphire, weighing sixty
carats, and set in diamonds. The whole
collection of jewels belonging to this one
family is worth over $2,000,000. “There
is no such sapphire as that largest one,”
continued my informant, “even among
the crown jewels of Russia. I furnished,
myself two very fine ones to the empress,
each weighing sixty carats, but they do
not compare with this magnificent gem.”
The gentleman who spoke was well
qualified to give an opinion, as he is one
of the few great diamond merchants of
the world, and is, moreover, a noted ex
pert-
Thkee cures for sore throat are recom
mended by the New York Times, as fol
lows: (1) Gargle the throat with solu
tion of salt and water. (2) Gargle throat
with chlorate of potash and water. (3)
Keep a small lump of gum camphor in
the mouth and swallow the saliva; do the
same with chlorate of potash.