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Fanny Uncle PhfL
I heard the grown folks talking last night when
I lay abed,
So I shut ray eyes and listened to everything
they said;
And first they said that Polly and Phil were
coining here,
And a good old soai was Polly, but Phil was
always queer.
And they never, never, never, in all their Uvea
could see
llow Polly came to marry hint, nor how they
could agree;
For she was just as bright and sweet as any
flower in May,
But he was tight us a drum-head, and as black
as a stony day.
And his nose was always poking into othei
tola’s affairs,
And he was altogether too fond of splitting
hairs;
And he iiad so many corners you never could
come near
Without your hitting some ot them, or being in
constant fear.
Well, I listened very hard, and I ’membered
every word.
And 1 thought it was the queerest thing a body
ever heard;
And in the evening, when I heard the chaise
come down the hill,
1 almost couldn’t wait to see my funny Uncle
Phil.
But, ofi ! what store* groprn folks tell! He
wasn’t black at all!
And he hadn't any corners, but was plump and
fair and small;
His nose turned up a Uttle, but then it wnft so
wee,
How it could poke so very much I really
couldn’t see.
And when he saw me stanng, he nodded hard,
and smiled;
And then he asked them softly if I was Elsie's
child;
And when grandma said I was he took me
gently an his kuee,
And wound ray longest curl übout his finger
corefuUy.
And he told me ’iioiit my mamma when she
was a little girl,
And all the time he talked he kept his finger
on that curl;
Till at last I couldn’t stand it, and I slipped
down by his chair,
And asked him how he came to bo so fond ol
splitting lioir.
My! how he stared ! and Jimmy laughed,
and grandma shook her head,
And grandpa had his awful look, and Uncle
Bam turned red;
And then the clock ticked very loud, the
kitchen was so still,
And 1 knew ’twas something dreadful 1 had
said to Uncle Phil.
But I couldn't help it then, so I told him every
word,
And he listened very quietly; ho never spoke
nor stirred,
Till 1 told him ’bout tho corners, and said 1
didn’t know
How ho could have so many when there didn’t
any allow.
•
And then ho laughed and laughed, till the
kitchen fairly shook;
And ho g.tvo the frightened grown folks such a
bright and funny look,
And said, " ’Tis true, my littlegirl, when Polly
uuirried me
1 was full of ugly corners, but she’s smoothed
them down, you see.”
And thou they ull shook hands again, and
J immy pivo three cheers,
And Uncle Sum said little pitchers had most
monstrous ears;
And grandma kissed Aunt Polly; but then she
looked at me,
And said I'd better “meditate” while she was
getting tea. •
That means that I must sit and think what
naughty things I’ve done;
It roust lie 'cause I’m little yet—they seemed
to thiuk ’twas fun.
I doa't quite understand it all; well, by and by
I will
Creep softly up to him, and ask my fiuiuy
Uncle Phil.
—Amelia Dailey-Alden in If ’idt Awake.
1“ 1 .. .. 1 ...a •
AN APRIL HOAX.
Ixioking at it from without, it dot's
not appear very unlike its fellows, this
little suburban cottage of the Host,
with its unpretending bonded porch,
over which the ivy trails its dark green
foliage, its two parlor windows in trout,
and its bay-window at the side; but
within there is nothing commonplace.
Every room, every corner, rejects the
refined taste' of Janet Roy. and the
quaint fancies of her brother Dick.
Pick, the handsome, the talented, the
gentlemanly— he is all this and more in
is sister Janet's eyes—is sitting on the
window-seat, the sun bathing his
shapely figure in its impartial rays. He
is rending the morning paper; witli
more interest probably tluui most men
arc wont to have, for he rccognizls the
mannerism of each writer on the editori
al page —he is on the editorial staff him
self —and takes pleasure in ‘seeing how
Smith treats the Eastern question, what
Jones thinks of the eondition of the In
dians. ami what Brown has to say on
the presidential policy. He has not
written a stroke for over a week him-
self. He has been quite ill; a heavy
cold threatening pneumonia has kept
him a prisoner at the cottage, and for
seven mornings has the public been de
prive! of the pleasure and profit of pe
rusing his timely and caustic remarks
upon general topics. Only yesterday he
stepped across the threshold into man
hood ; it was his twenty-first birthday:
to-day he is a citizen of the republic.
The dock on the mantel-shelf tinkles
forth eight silvery notes. Dick looks up
from his paper with some show of im
patience. Where can Janetiic? As if
in answer to his thought, the door
opens, ami Miss Roy, tall and graceful,
in a drestflof oßve-giwu serge, in charm
ing contrast with her light golden hair,
comes softly in.
“ Have you been waiting long. Dick? - ’
she asks, in a pleasant, kindly voice.
“I must have overslept myself.*'
“'No,” replies Dick, throwing down
his paper and yawning languidly, “ not
verv long; but I'm glad you’ve come,
for Vm deueedly hungry. Rather a good
sign, isn’t it. Jean?"’
To be hungry? Yes: very good"—
sitting down at the tabletand tapping
the call-bell. “ But it won’t last very
long. I'll venture to say that in fifteen
minutes from now your appetite will be
considerably diminished.’ 1
Very likely," said Dick, as Sarah en
ters from tb e kitchen, bearing the cof
fee- l m in one hand and a dish of beef
stea* in r ae other. “At any rate, I will
set' how far steak, coffee and hot bis
cuits will go toward diminishing it."
Presently there is a violent ring at the
door-belL
“Who can that hoi?” exclaimed Dick,
inquisitively. “ I wonder if any of the
bovs could have! come out to see what
had become of me?"
“It sounds very like the postman."
adds his sister: and the postman it is.
Two letters are his contribution to the
Roys this morning, both of which Sarah
hands to Miss Janet, who hurriedly
reads the addresses. One is for herself,
the other is fi*r her brother.
** * Here is a letter for you. sir, if vour
naira* is Horatio,’ ’’ she quotes, reaching
it to him across the table.
“But my name is not Horatio,” he
HMfEbREcHO.
By T. L. GANTT,
replies, ©amfetingly, as he takas it.
“ Arp yvu aware that to paraphrase is
perfectly allowable? ‘lf your name be
Ri<4*a.r<r would be much more appropri
ate, and wouM sound far better.^
Janet seared v listens to tho prattle of
her brother: the letter that has come for
her is edged with black, and she is
nervously tearing open the envelope in
her haste to see what ill news it lias
brought, whose death it has come to an
nounce.
Dick notices her agitation as she draws
out the inclosed sheet, and wonders,
even as she is wondering, what can be
its message.
“ t neie Arthur is dead,” she says, the
next moment, giving a sigh of relief.
“ I saw it was in Harry’s handwriting,
and so feared it was Cousin Margaret. ’
“ Uncle Arthur !” repeats Hick. “ Un
cle Arthur! He’s one of my respected
great-uncles, whom I have never had
the pleasure of seeing: a California mil
lionaire. I wonder did it ever strike
him that a little of his wealth would be
acceptable to his great-niece and great
nephew, who are battling with the
world fai; away over here in the East?”
“Oh, Dick!” exclaims Miss Roy,
greatly shocked, “ how can you talk
the poor man’s money when he is just
dead ?”
“Poor man!” says Dick, laughing.
“I always thought he was a rich one.”
“May r inquire,” asks’ Miss Roy,
meekly, when her brother had twice
read the epistle he holds in his hand,
and is about to begin again, “ what Nell
has to say that is so very interesting?”
A slight flu.-Ax mounts to Diek’s face as
he hurriedly crumples the missive into
his pocket.
“Nell!” he repeats. “How did you
know it was from Nell?”
“ I know her handwriting.”
“ But it’s just like hundreds of others,”
continued Dick, buttering a hot roll in
continuance of his breakfast* “All
ladies write in the same style now-a-days.
The letters are all very tall and all very
thin.”
“ Each lady’s hand has a peculiarity,
nevertheless.”
‘“Which nobody can deny,’” quotes
Richard. Some hands are pink and
some are white, some are fat and some
are lean, some wear diamonds and some
wear none.”
“How you trip one up!” exclaimed
Janet, smiling. “ You know very well
what I mean. Would you have me
stumble over the whole length of ‘ chir
ography’ every time?”
“By no mcAs. It would only be a
waste of breath, and would seem its
though you were intentionally airing
your knowledge of Webster’s Una
bridged.”
Dick is beginning'to congratulate him
self on the masterly wav in which he has
turned the subject anil escaped rudely
telling his' sister that the contents of
Miss Nellie Taylor’s letter are not for her
ears, when she again refers to his re
marks.
“ By- the-bye,” she says, as she draws
from the urn her brother’s second cup of
coffee, “speaking of some hands with
diamonds and some without, Nell doesn’t
wear one, dot® she? When do you pro
pose presenting her with one of the
gems?”
“ I was not aware” (with mock grav
ity) “ that young men are generally ex
pected to provide their lady friends with
diamond rings.”
“ Did the fact that there is such a
thing as an engagement ring ever present
itself to your enlightened intellect?”
“ Engagement /” repeats Dick; “did I
understand you to say engagement ?
Since pdien, pray, did you conclude that
your respected brother had given his
heart to another? I know of no engage
ment.’**
“ Oh, dear!” says Janet, sighing melo
dramatically ; “ have 1 really been mis
taken? And here I was already congrat
ulating myself on so soon having a sister
in-law !”
“Do you rphiomber the nursery
rhyme?” asks Dick:
“ ‘ Can the love that you’re so rich ill
Build a lire in the kitchen ?
Or the little god ol love turn the spit, spit,
spit ?’
I should hesitate, I think, to ask any
one to marry me, for fear of having that
couplet thrown in my face. Now if that
dear old great-uncle of ours had only
taken it into his aged head to leave us a
few of his many thousands, then perhaps
J might think of engagements and dia
mond rings and mothers-in-law; and
you might begin to speculate on the com
parative advantages of my various lady
friends as a sister-in-law,”
“Poor, dear old man!” Janet con
tinues, kindly. “I can just remember
sitting on his knee and playing with his
long heard at the time he was on from
the \Vest. It’s really a shame, Dick, our
being so lively, and Uncle Arthur, grand;,
father’s own brother, lying dead."'
“Well, my dear, I should be lying
alive if I said I was sorry lie’s gone; for
while there's death there’s hope, and who
knows but he may have thought of us?”
“Oh, Dick!” beseechingly, “please
don’t joke about it. I really do feel bad
ly, and Cousin Margaret and Harry must
be so grieved.”
“So they must,” says Dick, apparent
ly acquiescing in his sister's views. “ I
am sure we all do. Don’t you think,
jean, we had better bow the shutters
and hang out black bombazine?”
•’ I slutll bow the shutters,” adds Janet,
feeling rather angry at her brother’s eon
iinueu ioking. “it is the least we can
do, ana it shows some respect for our
grandfather’s brother,” rising and leav
ing Dick still at the table.
“Our grandfather's brother!” repeats
he; “what an awfully near relative!
Surely he must have bequeathed some
thing to his brother’s grandchildren.”
Dick is in his study now—a neat, cozy
I little room back of the drawing-room,
i which is in reality the library, but which
Mr. Roy, he being a literary man, choos-
es to call his study. He is sitting at his
table, with Nell’s letter spread out Before
him, and is reading it for the fourth
time. Then' is nothing very remarkable
ahout it: it is not what one'would style
a love-letter, nml yet Dick would not Kir
alt tlie worki have his sister get agliiupsc
of it.
“ Deak Dick. — I have been looking for
you to call, as you promised, and am
much surprised at not having seen you.
Your birthday, I think you told me, is
abqut this time. Did you have a party?
and are you so elated at having attained
vour majority that you are above visit
ing your friends? 1 cannot think that
because you an' now a man you have
given up all the friendsjof your c hUdhot/d.
Please call soon, and tell me all about
your presents. Ever your friend, Nell.
That is it: and in it Dick is trying to
find traces of something more than
friendship.
“ Nell is an awfully jolly girl,” he says
to himself, leaning back in his chair and
thrusting his hands into his pockets:
“just ns nillof fun ns ever she can bel I
wonder whether she really does care any
thing for me? I'm not altogethera bad
looking fellow, if I do say it myself, and
I fancy I can talk quite as vpll as the
mv>st of ’em. How is one to tell whether
a girl cans more for him than for
another, when she persists in being jolly
with every one?”
Then he gets to thinking of some
means to solve the problem. How shall
he prove her? Presently an idea comes
| to him. first faintly, indistinctly; then
more plainly and more vividly, until a
plan—an excellent plan, he thinks—
stands out before him. in beautiful sym
metry . Even thing seems to have work
ed in favor of it. and he is naturally joy
ous over his discovery.
He opens one of the drawers in his
writing-table and takes out a packet ol
letters. Through them he searches until
he finds two that Janet wrote him while
he was away on his midsummer vaca
tion. These he spreads open before him.
and taking a sheet of note-paper he be
gins to write, now closely studying his
sister’s letters, now slowly putting words
upon the paper. Half an hour and he
has finished. He folds the sheet, incloses
it in on envelope, aud addressee it as
THE ONLY PAPER IN ONE OP THE LARGEST, MOST INTELLIGENT AND WEALTHIEST COUNTIES IN GEORGIA,
carefully as he has written it. Then he
rises, and, unlocking the door, meets
Janet in the hall. She sees him take
down his hat to go out.
“ Had you not hotter wear your over
coat?” she asks. “Pm aft-aid you might
take cold -AgAin:” '•-*
“Urn not going inr.” he answers;
“ only to post a letter.”
“To Nell?”she asks, teasingly. “Are
you not rather prompt in answering your
oorresijonrten ts?”
Dhi;, making no rep If, goes out, while
she: laughing to herself, hurries away to
her numerous household duties.
The next morning is the Ist of April—
All-fool’s Day, with its temptations to
practical jokes and its myriads of little
innocent lies, when every one does his
best to make a fool of his dearest friend
as well as his direst foe. It is a bright,
sunny morning, that swells the buds to
bursting, and draws up the blades of
fresh young grass as a magnet draws steel.
Dick Roy is m the very best of spirits;
he lias persuaded Janet into believing
that lie has taken a fresh cold; has as
sumed a voice as hoarse as a veteran bull
frog; and has been looking the very pic
ture of distress, until the arrival of the
postman—just as he is creeping in to
breakfast and adding to his sisters anx
iety by his distressed countenance—
causes him to brighten up, and in the
clearest tone rernark, “ Ton my word,
Jean, my cold’s gone. Did it strike you
this was the first day of April?”
An expression of relief mingled with
annoyance mounts Miss Roy’s counte
nance. •.
“ You awful boy!” she exclaims. “ You
should be ashamed of yourself, trying to
fool your own sister.”
“ And succeeding, too,” laughs Dick.
The only letter this morning is one for
him. It is hidden by a large yellow en
velope, and addressed in a hold heavy
hand that gives one an impression of im
portant business at once. As Dick opens
it and catches sight of the heading, liis
face brightens in expectation, and con
tinues brightening until he has read it
quite through, when he is wearing the
broadest of smiles.
“Hurrah!” he shouts, his boyishness
making its appearance through his new
ly acquired manhood—“hurrah for Uncle
Arthur ! Hurrah ! Jean, we’ve been
left a fortune !”
Janet looks at him unbelievingly.
She has been fooled once this morning,
and does not intend to submit tamely to
what she considers her brother’s second
attempt.
“If you must joke, Dick,” she says,
calmly, her voice and manner strangely
contrasting with his excitement, “ pray
don’t take such a subject. You are play
ing your part very well, I admit; but
still I remember now what day it is.”
“ But I’m not ioking; it’s a fact. Here
is a letter from the dear old hoy’s lawyer.
Look at the postmark; look at the
letter-head; read the message,” he goes
on, excitedly, running around to his sis
ter’s side of the table and spreading the
envelope and its contents before her.
He is certainly not fooling her now, as
she is compelled to admit when she is
thus presented with the evidence. The
same heavy style of writing that was
without is within.
“ Richard Bog, Esq.:
“ Deak Sik” (it begins),—“ I have
pleasure in informing you that the will
of the late Arthur Roy, Esq., of this city, -
bequeaths to his great-nephew and great
niece, Richard and Janet Roy (yourself
and sister), each the sum of fifty thou
sand dollars. These amounts are in
vested in United States government
bonds, and shall be forwarded to you in
due course*
“ I<have the honor to he your obedi
ent. servant,
“ J. Madison Perky, Executor.”
The effect of the reading on Janet is
quite the reverse of that on her brother.
Instead of breaking forth into joyous
shouts, her sensitive nature causes her to
burst into a flood of tears.
Dick looks at her in astonishment.
Wliat can she he crying for ? lie thinks.
A legacy of fifty thousand dollars he
does not consider a cause for weeping,
and concludes that his sister has become
mystified in regard to the time to weep
and the time to laugh.
“ What is the matter with you ?” he
asks, when the first outburst has sub
sided into occasional suppressed sobs.
“ Oh. Dick !” cries Janet, wiping her
eyes, “ I believe you have no feeling at
all. Just to think what a dear, kind
uncle we have lost! How good of him
to remember us !”
“ Very good of him, indeed,” adds
Dick; “but I can't see that that ought
to make one sad. Rather a cause for re
joicing, I should sav. Poor fellow, he
was so old he couldn’t enjoy it, and I
dare say he’s better off where lie is; that
is, if he was as good as liis will makes
me think he was.”
Janet is really grieved. Her nature is
so intensely sensitive that a great kind
ness invariably lias this effect upon her.
She refuses any more breakfast, and goes
hastily up to her room, where she spends
the morning in trying to picture her
uncle, as he was when, so many years
ago, sne sat on his lap, and child-like
ran her tiny fingers through his long
gray beard.
All through the morning, as, thinking
thus, she sits diligently sewing, tears
ever ami anon well up iu her eyes and go
trickling down her cheeks before she is
aware of their presence. Asa natural
consequence, twelve o’clock finds her
with very red eyes and nosg, and a gen
eral appearance of having gone through
a most heart-rendering affliction. This
is her condition when Sarah knocks at
the door, and on entering announces that
Miss Taylor is in the drawing-room.
“Oh. what shall I do?” exclaims
; Janet, in perplexity, as soon as the maid
|is out of ear-shot. “ She will see that I
i have been crying, and will want to know
all about it; ana T really can't talk of it
I now. I wonder where Dick is: he might
go and see her, and explain that I'm not
well; hut dear me —getting up and
smoothing back her hair with both
hands—“l suppose ha’s out somewhere.
He never is about when he's wanted, but
is sure to he here when he’s not.” So.
wiping her eyes for the hundredth time
since breakfast, and giving her nose the
fiftieth gentle blow, she goes softly down
to the drawing-room in search of lier
visitor. Nellie' Taylor—a rather short,
plump girl, with a charmingly pretty
pink and white face—rises quickly as
Janet comes in.
“ Oil, Jeanshe says, going to meet
her, ami presonting a countenance tliat
for signs of weeping is not a whit better
i off than Miss Roy's, “ I do so sympathize
i with you!”
Janet is much surprised at these words.
On what account does she sympathize
with her? Surely she cannot know why
she has been spending the morning in
tears.
“Come and sit down by me,” Nell
goes on, taking her hand ana draw-in"
her to a sofa. “ Trouble comes to all of
us some time, you know.”
“ But.” begins Janet, thoroughly puz
zled, as they sit down together, “mv
dear Nqll "
“ There, now." interrupted she, “ don't
speak to me of it: don’t tell me how
much worse you feel than I. I know
you think so; but. indeed”—and the
: tears began to trickle down her cheeks
again—“you don't know how I loved
him."
“Nell, what are you talking about?”
, Janet asks, excitedly, her grief having
given way to astonished curiosity. “It
is evident there is a misunderstanding
■ somewhere.”,
Nell looks at her curiously,
i “Are you angry?” she asks, in a hurt
I tone; “ would you not have approved of
i his making me his wife?"
j “You marrv Uncle Arthur!”
“Uncle Arthur!” repeats Nell. It is
, she who is surprised now.-- “Who is
Uncle Arthur?"
i “Thedear, kind old gentleman who
1 has just died."
“But I have been talking of Dick.
1 You must have known I was. Poor
LEXINGTON, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, MAY. 16, 1879.
dear Dick! and again she is weepin<* as
though her heart would break, -
“ But Dick is not dead Kk , V- ,
Nell looks up in incredfilous, glad sur
prise. Thore 4s a movement of the
trlik-h covers the entrance tor the
, “ Nor likely to be soon,” shouted Rich
ard, running-forward from his hiding
place, where he has heard”
versation, his pleasant face wreathed in
The next moment he has caught Nell
m his arms and is kissing away the re
maining tears.
. “ You darling good girl!” he says, pas
sionately, now I believe you do care a
little bit for me.”
“But I cannot understand it,” says
Janet, in wonder. “What ever could
have caused you to think Dick was
dead?”
“ The idea of asking me, after the letter
you wrote!” replies Nell. “Didn’t you
tell me so? I didn’t think, Jean, that
you could perpetrate such an awful
joke.”
“ But I wrote no letter,” adds Janet.
Nell puts her hand in her pocket and
draws forth an epistle.
“Read it,” she says. “If you didn’t
write it, who did ?” And Janet read:
“ Friday morning.
“My Deak Nei.l.—l have very sad
news for you. Our darling boy is no
more. At twelve o’clock Wednesday
night he breathed his last. Oh, how can
I write it ? I can scarcely realize that he
is gone. Please do come out and see me.
I know you thought a great deal of him,
and can sympathize with me.
“Ever yours, Janet Roy.”
Suddenly it comes to Janet that per
haps her great uncle was related to the
Taylors also.
“Was he”—she begins; hut before she
can finish the question Nell answers her:
“ Yes ” (sobbing). “ Didn’t you know
it? Oh, why didn’t someone let me
know that he was So ill? I would have
so liked to he with him! ”
Janet looked pityingly at her young
friend. Surely her uncle must have
been a very lovable old gentleman to in
spire this affection.
“ But how strange it is,” she thinks,
“that I never knew we were even dis
tantly connected with the Taylors. Per
haps Dick knew it, but I’m sure he
never told me.” Then she begins sob
bing again for mere sympathy, and for a
moment not a word is spoken.
“Was he so very dear to you?” asks
Janet, bringing the cambric into play
again.
“Oh, Jean,”Nell answers, also wiping
away the tears, “you cannot imagine
how we loved each other. There was no
time set, but then it was understood that
it was to come off as soon as his salary
was sufficient for him to ” —and then she
burst into tears again.
“What do you mean?”—in surprise.
“What was to come off? ”
“We were engaged, you know,” Nell
says, looking up.
“Engaged!”—with great astonishment.
“ Did you not know it? ”
“ But it is not my writing,” says
Janet. “ I never-make my e’s like that,
nor*sign myself ‘Ever yours,” and, be
sides, there was no black on the door.”
“ It is very like your writing, and I
never thought of the black. Who could
have sent the letter if you didn’t?”
Dick, who is still standing with his
arm about Nell’s waist, hursts into a
hearty laugh. “ I am the author,” lie
says. “It was a little April hoax, and it
worked admirably—far better than I ex
pected.”
“You awful boy!” exclaim Nell and
Janet in chorus.
“The boy is dead,” persists Dick.
“ But what a frightful story you told!”
says Nell; “and how |ternbly I was
worried!”
“It is all true,” says Dick. “ There is
not an Untruth in the whole letter: the
boy is no more; the boy did breathe his
last. lam a man now. Thursday was
friy twenty-first birthday.”
“But you forged my name,” says
Janet.
“ I put my initial below, if you
notice, replies Dick. And sure enough,
there it was. “ And our wedding will
he just as soon as you can get ready,” he
adds, turning to Nell. “The interest of
fifty thousand, winch you must know
the puzzling Unel&Vrthur just left me,
plus my salary, is all-sufficient, isn’t it?
and I say, Jean, how do you like the
prospect of a sister-in-law? It was
rather a pleasant April-fool after al[,
wasn’t it?”— Harper's Bazar.
Article YII.
Ephias Jones was a little old man, his
face as wrinkled as a walnut and his
voice as pipy as a tin whistle. lie was
brought in for disturbing the peace on
the street. He was so cranky that he
elbowed and kicked pedestrians and re
fused to “ move on ” for street car or car
riage. Bijali had hard work to get him a
cell, and twice as hard to get him out.
He had to bring him in his arms, and the
old man kicked and scratched like a boy
of ten.
“They - can’t nobody shove me around!”
squeaked the little old man as he was
dropped before the desk.
“Has anybody abused you?” mildly
inquired the court.
“No, because they dasn’t do it. I’m
little and old, but I won’t take a word of
sass from any man in the State of Mich
igan.”
“ Do you want to go home? ”
“If I want to go I shall go. If I don’t
I won’t,” sT ' „
“ Have you a family? ”
“ I won’t tell you.”
His honor saw that he had an original
character to deal with, and hcjsaid to
Bijah:
“Take this nice old man into the cor
ridor and read him Article VII, and let
him out by tire private door.”
’Uncle Ephias was carried away, kiekr
ing and clawing. No man outside of Mb
has any idea wlrat occurred in the
ridor. It is known that Bijah broiffifft
down four of his best spankers the olbfiV
day, anti he has often beep heard to ex
press liis opinion that certain old men de
serve a certain line of treatment wijroi
they get to carrying on as this one 3*o.
The uewsboys who were packed jn rfifijh
to the wall affirm that they heard-old
familiar sounds, well laid on, but it is la
mystery that may never he unraveßM.
When the old man was let out he junwtel
clear into the gutter with a yell, and a
close observer-could havedetected splint
ers from a pine shingle hanging tqjkis,
coat tails. — Detroit Free Pntss. J •<!
------ jj
Jests from French Papers. ’ ‘
A gentleman finds himself in the hjthis ,
of two highwaymen, with which Paris j
has been infested for several weeks, wlio j
vainlv search his pockets.
“ Wht tb ass vou are," they exelfiioi,
“ to go out at night without your watch.
The idea of your believing these styipjd
newspaper reporters !”
A well-known politician was formerly
a dbetor. and pohr one at that. He
was talking the other day of in
gratitude:'
“ You can’t imagine,” he said to an ac
quaintance, who remembered his being a
doctor. “ the number of people that are
indebted to their positions.”
“ Their horizontal ones, you mean ?"
Extract from anew novel: “Takin.
a pen he sat down and wrote to a friend
rabbins his hands sleepily together as he
proceeded.”
One of the new Republican officials saw
in his room a big, well-dressed fellow
standing with his arms crossed and doing
nothing. The third day he went to liim
and asked:
“ Whatare you4nrk Itwo-ly *
“ I*n vour selunm: secretary." replied
the voting man. not in the least disturbed.
“ Indeed, and what are your duties T'
! “Always to beon hand in case you may
want me. ’
A retired milkman sent his son to
j travel, telling him to take notes and write
home what he saw. He crossed a Span
! ish river dry shod, and wrote: ** It would
! be impossible to carry on the milk busi
i ness in this part of the country.”
A Lucky Holder.*
A San Francisco correspondent writes:
Tliere are so many curious turns of
fortune’s wheel rtn the Comstock. I
heard, only yesterday, of a case where
cold-blooded persistency of purpose and
tenacity of grit in face of most discour
aging circumstances won a big fortune;
and the case is the more remarkable
because, knowing the parties, meet
ing them almost every day. being fami
liar rwith tlieir surroundings, etc., I
never before heard of it. It leaked out
only by accident. Mr. Root is the man
who designed all the machinery, laid all
the plans, made all the contracts, and
superintended the work of building Gov.
Stanford’s famous wire-cable street-rail
road in this city, which runs a distance
of two miles through the richest and
best part of the city, and is to-day the
model street-railway of the continent.
Root is a young man, not over thirty-six,
thin, wiry, homely, and —well, shabby.
He is a splendid mechanic, and though
for a long time in Central Pacific em
ploy, nobody knew him until lie built
the Stanford street-railway, entirely on
his own plans, that there was so much
in him’ To look at him you wouldn’t
think Root ever, saw a mining-stock
certificate.
Yet one day when Sierra Nevada
was booming along at 200, Root walked
into the office of a leading broker, an
old friend, and said: ’
“Dan, guess we’d better get rid of
some of this now,” and he handed over
two certificates, one of 500 shares and
the other of 100. “Dan” took them,
looked them over, and noticed that the
hacks of both were perfectly covered
with receipts for assessments.
“Where in the world did you get
these?” asked Dan.
“Bought ’em four years ago,” said
Root. “ FTad ’em lying in my trunk ever
since. Paid, I think, fifty cents a share
for some, six bits for some more, and got
some for two bits. Been paying assess
ments ever since religiously, and the
whole lot stands me in about $5 a share.
I want you to sell half of it now, for I
guess it's time to ‘ call the turn,’ ” and
within tlu'oc days 300 shares of Root’s
stock found a market at from S2OO to
$220, and his broker passed to his credit
over $60,000.
The other 300 shares he got lid of at
' $225 and $240, and about $70,000 more
went to his credit. He hauled down
$50,000, and then, as to the rest, said to
his broker (and here is the point I want
to make), “ I want you to put so many
thousand into Norcross, so many into
California, so many into Curry, and so
many into Belcher. Pay for them, let
them lie; and when assessments come
pay on them.”
“But,” said the brokfer, “you may
have to wait, and”—
“That’s just what I expect to do—
wait. But sooner or later someone or
the other of those stocks will make me a
fortune.”
And this is the spirit that our average
working Californian goes into specula
tion on the Comstock with. Few here
buy Comstock stocks for dividends. Let
a mine there begin to pay dividends, and
unless they are very big, or the mine
has a prospect of keeping them up, not a
dollar is added to the value of the stock.
Our quiet buyer, our business man. our
shrewd capitalist, are all actuated by
the same idea. “Buy them when they
are cheap, lay them away, and sooner or
later if any mine within a mile makes a
strike we may make 500 per cent. If the
stride should come in our own mine we
may make from 5,000 to 10,000 per cent.,
anil, perhaps, if we have stock enough,
walk off with the fortune we expected to
have to work all our lives for.”
History on Bark.
A short time ago a discovery of several
mounds, evidently artificially construct
ed and not the handiwork of nature, was
made at what % known as Sheridan’s
drive, on a range of hills immediately to
the west of Fort Leavenworth, Kan.
Within these mounds were traces of
stonework as artistic and nearly perfect
as that of the present day. A party went
to the mounds and found a sort of book
of records, written, or transcribed rather,
upon pieces of hark, and placed together
like the leaves of a book and tied with
smaller pieces of hark. Among the ex
ploring party was a gentleman from
Boston, who had made the language of
Mexico a study, and who, upon examin
ation of the records’found in the mounds,
found a similarity between the writings
in the records and the ancient language
of Mexico during the time of the Monte
zumas.
The record is a history—a chronicle of
events. No dates are given, but' from
historical analogy it is to be inferred that
it must have been about 1420, during the
reign of the Montezumas in Mexico,
when the emperors of that name had it
all their own way in not only their own
section of the country, but up toward our
West as well. The records give the de
tails of a great battle, probably on the
very spot where the metropolis of Kan
sas now stands. According to the rec
ords, the battle rtjged for three days and
the ground was strewn with slain, and
after the conflict was over the victors,
with the prisoners they had taken, re
versed their steps and went back to
Mexico, where the captives were to be
| offered up upon the altars as a sacrifice
Ito their god of war. The records were
evidently written by the victors, and
1 placed by them in the mounds whore
I they were found. The records ponsist of
i ten large pieces of hark, flattened out,
about ten or twelve inches ip size, and
I hound tight together by thongs of bark
: cut mto long strips and pressed. They
| havemcen sent to Boston, aryl-are to be
placed in the State Historic*! Museum
' there.— Potter's Monthly. Afylc;.
|- ' -
The Soup Sum*.
A laily.fn the outskirts ofi'Denver was
tl;e victim the other day tramp’s
practical joke.' Even in tlvftsrvifcabonds
there ,is an occasional humor
wlimh.is. Worth preserving. '*TE3ie inci
dent happened in this wise: About the
middle of the afternoon, a tramp put in
an appearance and asked , politely if he
coilldJie permitted to coofltmniimse Ifa
plate of shop, *.
“ J have the ingredients wsth me.” he
said, -dUffbiying a cobblestone-ajxiut the
size yyfaip Apple.
The lady very naturffiT Thoked at
.hinf'fn surprise. ’w
■ “You can’t make ,nuni|L,of tliat
,rt>ek. cun you ?” sin- inquir
madam. “TlfifeiAyhat we
Tnu a sonpatone.” ' % *tjjp
•** Well. I should like tpae# yaw do it;”
and she forthwith made 'tip' a nre in the
etds*“and the tramp cuMsmed opera
tions. -. He filled, the stover pan with
water, and after it commemWl to boil,
very carefully deposited the'Wtonc in a
pan in the water.”
I shall have to trouble you for a lit
tle seasoning,” he said, and tKe lady has
tened to get him atf onion, a piece of
meat ana s poiliato. These wore care
fully'efit rip and put in ,to boil along
with the stone. In a short time a de
licious plate of soup was prepared. The
lady tested it and was deflffhted with the
flavor. The fellow sat 'down and ate,
and his hostess immediately added what
was necessary to make a substantial
meal. When he left he said he could
get plenty of soup stones on his waya, nd
e.would leave that one with her as an
evidence of how sincerely he appreciated
her kindness. She was firmly convinced
that she had come into possession of a
treasure. That night she told her hus
band of the (•ijcamstauce 4 He listened
to the recital and then tnquked inno
cently :
“ Don't you think the meat and the
onion and the tomato would have made
a very good soup without the rock?”
Gradually the trick began to dawn
upon her. and if you want to make that
lady mad, you have only to ask her for
the loan of her soup stone. —Rocky Moun
tain -Yew*.
Ericsson’s Substitute for Steam.
Scribner has a paper on Jo ha Ericsson,
by Colonel W. G.*(. liurch. which it is
claimed is theonly Kill amfwholly trust
worthy,popular account of this remarka
ble man and engineer. The following com
ment on latest invention, the
solar engine, is the first authentic an
nouncement of the machine, of which a
large cut is also given:
No man has accomplished more with
steam than Ericsson: yet lie lias never
altogether abandoned his early idea of
employing heat directly as a means of
generating mechanical power. The flame
engine is among the curiosities 'of the
past: the caloric engine, though a me
chanical sudbess—over 3,000 of them
having been built—has not accomplished
Till that was intended. From the attempts
to find a substitute for: or an auxiliary
of steam, in heat artificially produced,
Ericsson lias turned his attention to the
problem of making direct use of the
enormous dynamic force stored up in the
sun’s rays. Not that he expects or in
tends to supplant steam within its nat
ural domain where the solar energy
gathered during the carboniferous period
is available for use; hut over a large
portion of the earth’s surface the use of
steam is impossible,neither fuel nor water
being obtainable. Tt is in precisely this
region that the radiant heat of the sun
is the moat intense and constant. Now
this heat is wasted, neither producing
nor sustaining life, converting what
might he some of the fairest portions of
the earth’s surface into desolate wastes.
“There is a rainless region,” says
Ericsson, “ extending from the north
western coast of Africa to Mongolia,
9,000 miles in length, and nearly 1,000
miles wide. Besides the North African
deserts, this region includes the southern
coast of the Mediterranean, east of the
gulf of Cabes, Upper Egypt, the eastern
a.nd part of the western coast of the Red
Sea, part of Syria, the eastern part of the
countries watered by the Euphrates and
TigrisV Eastern Arabia, the greater part
of Persia, the extreme western part of
China, Thibet, and lastly, Mongolia. In
the western hemisphere, Lower Cali
fornia, the table land of Mexico and
Guatemala, and the west coast of Soutji
America, for a distance of more than
2,000 miles, suffer from continuous radi
ant heat.”
To make the enormous, and as yet un
used, dynamic force of this radiant heat
available for man’s use is the problem
to which Ericsson is principally devoting
the remaining years of his long and use
ful life. It is in a lofty spirit that he has
approached the solution of this great
problem. An inventor of less noble in
stincts might well have his imagination
fired by the prospect of adding so enor
mously to the sum of human capacity,
until the idea of mere personal advantage
should lose itself in the grander one of
public benefaction, Ericsson has resolved
in advance that lie will make use of the
laws for the protection of inventors only
to secure to the public what he intends
to offer as his free sift to the race. It is
a gift for the future, for, as we have said,
he does not imagine that his invention
can be made available in competition
with machinery using wood and coal.
But where or when artificial fuel is not
to be obtained his soiar engine will, lie
believes, open new possibilities to human
achievement. To any one who wiil pay
the price, he is prepared even now to
furnish a solar engine of one hundred
horse power. But the apparatus required
to gather and concentrate the sun’s radi
ant heat is too expensive to make the
engine an economical one, and new con
ditions must arise before it will be re
quired. Yet the solar engine is, its do-;
signer declares, a mechanical success and -1
it needs only such a combination of wood
and metal as he shall suggest to make at
least possible Mich a transformation of
the now waste portions of the earth’s sur
face that the prophecy shall be fulfilled,
and “ the desert shall rejoice and blossom
as the rose.” The work of training the
forces of nature to man’s service is to con
tinue until the sun, from whose dread
presence he how hides himself away,
shall become the slave to till his fields
and transform into a fruitful garden
“the plain which from its bed rejectetli
every plantpropelling for him the ma
chinery which is to introduce anew, and
it may be an even more varied and com
plex civilization than we have yet seen,
combining the warm fancy of the east
witn the practical accomplishment of
the west. We are merely to follow Em
erson’s advice to “ hitch our wagons to
the stars,” and Ericsson is to be the Vul
can who is to forge the coupling.
Home Kindness.
Home life is tlie sure test of charac
ter. Let a husband he cross and surly,
and the wife grows cold and unamia
ble. The children grow Jup saucy and
savage as young hears. Tlie father be
comes callous, peevish, hard, a kind! of
two-legged brute with fclothes on. The
wife bristles in self-defence. They de
velop an unnatural growth and sharp
ness of teeth, and the house is haunted
by ugliness and domestic brawls. This
is not what the family circle should be.
If one must be rude to any, let it be
to someone he does not love—not to
wife, sister, brother or parent. Let one
of our loved ones be taken away, and
memory recalls a thousand sayings to
regret. Death quickens
painfully. The grave cannot hide tlie
white faces of those who sleep. The
Coffin and the green mound are cruel
magnets. They draw us farther than
we would go. They force us to re
member. A man never sees so far into
human life as when he looks over a
wife’s or mother’s grave. His eyes get
wondrous clear then, and he sees, as
never before, what it is to love and be
loved; what it is to injure the feelings
of the loved. It is a pitiable picture of
human weakness when those we love
best are treated worst.
Automatic Machinery.
An extraordinary statement in regard
to the introduction of automatic machin
ery into some factories not far from l/iw
Moor, near Bradford, England, lias .ap
peared in the Warehouseman ami Drap
ers' Trade Journal. The writer says:
“ We have, visited t.heOak mills by night,
in company with Mr. Bunts afid a friend.
The building itself was in darkness, but
we could hear the rumble of machinery
as we approached. The door was un
locked and couple, of candles were light
ed. Il't the dim light, we saw the ma
chines all at work, and passing from one
to another we noted also what they were
producing. There was no possibility of
deception, and no room for doubt. We
were not there to examine the construct'
tion of the machinery; it was sufficient
to be able to verify the main fact—which
is that when the 'working hours of the
mills are over, the lights are put out, the
building is locked up and the machines
are left working all through the night,
producing large quantities of beautiful
articles in great variety of patterns in
silk, cotton and wool.” The method by
which this result has been attained re
mains a secret. The only night attend
ant at the factory appears to be an en
gineer, inasmuch as the engine and boiler
cannot be left to themselves.
Tor an Obstinate Cough.
If you have an obstinate cough, take
the following to a druggist, and have
iiim prepare it:
R. Pix liquida, 20 drops.
Spts. nitr. dulc., 1 drachm.
Syr. Symplex, 2 ounces.
M. S. Teaspoonful night and morning.
He should charge you but little for it,
as it is cheap. It is the favorite pre
scription of an eminent Western phy
sician. who says that he has obtained
very flattering results from its use.—
Health and Home.
There is living in Madisonville, Ky.,
an old German who has in his possession
a pair of trowsers made in Germany in
the year 1836. He has been married in
them four times, and is very anxious to
use them the fifth time.
FOR THE FAIR SEX.
* ’ ■ ■-
wr
The Dresses at the Koyal lVnldlnt,
* Our lady readers will thank us for giv
ing them the following full, true and
particular account of the costumes worn
at the late royal wedding at Windsor by
some of the most distinguished dames
Anil damsels of the British court:
1110; royal highness, the Princess of
Walfe, Worn her exonislte toilette of
Orieatat'jpearl-iolorefl brocade, richly
embroidered in pearls, with ruffles of
point d’Angleterre and narrow bands ®f
sable. The train was composed of the
darkest amethyst velvet, lined with rich
est Oriental pearl satin, bordered in nar
row sable; a smaller train of matchless
point d’Angleterre entirely covering the
center, was fastened on by large me
dallions of pearls. The corsage was pro
fusely studded with pearls and diamonds.
Her royal highness wore a tiara of dia
monds, white ostrich feathers and a long
tulle veil, and necklace of rows of pearls
and diamonds.
Their royal highnesses, the Princesses
Louise, Victoria and Maud of Wales,
were attired in dresses of Oriental pearl
colored brocade, with stomachers of Ms
lines lace and ceintures of darkest ame
thyst velvet, over jupes of poult-de-soie
of the same tint, with small volants ol
Malines lace.
The dress worn by her royal highness,
the Duchess of Teck, was one of real
magnificence. The corsage and jupe
were of the palest primrose and olive
brocade, with plisses and draperies ot
olive satin, festooned with volants of the
finest Honiton lace; the train of the
richest olive velvet, lined and bordered in
ermine, was fixed on one shoulder, with
diamond clasps, and diamond stomacher
on corsage. Her royal highness also
wore a tiara of diamonds, lappets, ostrich
feathers and diamond necklace.
The Duchess of Sutherland wore a
magnificent dress of gold and silver bro r
cade, mixed with anew shade of Scabi
enee velvet, and finest point de Venise.
The corsage was trimmed with matchless
rubies and diamonds, which blended
beautifully with the new shade of velvet.
Her grace wore a tiara of diamonds,
white ostrich feathers and gold and sil
ver veil.
The Marchioness of Salisbury wore a
most picturesque dress of antique Louis
XV. brocade, of a very pale reseda hue,
with embossed wreaths and bouquets of
myosotis and leaves; the jupe was com
posed of the darkest reseda velvet draped
in brocade, with festoons of myosotis
satin. The corsage was of velvet, with a
Louis XV. waistcoat of brocade and
beautiful diamond ornaments; the head
dress a tiara ’of diamonds, white plumes
and veil.
The March ionesso f Conynghain wore a
lovely toilette of mauve satin and costly
antique lace, the skirt strewed with
branches of natural mauve and white
lilacs. Her ladyship also wore a tiara of
diamonds, white feathers with veil, and
branches of lilacs.
The Viscountess Cranbrook wore a
dress of Russian gray satin duchesse,
draped with guipure lace and velvet of
the same rich shade. Headdress, dia
monds, plumes and lappets.
What lowa (lirltt are Taught.
At the lowa Agricultural College every
girl in the junior class has learned how
to make good bread, weighing and
measuring their ingredients, mixing,
kneading and baking, and l-egulating her
fire. Each lias alsobeen taught to make
yeast and bake biscuit, puddings, pies
and cake of various kinds; how to cook
a roast, broil a steak and make a fragrant
cup of coffee; liovr to stuff and roast a
turkey, make oyster soup, prepare stock
for other soups, steam and-nmSli potatoes
so that they will melt in the mouth, and,
in short, to get up a first-class meal, com
bining both substantial and fancy dishes,
in good style. Theory and manual skill
have gone hand in hand. Vast stores of
learning have been accumulated in the
arts of canning, preserving and pickling
fruits, and they have taken practical
lessons in all the details of household
management, such as house-fumishing,
care of beds and bedding, washing and
ironing, care of the sick, care of children,
etc. The girls, we are informed, are also
thoroughly grounded in science, mathe
matics and English literature; hut this
is of siiglit moment compared with the
foregoing catalogue of virtues. If there
is anything that challenges the unlimited
respect and devotion of the masculine
mind it is ability in woman to order well
her own household. Each one of these
charming lowa girls, it is safe to say,
will marry within six weeks after gradu
ation.—St. Paul Pioneer Press. „
Buford’s Career.
The Cincinnati Enquirer devotes an
article to Henry Buford, the Kentuckian
who shot and killed Judge J. M. Elliott,
of the Kentucky Court of Appeals, in the
streets of Frankfort. The Enquirer says:
Buford’s history shows him to be a
man utterly regardless of law, of his own
life or that of others, when his passions
are aroused. Somewhere in the ’sos Bu
ford was the hero of an affray on the Lex
ington fair grounds, which had a great
deal of notoriety at the time. He and a
gentleman named Thomas, of Mt. Ster
ling, had quarreled, and, meeting on the
fair grounds, immediately opened fire on
each other. Buford displayed character
istic coolness and recklessness, changing
his position once while Thomas was
firing, to avoid shooting in the direction
of some ladies, and at another time de
liberately taking a pin from the Lapel of
his coat and picking the tube of his pis
tol, which liad failed to go off. He
wounded Thomas, and eseaoed unhurt
himself. A gentleman of Lexington
named Ferguson was keeping Thomas
supplied with pistols. Gen. Abe
Buford made at him with a bowie-knife
and slashed at his throat. Ferguson
ducked hisy Jb ead and the knife shaved
mS heard, taking off a good-sized piece
of Ids chin, which fell into the posses
sion of Mr. Mulligan, of Lexington, who
exhibited it for some time in his store
window as a euriqsity.
Another incident in Buford's career
happened at the time when the three
colonels were editing the Times, in
I#ouisville. Buford sent a noted belle in
that city a bucket of sausage from his
home near Versailles. Theodore O'Hara,
author of the famous “ Bivouac of the
Head,” one of the three colonels, blade
the present a subject of ridicule in his
paper. As soon as the paper reached
VfrisaHles, Buford, taking a friend with
him, got in his buggy, and by driving
rapidly and taking fresh horses from
time to time arrived in Louisville early
in the night. Reaching the Galt House
and going in, he found O'Hara at the
bar taking a drink. Stepping up to him
and inquiring as to lus authorship,
O’Hara acknowledged it, and Buford at
once struck him. They struggled,
clinched and fell, O'Hara underneath.
O’Hara drew a pistol, and reaching
around Buford, tried to shoot him; but
his sense of humor prevailing over his
wrath, he got to laughing so that he
could not discharge it. They were sepa
rated before any damage was done be
yond a good beating for O’Hara, and
Buford returned home.
Still another, attended with worse re
sults, was his assault on Mr. Ulysses
Turner, of Woodford, a brilliant young
lawyer, and at one time a member of the
banking firm of Saylor, Shelby & Cos.,
of Lexington. Buford had some busi
ness controversy with him, attacked
him, and beat him so brutally about the
head that his life was despaired of, his
health wrecked and his sight permanent
ly destroyed. Mr. Turner died a short
time ago, after years of suffering and
blindness.
Buford’s last violent exploit before the
present murder was his defiance of the
authority of the sheriff of Henry county
in the earlier stages of the suit, the final
decision of which was the cause of the
assassination.
VOL. V. NO. 32.
DESTRUCTION OF SZEOEDIN.
Graphic and Thrilling Story of the Flood
which Submerged a City In Hungary.
A correspondent of the New York
World, writing from Vienna. Austria,
says: “Nothing less than tie destruc
tion of a city of 75,000 inhabitants is
the subject which urges me to address
your readers —Szegedin. the capital of
thoroughbred Magyarism, in the plains
of the Theiss, where the Hungarians
lirst -chose to settle after emigrating
.from their Asian home, the plain being
She ideal country to a people which
passed more than half its lifetime on
horseback. Although the river em
bankments were in good order the
ITlieiss, by bringing with it stones and
sand, had raised its bed so that the
floods became more dangerous every
successive year. Snow melted very
early and very suddenly in the moun
tains this year, and on that account
manv avalanches fell, as, for instance,
in Bleiberg, near Villaeli. where half a
village was buried and thirty-eight per
sons remained dead on the spot. In
the Carpathian mountains a great deal
of snow fell this winter, which melted
and discharged enormous quantities of
water into the valleys. The waters of
tlie Theiss, Maros and Koros had dur
ing a fortnight inundated the plain,
which was one enormous sea of water,
extending over 100 square kilometers.
Besides this, heavy rainfalls continued,
and yet the danger was not immediate.
The inhabitants were busy raising their
dikes and looked hopefully into the
future, when all of a sudden a terrible
etorm from the northeast arose which
made the water rise in waves high
snough to overpass the dikes. Of course
against the elements in sueli an uproar
nothing effectual could be done, although
soldiers and pioneers were sent to aid
the inhabitants of Szegedin. Only a few
towns of the Thiess plain succeeded in
preventing the waves from flooding
them by working day and night at their
dikes. There are, besides New Szegedin,
Szentes, Czongrad and Vasarhily. The
first city flooded was Orasliaka, where
400 houses fell. In the night the floods
hurst in upon Szegedin, so that within
a few hours the roofs of most of the
houses and the tops of the lamp-posts
were all that could he seen. The great
misfortune there, as everywhere in the
Hungarian plain, is that few houses
are built of real bricks, the greater part
being built of bricks made of lime and
water, and dried in the sun like Mexi
can adobes, which of eourse dissolve in
water. Therefore tlie only houses which
still stand in Szegedin are built of real
bricks, and these are scarcely a twentieth
part of the town—in fact, little more
than 200. Evei-ything else disappeared
in the flood. Szegedin numbered 75,000
inhabitants, according to the last cen
sus, and 9,500 buildings, of which about
5,000 were dwelling-houses. The work
of destruction was as sudden as terrible.
All was over in a few hours; therfore it
is no wonder that great loss of life was
incurred. The number of the dead is
put at 19,000. One hundred laborers are
busy from morning to night burying the
dead in the neighboring village of
Szoregh. At first the number of boats
was quite insufficient to save the num
ber of frightened inhabitants, many of
whom the danger-bell tolled out of their
sleep. When boats enough came the
soldiers had hard work to row through
all the lumber tossing about on the
waters and to induce the frightened
people to let themselves he saved, as the
greater part of them refused to get off
their housetops into tlie boats without
their poor property, which could not he
saved under such circumstances. ‘ Bet
ter di.e all of us than live without our
beds and our coffee-pots!’ was what
they all said. Avery happy circum
stance was that the embankments of the
Southern railway remained intact, so
that help could continually be got from
Temesvar and the rescued could be
sent away in that direction. In tlie
first hours this could- not he thought
of. The desperate people clung to the
dikes, climbed up trees, filled the few
stone houses to overflowing. Many
were frozen to death in the first nights,
the wind blowing mercilessly through
their scanty, wet clothing. Twenty
were found frozen to death, and twenty
three went maul from terror and have
been sent to the madhouse in Pesth.
The brave men who risked their lives
a thousand times to bring help were
witnesses of the most heartrending
scenes. Sometimes as they approached
a housetop or a tree to which drown
ing people clung, these could hold on
no longer, and, dropping in the water,
were drowned before tlie boats could
reach them. An old man in the center
of a mound of piled-up rubbish was
heard calling desperately for help, hut
it was impossible to approach him, and
he perished, hr white-haired grand
mother was seen diving for something.
She found it at last—her drqjvned grand
child, which she held up toward heaven,
laughing hoarsely, a madwoman’s laugh.
An expedition from Pesth, headed by a
member of Parliament, arrived three
days after the catastrophe, and he tel's
us that even then he was a witness of
the most dreadful scenes. A small
rafter was floating by them, when one
man espied a small baby on it, tied to
a divan. The expedition was quiek
enough in bringing the poor little one
ro safety, but its parents have not
■n found, and are most likely drowned.
Then a woman signalled to them from
a roof. When they approached they
thought she had fainted. She seemed
lifeless, so that they had to bear her
into the boat. She was not ten min
utes there when a feeble wail betrayed
the awful fact that she had given birth
to a child—a boy it turned out to be.
All these people were taken to the
station—a yard nigh in water—and some
were sent away to neighboring towns
and villages. Thousands found shelter
in railway cars,* which came from all
parts; but the greater part remained in
the open air, where tne cold and the
wet has made many very ill, especially,
of course, the women and children. The
first among the other evils that tor
mented the poor, stricken inhabitants
of Szegedin was hunger; for, of course,
with so many lives to save, victuals
could not lx; thought of. But very soon
whole trains full of bread, cheese, meat
and wine came from Temesvar and
Pesth and brought relief. The railway
companies send everything gratis, and
now large quantities of clothes are daily
being carried to the Southern station.
Subscriptions were opened the very next
day, and have had fine results# 1.
Words of Wisdom.
FJattery is a sort of bad money to
which our vanity gives currency.
Hard words have never taught wis
dom, nor does truth require them.
What is the best government? That
which teaches us to govern ourselves.
Some hearts, like evening primroses,
open most beautifully in the shadows of
life.
It is extraordinary how long a man
may look among the rowd without dis- 1
covering the face of a friend.
There is no wise or good man that
would change persons or conditions en
tirely with any man in the world.
He that hath really felt flie bitterness
of sin, will fear to commit it; and he
that hath felt the sweetness of mercy
will fear to offend.it.
“A polite man,” said the Dufc de
Moray, “is one who looks with interest
to things he knows all about when they
are told hnn by a person who knows
nothing about them.’ *
Arthur Gilman tells the following of
an pld lady at Concord: “Have you given
electricity a trial for your complaint,
madame?” asked the minister, as betook
tea with the old lady. “Electricity!”
said she. “Well, yes, I reckon it has.
I was struck by lightning last summer
and hove out tne window, but it didn’t
seem to do me no sort of good.— Boston
Traveler.
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ITEIITS 0P INTEREST.
Weather report—Thunder.
A novel thing—a readable romance.
There are no stamps in last year’s vests.
The chiropodist sways the whole
foot’s-tool.
It is finally decided that W ster’a
• dictionary is the best.
Drawing from nature is contagious,
that is to say it’s sketching.
A prescription warranted to make any
sick woman re-“ cover ” —A new dress.
What sort of hard things can you throw
at a dog without hurting him ? Words
—hard words.
“Of two evils always chose the least,”
said the girl, who jilted the grenadier
and married a dwarf.
For a method of converting honey into
a form of crystalline sugar, tlie Beekeep
ers’ association offers a prize.
English physicians say that melan
cholia is always active in the morning
and wears away towards night.
Henry C. Work, the song writer, has
already received over 84.000 royalty for
the song, “ Grandfather's Clock.”
-• Conclusive evidence at a recent trial
in England proved that a girl had be
come a mother at the age of twelve
years and one month.
A Western paper, in its report of a re
cent railroad mishap, says “the entire
train went staggering from tlie track.”
Evidently a case of very elevated railroad.
Man can do many things, hut there is
one tiling he can’t do; he can’t button
on anew collar, just after cutting his
thumb-nails, without looking up in the
air.
A warbler’s thrill
Awnkes the liill,
For spring, a rosy lass,
Hath come, and brings
On vernal wings
Rare blooms and garden B&9R.
After a man, upon some raw and
gusty night, when everything is as dark
as the shadow of fate, has run across a
swaying clothes-line with his chin and
neck, you never can convince him that
there is any truth in all this nonsense
about death by hanging being so pleas
ant. — Ilawkey e.
There was an instance of the disagree
ment of doctors in France recently which
led to a duel in the Bois de Vincennes.
The participants were army surgeora,
who had had a dispute. One of them
was wounded, and his antagonist dressed
tlie wound and helped him to the car
riage, and subsequently committed sui
cide.
A PURELY VEGETABLE PRODUCTION.
Oh, market maid, sweet harbinger
Of spring’s returning pleasure,
1 sigh to woo thee in a song
Of eight beets to the measure.
The time’s been, long since last we met,
I yam not loth to own it;
I long tomato maid with thee,
So lettuce not postpone it.
Nay, turnip not pretty nose,
I see thy radish nlushes,
And if you carrot all for me
Off to tbepricst I rushes.
In the Russian Empire there are alto
gether only about fifteen hundred regu
larly licensed physicians, or one physi
cian to eaeli fifty thousand people,
while in the United States there is one
physician to each five hundred inhabi
tants. The Russian Government is not
doing anything to advance medical edu
cation. There are hut eight Russian
medical colleges, and the students are re
quired to prosecute their professional
studies for live years; and such persons
only are admitted to these colleges as
have successfully undergone an examina
tion in someone of the literary colleges,
which have a seven years’ course.
Where False Hair Comes From.
False hair having come to he recog
nized as a necessity of tlie modern female
existence, it may be of interest to learn
how this constantly increasing want is
supplied. Live hair, bought “on foot”
(to use the technical term of the trade),
constitutes hut a very small percentage
of the stock in market, as there are few
women who are willing to part with
their locks for money, and tliose who
have superfluous locks to spare grow
fewer year after year. When second
hand tresses were needed merely to fur
nish wigs for a few elderly ladies, agents
found no difficulty in securing a suffici
ency among the peasant maids of Au
vergne and Brittany. The present de
mand, however, greatly exceeds the sup
ply, and it is asserted that Paris alone
uses more than all the available crop in
France, and that Marseilles (the great
center of traffic in hair) deals with Spain,
the Orient and the two Sicilies, for forty
tons a year of dark hair, of which she
makes upwards of 65,000 chignons an
nually. Under the name of “ dead hair ”
are classed the “combings,” which
thrifty servant girls save up and sell, the
clippings of barber shops, faded curlis,
worn out switches, etc. The scavengers
of every city, both at home and abroad,
value nothing short of a silver spoon
among the refuse so much as a snarl of
combings, however dirty, as it will find
a rpady sale. Such findings are after
ward washed with bran and potash,
carded, sifted, classed and sorted, and
then made into tlie cheap front curls,
puffs, chignons that abound in market.
Much of this enters into the cheaper
grades of the 350,000 “pieces” annually
made in France, of which enormou*
trade England is said to lie the best eus
tomer, and America almost as good.
Late renorts on the commerce of Swa
taw, China, show that a large export
trade in “dead” hair gathered in the
stalls of barbers, sprang up in 1873, dur
ing which year 18,800 pounds were ex
ported to Europe. In 1875 the export of
this refuse arose to 131,000 pounds, with
a commercial value of over 825,000. It
is an undoubted fact, too, that pauper
corpses are often despoiled of their hair
to meet this same demand of an increas
ing commerce. Those, then, who sport
other than their own natural locks, can
never he sure whether these are redolent
of the sepulchre, the gutter, or the sor
vant girl s comb.— Scientific American.
Madame Patterson Bonaparte.
Madame Patterson Bonaparte, wife of
Jerome Bonaparte, the youngest brother
of the great Napoleon, died in Baltimore,
aged 94 years. Her life was uncommon
ly eventful. She was the belle of Balti
more in 1803, the date of her marriage to
Jerome Bonaparte, who was then a young
lieutenant in the French navy. N’apo
leon Bonaparte was at that time First
Consul of France, and refused to sanction
his brother’s marriage. The young cou
ple sailed for Europe, and the husband
disembarked at Lisbon, but his bride
was not permitted to land, orders to that
effect having been given by Napoleon,
who had been crowned Emperor of
France. Left friendle in a strange
land, Madame Bon apart, made her way
to England, where she scon after gave
birth to a son, whom she named Jerome
Napoleon Bonaparte. Her husband gave
way to the imperious will of his brother
and repudiated his American wife. Na
poleon offered to settle upon “ Miss Pat
terson ” $12,000 a year if she would re
linquish her claim to the name of Bona
parte. Jerome's “Memojres” say that
this pension was accepted and paid regu
larly up to 1815, the ye tr of Napoleon’s
downfall. Jerome B >naparte weakly
yielded to all the empei jr’s designs, was
made an admiral in the navy ana Prince
of the Empire, and when, in April, 1807,
he was made King of Westphalia, and
the emperor directed that he should
marry Princess Frederica Catharina, ho
consented. Madame Bonaparte returned
o Baltimore after Jerome’s second mar
riage, a disappointed woman, and gavo
up her life to securing recognition for her
son. In this she was unsuccessful. Her
husband died in 1860 and her son in 1870,
leaving two sons, one of whom is a col
onel in the French army and the other
an attorney in Baltimore.
Madame Bonaparte left an estate val
ued at over $1,500,000.