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MEENESBORO, GEORGIA
THE FIRST STEAM ENGINE.
EOBEHT FULTON NOT TBS INTENTOH.
Ti. Rtil Innltr uf If •>< ibc luluMlcs
Dk 1. Illit airmor j.
A statue of Robert Fulton has been
•noted in the National Hall of Statuary,
in the capjfol at Washington, to repre
aent Pennsylvania. Robert Fulton is
generally credited with being the inven
tor of the steamboat; and by many peo
ple he is also snppoaed to have been a
native of New York. Both of these no
tions are erroneous. He was not the in
ventor of the steamboat; and he was a
• native of Pennsylvania.
The inventor of the steamboat was John
Pitch. This remarkable man, a native
of that part of old Windsor that is on the
east side ol the Connecticut River and is
not included in the newer township of
South Windsor, conceived the idea of a
steamboat while living in Philadelphia,
in 1784, twenty-three years before Ful
ton started hit boat. Fitch went ahead
with his idea—petitioned Congress in
1785 for aid to btolil his vessel, and sub
mitted his model to tlie American Philo
sophical Society of Philadelphia, He
received some assistance from individu
als, wont ahead, built a boat, the Per
•everenoe, and hod it in actual operation
on the Delaware on the Ist of May, 1787.
His engine was tho first double-acting
condensing engine transmitting power by
cranks ever constructed. The boat made
several trips, up and down the river; but,
owing to the difficulty of keeping the
piston tight against the comparatively
rough interior surface of the cylinder,
the rate was slow, only three miles an
hour. Fitch then improved it, so that,
in 1788, it made eight miles per hour.
It was then put into regular use on the
Delaware.
Fulton saw it—and in a later year saw
Fitch’s model in Pirns, where the in
ventor had taken it in the vain hope oi
getting French artisans to build a
steamer. Fulton, who, unlike Fitch,
had the important aid of wealthy friends,
failed iu an invention of a submarine
torpedo bout. Then ho undertook, some
seventeen years after Fitch’s triumphant
demonstration on tho Delaware, to malic
m steamboat to ply on the Seine, at Paris;
but it proved a total failure. He then
wont to England and Scotland, and
studied up the mechanism of a steam
canal towlioat, which, built on a wrong
principle, was trying to do work on tlie
Clyde. Having tho means, ho bought
a powerful engine, of Watt’s invention,
in England, in 1800, and sent it to the
United States, where, in 1807, he got it
at work in tho first Hudson River
steamer, the Clermont. This boat miulo
five miles an hour up stream—not equal
to Fitch’s boat on the Delawure, twenty
years before.
But Fitch was poor, and destined
always to bitter trials and disappoint
ments. Fulton liad powerful friends,
and obtained unjustly tho credit of being
the inventor of tho steamboat. Fitch
died in disappointment and obscurity in
Kentucky, by an overdose of opium;
Fulton goes into tlio Hull of Statuary in
the Capitol. But history will yet right
this matter and do juHtiue to John Filch.
A Dime Novel In Real Life.
In the neighborhood of Sixth street,
says a Los Angelos (Cal.) paper, there is
a gang of little hoodlums which have lie
come the terror of that vicinity. They
have operated there for somo time, but
recently they have begun to branch out
and extend the circle of their adventures.
It seems like a dime novel story, but the
captain of the gang is a girl. They are
regularly organised, and began business
under rather favorable circumstances.
On the day Mr. Lothian was buried the
captain and somo of her pals broke into
the lumber oflioe at Walsh’s yard on San
Podre street, aiul took whatever their
fancy dictated. They become possessed
of a diamond glass cutter, and cut a pane
of glass from Lazarus’s show window.
They also stole somo tilings from Hell
mann’s notion store. Lately Officer
Fletcher was detailed to arrest others of
the gang, and succeeded in bringing in
four.
Now what on earth is to lie done with
the children ? The oldest of them is the
girl captain; she is about thirteen, and
the others range down to ten. Two of
the larva tire Johnny and Willie McDon
ald, whose father murdered their mother
and Is now in Sau Quentin; another is n
colored bov named Smiley; the captain
is Nellie' Devine, and her younger brother
is a member of the gang.
Why Unde Pleasant Warrior.
Uncle Pleasant Batkins is (!0 an 1 his
vrife 7‘i. The other day a friend said:
“ Uncle Pleasant, why in the mischief
did you marry a woman nearly old
enough to l>o your mother ? ” “ Ton see,
boy," he replied, with a sigh, “ I was
vrurkin’ for Long John Froemon,in Han
over, when I was jest IS, and Sarah Ann
Buss, old Mrs. Russ’ only daughter, was
80 if she wur a day. At every ijuiltiu’
the used to chose me for a partner, and
everybody said it ’peared like she wur a
courtin' me. She gimme four pair cot
ton socks and a heap of things but still
I didn't have no notion of her. Well,
one Christinas eve, I went to the old
woman's and had hardly sat down before
Sarah Ann brought me some sweet-po
tato pie, which she knowed I was mon
strous fond of. While T was eatiti’ it 1
heard the old woman up stairs r-count
in' silver dollars. Now, tie"’ - ■
plaster to the ceilin', and i : eis
noo had cracks in it as w and. ■<
per. So, yoti see, i could
of tho money jest as ■ ii ii .1
been tip tlmr myse’f. When she ha;
counted 906, I drawed up t > Kary Am
iu;d popped tbo question. In course
ehc said she'd have n.e, and the next
Thursday we war. married. Now. who
do you think 1 found out tie • \t day a
Why that the old womandid 't have but
30 Mexican dollars,and that -he counted
them ove r and over jest to fool me.
Don’t marry for incitev, boy, 'specially
for silver dvliars. '— l,', ...... :dEa.-t6*
TILE MAIDEN'S LAMENT.
[After SchUler.)
The oak forest bend*
To the tempest’s roar,
Aa a maiden sits
On the lake’s green thors;
Tbs waves are breaking with stormy might,
And her sighs go forth in tbs darkening night
And her eyes are red with weeping.
" Oh ! the world is void,
And my heart is sore,
And nothing is left me
To wish for more.
Oh ! mother of Christ! why still mnst I live?
When I've known ell the Joy thie world een give
The rapture of living and loving."
“ Though many thy tears,
In vain dost then weep;
Thy cries will not waken
The dead from their sleep;
Bat tell me the balm for a wounded heart
Where the death of love haa left its smart—
This solace Til send thee from Heaven."
“ Fall well do I know
That in vain I weep,
That my cries cannot waken
My (lead from his sleep;
Tet the sweetest balm for a wounded heart
Where the death of love has left its smart,
Is love’s sweet anguish and sorrow.”
ADVENTURES OF A RAZOR.
I, a razor of the finest steel, am about
to speak and* prove to the world that
razors can tell stories worth listening to
as well as men. My earliest recollec
tions carry me back to the time when I
ornamented with my presence tho in
terior of a showcase in the shop of a
cutlery dealer of the little town of Ro
dez in the south of Franco. I know
only so much of my genealogy as I was
able to gather from my owner, when he
boasted of my good qualities in order to
promoto my sale. In the most eulogis
tic terms lie affirmed that I had been
mado in tho celebrated manufactory of
Langres, of an exceeding fine and pure
steel, and that I rivaled in keenness of
edge the famous blades of Toledo. All
these flatteries rendored me ambitious.
Then I was afraid I might be purchased
by some peasant who, after having made
me a slave to his rough chin during his
life, would leave mo to rust in the bot
tom of an old chest. I possessed, on
the other hand, a lively desire to travel
and to see tho world, and I had no taste
at all for the qniot and monotonous life
of a rustic cottage.
One day, while meditating on my fu
ture, I was aroused from my reverie by
tho entrance into tlio shop of a man ac
companied by a lad. They asked per
mission to examine me, found me to
their liking, and bought me. It was not
until the morrow that I leanied who my
now master was. What luck I What
happiness I I belonged to a future
capillary artist. My young master was
very anxious to try mo, and begin liis
apprenticeship, but was unable to find
any bearded subject who possessed cour
age enough to serve as his model. Fi
nally, after a host of persuasive and
reassuring arguments, his father con
sented to be the victim of his first at
tempt.
I st ill retnin in my razor-edged memory
the touching counsels that he gave to his
son at tho moment whon the young novice,
holding me with the tips of bis inexperi
enced fingers, prepared to begin opera
tions.
‘‘Tulte care! Go easy! Don’t hurt
me! And aliove all don’t forget that I
have been a good father to you. ”
“But, father, don’t be afraid. Yon
talk as if you were going to die.”
"My dear boy,” replied the father,
“when I see you brandish that sharp in
strument over my head I am reminded,
in spite of myself, of the sword of .Damo
cles.”
Thanks to the watchfulness and the
careful advice of the chief of tho estab
lishment, the operation was finished
without any tragical accident.
Being of a waggish and restless dispo
sition, my young master, after lio became
more expert in managing mo, took a live
ly pleasure in playing tricks upon tho
customers who fell into his hands. Some
times he used tho back of lnj blade In
shave young fellows whose faces xvav >
yet ornamented with nothing more than
down, aiul ho was greatly tiokled because
they did not perceive tho imposture.
When by clionee he caused me to mako
too profound incisions iu the epidermis
of some cross customer, he hastened to
put the only' mirror in the shop out of
sight, in order to prevent him from see
ing tho havoc that ho had made me com
mit.
My days passed away in the most
Agreeable manner, and I would probably
have enjoyed for a long time this delight
ful existence had not the young hair
dresser taken it into his head to fall in
love. As it is perfectly well known to
everybody that love is madness, that
every sort of inconsistency pertains to it,
and that the region of the absurd is its
kingdom, no ono will be surprised to
learn that ho delivered himself of a
piece of folly which resulted in his be
ing obliged to quit the country. Here
is the story: Every day, a charming
young girl, whose father was a nobleman
and a millionaire, passed the shop
either on her 1 way to church or while
taking a walk for pleasure. My young
master was deeply smitten by her. As
touishing folly ! It was impossible for
him to tell the girl of the impression
that she had made upon him, inasmuch
as she was always accompanied by a
duenna of the most end dad aspect. My
master, who was usually so gay and
cheerful, became ad and downcast. He
mused tor Hours upon tho means he
should employ to make known his feel
ing. Finally, one night, when all the
world was asleep, he arose and directed
his steps to ward the home of his Dnl
e ioa. Having arrived under her wiu
■ vs, he suddenly began to shout like a
! maniac:
I "Fro ! fire t fire !"
This f rightful cry breaking the silence
lof the mulaight oalised a sensation
1Y ; every window iu the neighborhood
' were thrust forth night caps of tho most
i grotesque and various forms. Presently
! in a second story window of the young
j lady's house, a beautiful white-robed
! form was seen, and a soft voice, trem
bling with alarm, asked excitedly:
“Where is the fire? Where is *.fco
fire?”
And the young Romeo cried:
“Fire, mademoiselle! The fire is here
in my heart, which is burning with love
for yon!”
Naturally, and as he ought to have
foreseen, he was arrested. But on ac
count of his yonth the police justice re
leased him the next day, ordering him,
however, to quit the town, so that he
might not be again tempted to disturb
the nocturnal repose of the peaceable in
habitants of the ancient capital of
Ronergue.
Five years after this event we arrived
in Paris. By a stroke of luck my master
obtained employment with a celebrated
hairdresser, whose establishment was
situated in the Boulevard Montmartre,
above the Passage Seraphin. On the
same floor was a reading room, fre
quented by most renowned journalists."
These gentlemen, whether in going or
coming, stopped in this hairdressing
salon to have their countenances embel
lished.
I ought to say here that I should es
teem this period as the most agreeable
of my existence. Being very fond of
elegant intellectual company, I experi
enced genuine pleasure in hearing these
witty men talk. Besides, I %as so anx
ious to please them that never, either be
fore or since, have I polished chins with
more graciousness and delicacy. And I
am persuaded that it was owing to me
that my master became their favorite,
and even their confident in one serious
affair. It was at the beginning of that
year, 1870, which was so fertile in sur
prises for France. Prince Pierre Bona
parte had just assassinated Victor Noir.
All minds were excited. The next day
Henri Rochefort’s newspaper La Mar
seillaise, contained a very violent article
aimed against the imperial family which
ended with these words: “Are we under
the reign of tho Bonnpartes or of the
Borgiaa?” The newspaper was seized,
and orders of arrest were issued against
the subscribers of this diatribe. Among
them was M. Banc, now a Deputy, and
one of the most brilliant champions ot
opportunism. Knowing that they were
looking for him, he took refuge with his
intimate friend, Franeisquo Sarcey, the
eminent dramatic critic. Fearing that
his hiding jilaco wonld be discovered, lie
resolvodito go abroad in disguise. It
was then that ho appealed to my young
master, telling him that he wished to at
tire himself as a priest, and that, conse
quently, it would bo necessary for him
to have a priest’s head. I was em
ployed to take off his beard, which he
wore full, and to shave his crown in
order to moke the transformation more
complete. Some days later, when I
learned that ho had reached Belgium
safe and sound, I congratulated myself
upon the part I hod taken in throwing
the best spies of the imperial jxilice ofl
the scent.
Disgusted with living under tboregime
of Napoleon 111., and curious to behold
a great republio, my master resolved to
start for America.
Tho steamship which carried us was
filled with emigrants, who had come
from every cancer of Europe. As there
was no official hairdresser on board, my
master, in order to increase his capital,
turned his professional skill to account.
At tlio end of a week I had soon such a
great variety of tho human race that my
observations and the knowledge I had
obtained were equivalent to tlio results
of a course in ethnology.
Now, since I have lived for several
years among the Americans, I feel an
immoderate dosiro to draw tho portraits
of some personalities of the literary, the
political, and the financial world here
whom I have served in embellishing
their countenances. But I abstain, at
the same time making this reservation,
that what is deferred is not lost. I will
confine myself, then, for the present, to
some remarks Upon the hairdressing
establishments of New York, Some,
mainly those in the big hotels, are
furnished with luxury, hut they lack
picturesqueness. With a few excep
tions, they all look alike, so that when
you have seen one you have seen all.
What they lack and what would be, in
contestibly, their greatest ornament, is
tho presence of a lady at the couuter.
And then I find tho sigus which serve to
designate the business a little too pro-
saic.
In France, establishments of this kind
are distinguished by the variety of their
furniture, and by tho presence at tho
cash-box of the wife of the proprietor.
Tho signs also vary according to the
taste of the owner. Many call them-
Bclves tho Praxiteles of hair cutting, and
others arid to their names these very
significant lines:
If Apollo were alive,
Here's the place where he would shave.
Hut since Beaumarchais immortalized
the barber of Seville, the intellectual
and artistic level of tho Figaros of New
York has been so much elevated that I
do not believe I am mistaken in predict
ing that the future sign of the American
hairdressers will be this :
“ Hair-cutting Studio."
The story of my adventures would not
lie complete if I should forget to men
tion that after many peregrinations I
once fell into the hands of a village bar
ber. Only a few days after I had changed
masters I saw entering the shop a poor
devil with a piteous air, who politely
asked if they would be so generous as to
shave him for the love of God, for, he
said, he found liimseif without a penny.
The rustic barber was charitable
I enough to consent, and invited him to
I sit in the aim chair. Nevertheless,
' when he saw the bristling chin of this
1 unlucky fellow he judged it proper not
to make use ol ms best instrument.
Some little time after the operation was
begun a ■great caterwauling was heard
from the back shop. These cries be
came so persistent that the barber final
ly vetmufccd :
What in the world can they be do
ing to the cat to make it ery like that ?"
The unfortunate customer his eyes
filled with tears, replied with a deep
sigh :
"Perhaps it is a cat thev are staving
for the kve of God."
This pathetic response completely
softened the heart of the hairdresser,
and he took a sharper razor to finish the
shaving. Hexbx Foujol.
THE OLD WIFE.
A Heae Slory— *" Our Plrsl Partin* In Over
Seventy Years.”
She had lain all day in a stupor,
breathing with heavily-laden breath,
but as the eon-sank to rest in the far-off
western sky, and the red glow on the
wall of the room faded into dense shades,
she awoke and called feebly to her part
ner, who sat motionless by her bed-side.
He bent over his dying wife, took her
wan, wrinkled hand in Ins. “Ls it night ?”
she asked in tremulous tones, looking at
him with eyes that saw not. “Yes,” he
answered softly; “it is growing dark.”
“Where are the children?” she queried;
“are they all in ?” Poor old man ! How
could he answer her ? The children who
had slept forlongyears in the old church
yard, who had borne the burden and heat
of the day, and, growing old, had laid
down the’ cross and gone to wear the
crown before the father and mother had
finished their sojourn. “The children
are all safe,” answered the old man,
tremulously; “don’t tliink of them,
Janet: think of yourself. Does the way
seem dark ?"
“ ‘My-trust is in Thee; let me never
be confounded. ’ What deco it nuttier i l
the way i/uhuk ’ I’d rather walk with
God in tLjTnirk than walk alone in the
light. rather walk with Him in faith
tnau wm slone by sight. John, where’s
little Charley ?” she asked. Her mind
was in the past. The grave-dust of
twenty ye*Js had lain on Charlie’s golden
hail-, but t&fc mother had never forgotten
him. TBS old man pattod her cold
hands—hands that had labored so hard
that they*were seamed and wrinkled and
calloused with years of toil, and the
wedding-iieg was worn to a thread of
gold—and thon he pressed his thin lips
to them and cried. She had encouraged
and strengthened him in even" toil of
life. Why, what a woman she had been!
What a worker! What a leader in Is
rael ! Always with the gift of prayer or
service. They had stood at many a
death-bed together—closed the eyes of
loved ones, and then sat down with the
Bible between them to read the promises.
Now then she was ablo to cross tho
dark river alono. And it was strange
and sad to the old man, and the yellow
haired granddaughter left them, to hear
her babble of walks in tho woods; of
gathering May flowers and i-trolling
with John; of petty household cares
that sho had always put down with a
strong, resolute hand; of wedding feasts
and death-bed triumphs; and when at
midnight she heard the bridegroom’s
voice, and tlie old man, bending over
her, cried pitifully, and tlie young grand
daughter kissed her pale brow there was
a solemn joy in her voieo as she spoke
the names of her children, one by one,
as if she saw them with immortai eyes,
and with one glad smilo put on im
mortality. They led tho okl man sob
bing nway, and when he saw her again
the glad sun was shining, the air was
jubilant with the songs of birds, and she
lay asleep on tlio couch under the north
window, wlicro ho had seen her so often
lie down to rest while waiting for the
Sabbath hell. And she wore tho same
best black silk, and the string of gold
lieiuls about her thin neck, and the folds
of white tulle, ouly now the brooch with
his miniature was wanting, and iu its
place was a wliite rose and a spray of
cedar- she hod loved cedar—she had
lovfid to dk over her work:
TPti. nuraßfrHai Comte be seen. •
Like a joung cedar, fresh and green.
But a strange transformation was there I
The wrinkles gone; the traces of age and
pain and weariness were" all smoothed
out; the face had grown strangely young,
and a placid smile was on the pale lips.
Tho old man was awed by tlie likeness
to the bride of his youth. He kissed the
unresponsive lips, and said softly:
“You've found heaven, Janet, but you’ll
come for me soon. It’s our first parting
in over seventy years, but it won’t lie for
long—it won’t be for long 1” And it was
not. Tho winter snows have not fallen,
and to-day would have lieen their dia
mond-wedding. We planned much for
it, and 1 wonder—l wonder—but no!
Whore they lire there is neither marriage
uor giving in marriage.
A College Frank.
Ben Butler relates one of his college
prankH in breaking up an abolition meet
ing. We students went into the country
ami paid an old farmer fifty cents to let
us catch in his barn all the swallows wo
wanted. Wo got a dozen, or so, and on
the night of Ilia meeting a number of us
were present, distributed judiciously
about the room, each boy with a swallow
in liis pocket. The church was lighted
by old-fashioned chandeliers, bolding
each five or six wbalo oil l amps. At a
given signal, when tho services were
under way, the swallows were let loose,
and almost in the twinkling of an eye,
out went the lights. The birds of course
went for the lights, and the rush of air
caused by their wings put out the lamps.
We kissed a girl or two, and tl icy of course
shrieked. All was commotion and con
fusion for a few moments. Then the
moderator of the meeting demanding
silence, said that some unaccountable ac
cident had put out tho lights, but that
the audience must sit quiet and preserve
order, end the lamps would soon be
lighted. The sexton hurried may for a
torch—there was no luoifer matches iu
those days—and presently he came into
chureli, holding it in front of Ins face
and shieldji&g it with one band: she swal
low’s of course went for the light, undone
of them struck the candle, knocking it
out of the old man’s hand and into his
face. He tumbled back, gave a yell of
fright, and gathering himself up. took to
his heels, vowing there were spirits there,
sure. The crowd, now frightened in
earnest, the students leading, got out of
the church iu a burn - , and that abolition
meeting was at aa unexpected and unex
plainable end.
A Bank Story.
On February 22, 1878, John W. Bar
ron. treasurer of the Dexter, Me., hav
ings Bank, was found in the vault of the
bank dying from wounds which he had
received during tho night. Many per
sons will recall the thrill of admiration
which they felt at the news of Barron’s
heroic death in defense of the treasure
in his keeping, Mid the painful reaction
when the charge was made that the
wounds were self-inflicted to hide a de
falcation. After an investigation a suit
was brought bv the bank against Bar
ron’s estate for's6,ooo, and after various
delays, three auditors were appointed to
hoar testimony Mid report to the Court.
A hearing, adjourned from last July, is
now going on at Dexter. The defense
claims that the treasurer did not owe the
, bank a dollar; that his memory has been
1 cruellv wronged, and that Ins honor can
be and will be vindicated.
POOR LITTLE KATIE.
A POOR MOTHER’S ADVICE TO HER
CHILDREN'.
' Katie Improvises a Mark-Lanck. Relates
iter Slsry, Affects Her Teacher ts
'Ann and Brines Home Relief.
Mrs. Lovell, Katie’s mother, was a
seamstress, and there were many days
when she had but little work to do, and
the pay was always small—only a few
centa for a garment that she mnst work
cn the whole day long. Bnt Bbe strug
gled hard to pay the rent and keep Tim
and Katie in school.
In school—that was the great thing.
“Plenty of money may come one day,
little ones,” she wonld say, “ but it will
not be worth much if you do not know
how to use it. This is the most wonder
ful country in the world, my birdies.
Tim may be President, and Katie a Mrs.
President, and you can’t know too much
of school-books. I'm sure that, when
you’re grown np, you can never be glad
and thankful enough that your mother
sent you regularly to school. So don’t
mind the patched clothes, but keep at
the head of the class, if you haven’t a
hat for your head !”
But the winter Katie was eleven years
o!d, the brave little mother had less
money than ever before, and as the
spring-time came on they grew so very
poor that there Or— of
bread left after breakfast to make a
school-luncheon for Tim and Katie.
“ Give it all to Tim,” Katie wonld say:
“ I believe I don’t want anything al
noon.” Poor little Katie! How bard
she tried to think that she was not
hungry! How empty her hands felt at
first as she trudged along without her
dinner 1 And how her heart heat, and
how the blood burnt in her cheeks, when
the nooning came, and she of all of the
girls had no luncheon to eat! Qh, if
anybody should notice it! she thought,
and she studied how she might behave
that nobody should know she was so very
poor. The hunger in her stomach was
not half so hard to bear ns the fear that
somebody would know that she had
nothing to eat.
But, after a few days, poor Katie be
gan to think that the girls noticed that
she brought no luncheon. Then she
thought that perhaps if she brought
something that looked like one, they
would never think aliout her eating it.
How bhe thought it ail out, I cannot tell;
but if any of yon have ever been in trou
ble and tried to think your way out of it,
perhaps you may remember that you
thought of some very foolish and queer
things, and this was the way with Katie.
She might tie up a few coals in a paper,
she thought, hut her mother would need
every coal to keep up the fire. There
were some blocks in one corner of the
small room—Tim’s blocks, that Santa
Claus had brought him one Christmas
two or three winters before.
She could tie np some of those in a
paper for a make-believe luncheon, and
nobody would know. So sho tied np
a few blocks neatly, and when her moth
er noticed it as she started for school,
and naked in surprise what she had in
the paper, the poor child hung her head,
and then burst into tears.
“Ob, Mamma!” she sobbed, “I wanted
to make believe that I had some lunch
eon—it’s only Tim’s block’s!”
For one moment the little mother did
not understand, and then suddenly it. all
came into her mind—how the pride of
her child was wounded lieeausc she could
not appear as the other school-children
did, and that she had fixed upon that sim
ple device to hide her want. And how
it made her heart ache more than ever,
that her poor little girl must go hungry 1
But she would not deprive Katie of the
poor comfort of tiying to “keep up ap
pearances,” anil her throat was too full of
choking lumps for her to trust herself to
say much ; so she smoothed the little
girl’s hair anil wiped away the tears from
her face, and said bravely: “ Never
mind, Katie! Better days will come 1
Mother feels sure of it 1” And then
Katie slipped away with her little bun
dle. and tlie poor little mother sat down
and sadly wept at the hardships that had
befallen her little ones.
When the nooning came, Katie sat at
her desk with her make-believe dinner
before her. Her teacher noticed that she
kept her seat, and seeing her luncheon,
went to her and said: ‘ ‘ Why do you not go
into the lunch-room and eat your lunch
eon with the other girls ?" at the same
time reaching out for Katie’s bundle.
"Oh, teacher!” cried Katie, bursting
into tears, “don’t touch it! and oh, teach
er, don’t tell, please! It'* only block*!'
“Only blocks 1” softly repeated the
teacher, and tears filled her eyes.
“Never mind, Katie, I’ll not tell the
girls. You are a brave and a dear little
girl, and one of the best in the school.”
Poor, poor child! The kiud words
were like maim a to her heart; but, long
ing as the teacher was to give the child
a portion of her own luncheon, she would
not hurt her pride by the offer before
others. But during a short session of the
teachers when school was over, she re
lated the incident, and spoke in such
high terms of praise of the little girl,
that eneh one resolved to do all possible
to bring “better days” at once to the
poor mother; and early next morning
die better days began.
No one touched the brave little
mother's self-respect by offering her
charity, but plenty of work, with good
rav. was carried to her. and enough of
bread and mint, and new slices, and coal,
and all other needful things, soon came
to their home through the mother’s in
dustry. And Tim’s blocks went back
into their comer to stay there.
Happy little Katie! — Si. Xkhola*.
A nrrrrv. girl unconsciously
touching’;, testified to th' < xn
drudgery of her mother’s life wh s,, ,
being : ' and, “Is your m junta's bait
gray?” I replied: “I don’t know.
She's tot, tall for me to sec tho top of
her head, and she never sits down."
Tint gravest poverty is that of our own
nature. The resources wo most mtd to
cultivate are those within ours Iv s. Ike
only true rich man is lie who Is rich, not
he who has riches; the wealth a man is
can never be taken.
A SIMPLE REMEDY.
HOT WATER AS A -lIEDICINE.
A Case Is Question nod Bow It was Settled.
A young man who was compelled to
I resign his position in one of the public
schools of N. Y. city because he was break
ing down with consumption, and who
has ever since been battling fer life,
although with little apparent prospect of
recovery, was encountered several days
ago in a Broadway restaurant.
“ I see,” he said, “ that you seem sur
prised at my improved appearance. No
doubt you wonder what could have
caused such a change. Well, it was a
very simple remedy—nothing bnt hot •
water.”
“Hot water?”
‘That’s all. You remember my telling j
yon that I had tried all of the usual
remedies. I consulted some of the lead
ing specialists in affection of the lungs
in N. Y. city, and paid them large fees.
They went through the usual course of
experimentation with me under all sorts
of medicines. I went to the Adirondacks
in the summer and to Florida in the win
ter; but none of these things did me any
substantial good, I lost ground steadily,
grew to be almost a skeleton, and had al)
the worst symptoms of a consumptive
whose end is near at hand. At that junc
- .——.a e. 1.1 me that he heard of
cures being effected by drinking hot
water.
“ I consulted a physician who had
paid special attention to this hot-water
cure, and was using it with many pa
tients. He said: ‘There is nothing, you
know, that is more difficult than to in
troduce anew remedy into medical prac
tice, particularly if it is a very simple
one, and strikes at the root of erroneous
views and prejudices that have long been
entertained. The old school practition
ers have tried for years to cure consump
tion, hut they are as far from doing it as
ever.
“ ‘Now, the only rational explanation
of consumption is that it results from de
fective nutrition. It is always accom
panied by mal-assimilation of food. In
nearly every ease the stomach is the scat
of a fermentation that necessarily pre
rants proper digestion. Tho first thing
to do is to remove that fermentation, and
put the stomach into a rendition to re
ceive food and dispose of it properly.
This is effected by taking water into the
stomach as hot as it can be borne, an
hour before each meal. This leaves tlie
stomach clean and pure, like a boiler that
tins lieen washed out.
“ ‘Then put into the stomach food that
is in the highest degree nutritious and
the least disposed to fermentation. No
food answers this description better than
tender beef. A little stale bread may lie
eaten with it. Drink nothing but pure
water, and as little of that at meals as
possible. Vegetables, pastry, sweets,
tea, coffee, and alcoholic liquor should
!>e avoided. Put tender beef alone into
a clean and pure stomach three times a
day, and the system will be fortified and
built up until tho westing away, that is
tho chief feature of consumption, ceases,
and recuperation sets in.’
‘ ‘ This reasoning impressed me. I be
gan by taking one cup of hot water an
hour before each meal, and gradually in
creased the dose to three cups. At first
it was unpleasant to take, hut now I
drink it with a relisb that I never exper
ienced in drinking the choicest wine.
I began to pick up immediately after
the new treatment, and gained fourteen
pounds in two months. I have gained
ground steadily in the trying climate of
New York ; and I tell you, sir, I feel on
a sure way to recovery. ”
Here an oid gentleman who had been
standing near, and evidently listening to
the conversation, turned to the teacher
and said: “This remedy of hot-water
drinking has attracted my attention for
some time. It has been of immense ser
vice in relieving me of a terrible dyspep
sia that tormented me for many years. I
tried numerons aide physicians, and
there is probably no medicine that is
prescribed for such fui ailment which was
not given to me; but none of them gave
me any permanent benefit.
“But the simple remedy of drinking
hot water, accompanied by a rational
regulation of my diet, has entirely cured
me, advanced though I am in life. It
was not the dieting alone that did it. I
had tried that before. It was tho use of
hot water that cured me, for that made
it possible for me to derive benefit from
a judicious diet I have also found this
treatment of great benefit in kidney dis
eases, which are largely owing tc thv.
mal-assimilationof food.”
The teacher listened very attentively
to the old gentleman’s remarks,
“I am glad to learn that your experi
ence,” he said, “agrees so fully with
mine. I have become acquainted with
various cases in which this simple
method of treatment has effected perma
nent cures after all the efforts of the
physicians had failed. I am convinced,
simply what I have seen, that al
most any disturbance of the human sys
tem that results from disorders of the
stomach can be alleviated, and in most
instances cured in the same way.
’• The very simplicity of the thing may
cause some to hesitate about attaching
much importance to it; but, like the
proper ventilation of your dwellings, it
may prevent disease and effect cures
w here all the drugsof the pharmacopoeia
will fail.”
In a Rope-Walk.
At the repewalk in Bath, Me., the
spinners wind huge skeins of Manilla
hemp around them, catch a thread or
two if it upon the hook, and as ilie
iiidie whirls walk slowly backward
,i wo the length, spinning as they go,
and 1 ving before them a long twisted
strand. Every twenty minutes they dis
appear horn sight and are seen as far as
the eye ova reach coming into view down
the dimly-lighted walk, neatly a mile
away. Thirty or more trips a day make
a wand and every wand is a half a mile,
and every day each spinner walks fifteen
miles and spins seven miles cf strand".
A NEW LEGEND.
The Weird St** ® f * ne - La-Laurel Home
IB (ta Old French Town.
A New ffleans correspondent of the
Nashville A merican writes as follows:
There isno portion of New Orleans so
full of interest to stranger or resident
than ttet which a stranger prettily called
“ theNew Orleans of George TV. Cable.”
Its old red-tiled cottage-houses, seme
wifi great overhanging roofs that serve
as a sort of awning, with high balustrades
tiles set on end, forming an odd
decoration around the edge of the roof,
are pretty to look upon. Time has
softened the angularities in these small
houses, the winds of many yesis have
blown a rich soil upon their tops, as
witness—l passed a cottage cm Bourbon
street the other day upon the tiled roof
of which grew, in luxurious profusion,
golden rod each stalk at least four feet
high.
Far down upon the comer of Royal
and another street stands a big square
house built in old French style. It is
five stories, and although there are great
sears upon the gray stone walls, and the
ornate carvings over the peaked tops of
the small-paned windows are beginning
to crumble off, it is a building whose
architectural features attract the atten
tion of all the sight-hunting strangers.
About fifty-five years ago this house
belonged to a wealthy old Frenchwoman
whom one may call Mme. La-laurel.
Bbe owned many slaves, gqd when she
went to live in her ItoycfiPlPß? residence
she furnished some of thlYAoms in grand
style.
That the Madame was a she-devil, who
tortured her slaves, all the town was
beginning to know. There was a deep
well in the beck yard, in which it was
said she hung the negroes, even to the
little babies, suspending them by the
aims so that the black, cold, foul-smelling
water came up to their lips, and there
they hung till almost dead. If they
died in the water, especially the babies,
who could not naturally endure rnuoh ot
of such treatment, the body waff
weighted, the rope cut, and the poos,
freed darkey sunk swiftly out of sight.
In a room on the lower floor of tho
house Mme. La-laurel had built a sort of
dungeon—a brick room inside of a brick
room. It lias one window, with iron
gratings across it, and is as black and
awful looking as any dungeon you can
imagine. The floors in this echoing old
building are full of murderons-looking
stains, and to-day, if water is thrown
upon them, they come out blood-reu. It
was up in the garret, though, that the
worst torturing was done. Here this
blood-thirsty old woman, so they say,
upon the least provocation, used to take
her negroes, tie them to the walls or nail
them by the hands down to the floors,
and then amuse herselt by cutting off
their ears, tearing out their nails, and
cutting out tlieir tongues. One night
there came a hoarse roar blowing down
the narrow length of Royal street, and
toward midnight a black crowd of human
beings—that awful result of an outraged
community, a mob—surrounded that
stately, grim building. The (.Id French
mistress listened in scorn to the storm
like clamor, until the tumult of people
apparently came to a halt under her own
windows, and she heard her own name
cried out with threats for her of the
torture.
She sprang down the oaken stairway,
across the marble hall, past the dungeon,
then full of festering wretches, past the
well of water—they say the reason ’tia
so black to-day is owing to the little
negro babies on the bottom—and un
loosing the heavily barred back gates,
she made her way to the river side.
She dodged her pursuers and crossed
the river in a canoe. Finally she escaped
to Fiance, where she afterward died.
They say the mob, after freeing the
negroes, fairly gutted the house. Of
course the place is haunted. By all the
laws of sensationalism it could not but
be a place where black ghosts walk. Tlie
building was once used as a public high
school, but the parents of the girls were
superstitious and would not allow their
daughters to cross the threshold of the
place, so it was abandoned.
The Aniericau Blower.
Speaking of smart fellows, says a
London correspondent, if you want to
see the “ great American blower ” to
perfection, drop in at the “ American
Exchange ” in the Strand any day about
i 1 o’clock and hear the gathered colony
talk. You will find a lot of fellows there
who can out “blow” any storm Old
Prob can prophesy. It is “the thing”
for the newly-arrived American im
mediately to rush out and buy a bat, an
umbrella, a long-tailed Bi'olish New
market coat, and at once casume an
English accent and intonation—say he
will be “at ’ome” such nn hour; pro
nounce either eye-ther; talks of nothing
but “pun’s” and of millions as glibly
as of dollars. He affects everything
English, and the height of his ambition
is to be taken for an Englishman; and
there he sits and boasts and brags and
makes an ass of himself, and all the time
is under the impression that he is creating
a sensation. He generally is, hut of
quite a different kind from what he sup
poses.
Sell By Weight
The decreasing size of the strawberry
basket will presently once more become
a matter of public remark; and we no
tice that the apple barrel is getting
smaller year by year, as the peach bas
ket has been doing for some years past
The Mercantile Exchange has petitioned
the Legislature for a law to provide that
all apple barrels shall be of a certain pre
scribed size. But that is not going to
cure an evil which grows yearly, and the
worst of which is that it invites to petty
robberies, demoralizing to farmers and
dealers.
■Why will not the dealers agree to sell
fruit, vegetables and eggs by weight?
That is the only fair way. All articles
of this kind are so sold in the California,
markets, and there ara no complaints,
there of decreasing strawberry baskets
or swindling apple 1 sarrels. A housewife
going to the market in this city does
not really know what she is paying for.
She buys a “barrel'’ of apples and may
easily discover that it is not a barrel, but
only a part oi one. She buys a dozen
eggs and knows Etill less what quantity
of food she has got for her money, for
eggs also, being sckl by the dozen, ara
naturally and perceptibly becoming
smaller.
To sell by weight is the only honest
and satisfactory way. Grain dealers
have long ago discovered this. Market
men and hucksters ought to be forced to
the discovery by a combination of their
customers if the Legislature cannot help
them. —Sew York Herald.