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THE SHADOW on our lives.
In the dense and leafy woodland.
From each lofty tree-top down,
Flecked with dashes of the unlight,
Falls the shadow cool and brown.
But how different is the shadow
Which our soul of light deprives;
Different far the many shadows
Never lilted from our lives.
When our life is young and buoyant,
When our hopes are high and strong,
Then beware the thoughtless errors
That are something less than wrong;
For, though each may l>e a trile,
Asa shadow it survives;
And we never through endeavor
Lift that shadow from our lives.
Words, in careless moments uttered,
And by us forgotten sxm,
Grow with thus • whose hearts are wounded
As th ; freshets swell in dune;
More than burthens they may crush us,
They may gall us more than gyves;
Strive we e'er so much we never
Lift the shadows on our lives.
Some neglect of Ixeunden duty,
But a trifle at a time,
Merely dismrd iu the music,
Merely error in the rhyme—
Worse than whips som • day may lash us,
)r may wound us worse than knives,
ml our deep remorse shall never
Lift th it shadow from our Ii v es.
ome there ever so much sunlight
‘n our latter manhood's days;
•gli the glory of our fortunes
u In dliati ‘0 blaze;
Though the world a. i Ui wonder
Asea li lofty purpose t._ iv6S)
Badness fills us that we n<j\
Lift the sha In w from ou ji ve3
When, our life's day nearly c I j et j
Comes the s ttuig of its sun
Though tin crimson, gold and pur pi o
Of a sunset sky bj won;
Though we close tin day iu hc nor
Hero; s even to cur wives,
Yet, this glow expiring nev, r
Lifts the sha low from out ji ve <s
When our sunset fades totv V iUght
And the tinal hour is ) wl - e .
When tho world aroun,‘ is passingi
Aud tho world tor OTnei3uear .
Then our memories thl . ong arouud U3
As tho flesh with y p ; rit strives,
Aud wo never, % veri never
Lift their sh^j ows f rom OUI . p ves
hoinas Du nn ln independent.
A FORTUNATE mistake
The train to Gil ad Falls was late upon
that particular Monday afternoon, and
as a natural consequence thereof, the
stage-coach to Gilead Gorge was an hour
behind time.
“Once you 10-m live minutes, and
there 11 he plenty o’ set-backs to make it
ten," as Reuben Folly, the stage driver,
itoncally lemarked, as lie piled up the
trunks on tho baggage wagon that was
to go on first. ‘ This ore’s for Fullers
Farm, ’ said ho, “and all the rest for
tho View Hotel. Mow look out, you!”
to the boy in charge, “and don't go to
tippiu the bags and bandboxes down
the side of the mountain.”
“Guess I’ve driv’on these ’em roads
afore,” said Simon ; ackef, the long
legged young Jehu.
“\es, but there's some people as don't
never learn wisdom by experience,” said
Reuben, as he rolled up the leather cur
tains of the stage-coach, and fastened
them with a rusty buckle.
And when the baggage-wagon reached
tho Gorge, the trunk's and boxes wore
all shaken into such an undistinguisli
ublo contusion that Simon did not know
one from another.
“ 1 here’s two Mrs. John Joneses,’’said
he. “Fnc on 'cm's to go to tho hotel,
and ’tother to Fuller’s Farm. Now which
i which? That’s what Id like to
know.”
Hariy Fuller, who was waiting at the
cross-roads, with his one-horse wagon,
speedily settled the question.
“Why, this big trunk goes to the ho
tel, of course,” said he. “ ur .Mrs. John
Jones is a dressmaker, coming here lor
two week'' re-t. 'l’aiut likely she’d
travel. with a trunk as big as Noah's
Ark, is it? Keel iu the little one,
quick?”
So that when Mrs. John Jones herself
reached the cross-reads, she very natur
ally entered the same e juipage that con
tained her trunk.
She was a little woman, with cheeks
which still retained a youthful freshness;
yellow, ripping hair and timid blue eyes;
and she was dressed in inexpensive
black, covered all over with a linen
duster.
llarrv duller glanced at her with a
sidewise' regard as he whipped up his fat
aud meditative horse.
‘‘l don't quite know how you’ll like
it, said he, “but our folks have changed
your room.”
“Changed my roomsaid the boarder,
glancing in juiringly at him.
“and on see, alter we settled you were to
have the trout bed-room,” he explained,
“my mother got a lett r from Mr. I.of
ten. Mrs. J.efton used to work in the
taetory heteyears ego; but she married a
city lawyer, and now there isn't any
thing quite good enough for her. And
they wanted my mother to give them
three comtuuuicating rooms; aud so
mother thought you wouldn’t mind the
little room over the kitchen City
boar ors mostly spend all their time out
doors, you know . and it isn't so very hot
af:er the supper tire lias gone out.”
Mrs John June; was silent.
“I to'.d im ther she oughtn't to do it.”
said the young farmer; “but .Mrs. Lef
ton would have that room. And mother
thought sh could explain it all to you
when you came. And the room will be
tift\ cents a week less. ’
, “Chi” said Mrs. John Jones.
“Fuller's farm was a long, low, strag
gling building, shaded by ancient elms,
and possessing a ] eased roof and ehint
ney-sta k which would have delighted
the soul of an artist
i Id .Mrs 1 idler bustled to receive her
guests The tea hour was already past,
but there was a bowl of milk and a heap
ing sail er of red raspberries on the table,
ay.d tiie little iarthen-ware teapot still
n;> nere.-i on the back of the stove in a
hospitable way.
• i i’.ov to b dntful ceremonious with
the Leftons. sad Mrs. Fuller; "but I
can do 'most as I please with you, Mrs.
Jones!”
And as Mrs. Jones sipped her cup of
tea. and crumbled delicious home-made
bread into her bowl of milk, she could
hear au animated conversation going ou
in the k.tchen beyond, between the old
lady and her son!
“It's all nonsense, llenrv:'' said Mrs.
Fuller, who, being a little deaf, did not
always consider how loud she spoke.
“\\ hat you to give up your room, and
go out to the b.rn chamber, 1 Hoity
toity . Ain t the kitchen bed-room good
enough for a dressmaker?”
“hush, mother! "he is a real lady, I
tell you,” responded Harry.
“Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Fuller.
“And 1 am sure the kitchen bed-room
wouldn't suit her,” pursued Harry.
THE MONROE ADVERTISER: FORSYTH, GA., TUESDAY; MARCH 15, ISS7. —EIGHT PAGES.
“Mother, it is too small and too warm.
And if you will fix up. mine for her. I
would iust as soon sleep in the barn
these sultry nights. "
“ h. pshaw ’’ said Mrs. Fuller.
“Dressmakers hadn’t ought to give
themselves airs And Mrs I.efton was
dreadful annoyed when she heard I was
going to lake a workiug-v minn in to
board. She wouldn't ha* come if she'd
ha’ knowed it, she said."
“Then I should advise her to stay
away," observed Harry Fuller, with
some emphasis. “But you will make
this arrangement, mother, won’t vou?
To please me.”
And he took up the empty milking
pail and went out.
Mrs. John Jones smiled to herself.
“so I have a champion already?” -lie
thought.
Harry Fuller's vacated room, albeit it
was in the high peak of the roof, was a
great improvement o* the hot little hole
over the kitchen which had been in
tended for “the boarder. ’ It wa-i large
and airy, and commanded a line view of
the Sound, and there was a snug little
corner closet for her dresses, and a big,
old-fashioned, ' law legged bureau for
her laces and collars.
4 I don’t think I could have been more
pleasantly accommodated at the View
Hotel,” thought she.
Mrs. Lefton, a fat, purple-faced
woman in a rainbow-tinted grenadine
gown, and diamond rings up to the
knuckles of her pudgy hands, turned up
her nose immense’y at the new boarder.
“It -. very unfortunate that woman
coming here just now,” she said.
“Lefton is so particular about the folks
that I associate with. But perhaps since
it can’t be helped she can show me how
to alter over Marietta's black tissue dress
that the French madam spoiled. I'd be
willing to pay her half price for helping
Mrs. Jones, however, gently declined
Mrs. Lefton’s patronizing offer.
“I am here for rest and recreation, not
for work,” she said “I have a Parisian
pattern which I will willingly lend you;
but for the rest I must b g to be ex
cused.”
“Stuck-up thing!” said Mrs. Lefton.
“She can go walking with the children,
Mrs. Fuller, and hunt for maiden-hair
ferns with your Harry half the day, but
she can’t go to work to earn a stray
penny. I’ve no patience with such up
starts that are above their business.”
“She seems very ladylike,” said okl
Mrs. Fuller.
“It’s because she copies the airs and
graces of fine folks tint come in fo be
fitted at her Missus’pla o,” ssid Mrs.
Lefton, violently fanning herself.
Even while this vehement colloquy
was going on at the house. Olivia Jones
was sitting on a fallen log in tho black
berry pasture, with Harry Fuller leaning
with folded arms against a thorn-apple
tree close behind her.
“But I really meant it, Airs. Jones,”
said he, earnestly.
“That's all nonsense,” said the widow,
naif-smiling. “How can you mean it,
when you have only known me for ten
days?”
“A week or a month can make no dif
ference to me,” persisted he. “I love
you, Airs. Jones. I can’t bear to see you
ground down and insulted by women
like that Mrs. Lefton. I'm only a far
mer, 1 know, but I've a half-share in this
] lace, with all its surrounding land, and
the sawmill on Gilead River; and if
you'll trust yourself to me, you shall
never know what want or trouble is.
Airs. Jones—Olivia—won’t you give me
a word of hope?”
“Would you marry—a more dressma
ker ?”
T would marry you, Olivia, in a sec
ond, if you would only say the word.”
“But, Harry—”
He took her hand in his.
“It’s all right now, Olivia,” said he,
with sparkling eyes. “If you did not
care for me you would not have called
me Harry in that toue.”
And that was tho way in which they
became engaged.
Mrs. Fuller was electrified when she
heard of it.
•'You, Henry,” she cried, “that might
hev manied Amanda Plumb, or even
Mrs. 1 efton's darter, Marietta, to take
up with a dressmakin’ women, who—”
Just then their came a tap at the door.
A little, wrinkled-faced person stood
there, in a crumpled hat and widow’s
veil, with a capacious trunk,wheeled on
a wheelbarrow by a boy behind her.
“Mrs. Fuller?” said this personage,
whose general appearance reminded one
of a badly-rolled parce’.
“Yes,” said the farmer's wife. “But
I don't know who you are! ’
“Mrs. John Jones.” explained the
stranger—“the lady as engaged yoursee
ond floor front. In the dress making
business. There's been some mistake,
and my trunk was on to the View
Hotel, and some other person was sent
here. I was unexpectedly detained by
old Mrs. Mopson’s funeral orders, and
I’ve jut discovered the blunder.”
Mrs. Fuller stared until her spectacle
glasses assumed the proportions of two
moons.
“If you’re the dressmaker that drove
the bargain with me by letter,” said she,
“then who is this Mrs. Jones.”
The vellow-tressed widow smilingly
spoke up.
“Only a usurper, Mrs. Fuller,” said
she. “I had engaged a >uit of rooms at
the View Hotel, bit circumstances
drifted me here instead ; and I don't re
gret it, on the whole.’’
She put her hand inside Harry's arm
as she spoke.
“My stars !'* cried the astounded Mrs.
Lefton, "then you are the rich Mrs.
John Jones, who was coming to the
hotel—the lady that owns half the West
India Islands.”
“Not quite so bad a< that." said .Mrs,
Jones, smiling. “But I cannot call my
self poor, especially since I have been
fortunate enough to win an honest man’s
love.”
And when old Mrs. Fuller related this
story, as she often did, she always
capped the climax by saying, com
placently:
•‘So our Harry was a fortune hunter
after all, only he didn't know it.”—
Satur<l<i>/ y;At.
Least Painful Death.
A Cincinnati doctor says that death by
aconite is the least painful of any. The
feeling is something like being frozen to
death A kind of numbness begins in
the extremities and gradually spreads
over the entire system. There is no pain
whatever except, possibly, a -light burn
ins sensation in the breast. The fatal
sensation i- in fact, extremely pleasant.
Death trom free iug is said to'be delight
ful. It is the same with aconite' A
pleasant tingling is felt through the
limbs, while entrancing dream fancies
run through the brain.
When.
When maidens gently answer “No,”
Still pr;ss your suit and win it;
Her negative, for all you know-,
Has acquiescence in it.
But vaui-h hope—oh. luckless lad-',
When failure may undo you;
If she says ‘'No,'' alas, and adds.
•‘l'll be a sister to you.'
Texas Siftings,
f DETECTI VE LIF£.
EVERYDAY SIDE OK A COMMON
PLACE OCCUPATION.
Little Excitement and Less Glory-
Numberless Would-Be Detec
tives—A Practical Cure—Ap
plications From Convicts.
“There is one thing I never could un
derstand,” said one of the oldest of the
Central Office detectives the other after
noon. “and that is why there should be
such a fascination to most persons about
the life of a detective. I think about
half the youth of America must hod it
their dearest ambition to be detectives
some day. 1 suppose the great number
of trashy books thrown on the public
every week, wh oh portray the life of a
detective as all excitement and glory is
responsible for most of it.
1 he truth is that there is precious lit
tle that's exciting, and -till less of glory
in a detective s life. We’re not forev r
going about in disguises, and tracking
down express robbers and desperate
murderers at the risk of our lives, I can
tell you. There isn’t one detective in
ten thousand th at ever has any expe
rience remotely resembling the wild tales
that are continually beingtold about us. If
Fifth avenue miliionnaires should be con
tinually described as habitually sawing
cords of wood every morning before
breakfast the public w uld think it very
strange, wouldn’t it? But that wouldn't
be half as unnatural as constantly de
scribing detectives as unearthing strange
and mysterious crimes by means of clews
of a red hair or a broken toothpick. The
average detect ve is really not much more
than a watchman. The larger part of
his work is not a bit more interesting or
exciting than that of the average patrol
man He may recognize some old
offender on the street and run him iu,
watch s me important building, huut up
somebody's stolen watch in a paw n shop,
stay up all night in the rain or snow to
keep an eye on a boodle alderman s back
door, or go out to Chicago and bring
back some criminal who is wanted here?
If ho is good looking and has a polished
address lie may be assigned to some big
ball or party to see that the guests don't
run off with the spoons, but ten chances
to one if he’s on the force twenty years
he’ll never do anything more exciting.”
“Are theie many applications for
places on the detective force.” asked a
curious reporter who had listened to
these emphatic remarks.
“Alany applicants I should say there
were. In spite of all the hardships a de
tective has to go through, the meagre
ness of his pay and his very doubtful
standing in the community, there is
scarcely a day pa scs on which I don’t
hear of some fellow who thinks lie is a
born Haxvkshaw, and is working all the
‘pulls’ he can find to get a chance to dis
play his detective abilities. It is a
chronic nuisance.
“What kind of persons are they?”
“All kind-, ages and conditions and
both sexes, home are crazy, no doubt.
The kind of insanity that runs to invent
ing car-couplers and impracticable wash
ing machines in some men develops into
wild schemes for tracking criminals in
others.
“But the w'orst thing about it all is
the way the mania affects the boys and
the young men. I am continually be
sieged by someone of them to use my
influence to get him a place on the force.
They have been reading the cheap and
trashy libraries until they think they
have mastered the whole science of de
tecting crime, and they wonder that any
obstacles should be thrown in the way
of a man who knows just how ‘Old
Sleuth' or ‘Captain Collier’ would go to
w r ork to unravel the mystery. They have
imbibed the very atmosphere of crime so
thoroughly from tho rubbi-h they have
read that when they find they can’t hunt
criminals it not infrequently happens that
they become the hunted, and drift in
sensibly into the ranks of criminals them
selves.
“Not long ago the respectable and
hard-working father of a graceless scamp
of a boy up in my ward came to me to
implore me to get his son a place on the
force. He said the boy did nothing but
read detective stories all day and dream
of being a detective all night. He would
not work nor go to school, and was verv
very likely to become utterly worthless
unless his ambitien were gratified. The
father is an old friend of mine, and I
thought I would do what I could for the
boy. h'o, to his unspeakable delight, I
took him out one night to give him a
practical lesson in detective work. I was
watching on some North river piers then
for water thieves who came across from
New Jersey at night with stolen vegeta
bles and fruit. It was a cold, blustering
night with a heavy rain. We stood out
in it all from o’clock in the evening
until 5 o'clock in the morning without
saying a word. Long before we got
through the boy was so tired that he
could scarcely stand, and so co'.d that
his teeth nearly chattered out of his head.
We did that three nights without seeing
a thief or meeting with a single incident
to vary the monotony of the watch. On
the fourth uight the boy seemed to be
getting enough of it. He said:
“ ‘ls thi- all you do in detetive work?’
“I said -My sou. I've been a detec
tive for twenty years, and I have never
done anything more exciting than this.
It isn't at ’ll what you have read about
in your ten-cent libraries, but this is the
real thing just the sums."
“‘Well,’he said: ‘I guess I don't
want to be a detective,’aud he started
for home. lie's a promising young ma
chinist now, and I'll undertake to say
that he wouldn't want to be a detective
at 810, Off l a year.
“A great many ex convicts, especially
young men, apply for places on the de
tective staff. That isn't much of a com
pliment to our busines, but it's a fact,
nevertheless. They think the knowledge
they have, or can claim, of criminal re
sorts ai.d habits, would make them very
acceptable additions to the force. Many
of them express a desire to reform and
to e v piate their misdeeds by bringing
other criminals to justice. It is needless
to say that none of them are ever listened
to. It may be a good plan to set a thief
to catch a thief, but that principle won't
work in the detective busines.”
"Are there many applications from
women?”
Any number of them—nearly as mani
as from men. It is strange that a woman
should ever think of dom e the hard and
disagreeable labor that a dete.tive does,
isn’t it ? But a great many of them think
that women are particularly well fitted
to be detectives. They are the hardest
applicants to discourage, too. They tell
of the remarkable feats they have per
formed in ferreting out the petty tdefts
of hired girls or shop boys, and tliey
think they a:e able to run down the
most adroit criminal. Of course women
have sometimes ma e good detectives,
but there isn’t one woman in a million
who is fit for the work, and certainly
there is very little detective work that
any right-minded women wouid care to
do. When the kind of places detectives
have to visit, the hours they have to
keep and the hardships they have to cn-
dure, are pointed out many women ap
plicants have seme enough to withdraw
at once, though others mav hang on
unt.l toey iti6 almost dri\*en wav.
I -Wic York Commercial Advertiser. ’
Weavers iu Ol len Times.
It is sometimes well to take a look
back and see what our forefathe-s used
to do in our line of business, says Fder
and Fabric. Before the advent of the
nariow loom and fanev oassimeres ail
goods were woven on the old broad hand
loom, which was an immense institution,
and usually owned by the weaver and -et
up in one of his chambers It w al
ways accompanied by the old “bobbin
wheel and a large bowl or tub of wat*r
in which to wet the filling; the wheel
being u ed to throw out the surplus
water, which left each 1 obbin of filling
equally charged with moisture. The
bob uns wore stacked up in the window
unti: used, sometimes kept covered with
a cloth. From fifty to 100 bobbins were
wet at a time. Only one shuttle was
used, and that a very heavy one, with
two large double wheels underneath and
two single wheels on the side that ran
against the reed. These wheels used to
destioy tho reed in time, as the under
wheels did the race-board. There was
no box motion then. A piece of strong
twine was fastened to e ich picker and
brought to the centre of the loom and
fastened to a handle which the weaver
held in Ins right hand, and with which
the shuttle was thrown with great pre
cision while lie worked the lav with his
left hand and the treadles with his feet.
The seat wasa two-legged affair fastene l
to the window sill, the seat part being
at an angle of about forty-five degrees?
It could hardly be called a seat, as the
weaver stood up while sitting down, as
it were. Tho yarn was let off from the
beam by hand, and the cloth taken up in
the same way, the arrangement being
very crude indeed, but very effective,
made so by the skill of the weaver. The
cloth was usually woven in the loom
eleven or thirteen quarters wide, and, as
might bo expecte.l, it came from ’the
!o on very thin, but felt like a woolen
board when full, in which state it was
generally sold by the small manufacturer,
the purchaser sending it to tho finishing
mill.
Besides the single looms in the homes
of the weaver there were what were
termed “shops,” where a large number
of looms were run, usually owned by one
man, single looms being rented at times.
As there was no power there was no bell
and no steam heat, the shops being
warmed by the crudest kind of stoves. !
When the short days of th ■ year came,
and it was time to light up, they usually
had what was called “a lightiug-up sup- !
per,” and in the spring a “blowing out”
supper. Lighting was done with oil in
the crudest kind of a lamp, which was
made by any tinsmith. The amount of
smoke made was fearful. The lamps
were open, no glass in any form being
used. Coal oil had not been disco , cred,
and lard oil was not then an article of
commerce. The weavers were generally
a very happy 3et of men, full of jest,
song, and story, and the original wit of
some of those men has made the fortune
of later imitators.
Howto Tell Pure Water.
In the report on “the water supply of
Alichigan,” some valuable hints are given
to test the purity of the water. These
tests are so simple tiiat any one can use
them. The report says, that becanse we
can not recognize a bad smell or taste,
it is far from being a safe criterion of
good water. Bonn? people are more acute
than others in tin* use of their senses.
Evil effects on the health are the same
whether theimputity of the water is per
ceptible or not. Heisch stest for sewer
age contamination in as follows: Fill a
clean pint bottle three-fourths full with
the water to be tested, aud iu this dis
solve half a teaspoonful of the purest su
gar, cork the bottle and pl ace it in a
warm place for two days. If in twenty
four to forty-eight hours the water be
comes cloudy or milky, it is unfit for use.
If it remains perfectly clear it is proba
bly safe to use it.
The color, odor, taste and parity of
water can be ascertained as follows:'
Color.—Fill a large bottle made of
colorless glass with water, look through
the water at some black object.
Odor. —Pour out some of the water
and leave the bottle half full; cork the
bottle and plare it for a fe .v hours in a
warm place; shake up the water, remove
the cork and critically smell the air con
tained in the bottle. If it has any smell,
particularly if the odor is repulsive, the
water should not be used for domestic
] urposes. By heating the water an odor
is evolved that would otherwise not ap
pear
Taste. Water fresh from the well is
usually tasteless, even if it contains a
large amount of putreseibic organic mat
ter. All water for domestic uses should
be perfectly tasteless, and remain so even
after it has been warmed, since warming
often develops a taste in water which is
tasteless when cold.
Evolution of Inventions.
N ice President Chanul, in his address
before the mechan cal section of the
American Association, considered what
might be called the evolution of inven
tions. Nothing, he said, is move re
markable than the multitude of minds
and facts which are required for the per
fecting o. even a simple machine, or how
little the last man n av need to add to
complete the invention. Facts and
natural law", known for years as curiosi
ties, are taken up by some inventor,
who fails iu the attempt to render them
of practical use: then a second genius
takes hold, and, profiting by the mis
takes of the first, produces at great cost
a working machine Then comes the
successful man, who woiks out the final
practical design, and, whether making or
losing a fortune, yet permanently bene
fits mankind. This course is qxempli
lled in the address, by the relation of the
gr iwth of the steam engin-: and so with
other inventions. The steamboat was
being developed from ITtiOto 1807; the
locomotive from 1802 to 1820; the tele
graph from 1720 to 1847; the sewing
machine, with its 2,000 patents, from
lHOto ISOO, and the reaping machine
for seventy-five years—the last success
ful man adding but little to the work of
his forerunners. The rule has been that
“the basis of success lay in a thorough
acquaintance with what had been done
before, and in setting about improvement
in a thoroughly scientific way.”—.l erl
; ca t A/ :ibjst.
Sandpaper Made of Powdered Glass.
Sandpaper is at present made of pow
dered glass instead of sand. Glass is
readily pulverized by heating it red hot
and throwing it into water, and finishing
the powdering in an iron mo:tar. By
the use of sieves of different -izes'of
mesh the powder can be separated into
various grades, from the line-t dust to
, verv coarse, and these should be kept
separate. A strong paper is tacked down
and covered with a strong size of glue,
and the surface covered with powdered
glass of the desired fineness. When the
glue is dry the surplus gloss is shaken or
b ushed off. Muffin is better than paper
and lasts much longer.
VIENNA VIEWS,
SIGHTS AND SCENKS IN THE
AUSTRIAN CAPITAL.
House Numbers—Street Cars—The
Cafes lmitating Paris—The
Military ami liar racks —
The Middle Classes-
The manner of numbering iu Vienna is
practical, writes a correspondent of the
San Fraacisco Chronid:. Over every
door is a cast-iron plate of good size,
bearing the name of the street and the
number of the house. As the plates are
oblong, or oval, they indicate direction.
So by consulting these plates one knows
at once where he is, and by observing
their form he understands what course
he must take to bring him into a familiar
quarter.
There is a certain individuality about
everything iu Vienna. It is German like
without being German, like the speech,
which with its queer accent and its
local forms, is colloquially little more
than a dialect of the German language
The street-car lines are well systematized
and the service generally good, though
there are exceptions. The conductor, a
person uniformed in blue and as neat as
those on the horse cars in San Francis
co, gives the stranger all the information
that is possible in the absence of a com
mon tongue, and takes willingly in re
turn three or four kreutzers, if they arc
offered. If they are not, ho looks pathet
ically after the inquiring passenger
when he dismounts, but says nothing.
The fare is eight kreutzers—a little over
three cents, and for this amount, by
takiug a “correspondence” ticket, one
can go to any part of the city, changing
cars two or three times if necessary. The
cars are unlike those seen elsewhere in
Europe. The front and rear platforms
occupy each about one-third of the ve
hicle. They are covered and have a few
seats, sometimes all on the side next the
middle of the car, sometimes a part of
them at the front or rear railing. The
inclosed portion is provided with seats
of the usual pattern.
Though the cafes are a marked feature
of Vienna life, their clientele is small
compared with those of Paris. The best
furnish only coffee, with tea if it is de
sired, and a few liquors. At those of the
second class it is coffee and beer or wine,
and at those that are still inferior, princi
pally beer. The garoon is generally a
good-natured fellow, with a plain,
peasant-like face and feet that form a
sort of Bedloe-Island base for a person
that is far from statuesque. In cafes of
the first class he is decently attired
always in the conventional swallow-tail.
The Vienna cafe is an architectural cu
riosity. Those at Paris have a flat or
paneled ceiling, artistically frescoed and
profusely bronzed or gilded. The ground
story of most Vienna buildings is lofty
and vaulted, and under these great
arches, which are ornamented with fres
coes, assemble nightly a crowd gathered
to gossip and read the newspapers.
Where the collection of newspapers is
large the assemblage is polygot. Here
are seen Americans English, Russians,
Germans, Spaniards, Italians, Hun
garians, Turks, Roumanians and French,
for, though the latter find Germany now
off their route, Vienna still has its
charms. It buys French goods, it imi
tates Paris and it is inferior to Paris, all
of which peculiarities form claims to
consideration in tlie eyes of patriotic
Frenchmen. The Cafe Central has on
its list several hundred daily and weekly
papers, printed in all languages. The
traveler who does not read German
fluently, and who is perishing for news,
first inquires for the London papers,then
for those of Paris. There are none of
them, perhaps, forthcoming, aud looking
about for the cause, he discovers th m
piled up about someone who has the
appearance of an Englishman, who,
when the garcon timidly approaches and
asks that some of them be released,
growls in angry refusal
The military idea is as prevalent in
Austria as elsewhere in Europe. There
is good food for powder to be found iu
the Tyrol, in Styria, in Bohemia, in Hun
gary —in fact, in all the outlying prov
inces. The peasantry are stalwart and
not wanting in soldierly qualities, but
they are not over-anxious to tight the
Hapsburgs’ battles. The uniforms have
more or less of the variety of the races
that go to make up the empire. The
Hungarian soldiers retain their national
characteristics of dress, the Styrians aud
Tyrolese their short breeches, their
mountain-green and rooster's feather.
The private uniforms are neat and con
venient, the jacket or blouse short and
the pantaloons either made to fit the leg
like a long stocking, or very narrow and
having little play about the ankle. The
uniforms-of officers aie trim. and. like
those in Italy, made to fit closely. The
officers themselves are not so handsome
as their Italian confreres, but they have
a general air of neatness and careful
keeping. Their pay is wretched, those
of the line receiving from $220 to $240 a
year, which is not enough to support
them decently. They are, in consequence,
often in debt, and frequently compelled
to resort to disreputable practices to eke
out a precarious existence. But the mili
tary effort of the people is not alone
manifest in the army and navy, whose
representatives are seen everywhere.
There are immense barracks, not only in
Vienna, but in every important city of
the country, which impress the visitor
by their immense size and their architec
tural pretensions.
There is such a gentleness of de
meanor among the portion of the popu
lation of Vienna, properly called Ger
man, that one wonders how the Haps
burgs, who belonged to the same class,
could ever have acquired their bad repu
tation for cruelty and oppression. The
Vienna burgher is as modest in dress as
quiet in manner. His clothing is of
plain material, substantially but not
showily made. He rarely wears the tall
silk hat. which is considered essential to
a finished personal ensemble in London
and Paris. A round-topped felt hat
contents him. The young women of the
middle and lower cla-ses essay certain
coquetry in attire, which shows that Hie
has aspirations in tlie direction of good
taste, not always successful, Hhe ha
not the poise of head and the graceful
figure common among the young worn n
of Paris, nor the same skillful modiste to
fit thereto neat and tasteful garments.
But whether the and rnght r of a pretty
burgher or a -hop girl she Las piquant
ways, She converges without embarrass
ment, greeting tlie stranger kindly aud
bidding him ad'euat parting. It sound
queer. this French word “adieu,” heard
everywhere among all classes throughout
Austria and Bavaria. <ne wonders
when it could have tome in and how it
could have becom- so universally dis
seminated, for it is heard alike in city
-treets and lonely inns among the moun
tains.
The candied sweet potato is a Phil
adelphia confection. It is nothing but
sweet potatoes carefully boiled and quar
tered and then candied in boiling syrup,
but it is said to be dainty and tender and
of delicious favor.
THE HOME DOCTOR.
Cause anil Cure of Nasal Catarrh.
Melville C. Keith, M. D., gives in
Health ami Home the subjoined explana
tion of the cause and cure of that com
inoti trouble, nasal catarrh :
First. Take two glasses and fill one
j glass with clear dry starch. Fll the
other glass with acid of any kind. Now
turn the two glasses mouth to mouth and
-hake the contents together vigorously
for thirty minutes. When this is finished
you will find that all the starch has been
I changed to sugar by the action of the
tcid. This is n law—a chemical law
which is so well understood that hun
dreds of thousands of dollars are ex
pended iu the construction of manufac
tories to turn the starch of corn into glu
cose, thence into sugar.
Now this process is also a physiologi
cal Law. ior all tlie starch taken into
the stomach, as food, must be chauged
by an acid into dextrine, and next into
sugar. When the starch his been
changed by this acid into sugar, the
sugar is used up Dy the body to furnish
heat. When it is not used up as heat
the sugar thus formed from starch can
be turned into fat. It does not matter
whether we regard the saliva, the gas
tric juice, the pancreatic juice or the suc
eus entericus (juice of the intestines!, as
acids or “ferments.” I'he acid must be in
the body and mus; be placed in contact
with the starch, or the s'arch remain* >tn
chanqed.
This is a law just as much as it is a law
that you can take two glasses full of
starch and shake them together through
all the eternal ages, and \ou would have
two glasses of starch when you finished.
Starch requires an acid to change it to
sugar and this law holds good as well iu
the human body as it does in the glucose
manufactory.
Now apply this law to the diet of the
ordinary individual and you have the
cause of catanh.
The human being who takes in starch
as a food, and does not have a suffiei znt
quantity of acid to change the starch in
to dextrine and thence into sugar, will
have that starch either passed off as un
digested starch or it remains iu the body
as undigested starch. But iu any event
it is starch, starch, st ir h, and so re
mains. As long as it is well diluted and
kept at the body tempe ature of ninety
eight to ninety-nine degrees it will bo
fluid, and, in the case of a laboring man,
a portion of it may be spit up and spit
off, especially by users of tobacco. But
a cold in the head partially congeals this
starch and it becomes a thick exudation
from tho mucous membrane. There is
a dropping of this undigested starch
(which is exuded or thrown out through
the mucous membrane) into the throat,
and the unfortunate wretch has the
catarrh.
Starch then is the basis of catarrh.
Hundreds of people go to see some
“specialist in catarrh,” and pay a big fee
to have their catarrh cured. The special
ist (who usually travels and advertises
in all the leading papers) has a powerful
douche and forces a spray of au acid,
usually alum, but sometimes diluted sul
phuric or nitric acid, through this power
ful douche into the nostiils and throat
and clear? out the offending excess of
starch. The patient thinks himself or
herself cured. But the mucous membrane
of the nostrils and throat are simply
deadened and tanned.
r Fhe sense of smelling is lost and the
victim of the specialist will have the
catarrah return again if the same classes
of food are eaten.
In countries where rice is eaten, the
natives have a sufficient quantity of acid
from the fruits and vegetable to assist iu
changing the starch into sugar.
Bu in th s country where potatoes are
a very common article of diet, the starch
is in ext ess, and there is not enough acid
eaten to change the starch into sugar.
Hence potato eaters are usually the per
sons who have an excess of starch in the
body and who suffer from catarrh. The
potato contains oue-lifth of pure starch
and is eateu without any regard
its dietic qualities. ■ The little ones
who are unknowingly fed upon an ex
cess of potato are those who have en
largel tonsils, enlarged lymphatic
glands, lengthened uvula and running
noses.
Other secretions of the body are sup
plemented by this exudation of starch.
Ladies suffer more than men because of
their confinement indoors. A volume
could easily be written upon this topic,
but let the readers of this article save
their fees to physicians for the cure of
catarrh, and study well the cause or
causes. Avoid excess of starchy food,
and drink a glass of acid (lemonade)
each night. Not a “patent acid,” but a
pure acid, as from lemons, currants or
cranberries. Do not make the meal of
starchy potato, but take a portion of
gluten (bread / or nitrogen (cabbage and
acid (any kind of sour sauce) with the
meal, and this, with cleanliness, will
cure any case of catarrh iu the known
world. B j the way. please to remem
ber that any alkali, which neutralizes the
acid in the body, is detrimental to the
acid necessary to digest or change the
starch of the food into sugar. Hence
the alkali in the baking powder is a di
rect assistant to the production of that
common, filthy disease, catarrh.
Logan's Swarthy Complexion.
‘•lt is a physiological fact,’’ says Dr.
Roberts, • that the first child by a second
marriage often resembles the deceased
wife or husband to an extraordinary de
gree. Genera! Logan's case is the most
wonderful illustration of this fact I ever
heard of. The General's father, Lr. Lo
gau, was rather dark, but not swarthy,
while his mother was blue-eyed and fair
haired, 'i et, General Logan, strange as
it may seem, inherited the Indian fea
tures and complexion of Dr. Logan s
half-breed wife, who died several years
previously. The that Mrs. Logan was
beautiful, as those half-breed v.oinen
often are, and was comparatively fair,
mu h fairer, indeed, than her daughter,
General i ogan’s halt' sister, or than the
General himself The grandchildren of
the General’s half-sister, by the by liv
ing he;e in Carbondale. show strongly
marked tia;es of their Indian descent
though down to the fourth generation.”
Chi <(j j Tr lh ■ ne.
Handy Interest Rule-.
The a swer in each case being in
cents, separate the two light-hand fig
ures of the answer to express in dollars
and cents
Four percent. —Multiply the principal
by the number of days to run, separate
right-hand figure from the product, and
divide by nine.
Five per cent. —Multiply the number
of clays and divide by seventy-two.
Six per cent. —Multiply the number of
day-*, separate right-h .nd figure, and di
vide by six.
Eight per cenh—Multiply by number
of days and divide by forty five
Nine per cent.—Multiply ly number
of davs. separate right-hand figure, and
divide by four.
Ten per cent. —Multiply by number of
days and divide by thirty five.
Twelve percent.—Multiply by n imber
of days, se: arate right-hand figure, and
divide by three,
' BANDIT BROTHERS.
THREE MISSOURI OUTLAWS IN
A MINNESOTA PRISON.
Companions of the .lames Roys—
Siory of a Raid on a Rank which
Resulted iu Their Capture.
A Thi-illinjr Episode.
A Cincinnati biijitirer representative
has La i au interview with the three
N onuger Brothers, tlie Missouri outlaws
imprisoned in the Stillwater (Miun.) jail
f.u- participation in the attack on the
Xortlilield Bank and the murder of its
Cashier. The prisoners were members
of the once notorious gang of Missouri
bandits led by the Jam s Brothers,Frank
and Jesse. They were found in one of
the workrooms, mending aud sorting
clothing, such as the prisoners wear.
Their wound- unfit them for any hard
work, and owing to their good behavior
and regard for the rules and regulations
of the institution they have been to a
certain degree placed in charge of other
convicts. They have hopes of being
pardoned some day.
The celebrated attack at Northfield oc
curred on September 7, 1876, at two
o’clock in the afternoon. There were
eight of the brigands in the party. Cole
and James Younger, Bill Chad well and
Clell .Miller advanced on the town from
the south, while at a prearranged
signal Frank and Jesse James, Charlie
Pitts and Hob ) oungcr came up from
the other direction. They came in with
a rush, shouting and yelling aud dis
charging their revolvers to frighten the
citizens. The bauk, which was the ob
jective point of the attack, had evidently
been locate 1 before hand, for they rode
directly to it. Jesse and Frank James
and Cole Younger dismounted, and at
once entered the bank. The people of
the town were taken by surprise, but
were not at all dismayed. They knew
the highwaymen were alter the money
in tho vaults of the bank, and soon
evinced a determination to defeat their
efforts in that direction. As soon as the
three above-mentioned got inside the
bank they proceeded at once to business.
Jumping over the counter, they con
flouted Mr. J. 1., llaywood, the sur
prised cashier, with a big knife, threat
ening his life uultss he opened the safe.
He refused, while the knife was cutting
into his flesh, and one of the robbers,
now believed to have been Jesse James,
becoming enraged at his display of cour
age, pulled a revolver and shot him
through the head. Tho cashier died
instantly, and attention was then turned
to A. E. Bunker, assistant cashier, and
Frank Wilcox, clerk. Bunker main
tained that he did not know the combi
nation of the safe, and before the rob
bers had a chance to kill him he broke
and ran out through a rear door. A bul
let hit him in the shoulder as he ran, but
he was not seriously wounded. They did
not pay any further attention to Wilcox,
but made a hurried search for the money,
which they had risked so much to ob
tain. But the search was futile, and
beyond a few' dollars in nickels, which
they would not carry away, they got
nothing.
Meanwhile a most exciting scene was
transpiring on the outside. A man
named Wheeler, living opposite the
bauk, began tiring at the rest of the
gang as they sat on their horses in front
■of the building. With steady nerves, he
took deliberate aim, aud his first shot
went crushing through the heart of
Charlie Pitts, who felrfrom his horse a
dead man. Ilis second shot brought
down Bill Chadwell mortally wounded.
By this time other eiti ens had come to
the rescue, and a most lively exchange
of shots followed. A horse was shot
down from under another of the desper
adoes, and the situation xvas becoming
more desperate. The heavy firing on the
outs de admonished the three in the
bank that flight was necessary, and with
out a pang they jumped over the body
of the dead cashier, only regretting that
they did not get the money, and rushed
for their horse-. In a twinkling the six
living bandits were galloping away, but
not any too soon for their own safety, for
in a very few minutes a posse of well
mounted and well-armed citizens who
had been greatly enraged by the deliber
ate murder of Cashier Haywood, were iu
pursuit, and in less than twenty four
hours tlie whole neighborhood was
aroused and fired with a desire to cap
ture the free booters. A price of SI,OOO
each was placed upon their heads. It
was a long chase, but finally a successful
one.
The robbers rode night and day, but
finally their horses gave out, and w-ere
abandoned. They tramped it over the
country as best they could, avoiding all
roads and public places, and subsisting
oa berries and fruits and what little
game they could kill. They dared not
sleep, standing in momentary fear of
being captured. After eight days
of incessant labor, when the men
were almost dead from fatigue,
the James boys bad a disagreement with
the Youngers about which route they
should take and separated, leaving the
three Loungers and Clell Miller in one
party while they went on together. Their
phenomenal luck stood by them here,
lor the Loungers went on into the
swamps of theWatowan River, where,
on the 21st of September, two weeks
after the affair at Aorthfield, t ey were
discovered by S eriff McDonald, of
Sioux City, who with his forces sur
rounded the swamps. The bandits were
almost exhausted through fatigue and
starvation, but they were not th** men to
give up without a struggle, and a des
perat: -and bloody figh ensued. The
Sheriff commanded loti determined men,
and the outlaws had no chance. Clell
Miller was killed almost at the first fire,
and a minute later a heavy rifle-ball
crashed thiough Jim Younger's jaw,
shattering the lower bone in a frightful
manner. After Cole Younger had re
ceived seven wounds and Bob’s right
arm bad been rendered useless by a shot
in the elbow, they finally surrendered.
Several of the Sheriff s men were slightly,
one seriously, wounded. The three
prisoners, being unaole to walk, were
loaded into an express wagon w-ith the
dead outlaw and started into Madelia
Later they were taken to Faribault, the
seat of Rice < ounty, where early in Oc
tober they were arraigned on the charge
of murder in the first degree and for eon
sp ring to commit murder and robbery.
Realizing that under the laws of Minne
sota the death penalty could not be in
flicted in case they entered a plea of
guilty, the three brothers made that
plea, and were sentenced to the peni
tentiary at Stillwater for the terms of
their natural lives.
Tobogganing.
“Will you go tobogganing?” asked
Chailey.
*T m afraid you want to let me slide,”
replied Clara, archly.
‘Well, if you go you will be sure to
win a breach-of-promise suit. You will
have so many witnesses to prove I was
after you.”
Tiie children in Germany are taught
horticulture in their schools