Newspaper Page Text
VOL. XVIII.
/£HQ.
I haunt t* woods’
Deep sofnides,
Whet/the foaming rills
With y&nding flow
And y>icos low,
StM down from the hills;
Whffe the clustered flowers
On'whispering bowers
Hang sweet with dew,
the drowsy air
Srenthe odors rare
The summer through
When morning’s beam
f Steals into dream
Of the forest deep,
And music breaks
From the bird that wakes
From happy sleep,
I repeat his song *
. As it floats along
/ Among the trees*
1 My voice replies
And melts and dies
In harmonies.
And when from afar
The evening star,
On the solemn night,
Looks down from the east.
Where the storm lias ceased,
With holy light;
When the measured knell
Of the evening bell,
From the distant hill,
With mellow beat,
Makes music sweet.
In the darkness still—
I echo the hour
From my rocky tower,
Where I watch alone;
I slumber deep,
But I wake from sleep
At the softest tone.
When winter piles
The forest aisles
With drifts of snow,
And through the lines
Of roaring pines
The ice winds blow,
About my c*v©
*£he tempests rave.
Like storms at sea;
But none can break
My walls and take
My voice from me!
I found my birth
When heaven and earth
From chaos rose:
And not till Death
Steals Nature’s breath
My life shall close.
—JCrnest W. Shurtlrff.
-TV.'O V.
“ It’s not only strange, butdownrigbt
meanness. What’s the use of trying
to excuse it? Here are the facts,
Only a few days ago the Benevolent
society met and Mrs. Benson sub
scribed twenty dollars. I was speak
ing of her liberality at the close of the
meeting; and now we tind her refusing
to pay a fair price to her washwoman
and seamstress, the latter having a
poor mother and three helpless chil
dren to provide for from her scanty
earnings.”
“ Well, Annie, such inconsistencies
are far from beiDg infrequent, and the
longer you live the more you will lie
Impressed with incongruities found in
human nature. Let me tell you of a
iesson I hail once, many years ago.
“ It was a cold day in December, and
a keen, rough wind blew the sharp,
frozen sleet in my face as I walked
With a quick step down one of the
streets of our beautiful city. I had
been caught without an umbrella, and
when I overtook Mr. Blank, and was
invited to walk under the shelter of
his, I took his arm, nothing loth, I as
sure you. He was an old friend, though
his wealth carried him into circles
where, as the pour pastor of an humble
flock. I should have hardly found ad
mittance. After the first greetings,
he told me that nothing would have
tempted him out in such a severe
weather but the meeting of the * He
nevo’ent Association,’ of which I think
he said ire was president. And then
he added; * You had better go with me
i and become a member. There is no
k estimating the amount of good we are
gluing in this place.’
“ When we came to the steps of the
oITO stone church, my attention was
ariAested by the sound of a child’s
vohWN which was borne to us by the
•* tended up under the shelter of the
broad,t°ne arch was a child of seven
or whose dress was such
an odd (mixture of girls’ and boys’
costunies%that it would have been
difficult toVness the sex.
“ A poor\ pinched face, set off by
fine, dark eyS. and a profusion of dark
hair, which Ap partly hidd n by the
old comforter Vied around the bead.
An old ©vercoslt, patched and worn, a
red petticoat parltly hiding some black
pants, gray s ocfcSugs and girl’s slippers
completed’the biVsVof the forlorn little
object. \ \
“ I said : * Let \m\ see what is the i
tremble here, and wflkat we can do to
relieve it.’ \ \
“ Mr. Blank with an im- |
patient air, and passing aVcontemptuous
fiance at the child, wji > just then
ooked up and cried fcuk piteously,
said: ‘Oh, never minid,\,l have no
interest in a thing of \tblfl kind. I
have to do only with thebkoay, general
principles of humanity.’ \ \
“ When he found I would stop he
wrapped his elegant coat ckWjp-ound j
him, srying carelessly: ' ft’s Nall a
trick ; these beggars understand their
business to perfection. Come, or we
shall be late at the society. Do not be
misled by your sympathies ; with us
you can work in your accustomed
way.’
“‘ I will not detain you,’ I replied,
‘ and, if possible, will rejoin you *in a
few moments.’
“ • Very well, sir, if you persist in
this I must leave you. for my duties
are imperative, and the wind which
sweeps round this corner is terrific;’
and, with a stately bow, he hurried on.
“I went up to the child, and asked,
perhaps a little thoughtlessly: ‘What’s
the matter, my little maid or fellow ?
I am sure I cannot tell which you are.’
“ The figure straightened up, and
before a word was uttered the red
skirt was gathered up by the half
frozen hands and hid under the dilapi
dated overcoat.
“‘I ain’t a girl—l’m Willie Hale,
and I’ve last my way !’ and then the
nands went up to the face, and the
despised skirtdropped down into sight
again.
“ ‘Tell me where you live, said I,
‘ and 1 will take you to the street.’
“‘I don’t live on any street—only
way off by the water, and I can’t find
my way back, ’cause the storm comes
in my face so.’
“ I took his stiffened fingers in my
warmly-gloved hands and bent over
him so as to shut out the blast, bidding
him dicer up and think of something
which would indicate the direction of
his home, and I would Like him
there.
“ Finally, he thought of ‘ a great big
chimney,’ which, he said, ‘ went most
up to the sky,’ and added, quaintly:
‘lf it should ever fall down it would
bury us up so deep we could never get
out; but 1 haven’t told mother of it,
because ’twould worry her, you
know.’
“ 1 drew him closer to me, for lie
had touched my heart by his thought
fulness of liis mother. I told him I
would take him to the big chimney und
then he could find Ids mother’s house
himself. He kept firm hold of my
hand as we started off, and said with a
happy look into my face: ‘ You can
walk fast and I can run, and we will
get there quick, won’t ,we?’
“Curious looks were cast upon us
as we trudged along the- slippery
street, but we heeded them not, and
so much interested did I liecome in
the little fellow that I forgot to leave
bint when he came to,the pbtee he. had
wifi the fi]pt X- W-w Tic
'.frtsr Trlldcig im ihtlLa long' narrow
lane, and stopped before a miserable
dwelling. I followed the child up
some rickety stairs and soon found
myself in the presence of a sick woman
who was propped up in bed, trying to
sew.
“ ‘ I could not find him,’ said the
child, ‘ and 1 got lost, and this good
man brought me home.’
“ She looked up wistfully into my
face. ‘ Thank you, sir, for bringing
my darling back to me; it's, something
new for him to go out alone, but I am
helpless now.’ She kept on with her
work, though her hands trembled and
her i ace was covered with tears.
“It was a different scene from any
I had met with in my short experience
of pastoral life, but my sympathy, ex
pressed in words and manner, soon
drew from the poor woman her story.
It came out by degrees broken in upon
by sobbing and weakness. As isoften
the case, ‘it was not always thus.’
She had begun life with fair prospects,
but after a few years of great happi
ness her sorrows commenced with the
loss of her husband, by a terrible acci
dent. He had always been prudent
and industrious, but when she paid
the last cent due on his burial she had
scarcely a dollar to help herself with
and three children dependent upon
her. After she buried her baby she
took the other two, a girl of seven
ar.d Willie, who was then four, and
came to this city, because she had a
brother living here who was sure to
help her, if lie only knew her necessi- ]
ties. A frail hope, as she found. He
had acquired wealtli and position, and
was troubled with poor relations.
They had hail the same chance to ’
make their way in life that he had,
and if they had been careless and im
provident he was not going to suffer
for them.
“ ‘His wife gave me some sewing to
do, but so scanty was the pay I might,
have starved on it, only for the assist- i
ance of my neighbors who, though
poor, are very kind. When inv little
girl died I sent for him again, and he
helped me, through the Benevolent so
ciety, with the understanding that I
should keep our relationship a secret i
and let him alone in future. I would
not tiave ac -opted it, only to keep my
darling girl from being buried publicly
by the city.’
“She wept during the recital un
controllably, and at the close a lded bit
terly: ■ I understand that my brother, j
Howard Blank, lias the reputation of
being exceedingly generous, and that j
he is connected with all the benevolent
enterprises of the day.’
“‘ls Howard Blank your brother?’ I
asked, in great surpris -.
•“Yes; do you know him?’
11 ‘I thought I knew him well, hut I
find there is a wide difference between
reputation and character. With your
permission I shall see him, and, try and
influence him to do something for you.
Perhaps I can touch his pride, if not
his heart.’
WASHINGTON, GA, FRIDAY, APRIL 20, 1883.
“ ‘lt will be of no use,’ said she; ‘ he
will say I have broken my word in
telling you; but you were so kind, and
I so desolate, that 1 opened my whole
heart to you.’
“I promised to be careful of her
secret, ami to see her again before
night.
“I went directly home and told
! your mother all but the circumstances
connected with the brother. Her kind
heart was instantly aroused, and while
I was talking she began to gather up
different thiugs which mightrbe needed
in the sick-room. In less than two
hours there was a cheerful lire in that
attic room, the bed was comfortably
arranged, Mrs. Hale was well cared
j lor. and Willie had dined like a prince.
“ Toward night 1 took my way in
i the still-increasing storm to the house
|°l Mr. Blank, I confess my heart
i rather misgave me when 1 remembered
this particular ease was not • humanity
;in general.’ I accused myself of un
charitableness in judging my friend,
and brought to mind the old adage:
‘ There are always two sides to a story.’
In my eagerness to exculpate liim I
began to doubt the word of the poor
woman.
“ I found him surrounded with
every luxury. He gave me a cordial
reception, but when my errand was
made known his manner changed. It
was long before f could make any im
pression upon him. He affected to
believe tlieir suffering feigned, because
Mrs. Hale had refused to take any
more work from his wife. I told the
reason, when he replied : ‘ You have
been an easy dupe to a designing wo
man. Here is ten dollars, which I
give under protest, knowing it will be
foolishly Vqthiliilcrod, And now, my
good sir, please never mention tile
subject to me agnin, or I shall lie
obligod to drop an acquaintance that 1
have always found exceedingly Mgree
abte.’ '■k
“Perhaps I said a little more to
than became a poor minister, but as i
looked around upon his magnificent
drawing-rooms I could not help think
ing that were it not for the publicity
of his donations they would be with
held, and that his published contribu-1
tions did not proceed from a generous ]
he,art, but from a contemptible desire]
for popularity and fame. And 1 did
what is not always wise, spoke my
thoughts aloud,
“ He reminded me gravely that 1 was !
taking upon myself ‘ one of the pre-. 1
rog.itiye.-i of Urn lilt,!-, when li
‘set raise It op to judge thk
which bad actuated him.’ I eaiinot
say wilo had the last word, but 1 know
I never felt so angry in my life as I
did when I stepped from his door, and
lie bowed me out in the most self-pos
sessed manner. I lost my position
soon after through his influence, and
since then our ways in life have sel
dom crossed.
“Mrs. Male recovered soon, thanks
to chreful nursing and the effect of
careful food. Several became interest
ed in her, andas soon as she regained
her strength they put her in ttie way
of earning enough to support herself
and Willie. She gave him a good edu
cation, and lie has done a great deal
for himself, and is today one of the
most promising young men of my ac
quaintance. That is only one of many
instances which have come under my
observation through ray long and
varied experience. To he just to hu
man nature, X think this a little the
worst, or else I became familiarized
with inconsistencies and they did not
make so deep an impression upon me.
"Perhaps you will judge Mrs. Ben
son more leniently when I tell you she
has but carried out the result of her
early training, for you know she is
Judge Hadley’s daughter, and he is the
Mr. Blank who figured in my story.
And, Annie, perhaps there will lie no
better time for me to talk with you on
the subject which has given menu
little anxiety. Within the past week
two young men have called on me,
seeking my permission to win to them
selves my heart’s best treasure, my
only daughter. Annie, darling, will
you show me your heart, that I may
know how to answer them ?”
No words came from the restless
little ligure, who had suddenly found
so much to he alone in the other part
of the room. Every book had been
dusted twice over, and still she lin
gered, with her face turned from her
father.
“ 1 am waiting, Annie.”
“Well, papa,”under her breath.
“ Come here, darling, where I can
see your face; who knows how long
they will let me have you with me?”
“Shall Itellyouof my callers? Well,
one is rich, educatel and exceedingly
popular. He has no profession or
business, and you would think lie
would never need /any, as he is an only
son ; hut if by some sulden stroke of
fortune his father’s wealth should he
swept away, the young man, with his
dainty and expensive habits, wonkl
find it difficult to take care of
himself, and, much more, a wife.
Paul Hadley is in love, or thinks he is,
with Annie's pretty face and engaging j
manners. The present prospects are
that she would have an elegant home,
every luxury that wealth can bestow,
and, while her beauty lasts, N portion
of her husband’s heart. William
Benson you have known all your life.
He has just finished his profession, and
has liis way to mate in the world.
And he will do it, for he has true
courage and perseverance, correct
| habits and a high aim. He may never
Ibe rich, as things are counted here,
I and his wife will have to take her
sfia of the burdens of life, but she
; will have a husband of whom any
: woman might he proud, and his heart,
] tender and true, will he all her own.
It so happened that the two chose the
| same hour to visit me. William came
i in first, hut was hardly seated when
| Hadley was announced. They merely
] exchanged bows, though I know they
j must have known each other at school.
| Hadley said his business was urgent,
j ami asked to see me alone a few mo
• meats. I confess his errand took me
I by-surprise, for I.had only thought of
jmy home pet as a child, while others
have found out, it seems, that she is a
| beautiful young lady. When we
] catered the parlor again I said: ‘Per
haps you two gentlemen don’t know
! you are cousins.’ John Hadley threw
; up his head contemptuously and re
| PBed: * You must be mistaken. Judge
] Hadley is my father, you know.’
j Yes,’ said I, ‘and Mrs. Benson is
i his own sister ; you must thank me
i lev giving you an aunt and cousin who
stand so high with the best people of
! our city.
“He muttered something and was
gone. William looked chagrined, but
T told him’twns time his secret was
divulged, and there was no chance of
being accused of having mercenary
motives now.
“ You must have guessed that he is
the Willie Hale Henson of whom you
dive heard. As soon as you can, give
me an answer for them both, for ac
cording to their own accounts they
.will suffer untold agonies while they
are kept in suspense. As to yOur
choice in this matter, 1 trust you per
fectly. There, I didn’t tell you a mo
ment too soon; for here comes Wil
liam ; will you stay and give your own
answer ?”
“ Oh, no, papa, dear.” She put Her
face close to liis, “You can tell Wißie
I like him, just a little, and—hut don’t
toll him tliis, I wish he was rich, for
wealth and ease look very tempting.”
As she made her exit she heard Her
father say, "Inconsistency.”
But her heart was light and happy.
Milking Fiddle Strings.
The name “catgut," as applied to
the animal-fiber strings used on musi
cal instruments, is altogether a mis
nomer. The cat is in no wise respon
-dbrf. I'or tlie string, and, much as the
.Skills,to be deplored, the nutnul'ac
'iwas orsnen strings refSo tn'uHl&S"
cuts i'or the supply of their material.
Aliiinadab Sleek, amended to accuracy,
should speak of “they who scrape the
hair of the horse upon the bowels of
the lamb”—not the “bowels of the
cat.” Violin, guitar and banjo strings,
and in fact all sorts that come under
the general head of “ gut,” are made
from the entrails of lambs and cattle,
from the delicate threads used for
sewing racket ball covers up to the
half-inch thick round belts. After a
lamb is seven months old its entrails
are no longer lit for making strings
for violins, consequently this branch
of the manufacture can only be carried
on a few months in each year.
“ Few people,” said Mr. Turner, a
New York manufacturer, to a Sun re
porter, “have any idea of the many
uses to which gut strings are now put.
They are used to hold up clock
weights, for belting, for the nicing on
iawn tennis and racket balls, for la
crosse scoops, for weaving tine whip
covers, for jewelers’ drills, and for a
thousand tilings, I suppose, that even
Ido not know of. Anglers’leaders or
snells ? No, not at all, although most
people have an idea that these are
made of gut. That material would
never do for sucli a purpose. It would
get soft in the water in a few minutes
and the fish would eat it off. in fact,
I don’t know but what it would he a
good bait. Most so-called ‘ gut’ lead
ers are made from silk and the best
from a marine plant.
“ All the woi k of making gut
strings is about tli) same, but greatei
eare lias to be exercised' in preparing
those intended for musical instrument,
than others. The process of manufac
turing those is comparatively simple,
but far from easy. When the entrails,
for which a good price lias to He paid,
are thoroughly cleaned, they are split
with a razor. Only one half is fit for
use in violin strings. That is the upper
or smooth half. The lower half is fatty,
rough, and of unequal thickness. The
strips are put through rollers turned
by hand for eight or nine days, to take
all the stretch out of them, t Then they
are spun, or twisted. Five or six
strands go to ynake an E string, eight
or nine an A string, and twenty are
put into a D string. Then they go
through a bleaching hath of sulphur
fumes. After that they are twisted
again. Then they are softened in
pear lash water, again subjected to the
action of the sulphur fumes, twisted
again, dried, and finally rublied down
smooth with pumice stone. Alto
gether it takes ten or eleven days to
make a string. When done they are
seventy-two inches long—four lengths
for a violin—and thirty of them coiled
separately and tied together make up
the ‘bundle’ of the trade.”
When a man and li s wife engaged
in a debate the other night and the
dog got up and scratched to lie let out
of the room, they concluded that it
was time to stop the discussion.
THE QUEEN’S WATCH DOG.
TORN BROWN, THE PERSONAE AT
TENDANT OP VICTORIA.
In Her Service Thirty-four Years—Tlie
Queen’d Attachment for Ilor Aftendaht-
The Trouble Which lie Caused at Ctmrt.
John Browp, the well-known per
sonal attendant, of jQueen Victoria,
who died recently - at - Windsor castle,
at the age of fifty-six, had passed thir
ty-four years in the service of her
majesty and the late prince consort.
Join' Brown in England was much
more widely known than many of the
members,of the nobility, and through
out the long yuirs of his faithful ser
vice the queen was attached to him so
greatly that ho often became a bone of
conUn’ion among the courtiers who
were jealous of his influence over her
majesty. He was a Scotchman, the son
of u small farmer who lived at the
BuSh on the opposite side to Balmoral.
He began his service in the royal
family as a gillie, in 1819, and was se
lected by Prince Albert and the queen
to go with her majesty’s carriage. He
was with Victoria continually during
her life in the highlands of Scotland
from 1848 to 1861, entering the service
of the royal pair pi nnnnently in 1851,
when his duty was to lead the queen’s
pony on her excursions. After the
death" of the prince consort in 1861,
Victoria became more than ever at
tached to Her humble Scotch servant,
and in December, 1865, she promoted
him to the position of personal attend
ant or body guard to herself. From
that time until liis death tlio queen
never appeared in public without John
Brown, and he followed her every
where. His wishes were often much
more potent than ttiose of. the mem
bers of the court, and whenever tie
was ill a Scotch physician was brought
from Scotland t > attendMiim, because
John had no faith in English medical
skill. Of late years Brown’s overbear
ing and dictatorial manners have
caused a good deal of unfavorable com
ment among the nobility and others,
whom he annoyed when they were
visiting the queen. He was not liked
by the Prince of Wales or the Duke
of Edinburgh, who complained that he
did not know liis place; but the more
lie was snubbed by nob’es and princes
the more graciously the queen smiled
upon him and added to the favors
which she bestowed on him. Among
tlie special favors grant 'd him was the
exclusive right to shoot over same of
iKo oyiu preserves, Him quite recently
the queen threw open tlie state apart
ments at Windsor, at, his request, for
the mayor of Windsor, after having
refused todo sofor others of high rank.
John Brown proved an invaluable man
to the queen’s household, and liis per
sonal attachment to liis mistress was
undoubted, liis personal anxiety on
her account amounted almost to a
mania. It is said that lie was greatly
worried two years ago when tlie queen
was shot at by a lunatic, because lie
had not been able to prevent the shot
from being fired, and because tlie man
was captured by strangers in the
crowd instead of himself.
John Brown was not treated by
the queen as a mere servant.
Ha was rather a friend and con
fidential adviser He was not of
importance enough to be admitted
to the royal table, but he was too great
a man to" eat witli the servants of tlie
household, anil the result was that
when the queen traveled three lunches
had to he prepared—one for the royal
party, one for the servants and a third
one for John Brown. It is said that
John, with the proverbial Highland
shrewdness, feathered his nest well
during tiie long years of his service.
A recent London letter speaking of
him, sliowS tlie familiarity which ex
isted between him and tlie queen, and
the trouble which it caused at court:
“ Ladles in waiting of exalted rank,”
it says, “ have rebelled openly against
the breach of etiquette his familiarity
has created, and refused to be made a
party to it; but, snubbed by them, he.
was only the more gracmusly treated
by his royal mistress. lie follows the
quern like, a shadow from palace to
palace, in public and in private,behind
her chair at her meals, in tlie
rumble of her carriage in her
drives, bending over to ex
change a few words, and calmly
possessing himself of her field-glass
to inspect somh distant maneuver at a
review.” The queen herself, writing
of John Brown in 1867, in a foot-note
in her “Journal of Our Life in the
Highlands,” says: ‘‘His attention,
eare and faithfulness cannot be ex
ceeded, and the state of my health,
which of late years has been sorely
tried and weakened, renders such
qualifications most valuable, and, In
deed, most needful, in a constant at
tendant upon all occasions. He has
all the independence and elevated
feelings peculiar to the Highland race,
and is singularly straightforward, sim
ple-minded, kind-hearted and disinter
e-ted,always ready to oblige and of a dis
cretion rarely to be met with.” Brown
was a heavily built, fine-looking. Scotc
hman. six feet one inch in height, with
i broad chest and a well-developed
muscle. He laid a large, full face and
high forehead, a well-shaped head,
with gray hair at the sides, well
irushed up to hide the, bald spot on
op. His appearanc; and liis devo
ion to the queen caused him to he
mown throughout England as the
•Watch D.'g.”— N etc Y'irkTlmi*.
NO. 16.
THE CHIMNEY’S SONO,
Over the chimney the night wind sang
And the chanted melody no one knew;
And the woman stopped as her babe she
tossed,
And thought of the one she had long since
lost,
And said, as her teardrops back she foroed—
“ I hate the wind in the chimney.”
Over the chimney the night wind sang,
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the children said, as they closer drew,
“ ’Tis some witch that is cleaving the black
night through—
Tis a fairy that just then blew,
And we fear the wind in tlie chimney.”
Over the chimney the night wind sang,
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the man, ns lie sat on his hearth below,
laid to himself: “It will surely snow,
And fuel is dearer and wages low—
And I’ll stop tho leak in the chimney.”
Over the chimney tho night wind sang,
And chanted a melody no one knew;
Hut the poet listened and smiled, for ho
Was man, woman and child—all three,
And he said, “ It’s God’s own harmony,
The wind that sings in the chimney.”
—Bret 11arte,
HUMOR OF THE DA Y.
If you don’t want to lose your gun,
never let it go off.
You can’t well sell your eyes, but
fou can often lend an car to a good
purpose.
A bonnet covere 1 with birds does
not sing, hut tlie fellow who lias to pay
for it whistles when the hill comes in,
•-New York Commercial.
Some of the old railroad men are
/Jinking of a process tef paralyze and
petrify tramps so that they can be
jised as cross ties.— Picayune.
The orator remarked, “ What has
Ibis country to expect after tlie Forty
leventh Congress?” and a hoarse whis
per from tlie gallery responded, “The
forty-eighth.”
Did you ever shake hands with a
beautiful girl about twenty years of
age, who, instead of letting her hand
lie in yours like a sick fish, gave you a
good, hearty grasp? If you have, you
know what solid comfort is.— Rochester
Express.
Fashionable young club men of New
York, suus aims and sans brains, who
ape tlie British snob in tlieir dress, are
lulled “ dudes.” We do not see much
economy in. tho ne.w name. The old
n.i„ contain* -fidy one more
fitter. —Norristown llt rait/.
There was a man he had a clook,
His name wus Matthew Meitrs ;
He wound it regular bvery day
For four and twenty years.
At lust Hits precious timepiece proved
An eight-day clock to bo.
Ami a madder man than Mr. Mears
You’d never with to see.
A man was quietly munching on a
piece of pie in a saloon, Friday morn
ing, when a look of distress suddenly
displaced the serene expression on his
face. Taking something from be
tween liis teeth, and looking at it, lie
cried to tlie waiter, “litre you, there’s
a stone I found in this pie 1” Tho
waiter took it, glanced at it critically,
and handing it back, briefly said:, “It’s
r.o good to us ; you can have it.”—
Danbury News.
“ And what, in tlie name of good
ness, is tliis?” asked Mrs. David Davis,
as the senator lugged something into
the room and dropped it at her feet.
“ This is my shirt, darling, and 1 will
he greatly obligod if you will sew on a
button for me.” “ David Davis,” said
tlie lady, sternly, “ when you bring me
your shirt I will sew on a button for
you, with pleasure, as becomes a fond
and dutiful wife; but just now, sir, I
must insist upon your removing this
circus-canvas from my apartment.”—
Cincinnati Enquirer.
A remarkable woman: Dr. Aber
nethy, the celebrated -physician, was
never more displeased ttian by hearing
a patient detail a long account of
troubles. A woman, knowing Aber
nethy’s love of tlie laconic, having
burned her hand, called at his house.
Showing him her hand, she said: “ A
burn.” “ A poultice,” quietly answered
the learned doctor. The next day she
returned and said: “Better.” “Con
tinue tlie poftltice,” replied Dr. A. In
a week she mads her last call and her
speech was lengthened to three words:
“Well, your fee?” “ Nothing,” said
tlie physician; “you are the most sen
sible woman I ever saw.”— Harper’s
Razor.
You I lifii I Suicides.
Recently a writer, making some
general observations upon French
affairs, remarked upon the number of
children, of the a>e of twelve and un
der, that annually commit suicide in
I’arls. The writer speculated upon
the motive that could have induced
the little unfortunates to commit the
act. Hut youthful suicides are to be
found in the United States, also. If
statistics were taken, the result would
probably be discovered to be startling.
Shame and fepr have sometimes been
tlie motives, mingled, perhaps, with
feelings of indignation. Thus chil
dren, and particularly boys, who had
received or who expected to receive
severe corporal punishment, are fre
quently found to exhibit little or no
hesitation in compassing tlieir own
death. We cannot say that the evil
is on the increase in the United States,
hut it certainly does not seem to be
decreasing. —Ncvt York Telegram.