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The British in Egypt.
There is no help for the nit nation.
There are times in every life when men
must consent to Vie misunderstood, and
go on bearing calumny—or what is
worse, candid criticism—from their
friends as part of the day’s labor; and
the Ministry has arrived at one of those
times. They are doing their duty, under
circumstances of qnito extraordinary
perplexity, as best they know how, and
must go on doing it undeterred by any
fear either of Lord Randolph Churchill
or of consequences. With every step
they take they will find that their leader’s
splendid dream of saving Egypt without
governing it is more and more incapable
of realization. If, for instance, they at
tempt to save the garrisons by force, or
to relieve Khartoum by an army, which,
we suppose, they are even now prepar
ing, they will find that they will require
for more direct control of the Egyptian
departments, military, financial, and
civil, than they yet possess. They must,
to begin with, either ruin Egypt by
compelling it to pay for the expedition,
or pay the money for the Egypt-,
or fiend the money to Egypt; and in,
'either case the responsibility for the fate
.of tgypt will KB more urgent than ever.®
Still, Mr. Glodstohe is seeking what, if
it could be attained, every Englishman
would join him in striving to attain;
and the country is not going to punish
him because he is a little nobler than it
self, or than the facts will allow it to be.
He will find out l>efore he has done that
Egypt is the native home of the mirage;
and when lie has found it out, no man
can be trusted more implicitly to lead ns
to real water. Till then the country
must toil on, thirsty, and ill-tempered
with thirst, but with an angry certainty
that the •desert—the desert without
wells—iH not the plaoe for exchanging
experienced guides. The mirage will
lift yet. —London Spectator.
A Desperate Fight.
The Apalachicola (Fla.) Tribune de
i scribes a combat between a ten-foot
man-eater and a seven-foot alligator at
I East Pass, the other day. When the
i shark spied the alligator he went for
him at a lively rate. The alligator
waited the onslaught with blinking eyes
and open mouth. Seeing his antagonist
prepared for him, the,_,ily shark made
only a seeming atta and rushed by
with increased velocity. When a few
feet only intervened, the shark, by a
j turn known only to this fish, wheeled
with lightning rapidity and pounced
upon his enemy. Quick as the move
ment was it did not succeed. As the
saurian and the fish came together, there
was a terrible churning of the waters
for a moment, and then the shark
darted off a few feet, turned once more
quickly upon his stomach, and his pon
derous jaws closed upon the saurian s
; middle. There then was a crashing of
bones, and for a second the water was
dyed with blood, and then one-half of
i the defeated foe was seen to disappear
I down the cavernous throat of the shark
SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, JULY Hi, 1884.
THE STORY OF A LIFE.
Say. what is life? Tia to he born
A helpless babe, to greet the light
With a sharp wail, as if the morn
Foretell a cloudy noon and night
To weep, to sleep, and weep again,
With sunny smiles between—and then?
And then apace the infant grows
To be a laughing, sprightly boy,
Happy despite his little woes,
Were he but conscious of his joy I
To be, in short, from two ten,
A merry, moody child—and then
And then, in coat and trousers clad,
To learn to say the decalogue,
And break it, an unthinking lad,
With mirth nml mischief all agog;
A truant oft by field and fen,
And capture butterflies— and then ?
And then, increased in strength and size,
To he anon a youth full grown;
A hero in his mother’s eyes,
A young Apollo in his own;
To imitate the ways of men
In fashionable sin and then?
And then, at last, to boa man,
To fall in love, to woo and wed !
With seething brain to scheme ami plan
To gather gold or toil for bread;
To sue for fame, with tongue and pen,
And gain or lose the prize !
And then in gray and wrinkled eld
To mourn the speed of life’s decline;
To praise the scenes our youth beheld,
And dwell in the memory of lang syne;
To dream awhile with darkened ken,
To drop into the grave and then ?
John G. Saxe.
Jennie's M ission.
BY ELLA. WHEELER.
“Oh, this dull round of small duties,
how tired I am of them all, how I wish
some grand mission in life would come
to me 1”
Jennie Orson, the pretty little rclio>l
- leaned her chin upon her hand
igi she mused in the above manner, and
gazed out over tho gray fields, whose
dreary plowed furrows were thrusting
their ragged faces up through tho rapid
ly-disappearing snow-drifts.
“Why, how tho snow has gone to
day,” she added mentally, as file
changed appearance of tho fields struck
her eye. It was tho last day of March,
and all winter long the snow had been
heaped in miniature mountain ranges by
the roadsides, and on the fields and
meadows. During the last week warm
weather had set in, making rapid inroads
npon snow and ice.
The children came running under the
window whore Jennie stood, playing at
“Round tho House.” Then they flocked
off togother toward the brook that rip
pled by the school-house a few rods dis
tant. Jennie watched thorn absently.
Her mind was not upon her duties that
day. Her plodding round in u country
school room seemed very dull and mean
to her. She sighed for some great and
lofty mission.
“H I could do someone great act,
heroic and noble,” she said to herself,
“I would be willing to die then. What
is life worth if wo must plod on forever
like this ? lam no more than an ant, or
a spider, or a squirrel with the lifo I
live ! How gladly would I give up the
monotony of years of this routine for one
hour of sacrifice, heroism, and then
welcome death.”
How sho hated her homely life as she
looked back over his nineteen unevent
ful years. She had always livod in this
dull oountry place, ever since she was a
woe child and her parents had emigrated
to the West. She had received her edu
cation in this same little school-house,
attended divine service there also—as
the place boasted no ohuroh edifice—
and her only knowledge of the world
beyond was obtained by a yearly vikit to
fifty miles distant, where t]ie
family supplies were purchased, and
from a few books and newspapers. Now
Bhe was very tired of it all— tired of her
dull past, her duller present, her doubt
lessly dull fntnre. Even the thought
of her fond, tme lover, Jack Kellogg,
who was building the house whore she
was to reign mistress, annoyed her to
day. How poor and monotonous life
stretched before her. How much better
to perform someone grand act and die,
than to live on to old age in this dreamy
fashion. It was a very romantic girl
who stood there in the little school-room
dreaming her discontented dreams, you
see.
Suddenly she saw by the moon mark
that it was time to call in her scholars.
She had no bell—for this was in the
early days of Wisconsin history, before
the railroads hail spread their great iron
spider webs all over the State, and Jen
nie’s school was conducted on a very
primitive plan. Sho took the great
ruler, with which she inflicted punish
ment on the palms of unruly boys, and
rapped loudly on the window. Then she
' sat down and waited for the pupils to
! come trooping in—not with the regula
\ tion and order which governs scbool
! rooms in these days, but belter skelter,
■ hurry sknrry, laughing, pushing each
I other and playing “tag’ to their
! benches.
j “Oh teacher, the creek is getting aw
ful high,” said Tommy Smith, as he
plunged into his seat. And Jennie di<l
not correct him for the improper use of
! “awful,” which proved to be more ap
propriate in this case than teacher or
pupil supposed.
“I suppose the snows are all melting
and running into it,” she answered, ab
sently, as she took her place at her desk,
and by another tap of her ruler indicated
(hat the afternoon session of school was
now in order.
Then sho ran her eye over the room to
ee that no pnpils were missing.
“Where is Tod Brown?" she asked.
'I do not see him here.”
Tod was tho smallest child in tho
school, a little boy scarcely five years
old, who was placed iu her charge, not
so much to learn his primer, as to keep
him out of his mother’s way. She was
burdened with two smaller than ho be
sides a babe iu the cradle.
“I left Tod down by tho creek,” an
swered Tommy Hmith, "playin’ throw
pebbles into tho water. I told himsohoo 1
was called.”
“You should have brought him along.
Tod is only a child,"Jenniesaid, reprov
ingly. “But go and bring him now; and
hurry, for your lesson in arithmetic
comes on directly.”
Tommy caino back iu a brief space of
time, white and frightened.
“Tod is at aimin' on a stone andoryin’,
and the water’s all round him,” he said.
“I couldn’t got near him at all.”
The whole school roso en masse, and
.Temiie at tho head of tho small army
led on to the rescue of Tod.
Yes, there he stood on a stone which a
little Maie before had been on tho shore;
but now, alas, was in the midst of tho
rapidly-swelling stream, beyond the
reach of any in that, little group.
“Mamma! mamma,” he called iu
piteous tones, “come and take Tod. Tod
is 'frald. Come, mamma, come !’’
iTenuio looked over her little floek of
pupils who crowded about her. Not one
of them was largo enough to wade out
and rescue Tod. Tho only boy in her
school who might safely have attempted
this had remained at homo that day to
assist his father.
The water was rising higher ovory
moment. What was to he done must bo
done quickly, or the angry waves would
seize poor little Toil and sweep him away
down tho swelling stream.
“John cried Jennie, speaking to the
largest hoy in the flock, “you stand hero
on tho bank, whilo I wade out to Tod. I
shall want you to take him from my arms
as soon as I have him safe. Homo of tho
larger girls must hold fast to your coat,
so that you do not fall into the stream.”
Then Jennie drow her skirts close
about her slight figure and plunged
bravely into the cold waters, sinking
almost to her waist at the first step.
Slowly, slowly, she hhtdo her way to
ward the crying child, t ho waves rushing
up higher over his feet every moment.
Tho little flock on the shore huddled
togother like frightened lambs, watching
their teacher with wide, distended eyes
and sobbing out I heir fear and terror, as
sho slowly forced her way against tho
waves.
Another effort, another plunge and
she had him iu her arms. Then she
tried to make her way back to shore, but
the waters were growing more furious
every moment, as if angored at the loss
of their prey. They almost swept her
from her feet—they dashed above her
Hhoulder, and her little burden screamed
and struggled with terror, making her
task tenfold more difficult.
“Just another step, teacher, and I’ll
.’atch hold of him,” cried John from the
shore, reaching out almost his whole
length over the waters, while two sob
bing girls held fast to the skirts of his
mat.
it was an exciting scene, a wild mo
ment of suspense. Jennie’s face was
white as chiseled marble; her long black
hair had fallen from its fastenings and
floated back over the billows like a dark
mantle; her eyes were large with fear,
her mouth drawn with pain, and her
slender form swayed as if her strength
were well nigh xhansted.
With one last mighty effort she laid
her burden in John’s outstretched arms.
Tod was saved !
A wild shout of joy and triumph roso
from the excited band on shore, and
they flocked about the prostrate form of
the almost inanimate child.
Just then a great wave swept down
npon Jennie, lifted her from her feet,
just as she was about to grasp tho shore,
and bore her rapidly down the stream
like a light piece of driftwood.
As she was whirled away the whole
events of her past life arose before her ;
that life, which only an hour before
seemed so poor and mean and dull to
her. Ah, now how precious and bright
and beautiful it became ! She remem
bered her rash wish, that she might he
given some ono heroic act to perform
and then die. Tho act had been granted
her almost instantly, and sho had per
formed it heroically. But now must
she carry out tho remainder of iier
thought, and die 1 Oh, death was so
dark—so cold ; the unknown scorned so
terrible ; she was so young, and life was
so sweet 1
She thought of Jack, her lover, and
the half-completed house. Life with
lu'm there, that an hour before had
seemed a dreary, monotonous waste,
' shone upon her like the departing
shores of some lost paradise. Oh, to
see his dear eyes smiling fondly upon
■ her, onoe more to hoar his voice; life,
youth, love, how precious they all were I
Then all grew blank. “Jack, Jaek, I
am so cold. Oh, God 1 savo me- pity- -
forgive," she cried, and then Hank away
into unconsciousness.
Two miles below the sohool-house
they found her tossed on shore with a
mass of driftwood. Quite dead they
pronounced her at first, and the old vil
lage doctor oonflrmed the assertion.
But Jack Kellogg would not liston to
any of them.
“She is not dead,” he oriod. "How
dare you tell me suoh a tiling ! Sho is
nlivo, and will look up and smile in my
face before tho day passes. ”
They shook their heads, and thought
the poor boy had gone mad, ns lie set to
work over her. But they all lout a help
ing baud, and ovory restorative known
to them was applied to the pallid figure
of the young girl.
It was horns before they saw any
signs of returning life. Then she drew
a deep, quivering sigh, opened her oyes
and smiled, even os Jack had said sho
would, into his loving face bout anxious
ly above her.
“Is this heaven?" she asked in a whis
per. “I thought I died !”
“You wont out clear to tho very
threshold of death,” Jack answered, as
lie clasped her in his arms, “lint, love
was strong enough to bring you back. ”
lie Wisconsin.
RAM HAIM) DEAD AT <O.
A <'oiin|lciioiin Flaurr In Hnriitl nml INililU
ml I,Hr.
It is said of the late notable Sam j
Ward that after Ins house in No* York ■
failed, in 1817, through a heavy specula- J
tion in wheat Ward found himself a poor i
man. After drifting around for a time, |
he was seized with the gold fever, and ‘
went to California as one of the ’ liters. I
There, with ex Governor Price, of Now
Jersey, ho established a mercantile and
auction house, and rapidly accumulated ;
a large fortune. This ho lost in a fire, j
and then ho tried his hand at mining, |
but with poor success. Discouraged |
and disgusted with civilization, it is said
that ho took refuge among tho Indians,
and taught them to cook dog so lucionsly
tlmt they elected him chief of the tribe.
Ho lived in Mexico, Europe and this .
country. He went to Washington, and |
there ho found an occupation entirely
congonial to his nature. He becamo a
lobbyist, and was so successful and pop
ular that he was known as the “King of
the Lobby.” He livod in Washington
for many years, and gave innumerable
dinners, the reputation of which spread
over the land. It was his profession to
win Congressmen over by ttiese dinners
and by his fine liquors, of which none
had so fine a judgment. Ho hud a fac
ulty of bringing enemies together at
these dinners and sending them away
friends. He ato very sparingly himself
and therein was the secret of his good
health.
Though he received a great deal of
money at Washington, ho never saved
any of it, and he remained a poor man
until 1881. Then he met Mr. James R.
Keene, who had recently came on to Now
York from California. He became Mr.
Keeno's boon companion, and was ad
mitted to a share in his speculations,
and from them he realized a fortune esti
mated at half a million dollars. When
Keene was takeu seriously sick, Ward
nursed him and took him to Long
Branch and other places for his health.
Ho now resumed his course of dinner
giving in Now York. Ho gave dinners
to Oscar Wildo, Mrs. Langtry, and
other celebrities. Ho was a member of
the Now York Club, and was often seen
there. Within a year he lost the greater
part of his last fortune in unfortunate
speculations, and, as a result, in the fall
ho left for Europo rather suddenly. He
laid he wanted to go where he could
live cheaply, and that he did not intend
to return. He died in Loudon at the
age of seventy jeers.
A Fashionable Wedding.
One of the most fashionable and at
the sam<j timo ono of the most
strangely assorted marriages of the sea
son was solemnized in St, Peter’s Church,
Eaton Square, London. Tho bride
groom was Sir John Lubbock, Bart., a
partaer in the immensely wealthy bank
ing house of Roberto, Lubbock & Cos.,
M. P. for London University, a Fellow
of the Royal Society and a well known
dilottanto scientist, especially iu the do
main of entomology and natural history.
He is a rich widower, just fifty years of
age, very tall and thin; has a thin, pip
ing voice, weak, squinting eyes, and haH
been for years a martyr to gout, which
oonfines him to his bed most of the time.
His last appearance in the House of
Commons was at the time of the divis
ion on tho vote of censure, when he left
his siok bed and hobbled on crutches to
his place in the Houso to givo his voto
to the government.
Ho managed lo discard his crutches
nn tho wedding day, and marched brave
ly down the aisle of St. Peter's with his
feet enveloped in huge cloth boots, und
as he stood before the altar he repeated
Ihe marriage vows in a troubled, quer
rulous voice, to an accompaniment of
spasms of pain from the gout.
Tho bride was Miss Fox Pitt, daugli
tor of General Rivers Pitt, of the British
army, and the granddaughter of a peer.
She is both young and beautiful, ami was
superbly dressed in a robe of ivory satin
brocade, trimmed with orange blossoms
and lilies of the valley, and garnished
with pearl and diamond stars, tho cos
tume being valued at $3,000
None trifle with God and make sport
of sin so much as those whose way of
livings interfere with their prayers; who
pray perhaps for sobriety and wait daily
for an answer to that prayer at a merry
1 meeting or a tavern,
NO. 2l>.
€Ol.. CARD AND HIS DEAD SON.
Itriirct* Thnt tlio Yoiiiim Jinn llnd Not llcon
I’.roiiulil lo .liinHco.
A letter from Columbia, S. C., says
tho recent tragio death of W. Bogan
Cash, only son of Col. E. B. 0. Cash, is
still the theme of public comment, and |
there are two views of the matter. No
ono questions the justice of the fate
which overtook him, whilo public feel
ing is fairly dividod as between those
who would lmvo preferred that tho de
ceased had so acted as to let the law
mete out the punishment for his crimes,
ns a jury of his countrymen would have
unhesitatingly determined. The young
man had been of a turbulent character
his whole life. He had been a principal
in two duels, instigated a third, killed a
pence ofllcor, mortally wounded an inof
fensive citizen, and finally mot his death
with 'Jh wounds while resisting a Sheriff’s
posse. Young Cash lmd inherited all of
the violent traits of his father, and
neither of them could conceive of nuy
atonement for real or fancied wrongs
save by tho shedding of blood. Both of
them were men of excellent educational
training, and tho father was possessed
of generous impulses, but tho love of
strong drink and disregard for human
life debased their natures.
Col. Cash will be brought to trial the
latter part of this or the first of next
month on the charge of being an acces
sory before and after the killing of Town
Marshall Richards and the mortal
wounding of James Coward. While
there never was much expectation of his
conviction, it is probable that the death
of his son, the principal actor in tho
double deed of blood, will have appeased
public wrath to justify the acquittal or
very mild punishment of the old man,
whoso lifo is now a complete wreck in
every respect. Col. Cash lias two
daughters—one married, who, with her
husband and child, was at her father's
houso when her brother was killed, and
a single daughter, who teaches a school
in Spartanburg, S. O. It is probable
that the father would have been buried*
in the same grave with his son had Bogan
Cash been hemmed in at the paternal
mansion, but Bogan was surrounded in a
barn on his own plantation, about five
miles from Col. Cash's homo. Aservaut
of the household, upon being asked how
the Colonel took the death of his son,
replied: “Mighty hard 1 Mighty hard !”
James Coward, tho unfortunnto vic
tim of Bogan Cash’s pistol practioo, still
lingers, with no possible hope of recov
ery, and with no immediate prospect of
release from his sufferings. His entire
body below the wound continues par
alyzed. Where the ball entored and
where it was extracted have healod over
and seem healthy, but bad sores aro
forming. Coward is very cheerful under
tho circumstances.
THE CZAR DOOMED 10 DIE.
Tho NIHIIIhIs Flnrnrd ti Drrroo Warning
Him oI 11 In Fme.
Reports from Russia says that tho
Russian Nihilists have renewed their ac
tivity and begun anew campaign of ter
rorism in tho province of Moscow. They
lmvo placarded that province and its cap
ital with hundreds of copies of a mani
festo conveying a threat of death to the
Czar. As those placards were all posted
on the same night, ami as each person
engaged in the work could have posted
but very few of them owing to the neces
sity of avoiding the police, it is evident
that the Nihilists must have in their
ranks a largo number who aro willing to
risk their liberty in the proscoution of
such an enterprise. The proclamation
reminds the he was warned in
May, 1881, that if ho would avoid the
fate whioh had Jwfellen his father two
’months before, he must grant a consti
tutional form of government and organ
ise a parliament composed of representa
tives of tho people. During the three
years that have followed this warning,
the proclamation says, the revolutionists
have suspended their agitation, but now
that this warning lias been so long un
heeded they inform the Czar that he
must bo prepared to be dealt with as
pitilessly and removed as suddenly as
his father and predecessor. The police
tore down the placards before moat of
the citizens were stirring, and have made
strenuous efforts to find the persons who
printed and posted them. Many students
of both sexes hnvo been arrested on sus
picion, and a thorough search has been
made of the offices of all newspaporH and
printers suspected of disloyalty. None
i of tho peculiar type used in priuting the
; placards has been discovered, however,
| and the police believe thnt it was molted
! up immediately after being used.
-
Cabeful.—Prof. Reuger, on feeding
; his monkeys, in Paraguay, with eggs,
{ observed that at first they smashed them
j and then wasted much of their contents;
but they soon learned to hit one end
j against some hard body and pick off the
! 1 iits with their paws, and if they out them
i selves onoe with any sharp tool, they
would either not touch it again or handle
it with tho greatest caution. Lumps of
I sugar were given them wrapped up in
paper, and sometimes a live wasp
! was put in to try them, so that in hastily
j opening the paper they got stung; but
after this had once ocourred they always
i held the packet to their ears to detect
: anv movement.
Disease comes in by hundred weights
1 and goes out by ounces.
THE HUMOROUS PALMiRS.
WHAT WU riNI) IN Tllll.U TO 5H11.15
OVBK.
AN OLD FABLE liEVTSKD.
“Look boro, waiter,” called a feeder
at a city restaurant, “look at tho Imir 1
found in this turtle soup.”
“Yes, I see, You lmvo hoard of that
famous race between the turtle and the
hare ?"
“Yes. What of it?”
“Why, in this case the hair and tur
tle c-amo ill oven.” —The Ilousier.
THE CLANS OATnEBINO.
“Where is the bar?" asked a gentle
man, hurriedly, as lie registered at a
Chicago hotel.
"Just around to the left, sir."
“Where is the bar?” asked another
gentleman, at the same place n moment
later.
"Just around to tho loft, sir.”
“Where is the ha ”
"Just around to tho left, sir. By
Jove,” Hie clerk continued, “tho dele
gates are beginning to come in.”— Tin ;
Call.
WIT AT THE DISEASE WAS.
Dumley came into the dining-room
and, costing a sweeping glance over the
table, jammed down into bis chair and
muttered under his breath:
• ‘Liver again, of course. We’ve had
liver every morning for two weeks.”
“What's the matter, Mr. DumloyV”
asked the landlady; “arn’t- you feeling
well this morning ?”
“No, madam,” he replied, shortly, “I
am suffering with liver complaint.”-
Phi!a. Pur. Call.
MORTAK FOR MASONS.
“I can’t finish plastering your house
until I get more sand,” said a plasterer
to a grooeryman tho othor day.
“How much sand will you require?”
asked the grocervman.
“About throe bushels will do, I guess.”
“Hero, John,” said tho grocervman,
“roll out another barrel of that brown
sugar and send it up to my new house.
I want to keep the plasterers at work.”
"That won’t do,” said the plasterer.
"Why, isn’t that good Baud?”
“Not very good; and besides, those
bees in the garden will bo constantly
trying to Buck tho sweetness out of tho
sand after it is plastered on the walls.”
“Not much, my friend. Guess you
lon’t know my sugar. If tho bees suck
any sweetness out of it they will do some
of tho dangdest iiardest sucking you
over saw I” —Paris JScaeon.
A MATCH.
Mr. Olewdrop was slowly walking
down Alabama street when he saw one
of his friends wildly striding toward
him.
“Wlmt is your hurry ?" askod Mr. 0.,
catchiug him by tho coat.
“Don’t stop me ! ’ yelled tho other,
struggling to get free, “turn me loose.”
“Anything wrong ?” gasped Olew
drop.
“No, no, but let me go.”
“What are you rustling so for ?”
“Oh, hang it, I’m walking for a
match."
“If that's all,” smiled Olewdrop, feel
ing in his vest pocket, “I can givo you
one without your walking yourself to
death for a match.”-— Atlanla Constitu
tion.
METRICAL, BUT NOT MUSICAL.
"You look like a poet,” laughed I lie
funny editor, as the handsomely dressed
youngster entered.
The boy smiled and began fumbling
in his pocket.
‘Maybe yon write songs, too,” sng
gested tho newspaper man.
“Yes, sometimes,” was the answer.
“Have yon got ono for me ?”
“Yes, I think I have.”
| “Is it snng by long or short metro?”
By this time the young man had fished
out a document, which he threw down,
yelling excitedly :
“Neither, my friend, it is sting by the
gas metre.’’
It was a gas bill for $lO. —Atlanta
Constitution.
THE CIFFKIIINare.
New York Broker —"No, dear, I cau
-1 not take you to Saratoga this year.”
His Wife—“ You can’t, indeed? I
' should like to know why.”
“I can’t afford it.”
' “The idea I Why, the Simpersins are
] going to Newport just thd same as usual,
! and Siinpcrum has failed, too.”
“Exactly, my dear, and I haven’t.”
I “Well?”
“Why, I have to stay at home and
nay my debts.”— Philo,. Eve. Call.
Time for a Change.
During the oampaign when John A
Dix ran a seoond time for Governor of
the State of New York, he happened to
walk to the beach at WeHtliampton one
day, and met on his way an old fisher
man who was mending his nets. Tho
; fisherman did not know the Governor,
i so Gov. Dix asked him: “Well, how’s
i polities down hero?” “Kinder quiet,”
said the old man. “J don’t take much
interest, but I’m agin Dix.” “What’s
the matter with Dix ?” asked the Gov
ernor; “hasn’t lie done well at Albany ?”
“Fust rate,” said the fisherman, “fust
rate; 1 lmin’t got a woid agin him.’
“Then why won’t you voto for him ?”
“Wall,” said the fisherman, “eels is a
gittin’ scarce, and I think it’s 'bout
| timo fur a change."
Striking Scene at an Inquest.
Tho interest in the Ourran murder
! case in Toronto, was increased at tho
. inquest when the detectives brought
forward as a witness a deaf muto, a
shoemaker, who saw from his bedroom
window tho altercation and the intli"-
tion of the fatal wound. The men,
George Falvey and James Neil, who
were arrested on suspicion, but against
whom there was no evidence, were pres
ent, and the deaf mute, who can read
and write, on being asked who stabbed
Ourran, went and laid his hand upon th<
prisoner Falvey.