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J’43 No E qUAL .
y 30 UNION SQUARE NEW YORK
22 O V-4*'<?x> bSUA/v>
i ill mass GA.
4 rOR SALE BY
i ’m“\ in: gain.
_ SUMMERVILLE, GA.
' <-*IV NEW
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for any desired information, address
THE DAVIS SEWING MACHINE CO.,
WATERTOWN, N. Y.
158 Tremor t St.. Boston, Mass,
1223 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa.
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ALA'
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Alnbasline i - fl.' and o«L/ preparation
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Alabastihe i.i hardened on the wall by age,
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In ii'Milio to the ave advantages,
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BiLUNGS, TAYLOR & GO.
CLEVELAND, OHIO,
A Caution.
The terrible ravages of cholera in
Naples furnish another example of the
suffering which one-haif the world must
undergo because the other half will not
obev the simplest laws of health. This
same, epidemic which is now terrorizing
a large Europe also attests the
influence wnich the habits of men on
one side of the globe exert upon the well
being of th r fellows on the other side.
A host of unclean pilgrim, on the banks
of the Ganges breeds which
i spreads like a c -.rse over the earth, r.ig-
■ ing the fiercest where it finds the most
■ nneiesnliness. In these days no part of
■■
@ljc Q?iijctte.
VOL XI. SUMMERVILLE. GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, OCTOBER 22, 1884. NO. 40.
- SANDS' ——
PATENT TRIPLE
Ml
J r A BKr. 11 W
The only Freezer ever made having three distinct
motions inside the can, thereby, of course, produc
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Freezer on the market.
300,000 in use. Catalogue and Price List
Bailed upon application.
WHITE MOUNTAIN FREEZER CO.,
NASHUA, N. H.
The Liine-Ktln Club.
nir PRESIDENT lEM.S HOW ITS FINANCES
AKE HUN TO PREVENT PECULATIONS.
I
Fur a quarter of an hour previous to
the opening of the meeting Brother
(i miner seemed to be puzzled over the
. contents of a letter, and when the tri
| angle sounded lie arose and said:
“Ileah am a communication from the
Treasury Department in which the ques
tion am axed if our treasurer kin git
away wid our club funds, and if not,
why not. lam also in receipt of seberal
odder letters kindly holdin’ out de
warnin’ dat dis am de aigeof onsartinty,
an’ dat we should hev an eye on de
; pnsson who carries de key to our cash-
I box.
‘‘fiber since dis club had its fust
nickel in de treasury wo hev recognized
two fundamental facts: 1. De man who
dean’ git a chance to steal am obleeged
to be honest. 2. He who am thoroughly
honest won’t object to sartin restrick
shuns. Dar’ nebber has been an’ ueb
ber Will be a time when our treasurer
kin lay his hands on ’null money to pay
his fare fifty miles by rail. While we
respeck him, we remove all tempta
shnn. While we hev confidence in his
integrity, we feel dat he am but human
arter all. Fur de satisfackshun of de
members of de club an’ de friendly pub
lic I will make au explanashun.
“Our cashier am permitted to handle
SI per week fur current expenses.
What ho expends goes frew de hands
of de janitor. Boas of dese offlshuls
nans’ submit sworn vouchers at de eand
of each week. Dem vouchers mils’
agree or dar’ will be a rumpus. As to
onr large cash surplus, dat am deposited
in a bank. To draw out any porshun
of it a check mus’ be signed by de presi
dent, secretary and treasurer, an’ de
pnsson who goes to de bank mus’ be
accompanied by two p’leeeemen. De
rent of dis hall am paid in de presence
of de Finance Committee, an’ all
moneys received am counted and sworn
to by the Committee on Srfety. As I
said at de start, we believe everybody
to be honest, but, at de same time we
believe it am cheaper to watch our cash
dan to hire detectives to run after our
treasurer.”— DeroH Free Pre.Kt.
Musical Sand.
A paper read before the Science Asso
ciation on “Musical Sands," was of
popular interest. It is the joint work of
Miss H. Carrington Bolton and Alexis
A. Julien, but was presented by the lat
ter. An interesting account was given
of the wide distribution of this sand,
some of it having been found at Far
Rockaway, at Long Branch and other
points of the eastern cogst of the United
States. Mr. Julien showed some of this
sand to the audience, and also explained
its peculiarities. When put in a bag
(in this case it was a stocking) and sud
dely compressed it emits a sound which
is not unlike that produced by a violin
when the finger rests lightly npon the
string. It is not a sustained sound
though, but ceases when the highest
point of compression has been reached.
It is not easily distinguishable from
ordinary sand, and it retains its peculiar
properties only under certain conditions
of the atmosphere. It never emits
sounds when wet, and it does not regain
its sonorousness after it baa once had its
music squeezed out of it. Bathers fre
quently experience a tickling sensation
on the soles of their feet, when walking
\ barefooted, or even with bathing-shoes,
on the beach. The sensation is due to
the presence of musical sand. Mr. Ju
lien thought that the sand might have
electrical properties, but he was not pre
pared to support this proposition. The
study of these phenomena had occupied
him and his colleague for several months,
in the course of which they had ex-
I amined and found musical sand to exist
I in different parts of the world. He
i hoped, at some future time, to give more
i ; at.actory data concerning it.
When a man goes into a store and
iiiys a pocketbook and has it charged
•he question naturally arises, “Wha.
| lr . want it for?”
— l ■*■ - - ~
'■ :■ Ohio there is one divorce in every
■ sever, marriages. T. ■ other six pairs
I arepr< b.ibly boarding with their parents.
THE STAB-SPANGLED BANNED
Ob, say, can you see by the dawn’s early light.
What so proudly we baited at the twilight’s
last gleaming;
Whose bro id stripes and bright stars thro' the
peril us light
U’er the ramparts we watched wore go gal
lantly streaming;
And the rocket's red glare, the b nibs bursting
in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag
was st’ll there.
Oh, say, does the star-spangled bannei
y< t wave
O'er the land < f the free and the homo
of the brave.
On the s! ore, dimly seen through the mists of
the deep,
Where’s the foe’s haughty host in dread
silr-nce reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o’er the tower
ing steep,
As it fitfully blows half conceals, half dis
closes?
Now* it catches the gleam of the morning’s first
b am,
In full glory reflected, now shines in the
stream.
’Tis the star-spangled banner I Oh,
long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the homo
of the bravo.
\nd where is that band who so vain.tingly
swore
That the havoc of war and the battle’s con
fits on,
A home and a country should leave us no
more ?
Their blood has washed out their foul foot
steps’ pollution;
No refuge can save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the
grave;
And the star-spangled banner in
triumph shall wave
O'er the hind of the free and the home
of the brave.
Oh, thus be i’ « ver when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and war's desola
tion;
Blest with victory and peace, may the
heaven-rescued land
Praise the power that hath made and
preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it
is just,
And this lx* our motto: “In God is our trust.”
And the star-spangled banner in
triumph shall wave
O’er the land of thp free and the
home of the bi avO.
AN OLD WOMAN’S TALE.
It is an old tale, the experience of
age striving in vain to temper the enthu
siasm of youth. I am a mother now;
and a sedate matron may well sigh to
remember how she loved to think her
old friends splenetic through infirmity,
dearly as she loved them, rather than
abate one atom of the fairy visions
which daneed nmnnd her.
And when the arch enchanter, Love,
waved his wand, and bathed earth and
sea and sky in hues of purple and gold,
how cruel seemed the hand, thongh
stretched in tenderest watchfulness, that
would fain have brought her back to the
sober hues of reality.
In the arrogance of youth, of beauty,
we forget that our kind monitor has
felt as we feel the same fond trust, the
same ecstatic hope, and can say, “I, too,
shepherd, in Arcadia dwelt.”
1 have never known the blessed care
of a mother, but her venerable parent
was permitted to watch over our or
phaned childhood. I can now under
stand her earnest and prayerful anxiety,
as we grew up to womanhood, and the
time for our settling in life drew near.
I can feel with her now, though in
my inexperience I conld not then, for I,
too, have fair girls to guard, whose hap
piness here and hereafter is entwined
with my very heartstrings
I remember the day on which my
father told our grandmother of my en
gagement to your father. I was then,
my Margaret, young and light-hearted
as yourself, and dear grandmamma laid
her withered hand on the curls which
clustered in golden luxuriance, and
tears dropped slowly down her venera
ble cheeks,
"Do not grieve, dear grandma ; ’
shall not leave you for a long time yet;
and,” I added, pressing her hand in
both of mine, “I shall see you very
often.”
Here my own tears began to flow, foi
in the engrossment of my new feelings
I had scarcely dwelt on the severing of
old ties, which my new engagement
would involve.
“It is no selfish grief that thus as
Aids me, ’ said my beloved monitor. “I
would not cloud your young spirits, nor
dim the hopes which are said to bless
the morning of life and fit us for the
burden and heat of the day; but yon,
my Grace, remind me of my cherished
danghter Agnes, whose early death you
have often heard me lament. I will now
tell you something of her life, and if it
makes you rejoice with trembling am’d
vour present happiness, that happiness
will be more likely to endure. From
he: Infancy I had watched over Agnes
with a more fearful tenderness than any
other of my children. Hers was a char
acter strangely made up of quick and
joyous impulse, and deep, unsuspected
feeling. She seemed altogether with
out that cowardice so often attributed
to women as a reproach, but which, in
a world of dangers, often serves her as
well as the cautiousness of wisdom.
Meanness and cunning she swirned, and
the petty artifice so common in both
sexes was never found in her. Her
spirits were high and untamable—some
times to wildness; but if unkindly or
harshly rebuked, none so utterly sub
dued, Can you wonder, then, that 1
watched over ner as If she were some
precious vessel sent out on a sea full of
rocks, quicksands and whirlpools ? I
used often to pray that, bo her lot in
life what it might be, she might ever
feel the balm of loving looks and kind
words. ”
"And what was her lot in life, dear
grandmamma, and was she happy ? Do
tell me all about her. Was she pretty ?”
"She was not so fair as her sister
Grace,” continued grandmamma; “but
there was a variety in the play of her
features, and a playfulness of manner,
which made her generally admired. At
the age of eighteen her hand was asked
in marriage by a young merchant, Ar
thur Walforth, and before I was aware
of her danger her heart was his. I say
danger, because sho was too young to
encounter the cares of married life, and
the uncertainties of trade press heavily
on the wife of a merchant. She suffers
from the variation of her husband’s spir
its, and she is a highly favored woman
if his temper, too, do not suffer; and my
Agnes' tender yet high spirit was, I
knew, ill-fitted for such trials. Arthur
was an intelligent young man, of high
character, and most honorable in all his
dealings. It was, however, his misfor
tune to have for a mother a weak and ir
ritable woman, whom prosperity had not
improved. She was surrounded with
blessings but was constantly complain
ing, and as her education had not
strengthened her mind, nor a watchful
self-denial improved her heart, she was
likely to impress upon her son’s mind a
very low opinion of all women. I, my
dear Grace, was honored by my husband
with his entire confidence, and I tried to
return his trust by being indeed a help
mate for him. If a woman does not know
the state of her husband’s affairs she is
defrauded of what is justly her due—the
privilege of advising with him and of
uniting with him in his efforts to do just
ly to all men. About a year after Agnes’
marriage the crisis occurred in the com
mercial world which laid many lofty
houses low. I often surprised Agnes in
tears, but she said nothing to me; and 1
have always made it a principle not to
inquire into family segrajs. 1 have seen
so much evil from the well-meaning but
ill-judged reluctance which many a
mother feels to give up to her daugh
ter’s husband, in good faith and sinceri
ty, tbd secrets of that daughter’s heart.
But one day my Agnes came to my
house and rushed upstairs to my l>od
room. I followed her and secured the
door; and I was then grieved to hear her
mbbing bitterly and in an agony of
sorrow.
“ 'Can I give yon any comfort or ad
vice, my darling? Confide in your
mother, and perhaps I may be able to
console you.'
“ 'Oh 1 my husband, my husband 1
Ho has used me cruelly; he has not
been open with me; he might have told
me the state of his affairs. lam not a
child. I conld bear poverty. I conld
live anywhere, and labor for him, as
many are obliged to do; but this erne’
reserve—oh, it will hill me?’
“ ‘Agnes, my child,’ 1 answered, ‘now’s
your time of trial. You know where to
look for strength; and oh, beware of a
rebellious spirit 1 Strive to be patient
and tell me all you fear.’
“ 'Our head clerk has just been to onr
house, mamma, and he tells me that his
master has gone to London, and his re
turn is uncertain; and he has left a re
quest to me that I will come and stay
with you until his affairs are arranged
one way or other. lam more hurt by
his allowing me to learn all this from
a stranger than shocked at his ruin;
for we are both young and may hope
for better times. But oh, mother, there
are many things which I might have
done without, and now the people will
suspect me of having known our cir
cumstances all along, and I shall have
the disgrace of being suspected of dis
honesty.’
“‘Alas 1 Agnes,’ I said, ‘yours is a
common case. To a woman of integrity
it is indeed a sore trial to be thought ca
pable of wronging any tradesman; but
do not injure yonr health by this violent
grief. You are, whatever happens, our
dearly beloved danghter, and now, for
Grace’s sake, and for your father’s and
mine, try to compose yourself.’
“I knew that this appeal to her fam
ily affection would .have a strong effect
on her generous nature; for Agnes, in
becoming a wife, had not ceased to be
a dntifnl daughter; and her love for
her sister, your dear mother, my Grace,
was beautiful to behold.
“She was delicate even then, and re
quired the tenderest care—too gentle
and unselfish for the world. She was
even then more like a heavenly than an
ea’thly be'ng
‘‘When she saw Agnes come down
with the marks of tears on her cheeks,
she strove by every tender attention to
soothe and cheer her; and I sighed to
see her gentle offices lavished in vain.
“Our dear Agnes was wounded to the
quick by her husband’s want of confi
dence, and we could not cheer her.
“In a short time, however, Arthur’s
affairs wera wound up—all claims were
satisfied, and he resumed his business
with a good prospect of success; bnt he
had lost one possession more valuable
than gold—the confidence of his wife
was gone forever.
“There was.® restlessness and anxiety
about Agnes which never left her. She
refused ever again to take the most
trifling thing on credit; and once, when
he hesitatingly alluded to her pru
dence, as he termed it, she replied, ‘I
have been treated like a child, Arthur,
and you must remember a burnt child
dreads the fire. If I am not to be
trusted, I will avoid being duped.’
"She died at the age of six-and
twenty, after a short illness; but I shall
always think that her indignation and
anguish of mind ha 1 p ivod the way for
her early death.”
My grandmother ceased, and seemed
lost in thought; then she added, “You,
too, Grace, are about to marry a mer
chant, and I have told yon this sad story
in order to impress upon your mind that
the romantic feeling of first love is not
sufficient to happiness in the married
life. There must be mutual confidence,
or the yoke will press I', aavily indeed on
the helpless woman. Before you marry,
make it a condition that no deception of
any kind or degree be permitted be
tween you. Unless a man confides in
his wife he does both her and himself
irreparable wrong. ”
I took my dear grandmother’s ad
vice, and, as far as this varied scene ad
mits of happiness, happiness has been
mine.
Injured in a Fight.
CLOTHIERS REFUSING TO GIVE SUSPEND
KUS WITH A SUIT OF CLOTHES.
A letter from Montana, Penn., says:
This place has been the scene of n gen
eral fight, in which about fifty men,
Hungarians and Polanders, participated,
many of whom were seriously, if not
fatally, injured. The resident Polish
and Hungarian miners have been buy
ing their clothing from a Hebrew
clothier in a neighboring town. A large
order had been given out some weeks
ago, and the Hebrews came to Mon
tana to deliver the goods. A dispute
arose about some trifling matter,
followed by a positive refusal on the
part of the residents to take the cloth
ing. The clothiers became indignant,
and opened war on the inhabitants.
The latter made a fierce attack on the
Hebrews, taking their packs and ston
ing them out of town. Abont 2 o’clock
in the morning the Hebrews returned
to Montana accompanied by several offi
cers, who proceeded to handcuff the
Polanders and Hungarians. A few of
them quietly submitted, bnt the others
openly defied the authorities and refused
to be taken into custody.
In the meantime about seventy-five
of their friends attacked the officers,
who were forced to surrender, leaving
the attacking party masters of the situ
ation. The officers retreated, but
subsequently returned with reinforce
ments. Another attack was made on
them and a general row was the result.
The officers drew their revolvers and
fired several shots into the crowd, and
the latter sent a volley of stones and
clubs down upon the officers, bnt with
out seriously injuring any of them.
The officers fired a second time at the
mob, which took effect. A ball entered
the back of one of the crowd and he is
fatally injured. About ten or twelve
were seriously wounded, but the shoot
ing had the effect of restoring peace,
when those who had not escaped to the
mountains were taken into custody and
held for a hearing. An effort is now
being made to secure the arrest of the
entire party, many of whom are con
cealed in the woods, but the authorities
expect to capture them. In speaking
of the matter, the clothiers say the
trouble grew out of their refusal to give
a pair of suspenders with each suit of
clothes
Husband and Wife Separated.
A correspondent of the Madagascar
Times says: If we are rightly informed
we have to deplore another unnecessa
ry and uncalled for departure from that
international courtesy which should
characterize such a chivalric nation as
France. It appears that an American
vessel lately pnt in at Tamatave, the
captain’s wife being seriously sick. One
of the French doctors was accordingly
summoned to attend the lady, and de
clared that the patient must be carried
on shore if any hope was to be enter
tained for her recovery. The lady was
carried in a boat in a most precarious
condition, accompanied by the said doc
tor and her husband. As soon, however,
as they approached the shore, the hus
band was forbidden to land, and no
amount of entreaty could induce the au
thorities to forbear. He was thus
obliged to return to his ship and leave
his wife on shore. Three days pass,
the husband is not allowed to see his
wife, and at last the wife is dying and
entreaties are again urged that husband
and wife may see each other once more.
The French officers are inexorable; the
lady dies and is buried, and the broken
hearted husband sets sail for Ziuzibar.
I
Thehe is a Noting lady who lives next
door to Blogg’s house, and while Blogg
had company the other evening she was
heard in her endeavors to extort music
from a piano. "Our neighbor's daugh
ter is a very good player,” remarked
Blogg affably, during a pause in the
conversation. "Her time is a little
slow,” was the critical response of
Blogg'h caller, who happened to be a
connoisseur in music. “Yes,” said
Blogg, “her yourg man is there, and
very likely she h s set the clock back,”
STORY OF THE OIL REGIONS
TilK I'A.IKH’S CITY OF FiTIIOI.E AS IT
WAS ANI> AS IT IS NOW.
Oeacribrd by n Mun who was There When
Pithole Hihl kO f OOO Inlmbifnnf*, iukl
Went Bnek When it was Simply n .Vlnd
Hole.
The town of Pithole, in the oil regions
of Pennsylvania, held up well for nearly
a year, and began to fade. It went very
suddenly. A few weeks before its de
cline the people were confident that the
big wells could never cease to produce
oil in immense quantities. The general
confidence in the town was so strong
that on Feb. 12, 1866, the Daily lit card
printed this:
The Ueeord is now a fixed fact; and
as long as a single hole shows signs of oil,
or a derrick is visible, it will continue to
make its appearance, While Oil City,
Petroleum Centre, Tidioute, and other
older and “so-called” livelier towns
have been without a paper, Pithole,
from its birth, has supported a daily
paper, and is likely to do so for years to
come.
What a vain boast that was I never
realized fully until I visited the ruins of
Pithole a few weeks ago. I had known,
of course, that the oil wells had sud
denly ceased to pour out their floods of
petroleum; that the people had gone
elsewhere to speculate, and that the er
ratic city had fallen into decay. But I
was not prepared for what I saw when,
in an endeavor to live the old days over
again, I hired a saddle horse at Titus
ville and pushed my way through the
almost forgotten country that leads to
the Pithole valley. On the edge of a
bluff, eleven miles from Titusville, I
came upon an old man, shabby, decrepit,
and weather-beaten, who sat upon a log
at the upper edge of the field, with bis
bearded chin in his hands, looking va
cantly down the still valley. He glanced
up a moment to speak as I approached,
and then resumed his donbled-up atti
tude.
“Lookin’ for Pithole, stranger?” he
asked. “If y’ are, jest tie your gray to
that saplin’ there, an’ come an’ sit down
here on this stick o’ timber ’n look til)
you’re tired.”
“And this is—Pithole?”
“The same, my friend; or what there’s
left of it”
I had ridden eleven miles through
mud and water, over roc.ks and logs, up
hill and down, to see this—an old log
cabin, the dismantled wing of an old
hotel, and a lonely field upon which
neither tree nor shrub would grow. And
this was Pithole 1 I had left it teeming
with busy people, bnstling with busi
ness, and half mad with the excitement
of wild speculation. Now, even nature
had forsaken it, leaving only one half
crazed old man to guard its dust and
ashes. The harmless old man had lived
in peace and contentment on a little
clearing on the site of Pithole all his
life. The oil fever bad found him poor,
it bad made him fabulously rich, and
when it subsided it left him poorer than
before, for it had wrenched his poor old
mind off its bearings.
“What do you see ?” I asked, seating
myself beside the old man, and not let
ting him know that the landscape was
by degrees becoming strangely familiar
to mo:
"What do I see ?” said he slowly,
without moving his eyes from the bare,
brown valley. "I see a city full of peo
ple; I see a valley swarming with life
and business, the smoke of countless
furnaces, the steam from countless en
gines. 1 hear the clang of hammer and
anvil, the roar of swift wheels, the rattle
of cranks and bolts, the voices of busy
men, the hum of industry.
“This,” said the old man, laying his
hand sorrowfully upon the rotten tim
ber, “this is all that is left of the Bonta
House, a noble structure. Down there,
where you see a woodchuck burrowing,
stood the Chase House, the best hotel
in northwestern Pennsylvania. The Post
Office occupied one of ils big corners,
and a noisy crowd of oil princes filled its
scores of rooms. Right across the
street, where a sapling grows, a murder
was done, and just above is where the
first woman in Pithole shot herself
through the heart in a tit of remorse.
Drink, some said, but 1 knew better. A
short distance below—there’s a cow
munching dry grass there now—stood
the Methodist church, dedicated with
great pomp by Bishop Simpson, ol
Philadelphia; Dr. Loomis, President of
Allegheny College, and the Rev. G. W.
Maltby, Presiding Elder of the James
town District; never had a dollar of
debt, as I know personally.
“Oh, yes, I can point ’em all out —
banks, churches and theatres (there was
Murphy’s Theatre over that pool of wa
ter), machine shops, pipe line offices, the
railroad station, hotels; there stood the
Morey Farm Hotel, destroyed by fire
by an incendiary. And the big oil
wells. Why, over there among those
new-grown bushes was the great Pool
well, the pride of the town, the wonder
of the whole country. It flowed for a
time at the rate of 1,300 barrels a day!
Then there were the old Frazier, good
for 900 barrels a day; the big Grant
well, 700 barrels; the Burtis, 300 bar
rels; the two Homestead wells; the Eu
reka, that produced 50,000 barrels all
told; the famous Twin wells, No. 1 and
No. 2, on the Thomas Holmden farm,
and hundreds of others. The land all
around here was covered as thick as
trees with them. What do you sea
now ? flere and there the blackened
end of a length of iron casting sticking
a foot above ground—that is all. Every
thing is gone now—buildings, derricks,
tanks, machinery, tools, men and
money. The town lasted two years,
and then faded away, until to-day there
is nothing left. I lived here almost
alone when the town started, and I am
living here alone now. Men have come
and gone by thousands, bnt I have still
remained true to the old place. Some
times at night, when I am alone in my
little old honse down there, I live over
the days of ’65; I see the waves of
speculation and strange innovation
swet ping up against the solid door, only
to ebb again, leaving the old honse and
me alone. Sometimes when I sit here
the city rises up before me as of old, and
the valley swarms with busy men.
"Going now, stranger? Well, it’s al
ways been that way with me. Walk
your horse down this little path—it used
to be a busy, howling street—and I’ll
show you where the buildings stood. I
guess I'm the only man in the world
that can guide yon over the ruins of the
city that he himself laid out and helped
to build. Strange, isn’t it? stranger
than death. Well, the lower path’s
yonr best way out, I guess—old Titus
ville plank rood yon know. You’d bet
ter prod the gray a little; there’s a big
rainstorm coming. Good day.”
Standing in the middle of his lonely
field the old man watched me out of
sight, and when the trees hid my horse
he turned slowly and, climbing to his
seat on the bluff, buried his grizzled
face in his thin brown bands.
And that is the history of J. Nelson
Tappan’s town among the Pennsylvania
Hills. No story of the past can be its
equal.
ARCTIC WHALING.
How Wounded Wliiilru Tnke Rpfiige in Ice
PnrkN-ProfiiN ol the Cutch.
According to a San Francisco paper
while men who have been from child
hood on terms of familiarity with har
poons, bomb lances and other parapher
nalia with which leviathans are hunted,
sny that the present whaling season is
uncertain. Whales appear to have been
plenty in the ice, but many of them were
where the ships could not go. Hundreds
are said to have been seen spouting and
slashing around, a sight suggestive of in
terest to landsmen, though barren in a
commercial way.
The exasperating fact to the whalemen
in the present season is that abont as
many whales are reported to have been
lost after being “struck” as found their
way to Hie try pots. Why this should
be particularly exasperating is this:
Whales average a yield of about one
hundred barrels of oil each and not far
from 1,800 pounds of bone. With bone
quoted at §-l per pound, and likely to go
higher if the season fails, the loss of one
whale means the loss of several thousand
dollars in bone alone.
One vessel reports having seen many
dead whales. The explanation of this is
that the whales were "struck” but the
boat steerer’s harpoon, and perhaps a
bomb, were not fatal. When a whale
starts for the ice with a boat dragging
after him, the speed being something
terrific, it becomes necessary to cut loose
when the sharp-pointed boat comes too
near the pack. The leviathan keeps on
under the ice, perhaps taking the iron
and lines with him. When he dies and
drifts out again the whaler will take him
so long as there is blubber, but the oil
is not so good. There is a little of the
character of woodchuck hunting in Arc
tic whaling, which the present season
well illustrates. The whale runs into
the ice, as the woodchuck into a hole,
and the whaler has to wait for the game
to come out.
A steam whaler can go through four
or five feet of pack ice, but when it
grows thicker the obstacle becomes se
rious. “The fact is,” said a mariner,
speaking of the Arctic fleet, “that sail
ing vessels can generally do as well as
the steamers in the early part of the
season. Bnt late in the season the
steamers have the advantage for they
can wait and yet get out.”
a tramp’s moment of misery.
A genteel-looking tramp, with a fv ; r
load for Monday morning, stood on J
Chatham street corner recently in J
meditative mood. He nervously twirlec
a dime in his fingers and finally tossec
ap the coin, saying : "Heads for a break
fast; tails for a cocktail 1” He looked
it the coin after it fell to the sidewall
Mid sorrowfully exclaimed: “Heads I
that’s for breakfast.”
Flipping it again in the air, he said :
"Twice out of three times.”
It fell tails. The tramp’s thirst was
oeck and neck with his hunger. “I
mush’ give she breakfast a chance. So
here goes zerd and last time,” he said.
He tossed the coin again in the air. It
tell in the gutter and bounded into the
sewer through a hole in the rounded
ourb-stone.—lV. K Graphic.
- ®
Haven’t Heard of Any.
The Hou. Crookshank Maxwell pre
sented a resolution to the Lime-Kiln
Club, to the effect that the President be
requested to inform the club in an off.
haud manner whether any Presidential
ticket bearing the names of colored
people hail been placed in the field this
campaign. The resolution being sec
oned by half a dozen members, the
President arose and replied :
"So fur as I hev bin able to I’arn, no
ticket of de sort has bin planted. So
fur as I kin I’arn, also, dar am no in
tenslinn of briugin’ out any tich ticket.
Ize in no wise disappinted, however. It
will be seb’ral y’ars yit befo’ we shall be
called upon to guv’rn dis kentry, an’
doorin’ de interval it will be good policy
to lay low an' take advantage of any
sarcumstauces dat may arise.”
Moral of the Tallapoosa disaster—
Never undertake to run down a schooner.
Very likely you will meet your beer.