Newspaper Page Text
SOCIETY ON THE STREET.
The New York Society Man, and Woman
of the Same lik.
A society man, says a New York paper,
now wears trousers that are very loose,
and he apparently puts them under the
mattress every night, for they are
creased np and down the leg as though
freshly ironed. They are cut very
straight and have large but indistinct
cheeks and squares. About a year ago
he wore them tight and didn’t have any
checks or squares. Other men began to
wear that sort, and now this peculiar
animal wears them big. His coat is very
tight at the waist and without an ounce
of padding anywhere, and his hat is
neither bell-crowned nor rim-curved.
The last hat he wore had an inch of
mourning band around it, whether he
had a reason for it or not. A great many
persons are wearing them now, and so
he has taken it off, and now his beaver
is unbroaen except by a norrow ribbon.
These are small points, but they stamp
the fop.
“How do you distinguish the society
girl ?” was asked.
“By her ease of manner. The care
lessness with which she smiles on ac
knowledging a bow, and the way she
holds her shoulders back an<J her head
in the air. Another thing, she never
wears a bang, and, whether her forehead
is high or low, combs her hair straight
back. She cannot compare with many
on Fifth avenue for mere facial beauty,
but she is a hummer, nevertheless. Not
only lias this fashion changed a bit, but
a new custom has come in among down
town New Yorkers, I mean those who
live below Thirty-fourth street, which
every one has not found out about It
is that on upper Madison avenue, from
about Thirtieth street for about a mile
or so north, there may be seen a collec
tion of the most beautiful girls in New
York. Whether they come from Sunday
school or whether they venture out for
their constitutional after-dinner, it is
certainly a fact that this particular sec
tion has become the stamping ground oi
beautiful women and girls on Sunday
afternoons about four o’clock. I stum
bled upon it entirely by accident. 1
hadn’t been out on Sunday afternoon for
six months until two weeks ago. It is
my custom, yon know, to walk before
dinner, and to spend the rest of the day
after dining, until nightfall with the
Sunday papers, a pipe, a lounge, a
dressing gown, and a pair of slippers.
But a iriend of mine came over to see
me from Brooklyn, Sunday afternoon
two weeks ago, and as he bored me to
death in my room and prevented ma
from reading my papers, I put on my
coat and we went out for a walk. We
went up Madison avenue, and there wo
met the beautiful girls strolling up and
down with the tranquil grace of swans
upon a lake. I don’t often indulge in
similes of this sort, but the girh deserve
it in this case, and my friend, who iia 1
been talking about beautiful women
until 1 became weary, grew as dumb as
••.ii oyster.”
Apple Butter.
An exchange gives the following;
Cider made from sweet apples will make
a better article; but if it cannot be ob
tained, common cider can be used. Take
the cider as it runs from the press, be
fore any fermentation has taken place,
and boil it down in a tin or copper
boiler (never use iron) until it has evap
orated fully one-half; while it is boiling
all the scuiii that rises must be carefully
removed, and as soon as it is thick
enough add a quantity of good, tart
apples, pared and cut into quarters,
taking out all the cores. Fill the boiler
half full of the quarters. Keep up a
slow but steady fire, and be very careful
to stir the apples every few moments to
prevent them from sticking to the bot
tom and sides of the kettle. When the
apples have boiled about fifteen minutes
and have settled down a little, add
more, • until the boiler is quite full
enough; now cook to a pulp, stirring it
almost continually. When it is finished,
showing no whole piece, but all one
mass of pulp, turn it into jars or firkins,
and let it cool; cover it and store it in a
cool place. It can be seasoned with
spices while cooking or afterward;
ground cinnamon and cloves are the best
s ilted as a flavoring. One and a half
of apples, after they are pared
and quartered, are enough for one bar
rel of cider before it is boiled down.
The Financial Outlook.
The Commercial Bulletin estimates
that during the month of January up
ward of 860.000,000 will be paid out by
the government and by corporations as
interest on debt and bonds and divi
' dends on stock. This sum will seek
reinvestment, and it must be admitted
that wall street prices, when compared
with former years, offer tempting “bar
gains. ” In truth, however, much of
what is there on sale is so tainted as
to warn off would-be investors. This
large sum will probably go to swell the
already large amount of idle capital
which is awaiting opportunities for prof
it The banks are holding nearly $125,-
0)0,000 in cash, as against $87,000,000
a year ago, and their reserve above the
legal requirement, which was then
about $7,000,000, is now nearly six times
as great— $41,000,000. This speaks,
eloquently of idle funds.— New York
Hearld, *
Abolished.
In the American Psychological Jour
nal Dr. Fletcher, of the Indiana Insane
Hospital, gives some account of the
great amelioration of the condition of
the patients since the system of kind
treatment and non-restraint was adopted
by Dr. Hester in 1865. So successful
hAve been these methods that since
July, 1883, there have been abolished
from the wards of the hospital “269 re
straint chairs. 120 cribs, 101 camisoles,
107 restraint straps, 55 pairs of restraint
gloves, 56 wristlets and 2 leather col
lars. One cannot help wondering what
sort of instruments of torture were those
abolished during the asylum's reforma
tory period between 1865 and 1883,
ftljc CPnjcttc.
VOL. XII. SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, FEBRUARY 18, 1885. NO. 5.
THOU AND I.
Strange, strange for thee and me,
Sadly afar!
Thou safe beyond, above,
I ’neath the star;
Thou where flowers deathless spring,
I where they fade;
'1 liou in God’s paradise,
1 ’mid time’s shad
Thou where each gale breathes balm,
I tempest-tossed;
Thou where true joy is found
I where ’tis lost;
Thou counting ages thine,
I not the morrow;
Thou learning more of bliss,
I more of sorrow.
Thou in eternal peace,
I ’mid earth’s strife,
Thou where care hath no name,
I where ’tis life;
Thou without need of hope,
I where 'tis vain;
Thou with wings dropping light,
I with time’s chain.
Strange, strange for thee and me,
Loved, loving ever!
Thou by Life's deathless fount,
I near Death’s river;
Thou winning Wisdom’s love,
I strength to trust;
Thou 'mid the seraphim,
I in the dust.
Phcebb Oart
ELLINGTON’S WILL.
BY I. S. ARTHUR.
Lily Ellington’s bright face looked
very attractive as she presided over the
steaming coffee-urn; at least so thought
her father as he watched the slender
fingers adding just the right quantity of
sugar to his cup. As he received it from
her hand he said:
"I have something to ask my little
girl this morning."
Lily gave her father a shy, swift
glance of inquiry, but something in hit
face kept her silent.
“I saw George Herbert this morning
os I was going into the post office and
he walked back with me. Can you guess
what he asked me ?”
The old man looked at the girl keenly
but saw that she was really as indiffer
ent as her careless “No, papa,” sug
gested.
“I also had a talk with Charley Story
last evening, and strange to say he wants
to beg away the same treasure which
Herbert also covets.”
Lily flushed even to the waves of fair
hair which curled back from her tem
ples, and a tremor about her lips be
trayed her secret to the kind, old eyes
watching her face. He smothered a
sigh as he continued:
"So my little girl can guess my secret 1
Child, it never struck me that you were
anything but a school girl before, and
now you are asked in marriage. So you
want to leave your old father ?”
Lily sprang from her seat and threw
her arms about her father’s neck.
“No, indeed, I could not leave you. It
would be so lonely in this big house
with no one to love you and care for
you; but,” and the sweet voice dropped
to a whisper, “Charles would be like a
son to you; and we could all live to
gether.”
“Well, my darling, it is the way of
the world and I must not be selfish. So
my little girl loves him. ’’ He patted her
cheek caressingly. “I am a little disap
pointed that it is not George. He is
such a noble fellow.”
“Oh, papa, he is not to be compared
to Charles, who is so handsome and re
fined 1"
“Well, Lily, you are the one most in
terested, and I have no doubt Charles is
all that is good and desirable. So lam
to say ‘yes,’ am I ?”
Lily hid her head upon her father’s
oreast for an answer. He stroked her
hair tenderly, thinking regretfully that
“papa's” place in her heart was no lon
ger the first one. The fair little maiden
had been the sunlight of his home since
the death of his wife a few years pre
vious. Somehow the idea of young Story
as a son-in-law was not as pleasant to
him as the thought of Herbert —the
frank, manly youth whom he had known
from boyhood—had been. But Lily
had chosen and he gave his sanction to
the match. In a few mouths they were
married, and, by invitation, set up their
household altar under his roof-tree.
Lily was a loving, obedient child to
her father, and she transferred the same
allegiance to her husband. She had
one of those transparent natures which
take their coloring from the strongest
will. If her husband had required the
sacrifice of her right hand she would
have given it. Mr. Ellington yielded
her up unreservedly, and lived his own
youth over again in the happiness of
this, his only child. One day he sur
prised his son-in-law by saying:
“Charles, I am thinking of making
you a gift of my property. How would
you like to own everything, and have
your old father for a guest the rest of
his life?”
The young man looked surprised as
Mr. Ellington said this, but he an
swered, pleasantly:
*‘l see you are in a jesting mood this
morning, father.”
“I was never more in earnest in my
life. I am tired of worldly cares, and
wish to make my preparations for the
world to which lam so fast tending. Ii
you are willing to take the burden upon
you, I will take steps for the transfer.”
“Burden 1” said the young man,
warmly. “I do not look upon wealth in
that light If you do, I will cheerfully
relieve you of it, and Lily and I will do
our best to make your home with us
happy.”
“All right, Charles ; it shall be done,”
said Ellington.
That same day he went to his young
friend, Herbert, who was a lawyer, and
asked him to make his will, with a pres
ent transfer of all his property to his
son-in-law. George Herbert listened
quietly to the explanation of his wishes.
When he concluded, he said:
“I will draw up the papers as you
wish; but you will take my advice? Do
not have the deed recorded for at least
one year. Try how the thing works. It
may not prove as pleasant as yon think.
Leave a loop-hole of escape.”
“Your advice is good, George, and I
will take it to please you, if for no other
reason. But you know what a true little
woman Lily is.”
“Yes, indeed,” answered Herbert.
“She is the best little girl in the world.”
He did not add that Lily was but a re
flection of Charles, and that sons-in-law
are not daughters.
The papers were drawn up, signed
and sealed in due time, and Mr. Elling
ton gave them to his son to put away.
The Ellington house was very pleasant
and roomy. It was one of the owner’s
hobbies not to have one room singled
jtn io oe se» apart ror visitors ana never
made any other use of. He wanted to
have every room nicely furnished and
inviting. He had a passion for flowers,
and go where you would through the
house during the many years of his ex
perience as a householder, stands of
plants would give yon a silent welcome
from the windows.
For a time, after the transfer was
made, all continued pleasant, and the
new arrangement worked well. One
day, about six months after the change,
Mr. Ellington was reading the dailv
paper in the east room. It was about five
o’clock in the afternoon, and the free
dom from sunlight made it seem a coo]
and inviting retreat.
Young Story had come to tea earlier
than usual, and was sitting beside Ldy
on the. vine-shaded veranda. He broke
the silence which lasted some minutes
by saying :
“ Lily, what say you to having the
east room refurnished and shut up, uu
less when we have company.
“Why, Charlie, papa never would
have a room shut up. He says it makes
it seem so stiff and formal. We’ll have
the furniture changed, if you are tired
of it, and we’ll enjoy it ourselves.”
“ You must remember Lily, that I am
the head of the house now; and I wish
to have a parlor. Another thing you
can please me in. Ask your father to
choose some other place to read his
paper.
Lily looked at her husband in sur
prise ; but there was no mistaking his
meaning. She saw he meant what he
said, and she had learned that she must
yield the point in any difference of
opinion, or she would feel a barrier of
icy coldness between Charles and herself
for days after. That was his mode of
punishment, and her tender little heart
could not bear it. So the text morning
she went to her father, ami threaded
her fingers through his white hair.
Suddenly she bent and kissed him, and
said, hesitatingly:
“ Papa, Charles wants to have the east
room refitted and set apart for company.
Are you willing ?”
Mr. Ellington looked into her troubled
blue eyes a moment, then said :
“Doyou want it done, Lily?”
“ Not for myself, father ; but if it will
please Charles ”
“Enough said, dear. The old man
must read his paper somewhere else.’’
The kind eyes resting on her face de
tected theshade of sadness upon it and he
said:
“Never mind me, little girl, if Char
les wishes it, it’s all right.”
So the change was made.
The next week Mr. Ellington was
caught in a sudden shower. In hurry
ing to escape from a thorough drenching
he left his foot prints on the clean
veranda. When Charles came in he
looked decidedly cross. He said sharply.
“ Lily, who was out last ?”
“I think it was father.”
“ Will you tell him to wipe his feet
when he comes in ? He must think our
house is a pig-sty.”
" My son,” answered a qniet voice, “ I
should be more careful. You will not
need to complain again.”
The young man did not vouchsafe to
answer, though he would not have spoken
• sharply had he noticed Mr. Ellington’s
presence it the room. He preferred that
Lily should be the go-between. He
strode off sulkily. •
Lily’s sweet face began to wear a trou
bled look. She worshiped her husband,
and would fulfil his slightest wish,
though it tortured her; but her heart
was loyal to her father, and she felt a
keen heart pain to see her Charlie so in
creasingly disagreeable to him.
Mr. Ellington made no sign. He was
calm and courteous, and seemed to take
all in good part, even to have the coarse
est portions of the food placed on a
plate, and having it pushed to him with
an air as though the task of helping
him was irksome.
One morning at the breakfast-table
Charles said to his wife:
“Lily, I hear that it is not healthy to
have so many plants in a room. I want
you to have this trash removed. Flow
ers are no good any way, except to
shut out the light.”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears, but will
a strong effort she kept them back. She
loved her flowers as though they had
been children. It was an inherited taste,
and had grown with her growth. Mr.
Ellington was a silent witness of her
emotion. He knew that her wifely self
abnegation was so complete that her
flowers would be banished if Charles
wished it; but he said nothing.
That evening the old man was seated
in front of the blazing grate-flre, appar
ently seeing visions in the crumbling
masses of coal. Charles came in and
said, insolently:
“Can’t you give the rest of us some of
the heat ?”
“Certainly, my son, I did not think I
was keeping it from you;” and he moved
to one side and continued his medita
tions. After a time he said: “Charles,
will you get those papers for me ? I
think of making a little alteration in
them.”
The young man went for them with
alacrity. Perhaps the old gentleman
had more property than he thought.’
The idea was pleasant to him.
Mr. Ellington broke the seal and read
the document carefully through. Then; 1
he cast it into the blazing grate. It
flashed up into a fierce blaze for a few
moments, then smoldered into ashes.
Charles started forward with an excla
mation of anger. Mr. Ellington rose
from his seat, and the old man and the
youth faced each other. In the presence
of Mr. Ellington’s quiet dignity,Charles’s
anger soon died out.
“Son-in-law, I have learned a lesson
in my old age. I find the part of enter
tainer is more fitting for me than to ba
dependent I have discovered that fail
ing powers of body must have money to
supplement them, to call forth the re
spect due to a silvered head. Let by
gones be bygones. I hope you and Lily
will be my true children again from this
lime. All that my house and purse can
offer is welcome to you as my guests.”
He seated himself and resumed his
meditations. Charles had the good
sense to see that it was useless to storm,
so he accepted the situation quietly.
From this time all was harmony. Poor
little Lily bloomed out again into her
former brightness, for the demon of ava
rice which had held her husband’s good
qualities in abeyance was crushed by her
father's timely interference.
After a time a baby boy was added to
the household. The sturdy little rogue
was named for his grandfather, and grew
into his ardent admirer, and love became
the ruling spirit within their household.
How to Make Potato Rolls.
Wash six potatoes of medium size, or
sweet potatoes enough to make an equal
quantity; boil them in their jackets un
til they are quite tender; peel them, put
them into a sieve, add to them a heap
ing tablespoonful of butter, the yolks of
three raw eggs, and a level teaspoonful
of salt, and rub them through the sieve
With a potato masher; dissolve a small
cake of fresh compressed yeast in
a little milk, mix it with a pint of milk,
and then mix that with the mashed
potato, and sufficient flour to make a
dough stiff enough to knead; cover the
dough with a folded towel, and set in a
warm place until it has risen twice its
height; then mold it in the form of small
rolls; place them an inch apart on a
buttered baking-pan, cover them with a
folded towel, put the pair in a warm
place until the rolls have swollen to
double their size; then brush them over
with melted butter, and bake them in a
quick oven for twenty minutes, or until
ihe rolls are done. In raising the dough
or the rolls, they must not be put
where the heat is too great to bear the
nand, or they will not be light. The
process will occupy about an hour and a
half in ordinary pleasant weather; if the
cold is extreme, the time of raising the
rolls will be lengthened.
Winter Life in the Northwest.
It is droll to see the transformation in
the street scenes after the cold weather
sets in, says a St, Paul letter. Every
body who has much to do out of doors
wears a fur great-coat coming down to
his heels. Buffalo skin is the common
material, but almost every animal capa
ble of furnishing a furry cuticle is
brought into requisition. One must be
an expert in furs to recognize them all.
There are bear-skin coats, wolf-skin
coats, fox-skin coats, lynx-skin coats,
seal-skin coats, otter-skin ooats and even
dog-skin coats. The furry procession
that moves downtown of a cold morning
is a curious sight to a stranger from a
less rigid clime. He might well imagine
that a menagerie had broken loose and
that the animals had adopted the biped
style of locomotion. The illusion is
increased by the huge fur caps and
enormous fur mittens worn.
Mad About It.—The son of the man
who wanted to send his boots by tele
graph has turned up in Tacoma, W. T.
He got mad and fired two shots at the
telegraph operator because he saw his
dispatch lying on the table after being
told that it had been sent.
GEN. HARNEY AND HEIRS.
SKETCH OF THE FAMILY-WHY THE
CHILDREN ARE DISSATISFIED.
Illa Children Brin* Suit Aminat him ob
Account ot hla Recent Marriage.
A suit has been brought in St. Louis
by the children of Gen. William S.
Harney against the General and his
wife, ths .ate Mrs. St. Cyr, asking that
a receiver be appointed for the property
of the family. While it has caused
a great deal of gossip, it is no great sur
prise. In the suit John M. Harney,
the Vicomte De Thury and his wife,
born Annie B. Harney; the Oomte De
None and his wife, born Eliza Harney,
join in asking that a receiver be ap
pointed to take charge of the property
mortgaged by the Harney family to the
Connecticut Mutual Life Insurance
Company to secure a loan of $380,000.
It was agreed when the mortgage was
made that the property pledged should
be placed in the hands of an agent, who
would apply its revenue to the interest
and to a sinking fund on the principal
of the debt. About one-half of the
money was paid to the children and one
half to Gen. Harney.
Since his marriage, it is alleged, he
has withdrawn this property from the
agents’ hands and diverted the income
to other purposes, throwing the burden
of the mortgage upon the children.
There is now due on this mortgaged
property $340,000, with interest amount
ing to $5,151.90, and taxes amounting to
SIB,OOO. The Connecticut Mutual has
threatened to foreclose the mortgage,
and a receiver is prayed for.
The making of the Connecticut
Mutual a party to the suit simply means
that that corporation holds the deed of
trust on the property. The proceeding
is entirely a family quarrel, with about
$1,200,000 worth of property involved
and an annual income of SIOO,OOO.
The bringing of this suit throws into
court a portion of the vast Mullanphy
estate. Old John Mullanphy came to
the village of St. Louis in 1804, bringing
with him his wife, whom he had mar
ried in Baltimore, and some $30,000 in
hard cash which he had accumulated.
He at once began business as a money
lender on real estate security, and in a
very short time he had loans placed on
some of the very best property in St.
Louis. When he came to make his will
in 1830 he was, with one exception, the
richest man in St. Louis. His estate
was worth about $2,000,000, a great es
tate in those days. His will divided his
property into four parts. One-quarter
went to Jane Chambers and her issue;
one-quarter to Bryan Mullanphy, the ec
centric philanthropist who afterward
founded the Mullanphy emigrant funds;
and one-eighth each to Catherine
Graham, Ann Biddle, Mary Mullanphy,
and Eliza Mullanphy, his daughters.
Mary Mullanphy, whose interest in
the estate amounted to something over
$200,000, was married to Major W. S.
Harney, of the United States Army, in
St. Louis, on October 1, 1833. Her
property has increased so that it is now
worth over $1,200,000. It is altogether
landed property.
The old General is now 84 years old.
He was a gallant and popular member
of the society of old St. Louis fifty years
ago, and carried off one of the richest
matrimonial prizes which the old town
offered. His life since has been one of
elegant ease, diversified by enough war
fare to m ike the change pleasant. He
was one of the most noted Indian fight
ers in the army, and his services on the
frontier and in the Mexican war are part
of the history of the republic. He has
been an old man for some time past, and
his constant attendant has been Mrs.
Lizzie St. Cyr, a lady whose former hus
band was one of the most widely known
men in St. Louis county. The two
were married very unexpectedly at the
cathedral on Nov. 12, after filing a mar
riage settlement, in which the General
conveyed to Mrs. St. Cyr one-half of
his own property, worth about SIOO,-
000, and one-half of the income from
the property in which be held a life es
tate, an arrangement which would give
Mrs. Harney about $50,000 a year dur
ing the life of the General.
——- ■
An Unenviable Position.
Count Tolstoi governs the police of the
Russian capital, and it is said that every
time he moves out of his house the ex
pense attending his walk—the payment,
that is to say, of extra spies, constables,
etc. —amounts to no less than 300 rubles.
Nor can he be much more at ease when
■at home. A correspondent states that
“he is daily inundated with anonymous
letters from all parts of the capital and
even of the provinces, announcing some
times that a mine has been laid under
his office, and sometimes that he has
been condemned to death, and that the
sentence will be executed the first time
he crosses the threshold.”
On the Texas Plains. —Those whe
tend the great cattle herds on the Texas
plains seldom have anything else than
salt meat to eat. They cannot afford t<
kill a beef just to get a sirloin, and it
that climate the balance of the animal
will not keep long. It is now proposed
to stock with German carp the trenchei
which they dig to catch rain water foi
themselves and their herds, and thus
they may have fresh fish as food while
living on the great interior plains,
THE WAT TO MAKE WHISKY.
Differences Between the Real Stuff* and
the Mixture that Kills at Long Range. ,
A correspondent wishes to know the '
process of making whisky. The grain, '
corn, or rye, so? instance, is ground be
tween a pair of ordinary millstones. 1
The meal thus obtained is mixed in an
iron tub with barley malt m the propor
tion of 4 bushels of meal to 2of malt, 1
and 75 gallons of water at a temperature
of 150 degrees Fahrenheit. After wash- '
ing, as it is called, for an hour and a ■
half 50 gallons more of water are added, 1
at a temperature of 190 degrees. Two
hours later, the mixture having settled,
two-thirds of the liquor, which is known
as beer, is drawn off into shallow vats
and 50 gallons of water are poured into
the tub at a temperature of 190 degrees.
In an hour and a half this is drawn off
and 80 gallons of boiling water are
poured in. In twenty minutes all the
beer in the tub is drawn off, and as the
last lot is very weak it may either be
boiled down to the strength of the beer
obtained before, or it must be used with
a fresh lot of meal instead of water.
The beer from the shallow vats is cooled
down to. a temperature of 70 degrees,
and then one gallon of yeast is added
for each 100 gallons of beer.
When the mixture has fermented it is
ready for distillation, which is done by
boiling it in a boiler and condensing the
steam by running it into coolers, which
in former days were long coils of copper |
pipe running through tanks of cold
water, from which arose the name of
the worm of the still. The condensed
steam is simply raw whisky. It pos
sesses the most disagreeable taste, and
will kill at forty rods range, but it is
nevertheless diluted and sold in the
cheap saloons.
The acrid taste of raw whisky is due
to the presence of certain greasy products
of distillation and light alcohols mixed,
which are known by the name of fusil
oil. These products boil at 173 degrees,
while the amylio alcohol, or the real
stuff, requires a temperature of 270 de
grees. By redistillation the fusil oil is
separated. It may also be eliminated
by running the raw whisky through
granulated charcoal that has been pre
viously heated. Whisky is therefore
simply alcohol of a peculiar flavor
due to the substances from which it was
derived, and diluted, when honestly
made, with about twenty-five per cent,
of water and some of the products of
distillation other than the pure amylic
alcohol. — N. Y. Sun.
The Story of Captain flowgate.
A Washington correspondent of the
New York World tells us the following
incidents in the career of Capt. Howgate,
the defaulting Signal Bureau Officer:
The celebrated yacht of Howgate’s was
built by Government money, from Gov
ernment material and by Government
workmen. So openly was all this done
that all the preliminary work was fin
ished in the yard of the Signal Office,
Gen. Meyers, the former chief of the
Signal Office, was really responsible for
the whole thing, because he turned the
entire bureau over to Howgate, and
never gave the slightest attention to
his accounts. Gon. Meyers whs a very
honest but a thoroughly incompetent old
mau. His wife had an enormous fortune,
and a few years before the General’s
death had purchased the very handsome
house on I street, which was so long occu
pied by the British legation. John Cham
berlain bought the house for $200,000 •
and tried to make a gambling establish
ment of a high class. The attempt was
a wretched failure. Mrs. Meyers
bought the house from him under a
forced sale. Gen. Meyers had settled
down in his beautiful home expecting to
devote the last years of his life to writ
ing. When he was retired Howgate re
signed, as he knew that this was the
only way that he could escape the War
Department. His frauds were not then
discovered. When they were, Gen.
Meyers broke down and in a very short
time died. His death was directly
caused by the terrible betrayal of his
confidence. He saw that he was in
volved in the whole scandal, and that
virtually he was as much to blame as
Howgate. Under the pressure of these
hard facts he gave up. The genial Capt.
Howgate was, however, made of sterner
stuff. He got his stolen money togeth
er in a bag, made his arrangements
with the District officials, and by throw-
1 ing a few greenbacks around was per
mitted to take his mistress on his arm
and escape with the great bulk of his
fortune, leaving his wife and daughter
unprotected and to support themselves
A Blooded Prince.
Prince Henry of Battenburg, whom
Princess Beatrice, the only single
daughter of the Queen of England, is to
marry, doesn’t know any more, than
Gibson’s colt, and hasn’t enough money
to buy himself a pair of wedding socks;
but he has a pedigree reaching back to
the days when his ancestors wore bear
skin trousers and lived on wild blackber
ries in the Black Forest—so the wedding
will be quite the lum-tum thing. He
can supply the ancestry, Beatrice will
chip in the beauty, and the English tax
payers will be asked only to furnish the
happy couple with a few castles and
enough money to support themselves.—
I Philadelphia Press.
A FEW HUMOROUS HITS
FOUND IN THE COLUMNS OF THB
PRESS THROUGHOUT THE LAND.
The Grocer’s Wooing—Evading a Difficulty
A Grinding Monopoly—Not on the Free
Soil—Dave wa» Elected* Etc.* Etc.
THB GROCER’S WOOING.
“My dear Miss Sally Ratus,” sighed
the grocer on his knee, “I oanned-corn
ceive no butter bride than you would
beef for me.” “You are a silly man,”
replied the maid, “as one mace see”—
“If vermicilli man,” he cried. “I mus
tard-mire thee. For, miss, the love
you’re kindling-wood soon make me
smart, oil-though it’s cinnamon to bean
no good—oh ! do nutmeg me go.” Then
with a coffee rose sand said, “before
rice-starch you might give me this
soap”—she sugar head and, blushing,
dimmed the light. “Will I Lime afraid
of kerosene, of caress seen,” said she,
“who candies-cover what thyme mean
is smart tea-nough for me.” “The
raisin sardine deed to guess,” said he,
“but I will try—you fear to have my
sweet caress—seen by out cider’s eye.”
“You’re right; you’ll make some honey
comb, and I’ll lard-mit I’m caught—
you candle light me with a home—now
squeeze meal like you ought.”—H. 0.
Dodge, in Norristown Herald.
A WATERY COMPLIMENT.
Fair Tragedienne—“ And so you liked
my performance ?”
Gallant Admirer—“Oh, it was the
very acme of tragic art 1 But lam al
most sorry I went; I caught such a fear
ful cold.”
“Cold I why, the room was warm.”
“Yes; but the floor was so damp.”
“Indeed I What could have caused
that?”
“The tears.”
She gave him a free ticket for the
season.
A PHANTOM MEAL.
Poor Tutor—“ Know you what I do
when I hunger have ? Then draw I at
home on my slate with chalk a white
sausage. When I right severe hunger
have, draw I two. Then drink I once
from my mug of beer, eat a piece of
J bread and rub from the sausage on the
slate a piece away. Then drink I again,
eat again a piece of bread and rub again
from the slate a piece of sausage away
till the last morsel away is. So picture
I myself in I have the sausage really
eaten. Behold yon, it is all only imag
ination in the world.”
HE KNEW THE VALUE OF TIME.
Sam Tubs recently opened a barber
shop in Dallas. He evidently had very
little experience at the business, as he
clipped various small pieces from the
features of the first customer, who, how
ever, paid him the usual quarter.
"I want another quarter,” said Sam.
“What for ?”
“Do you think I’m going to waste
half an hour’s valuable time sticking
court plaster over your face and not get
paid for it?”—Texas Siftings.
HOW THE DIFFICULTY WAS EVADED.
Mrs. Minks—“No, I won’t inVite that
ituck-up Mis. De Rich to my party, the
igly old thing. ”
Mrs. Winks—“ But according to the
rules of etiquette you must Mere per
sonal dislike will not excuse you, as you
will see when the circumstances are
considered.”
“Dear me I Is there no way out of
it?”
“None. The invitation must be sent,
and you must have proof that you did
your part toward sending it. Os course
it might—mind, I say might—mis
carry.”
“Ohl how shall I ever be able to
‘.bank you for the suggestion ? I will
address the invitation at once.”
“Yes; but then what ?”
“I’ll give it to my husband to mail,
and next spring I’ll find it in his over
coat and explain it to her.” — Phila.
Call.
NOT ON THE FREE SOIL.
Two German citizens, having become
involved in a fight, were arrested and
taken before a negro justice of the
peace. When the constable explained
why the men had been arraigned, the
i justice said :
“I sees dat yer two gen’lemen is fur
, riners. Now, I’ll fine yer $lO fur fight
in’ an’ S2O fur s’lectin’ de Newnighted
States fur yer battle groun’. Dis coun
try, gen’lemen, has to perteck itself er
gin de 'fringements o’ de furrin ele
ment”
“We no dot much money got,” said
, one of the prisoners.
“Dat ain’t my fault, gen’lemen o’ de
furrin stamp. Yer ken jes’ go inter my
new groun’ an’ work it out. See dat da
do it, Mr. Constable. ” Arkansaw
Traveller. , ,-
TO GET EM.
1 “Oh, yes, capital supper I But I
wasn’t very hungry, so I just told the
waiter to bring me the mrangs, you
know.” .
’ “Oh, Tommy 1 That’s not the way to
pronounce M-e-r-i-n-g-u-e-s !”
“No; but it is the way to get ’em !”—•
Punch.
* A UNANIMOUS OPINION.
“You have a fine disposition,” she ob
served, sarcastically.
“Os course I have. Mrs.‘ Brown tc-d
me to-day that she wished her husband
only had my disposition.”
“I wish to heaven he had.”— Graphic.
HIS MALADY ACCOUNTED FOB.
Pitimber’s Wife (sitting by his bed
0 clad in an embossed velvet gown and
B with $125,000 worth of jewels scintillat
o ing on her ears and fingers)—“ls he
i dangerously ill, doctor ?”
/ Doctor—“No, indeed. He is the most
; comfortably off of all my patients.”
i “But what makes his right arm and
hand shake so?”
“That’s only scrivener’s palsy.”
; “Palsy 1” she exclaimed, with a clasp
_• of her jeweled hands; “what could have
1 so prostrated my dear Algernon ?”
“He has been writing too much with
out rest,” smiled the doctor. “He tells
I me he has been steadily at work day and
night, for four months past, making out
his annual bills.”— Philadelphia, Call,