Newspaper Page Text
ATLANTA. GA, SUNDAY. JAN. 12. 1878.
LOCAL MENTION
Db. J. A. Adbian, a prominent physioian of
Logansport, Indiana, and one of the Tilden and
Hendrick electors, is in the city, taking a course
of hygienio treatment at Dr. Stainback Wilson’s
Institution.
The Dally Tribune.
We are truly gratified at the evidences of sac-
cess which we see and hear of our new and lively
daily, recently started in this city under the man
agement of Maj. C. H. Williams, an experienced
and successful journalist. It has been enlarged,
a tasty new head has been put upon it and it is
full of news, life and good humor. Atlanta should
have two good dailies by all means, and her peo-
pie should sustain the Tribune. Cel. Henry Jones
is the able political editor, W. T. Christopher, a
first-class newspaper man, has charge of the news
and commercial department, and M. M. Brannon,
a genuine humorist and sparkling writer, does up
all local matters in capital style. Success to the
Tribune.
Bex in Atlanta.
Cold, and rainy, and dreary was “ Rex day ” in
this city. There was no street display, but at
night, there was a fancy dress ball, which was
brilliantly attended. The finest feature of the oc
casion was the performance of Prof. Schultz’s
grand march for full orchestra—a splendid com
position—full of fire and brilliancy, composed es
pecially for the Rex ball.
Louise Pomeroy in Atlanta.
Miss Louise Pomeroy gave Atlanta two nights
this week, appearing as Rosalind, in “ As You
Like It,” and as Viola, in “ Twelfth Night.” She
is said toexoelin boy characters, and certainly she
displayed a high degree of grace, sprightliness,
verve and variety in personating Rosalind, the
most fascinating and charming of Shakspeare’s
creations.
She is a golden-haired blonde, with a clear, flex
ible voice, and a mobile face. She was very well
supported. Miss Anna Story is a very promising
young actress, and in “ Twflftlth Night,” Sir Toby
Belch, Sir Andrew Ague Cheek, and Malvolio,
were rendered in excellent and mirth-provoking
style.
The managers—Messrs. Ford & Edwards—have
reason to be proud of the fine company they have
gotten together for a Southern tour. If their star
is not of the very first magnitude, the constella
tion of talent, taken altogether, is as brilliant as
one could wish.
Musical Festival at Andrew College.
The Cuthbert Appeal gives a glowing account
of an entertainment lately given by the young
ladies of Andrew College, consisting of music,
recitations, and dramatic morceanx. The vocal
duet executed by the two accomplished daugh
ter of the [President—Miss Hamilton and MisB
Ida—is said to have been a splendid perfor
mance. Miss Herring’s recitation of a poem by
Whittier is also praised, and the “exquisite
personation ” of the widow by Miss Pearl Bryan
(daughter of Mrs. Mary £. Bryan ) is dwelt
upon with enthusiastic eulogy. Knowing the
fine taste and judgment of Dr. Hamilton, we
have no difficulty in believing that the enter
tainment under his direction was exceptionally
good.
His Wife's Skull.
How a Murder Came to Light.
There is a story told in the English green
rooms, to the effect that a certain carpenter, a
long, long time ago, murdered his wife by driv
ing a nail into her skull, He fled, and the better
to conceal his identity, became an actor. He
rose to eminence, and the whirligig of time and
the wheel of chance brought him to the very
village in which years before he had killed his
wife, whose murder, however,— so the story
runs—had not been suspected, as her long,
thick, black hair concealed the cruel wound
from which no blood had flowed.”
The part was “Hamlet.” Whatever memories
the place evoked, he had sufficient mastery over
his feelings to keep them hidden. . The play
progresed. The theater stood on what had form
erly been a burying ground, and the property
man had not far to go for skulls, but dug a lit
tle and brought up a dozen or more, and at
night tossed them immediately into the trap for
the grave-digger to shovel on the stage. He
handed a skull to Hamlet, saying;
“Here’s a skull now bath lain you in the
earth for three and twenty years.”
Hamlet—“ whose was it?”
Grave-digger—“This same skull, sir, was
Yorick’s skull the King’s jester.”
Hamlet took the skull, saying:
“ This ”
He turned pale and staggered, for the skull
had left on it one long lock of black hair. Hand
ed to him upside down, the lock fell back re
vealing a nail in the skull! The actor recogniz
ed it as that of the woman he had murdered just
thirty-three years before. At this mute evidence
of his guilt coming from the grave to confront
him, the actor lost presence of mind and his
senses.
In his insane utterance he revealed his terri
ble secret, and was only Baved from pnnishment
by his fellow actors hushing him up and hurry
ing him away. He never recovered his reason
and died in a mad-house, raving of the nail in
the skull.
Mark Twain’s Jumping Frog and His
Man Smiley.
Mark Twain and his Jumping Frog.
AMONG MY BOOKS.
Terrible Besult of a Joke.
A special dispatch to the Lcndon Free Press,
from Ottawa, Ont., says: The man, Sumer-
ville, belonging in Thorne, Pontiac county,
who became insane through a practical joke
being played on him, passed through this city
last evening in charge of a friend, on his way
to the asylum at Long Point, near Montreal.
A short time since, a party of shanty men were
on their way up the river, Sumerville being
one of the number, when they all got on a
drunk, more or less. The day following, Sum
erville was told he had shot a certain magis
trate, while intoxicated, and that he would like
ly be arrested. In order to avoid this, he was
aidvised to clear to the woods, and during the
night he did so. It was fourteen days before
he was found again, and then it was discover
ed that he was a raving maniac, having be
come bo through fear of exposure and want oi
food.
Young Jenkins was bound to be accurate, and
he thus described the woman’s costume: “She
wore a suit of something or other, cut bias, and
trimmed endwise.”
Smiley, who was in the habit of betting on
everything that came along, kept a pet frog in a
little lattice box, and he used to fetch him down
town sometimes and lay for a bet. On day a fel
ler—a stranger in the camp, he was—come across
him with his box, and says:
“ What might it be that you’ve got in the box ?’’
And Smiley says, sorter indifferent like:
“ It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary,
may be, but it ain’t—it’s only just a frog.”
And the feller took it, and looked at it careful,
and turned it round this way and that, and says :
“ H’m—so ’tis. Well, what’s he good for?”
“Well,” Smiley says, easy and careless, “ he’s
good enough for one thing, 1 should judge; he can
oufjumparv frog in Calaveras county.”
The feller took the box again, and took another
long, particular look, and give it back to Smiley,
and says, very deliberate :
“Well, I don’t see no p’ints about that frog
that’s any better’n any other frog.”
“ Maybe you don’t,” Smiley says. “Maybe you
understand frogs, and maybe you don’t under
stand ’em; maybe you’ve had experience, and
maybe you ain’t only a amature, as it were. Any-
weys, jl’ve got my opinion, and I’ll risk forty
dollars that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras
county.”
And the feller studied a minute, and then says,
kinder sad like:
“ Well, I’m only a stranger here, and I ain’t
got no frog; but if I had a frog, I’d bet you.”
And then Smiley says:
“That’s all right—that’s all right; if you'll
hold my frog a minute, I’ll go and get you a frog.”
And so the feller took the box, and put up his
forty dollars along with Smiley’s, and set down to
wait.
So he set there a good while thinking and think
ing to hisself, and then he got the frog out and
prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon and
filled him full of quail shot—filled him pretty near
up to his chin—and set him on the floor. Smiley
he went to the swamp and slopped around in the
mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog,
and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and
says:
“Now, if you’re ready, set him alongside of
Dan’l, with his forepaw just even with Dan’l, and
I’ll give the word.” Then he says, “ One—two—
three—jump!” And him the feller touched up
the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped
off, but Dan’l give a heave, and histed up his
shoulders—so—like a Frenchman, but it wasn’t
no use—he couldn’t budge; he was planted as
solid as an anvil, and he couldn’t no more stir
than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good
deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he
didn’t have no idea what the matter was, of course.
The feller took the money and started away;
and when he was going out at the door, he sorter
ierked his thumb over his shoulders—this way—
at Dan’l, and says again, very deliberate:{
“ Well, I don’t see no p’ints about th
that’s any better’n any other frog - ”
Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking
at Dan’l a long time, and at last he says :
“ 1 1 do wonder what in the nation that frog
throw’d off for—I wonder if there ain’t some
thing the matter with him—he ’pears to look
mighty baggy, somehow.”
And he ketched Dan’l by the nap of the neck,
and lifted him up and says: “Why, blame my cats
if he don’t weigh five pound!” and turned him
upside down, and he belched out a double handful
ot shot. And then he see how it was, and he was
the maddest man—he set the frog down and took
after that fellow, but he never ketched him.
Concerning the recent spat with Gen. Gordon, a
Boston exchange rings the changes on the “crack
of the slave whip” and declares that “in our folly,
like the Hebrews of old in demanding a king, the
Northern States have now saddled upon themselves
again as rulers the Southern chivalry, and the
burden, like that of the “Old Man of the Sea,”
must be borne, and we must again submit to the
crack of the slave-driver’s whip, until by i evolu
tion or dissolution they are shaken off.”
Says the Mercury, If Blaine is well enough, he
will take up Ben Butler’s role in the Senate and
scarify the title and record of Hayes. It will be
a terrible day of reckoning. We all believe here
that the Radicals can prove what they claim.*
that frog
him h>s delightful essays to eharro ns after the
day’s weary toil, to a smile over his queer and
quaint conceits—his delicate pathos—his ready
puns. I feel as if I should like to have known
him and to have dined with him at the little Inn
at Arlington, but these are only idle dreams, for
his merry quips and cranks are o’er, but his vol
umes are bis heritage to us, and in gratitude to
him, we should read and love them.
Longfellow and his Evangeline! I have not
power to express my gratitude for being able to
read and love that pure and perfect poem. Had
Longfellow never written but this one poem it
would have gained him a place in every heart
that loves the beautiful. We follow with tearful
eyes, the long and weary search of Evangeline for
her lost Gabriel, so often near him yet unseen,
baffled at every step, still with unwavering faith
and love, she clung to the sweet consolation that
she would once more behold him ; she found him,
at last and with hand in hand, her search was
o’er, and the golden gates were gained. Oh, rare
picture of woman’s love and constancy !
Another heart-poem is “Enoch Arden.” It
will live when Tennyson’s more ambitious efforts
have lost their charm.
SALAD FROM SMITH.
Concluded from 2st page,
quite sure of this that they revealed to him the
presence of a usurper in his and Mima’s home.
He knew this false person could be no other
tban his own foster-brother, who had attempted
to murder him and believed him dead, and it
was with a fierce purpose at his heart that he
accompanied Mima and the others at once to her
home.
But when Charles Abwell faced that cowardly
impostor, and saw him cringing at his feet in
most abject terror, pleading ior his miserable
life, he could not find it in his heart to visit the
craven with the punishment he so richly de
served, so be spurned him from him, warning
the treacherous man to forever avoid his path.
A month after there was a happy wedding.
Caird and his lovely wife made the home of
Mima’s father their home also, and it was ever
after a home of sunshine and gladness, indeed.
The faithful sailor had a warm corner in his
home, for he was not forgotten or neglected by
those he had helped to make so happy. His
life was one of ease and comfort thereafter, and
he deserved it.
THE MAD STONE AGAIN.
Roundabout Remarks Concerning
This, That and the Other.
AN IKON HEADED MAN.
Bv Aethol.
“ Were a wholesome book, as rare as an honest friend.
To choose the book be mine, let the friend another take.
For a jjood book ia the beat of friends, the same to-day,
and forever.”
Tuppes.
So sings the much abused, but widely read
poet, whose lines head this essay. I am one
among the few who.i>.re bold enough to acknowl
edge that they loyiWl admire the genial author
for his truthful heart inspiring “Proverbial
Philosophy.”
At the bare mention of books what a brilliant
kaleidoscope reveals itself to the mind’s eye;
what a glorious picture of ideal friends rises up
before one; what heroism, what noble thoughts
are preserved in the store-house of memory !
As I sit quietly musing, surrounded by my be
loved books—
“ Lines and letters fade away
Yet they leave me, not alone,”
for around me are clustered, friends who have
never proven false, who always speak to me in
the same loving words—whom no cold blast of
misfortune, winter can wither, nor years fade
into oblivion. Call upon them when you will,
they never chill you with frozen looks; those
dream friends never grow cold or ugly, for do
we not see little Nell, tiny Tim, little Paul Dam-
bay with their gentle patient faces, looking
sweetly into ours in the fast darkening of the
twilight till we almost seem to hear their musical
voices ? How Dickens must have loved children,
to be able to portray their natures so accurately;
their little griefs and trials, their quaint humor
and their odd ways !
Trooping around our chairs in the gloomy win
ter hours, come our well beloAd book-friends, the
pattering rain seeming their footsteps as they
•rather about us—companions who never
•ail to drive dull care away with their charming
love adventures, their miraculous escapes by
flood and field, their heart aches, and, best of all,
the perfect joy at the finis.
I cannot realize what it is to be separated from
my books. They have been around me from my
earliest youth, when I was a child, perused
the magical pages of the Arabian Nights, or
lingered over the fascinating adventures of Rob
inson Crusoe. This book-worm existence has
grown with my growth, and strengthened with
my strength, and as I grew older I stepped up to
the higher place of Dickens, Thackery, Carlyle
and numberless others equally beloved.
1 pity from my heart the unfortunate being
who has not acquired the advantage of being able
to read. What mines of valuable information are
locked up from these. What a narrow state of
existence theirs must be. Johnson has wisely
said: “I sincerely pity the man who cannot read
on a rainy Sunday, in a country Inn.” Yes!
it must be a Robinson-Crusoe-like loneliness to
be shut out from all the glorious thoughts, ideas,
inspirations of earth’s gifted ones. Not to be able
to claim the company of my book, friends, would
be worse for me than to have the golden door of
fashionable society barred to me forever.
When I speak of reading, 1 do not mean the
casual skimming through the pages of some trashy
novel, but the perusing and re-perusing of some
favorite volume, until the book becomes a part of
yourself, you unoonsciously imitate or strive to
emulate the noble actions of some favorite char
acter. Have we not grown to love the elevated
nature of Adam £ede, or chivalrous Daniel De-
ronda—or that man among men in his child-like
simplicity, John Halifax, gentlemen ? We grow
to love the creator* of these grand characters.
Surely they must be all that is good and true, or
they could not have conceived beings cast in
such superior motfids. Ah, books! Monuments of
mind, loving mementoes of dead and buried
genius, pen pictures of life and its struggles in
all ages, they ere better than monuments of
atone or brass for their authors.
The gifted need no costly piles of marble. They
leave behind them more enduring monuments.
Our libraries are Westminster Abbeys.
Books are eloquent of the lives and straggles of
their authors. 1 never read Keats without feeling
as if every poem was written with his heart’s
blood, stung and tanted to his death by heart
less critics and stupid reviewers. Wherever I
turned the pages ef dear Charles Lamb, can I not
picture him at his desk, writing for his daily
bread—in old Temple Bar, and leaving behind
Two or three years ago when Mercer Univer
sity was being built, the scaffolding around the
high steeple gave way and precipitated several
workmen to the ground. All were more or less
damaged except one, and he escaped without a
scratch, although his head struck the ground
first. Subsequent acheivements in this special
line, have won for this colored individual, the
cognomen of the Iron Headed Man.
His name is Ben White, and he is a well built
man. His bead, which must be a third or fourth
cousin to Collins’ ram, is not extraordinarily de
veloped, and presents no remarkable phrenol
ogical bumps. It has stood more genuine inter
ruptions, contusions and collisions than any
orphan twin you can mention. A year ago Ben
took on board too much egg-nog, and while
leaning out of the third story window of the Tel
egraph punting office, observing the Fantastics
go by, he leaned forward a trifle too much, and
before you could say "Jack Robinson,” fell out,
strack the cellar door, went through and when
they fonnd him he was as sound as a dollar.
When Ben was growing up, he was recog
nized among the boys of his town and ilk, as
the champion butter. He could out-butt any
ten boys, and would tackle any man, who want
ed a week’s headache. The boys regarded him
as a sort of Gen. Grant among them, and when
ever they wanted something to do tall bragging
on, they invariably made Ben the hero of a
thousand butting scarpes, and in everyone of
them Ben always outbutted.
One day he discovered the roof of a two story
house on fire. It was one of those nice, sweet
days, when everything outdoors wears an over
coat of ice, and the sidewalk loves so well to
slip and hurt the back of your head. Ben
clambered to the roof, and just as he was about
to empty a bucket of water upon the fire, his
foot slipped, and he shot off the housetop in a
hurry not so remarkable for its brevity as for
its suddenness. He arrived below just in time
to fall, head down of course, plump into the
smoke stack of a fire engine, putting out the
fire and smashing the interior arrangements of
the machine to a considerable extent. They
dng him out of the fire-box, but he was Bute.
His next adventure was still more remark- j
able. In addition to his other duties, Ben had
the care of the horses and mules of the man
who employed him. There was one vicious
old mule in the lot named Jess, and from the
first there was no good blood betwen Ben and
Jess. It so happened that Ben went to sleep
one hot summer afternoon upon a pile of hay
in the horse lot. Seeing him thus engaged,
old Jess, with that malicions cussedness charac
teristic of the low down, unprincipled mule,
concluded that it was a propitious moment in
which to pay off several old scores marked up
against Ben. Sneaking up to where he lay
quietly (snoozing, Jess let loose his left hind
leg npon Ben's head. The force of the kick
sent him abont twenty feet from the hay, but
never hurt a hair on his head.
One day in passing by a building that was
going up, with a can of coal oil on his head, one
of the workmen carelessly kicked over a bucket
of mortar. The backet struck the can square
in the centre, smashed it flatter than a tin plate,
the oil spurted out on all sides like a leaking
flower-pot; broke the bucket all to smithereens,
the hoops coming down with so much force as
to cut his arm nearly off. With this exception,
he came out unscathed.
A party of gentlemen went out hunting for
summer doves one day, and took Ben along
with them to carry the game, etc. It was neces
sary in the course of their perrigrinations to tres
pass upon the land of a stingy old fellow, who
never failed to shoot buckshot at all comers into
his fields. The boys watched an opportunity
notwithstanding, and put foot upon the forbid
den soil. They stationed Ben beside a tree to
await their return. As is usual with darkies, he
went to sleep. The owner of the property hav
ing heard the report of guns, took down his
rifle and proceeded to hunt for the trespassers.
As soon as he saw Ben, he drew bead and let fly,
Ben never stirred. The rifle flashed again. No
demonstration from Ben, Still another shot,
and Ben quietly raised bis hand to his head as if
bitten by a mosquito. For one level hour did
that old sinner peg away at the sleeping darkie.
He prided himself on his markmanship, and
boasted that his ballets never varied an inch
from the bead, but he was somewhat disgrun
tled at the aspect affairs had assumed on this
occasion. He knew his bullets struck some
thing if not the target aimed at, but why they
should fail to show some effect upon Ben, was
a puzzle to him. Going up to him he was hor
rified to observe his bullets flattened and lay
ing all around Ben, who had treated them as so
many mosquiito bites. Awakening the sleeper,
the old fellow asked him if he had heard any
gun shots ? Rubbing his eyes, he yawned lan
guidly, and answered, “No, sah; but de skeet-
ers seem powerful bad round heah.”
Ben is now employed in the Daily Telegraph
office here, and now and then harf” a chance of
making his head stand between him and cer
tain death. He is justly entitled to the name of
The man with the iron head.
Bbxdobs Smith
One In Georgia.
Social Circle, Georgia,
December 27, 1877.
Editor Sunny South:
Sir—I have read to-day in your paper, the
query of Montgomery—if there really is any re
liability in the Mad Stone, and if so, where one
can be found ?
I have in my possession what is called a genu
ine Mad Stone, so pronounced by those who have
seen them, though 1 have not had an opportunity
of testing its efficiency.
Enclosed I send you an article taken from the
Vidette, giving a full account of the stone in ques
tion. Very respectfully,
T. Pkeston Gibbs.
MAD STONE.
There is in the possession of Dr. T. Preston
Gibbs, of this place, what is supposed to be a mad
stone. It was cut, by him, a week or two ago, out
of the jaw of a horse. It is nearly the size and
shape of an egg, weighs 2} ounces, grayish color,
and rather offensive when held close to the nose—
was firmly encysted between the inner surface of
the cheek and outer skin, resembles very much the
urinary calculi; it is very hard, requiring several
hard blows with the weight of a knife-blade to
break off a corner of it, and when thrown against
the floor it makes no impression on the stone, and
the noise is similar to that of a rock or block of
iron.
Mr. Laspeyre, a chemist and miner of consider
able experience, has pronounced it a genuine mad
stone. He has traveled in Mexico, California,
Arizona, Dakotah and New Mexico—has visited
several tribes of Indians, has seeD two or three of
these stones, and says this is identical in size,
color and composition. He says the Indians get
them from the intestines of the deer, polish them,
and that they are considered an infallible remedy
for hydrophobia, and, too, that it is a styptic, a
few grains taken in water relieves the worst case
of menorrhagia in a very short while.
Several have examined it, among them Col. Colt,
who has traveled in the Territories. He says that
it is the same as stones found there, and is suscep
tible of high polish. The history of it is this.
The horse is five years old, was reared by Mr.
Alford, a few miles below this place. He first dis
covered the bump about a year ago, thought it was
the result cf a blow from a rock. He sold the
horse recently to Mr. Joseph Studdard, who
brought him to town on the 30th of January and
requested Dr. Gibbs to cut it out. He examined
and found a hard knot, supposed it might be a
cartilaginous substance, but was surprised to find
a veritable stone. Dr. Gibbs and Mr. Laspeyre
gave it a rough test, and found that it contained
carb. lime and carb. magnesia.
If this stone had been in any of the passages, as
the urinary or alimentary canal, it could have been
accounted for, but imbedded as it was, deep in the
flesh, with no communication, it certainly is a re
markable case.— Walton County Vidette.
Mr. Fechter has achieved a marked success in
his powerful and original performance, in the
“Count of Monte Christo,” which is witnessed
nightly with breathless interest, at the Broadway
Theatre.
A devoted wife will always speak plainly,
though kindly to her husband. Here is a case
in point: “When I die,” said a married man,
“I want to go where there is no snow to shovel.”
His wife said that she presumed he would.
The following sentiment was drunk standing
at a private fete among “de fust circle” colored
of New York a tew evenings since: “Here’s to
de colored far sec; dar face needs no paint—der
head no ’fumery.”
Rector—“Those pigs of yonrs are in fine con
dition, Jarvis.” Jarvis: “Yes, sur, they be. Ah,
snr, if we wos all on ns on’y as fit to die as them
are, we’d do.”
An Extraordinary Edition of the Bible.
From the LaFayette (Ind,) Courier, Jan. 5, 1877.
There has been lately published an edition
of the Bible by subscription that bids fair to
have a very large circulation. It contains re
cent and very valuable accounts of late dis
coveries throwing light on the authenticity and
value of the sacred book. It also contains the
celebrated commentary on the Bible and a com-
mentory on each psalm by the Rev. John
Brown, of Haddington; also the finest bible
dictionary. Illustrated with 500 engravings.
Each word pronounced. Edited hy Rev. Alfred
Nevin, D.D. Also, Cruden’s concordance and
dictionary, many valuable tables, indexes, an
notations, practical reflections, Blackwood’s aid
to the study of the Holy Bible. It also contains
the pictorial history of the cities of the Bible,
with full descriptions. Also embodies Butler’s
fine work, “The Christian Denominations of
the World,” compiled from their own publica
tions and views from their own standpoint.
Illustrated with pictures of the great preachers
and the great exponents of the different faiths.
Also pictures of their first churches built in
America, and their most famous edifices of the
present day, together with the belief of each
sect, origin, etc. Also Rev. Chas. P. Kranth s
“ Christ and His Kingdom in Shadows,” or the
Christian dispensation as typified in the old
testament, and especially in the Mosaic rites
and ceremonies; finely illustrated. This fine
biblical collection also contains twenty-fonr very
fine Line Steel engravings from paintings by
Raffael, Guido and Canova. Engraved at great
expense expressly for this work; also two beau
tiful emblematic colored plates, a photograph
album, marriage certificate and family record.
The whole work containing over 2,100 pages,
bound very substantially in Turkey morrocco,
raised panels, gilt edge, making a most valuable
and superb volume. This work is published
by a firm at Indianapolis (Fred L. Horton &
Co.,) and we presume our bible readers will
gladly avail themselves of an opportunity to
possess this valuable work.
A Noble Example.
A lady of rank, a countess, is performing a
notable work in London. About two years ago
she lost her two infant children, and then de
voted her fortune and life to the work of saving
the lives of children. The statement that in
England two hundred thousand children die
annually under the age of five, and three per
cent, of these from preventable causes, met her
eye. She began to visit the poor, to talk with
mothers; she instituted weekly meetings, at
which she gave them instruction in regard to
preparing nourishing food, and she herself pro
vided large quantities of food for Bick children.
She has extended her plan to include a day
nursery, where women may leave their children
while they are at work, and a children’s retreat
in the country, for infantB whose lives depend
on a change of air. The Empress of RnBsia last
year sent the countess a donation for her work
and a warm letter of sympathy. The Grand-
Duchess of Baden has this year done the same.