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The"Art and Science of Eating.
Lord Byron, said, with poetic afficta'ion.gthat
he could never bear to see a woman eat. That
fan aex might have turned np their pretty ncsea
at the fastidious gentleman who, while at Genoa
to Bay nothing of other plaoes, counting the cost
u * P a< ^i D g as if his pockets were empty as
those of his valet, and yet ate with as much gus
to as any Briton would eat roast beef. The hu
man machine is run by the fuel called food, and
the more generous the supply the more capable
it is of standing the wear and tear of time. The
royal plethora enshrined among the cobwebs of
hereditary divine right, the premier who really
rules, the statesman who runs a republic, the
proud beauty who enchants like the Florentine
Venus—all are made- up of <bod. Wheat and
meat from European or Western fields, rice from
South Carolina, sugar from Louisiana or Cuba,
milk and butter from breeds of Durham, con
diments from the Spice islands, water from the
bowels of the earth, wines from Oporto or else-
wheie, make np the great men and the lovely
women. Our bodies are really products from
the four corners of the earth. Wbat a com
mentary on human vanity! Get thee down from
thy pedestal,O fool! for thou art at last but the
result of animals and serials, and these come to
thee through the care and labors of the husband
man! Below is a dissertation of practical value,
a short talk on the vital theme, namely:
OUB MEALTIME.
The distinguished French gentleman, Bril-
lot-Sayaiin, in his ‘Puysiology of Taste,’ de-
clarrsthata detsart w thout cheese is liken
beautiful lady with one eye. It is evident that
he located the proper dinner hour sufficiently
late in the day to enable diners to partake of
their meals in a leisurely way, so as to have
nothing on their minds besides the e'<j >yment
of the occupation. But the hour for dining is
a subject upon which the world is far from be
ing of a common opinion. Almost every civil
ized nation has iis conventional dinr.er time,
which varies, however, among commercial com-
mnities, according to the position one occupies
in society, the tradesman usually taking bis
hasty meal soon after mid-day, while the more
deliberate man of means defers his until later
in the afternoon, Iu matters of this kind,
health and convenience are usually the best reg
ulators of custom, and, as Lord Bacon said, ‘A
man's own observation w^at he finds good of,
and what he finds hurt of, is the best physic to
preserve health.’ But fashion, after ail, has
much to do with distributing the time and ac
tions of its votaries, and people a v e very apt,
even though uuconscio sly, to adapt their hours
of eating to those of their ass ci.>t-‘s. The two
principal s stems as t < dinner are the Conti a en-
tal and the English, the first of which insists
upon an early dinner, while the latter post
pones it to ee imes until well into the night.
So that we have strong authority on our side,
whichever system we in America adopt. Que n
Victoria sets the examp's to her loyal hungry
subjects of dining at eight o'clock in the even
ing, having breakfasted at nine and lunched at
two. Thft Is a very great deviation from the
precedent of her predecessors. George the
Third dined at two o'clock and retired early,
which was the cession ot his reprimand to the
Speaker of the House of Commons for holding
sessions late in the evening. ‘You keep too !a‘e
hours, and I mean to reform them!’ said the
king at his first interview with the venerable
Ouslow—but he didn’t succeed. In the time of
William JV. the fashionable dining honr in
England, R oyalty setting the fashion, was about
seven p. u And now, as a’ ove stated, it has
b«en expended to eight o’clock. A Frenchman
parcels out his hours of sunlight very different
ly from his English neighbor. Toe former be
gins the day with an early cup of cofLe or choc
olate, with perhaps a slice of toast, and takes
the first solid meal of the day at eleven or
twelve. That is certainly a vary agreeable plan,
for one's appetite does not reach its best vigor
until a tew boms out of bed. The Briton, on
the other hand, often consumes a pound of
beefsteak at eight in the morning. Lunoh, of
course, would be an insult to such a meal, and
an injury to a later meal. In Grrnrany. on the
contrary, the noontide dinner prevails almost
universally. In warmer olimates, such as Italy
and Spain, a man will rise from his bed at four
or five o'clock in the morning, transect his bus
iness by eleven or twelve, dine heartily aid af
terwards take two or three hours nap. V jry of
ten he takes nothing more solid than a cup of
chocolate for the rest of the day. There is a
good deal to be said in favor ot this method of
dividing one’s time. Doctors say that about
no< n is the proper period for eating the most
substantial repast of the day. Nevertheless we
all know that we almost invariably feel indis
posed to work after a full meal. So the siesta
comes iB to restore the equilibrium between the
mind and body. A distribution of sleep over
the twenty-four hours—say six or seven at night
and two in the middle of the day—will almost
give a man two mornings, with all tbeir vigor
and lightness, to the one of other men. Tne in
dulgence is, however, impracticable in busy
communiti's like the Uui ed States, lor iu coun
tries where it is the rule all business is suspen
ded from noon till three o’clock every day. It
would require a singular revolution of popular
sentiment to establish such an easy-going sys
tem in our large cities! Lite dinners undoubt
edly are powerful promoters of convivial habits.
A person settles down into his chair with the
pleasurable feeling that the cares of the day are
over, and the rest of his working hours may be
devoted to Becnriug comfort. So the meal is
protracted, and after it, in England, the bottle
and decanter often engross the attention nntii
the fleeting hears are forgotten. This, nowev-
er, is not so habitual as it was a generation ago.
Still it occasionally finds its' a way to the surface
even in society where habits of carousal would
least be dreamed of. Only iu last May an En
glish lord invited an Oxford chum, a country
clergyman, to spend a week with him in Lon
don. The parson accepted the invitation, and
the ‘old Adam’ was speedily revived in him in
bis new surroundings. One evening, after a
hearty dinner, followed by still heartier pota
tions, the host bantered the clergyman into a
game of cauls. There were other guests and the
stakes were high. The party played on until
the morning sun began to glint between the
blinds, and when they rose, the parson, who
bad bad extraordinary luck, found himself the
winner of seven thousand five hundred dollars.
The Bext evening he was urged to give the los
ers their revenge. But this the astute clergy
man refused to do. They remonstrated, appeal
ing to his sense of honor. But the clergyman
held his own. ‘You inveighed me into playing
cards; or if you like, fhe devil prompted me to
play. Now I look npoD my winnings as spoils
taken from the arch enemy, and I intend to de
vote them io the building a new tower to my
church.’ This was a reversal of the proverb, for
it was borrowing the livery of the devil to s rve
Heaven in, but the parson protably return d to
hie country home with a satisfactory remem
brance of the effects of his late dining. In this
country heavy drinking has nev r been a char
acteristic of private dinners in good society, and
we have not yet followed our British cousins en
tirely into the late hours at which they partake
cf that meal.
Three-fourths of the tobacco consumed in Great
Britain is purchased by poor peop >• in half
minces, and as sir Stafford Nor:licotc's tax f ills
lica'ily, especially 01. ihe poor, the billing offin
its consumption in nine mould* was about 1.5o(mki.)
pounds, while the income is only ?Sn<),bu moie than
if, to the poor Who huy at hall'ounces, the tax had
not been doubled.
MRS. GENERAL GAYNES.
What Happened in a Street Car.
‘Laura, I do believe it will rain !'
‘Oh my patienoe, 1 hope not! It would spoil
my bat completely. Only the third time I‘ve
worn it, too !•
It looks very dark.* And the sweet blue
eyes Rchnned the cloudy sky anxiously. ‘I'll
tell you wbat, Laura, we will do our shopping,
anyhow, and then, if it looks too rainy, we'll
put off our call on M s. Gaynes till to-mcr'ow. *
‘Very well, the carriage will be at home to
morrow, and I don't like to make a walking
call, especially on a stranger. ‘ I*m in favor of
waiting. ‘
‘Then we will wait. I‘m not in a hnrry, only
mamma charged me to be sure to oall on Mrs.
Gaynes while I was here, because she was her
very oldest friend.*
*I‘m glad she did, for it gives me an excuse to
call with you, and I‘ve been longing for the
entree to Mrs. Gaynet* parlors all winter, Sbe‘8
s > very exclusive -the real sort, you know, that
to be invited to her receptions is quite a card.
They say she is very fond of young people, and
her parties are delightful.*
‘I know mamma thinks her a model lady. I'm
quite eager to see her, I‘ve heard so much about
her, ‘ said My ra.
■So am I. Here‘s Birton's, Myra, we want to
match some fringe here. Let ur go in. ‘
Tne speakers wore Laura Carew and her
cousin, Myra Golding. Lmrawas a N-w York
girl and Myra had come over from her home in
the Qu»k-'r city for a week’s vis’t.
They were detained inBaron s *tore for some
time—matching fiiDge isn't to be done in a
hurry—and when they came out the sky was a
little brighter.
•N >w, then,* said Laura, as she fastened her
pretty black kid, ‘.we've got to go away up town
to the china store for mamma, and look in at
Arnold's for s -me seal-brown cashmere, on our
way. I do believe it's going to clear after all. ‘
But it did not clear. It ouly brightened for
a moment, then clouded np darker than ever.
And when the two girls came out of the last
store, the pretty fall suits and new hats were iD
s rions danger, for the rain was falling in a
siow, stf a ly drizzle.
‘Oil, dear ! what's to be done now?' asked
M yra, with a rueful face.
‘Why, take a street car, of course. I must
conie3s I don't fancy such c'ose contact with
•great unwashed,' but it's better than the rain.
Ws‘11 catch the car we want at the corner.
Q tick, now. ‘
Laughing, flushed, and slightly out of breath,
they took seats in the car, which, owing to the
rain, was tolerably full already.
They jogged on a few blocks, then the car
stopped again, and a little old lady, in a wet
green veil and an undeniably shabby water
proof, got in.
Tue only sea* vleant was beside Laura Carew,
and this the little old lady dropped into. Lvnra
instantly drew her elegant skirts away from
contact with the damp waterproof, and whis
pered to Myra, ‘Noah'sgrandmother, certain as
fate!'
‘Hush, dear. She might hear you,* whis
pered Myra.
The old lady did hear the words, and see the
haughty movement, and drawing herself as far
away as s ie could, she said, very gently,
ardon, me, I fear I shall wet you. ‘
‘It is no matter. Oae expects everything in a
street car ‘ was Laura's answer, with a toss of
herprikcy head.
The bid lady turned her head without saying
any more, and Laura still held her pretty skirts
aside, as if afraid they would touoh the shabby
garments of her neighbor, an expression of dis
pleasure clouding her pretty face.
The next stopping, a weary-looking woman
w th a babe in her arms oame ia, and looked
invaia fora seat.
Myra Golding rose to her feet at once, saying
sweetly.
•Sit here, I can stand better than you *
*MuoL obleeged to ye, ma'am ; the baby is
heavy,* said the woman, sitting down with a
tired sigh.
Two or three gentlemen (?), who had not
stirred for tue poorly-clad woman, toss speedily
to off r a place to the lovely young lady, but
Myra, her red lips curved;coldly declined them
all, and taking hold of the strap, she stood be
side Laura.
•Myra, how could you ! I'm not obliged to
you lor my neighbors,* said Laura, pettishly.
‘My clothes will smell of the street for a week !-
•0!i, do hush, Lvur •.! whispered Myra ‘I
am sure she heard you 1'
If 'she' did not, the little old lady did. Turn
ing a pair of dark, twinkling eyes upon the
young lady, she said quietly, ‘Then you do not
believe in the great human brotherhood, my
dear !’
•No, madam !'answere 1 Laura, shortly, al
most rudely. And turning to Myra, she added,
audibly, ‘I believe iu these abominable, demo
cratic street oars as a good plaoe to meet disa
greeable people, though.'
‘Don't, Laura!’ said Myra, her fair cheeks a
flush of painful orimsm. ‘Here is our corner,’
she added, gladly, as she pulled the strap to
stop the car.
‘I’m glad of it,' said Laura, as they stepped
down.
‘How could you be so rude, dear ?’ asked My
ra.
•Ob, what’s the odds? They were mere no
bodies—only very common persons, and I don't
like to mix with them. We’ll never see them
again, anyhow. So hurry in, my little puritan
cousin, or we shan't save oar hats yet!’
The next day was a clear, bright November
one, the air fresh and bracing. The two girls,
in their very prettiest toile’tes (and when was
dress ever prettier than a tasteful and stylish cos
tume of the present day f), rolled a’ong in the
Carew carriage to call upon Mrs. General
G iynes. ,
Arrived at her aris ocratic mansion, they were
shown into a most elegant little reception par
lor, to await tli ur hostess.
Directly the door opened, and a s na’l figure,
robed in lustreless black silk, her only ornament
a rich, almost priceless brooch, which clasped
the lace at her throat, oame toward them with a
pleasant smile.
And Lima almost dropped to the fl tor, for
the first glance at Mrs Gaynes showed them the
bright face, and keen, twinkling, black eyes of
the little old lady of the street car!
•Good morning, my dear girls,’ said the kind
voioe. ‘This is Miss Carew ? No ? Miss Gold
ing, then. I am very glad to meet you, dear,
ftr your mo'her’s sake,’ shaking Myra’s hand,
warmly. ‘And you, too, my dear,’ turning
pleasantly to La tra, who was so overwhelmed
with confusion, she could not utter a word.
‘What, not afraid of me, surely?’
•No, madam,’ said poor Laura, making agreat
eff >rt, ‘but I am— I mean—I didn’t—’
•You didn’t expeotlo see “Noah’s grandmoth
er.’ to-day. But never mind, dear, we won’t
quarrel. Youth is thoughtless sometimes I’m
sure you meant to be nothing more ’
•0 j, indeed I didn ‘t! And I am so sorry and
ashamed !• said Laura, penitently.
‘Then it is all forgiven and forgotten, * said
the Doble little old la ’y. I don't wonder you
j didn't guess who 1 was, for I did look wofully
I shabby, yesterday. I was caught out in the
ra'n-storm unprepared, and obliged to borrow
! the best at hand. L«t it be a lesson to you, my
j dear Miss Carew, to be courteous to all, whether
in shabby clothes or costly velvets and sables.
All young people need such hints now and then.'
‘Indeed I will, dear madam !■ said the proud
Laura, humbly.
‘Then we‘ll say no more about it. Aad now,
my dear girls, for your mothers' sakes, we must
be no strangers. You must take ofi your things
and remain to dine with me. I will send your
carriage home, and return you in my own. Ob.
I oan't take any refusal. I must haveau hour's
talk, anyway, with Miss Golding, about her dear
mamma, so please make yonrselv s at home.*
It seemed to Laura as if she could not bear to
stay. But Mrs. Gaynes was so enti.ely friendly
that the charm of her manner soon put them
a their ease, and even Laura could enjoy her
self.
But she did not soon forget the wholesome
lesson she had learned in a crowded street car.
Some Thin Virtues.
As a working rule, in the conduct of life, we
suppose there is no better than that which has
been denominated ‘The Golden Rule,’ but its
author could hardly have regarded it as the
highest and best. There seems to be no motive
bound up iu it but a selfish one, and no stand
ard of morality but the aotor’s own desires. The
G >iden R ile, as we call it, seems to be hardly
more than common deceucy formulated. Noth
ing, obviously, can be decent in our treatment
of others that wa do not recognize as proper and
desirable in tbeir treatment of ourselves. It is
a rule that seems to be made for supreme self
ishness. Refrain from putting your foot into
another pig’s trough, nn'ess you are willing to
have another pig put his f ot into your trough.
Oae of the great mistakes of the world, and es
pecially of the Christian world, is in the con
viction that this is a high rule cf action, and
that the virtue based upon it is of superior val
ue. It is the thinnest kind of a virtue, and if
there be not the love of G >d and man behind it,
to give it vitality and meaning, it can never min
ister much to good character What a ma.D does,
actuated by tne motive of love, he does nobly,
and the sirne thing may not be done nobly at
all when done in accordance with the rule to do
to others what one would like to have others do
to himself.
There are other virtues that are very much
over-estimated, eminent among which is that of
toleration. We know of none so thin as this,
yet this is one over whioh an enormous amount
of bragging is done. We talk about the relig
ious tolera'ion practiced by our government, as
if it were something quite unnatural for a gov
ernment to protect us own people in the exer
cise of their most precious opinions c.nd privi
leges. The man who personally toler ites all
men, and all societies of men, in the exercise ot
their opinions upon religion and politics, is not
without his boast of it, and a feeling that he has
outgrown most of the people around him. The
sad thing about it all is, of course, that a coun
try or a cimmunity can be so blind and stupid
that toleration can appear to be a virtue at all,
or so bigoted aud willfal that it can even appear
to be a vice.
We thank no man for tolerating our opinions
on anything, nor do we give him any praise fur
it, any more than we thank him for the liberty
of breathing with him a common air. Tolera
tion is the name that we give to the common de
cencies of intellectual and moral life. It is the
Golden Bale applied to the things of opinion
nd exprtsiion. It is by no means a high af
fair. It is simply permitting others to do, i
all' matters of politics«jy!|irt.oi.'gloa, frot.!y, i
New York In The Olden lime.
By HENRY A. BUCKINGHAM.
onr presence and softly:, what we claim the
privilege of doing in ,.tjir prt touch and society.
People who are intolerant—and we are informed
that there are snch in this country—are simply
indeeent. They are devoid of intellectual cour
tesy. They are boors who are out of place
among a free people, a id, no matter who they
may be, they ought to be persistently snubbed
until they learn polite intellectual manners.
The spirit of intolerance is a spirit of discour
tesy aud insult, and there is no more praise due
a man, or a sect, for Being tolerant, than there
is due a man for being a gentleman; and we
never saw a gentleman yet who would not take
pra s i for being a gentleman as involving an in
sult. It is at least the thinnest of all virtues to
brag about.
Tnere is a virtue lying in this region, though,
alas! but little known, which needs develop
ment. Toleration, as we have said, is a very
thin affair. Men tolerate each other and each
other's sentiments and opinions and are much
too apt to be content with that. They altogether
overestimate the value of it, but beyond this
there is in some quarters, and ought to be in all
quarters, a sense of brotherhood among all hon
estly aud errnest y inquiring souls. There is
no reason why Doan Stanley and Mr. D.r via
should not be the most sff ctionate friends.
There is no good reason why Cardinal Manning
and Mr. Matthew Arnold should not be on the
most delightful terms of intimacy. There : a no
good reason why Mr. Frothingham and Dr.
Hall, Dr. Draper and Dr. Taylor should not be
bound up in a loving brotherhood. They un
doubtedly tolerate one another now. It would
be simply indecent for them to do aL ytbing less,
bat we fear that we have not quite reached the
period when these men, with a profound re-
speot for one another's manhood, truthfnlness
and earnestness, recogm'zi each other as seek
ers for truth, and love and delight in each oth
er as snoh. We are all interested in the sa ne
things, but we happen to be regarding them
from different angles.
Some of the sinoerest men in the world are the
doubters.
‘There is more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.’
These men g6t very little of the sympathy that
by right belongs to them. They have as great
a love for truth as anybody, aud are looking for
it, but by the constitution of their minds, or by
the power of an unfortunate education, or the
influence of an untoward personal experience,
they find themselves thrown off into a region of
skepticism, where they have no congenial com-
panions'iip. They do not get even toleration,
from those particularly who inherit their creeds,
and to whom faith is as natural as breathing.
These men ought all and always to be brought
affectionately into the great brotherhood of
truth-lov rs and truth-seekers, and a Christian
of any name who cannot throw his warmest sym
pathies around these, and regard them with a
peculiarly affectionate interest, must necessarily
be a very poor sort of a creature. All honest
truth-seekers are always truth-finders, and all
have something ia possession that will be of ad
vantage to the others. The difference between
them are sources of wealth to the whole.
This is true of all trnth-Beekers, aid it is par-
tioularly true ot the different seels of Christen
dom. L?t not the Ca'.holic think tor a moment
that he has nothing to learn of the Prop s ant,
and let not the Protestant think that he holds
all truth to the exclusion of his Catholic hr >th-
er. The fact that all these sects exist and find
vitality enoDgh in their ideas to keep them so
prosper usly together, shows that there is s me-
thing to be learned, everywhere, and among
them all, and that the policy is poor which shuts
theca away from one another’s see’sty. It is
belter to remember that troth is one, and that i
those who are earn<s ly aft r it, whether they |
deny Christianity cr prole s it, whet ter they are j
called by one name or another, belong together,
ia one great sympathetic brotherhood ci oil-e- :
tijii and pursuit. j
A BEVOLUTIONABY “BEBEL SPY.
Israel Jones, a native of Brooklyn, N Y. . was
a fiery rebel, in the ranks of the Continen
tal army. He was captured in 1779 tried on
the charge of being a spy—which, in reality, he
was not—was convicted,and promptly sentenced
to be hanged at a place in the vicinity called
Gillows Hill. The officer who at that time had
charge of the hanging of ‘rebel spies,’ was a
provost-marshal named Jonathan K-itchier, a
noted Tory.
At the time arranged for the execution of the
condemned, tfce person appointed to do the
hanging w^s not to be f >ncd.
•D —D D — ! cried L“tehler, who was choice
neither in his dress nor his language, ‘what
shall I do? S jmebody must hang this rebellions
.scoundrel. ‘
‘Postpone the execution until the haugman
can be found, ‘ suggested one cf his aids
•N \ I would oot forfeit the word of a court-
martial for all the revenue of the British cus
toms,' ho replied. ‘See that the condemned be
produced-the senlence must be carried into
eff cf.. ‘
Accordingly tbs culprit was ushered forth by
a guard of soldiers. He had fondly cherished
the hope that h i w is to be repri ved. was
eogniz'.nt of the UDHanctioned aad inexplicable
disappearance of the hangman, and, as drown
ing men catch at straws he clung to this vague
and indefinable occurrence as an omen that he
was to be spared, for the time at least. When,
therefore, tie was marched out, with his arms
pinioned, and all the paraphernalia of death
arrayed before him, he protts'ed against the
fulfillment of the ratal command which had
gone forth against him.
•You knew you were to die to-day, didn't
you?- replied Kitchier.
‘But there is no hangman,* cried Jones, who,
though not a coward, quailed before the idea of
the rope and the gallows. ‘Kill me, if you are
determined that 1 shall suffer, but do it with
powder and ball. ‘
•Talk to the marines about that, ‘replied
K-tchler, coarsely. ‘I am here to obey orders.'
‘But,* repeated Jones, ‘the hangman has
gone. ‘
‘What of that? We can find a hundred hang
men a day to strangle rebels and spies. ‘
‘Not to hang me,' responded Junes, bitt:r!y,
and shedding tears.
‘Then you'll have to take the leap yourself,'
was tbfo unfeeling response.
•Never !■ returned Jones, and his face was as
pale as though he w is already a corpse.
‘We shall see. Forward, march! cried the
oflic r and the oortege mov'd for Gillows Hill.
When a man is approaching the j iws of death
with no hope of escape, he usually nerves him
self to meet the dread enemy of humanity with
firmneo. Finding that he wss certainly to die,
Jones breathed one prayer to bis Maker, and
re i ned himself, with dignity aud steadiness,
to his fate. When he reached the fatal spot he
was Roman in his heroio abandonment, and in
flexible in his resolve to deliver up his soul to
God without betraying any feeling of shame or
fear.
The condemned was placed under the scaf
fold. It was twenty feet high, and the beam
was reached by means of a common ladder, bor
rowed from an orchard.
'I ask for meroy !• said Junes, in a steadfast
tone of voice, as be mounted the ladder.
‘An enemy of the king, and a rebel spy,
is worthy ot none. You have been convicted of
both, aid you die here and now. 4
‘Enough ! I am ready ; and may heaven for
give all my enemies,* said the doomed man, as
tie faced the congregation assembled to s e the
fiat qf martial law fulfilled upon his person.
Tuere was a pause—no one was in attendance
to perform the duties of the absent executioner.
K itchier addrets d several men, with a req est
that they would undertake to perform the task :
but they all shrank from him and his proposi
tion as if the one had been a malefactor and the
other an off r from Satan for the purchase of
their immortal attributes. At last the Povost's
eye was fixed upon two boys, n ?ither of whom
was over twelve yeart ol age. He beckoned
them to advance, and they timidly approached.
‘Are you for the kiDg, my lads?' inqnired
Ketchler.
•Yes, sir,* answered the affrighted boys. ‘We
hurrah for him every day. ‘
‘Then behold that infamous spy ! The hang
man has run awi y curse him; but you shall
perform his duties. Ga up that ladder, and fix
the rope about the villian‘3 neck to the cross
beam. *
The poor boys were terribly frightened at this
order, but as they could not escape it, tuey re
luctantly obeyed, weepiDg as if ihe miserable
man baI been their father. Having arranged
the rope to the satisfaction of the provost, they
descended to the ground.
‘Njw, Jmes,‘cried K itchier, ‘bid good-bye
to the world, aad jump from the ladder.*
•N >, Mr. Provost,* replied Junes with a firm
tone of voioe, ‘I shall not do it—because I am
innoesnt of the cr’me laid to my charge.*
‘You had better j imp yourself than be pushed
off ‘ rejoined the official.
‘I repeat,' said poor Jones, 'I shall not do it.‘
Ketohler swore roundly, and again bade the
prisoner to jump, but Jones stubbornly refused
to make the fatal leap. The provost glared
around, and his eyes once more resting upon the
two boys, he ordered them to pull away the
ladder. They were horrified at tue command,
and shrank away in terror.
‘Pull down tl a ladder'!' exclaimed one of the
boys. ‘He is too heavy.’
‘Do as I bid you, or I’ll know the reason why,’
roared the provost.
•On, I’m afraid ; please don’t make me!’ sob
bed the other boy.
But Ketchler insVsd ; and then ensued a
painful scene. The youths wept and shrieked,
and on their knees begged to be excused_ from
taking part in the horrible affair. Their piteous
supplications drew teats from nearly every eye.
‘Mr. Provost,’ said Junes, from his elevated
pobi ion on the ladder, ‘do you mean to murder
me now, or am I to wait till your haugman gets
back ?
‘You shall be hanged now and here,’ replied
Ketchler. S> saying, the brutal provost drew
his sword and forced the boys at the point of
the blade to lay hold of the ladder. The two
la Is, at last, urged hv the pricking of the sword,
dragged away the ladder by main strength, and
Israel Jones was left dangling in tue air, and
was strangled, slowly, to death.
Here is a model dramatic criticism from the
Virginia City Enterprise, which will make Willie
Win er and Wheeler burst with eDvy: ‘Miss
Rose Evtinge made a fool of herself at the Cal-
lfor :ia*Tneater on Friday last. The play was
Eait Lynne, and in the third act a drunken man
interrupted the performance. He was fired out,
aud the performance want on, but the scene
was spoiled. At this Mss Evtinge appeared be
fore the curtain, said s g ‘was an emotioDaland
not a mechanical actress, and under the circum
stances could not proceed.’ Mbs Nellie Hol
brook then undertook to read Miss E tinge’s
part, and the audience, including Miss Clara
Morris, who occupied a box, applauded; this so
incensed Miss Ejtinge that she broke her en
gagement, and on Saturday night Mi's VIorris
was prevailed upou to play the part of Nancy
Sykes in Oliver Twis 1 . Miss E ’tinge is proba
bly the meanest woman in the United Statrs —
just the sort of a woman who, had she been a
man, would have been beaten to death yea$s
ago.’
POCKET-BOOK LOST.
It was in the town of B., and Mr. S had just
concluded some purchases, when he made the
startling discovery that his pocket-book was lost.
While searching his pockets lie round a buckeye,
and said :—“ My pocket book is lost, but there
has been something discovered by Dr Tahler, of
Nashville, of far greater value. It is the Buckeye
Pile Oitnient, which cure Piles in all cases, when
used according to directions. Try it. Pi ice 50
cents a bottle. For sale by Hunt, Rankin & La
mar, Atlanta, Ga. e.o.w.
Coussens' Compound Iloney of Tar has been so
long and favorably known that it needs no enco
mium. For c ''Ughs, colds, sore throat, hoarseness,
etc., it aflor Is speedy relief, and is a most pleasant
and efficacious remedy, hooey and tar being two of
its ingredients. The skill of Ihe chemist, and the
knowledge of a physician were united in its prep-
aration, the result beiug a compound which is the
favorite remedy in this severe climate, and ha° no
equal as a cure for coughs, colds, hoarseness, bron
chitis, croup o'c U-e Coussens’ Honey of Tar.
Price 50 cen's. For sale by Hunt Rankin & La.
mar, A’lanta, Ga. e.o.w.
Wily. Verily !—Why be an animated tallow-shop
when Allan's Ami-F ,t is a sain and sn'e remedy for obes
ity, or corpulence, and will reduce the most ill-propor
tioned form to a graceful outline within a few weeks. It
con,ains no ingredients that can p ssibly prove delteri-
ous to the system. A well-known chemist, a'ter exam
ining its constituents at d the method of its prepara ion,
gives :t his unqualified e dorsement as a remedy that,
“cannot but act favorably upon the system and is well
ca’culated to attain the object for which it is intended."
MLt’r MORE, Md., July 17th. 1878.
Fnor’iiS Allan’s Ant -Fat, Buffalo, N. Y :
Bear t>ir—I have taken two bottles of Allan’s Anti Fat
and it haa reduced me eight pounds, Respectfully
Mrs. I. K. COLES.
A Disease that Wrecks tile System. Every
function is deranged, every nerve unstrung, every mus
cle aud fiber weikened by fever and ague. It is, in iact,
a di'caae which if unchecked, eventually wrecks the
system. In all its types, in every phase, it is danger
ous. destructive. Stupor, delirium, convulsions, open
attend it, and cause swift dissolution. But when c’m-
batted with Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters its foothold in
tile system is dtslog-d and every vestige of it eradicated.
That benign anti-lebrile specific and preventive of the
dreae’ed scourge is recognized Lot only within our own
boundaries but in tropic lands far beyond them, where
intermiiten s and remittents are fearfu ly p-evalent, to
be a reliable meausofovercoming disorders of the stom
ach, liver and bowels, of which a vitiated tor id atmos
phere, and brackish iniasmatatnted water arc extremely
provocative. Ail emigrants and travelers should be sup
plied with it.
I'oiisuitipfion Cured. An old physician retired
from practice, had given him. by an East India mission
ary the formula oi a simple vegetable remedy, for the
speedy and permanent cure of consumption, bronchitis,
catarrh, asthma, throat and lung affretions, also a positive
cute for nervous debility and ail nervous complaints.—
Having tested its wonderful curative powers iu thousands
of cases, felt it his duty to make it known to his suffer
ing lellows- Actuated by this motive, I will mail, free
to all wlio desire, this recipe in German or English with
dirictions f. r use. Address, with stamp, naming this
this paper, M. C. Rose, 154 Powers’ Block, Rochester,
195-7t-e.o.w.
The New Remedyfor I»yspepsia.—The vest
pocket cure for dyspepsia advertised in our columns by
Messrs. Polk Miller « Co., of R’chmcnd, Va.. is strongly
endorsed by the Religions Herald of that city as follows :
••It is endorsed bj the direct personal testimony of men
of national fame and of strictness of speech. It is not too
much to say that no medicine ever had such support in
its favor as a Specifl* > The word of any one of the emi
nent diwues who r arivrite this autinote to dyspepsia
his <Userved weigibnn > Je>» urniicu v,,. UOT o i-nia
tig? experimental use'ana appro*a! of the preparation bv
well known physicians, remove all doubt. It is, beyond
question, a wonderful therapeutical agent;
FREE
NKW an<l Scientific cure for Nerrons Debility,
without Medicine, from whatever cause. Mailed
free. Electro- ('hemicalPad Co. P.O.box 3329,N. Y.
ANTISOTS,
A Reliable and
... Painless Cure. A
trial package sen t to any address
free df charge. Send for Circular.
|Address. GEO. S. BISHOP,
777 VaaSorcs Street, CHIZASO, ILL.
A COMPLETE SHAKESPEARE FREE, SEND FOR
Grand Premium Circular. J VV. SHOEMAKER &
CO , MIS Chestnut Street, Philadelphia Pa,
mask, etc., with name, 10c. NASSAU CARO CO.,
Nassau. N. Y.
XA Perfumed, Chromo, Lace, etc., CaRDS. iu Case
J" uame iu gold. lUc. RAY A: CO., E. Wallingford, Ct
(T PAYS to sell our Rbbber Hand Printirg Stamps.—
L Circulars free. G. A. HARPER & BhO., Cleveland, 05
106-Gt e.o.w.
B shop D. S. Doggett, (Southern Meth.l
It is an excellent corrective of indigestion. I have
used it with prompt beneficial results.
Rev. Leroy M. Lee. D D , Meth. Hist'n.
I am never without if at. home or abroad. It is an anti
dote to Indigestion. Uneasiness after a meal or purging
is checked and the bowels regulated, -ts merits are at
tested by numbers and big', character. I have seen a
•tried everything" dyspeptic of fifteen years relieved by
one dose.
Rev. Dr-'. Jeter, Broaddus, Dickinson, (Bap.)
It is endorsed by the direct personal testimony of men
of national fame and of strictness of speech. It is not
too much to eav that no medicine ever had snch support
in its favor as a Specific. The word of any ■ t the irai-
nent divines who underwrite this antidote to dyspepsia
has deserved weight. Their united witness joined with
the experimental use and approval of the preparation by
well-known physicians, removes all donbt. It is. beyond
question, a wonderful therapeutical agent.—Editors Re
ligious Herald, Va.
Prest. Piedmont & Arlington Ins Co., Va.
1 have used this Medicine myself and in my fnmily
with unvarying success. I keep it iu m? office and at
home. Its merits arc not overstated.
D J. HARTSOOK.
Rev, Dr. Mangum, Prof. Univ.af N. C. ’
I concur with Bishop Doggett in his estimate of the
Vest Pocket cure.
Rev. C. L. Dimeron, Balto. Conferenca
I have been decidedly improved.
Rev. E. A. Yates, P. E.. North Carolina Conf.
It has beneiitted me. Send another package.
Chas. Johnson with I). L ndreth A Son, Phila.
My wife hss nearly c ,red herself of a bad case of dys
pepsia with the trial bottle. I thick an 'ther will finish
it.
Editor Richmond Christian Advocate.
Tliis r< meey is of tried v rines. I have seen dyspepsia
cured computely by it. It rents to he an amit ote
to our‘‘Nations Disease." -The ingredients are not kept
by the apothecaries, and have hern Difficult p get.
Price 27c, bold by all drug ists. Sample S c„ deliv
ered free at any post office, on receiiX'd price.^
i Ol-K MII-LLER &■ CD. jTqprutors,
Ifitbmt nd, > a,,
8