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©to PUBLISHED EVERT THURSDAY MORNING. WM. BRADFOBD, Editor. TEEMS OF SUBSCRIPTION: l copy,one year - - - - - WOO 1 •• slxmontua - u one year - - - * 1°-™ TERMS—Cash in Advance. Address, ADVERTISER PUBLISHING CO., CBDABTOWN, GA Cedartown Advertiser. OLD. SERIES—VOL. VI. NO. 32. CEDARTOWN, GA., OCTOBER 23, 1879. NEW SERIES—VOL. I. NO. 45. ©&* mvrctfew. ADVERTISING RATES. 1 Inch •2 Inc- tea 3 inches ^ column..^. l coiamn. $2 50 |5 00 300 750 3 50:10 00 5 00!15 00 7 50'25 00 50 00 40 00 $ SO0 12 00 15 00 20 00 40 00 65 00 i y. $12 00 IS 00 25 00 40 00 65 00 100 00 LOCAL NOTICES—Ten cents per line for one Insertion. For two or more insertions, five cems per line each insertion. OBITUARY NOTICES—Charged at half rates. GIVE HIM A LIFT. Give him a lift! don’t kneel in prayer, Nor mora’ize with his despair ; 3!iie man is down, and his great need Is really help, not prayer and cree ‘. ’Tis lime when the wounds are washed and healed— Thsfc the inward motive be revealed ; But now, wh&te’er the spirit be, Mere words are but mockery. One grain of aid just now is more To bim than tomes of saintly lore ; Pray, if you must in your heart, Bnt give him a lift, give him a start. The world is fall of good advice, Of prayer, and praise, and preaching nice— But the generous souls who aid mankind Are scarce as gold and hard to find. Give like a Christian—speak in deeds ; A nol le life’s the best of creeds ; An i he shall wear a royal crown : <* ires them a lift when they are down. Zaidee Clare’s Pride. Not a word had she uttered, not a sound lmd escaped her lips, but she sat looking irto the speaker’s eyes with a strangely wist ful gaze wholly unlike the proud beauty who had been the theme of conversation with almost all of her acquaintances, for her apparent coldness and indomitable will. “lla' r e you no word of congratulation, Zaidee; have you nothing to say?” asked the young girl, looking wonderingly into' the fast whitening face of Zaidee Clare. “I wish you every happiness in the world, Dell.” She spoke at last, recovering herself with an effort. 44 We are to be married in the fall,” Dell continued, turning the brilliant diamond on her hand, where it dashed like a tear, not noticing the compressed lips and frozen face before her. 4 ‘We shall go to Italy and Switzerland, in fact wherever I please, and you may be sure 1 shall please to go almost everywhere. 1 knew you would be glad; it is such a comfort to have a friend to talk to. Re member it is to be on the fifth of Septem ber. I wish you would be my bridesmaid, however. 1 shall see you a great many times before then and we can talk over it.” With a breezy laugh and a merry nod the visitor departed, taking with her all the sunshine in Zaidee’s life. Zaidee Clare was an heiress, young and bewilderingly beautiful, with a face and form of unequalcd loveliness. Her eyes were large and black, not with the hard brightness that so often accom panies eyes of that color, but great, shining, velvety eyes that seemed to betray every emotion with a strange fidelity in one so proud. She had a pretty way, in some it would look like affectation, of letting the full white lids fall slightly, veiling the dreamy glory of liov eyes that only shone duskily through the fringe of thick black lashes. Her hair was marvelous in its length and quantity, and of a rich brown that ran into rare, golden lights. She was, indeed, beautiful, wanting for nothing that wealth could buy, a haughty, petted child of luxury. With the utter abandonment of her na ture, she loved Mark Reyburn, and yet— oh, inscrutable fate—he loved another, at . least so Dell said. She ran up stairs, lightly humming Sorne- merry ballad, that those around her might: not see the horrible burning heartache she was trying to hide, trying to keep from showing in her eyes, or from bursting in a long, quivering sob through her lips. Ah! what a to-morrow of yesterday. Only last night lie was breathing love w r ords in her ear, his eyes looking deep into hers, his hands clasping hers—and now— He should never know from her what she suffered. He was not worthy of her love, and she would root it out if it broke her heart. 1 Icr first impulses was to confront him with his perfidy ; but his words were smooth and sweet; he might add to his sin with falsehood. All, no ! she could never believe in him again, or in anyone, she thought, sadly ; and the thought of seeing him was too much; she could not hear it- Used to her whims and fancies, her parents thought nothing of her sudden an nouncement that she was going to see her Aunt Jeannie in her quiet, out-of-the-way little seaside home, “When are you going my dear ?” asked her mother. “Low. I am tired of city life. I believe 1 am tired of everything,” was the rather impatient answer. “What shall I say to Mark when he comes?” “Nothing. Just hand him this note ; it contains sufficient explanation.” 1 lu* mother looked sharply into the un readable facqjof her daughter, and inwardly sighed as she thought she perceived a trace of pain and unrest in her voice. “Such a strange fancy, my dear. You will bury yourself entirely there.” “1 always did like Aimt Jeannie, and somehow 1 long for the salt sea air, and to sec the waves come and go, and to run my hand in the sand, and let it sift through my fingers like a rain of gold, just as I did when a child. Mother, I wish we were always children. A quiver in the steady voice alone be trayed emotion, and the next minute she was out of the room, making full prepara- tioa to go, and as unapproachable as a rock, giving orders here and there about her pla its and birds in her usual self-contained Turee hours later found her on her way. The house belonging to her aunt and uncle was a quaint little cottage, built of gray stone, with wide, airy rooms, and full of nooks and crannies. It stood on an eminence that fronted the sea, whose beat ing, surging voice lulled the inmates to sleep at night—except when a storm'arose then it was too * awe-inspiring and fearful for any one to slumber, or do -aught else but listen to its wild, dull roar as it dashed itself to pieces on the rocks, as if in despair, receding only to gather fresh strength and i<. rce to run up on the land again, breaking | Greycourt and Chester, two villages ,iuto,a thousand foam-flowers that blossomed near Newburg, N. Y., were unusually ex hut to diq. . j cited recently, over a wonderful feat in po ller aunt welcomed her cordially. Zaidee 1 tato digging, which was accomplished on had always been a favorite with her, and ! the Greycourt Meadows. Thomas Finan, the sight of her loved face seemed to bring of Chester, j>ne of the pioneers who re impotent misery, the choking sobs shaking her slight figure from head to foet, and strangling in her throat. With an aching beat, her heart returns to the thought of Mark’s wedding, with a drea riness that blotted all that was beautiful out of the sunlit blue waves that danced merrily, now at her feet, now swiftly run ning out to sea curling crisply in foam- capped ridges. Who was that coming down the path from the house, she wondered vaguely, as she turned her head, impelled by some strange instinct. Nearer and hearer the figure came, and she clasped her hands together over her bosom to quiet the tumultuous throbbing. Surely—surely, it was Mark. The world seemed slipping away from ner, the roar of the sea sounded in her ear as if muffled by distance. “Oh, my darling!” The words thrilled her, asd then came the terrible realization, that for an instant his presence had dispelled, that he had no right to address her in this manner. “You forget yourself,” she said, coldly, her heart aching and beatinp* fiercely, “you forget that—” • He had imprisoned her hands, and was looking down into her eyes with a grave questioning glance. She ceased to struggle, and waited— waited with proud, high head for his words. A moment he stood there, then dropped her listless hands, and folded his arms, keeping his eyes bent upon her face. “Zaidee, what meant you by this note? You dismiss me without a word of expla nation ; is this the way you love me ? At first I thought I would not seek you, but you have so grown into my life, my heart, that I have broken all barriers of pride, and have come to ask what I have done, to repair the fault, if by any fault of mine I have offended you, and then—oh, God ! —to bid you farewell.” The peculiar, shifting light fell across his face, and his voice rose and fell with the liquid intonation of the sea. She looked unsteadily at him as he ceased speaking, and still disbelieving him, she gathered her dress up haughtily, and tried to pass him. He put his hand out and stopped her. “You shall answer me,” he said passion ately, his voice vibrating with inward emo tion, what have I done ? what have I done ? One word, dear, only one word. Do not let us part forever, for the sake of pride.” She turned proudly toward him. “You are the most detestable creature that walks the earth—a flirt. Your place is not here, but by the side of your wife.” “Wife,” he said in a moment, falling back a pace*or two. ” “Are you not married, or—going to be ?” she faltered, a little wonder struck at the clearly honest air of her lover. “No, nor am I likely to be, except to yourself.” “But Dell Somers,” she said, still puz zled, but growing very white. He hurst into a loud laugh, and she angrily turned away, and commenced walk ing swiftly toward the house. 4 ‘One moment, dear,” he gasped between laughing and trying to keep up with her. “Dell was married early this morning to ” and he gave out breathless. “Whom ?” she asked, stopping short. “My father.” She saw it all then—they had the same name;he was hy no mean^ an_ pld man. and had al ways fancied* DeffT'but..she had not dreamed of this. Blinded by pride and jealousy she had asked no questions, had secluded herself from all further knowledge, had, in fact, nearly made herself miserable for life. She smiled through her tears as lie gath ered her to his breast, this time without any resistance; ludicrous as it was she shuddered when she thought of what the result might have been. •Jimmy’s Last Ride. James Brant, or as he is better known, “English Jimmy,” was a Montana stage- driver. Many years ago he took the reins on the route between Butte and Deer Lodge and seryed the public faithfully. Jimmy's horses loved his affectionate pat and stroke about as much as they did their oats. He rarely used the -whip, carrying it, indeed, for the purpose of playing tunes with the lash in the sharp mountain air. One morning, a few weeks age, Jimmy’s horses jolted out of Butte with a coach-load of men, women and children. A passenger sat with him on the box. The stage swept along the road at a good rate, and soon the first relay, Girards, was reached. There the horses were changed. Jiramv re marked that the horses were not liis old friends, but strangers to him. He directed the stableman to arrange the harness care fully, as the team was evidently spirited. When all was ready a mischievous boy called out, “Now you go, Jimmy ” at the same time slapping one of the eaders with his hand. The leader reared and shot head long away. The four horses sprang imme diately into a dead run. Jimmy threw his every muscle into the lines. He called out, “Steady, down there !” for the benefit of the passengers, gritted his teeth and bent to his task. The horses dashed on at the top of their speed. They were crossing a level plain and making dead for a narrow gully, down which the road ran before it crossed an insecure, unwalled bridge. Jimmy fixed his eyes on a farm house in the distance and on his route. He knew that if he could rein his horses through several piles of soft grass shocks near the house he could save the passengers. He told the men to he read}- to jump as they ran through the grass. “Take the babies,” said he, and, as the coach swerved under his powerful arm and ran in among the shocks, the passen gers leaped or rolled out, some bruised, but not badly hurt. A few minutes later Jimmy’s body was picked up under the bridge from which the coach had been thrown to the rocks below. The poor fel low’s legs and arms were broken. The Montana Miner says that he uttered one sentence: “Girard, this is Jimmy’i last ride, Rut he did his duty. ” . He died ih an hour. A Feat in Potato Digging. sunshine into the lonely cottage. The months passed away, and still Zai dee lingered, dreading the'time when she must go. Already the letters from home were beg ging her to return, and she could give claimed the Greycourt lowlands, and who is a veteran grower of potatoes and onions, offered to wager $10 that he could produce a man who would dig 100 bushels of pota toes in ten hours. Mr. Finan’s money was scon covered by George Howard and A. B. reasonable excuse for staying much longer. J Smith, who thought that the feat could not One morning, nearly three months after j be accomplshed. Mr. Finan produced his she had been there, a sudden tbcught came ' man the following Monday morning— to her—it was the very day that- Dell had j “Jack” Whitmore, a sturdy laborer, who mentioned as lnr wedding-day. . | resides in Chester. Jack wept to his task, The full force ot her sorrow came ‘upon at seven o’clock in the morning. He used ner wit h the thought; she had tried to live j an ordinary potato fork, taking two rows at ii down, but the relentless fingers of mem-1 a time, throwing out a hill on one side and ory tore the wound open afresh, and with ( then the other. Three men, and a portion blinding tears in her eyes slie leaned against of the time four, were kept busy picking the huge, bleak rock beside her. j up potatoes. Whitmore stopped about an Shehad wandered from the house; her hour at noon-time, and when he quit work, chauitier stifled her: she wanted more air— at 5.15 p. m., he had turned out of the more room to still this pain which was eat- ground 135 measured bushels of potatoes, ing into her heart and brain. j During the day Whitmore did not take a Once or twice she wrung her hands in drop of stimulating liquors of any kind. The Wolf and the Fo A wolf, once upon a time, caught a fox. It happened one day that they were both going through the forest, and the wolf said to his companion, “Get me some food, or 1 will eat you up.” The fox replied, “I know a farm-yard where there are a couple of young lambs, which, if you wish, we will fetch.” This proposal pleased the wolf, so t£ey went, and the fox, stealing first one of the lambs, brought it to the wolf, and then ran away. The wolf devoured it quickly, but was not contented, and went to fetch the other lamb by himself, hut he did it so awkwardly that he aroused the attention of the mother, who began to cry and bleat loudly, so that the peasants ran up. They then found the wolf, and beat him so un mercifully that he ran, howling and limp ing, to the fox, and said, “You have led me to a nice place, for, when I went to fetch the other lamb, the peasants came and beat me terribly.” Why are you such a glutton?” asked the fox. The next day they went again Into the fields, and the covetous wolf said to the fox, “Get me something to eat how, or I will devour you 1” The fox said he knew a country house where the cook was going that evening to make some pancakes, and thither they went. When they arrived, the fox sneak ed and crept round the house, until he at last discovered where the dish was standing, out of which he drew six pancakes, and took them to the wolf, saying: “ There'is something for you to eat!” and then ran away. The wo f dispatched these in a minute or two, and, wishing to taste some more, he went and seized the dish, but took it away so hurriedly that it broke in pieces. The noi3e of its fall brought out the woman, who, as soon as she saw the wolf, called her people, who, hastening up, beat him with such a good will that he ran home to the fox, howling, with two lame legs! “What a dirty place you have drawn me into now! cried he; “ the pea sants have caught me and dressed my skin finely!” Why, then, are you such a glutton?” said the Fox. When they went out again the third day, the Wolf limping along with weariness, he said to the Fox, “Get me something to eat now, or I will devour you!” The Fox said he knew a man who had just killed a pig, and salted the meat down in a cask in his cellar, and that they could get at it. The Wolf replied that he would go with him on condition that he would help him if he could not escape. Oh, of course I will, on mine own ac count!” said the Fox, and showed him the tricks and ways by which they could get into the cellar. When they went in there was meat in abundance, and the Wolf was enraptured at the sight. The Fox, too, had a taste, but kept looking around, and ran frequently to the hole by which they entered, to see if his body would slip through it easily. Presently the Wolf asked, “Why are you running about so, you Fox, and jumping in and out?” “I want to see if any oae is coming.” replied the Fox, cunningly; “hut mind you do not eat too much! ” The Wolf said he would not leave til! the cask wa3 quite empty : and meanwhile the peasant, who had heard the noise made by the Fox, entered the cellar Tke Fox, na oooa li&n. made a -spring, and was "through the hive in a jiffy; and the Wolf tried to follow his example, but he had eaten so much that his body was too big for the hole, and he stuck fast. Then came the peasant with a cudgel, and heat him to death; but the Fox ran away into the forest, very glad to get rid of the old glutton. Sam Patch* Sam Patch was an impostor, hut in his brief career he always performed all that he promised in a straight-forward and honest way. lie never resorted to the use of rubber straps, coils of wire, or a para chute, in order to render his leaps free from apparent danger. Sam Patch, as he w r as familiarly called, was a native of Paterson, N. J., the son of “poor but honest parents,” and for some years lived there alone with .vidowed mother. He is said by some persons to have been a lazy, shiftless and dissipated fellow, but I was assured by an old and reputable merchant of the place, a few years ago, who knew Sam well, that this was not. so. The same gentleman kjndly took me to the place where he made his first leap into the Passaic river, of some eighty or ninety feet, and wiiich he re peated several times. During the summer of 1829 Patch went to Niagara Falls, and made one or two successful leaps into the seething waters below. Iu October of the same year he came to Rochester, and gave out that he would leap from a small island above the upper falls. This was the last of October, and was an occasion that called together more people than Rochester ever saw before. Full fifty thousand were on hand to witness for the first time a daring feat that no other man had ever attempted in this country. On tills occasion I took my stand below the falls, close to the water’s edge, and nearly under the projecting rock from which he was to jump. Promptly at the hour announced Sam made his appear ance on the spot, and greeted with cheers and a tiger such as any human might be proud of. After surveying the vast assem blage for a moment he rem wed his outside garments and tied a red bandana around waist. Soon he waved a farewell to the people on all sides, which no doubt sent thrill through many a bosom, and, with arms extended, leaped into the waters be low. I shall never forget the sensation as I looked up and saw him coming down. Just as he reached the water he brought his arms to his side, and went in without a rip ple upon the surface. In an instant lie re appeared and swam ashore, with no injury save a slight bruise on his shin against a sunken tree. lie was taken upon the shoulders of some present, and carried up the hank, where he received the hearty congratulations of all the vast, admiring crowd. On the ninth of November follow ing he made another and his last leap; this time from an elevated platform twenty-five feet high, making the whole distance of the leap 125 feex. It was a chilly, unpleasant day, with some ice in the river, and, to protect himself from the cold, he drank rather too freely of brandy, as we noticed in following him close on to the island, from which he was destined never to re turn. He ascended to the place of leaping with apparent ease and coolness, and, after looking out upon the sea of heads for a moment, he, as before, removed all his garments except pants and shirt, and, tying the bandana again around his body, he motioned to all a last farewell, and walked off to almost instant death. He struck the water on his breast, and as it closed over him we felt sure that for him this w-as “the last of earth. ” Diligent search was at once i made for his body, hut all in vain. Early ! the next spring, however, it was found ' floating at the mouth of the river at Char- | lotte, with the handkerchief still on. His i remains were decently interred in the vil- | lage cemetery. Some may wonder what became of Sam’s bear, that was also to make a similar leap that same day. If I remember rightly, it was bought by one of our village barbers by the name of Sears, who fed him a few months till he became quite fat; then he killed him and added the “bear’s oil” business to that of barter ing. For a year or two 'after that Old Sears, as he was called, might often he seen on the street and in stores with a basket containing several dozen bottles of bear’s grease, together with one of the feet of the feet of the old bear himself as an evidence of its genuineness. The bear, as we well remember, was quite a big fellow, but he must have been extremely well fatted, judging from the great amount of bear’s grease that Sears disposed of. The money that Sam collected, and that paid for the bear, was all sent to his mother at Pater son. The New Pilot. On one occasion during the palmy days of the Steamboat Gypsy, on the Mononga- liala river in Pennsylvania, there was a rise in the river sufficient to float out coal, but about the time the Gypsy got her tow ready for Cincinnati, one of the pilots took sick, and it was necessary to secure another one. Accordingly the captain skiimished around and engaged a pilot, and the new pilot came on board in the dusk of the evening. It was very desirable that the Gypsy should start out on that evening, but the new pilot wanted to wait until the follow ing morning, as he wished to attend a wed ding that night. This idea could not be entertained, and accordingly the new pilot took charge of the wheel and" began to drop down from the old Suspension bridge to the Point, in order to get straightened out for the downward trip. The Gypsy was hard to handle—one of those boats that are liable, in steamboat parlance, to “turn round and stare you in the face,” The old pilots were always in mortal dread of her, and it required great physical exertion en their part to hold her level; they caused her to zig-zag a good deal, and the bells in the engine room never ceased jingling—sig nals to “.stop,” “back,” “start,” etc. This being the case, it was no wonder that when the new pilot backed her into some coal barges near the Point and smash ed her wheel, there were mutterings of dis content among the crew, and if the captain swore, we suppose it was only human na ture. The accident settled the question of the Gypsy’s going out that night. "Work men were engaged to repair the wheel and the new pilot went to the wedding, promis ing to he on the boat the next morning. He showed up at daybreak. The wheel had been mended and the crew was waiting for him when he came on hoard with his grip-sack. He wore white kids, a white necktie and a spike-tailed coat, and he pre sented such a general “law de da” appear ance that the horny handed crew was One winter evening about fifty years ago, a post-ehaise with a single gentleman in side it drove up to the North of Scotlapd, where passengers who were going to cross to Orkneys usually spent the night. The gentleman, whom we will call Mr. McT , was the owner of a large estate, and an old house which had belonged to his family for hundreds of years, in the mainland, or chief of the Orkney islands, and was now about to visit his property, it was a blustering, stormy night, but that only made more pleasant the cigar and glass of whisky, and the crackling of the wood-fire by which MacT. sat chatting with the landlord, who was an old friend both of his father and himself, and who was proud of entertain ing the “young laird,” as he called him, with his wildest tales of adventure on the sea. They did not, however, sit late, for the Orkney packet sailed very early in the morning, and MacT. soon found himself in his cozy well-appointed little bed-room — •The wind was chanting a grand Berserker melody, and the sea was roaring a deep bass accompaniment. MacT. loved those sounds, for they had often been the lullaby of his childhood, and soon fell asleep. For some hours he slept without an image or thought reaching his mind ; but at length, when the morning was glimmering gray in the East, a strange dream came to trouble him. He dreamed that he was in the an cient banqueting hall of his old house in the Mainland, sitting at the head of a very long table. The bauquetting hall was now in reality almost a rum, but m his dream Mac T. saw it hung with a hundred lights. The table was filled on both sides, and he thought he glanced curiously down its length to see who his guests were. As he looked, he shuddered in his dream. Those who sat at the table with him were all liis dead ancestors for many generations hack. He knew their faces and dresses well from their portraits in the picture gallery. Next to him sat his father, who had died about a year before. And at the bottom of the ta ble sat a fair-haired man in a dress of skins, who was a Norse chieftain, the foun der of the family. It seemed to lum that he sat for some minutes as if spell bound, while the spectators murmured to gether in low, hollow tones. At length they all rose, and slowly, one by one, in turns, left the hall. But before they went, each one paused at the door, and turning, raised his hind in a warning attitude, fixed his eyes on MacT., and said in a deep voice, the word ‘‘Beware.” “The packet starts in twenty minutes, sir,” cried a loud voice at the door, rousing MacT. suddenly from his sleep. Confused at first, yet soon remembering where he was, he spning out of bed and began hurriedly to dress him self. Being a bad sailor, his first glance could not bear to part with her; without her I thought I could do nothing—with her I could grow to man’s estate—a man in the truest sense of the word. From that mo ment tobacco never passed my lips. “As soon as I could summon courage I called upon the lady. Well do I remem ber how my heart beat as I waited in the elegant parlor for her to come down, and how awkward I felt as I followed my guide to her private sitting room. She got at ev ery point of my life, and before I bade her good-bye it was arranged that I should spend two evenings of each week at her house, and study on the occasion just what she thought best. “No lover ever looked forward to the meeting of the mistress of his heart any more ardently than I did to these meetings with my friend. “I grew careful of my personal appear ance, careful of my conversation, and strove in every way to be worthy of the no ble friendship. Two years passed in this delightful manner—two years that made me. My friend not only attended to my studies, striving also all the while to sow the right kind of spiritual seed, hut she pro cured for me a business situation with a friend of hers, where I remain to this day. Nobody hut God knows what I owe this woman. During the last three months of those two years I noticed that she grew con stantly pale and thin; she never was betrayed into speaking of herself. Sometimes, when I would ask her whether she felt worse than usual, she would reply : “Oh, no! I am only a little tired—that is all.” “One evening she kept me by her sofa much longer than was her custom, while she arranged lessons, and laid out work, it seemed to me, for months. 44 ‘Why so much to-night ?” I inquired, conscious that my heart ached, and vaguely suspecting the cause. 44 ‘Because dear,’ she answered, 4 I do not want you to come for the next week, and I am anxious that you should have sufficient work to anticipate as well as to keep y busy. I think 1 can trust you to be a good hoy, John.’ 44 4 I think you can, ma'am,'I answered almost sobbing. “If I should see your mother, my dear hoy, before long, what shall I say to her for you V “Then I knew all, and my grief liad no hounds. It’s no use to go now. She died two days after.” Jameson, the Irish Nimrod. much disgusted. “That’s a h—1 of a pilot,” said the mate j was naturally enough at the sea, close to and the first engineer went to the captain i which the inn stood. The wind had risen and remarked : . in the night. The waves thundered on the i “Is that fellow going to pilot this boat ?” shore, an^l the little Orkney packet was ; “Yes,” returned the captain with a trou- tossing up and down like a limpet shell.! hied expression. As he gazed, his strange dream arose up “That settles it then,” said the engineer, with sudden distinctness before MacT.’s ; and lets me out. I don’t propose to risk I mind. He was infected with a good deal my life for nothing. j of thorough .Scotch superstition. Besides It was only by dint of much persuasion : he did not much like the look of the sea, that he was prevailed upon to go with the j and so he resolved not to go till to-mor- boat, and she started on her downward trip, ! row. That day the Orkney packet was the old pilot taking the first trick at the I lost with every man on board, and MacT. ; wheel, whilst the new one slumbered the ! and his little wile who was left at home sleep peculiar to those who have been up all night at a wedding party. There were the usual jingling of bells in the room, the zi<r zacirimn th© otreuuuus efforts on the part of the old pilot—a man of her culean build—to hold the Gypsy level. “God help us to-night,” said the first en gineer, “when the new man goes on, for it is going to be foggy.” Evening came and the new man, after taking a look about the boat, went into the pilot house and took hold of the wheel. He with the babies, had to thank that warning dream for bis life. The .Ifower ol Kinuno “There is one chapter in my life’s his tory that I have always kept locked in my heart,” said John Haviland, as he faced the little group in the parlor; “hut to-night I feel as if ii was my duty to open it for your inspect ion, and 1 doit for the love of woman —for the love of a woman who made me what I am worthy to he, the husband of a looked like a pigmy in comparison with I good woman. ” the oilier pilot, and when the Captain re fleeted that the other pilot sometimes had to have a man to help him -hold the wheel, he got nervous and suggested that the new pilot have help. “No,” said that person, as he grasped the spokes of the wheel. “Well, then,” said the captain, “hadn’t we better lay up to-night ?” “Why,” asked the new pilot. “Because it’s so foggy.” “It makes no difference,” said the new pilot, “I’ll attend to Gypsy.” Nobody went to sleep that night. The boat plowed its way steadily down the Ohio, and there was no sound except the clank of the machinery and the roar of steam. Af ter a-while members of the crew gathered together and looked upon each other curi ously. The boat was speeding down the river in a straight line; there was no zig zagging, no jingling of bells, no trouble of any kind and the night was as dark as pitch. One by one the crew went to take a look at the pilot. The Gypsy had never been piloted so before; the old pilot who had bellowed a good deal about the incapacity of the new man, and who remained up, ex pecting to be called upon, looked decidedly sheepish and was silent. When they went up to look at the pilot he was leaning leis urely on the wheel, revolving it slowly once a while, and evidently at home. All night the Gypsy plowed her way through the water ana never stopped, neither was a bell rang. In the morning the new pilot was a lion. There was a revulsion of feeling in his fa vor, and everybody—even the other pilot— congratulated him. Tell me one tiling,” said the Captain: “why did you hack the Gypsy into the barges and smash her wheel ?” “I wanted to go to that wedding,” was the answer, “and had to delay the boat somehow.” He was forgiven, however. Recently Charley Cochrane, who was for many years the faithful groom for the cele brated trotter, Goldsmith Maid, arrived from California, and wishing to see the grand old trotting mare and her colt, called on Mr. Smith her owner, to obtain liis per mission to visit Fashion Farm, in New Jer sey. Mr. Smith accompanied Cochrane to the Farm, and on arriving there, remarked: ‘•Charley, the Maid is very jealous of her colt, is very cross, and will permit no one to approach it.” Cochrane arranged that Goldsmith Maid should hear his voice be fore she saw him, and, although they had not seen each other for two years, a loud whinny presently assured the visitors that the mare had rcognized the man’s voice. Cochrane next showed himself when a j TaA“ andLaitedWl cran'd sp<A “Why, John !” said Mrs. Haviland,soft-j ly approaching—babe still had held tight to ! her bosom—“you frighten me.” “Let’-c have the story.” said the rest of the group, certain that something good ■ might be anticipated; and John commenc- i ed, at first a little timid, hut gaining confi-! dence as he proceeded. “When I first came to New \ork, at the ! age of twelve years, to seek my fortune, 1 1 call myself a precious chap without dan- j ger of being accused of an unusual degree : of self-appreciation. I was quick to learn < everything, the bad as well as the good. 1 My employer used profane tanguage. I picked up the oaths that he dropped with a 1 naturalness that surprised even myself ! The boys in the office all chewed tobacco, j This was a little the hardest job 1 ever at- ' tempted, but after two weeks of nausea anu indescribable stomach wrenchmgs, I came off victorious, and could get away with my paper a day with the best of ’em.” “True, every word of it!” said the speaker. “One afternoon I was sent with a note from my employer to a house in the upper part of the city. I hadn’t Anything to read, hut I had plenty of tobacco, and with that I proposed to entertain myself, during the two or three hours I must spend in the pas sage. For some distance I did not notice who were beside me, but by-and-by a lady said, very softly and pleasantly : “Would you please, little boy, be more careful ? I am going to a part}- this arternoon, and I should hate to have my dress spoiled. ’ “I looked into her face. It was the sweetest I ever saw. Pale, earnest and lov ing, to my boyish heart it was the face of an angel.” “What did you say ?” interrupted Mrs. Haviland, her bright eyes filling with tears as she saw how the memory of this beauti ful woman affected her husband. “Say! There was very little I could say. I think all I did for some time was to look. “I managed to dispose of the tobacco, however, and wiped my mouth very care fully, all of which I felt certain she saw and mentally commented upon. “Have you a mother, little boy ?” she next asked me in the same low tone. 44 ‘No, ma’am,’ I answered, and felt my throat filling up, and I knew I must swal low mighty hard to keep from sobbing. 44 ‘You have a father, then, I suppose ?"’ she kept on. 44 ‘No, ma’am, no father.’ 44 ‘Brothers and sisters?’ 44 ‘Neither, ma'am.’ “ ‘Then the little boy is all alone in the world ?’ 44 ‘All alone, ma’am.’ “.‘How long has his mother been dead V and the dear woman looked away from my touching scene occurred. The old queen j of the turf, who for months would not al low any one to approach her, making use of both heels and teeth if it was attempted, rushed with a bound to her old fnend, for- thcn sbe ^ sweet ]y_oh, I shall never getting even her colt, And rubbed her head f et j t “ ‘Two years, I answered. “And you loved her V came next. “ ‘Dearly,’ was all I could say. ‘She was silent for c moment,. and upon liis shoulder, her nose in his face, played with his whiskers and showed by her every action that her heart was full of joy to see him. Directly the colt came up to them, and the old mare was delighted when Charley placed his hand on the little fellow. When Cochrane left the place the mare followed him to the gate, whinnying for him even after he had passed out of her sight. —The trade-mark of a well known Kentucky whiskey house was sold the other day for $51,000. forget “ ‘And w-hat do you think your dear mother would say—how do you think she would feel—to know that her lit tle boy was guilty of such a disgust ing habit as this ?’ pointing to the tell-tale quid which I had vainly tried to liide beneath the seat. “ 4 I must leave now,” she continued ; *but here is my card, and, if you come to me ’most any evening I shall be glad to see you, and perhaps we may be of some ser vice to each other.’ “ ‘She gave me her little gloved hand, and to my dying day I shidl never for- et the sensation of that moment. I Mr. Jameson, the young Irish Baron, who for the past several years has journeyed from the Green Sod to engage in hunting and fishing sports in Montana, was unusu ally successful this season, his wagons re turning to Ilelema, recently loaded with the antlers of elk, mooses, deer, mountain sheep and antelope, and the pelts of grizzly and black bear, mountain lion, lynx, wildcat, other splendid trophies of the chase. These valuable possessions, carefully preserved and packed, have gone forward to the old coun try, while Mr. Jameson, disbanding his party of four, and accompanied by his body servant, starts soon on a journrey around the world, sailing from San Francisco for China some time in September. In this con nection an adventure, in which Mr. Jameson and a hear were the sole participants, is worth relating. One night last month, while biyouacked on Cascade creek east of the Muscleshell. well defined tracks were left about the camp, indicating nmt -tt-hu*- the party peacefully slept, the premises had been invaded by a huge grizzly. The fol lowing morning, while breakfast was pre paring, the young Irishman, armed with his trusty rifle, started down the creek, trailing the beast a half mile to a point lead ing into a thicket or under-brush skirting to a considerable extent the stream on both sides. Making a slight detour, James push ed liis way cautiously into the thicket, the slight noise of h«8 carefully picked footsteps being-muffled by the rollicking waters leap ing and tumbling over successive falls, Halting suddenly and parting the bushes- the intrepid hunter espied his game, leisure ly at rest, scarcely thirty yards away. He concluded the bear was his, and with steady aim at vital parts sent two bullets in rapid succession into the broadly presented side of the beast. There was a fierce growl, and the wounded animal, parting the brush and saplings like grain stalks, pushed vigor ously toward his assailant. Unable to get another? unobstructed shot, and understand ing his peril, Jameson, with great presence of mind, quickly retreated toward the creek, the bear pursuing and close at his heels. There was no time to halt or turn aside, and reaching the hank the hustled sportsman, holding aloft his rifle, leaped for the water, landing in a pool to the depths of his armpits. A moment later and the enraged brute, bursting througli the willows and saplings, confronted him on the margin of the brook. Jameson, prepared for his enemy, with promptness and precision put two more shots into the great beast, *nd in the very act of taking to the water after his prey, tumbled to the ground dead. Jame son, scrambling out of his unpremeditated bath, returned to camp, intercepting on the way two of his comrades summoned by the report of liis rifle a.nd hastening to his aid. After breakfast a team was libelled up, and strapped to poles the huge carcass of bruin was hauled up to camp and skinned. The heft of this monster was placed at 1,000 pounds, and the pelt, exliibited to a num ber of men esteemed to he good judges in such matters, more than sustained the esti mated weight of the beast. Horses are bred in great numbers at the various haciendas in the provinces, some of the largest estates having eighty or a hun dred thousand cattle and fifteen or twenty thousand mules and horses. The pasturage is green all the year round, and the animals receive no other food. They multiply as the birds do, and with as little profit to their owners. Generally speaking, they run wild until wanted, when they are caught with a lasso, hoodwinked, and immediately mounted. For the first fifteen or twenty minutes they exert their whole strength to throw their rider, hut finding their efforts unavailing, patiently submit, and generally give hut little trouble afterward. Owing to their immense numbers, horses are sold very cheap, the average price for an un broken herd being eight or ten dollars a head, with but little demand at that. It sometimes occurs that the government pur chases a few hundred for the army, bur, generally speaking, there are very few oc- j casions when they can be sold. Mexican j horses, as a rule, are not handsome, and j are seldom more than fourteen hands high: j still, they have notliing of the peculiar j build of the pony about them. Fed en-! tirely upon grass, they yet endure more I fatigue and are capable of maintaining a rapid gate for a longer time than the grain- j fed horses of other lands. In the towns { and cities they receive tic scantiest of care I and the meagerest allowance of food. Tied up the whole day in thr stifling courtyards, j they stand patiently awaiting their evening meal. Frequently tl*-y are turned loose , together, when it requires the use of a lasso to catch them. So familiar with this in strument do they become that the moment the animal feels the rope about its neck it j stands stock still, when without it it would not suffer itself to he saddled or bridled. | Queen Victoria Popped tlie Question. On June 20, 1837, William IV. died and Victoria, then a young maiden, ascended the throne. It had been planned in diplo matic circles to have her marry Alexander, the brother of the King of the Netherlands, but that project failed, for Prince Albert of Cobourgh came to England in 1839 and won the heart of England’s Queen. On the 14th of October her Majesty informed the Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, of that import ant hut delicate fact, and the following day the Prince had an audience with the Queen. The two lovers were placed in a very pecu liar position. The social position of Vic toria was so superior to that of Prince Al bert that he could not make the first ad vance, nor offer the lady his hand, as is usually the case between lovers now--a-days. It was rather for her to make the proposi tion, and offer her hand, and she accom plished the somewhat unusual task in a very skillful manner. With a gracious smile she handed the Prince a small bou quet of flowers, which he placed as near as possible to his heart. As he had no hut ton-hole or pocket in that region of hisclose fitting uniform, he took Ins penknife, cut slit, aud slipped in his precious token. He then expressed his thankfulness and pleas ure at being so well received at the English Court, and especially at his reception by Queen, in reply to which 3he asked him the xell-tale question : “If the country pleases your Highness, so well, perhaps you would not object to remain with us The Prince replied that was the great desire of his life, and the Queen, feeling that the decisi moment had come, though quivering with womanly delicacy, confessed to him lion estly her great love for him, and assured him that it would be the cause of her great est happiness if he wouid consent to make the sacrifice necessary to become the hus band of the Queen of England—for he could he nothing more than her husband, and would have nothing to do with politic al affairs. The Prince was charmed, and capitulated unconditionally. They were married on the 10th of February, 1840. Their marriage was, in every way, a happy one, and their wedded life unalloytd until death seized the Prince as his prey. Calu mny and intrigue never poisoned the sweet ness of their family life, which stands to day as a model, not only for crowned heads hut also for the humblest of human kind. ok versus Radger. A highly exciting badger match took place near Shenandoah, Schuylkill county, recently. The dog had to pull the badger out of an empty barrel to win. The dog weighed 21 pounds; tlie badger tipped the scale at 17. The match took place in a stable at night. McCandish arrived with his badger in a bag and a few moments later, Donnelly with his dog. Three men were selected, and the rules were explained to them. According to the arrangements made, Donnelly wagered that his dog would draw the badger out of the barrel less than an hour. Donnelly was to handle his dog and McCandish the badger; hut neither animal was to be touched while they were together. Tlio dog was looked on as a certain winner. The badger was a weak and insignificant looking little animal, but its eyps gleamed viciously, and its long glistening teeth teeth snapped as it was taken out of the hag and placed on the ground. The badger, after eyeing the crowd, waddled complacently into a barrel that was fastened on its side in one corner of the otnblc. Tiw> lwidgcr is imported and is six years old. It has fought sixteen bat tles and been “drawn’’four times in this country and twice in England. When the dog was unchained it approached the barrel and sniffed at it suspiciously, hut the bad ger’s teeth snapped defiantly, and in a second “ Dan ” had entered and they were at it. The badger’s tough hide and heavy ccat of hair protected it greatly, and as it used its teeth and braced itself firmly against the side of the barrel, 44 Dan’s” ef forts to draw it out did not meet with much success. After twenty-two minutes des perate fighting the dog’s teeth slipped and it fell outside the barrel. Before it could reenter, Donnelly seized the dog and at tended to a number of ugly wounds on its face. At the same time McCandish wai paying similar attentions to the badger. Time being called again, the dog bolted into the barrel like a shot, and after a brief struggle got the' badger almost to the mouth; hut by a sudden wrench the cour- rgeous little [animal freed itself and got back lie fore 44 Dan” could prevent. It was now forty-five minutes since the fight had opened, and the crowd began to think that “Dan” had anything but a soft con tract, and bets were freely offered that the dog would not win. The dog was allowed to breathe twice in the remaining fifteen minutes, and each time it returned plucki- ly to the fray; but when the time expired it was still struggling in the barrel and the badger was no nearer “drawn” that it had been when the struggle liegan. Five min utes extra time was allowed the dog, hut it failed to defeat its resolute little opponent, and they were separated. At, Merwin’s Point, Connecticut, not far to the east of the Merwin House, is a rock, knowfc as Phcebe-bird Rock, having obtain ed that name from its crevices being a favor ite resting place for that species of the feathered tribe. At high tide it is surround ed by water, but when the tide has ebbed it is accessible from the land. Upon this rock is a pole which has stood there nearly three-quarters of a century and is the only trace of a large and important industry once carried on there. During the year 1812 and the subsequent years of the war, salt became very scarce in the United States. The supply had been brought from Turk’s Island, from Bonair, W. I., and some which was imported came from the salt mines in Lisbon, Portugal. The war cut off all these sources of supply, and at many places along the Atlantic coast, salt works were estab lished. The Connecticut people were sup plied during the war from works which were established at Merwin’s Point, and the pole which is to be seen to-day on Phcebe- bird Rock is the base of the one which supported the windmill used to pump the salt water from the sound. A large number of men were employed in the works, and two of them are still living in this city. Two methods were used to extract the salt from the water. One was by boiling the sait water until the water had evaporated and only the salt remained. Another process was to jpour the water upon what were known aS salt sheds, These sheds were made with little, if any incline, and when they were covered with salt water the water worked off very slowly, and the heat of the sun evaporating a large proportion, consider able salt remained. Alter the war, when commerce was reopened and vessels had re sumed intercourse with the foreign nations, which the war had interrupted, the salt works were discontinued and the sheds were removed. These boards were eagerly sought by those contemplating building, as, being thoroughly impregnated with salt^ they had become very durable. Willihm Merwin secured enough of the b6ards to cover a barn and build a fence, and Samuel Merwin, father of the late Mark Merwin, built a barn near his house with boards taken from the shed. The barn is still standing and is in remarkably good condi tion. BRIEFS. —The September dividends payable in Boston aggregate 2,941,988. —The total annual production of wine in Europe is 3,214,676,250 gallons. —Sales of farms in Chester and Lan caster counties, Pa., show an increase in the price of good land. —M. Gambetta is suffering from sev ere inflammation ot the eye, and his friends are very anxious about him. —The captive balloon in Paris explo - ded while at the earth recently. Only one workman was injured. —Falsetto, the winner of the Travers aud Kenner stakes, was sold to Mr. Pierre Lorillard for $18,000. —The drills at the artesian well of the railroad company, Jn Altoona, Pa., have reached a depth of a thousand feet. —The Wisconsin State Normal Schools have dropped Greek, trigonometry and astronomy fron. their courses of study. —There were 271 labor strikes in Eng land in 1376. Successful 4; compro mised 17; went back to work on em ployers’ terms, 25J. —England’s debt, to state it in ronna numbers, stands at about $4,000,010,000, and yet she enjoys the best credit in the world. —India produces from 240,000,000 to 280,000,000 bushels of wheat annually, being as much as the production of France or Russia. —Dakota is larger is larger than Xew England, and its people are beginning to agitate its division into three Terri tories. —In the Pennsyivania coal fields the average pay of the miners is $2 per day, of the laborers 1.28 and of the boys fifty cents. —The Sons of Temperance number about 90,000 in North America, the Temple of Honor 20,000, and the Good Templars, whose order extends to many nations, number some 450,000. —Kansas has now 559 churches, 69 of whieh are Baptist, 59 Congregation- alist, 33 Lutheran, 22 Episcopal, 152 Methodist, 99 Presbyterian, and 15 United Presbyterian. --During July 12,710 immigrants landed at New York, against8689in the same month last year. For the year ending July 31, the increase in immi grants was 29,106. —The Western Union Telegraph Company purchase about 20,000 miles of wire annually, which give3 some idea of the enormous extent of their business. —A recent official return of tho na tional debt of Great Britain puts the exact figures on the 1st of April last at £778,078,840. In 1S7S-9; £803,127 was paid off and £C,2S8,123 added. —Some gentlemen in Tarry town, on the Hudson, have offered to give one thousand dollars for a monument to Washington Irving, and also to give the land on which to erect it. —The remains of an old furnace or forge, long since dismantled, which supplied the Continental army with cannon and ball, are still visible on the Black Ruck road in-York county, Pa. —The raising of bees has become a husiuess of great profit among the far mers of Washington county. Pa. It pays better than wool, and the dogs are not as hard on the bees as on the sheep —Eight horses have been sent from Chester county, Pa., to England, These animals were selected with special refe rence to size and style, speed being a minor consideration. None are less than sixteen hands high. —The old church in Bread street, London, wherein John Milton was bap tized in 1608, was torn down last year, and on the buildings erected on the site is placed an inscription and a sculptur ed head of the poet. •The United States have 25,000 flouring mills, affording employment to more than 60,000 persons. Their annual product <5f flour is more than 50,000,000 barrels, some of the largt' mills producing 2,000 barrels a day. —Judge J. L. Rice, of Keokuk, Iowa, who died last week, bequeathed $10,000 to the Library Association of that city for the erection of a bnPding, $5,000 to Williams College, of Massachusetts, and $1,000 to St John’s Episcopal Church, of Keokuk. —The corn crop of this countrv in 1878 was 1,250,000,000 bushels. 'The crop of 1879 will probably equal if not exceed the crop of 1878. The export of corn from this country from September 1. 1878, to August 31, 1879, will proba bly reach 85,000,000 bushels. —A Toronto Magistrate has ruled that shaving is a work of necessity, and consequently is lawful on the Sabbath day, and some of the barbers ot the city, who object to keeping open shop on that day, have determined to appeal against his decision. —The Army and Navy Co-operative Stores of London comprise 13,000 share holders, 5,000 life members and 1S.000 annual subscribers. The capital is £60,000. Last year the profits were over £12,000. although prices had been reduced. ThorRev. George Schamback, Pas tor of the German Lutheran Church at Newark, N. J., sued Christian Yolk, an undertaker, te recover $18 for nine funerals he had attended at the call of Yolk. The suit was decided in favor of the undertaker. In 1869 there were 39,368 shops li censed for the sale of tobacco in Paris, and the numbers of each year have gradually increased till in 1S73 there were 41.749 retail dealers in tobacco. Of these-28,861 sold tobacco alone, while 12,888 were also engaged as official Agents. —The San Francieco Board of Under writers have voted to give Captain Armstrong and his daughter $500 each for the courage and fortitude they dis played in bnngingthe ship Templar in to port against adverse winds, and after many of the crew had been lost from yellow fever, —The Municipal Council of Paris re cently decided to have the statues of 106 X*ersonages arected on the facade of the restored Hotel de Ville. Among them are Beranger, Berryer, Cavaignac, Co rot, Daubigny, Delacroix, Didot, Hale- vy, Ledru-Rollm, Michelet. Alfred De Mus et, Regnault. George Sand, Scribe, Eugene Sue, and Horace Vernet. —The elder brother of the Pope, who died recently, of apoplexy, w r as doubt less Charles Pecci, an octogenarian, who resided at Rome, on the street of Santa Chiara. The second brother. Baptist, is married and the head of a family; the third is Cardinal Pecci; one brother died not long ago. The Pope also has two married sisters still luring. The government has at Washington the largest printingeffice in the world. Its annual cost is nearly $2,000,000. Since it was established in 1860 tlie treasury has paid oat on its account $28,000,000, an average of over $1,500,- 000 a year. The amount of material on hand is enormous. It has never been inventoried. For one thing the office has on had over 2,000,000 pounds of type.