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LORRAINE.
“Are you rc&'ly for yonr ntecple-cliaie, Lor¬
raine, Lorraine, LorreeV
Bartini, Batura, Barton, Barurn,
Barum, Barum Karee.
Vox r. booked to ride your capping race to
diy at Coulterlee,
You're 1 Kicked hi ride Vindictive, for all the
world to see,
To k«-|i liirn straight, an 1 keep him first, and
win tlie run for me.
Barurn. Bamm.” etc.
-“ttlie elaHjied her new-born baby, poor Lor¬
raine, Iiorraine, I/irree,
Barum, Barum, etc.
1 cannot ride Vindictive, as any man might
see,
And 1 trill not ride Vindictive, with this baby
on my knee;
He’s killed a Imy, he's killed a man, and why
must he kill me?’
“ ‘triiles* yon ride Vindictive, Lorraine
Lorraine. Lorree,
OnleKH you riile Vindictive to-day at Coulter
lec,
Ami land him mile acroaa the brook, and win
the blank for me,
It’s you may keep your baby, for you’ll get no
keep from mo.'
“ *Tbat husbands could be cruel,’ said Lor¬
raine, Lorraine, Iairree,
‘That husbauds could be cruel, I bavo known
for seasons three;
Rut oh ! to ride Vindictive while a baby cries
for me,
And be killed across the fence at last for all the
world to see!’
maHterc d young Virifllotive—Oh ! the gal¬
lant iiiKH wiiK she,
And kept him Htraight and won the race an
near a« near could ho;
Dut, bo killed her at tlie brook against a pollard
willow tree,
Oh ! bo killed her at the brook, the brute
/or all tbe world to see.
And no one but the baby cried for poor Lor
raine, Lorree.”
ClJAHLKH KlNOHLEy
A LUCKY MISTAKE.
“Tom,” said my father to me, one
wild November afternoon, as wo stood in
the flag-paved hall <>f our old-fashioned
farm-honse, “ you’d belter put the little
bay mare in the dog-cart and go into
Worthington for that saddle. I clean
forgot to call for it yesterday, and if you
■want, to go out with the hounds on
Saturday, you won’t have another chance
of getting it.”
I was nothing loth to act upon the
twrenlal suggestion, although it meant and a
long drive in the journey biting cold, would have al¬
though the return
been done in the dark or with very in¬
different moonlight. We were utterly
isolated at the Mistletoe Farm; for we
were seven miles from Worthington, our
nearest town, and ten miles in the op
IMMite direction, from the nearest rail¬
way statiou. The little hay mare that I
was going to drive was a young one of
our own breeding, clever as a cat and
docile n» a dog. Frora her infancy she
was mv playfellow ; would come to me
—wlii>n I whistled to her, cat out of my
baud of luf pnrilrpf fTIJlu "When the time
for backing her and breaking her.
there was nothing to he done. She had
bad perfect confidence and trust in ns all,
and especially in me; the cat by the fire
aide could not ho more gentle or more
•any to control.
frilia was a world too good for harness,
I thought to myself, as 1 led her out of
the stables fashioned, and'procoeded to put dog her cart, to
the old square
which turned up behind, and looked like
a mail cart -haning the color, which
was a dingy gray. The little mare was
my hunter when my hounds were within
reach and my father would let me go;
and she carried me as gamely, oven after
twenty miless of harness tlie day before,
as if she was one of the Squire's cracks
ami went ont only once a week.
As wo trotted quietly down the drive,
mv father put his beau over the hedge
and called to mo:
“ Maybe the saddle won't be finished,"
he said, his red face glowing with the
cold, his eves glancing critically at the
mare. "If so, you can put up at the
Angel and have your tea; but don’t bo
later than you can help. Have you got
your watch on you ? ”•
“ Yus," I said, wondering at the quos
tkm.
“You'd better give it to me," SRid my
father, stretching his arm over tlio
tiodge. "I heard yesterday, at the or¬
dinary, there was a gentleman stopp'd
on Monday night on tlio road. You
haven’t got too much money on you, I
suppose V" »
“No danger,” said I. with a laugh, ns
I put my watch and chain iuto my
father's big, brown hand. “They won't
get much out of me if they try it on."
And off we went, turned into the high
rvsui, and sped at a quick trot through
the gathering twilight in the direction
M Worthington. reached the
It was dark when we out¬
skirts of the little town, and the lights,
not very brilliant if tried by modern
standards, sparkled cheerfully enough in
the windows. Past the blacksmith s
forge, with the great bellows roaring and
the sparks tlio fiyiug from the glowing goodly ein
der>; {»ast butcher’s with a
display of some our best l>oef; past the
grocer's, where the half-dozen children
-who were flattening their noses against
the panes turned to look at us; and so,
clattering over the uneven cobbles of the
pavement, to the saddler’s shop. The
proprietor himself, a staid and jxirtly
person, conscious of the importance
which attaches to his position in a coun¬
try town, came out and nodded a greot
•Off' cold night. Mr. Tom." said he,
“A took his
with a shiver, as the wind
*prou. "I’m not quite reedy yesterday, for you.
Yonr father didn’t come in so
I though you wouldn’t want the saddle
Axil next week.”
“I want it for Saturday,” said I.
leaning sideways out of the trap, “The
bounds are at the coppice, and the little
tnare and I are goiug. Can yon do it if
*
I put up ?”
The saddler thought for a moment.
««Av 'you I can do that,” he said at length,
Mw-pj call iu between eight and
nine and it shall M- ready for you?” and.
T acreed shook up the mare, a
few vards further down, turned in
through thenarrowgateway of the Angel
into the dim, deserted innyard. From a
single half-open doorway came a stream
of light. A figure issued forth in answer
to my summons.
“Good evening, Mr. Tom,” said this
person, neck. approaching and patting the
mare’s
“Hallo, Jack ! is that you,” said I, as
f drew the reins through my fingers and
alighted, recognizing, as I did so, Mr.
Jack Plover, to whom was intrusted the
important duty of carrying the the Queen’s
mail-bags from Worthington to rail¬
way town, “You'll have to wrap up
warm to-night. cold, ” that it is,” answered
“Ay ! bitter
Jack, undoing the traces. “But, law
bless me! I’m used to it. If only I’d
got as good a tiling between my shafts
as you have here, I’d think nothing of a
seventeen-mile drive, I do assure you,
sir.”
“Your old pony holding isn’t to be despised,
either,” said I, up the shaft
while Jack drew the mare out. “A new
jiair of foielegs and sound bellows
would improve him, hut except for
that—” >
“Well, he isn’t quite Newmarket or
Doncaster, I do confess,” said Jack,
leading the mare in through the open
doorway and putting her in a vacant
stall. “But he’s good enough for his
work. I start early and we take it easy.
You won’t have the collar off, sir *”
“No,” I said. “I am off again in an
hour or so.
We crossed the yard, passed through
a swing door and found ourselves in the
warm cheerful liar.
There was only one other occupant of
the bar, a stranger to me. Ho was a
man apparently verging on forty, but¬
toned up in a shabby great coat, his and
with his hat so slouched over eyes
that his features were hard to be dis¬
cerned. To the salutation which I gave
him on entering, he made no reply, but
with arms folded, gazed fixedly on the
floor.
Jack soon said he must leave and as
lie went out the man with tlie slouched hat
looked up, and, addressing harsh, nobody rough in
particular, inquired burr in a in it:
voice, with a queer
“ What time does the post go out
here ?”
“At eight o’clock,” replied the bar¬
maid, looking at her interrogator with
uo peculiar favor, “ That is the driver
of the mail-cart who has just left.”
“ So I judged,” replied the man,
rising, and putting some money on
the table. “Is that right ? Good night
to you.”
And with a heavy, slouching gait, he
strode to the door and was gone.
After tea in the half-lit coffee-room and
a pipe hi the bar, with the barmaid to
tell me the gossip. I started at alxmt
lmlf-past eight, called at the saddler’s,
put my saddlo under the seat, and set
out for home. As we passed the black¬
smith’s forge at the end of the street
there was a pony being shod, and Mr.
Jack Plover, in a big great-coat, was
looking on at tbe process. and had
“ Cast a Hhoe, Mr. Tom, to
turn hack,” he called out as I passed
by. doubly
Out into the country, looking
Mack and dismal by contrast with the
cheerful light and 'vyoidh that w* were
leaving behind; with the slanting rain
driving full In one’s face, so that it daz¬
zled the sight; with gray piles of cloud
hurrying overhead; with a veil of mist
and darkness blending hurdle and hedge¬
row, field and tree, into a vague, indis¬
tinct, gray mass. The road is muddy,
and, albeit the high-road, in bad condi¬
tion; but the little mare has got her
head homeward, and pulls her hard¬
est toward warm stable and well-stocked
rack and tlie society of heavy Dobbin and
brethren. Not that mv little hunter is
to be permitted to pull herself to pieces
through ruts and over ill-laid stones, for
there is Saturday in prospect, and, with
tlie country in this state, we shall want
I he very last ounce. Now wo are climb¬
ing the hill, and, anon, we' are on the
top, and the rain and tlio wind beat
savagely upon us and the prospect on
■ itlier hand is dreary enough. Now
steadily down the shedding ground,
with a tight rein and a careful lookout
for loose stones; for this is a deep de¬
scent, and one false stop may take twen¬
ty pounds off the little mare’s value.
The hanks are high, at all events, so
Ihere is some shelter, and down at the
bottom there are trees on either hand.
It was pitch dark in the hollow, but I
let the mare out at the bottom of the hill
and gave her her head. Suddenly, violently, with
a loud‘snort, she swerved ran
the wheel of the trap on to a head of wjiv
s de stones, put there to mend the road;
and in a second we were over.
I went out, of course, and the driving
Ixix, the saddle, and the debris of mis¬
cellaneous articles after me. I landed
partly on my shoulder, partly on my
bead, and was up again in a moment, al¬
though a bit dazed, The moment I
gained my feet I was seiz 'd by the col¬
lar, and a harsh voice exclaimed—not to
mo. but to someone else;
“Hold his head down—hold his head
down!"
A dusky form sprang to the mare's
head and kept her from attempting to
rise. A third form knelt on the trap.
“ By jove! ” ewlaimed this last fellow
in an angry tone, “ we've got the wrong
man! ’’
“ What ? ” said he who had hold of my
collar. “ Do you mean to say it isn't
the—?”
With a volley of oaths, tlie other re¬
plied in the negative. The man who had
hold of me released me and joined the
other. They whispered together for a
few seconds. Then the first one came
back to me and said, with a fine pretence
of indifference.
“Nasty accident, sir 1 But it might
have Ixx’n worse. It’s lucky we were at
hand to help you.” about that," I replied.
“I don’t know
with no small acrimony, “for my horse
s hied at one of you. She never did it in
her life before. You’ll oblige me by
helping to get her out”
lu a twinkling we had the harness un¬
done. and the mare with a flounder and
stagger, was on her feet, and shook her
self in a disgusted obeyed fashion. directions. The men
said nothing, but my
Luckily, nothing was broken; the mare
had rubbed a little hair off her. as well
is I could tell, but her knees were all
right In seven or eight minutes from
the time we went over, so quietly did ready it
all happen, I was iu my seat again
to start.
My assailants, or assistants, which evei
they were, made no opposition, and
seemed only anxious to get rid of me;
they dispatched me without a word, and
I was a mile on my road before I fully
realized what had happened. As is al¬
ways the case in an accident, I could
only recall what took place immediately
before and immediately after, and for
that very reason the words uttered by
the men were more vividly impressed ? on
mv memory. What did they mean
It flashed into my mind like a revela¬
tion. They had been misled by the
shape of my trap; which, as I have said,
was square behind, and looked like a
mail cart, while the darkness was too
great in their place of ambuscade for
them to see the color. The time of my
arrival was about that of the mail, had
not Jack Plover been obliged to turn
back; and the careful pace at which I
had come down the hill accorded vety
well with the steady movements of
Jack’s nag.
And the voice ? I had heard it some¬
where lately—the man in the Angel bar,
who asked, too, the time when the mail
left. There was no doubt of the men’s
purpose.
How to prevent it ? How to warn
Jack in time? There was no road back
but the one by which I hail come, unless
I made a detour of several miles. Neither
was there a house near whence to get
assistance. I pulled up and tiiouglit it
out. A bruise on my right arm sug¬
gested something. I had fitUSP-on my
left side, and this oniise was c&nsed by
the saddle tumbling after me. I made
.
up my mind at once.
Turning in through the first gate I
came to, I drove over the turf to a corner
of the field where was a gronji_of trees.
Here I took the mare out; put the trap
under tlie elms and turned the cushions;
took off all the harness but the bridle,
and saddled her. Luckily the bridle had
no blinkers. I wound the long reins
round and round my arms, mounted,
and, thanking Providence for my knowl¬
edge of the There country, rode at the nearest
fence. was a faint moonlight My to
help ns, but it was terribly dark. the
heart was in my mouth as we went at
fence, which was a big upstanding one, the
but I knew there was no ditch on
tnkiug-off side, and I gave the little
mare the word at the right moment.
8he jumped clean from under me, and
landed me on the crupper. I never sliali
forget that leap ! If there had been any
one to see it I could have sold her almost
for her weight in gold. field
We were halfway across the next
before I had regained my seat properly,
and then the mad exhilaration of the
thing took possession of both of us.
There was a flight of hurdles next which
we took in our stride. Then a bank and
a close-cropped hedge that the stood up, the
black as Erebus, against gray of
night; which we jumped as though it
were twice its height. Then a flock of
frightened sheep went scurrying away
into the darkness.
It was all turf, and, for the first time,
I blessed the poverty of the land, that
made it worthless to plow. A dozen
fences negotiated in the same mad
fashion brought us into a field that
skirted the high road; and here .’iJ-fosc.b. we were
pounded There rr:? a. big
into the road, with a deep drop. To go
on, parallel with the road, was impos¬
sible, for there was a made-up bank with
a cropped hedge, full of stakes and a
deep drain, as 1 knew, ran on either side.
I rode tip and down by the bull-finch
in despair. Was all my trouble to be in
vain ?
At last T made up my mind, and rode,
not too fast, at the great, towering,
straggling hedge. I put my arm across
my face, shut my eyes, into it we went,
ail'd out of it, with a scramble, and a
flounder, we came—separately. The
bull-finch nearly brushed me ont of the
saddle, and the mare and I dropped side
by side into the road, but both of us
were on our legs. Before I had time to
remount I heard the sound of approach¬
ing wheels, and a man whistling mer¬
rily. Jack ?” I called out.
“Pull ud
Jack’s whistle ceased, and a more as¬
tonished countenance I never beheld
than the one which looked down from
the mail cart.
“What the dickens--” he began.
Then I explained. said the end of it, with
“Well,” he at
out a word of commendation for me.
"That is a good pony of yours. What
shall we do ?”
“I’ll tell you,” excitement I said, for the my night. blood
was up with of
“Drive back toWortbington, get Rogers, and
the constable, and a pistol apiece,
let them try again.”
“Done with yon,” said Jack, turning
round. “You ride on ahead and find
Rogers, and I’ll wait for you by the old
toll-bar.” I
In half an hour the constable and
were seated very uncomfortably on the
back of the mail cart, and driving along
as fast as Jack’s pony could he induced
to go. Our only fear was lest the fellows
should have got tired of waiting, for than it
was quite an hour and a half later
the time when tlie mail should have
passed them. Down the hill we went,
our hearts thumping away with excite¬
ment, not to mention the difficulty of
holding on, and Jack performing “ My
Pretty Jane ” with exquisite variations.
Well, to cut my story short, we got
one of them. The constable, in his ea¬
gerness. jumped down directly the first
man had seized the horse’s head, and the
two other fellows made off. We got the
right gentleman, though; the identical
fellow who bad been in the Angel bar.
and whose voice I had recognized. He
was tried at the Assizes, and two other
convictions being preyed against him,
was sentenced to seven years jteinil servi¬
tude.
I went out with the honuds on Satur¬
day, and my little mare was the heroine
of the hour. The Squire himself came
up to me, and, achievement, after complimenting said: us
both on onr
“What do von call her?”
“Well. Squire,” I replied, ‘ •we haven’t
given her a name yet" Fly-by-night,” he
"Call her Tattle
said.
And that's how she got her name.
Bob Burdette says that his invalid
wife made him all he is. “ That 's right !”
mutters Thr H'oinan’s Journal; “blame
it all on your wife !”
Making a garden.
The Little Work the Old Woman Doe* by
Way of Help.
“Ben a makin’gardin all day, an’ I
feel stiffer’n a hitchin’ post,” said the
Old Settler, as he came in the Crissman
House, lit his pipe, and sat down,
“That groun’ o’ mine is ez meller ez a
sand heap, too, hut ain’t, no use o’ talk
in’. I can’t shove a spade inter the sile
ez I usty could. I’ve seen the time when
I thort that plowin’ on a side hill
with a blind mule were a leetle the
toughest work a feller could set out to do.
But It ell ye, b’gosh, boys, a spadin’ up
yer gardin, with the azmy an’ the loom
ytiz an’ the plumbago hitched to yer,
eighT kin give the blind mule business twenty- sliJk
rod the start, an’beat it ez
,z made. fv^’St Major? asked the h iirsS S>nff garden
Hire maile , exclaim d t e O
Set ter, taking h!8 pipe out of his mouth
“Hire it! Wliy don’t your gi-anfather s
ghost snare suckera. You know dum
well, Sliuf, that if gardins was hire a ma cab
fur a fip an acre I couldn’t a
Iiage plant sot out, b gosh, t lmighty
And the Old Settler placed Ins pipe the
lns mouth and closed his teeth on
stem with so much emphasis that lie bit
it m two. lhe howl fell on the dog
Cffisar who was sleeping on the floor,
and the hot ashes lodged m his ear.
Caesar retired with such noise and haste
as the circumstances seemed to warrant.
“ No, sir, b gosli, said the Old Set
tier; “jest ez long s my lamp hols out
to bnni 111 make my own gardin, down
o stickm o the peas and polm o the
beans—with the casionnl throwm m of
a leetle help on the part o the ole worn
an, Bieli ez kinder rakin off a few stun
ver an thar; sliapin up o tlie beds a
leetle; puttin’ out the onion sets; gittrn
the tomater plants m, an seem ez the
tvost don t tech em; p antm the corn
an taters, an hoem of em aider they m
.ip; keepin tlie weeds sea ce, an stonm,
ev ry durn chicken cz comes diggm roun
the patch with the ception of a few
leetle chores like them, which a woman
km do a dura sight slicker nor a leetle man
km; with the ception ot a few
cl lores like them. Ill make an look
arter my own gardin, b gosh, an them ez
wants to hire theirs made km do it an be
durned to em .
You right there. Major, „ said .... the
re
County Clerk. Ihere is some satis
taction in laying up provender for through winter
w hen yon know it all comes
vour own hard work, I s pose you
gather all your crops yourself in of the fall,
don’t you—with the exception, course,
of what little exercise your wife takes in
diggin’ the ’taters, cuttin’ the com, pull¬
in’ the turnips, and rollin’ in the pump¬
kins ?”
The Old Settler did not reply.—E d.
Mott.
SUNNY SIDE SHOES.
Tricks by Which the Poor Are Swindled-*
Frauds by Hhoe Dealers.
[From the Pittsburg Commercial.]
“You newspaper fellows have had
your whack at a great many of the frauds
of the day, but you have thus far over¬
looked tlie commonest and m some-re¬
spects the meanest of all frauds, that in
shoes. Why don’t you expose it ?” The
speaker was a middie-ftged man of the of natty
dress, evidently a member craft
known as commercial travelers, and the
one addressed a reporter for the Com
meroial-Gazette. The latter, overlook¬
ing the flippancy with which journalists
had been classed as “fellows,” asked
for plans and specifications as to frauds
in shoes and was enlightened in this
wise:
“It would take too much of your space
to go into minute details as to how frauds
are perpetrated on the purchasers of
shoes, so numerous and ingenious are
they. I will therefore merely tell you
about some of the most ordinary ways
of getting up cheap shoes of deceptive
appearauce. Good leather of all kinds,
as you are aware, costs money, and a
great deal of it, in comparison with
prices twenty-five years ago, and a great
deal of Yankee ingenuity has been ex¬
pended in devising methods for making a
little of the tanners’ product go expensive a great
wav. Sole leather is the most
of all, and naturally there is more fraud
in the soles of shoes than in the upper--.
In a great many of the cheaper grades of
shoes now sold the soles consist of a very
thin sheet of leitlier for the bottom, just
enough to hold it together, and the space
between it and the so-called insole, which
usually consists of a strip of muslin,' is
filled either with 1 ather sharings pressed
together or with common straw board.
The wearers of this kind of leather goods
should always he careful to avoid the
shady side of the street, as dampness is
ruinous to this sort of shoe, causing the
biggest part of the sole to crumble to
pieces.
"The uppers, which the seller always
assures the purchaser are calf-skin, are
split cow-hide, and wear little if any bet¬
ter than the soles. The heels are in
strict keeping with the other parts, con
sisting of a thin outer rim of leather and
a slender bottom of the same material,
the remainder being made up of scrap
leather. Half the ready-made shoes
worn in Pittsburg, I don’t hesitate to as¬
sert, are shams of one sort or another, in
part or in whole.
* ‘The falsification is not confined to men’s
shoes; oh, no. There is fully as much
or more fraud in women’s foot-gear.
There is ‘pebb'e goat’ made out of
blackened muslin, with soles of ‘ plaited
hash,’ as pressed scraps skillfully are termed. dressed to
“Sheepskin is the shoes made
imitate kid, and many of
of it and sold for sewed work are merely
posted together and dissolve, so tospeak.
the first time they are wet. This sort
of fraud sets hardest on the poor, win
must economize from force of necessity,
and always buy things that are ‘cheap
without much reference to their qnality
or durability. Slices at half price ar
always a temptation to the poor, but if
they would give the matter a little study
they would soon discover that one pair
of honest shoes, sold at a fair price,
would outlast three or four pairs of the
other kind, though when first pnt on
the latter look just as nice or nicer than
the better kind.”
A broker has named his horse “Cou¬
pon,” because he has been passed so
manv times this season. —Boston Bul¬
letin.
The Sun and its Heat.
PROFESSOR YOUNG ON THE THEORY THAT
IT IS PEETED HOT WITH METEORS.
t- 1 ?. ... 1 >e o.._» JV"
' lal . . 8ub Jf* d,8 ® nssed at . ^ ,, e montbl - v
meeting of the American Astronomical .
Society Brooklyn The subject was in¬
by Prof Lenson, of Coopei In¬
-ditute at the last meeting. Prof C A
^ung of Princeton College said that to
nccomit for the heat of the sun, there
nnglit be some truth in Helmho z s no
! on tbat tbe sua 18 fed OI “ lts
through space with meteors f attracted , to
:t b - v J te immense mass. If this theory
were true then the earth ought to get
f macb heat from shooting stars as
oTJte^e
£y. J is
aw I{ we are to suppose that heat
derived from matter distributed through
^ we ghould first remember that the
atter wonld make itself fe]t on the
p ] ane t s 0 f the solar system. Prof. Proc
must be wrong l£ in saying this does
not necessarily f 0 w .
Another thing, if, towa»?~ as soy-e tlie suppose, a
curren t of meteors sun ex
- sted _ then m ischief w( y ul d be played
w qth comets. They w'ould encounter re
stance. Then, too, the temperature of
the sun would not be hotter from such
me t e0 ric combustion than the carbon
£ • to in the electric light. Pro f.
f had d supposed that the
faeat n the suu wa8 not leS8 than 10 ,000
, | centigrade. Yet, as a very
sli » ht increase 0 f heat produces an im- of
m nge amount 0 f radiation, the heat
h miht be lower than lieliadsup
‘ d ’ J coul(1 not believe it as low
IS tha t of an electric light. Another
puzzling ^ theory J had been proposed, viz.,
h t gun sent its beat only to that
^ receiye8 it( only to each of tlie
| lanet8 ’ while space outside of a direct
|ne {ro m the to the planet remailis
oold _ The trouble with that theory was
^ t heat radiated on a ]] sid es, and in
y t ia one direc tion only. The
’ said tha t solar
adyoc tes o{ tbe the
aeted like the law of gravitation, solar
pina]ty there was a the ory that
b eat came from the contraction of the
. body ^at but the objection to the the
was it put a limit to the uni
verse. If it is a true hypothesis, then
tPe gun cotdd uo t be m0 re than 15,000,
f years old, ^ and it could not continue
t() g ye ileat ore than 15i0 00,000 years,
y U( , b a bm it a tion is not to be thought of.
A Singing School Wanted.
A few days only will pass away, fourth says of
Burdette, before the glorious when
July will dawn upon this laud. But
it does dawn you may wager your boots
that if a crowd of patriots should happen
to be -moved to sing “Star Spangled
banner” they couldn’t do it. They would
roar out, “Oh, say can you see” "with
great fervor. There about one-half tlie
crowd would stop. The others would
yell along with “By the dawn’s early
light,” and then only two or three voices
—all singing bass—would go one with
the next line, and that would finish them,
The national song wonld be sung as it
usually is in large assemblies, when da da it
;» snug at all, to the words “la de
dada, ti de de di de dum.” When the
chorus is reached most people can worry
along through that, because there are
only two lines in it. But, as a rule, so
general and so specific that it has very
few exceptions, Americans do not know
the words of their national song. They
seldom attempt to sing it. It has not
often been heard since tlie opening years
of the war. An English meeting usually
adjoums by singing tlie national hymn,
We have listened to “God Save the
Queen” as the benediction of all manner
of meetings in the Dominion of Canada,
political, religious, educational, social,
Yon can hear it anywhere. But it has
been years since we heard a great gather
ing of Americans attempt the “ Star
Spangled Banner. ” The nation ought
to get together, some long Fourth of
July, and resolve itself into a national
singing school, until it learns the words
of its national hymn.
California Stage Driving.
--—
The skill of the drivers in the down
ward drives is something won derful
The roads are a continuous succession of
the letter “S,” winding in and out about
the heads of gulches, in many places the
turn being so sharp as to let the three
teams of horses form the three sides of
of it. They are also rough and and rutty rapid at
seasons of the year, at the
motion the roughest places must be
Avoided.
The driver, on his high seat, with his
six lines and long whip in hand, and one
foot on the brake with tlie other as a
brace on the footboard, appears to have
a perfect control of the whole turn
out as if it was a puppet. He will throw
these six horses from one side of the road
to tlie other to straddle a rut or avoid a
stone as if they were one animal. Some
times the hub will scrape the bank on
the upper side, and the next iustant the
wheels will be on the very verge on the
down side. When approaching is slow a down, sharp
corner and one’s impulse and to dash
crack will go his whip, we
around it like a gush of wind. The reins
seem to be nerves, or living tissues con
veving the driver’s thoughts, and their
pulses beat and their hearts throb in
unison. with those
An accident seldom happens
drivers, for extreme caution, coupled
wita absolute control of their teams and
vehicle and perfect knowledge of their the
laws of stage motion, governs all
acts. They are compelled to make rapid
progress down hill to compensate for
the slower motion up, and they have
learned by experience all its safeguards, will
and practice them. One driver
make this drive of thirty-six miles into
the mountains one day, and back again
the next, every day of his life until he
knows every turn and rut and stone on
the line, and his sinews are as strong as
the lash of his whip. mud of the Upper
From the snow and
Sierras to the flowers of the foothills and
the ripening grain of the valley below is
only a daylight drive, and we rejoice
again in the presence of early summer.
‘ r YV hem yon are in Rome you must do
as Romans do,” as the American tramp
said when he squatted on the steps of
a cathedral in the Eternal City, and held
out his hat
A DESERTER’S SURRENDER.
The (Singular Experience ot a Man who
Left the Army Twenty Years Ago.
[From the Rochester Democrat.]
The United States recruiting office re¬
cently established in Rochester, N. Y.,
was the scene of an incident a few days
ago which does not often occur and one
which carries the mind back to the time
of the rebellion, more than twenty in years the
ago. On the 21st of December,
year 1863—the darkest year in the history
of the great struggle—John H, Sixth Patterson, United
soldier of company
States Infantry, stationed at Fort Hamil¬
ton, N. Y., forgetful of his oath of en¬
listment and his own honor, and careless
of the fate of his country, deserted the
service. A fugitive from justice and a
proscribed man, guilty of a crime the
penalty for which was an where ignominious
death, he fled to Canada, he was
when victory crowned the victorious
arms of his comrades on the field of Ap
pomatox. At this time Patterson fully
realized what he had forfeited by his
shameful act. When the regiment re¬
turned home the hearts of the whole
land went out in gratitude to them ; they
were feted and caressed on every hand,
but the deserter could not share in the
feelings of the glad triumph which took
possession of every heart. After several
years spent in Canada, separated from
an aged mother, relatives and friends,
he returned to his home in Rochester,
where he remained until within a few
days. Since his return from Canada he
has been in constant fear of being ap¬
prehended for a crime committed so long
ago that a generation has passed away
and another taken its place since. At
last he decided to give himself up and
appealed to the mercy of the government
he had abandoned in the hour of its
greatest need. And so we find John
Patterson, a man nearly fifty years old,
with a constitution completely broken
down by disease, walked into Captain
Boyd’s office and voluntarily surrender¬
ing himself to be dealt with according
to military law for the crime occasioned
by one false step taken nearly twenty
years ago. Surely in this man’s case
‘ ‘ the mills of the god grind fine,” slowly, Captain but
they grind exceedingly guard Buffalo,
Boyd sent him under to
where he was placed in the fort. The
unfortunate man has but a short time,
probably, to live, as consumption bas
claimed him for its own. It is believed
that he will be let off with a few weeks'
imprisonment and a dishonorable dis¬
charge from the service, owing to the
length of time since he deserted and the
very low state of his health.
After reflecting on this man’s case it
would seem to be superfluous to say to
any young man joining the army—what¬
ever you do, never desert.
FIGHTING AGAINST DEATH.
A Laborer at Cleveland Repeatedly Burled
Bencatb Hand.
[From a Cleveland (0.) Special.]
A terrible scene was enacted on Onta
rio street in this city. It was a fight of
a crowd of men against death, and liu- J
inanity won. They did not fight for jf
themselves but for a fellow-man. %cavat- ■ ‘A
9 o’clock, as the workmen were
ing preparatory to putting brs^Ss undei
an old building on Ontario street, the
earth caved in, burying Fred Rutchin
sky, one of the laborers. All about the
place is one large bed of sand. A dozen
hands commenced to rapidly shovel the
sand away to rescue the man, who was
entirely hidden out of sight. The narrow
space between tlie building was immedi
ately filled with a living mass of human
ity, c.owding upon those shovelling.
When the man’s head was in sight he
wa s found to be nearly smothered and
sinking in the quicksand. On account
of his sinking gradually under the btuld
i n g i b i s chances for liberation were
growing more and more dubious. The
sand was heavy and wet. After about
twenty minutes shovelling a large slide
M sandfell on the poor fellow, completely
covering him tlie second time. Relays
of six men were working with shovels,
but with all their hurried exertions it
seemed as if no headway was being
made. When a shovelful was thrown
out another shovelful took its place,
it was several minutes before Rutchin
sky’s head appeared again. This time
he was ashy pale, and could not speak
above a whisper. He moaned piteonsly.
At this time great piles of sand were on
a[[ sides, and the workers and the suf
ferer were gradually sinking shovelled into the
earth. The sand had been
away from people Rutchinsky nearly breathe to the
waist, and commenced to
easier, when an awful avalanche of sand
swept down upon him; after the lapse of
a f ew miuutes, which seemed to be
hours, the man’s head was again in
view. Boards were driven around the
man to force hack the sand ; axes were
hurriedly brought into requisition, and
dozens of hands were at work cutting
the ends of boards to a point and driving
them around tlie maD. It took at least
twenty minutes before the palisade was
built, and all this while the men with
the shovels were busy keeping the man’s
head free. A barrel was secured, the
ends were knocked ont of it, and it was
placed life over him. Rutchinsky’s It head to keep w
the in was now so far down
to the bottom of the cavern that but one
ma n could work near the sinking man,
and the sand was passed up to a shoveller
above, who then threw it to a man on
top of the frightful place. Rutchinsky’s
face was turned up. It was ghastly in
appearance and his eyes were closed,
Those on the brink thought he was dead,
but he opened his eyes and asked for a
dr ink. It was procured and handed
do wn to the man nearest to Rutchinsky,
wbo gave it to him. When his arms and
shoulders were the third time exposed a
rope iras let down and pnt under the
ma n’s arms. Word was given to hard -
away and the almost lifeless form of Fred
Rutchinsky was slowly drawn up to the
j surface amid cheers from the crowds on
buildings and about the place. An ugly
wound appeared on Rutchinsky’s head,
mad e evidently by a shovel. He was in
the sandy sepulchre one hour and thirty
minutes. He Rutchinsky is was taken to his
home, and will a sturdy, muscular man.
recover.
_______ _
Young people ought to be married in
tbe spring; the birds are singing and the
price of coal goes down