Newspaper Page Text
Oh* Jftottfgumetg Jltmtitor*
D. C. SUTTON, Editor and Propr.
Experience.
Don't lose your temper or your time,
Or fret your soul a minute.
Because this good old roomy world
Has foolish people in it.
By not one wholly useless weed
The fertile earth is cumbered;
Then count not these can do no good,
Or with them you’ll be numbered.
If alt began by being wise,
Each one his sphere adorning,
From wisdom's way we yet might stray
For lack of proper warning;
But Nature kindly sets her signs
On Danger's chosen dwelling;
Without them, what would come to us,
There isn't any tolling.
Just reckon up your foolish friend®,
Each one’s peculiar failing,
And of that folly cure yourself
At which in them you’re railing;
While, if you find some luckless one
The same all through and oyer,
You’d better far bo unlike him
Than find a four-leaved clover.
1 lay no claim to any store
Os philosophic knowledge,
But this I've learned by studios in
That best but dearest college;
Perhaps you think that school is meant
For other people only;
Or, maybe, your are wise in truth—
But don’t you find it lonely?
—[Miriam K. Davis, in Frank Leslie’*.
“NERVOUS DAY.”
Mrs. Stanhope was one of those ner
vous, irritable women that about half
the time make themselves and every one
around them miserable. She had been
having one of her regular nervous days,
as she styled them, and everything had
gone wrong.
Little Freddy, only four years old and
their only child, had been banished
from the sitting-room, although he had
pleaded hard to stay and “loot at his
pitty pittcr book” Sinta Claus brought
him, and had promised, with such a
resolute air, that he would be “so
stilly;” but no, his mamma wanted to
lie down on the lounge, and he must go
out to play.
Mr. and Sir.-. Stanhope were not
wealthy, so Freddy did not have a nurse
to look after him, no one but old Tow
ser the faithful Newfoundland watch
dog, who was years older than his little
master, and who had watched him faith
fully ever since he was a wee baby.
Mrs. Stanhope had .just settled herself
on the lounge and taken up tho last
magazine, which she thought might
quiet her nerves a little, when, bang!
went the outside door, as only a healthy
boy, full of spirits, could shut it, and
the next instant Freddy bounded into \
the sitting-room, upsetting n chair .and
tumbling headlong over a footstool.
A spasm, us of pain, crossed his
mother’s face, and she raised her hand
as thougli to ward off a blow, exclaim
ingly fretfully;
“Oh, Freddy, wlmt a naughty boy you
are I why can’t you stay out and play
when mamma feels so?’’
“Mamma ! mamma !” exclaimed
Freddy, who had by this time regained
his equilibrium, and who did not in the
least mind the tumble or his mother’s
fretful speech; “in' is "bavin’ such fun!
’et me tell oo ”
“No, no, Freddy,” interrupted his
mother; “I don’t want to hear; run out
again and play. You may do anything
you choose, only let me have a little
quiet.”
Freddy looked disappointed and
stood pouting his cherry lips, with one
chubby finger stuck between them.
“Did you hear, Freddy,” reiterated
his mother, rising her voice. “Ain’t
you going to mind? I told you to go
out ; now start.”
The child walked slowly out of the
room. On the hull rug lay Towser, and j
Freddy impulsively threw his arms j
around his hairy friend’s neck and hurst !
into tears.
“Me did ont to tell er Towder, me \
’ I
did,” he sobbed; but his grief and dis
appointment was of short duration, for
in a few moments he sprang up and ran
out into the yard, followed by Towser.
After Freddy went out, Mrs. Stanhope
tried in vain to get interested in the
magazine: at last she threw it petulantly
from her and lying Lack upon the cush
ions, closed her eyes. Soon a sweet,
delicious languor stole over her; she was
riding in Mrs. Graham’s exquisite >
brougham.
Mrs. Graham was a widow lady who
lived just across the way, and who was j,
worth over half a million, report said; j
and whose superb horses aDd elegant ,
carriages little Mrs. Stanhope had often i
admired, and. if the truth must l»e told, j
envied.
Then the scene changed; she was ly- .
ing there on the lounge in her pleasant
sitting-room, listening to the sweetest i
music she ever heard. Suddenly there
was a scream fiom Freddy, an energetic 1
bow wow from Towser, and an exclama
tion of friaht from Kitty, the servant
as »Le ian Uioiiw out into the yard. ,
An undefined feeling of terror filled
the heart of Mrs. Stanhope; she tried to
rise, but found her strength had entirely
deserted her: and pale as death, with
eyes closed, she lay there longing, yet
dreading, to hear what hud happened.
In a few moments- it seemed hours to
her—-she heard Kitty come in. There
was another step too, not Freddy’s; she
listened in vain for the patter of his lit
tle feet. The steps paused at the sit
ting-room door, v hich was ajar, She
knew intuitively they were looking iu.
“Histl do not make a noise; she is
fast asleep,” she heard Kitty say iu a
whisper. “It will be trouble enough to
her to know when she wakes, poor
narvous crature."
“Oneof his horns went clean through,”
she heard the other voice say, and which
she recognize! ns Mary Cal hone’*, Mrs.
Graham’s kitchen maid.
What terrible accident had happened,
that they were not going to tell her un
til she awoke. O, would she ever awake
and come out of this stupor 1 She tried
to move, to scream, but all to no pur
pose; a sudden, thick darkness seemed
enveloping her, and she sank into in
sensibility.
When she again opened her eyes it
was night; the curtains were down, a
lamp burned on the table,but. was turned
low down, and the figure of a strange
womau was moving about the room
putt ing things to rights.
“Who are you? What has happened?”
asked Mrs. Stanhope, in u scarcely audi
ble voiceand with difficulty arising to a
sittiug posture.
“O, have you waked up!” said the
woman, coming over to the lounge where
she sat. “And you don’t know? deary
me! how can I tell you! Your little
boy, your little Freddy, you will never
sec him alive again!”
"Never —see —Freddy—alive 1 What
do you mean!” ga-ped Mrs. Stanhope,
starting up and g: oping blindly across
the room to the door. As she opened it
she met her husband, who took her
gently in his arms, soothed her tenderly,
and in a broken voice told her that Mr.
Afton’s cross cow li id by some means
escaped from the yard into tho road that
afternoon, and that Freddy had teased
her through flic fence with his red scarf;
that in her rage she had broken down
the fence, and, before Towser and Kitty
could rescue him, plunged one of her
horns through Freddy’s body, killing
him instantly.
“O, why cannot I die tool" she
wailed, wringing her hands distractedly,
i “My Freddy! my precious boyl my
darling baby! I have murdered you by
my thoughtless selfishness! O, let me
did”
After a while she became more calm; |
a sort of numb despair seized her heart; j
j she could not weep, and when they led
her to look at the little waxen form ar
rayed for burial, she could only look at
the white, set face of her darling as he
lay there, with roses strewn about him
and snowdrops in his chubby hands,
with a weary longing to lie down too i
and be at rest. Tears seemed swelling j
up in scalding floods over her brain, ;
burning deep, scathing blisters there,
but she could not shed one.
At length the day of the funeral came;
how spectre-like ii all seemed every one
moved about so quiet, so death-like; she
could not even r member a word the
minister said. The procession formed; |
they placed a heavy black vail oVer her !
face that seemed to increase the already
midnight gloom of her heart. They
reached the cemetery: the little casket
1 was lowered into the grave and she heard
! the gravel rattle upon the lid; yes, they
j were burying her precious treasure, her
I all, forever from her sight and yet she
! could not weep, she had not dropped
! one tear on the loved face; the thought
I tore her heart with agony, and she felt
her mind reel and totter on its throne.
Again she was at home. How still
and silent the room were and how dark
and gloomy: it seemed as though she
was never again to see tho bright,
glorious sunshine. So weeks passed.
She caught a glimpse of her own face in
the mirror once in a while, and she could
see how thin and white it was growing.
Then came whisper-—no one seemed to
speak out loud now—that a change of
j scene was necessary; the beach or the
‘ mountains.
Mechanically she made preparation* to ,
! leave home; it \va the night before her
departure, and ;lf strode out to the i
I cemetery to visit Freddy's grave.
“Oh, my poor murdered darling!” she
1 moaned, *inking upon the grave in an
’ abandon of tiarlcs- gi iff.
•‘Lucy! Lucy! what is the matter?
Ain't you never going to wake up?” j
said her husband's voice, close to her
ear.
With a start, she raised her head and
looked about h< r Ye*, it wa- Walter
that wa* bonding over hei, and strange
MT. VERNON. MONTGOMERY ( ()., GA., WEDNESDAY, DECEMBERS 1887.
1
to tell, she was lying upon the lounge it.
her little sitting-room, and tho sun was
just flinging his parting rays into the
west window. How cosy and cheerful
everything looked; and, glancing up
into her husband's face, she saw he was
laughing.
“What! did you have tho nightman* ?’
he exclaimed.
“Hush!” she answered in a whisper,
“where is Freddy?”
“Freddy?” echoed Mr. Stanhope;
“why he is asleep. After teasing Af
ton'seow until she tore the yard fence
nearly all down, and getting Towser in
to a tine scrape, for he bit tho row so
verely, and she run one of her horns
through his leg, and frightening Kitty
nearly out of her senses, he has
concluded to go to sleep. ”
Yes, it was a cruel dream, and Lucy i
Stanhope wept tears of joy; but she
could not feel sure until she had pressed
her lips to Freddy's and fell his soft
breath upon her cheek.
It was a long time before she could
tell her husband her terrible dream;
and she never again sent Freddy away
from her for the sake of quiet.—[New
York News.
A Spanish Bull-King.
The bull-ring of Granada, like most
of those in the larger cities of Spain, is
a vast amphitheatre, built of wood, and
capable of seating perhaps 20,000 per
sons. By accident we came to this huge
structure in the course of our meander
ing*,and we were conducted through it. by
an attendant. In the stables were a num
ber of wretched-looking steeds, aged
and raw-boned as Don Quixote’s “Rosin
hate,” yet considered good enough to he
slain by doughty bulls for the amuse
ment of the gentle dames and spirited
young dons of Granada. On the stockade
surrounding the area were great streaks
and blotches of blood, which had spurted
from the wounded animals in various ;
combats. At the same time that these i
were pointed out to us if was explained
how, in the practice ol' tho noble art of
bull-fighting, ahorse would often have j
his sides ripped open by an infuriated
bull and the plucky steed would never
theless go on sometimes with the tight,
although his entrails would trail
upon the ground and dangle about bis
feet. We were then conducted to the
chambers where the matadores dressed
themselves and where were kept tlie
trappings for ornamenting the horses,
and the apparatus for provoking the
bulls. Among the in.i. lcs of the latter
sort were long poles w*th sharp spikes in
the end, masks, dummy horses and va
rious other devices and instruments of
torture, cunningly adapted to arouse the
wrath of a peaceably disposed bull and
j convert him into an infuriated demon.
In one of the rooms, improvised as a
chapel, there were crucifixes and other
pious paraphernalia by which the last
| offices of the church might, in case of
sudden emergency, be administered to a
mortally wounded bvt 11-fighter, so that
j his gentle soul might not take it-; flight
j unshriven. There appeared to be no
: similar provision for tlie bulls and horses,
! they being only brutes ninl having no
souls.—[American Magazine.
The Ceylonese.
The Ceylonese, or (Singhalese, ns they
are called, from tl><* native name of
; their lovely island, are a mild and inof
| tensive race of people. They have the
j reputation, indeed, of being rank cow
ards, hut this is rather the character of
most Eastern folk. The men are tall,
not badly made, and have slender limbs.
The women tire shorter, and are fond of
finery, such as gay-colored dresses,
bangles, and chains. They are partial ,
to music and dancing, but their tom-tom,
as they call their drum-like instrument,
gives out a dull and tiresome sound :
which soon gets monotonous; and their
dancers are not as a rule so agile, grace
ful, and clever as the Hindoo dancers of j
India.
Politeness.
It is said that Louis XIV., the most
haughty and magnificent monarch of
modern times, used to lift his hat even
to the female servants of his court. If
so, no man need think that he derogates
from his dignity by keeping his hat off
in a respectable shop when he is served
: by a woman Even in business inter
j course politeness need not be banished.
In England, for instance checks are
i marked, “Pay to.” In France they
' are worded, “Veuillcz paver”—“Please
; to pay,” “Kindly jiay,” etc.—Chicago
Tribune.
What Made Her .Nervous.
Old lady—Conductor, I hope there
! isn't going to be a collision.
Conductor—l ho; e not.
Old lady—J want you to be very keer
ful. I’ve got two dozen eg; s in this
banket.
I
SUB DEO FACIO FORTITER.”
ARTIFICIAL LLM3S.
Some Points and Incidents Re
garding the Trade in Them.
How Crippled Veterans of the
War are Supplied.
“I wouldn’t exactly say,” remarked a
New York manufacturer to a Sun re
porter, “that people can get along a s
well with artificial limbs as they can with
artificial teeth, but the art or industry is
fast approaching that stage of perfection.
Men and women can eat and drink, play
tho violin, write, and do various kinds
of light work with artificial arms and
hands, and they can dance, skate, and
j run with artificial legs.
“The proportion of those whose mis
_.'*rtunes require the use of artificial limbs
ji about one in 12,000 of the population.
*,H’ these, from twenty-five to thirty per
vent, are women. Os the limbs lost, the
Vgs are iu the largo majority—about
seventy-five per cent.
“Agreat many are under the impres
sion that tho war made most of tho crip
ples now living. The fact is that for
011 c person who lost a limb in the war,
: twenty to twenty-four lost theirs through
some accident on the railways, or in
some ether manner entirely disconnected
front warfare. Tho railroad is the great
source of our business, probably one
half the cases that cotne to us being at
tributed to railway accidents.”
“I suppose," said the reporter, “that
you lit el with some queer incidents in
the course of your business?”
“Yes, I remember a customer coining
to inc not long ago for his second arti
ficial leg. Ho had worn the first for a
number of years. Hu said in.a ii \,u
in much trouble of mind. 11c was going
to get married, and had been courting
his intended for a year and a half, and
she did not know but that ho was en
tirely sound. Tho question in bis mind
was whether to tell her before, or wait
until after marriage. I advised him to
inform her beforehand, its otherwise she
might have legal ground to npply for an
annulment of the marriage on the ground
of desertion. He told me afterward
that he followed my advice, and the lady
concluded that she loved him none the
less on account of his misfortune.
Another singular incident, but of a dif
ferent character, was in connection with
the collision of two steamers, one of
which had just started from this port
for Europe, and had to put back again
| on account of the damage. None of the
passengers were injured by the accident, j
and a friend jokingly remarked in my j
presence that. I would, no doubt, be
greatly disappointed that there was no
loss of limb, as 1 would therefore get no
revenue from the occurrence. Strangely
enough, the day following, a man from
Ohio walked into my office and said that
lie wanted an artificial leg. He related
that lie hud been a passcugar on the
steamer which had to put back on i« j
count of the collision, having started
from his home in Ohio to pay a visit to |
Europe. When the vessel returned, to
port he concluded, on reflection, to give
up his European trip and to expend the ;
money ho had reserved on the trip- in I
providing himself with a new artificial
leg in place of the one which he then
wore. Bo it. seems that the collision of
those two steamers brought business
alter all.
“Who supply limbs for the soldiers?”
“The business is distributed among
different manufacturers, nearly, if not
all in the large cities of the Atlantic j
coast. No Union soldier who has lost a |
1 limb in the war need be without an ar- J
tificial one. Northern manufacturers
also supply a good many artificial limbs
to confederate veterans, on the orders of
states of the South, that have made pro
vision for the maimed of the Lost Cause:
but a great many of the Southern veter
ans are unprovided, for the reasons that j
the appropriations for their relief urn not j
sufficiently frequent and adequate.”
“Os private eases, do the greater mim- !
ber come from the city or country?”
“I think the dangers of city and j
country life are about even, so far as the ,
irtificial limb trade is an indicator. The j
mowing machine is a fair set-off to the ;
liorse ears.”
It Fays to Advertise.
“To what do you attribute the cura- j
tive properties of your springs?” asked ;
a visitor at a health resort.
“Well,” answered the proprietor
thoughtfully, “I guess the adve*ti*iu
J ve done has had something to do with I
It.' —Detroi Free Press.
Honoris like the eye which (annot !
suffer the lean impurity without dam- ;
age; it iu a pivcious stone, the price of ;
Wbuk in les-eaed by the least (lliv j
Drinking to the Mark.
The phrases, * lie’s in a merry pin,”
and “taka him down a peg,” wa owa to
the wisdom of King Elgar, who, ae
cording to Strutt, ma le st runuous efforts
to suppress the drinking custom* of his
subject;. He voiild only permit each
villaga to haw one ale-house, and
placed further rc-tri tin is on tha inhabi
tants by the sing.liar method of causing
pins or pegs to b > affixed at intervals In
the drinking cups, which were made of
wood or horn. Whoever drank beyond
these marks at one draught became
liable to penalty. But the author of
“Furiosities of Miami Beer’ says that
tine ingenious device was of little real
use, and eventually led to increased
drinking, so much so tint in 1103 An
selm issued the here': “Lot no priest*
go to drinking-bouts, or drink to pegs.”
Such drinking “to pegs” was commonly
called pin drinkiug, or piuuicking, from
which latter, perhaps, may came the
modem word “picnic."
It i« said that Haydn, while he was
residing in England, was fond of eom
panv, hut did not like liis guests to re
main lb liis house beyond a certain
period. It' one of his friends was be
oouiiug tiresome, the great, composer
would suddenly start to liis feet, place
his hand to Id; forehead and remark: “I
have a tot, I have a tot.” This meant
that he hud a “thought,” an idea, and
must retire for a moment to note it
down. But when he returned to the j
room it was frequently observed that lie i
bad taken advantage of file opportunity j
to refresh himself; hence possibly the '
expression, “a tot of spirits.” While ,
treating of spirits, we may glance at the |
word “gin,” which is derived from the
Dutch, who call their Hollands (their
National spirit? “giniva.” This term j
i:a , . :o t r.ch “rrani- I
*vre,” juniper; juniper l*erries being
used in flavoring the gin made at Hchie
dam from unlimited rye.—[All the, Year
Round.
The Gypsies’Custom of Visiting.
“Visiting” is in great, favor with them j
When two or more camps arc contiguous j
this is kept up unceasingly ; in tho winter
quarters it it constant; and I have
known families and bands so travel from
New Braunfels, Tex., to I'cmbroke, Me.,
more than 2,500 miles by road, to
“visit” another band comprising rein- j
fives and a few friends who had but
recently landed in this country from
England. “Pretty George,” his mother
and two sisters, over then) in the hand
some wagon nearest the brook, livo in
Ohio and owns several farms there.
Brewer is a land owner in Southern Indi |
ana. Both these and their families are j
i vi'iting “Uncle Job," who is very rich j
and lives in Vermont. Last year the us- j
fair was reversed and “Uncle Job,” w ith ,
his large family and splendid wagons,
traversed the pleasant roadsides of Ohio, j
while his camp is daily visited by scores
of wealthy Gypsies from Boston. One
family, the Coopers, the rich horse ft ad- j
ers of East Somerville, Boston, have two j
fine houses alongside their stables ami
the entertainment here at the camp is
returned there in wind would he pretty
comfortable style for anybody. It must, i
! not be imagined that the Romany are all 1
. - I
t poor. I can give you a list of them worth
0,000,000, and I have many a time
eaten meals with them served on the
costliest of china, while the Reynolds
sod Stanley families have many a lime
been my Ifosts when our food has com*
upon the greensward in a solid silvzr j
service.—(Edgar L. Wakeman’s Letter.
Flight of the Albatross.
Ari instance of the powers of flight
! possessed by these untiring birds is as- |
forded by the fact that the name indi
viduals, distinguished by some peculiar
ity of plumage, may be observed ae
eornpanying the ship day after day. We
have never seen them fly by night, and
as a vessel iu the Southern Ocean often
, makes twelve to thirteen knots an hour,
these birds may have had to recover
alter daybreak as much as ISO knots, or
175 statute miles. Probably no power
I of wing wherewith a bird could lie en
dowed would serve, without, the faculty
of sailing, for the albatross’ journey oi
10,000 leugu s. During the transient
tiin* of Inn ling he replies to laud, but
his home is the wid • world. It is a
trite remark that dancing i; the |>oetry
of motion. The v ibe is its languishing
love lyric; quadrille, gavott • and min
uet its '■ in dy and stately drama. But
let him who would behold what in the
sphere of motion may In- likened to the
epopee of vocal language g > to the
Southern Sea and victv the ioidly
progress of the albatross, while the tall
ship, cradled on rolling billows, each
three times its length, the swell of some
exhausted gal . and circled by iiimeu
sitv, is lulls* 1 by dying niurmi r< of .\n[-
tiictic storm. [St. James G.tzctte.
VOL. 11. NO. 40.
t
Night on th« Farm,
Tis dswfall on the lonely form,
The flockx ore gathered in (he fold,
The dusky sir is soft as bairn,
The daiehii hide their hearts of gold.
Blow, drowsy, swinging bells are heard
In pasture! dewy, dark and dim,
| And in the door-ynrd trees, a bird /
Trills sleojiily his evening hymn.
The dark, blue dorp* are full of stars;
One lone lump, In the hillside gleam
A mile away is red as Mars;
The night is faint with sweet, perfumes.
At bedtime in the quiet house,
Up through f ile wide old rooms I go,
I Without a lsjnp—and not a mouse
Is stirring. Loudly, to and fro,
! The old cloch ticks, and easterly
The anoierit window . open high;
| Here the sun's kiss will waken me.
With bird songs welling up the sky.
—[New England Farmer.
lIIMOItOIK.
I _
Elcctvicity isavery serious matter,and
j yet Edison makes light of it.
Gamblers are said to frequent ocean
strainers because gulU are very thick at
•rit.
lit the bright lexicon of speculation
there is aailtiug so uncertain as a sure
i thing.
Looking down on the vi.ta of thing*
to coins: A dog ga/.iug at a string of
sausages.
Hardly anybody would care to change
j places with tlte iurtle, and yet he has a
j gl oat snap.
English statesmen live longer than
i American statesmen, but (hoy don’t have
| so much fun.
“lainitotcllthetr it.il." "Tc«,” in
terrupted nit acquaintance, “but you are
I s very had shot.’’
“('.in you ;m :nd for me a good
home couioc ui botany?" asks a corre
spondent. Y''s, the flour barrel.
(tally—Miss Peterson ha* remarkably
small eyes. Dally—Ye*, they look small,
j hut sho has had a young man in ’em for
j s long time.
“Live men wanted,” i* the heading es
an advertisement in it daily paper. It is
safe to say that it is not inserted by a
medical college.
There is one ail vantage, said Mr.
Jones, in having a common, prosy name,
j You are in no danger of having it spelled
wrong in the papers.
A girl who was told by hii old boat
man to lie *ure and have her boat well
trimmed went, to work and sewed tw*
silk flounces around the gunwale.
A clergyman on u sultry afternoon
paused in his sermon and said: “I saw
an advertisement for 000 sleepers for a
railroad. I think I could supply at least
fifty and recommend them as good and
! sound I”
Wife (ut breakfast). —“I want to <J*
some shopping to-day, dear, if the
weather is favorable. Wlnit are the
j probabilities?”’ Husband, (consulting
his paper). “Haiti, hail, thunder, sad
lightning.”
! “Ain’t you in, Marin?” he queried, as
he fumbled around with the latchkey,
i “No, I ain’t. I’m out. Out of sugar,
out of tea, out of flour, and out of
' patience,” snapped a female voice from
an upper window.
Klie—You visited the Italian cities
while abroad, of course, Mr. Smith? He
|—O yes. 8he —Isn’t Naples an inter
esting place? He—lt is, indeed. I staid
I there nearly two woeks, just on account
of the macaroni.
A doctor who had been attending a
dairyman’s hired girl called at the house
the other day. “How's your milkmaid?”
he asked of the fnrmer when he came le
the door. “It’s none of your busiuess
bow our milk is made,” was the indig
nant respon.sc, anil the door slammed
most emphatically.
Up from the rustling corn-field
The crow flies toward th*< sun. ■[
For lie smells the black gunpowder,
And the screened small boy with a gun.
How to Hear Barden*.
Mental burdens will be far more easily
borne if they are placed, as much a*
practicable, out of sight. \\ lien we
gn/.c upon them they increase in size.
When in our thoughts we emphasize and
dwell on them, they sometimes grow al
most unbearable. It it well enough to
face trouble when it comes to us, te
measure it and know its weight, that we
may summon up courage and strength
sufficient to endure it; but, this done,
let us place it where it may no longer be
in constant sight—drag it to tlr: light,
to dwell upon its weight, anil to claim
sympathy for being obliged to bear it.
When the emphasis of life is laid on the
cheerful and attractive side, it- real bur
dens will te borne lightly, happiness
will abound and be diffused, and the
value of '.ifa be multiplied ten-fold, —
1 [baptist Weck'y.