Newspaper Page Text
STRANGE CORNISII STORY.
>
_
Tlir Oath lie Took to Save his Uifo a«d How
lie liept It.
The Cornishman publisnes alleged a sensa
tiouftl narrative of a murder to
i ,-e been committed in the locality, the
narrator professing to have remained tj.
Vrt under a fearful oath imposed the on
lira at tho time of the committal of
led some fifty years since. The writer
who signs himself “G. H. O and
writes from Penzance, declares himself
« ling to indicate where the body of
* be murdered man was buried. The
,trry is as follows: The writer, then a
■ r:iior in a firm in London, of which lie
is now the head, came to Penzance Sep¬
tember, 1834, to arrange, terms among
local tin smelters. He left Penzance
(! , ;e evening to visit a friend in St. Just,
which is some six miles from Penzance.
<)u the way there, in a lonely part of the
j'oad, he met two men, when he heard
■one say, “That’s him,” whilst the other
•asserted, “No, it Is not.” They again
•faced each other, when the two men sa ; d
•they had taken him for another person,
idmost immediately a man approached
mm the direction of St. Just, and the
•
writer called his attention to the suspi
cious cliaracter of the two men. The
iiian, who said he was a mine agent,
laughed at liis fears and went on his
way. He had only proceeded about a
coupjo of hundred yards when he was
seized with nervous tremors. His legs
refused to support him and lie fell in the
middle of the road, but thought it bet¬
ter not to stay there and so proceeded
-nil hands and knees across the dusty
road, scrambled up a small bank and
found himself in a common, which ap¬
peared to be many acres in extent. He
dragged himself to a heather-covered
strip between two clumps of furze and
threw himself at length and closed his
eyes. After a little time he looked up
and the moonlight mound. revealed to him a
newly-made crouched and Hearing two shots
fired lie waited, and he
, sw the men just after coming with the
body. To quote his letter, “Once more
a thrill of horror ran through me. On
they came toward the newly-made
I grave, almost touching my feet as they
passed. Then they turned to the right
and threw the body into the pit with a
I I thud which made every fibre in my body
vibrate. The corpse in the grave the
I j two men began to fill it up. Doing chat
disclosed me. They had not lowered the
I mound many inches when one of them
I discovered me. They pounced upon
I me and demanded wiiat I was doing
there. I explained, but all to nt) pur
pose. ‘The same pit will do for him.’
‘Yes, shoot him.’ ‘No, cut his throat.’
‘Stop, I’ll load my pistol again; don’t
I leave any marks of blood about; push
I him in the pit first and out his throat
I afterward.’ These were the horrible
I threats accompanied by frightful impre
j cations which greeted me. Said one of
the men to me again, ‘We have decided
F | it to is bury hardly you alive, worth slip while off your burying clothes, that
good suit of yours; it will do for one of
us.’ I pleaded my youth, my acciden¬
tal and unpremeditated presence, my
newly-made wife and only child, and
this at last seemed to touch the hearts of
the brutes. ‘Well,’ said one, ‘we will
I spare your life on condition that you
I swear, salvation as you hope for heaven and the
of your wife, child and friends;
you shall swear it, too, on the point of
I this knife and the muzzle of this pistol,
I that what you have seen this night you
I ! will never speak of or divulge to any
I human being for a space of fifty years
I hom this day, when we shall be as this,’
I at the same time kicking into the grave
I a clod of light-colored clayey soil. I
j I did life swear ou that most lonely solemnly. heath of I bought West Pen- my
I utb. I have kept my promise. It is a
Aide over fifty years ago. I was then
twenty-six years of age, so you see I am
an old man now. Those men were mid¬
dle-aired, from forty-five to fifty, at that
<mi ( >. Of his revisit to the spot he
\\ntes: “As I approached the fatal spot
tue road seemed entirely unaltered. T
I solemnly believe that I crept through
no very gap in the low hedge of earth
'Hitch still imperfectly protects the croft;
"il [ stood between the self-same clus
( ' l « ot furze which formed my bed—
7 11Cai b’ tfly bed of death—and peep
!'T’ as He murderers hid the result of
lr uf arsed crime, and that I knelt on
ttie undisturbed grave where their vic
im s bones are now mere dust. After
j 1 ; 11 a centm 7 I knelt again, not to im
, 1’ 7° mt rc ot ’
. \ y m an as I did then, but of
7 1 ’ est unfittingly I have sinned in
Ported pledge, and, to save
I Rh studded ; ^ 1 heinous rom barm, crimin have als. ” reluctantly
The House ami Barn.
--
■ |®<lmUsofte ‘-j en 4 r Sestion , in regard ,Ses to the floors
n mho
K ,, ble and mav just now
lHnn ln c useful - Ventilation
X e thin S> bl V there may bo
Inortli ton ' tllk C ,i 1 1 ts * in ^ bl January a bouse and exposed having to wide the
Ik?. end 111 the floors and
neit)v° Y \ around the
ar< S * r,le se may be closed
maiidor l Ua Perm au ? ntly iu the folIowin £
L * - T A Paste * is made of pound
It ii one
u .’ ir ? e ff llar ts of water, and one
L;-e ij ,. “tul , of
oo alum; a number of news
\ \ ^ 11 “acerated s thick in this paste, thus and
I made ? ,; - as putty is
wit i, 7 U c 7 13 cblse Prised l, into the cracks
if m ,- and hardens into
■loaiiv 7 :USS r.‘u i e b a pter mache, which it
Ideal* lavenuoa nf h 7 ?, aud - ®Hfl keep leave out sufficient a great
k nes for the entrance of air for ventil
\ r i l( ,u USe u provide case it is best to have
•‘-arranged m -irv ventilation. especially for
^Ior!w ~-----
r 7 l ^ rt3 gesT iVE,—Mrs. Winks:
to-day tU 1 ot °‘ Haglia velvet broche
■'
thatV^ - ,J Hs: “What under the sun is
i&araeafv desimf; 1 1 those t^ 011 velvets know? in which It is the the
i dg , iu tbe lie instead be
tafcc.p* P of
| u Qh * ! I have
seen them.”
I ‘'Thtw 7 ° U d be they are pretty ?”
*«»e nni if the sunken desigu
y poehm? ? <leuti ons in the cover of
l0 Ppinr after y° u have been
-Philadelphia Call.
1
■*> 4
1 L
VOL. VII.
the Plight of fouls.
Like the rise and fall of the starry host
La! th’s myriads come and go;
But Whence we speed through the infinite
spaces—
Speed as. the light and leave no traces—
And what the calm on the pale, cold faces,
And wither we pass to our shining places
By far ce'ostial isle and coast,
Oh, Lord, we may not know.
In the hush of the holy Christmas-ti^e
I think of the flight of souk;
And over the doubts our faith denying,
The prayers and tears that bewail the dyh.^
The heart’s w Id sorrow, the fruitless sighing,
For form! beloved in the lone grave lying—
Sweet as it rang by Bethlehem’s side
The song of the angels rolls.
And the peace of God-thv peace—de-cendj
As the strain floa*s high and free;
And, all my fears to the darkness throwing,
I know that the stars the azure strewing,
And the souls, like a river ceaseless flowing,
Forever and ever to Thee are going—
To the lov : that life and death attends,
And the glory that is to be !
—Edna Lean Proctor , in Youth's Companion.
PLEASURES OF FARMING
A8 RELATED BY TIIE HONF.bl FARMER
HIMSELF.
The honest, farmer eat upon the seat
of a dingy spring wagon that had once
been red, which wa3 backed up be¬
tween 10 other dingy spring wagons
that had also been bright colored earlier
in their existence, at the Gansevoort
market. Other honest farmers sat upon
other wagon seats all about, and a
general atmosphere of rusticity, hay,
the simplicity, and vegetables permeated
viciuage. To the dingy spring
wagon first mentioned, upon which sat
the honest farmer also referred to, were
attached two dingy bay horses in rusty
harness. These animals hung their
heads as low as their check straps would
permit, and gazed between tlieir blinders
with bored expressions of countenance,
which changed to looks of annoyance as
the honest farther occasionally jerked
when the lines they and had shouted: “W’oa,” there !”
not the slightest inten¬
tion or desire to stir. The body of the
dingy wagon was covered with dried
mud that had evidently been accumu¬
lating for many moons, and the box
was cracked and the paint had peeled
away in flakes; but the honest farmer
looked happy.
“So you think you would like to
be a farmer ?” said the honest member
of that profession to the historian, from
the seat of the dingy wagon. “I sup¬
pose the somebody has been telling you
that farmer is the only independent
man on the face of the broad earth, and
that the rural life of the tiller of the soil
is one long paradise of peace and happi¬
ness, with none of the harrowing cares
of business or the wearing rush and
grind of the great city to drive him to
premature old age and insane asylums.
Am I right? Yes; I knew it. There
are lots of persons who float that story
around. I wish they had to do a year’s
work on a farm once. They would
change their minds before the end of the
first half of a forenoon’s work. ”
“Why,” inquired the historian, in sur¬
prise; “do you intend that I shall infer
that the'farmer is not this ideal of hap¬
piness that he has been pictured?”
The honest farmer’s face split cross¬
wise into a beauteous rural grin. “Get
up and sit on that bag of potatoes,” he
said, “and I’ll tell you how the farmer
earns his living. I’ll tell you how much
work lie does, and then you judge for
yourself. Let’s see: where shall I
begin ?”
“Begin with the 1st of January,”
suggested the historian.
“Well,” continued the honest farmer,
reaching down from the seat of the dingy
wagon to administer a slight kick to his
dingy nigh horse and shout “W’oa!”
though the beast had not moved for ten
minutes. “Well, I’ll begin with the 1st
of January; but recollect that I am not
talking of the gentleman farmer, who
directs his work from his house and
keeps an overseer or foreman, but about
the farmer who goes out in the barn
and fields himself and earns liis bread
by the sweat of his brow—one of the
small farmers like myself.
“To begin with, -1 have a farm of 75
acres, w hich fortunately belongs to me.
Otherwise I should be obliged to pay
from $300 to $500 rent per year, which
would about swamp all the profits I get
from it. Now, for farm work in Janu¬
ary. That is about the laziest time of
the year for the farmer. I keep 10 cows
and sell milk in the city, and so I am
obliged to get up about 5 o’clock in the
morning to milk my cows and get the
milk to the station in time for the train
at 8 o’clock. If it should happen to
have snowed deeply I get up an hour
earlier so as to make allowance for the
additional time it will take to wane over
to the station ffp to the horse’s body in
snow. I have a hired man, of course,
My hired man is a boy about 16 years
old, and if you ever had to wake him up
in the morning you’d think he’d just
taken chloroform. I get so mad at that
boy when I am a little late in the morn¬
ing that I sometimes lose my temper.
He sleeps so hard that he might be kid¬
napped and given a Russian bath with¬
out waking up. I think of inventing a
torpedo with a time fuse that will fire
him up against the ceiling at 5 o’clock
in the morning, and then I’d need an
automatic arrangement to turn the bed
into a sewing machine—like them ‘par¬
lor beds’ I see at the furniture stores—
or he’d climb right back into it and go
to sleep again. When you once do get
him waked up he’s all right, though, for
the day. Then we go out to the barn
CONYERS, ROCKDALE CO., GA., SATURDAY, JANUARY 24,1885.
you ever take hold of a pitchfork on a
cold winters morning? Well, the
handle of a pitchfork is the coldest
tliinff there is. It’s colder even than
the Village Trustee you voted for on the
mormng after his election. If the tlier
mometer is 10 degrees below zero in the
morning the handle of a pitchfork will
be 15 degrees below, and it’s a peculiar
species cf penetrating cold that goes
right through the thickest mittens. Af
ter you’ve had hold of that pitchfork
about six minutes you’ll begin to wish
that your parents had been born on dif
ferent sides of the globe and never met
each other
“When the water gets warm we mix
up * lot of ‘chopped feed,' consisting of
equal parts of hay and cornstalks,
sprinkled with meal, and give each cow
about half a bushel of it steaming hot.
Then yon git down and take advantage
of her distraction in eating it to milk her.
If she were not eating she would take
too much mteiest in being milked and
perhaps give you. a kick sideways that
would make you wish cows were born
without legs and had to be propped
across two carpenter’s horses to be
milked. You take a one-legged stool
and sit down ^ close to the cow to milk
her, m such a position that she has you
at her mercy. A great many cows take
an infinite amount of pleasure in wait
ing until you have got the pail full of milk
and then pretending they detect, at a
point within the line of direction of the
milk pail, a fly, which it is their bound
ed duty to feel of with the hind toot. Of
course that tips over the milk, and eti
quette demands upon such an occasion
that you arise with a profane objuvga
tion, take your stool by the leg and
whack the cow across her southeudwith
R. It doesn’t hurt the cow very much
but relieves your own" conscience. The
meanest gosh tiling to do to a cow is to call
her a darned fool. That hurts her
feeliugs and makes her wish she had
been eaten when she was veal. Some
cows are that mean by nature that when
you go to milk them they hump their
backs up and try to hold the milk in.
The proper thing to do in this case is to
give her a thump in the middle of her
back with your fist. When you have
done it . . ust will
3 once you realize that a
cow s back is shaped like the roof of a
house and that her spinal column the
ridge pole, but your hand will get well
m a week or two, and you will have the
satisfaction of feeling that you know
more about bovine anatomy than you
did before you hit her. Experience is a
great teacher. Well, when yon get the
cows milked you go and clean off'the
horse you are going to drive to the sta
lion with the milk, or rather you let
your hired boy do that and you go in
aud get your breakfast—salt pork fried
potatoes and coffee, all very weak but
tile pork. Then I drive about two miles
to the station—excuse my mixing up the
personal part of the pronouns time I promiscuously* think but
farmer and part it I you’re the
of ft’s realize that I am
—with the milk, generally cool in
the country of a winter’s morning and
when you get about half a mile in the
sleigh, with the sharp wind blowing in
your face, you begin to feel that purga
tory would be a preferable place, because
it would have the advantage of being
1
warm.
“When you get back from the station
it will be about 9 o’clock, and four hours’
work done. While you have been gone
the hired man has fed the horses, the
pigs, and the chickens—if he has done
his duty. Now comes the business of
watering them, cows and all. It’s not
so much trouble to water the chickens
as the cows, however. You will find in
tbe country that a beneficent Providence
has situated all barns about 100 feet
from the pump. It is a special dispen¬
sation so that you shall not become ef¬
fete for want of exercise. You take two
big pails to the pump, fill them, and
stagger back to the barn, and the water
slashes over from the pails into yonr
bootlegs ?«s you walk, and which is very
cooling when the thermometer is below
zero. There is generally at the door of
every well regulated barn a patch of ice
which you slip upon, and then go down
with the pails, spill the water all over
yourself and soak your mittens so that
it is warmer for the rest of the day to go
with yonr hands bare. When you have
vented all the blasphemy you know upon
the catastrophe, and given each pail a
furious kick—perhaps knocking the bot¬
tom out of one of them—you go back
and get some more and lug that to the
barn, and go back and forth thus until
the beasts have had all they want. And
you wouldn’t believe how much they
will drink when you bring it to ’em. If
you turn them out to a trough they wih
take about two swallows of water apiece.
If you carry it to them in pails they will
drink three pailfuls apiece out of pure
enssedness, just for the sake of seeing
you carry it. After you get the animals
all watered you and the hired man chop
feed enough to last for the remainder of
the day and the next morning. One of
you turns the chopper and the other
stuffs hay and corn-stalks into it to be
chopped up. That chopper turns like a
Waterbury watch, and when you have
“chopped” for a half an hour you will
b? willing to go through the machine
yourself and come out in small pieces
rather than turn it any longer. The
man who invented those cutters ought
to be treated that way, just as they
utilized Mr. Guillotine upon his own in¬
vention in France.
By the time the feed is chopped it is
time to feed all the animals at noon, and
then you go in to dinner. After dinner
you exchange compliments with your
wife, while the hired man chops wood.
(You will please observe what a soft
serving a term in State prison.) If there
is not anything particular to do after
dinner throughout the winter, there is
always one resource. That is ‘snrout
ing’ toes in potatoes. cellar You see, all the "pota
ward spring, a warm begin to sprout to
and if the sprouts grow too
long they entwine together and make
(he potatoes solid, besides decreasing
the genitive power of the Vegetables If
there is one thing that is perfectly heav
enly it is to sit Upon a reversed peck
measure in a potato bin and sprout po
totoes hour after hour by the light of a
lantern while you exchange stories from
the almanac with your hired man. If
you are of an imaginative disposition
you can almost fancy that you are a
Russian convict laboring in a mine in
Siberia, the cellar is so dark and pleas
ant.
“Thus vou occupy yourself in winter.
When gentle spring, ‘diphtherial mild
ness, comes, Before you begin to get ready for
summer. the snow is off the
ground you begin to cart your fertilizer
out to the fields so as to take advantage
of the sleighiDg to get it there. You
also take down all your rail fences and
put them up again because the snow
will have shifted them all, and you must
get that done before the plowing season
begins. Yow bu-gvL to plow as soon as
the frost gets out of Yne ground, and
with, this real commencement oi thfe ‘j.f*
ricultural season your work begins. You
have been comparatively resting all win
ter to prepare for it. There are all the
same ‘chores,’ such as milking, feeding,
etc., to be done the same as during the
winter, with the difference that you
must get them done in time to be in the
fields and have your breakfast eaten by
seven o’clock. Then all day long you
tramp up and down behind your plow,
with about 86 pounds of mud on your
slices, wishing, at the rate of three
times a minute, yon were dead. You
plow until dark, and then you go home
and do your evening chores and go to
bed. You. don’t get half rested enough
by the time you are obliged to get up
again in the morning, but you plow
again all dav just the same and iustas
Jikelv as not. when you get back at
night you spend two or three hours—
until midnight, say—in cutting potatoes
in i;vo to prepare "hem "comes for plantin'*
When planting time the little
busy bee i» a Ibafer compared to you
and you can never—unU you J try it—
appreciate . , the ,, felicity , of walking . all
da Y U P and down a plowed held with a
-] as ^ e P° ,f s on y81111 ai ’L\carefully
dro PP ir . >g'one . afier another at equal dis
Lonees apaiv, and then going back with
a doe and covering them up. It is al
nillC11 inni .o plant corn and
J ® aus and pumpkins and Lay. You
^ h % / >,g ag ? f seed ”° und
wu-iwk’* iac ‘bed, from ^ which a l m ost you i makes scatter you it hump- over
field, and when' it comes up you find
lfc 1S ab sown ln spots, and your hired
raan makes sarcastic remarks about it.
“All through the lovely leafy month
dune you s P end your time hoeing
these same potatoes, corn, etc. The in
venfclon of the Colorado beetle has
added another pleasing complication to
J be raisir) g of potatoes, for you now
have an opportunity to amuse yourself
by sprinkling tliGm. wit-li Paris green and
wat e Y wldcb only makes tbem fat and
riekes . th dru . 8t buy
e ? ? ?^ you the stuff
?,' bowardthe latter part of June and
the lust of July you begin haying, and
11817 J 011 work about hours per day.
? ,7^ bas *° b< -; b° mowed ur N aild and then then it allowed must be to
1 a ed u p into cocks. The nex., day it
must be spread out and dried, and then
cocked up again. Just as it is ready for
the barn a thunder shower generally
comes up and wets it so that you have
to take three or four more days to dry
it. Then you put it in the barn, and if
there is one thing more than another
that makes yon wish Darwin’s theory
were true, and that you had been born
2,000 years ago, it is ‘mowing’ the hay
away— i. e., chucking it under the eaves
of the barn, while two men throw it in
on you faster than you can take it away.
It is sometimes warm, as you may be
aware, in July and August, and it isn’t
a cooling process to be close up under
the roof of a barn working like thunder,
but if your clothes are too thin the
thistles in the hay stick through them,
and lacerate at once your legs and your
feelings. Between the first and second
crop of hay there is just about time
enough to hoe everything again, and
after the second crop you begin harvest¬
ing. And oh, what joy unspeakable it
i3 to dig potatoes and blind oats, and
perform other similar operations upon
grain and vegetables. This lasts until the
cold weather, and then you have all the
grain to thrash and all the corn to husk,
and you come to market, as I have done
to-day, once in a great while. It’s the
only approach somebody to a holiday that you
get, unless sues you because
one of your cows tramples down $1.30
worth of his grain. Then you have a
holiday in court, and have to do two
days’ work the next day to make up
for it.
“And now,” concluded the honest
farmer, “do vou still pine to be one of
us ?”
“Thanks,” replied the historian, “I
should prefer to obtain a job to carry
bricks ud to the top of a fourteen-story
flat.”
“It would be a great deal more fun,”
assented the honest farmer.
No Use.— The New Orleans papers
say that it will be no use for unem
ployed people to go down there Tor
wor p iu connection with the Exposition;
for there s none t» be had.
NO. 44.
A WOMAN’S CURSE.
HO W IT I3AS FOlil.OtVEO A « A.1151.KII
OVER LAND AND SE£ *OR TEN
YBAItS
Ami Forced Him to Break Up tiisN'etartcn-f
Business and try to AInke Reparation Tor
tbe Wrong; Done.
“If you want to hear a strange story,”
saula gentleman to a reporter cf the
AVm Francisco Alta, “engage that gray
haired man in conversation and get him
to tell you his history. It Will repay you
for jour time,” and be indicated a pre
maturely-aged man with a sad face sit
in the sun on one of the benches of
the park. The reporter needed no sec
ond invitation, and was soon seated by
the man witl1 the strange history,
“1 told,” said the seeker after
facts, “that you hate a life story, strange
in the extreme, and that you are not
averse to relating it.”
The e J es of t]ie mau were turned oh
the speaker a moment, and then folding
bis hands in his lap he said:
“Yes, {t is a story. I am a murderer
and a reformed gambler; but you need
not shrink so from me, for the murder
was not intentional. Ten years ago I
gambling owned the largest and most popular
parlors in the city of Chicago,
aud on Saturday nights I dealt my own
fa ro game, in which business, of course,
1 mad8 a g reftt deal of money. Many
unpleasant incidents . grew out of my
Y«a.!nftSP, but 1 always excused it on the
ground thtA - men did not have to play
m obliged y games to drink any poison".'" Yntt’e than. Y £ they &ftv got were to
2
notichg and expecting one young gum
ln particular, who always came in
it was my night to deal,
“At first he played boldly, and as a
consequence, lost heavily; but as he
grew more familiar with the games he
played carefully, and acted as though
fife depended on his winning, which, in
fact, was the case, as it afterward
proved. I got acquainted with him, ad
dressed him as Brown, but knowing that
tb at was not his true name. I think he
followed the game for months, winning a
little sometimes, but generally losing
}ieaviI .Y« Ali bast he came one night and
1 saw by his flushed face that he had
been drinking, although he looked ap
P :, rently cool. He sat down at the
table, drew out a small roll of money,
and il down before him, said :
‘There is in that little pile my torture,
my honor and my life. I either win or
lose all this night. Begin your game;
I am ready.’ Others joined and played
f or awhile, but finally withdrew from
the game and watched the strange young
man at my right,
“He* played to win, but fate was
against him, for he lost, won and lost
again, and finally, after two hours of
playing, evidently in the most fearful
suspense, he lost Lis last dollar. Lean
mg back in his chair, with compressed
hos and a face blanched to a deathly
whiteness, he looked me in the eyes a
moment, and rising, said:
“ ‘My money, honor and happiness
have gone over the table, never more to
return. I said my life shall go with it,
audit sliali. Tell my wife I had gone
too far to return.’
“ Before we could prevent it, he put a
Derringer to his breast and shot himself
through the heart, falling upon the
table that had been his ruin and death.
• < His wife came, awful in the majesty
of her grief, and after satisfying herself
that her husband was dead she asked:
‘Where is the keeper of this dreadful
place ?’ I was pointed out, and, striding
up to me so that her finger almost
touched my pallid face, she exclaimed
in tones that are ringing in my ears
yet: ‘Oh, you soulless wretch, with
heart of stone ! You have lured my
husband from me, sent him to perdition,
widowed me and orphaned my children.
You are his murderer, and may God’s
with curses wild rest upon you ‘Oh, eternally’!’ Aud
a scream, my husband !
my children !’ she fell fainting on the
body of the corpse.
“I lingered for weeks in a brain fever,
that curse seeming always to be the
burden of my mind. On my recovery
1 burned the fixtures of my den and
closed the place and devoted the most
of my time to travel, with hope of escap.
ing that woman’s just curse, butlcan’t
I believe that it is on me forever and I
feel that I was that man’s murderer. I
am rich and my first attempt was to get
the dead man’s wife to accept an annuity
from me. but she refused all aid and
tried to support herself by her own
labor. I relieved my mind to some
extent, however, by settling a certain
sum on her and on her children, which
passes through my father’s hands, and
ostensibly comes directly from him.
Her children are receiving a fine educa¬
tion by this means, and my will, safely
locked in my father’s office, bequeaths
to her and her children my entire wealth,
some $100,000. My life,” he con
tinued, “is devoted largely to visiting
gambling dens, where I meet young
men and warn them of their danger.”
If you call for beans or hash, the
waiter will smg out your order so that
it will cause every eye to centre upon
you; and should you indulge in roast
turkey and cranberry sauce, he wiii
walk up to the other end of the room
and give yonr order in a voice so small
that it can hardly be distinguished in
the kitchen, and nobody knows that you
are a swell for once, but he expects his
fee all the same.
A Look Ahead.—A Frenchman who
recently died directed in hi3 will that
the sum of $5,000 should be given to
the “wounded in the next war with
Germany.”
ODDS AND ENDS.
Seven- pound sage Lens are killed in
.Nevada*
Chicago boasts a population of
610,323.
Cayenne pepper is a popular remedy
for colds.
General Butler smoke* fifteen ci¬
gars a day.
Vienna Las an International Fisheries
Exhibition.
Belva Lockwood is said to be an ex¬
pert rifle shot.
Portland, Ore., has lost $1,000,000
by fires tins year.
The population of Pap*, according to
recent returns, is 2,239,028.
Babbits damage Australia to the ex¬
tent of $10,000,000 per year.
Tiffi dentist to the court of Italy is an
American, Dr. Chamberlain.
The number c i Quakers in the United
States i3 put down at 100,000.
Baltimore boasts more pretty young
girls than she has had for years.
BaronessBurCext-Coutts is in failing
health, aud rarelyeenters society.
A Georgetown, Ivy., duck has three
legs and feet, all fully developed.
The Russians are reducing their war
expenditures by $4,500,000 yearly.
Opium has increased twenty-five per
cent, in price since the Chinese war.
A Georgia boy of eleven years is
serving a term in prison for murder.
QtfAnt are now so abundant in Cali¬
fornia that they throng the roadways.
An Alabama farmer obtained eight
gallons of molasses from 100 water¬
melons.
Johann Strauss has celebrated his
fortieth anniversary as a director in
Vienna.
One single oyster will produce 128,
000,000 young oysters in the course of
one year. cel'ebrato
The province of Quebec will
November 6 as a clay of thanksgiving
this year.
The American colony in Paris is
divided against itself and is already
tottering.
Two hundred cars are now in use'
transporting fresh fruit from California
to the East.
Santa Barbara exhibits an onion
weighing one pound and fourteen and a
..half ounces.
" review at Berne, soldier
Luring a ranks and shot a himself
stepped from fc h e
dead. CiW
Jefferson Pavis has no male de¬
scendant to bear-his, name, although
twice married. —_ Vi
A popular sport ill Kid Bluff, oil tiro
Pacific coast, is fishing for rats with a
hook and line.
A Nsw York artist exhibits a study
from still life and the name of it is? “A
Tramp at Work.”
One grain of Dakota wheat in three*
years produced two bushels of grain.
This is authentic.
The lightest, pleasantest article in the
world is said by Englishmen to be the
American buggy.
There is a tree in California 450 feet
high and 94 feet in circumference at the
base of the trunk.
It is asserted that about a third of the
banking done in the world is done- in
the British empire.
William Miller is a Wisconsin farm¬
er who has made $1,009,000 out of the
products of the farm.
Hiram Grubler, a miser in Ivlingers
town, Pa., lias become insane over he
loss, by theft, of $2,500.
Hundreds of German children are
christened Elsa now in honor of Wag¬
ner's Lohengrin heroine.
Wild geese are passing south a mouth
earlier than usual and this is said to be
indicative of an early winter.
The Jews in Russia.
A somewhat remarkable article has
appeared in the Lasse he Revue, l>y
Prince Dermidoff de San Donato, in
which he shows the very oppressive
legislation under which the Jews exist
in that country. Except in exceptional
cases, they are not allowed to live where
they like, but are forced to reside in cer¬
tain provinces, and then only in the
towns. By the law of 1865 this position
was somew'hat ameliorated, ,.nd the Jew¬
ish workman was permitted to quit his
birth-place and settle in another; but
practically he cannot mow without a
passport, which has to be renewed every
year, and this may be refused on very
slight pretense. Even if he was allowed
to go, he would have to obtain a permit
of sojourn from the municipal authori¬
ties of the town of his choice, which
would probably be refused, and if this
difficulty were surmounted, another per¬
mit would have to be obtained forcarry
ing on his trade. His wife and children
may accompany him, but no other rela¬
tives ; and if he dies in his new abode,
his family are obliged to return to their
original residence. Should he himself
grow old ormcapable of getting his live¬
lihood, he has to do the same, even
though it was thirty years since he
made the change. In almost all parts
of Russia, Jews are forbidden to buy or
to cultivate land, and there are also re¬
strictions on their entering certain trades
and professions.
Romantic font Real.
A letter from Worth, Ga*, says:
Thirty-three years ago, when the Cal¬
ifornia gold fever was at its height, there
lived in tins county a young man named
Wilson, who had a pretty young wife
aud child. A quarrel between the
couple caused the husband to go to Cal¬
ifornia. A few years later it was an¬
nounced that he was dead. The widow
remarried and the grave in California
was forgotten. Last week there arrived
in Worth a gentleman about fifty-five
years of age, evidently a man of means,
who began inquiring about the old fam¬
ilies. It was the long-absent husband,
who was appointed Commissioner for
California at the New Oilcans Expo¬
sition, and who was anxious to make up
with his wife. He found his son, who
is married and the father of a family,
and has furnished them means to join
him in California, where it is said he is
a millionaire. Mr. Wilson continued on
his wav to New Orleans,
