THE CAMBRIA FREEMAN
I. Piiillhel Wffkly t
j-iiawtltritQ. Cambria Co., ra.,
IIY II. A. McPIKK.
VlveitiKiri)rr lttt?-.
Ti larva and rellaMe jtmii"'.!! cf tas O
stjma Fiuk ak eommead It to t b fTrolt '
siderattoo of advertisers. kwf tsvors will r
sened at the fcllowlcs; low rates :
1 Inch, tlir.os , '. '
1 S miroib
. ..................
1 6 months. -
,4 ----.......--. ... . ....... -
I ,. 'year ... c
1 a months
8 - 1 year ..IIII. I
S 6 months. , .
I M 1 year v
W eol'n e months....... "
V2 months j .
2 1 year .
I Smooths........ 4
1 " 1 year ;
Adiatnlstrator's and Ex ecn tor's Ncum .
AidlWi Notices I
Stray and slm!lar Notloea w I -
Ho.in.ii tvems. first Insertion too. j-ar Una ; a ,
subsequent InsenioB to. par lias.
fSj HnoluHtmt ar procfdtnf a am rarsw-ai
ar every, ens' cnsanira'wni J-ic-.e. a ash '
fwn fa any maffrr a liianvif or ruil if.
mm! S ss"er a. .Itwlwanti,
Job PaiPTiaa or all kind nea.1v at rtuadli
oasly eiseutad at lowest prtaaa. LKm i-eu farc '
It.
,,, , 'rr.t Circulation - 1,11-
RIPTIO' RATrn.
- -i. i- ..trance
'rmtdwlth.r.mn,..
if nnipo'"lu,u'1
r,.,dlng o.itsMe the county
, ; ..... . . : l,r!o.l p.t rear be chared to
.,.. the above terms be d r
" .' -i 'f"'"' wno 5'n't consult Ibeir
.'r-.i :r pavfna- IB advance must not
i i.i I- p icf l oti tne gam footing at those
i . ruin f t be distinctly understood
; ' . r lie forwarl J
- , .'.r y.oir paper before yoa stop It. If
. " . , - i must. None but ecalawas do oth
' D nt be a scalawag life's too short.
H. A. McPIKE, Editor and Publisher.
'U IS A FREEH AH WHOM THE TRCTH MAHI fBIB, ARB ALL ABI LATHS BESIDE.'
81. SO and postage per year. In advance.
YrOLUME XVI.
EBENSBURG, PA.. FRIDAY, AUGUST 4, 1SS2.
NUMBER 27.
b
i
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TC.
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'5
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21,
John Wanamaker's.
plenr of readjmade dresse3
cf such sorts as are most in
jenund now, viz., substantial
a-d not costly.
Also plenty of white muslin
dresses below value; and a
fair variety of the more costly
jtutif dresses.
There is no danger of over
stating the advantage In buying
black grenadines now. There
is a clear dollar a yard to be
pined in most of the rich ones.
ju'routsr circle, soath entrance to main bull ding.
Dress-goods trade with us
!5 now very largely upon goods
below value. Checks, check
stripes, melanges, debeige, and
others, are at half and two
thirds. Not all we have; we
don't mean that ; some of all
these and other sorts. And
low prices are no reflection on
the koods. Whatever we buy
iow we sell low. Of course we
lose money on goods some-
imcs. e are not talking
Lout that now.
(kill md third elides, southeast from oaatar.
Cream cashmere shawls of
5 quality, with here and there
dark thread just visible a
ard off, S3-50. India chuddas
hat cost five or ten times as
ch have such little imperfec-
. a a t
vons. imitation cnuauas are
pade with them purposely.
t, as they don t belong to
ashmeres, we sell as above.
It is wonderful how dress-
'f-oods have dropped here.
une-vooi and silk-and-wool
.vjp.gs at two-thirds ; some even
it half; the best things in the
'tore at that. Literally true!
's aat in all dress goods is bet
than a fine debekre ? We
I i.i worm a aoiiar. wnat
ps proved better this season
r-':n small-check effects ? Why,
t u:-. .
1 .t 111 1TT1 .
:rds and below. What bettef
:.ai a fine melange? Two-
iras ; and fifty to choose from.
p.ere is no exhausting them.
J coxiUirs, toutbeut froai canter.
Scotch rfingrhams of fine
eck patterns, so fine as to
)k like plain colors, and even
n colors are in rreat favor.
; aad 30 cents. The hand-
rcruef patterns so popular
r.t year at 31 cents are now
Arnerican ginghams thatusu--y
sell for 15 are now 10.
sv:ttr circle, north from center.
Figured and dotted soft mulls
7 lev,: 50 and cents
stead of 75 to $1.50.
everything in fine muslins
li
i Hamburg embroideries.
"i i-.d fuurUi circles. City-hall sauaiw
K--rv.cs.
EcWian pillow linen and
-:dng, almost white; almost
v-;Ui as Irish ; and a dollar
;s as far in them as a dollars-quarter
in Irish. New
V;e just come ; and it is a good
l-t) emphasize the advan
o? 'e always give in such
J; s- Indeed we consult your
st more than any other
v ty drawing from each
:"'-ry its best, and by reject
j whatever we can get better
-3 another source,
:. CtT.tailaara entrance.'
'eycomb and dimity bed-
$1.10 to $1.45. rine
1 bankets as lame and
you like, f 5 to $11.
i .
- mar 01 main builaiDf.
Co'orrl cVlr,. ASr .
s. dumbrey, etc. The
'J test, except seersucker,
." I : seersucker not much
7
Of. r.r .1.-1
t, - - uic dusicsc comers
store is that of muslin
r'var. We arf hpincr
r-td for our patient pur-
,7 pod quality in it.
.uu-ioca to maja building.
John Wanamaker.
Mitnut. Thirteenth and Varkttl
''l-dr ,.1..,.
, "H'i-'e I. He, Trial and Kxeeutlon.
- i' -1 ' i ' '"" A s,,"i-a I sni bk of the
i .. ' "''"-r. A-nt doliiK nuneDSe.
1. ILlsr, Philadelphia, I'm.
Failing!
That is what a great
many people are doing.
They don't know just what
is the matter, but they have
a combination of pains and
aches, and each month they
grow worse.
The only sure remedy
yet found is Brown's Irok
Bitters, and this by rapid
and thorough assimilation
with the blood purifies and
enriches it, and rich, strong
blood flowing to every part
of the system repairs the
wasted tissues, drives out
disease and gives health and
strength.
This is why Brown's
Iron Bitters will cure
kidney and liver diseases,
consumption, rheumatism,
neuralgia, dyspepsia, mala
ria, intermittent fevers, &c.
B03 S. Pica St.. Raltimorsb
Nov. 8, its 1.
I was a great sufferer from
Dyspepsia, and for several
weeks could eat nothing and
was growing weaker every
day. I tried Brown's Iron
Bitters, and am happy to say
I now have a good appetite,
And am getting stronger.
JOS. VI CC AW LEY.
Brown's Iron Bitters
Is not a drink and does not
contain whiskey. It is the
only preparation of Iron
that causes no injurious ef
fects. Get the genuine.
Don't be imposed on with
imitations.
r aa
Operate witli Fncrty npis trie Kid
ncj . Liter, Ronela. nnd
Porr of I he Mtln.
Nentral taina. Abaorblnc and Fapell
1ns; kcrofulnm. 4 anceroue,
and t anker
HUMORS
The caue of most human 111., and curing; when
ph yflirinns. hospital, and all nthor mthods nnd
remedte tail. Scrofula r Kmv's Kvli, rlHndular
SwRlilnas, Vler. 11 Sores. 31ilk Wrrnrli.1
Affections, Krvstpelii.Tnun'r!!. Alsri.ss. L'arbun
cle. Boil. HIoikI I'oison., Knvht's IMse.e. Wast
lnic of Kidnevj and Kiver Kheutnitiigu). tnttpa
tloo, files, I) "Hp-I i. and all Itching auj Scily
ERUPTIONS-
Of the Skin btiiI Scalo. ?urh as Salt Rheum,
r-orias. Tetter. Kinwonu, Barber' Itch, Jv?ali
Head. Itching I'i !!, and onlir Dtrfiarurlnir and
Torturing Humor, from a pimple to a icnfulHio
ulpr. when ai'ed hy C'tTiotPta and C'lticiba
Soap, the great Skin I'uret.
CUTICURA
A weet. nnchanvi-aule Medicinal Jelly, cleam off
all external evittt-ni-e nf HIoih! Humor, eat ft away
Ial Kleeh ami Skin. Instantly alluva Itchlnna and
Irritation.. SoltcM. S(Mithei nd Heals. Worth It.
weight In nolil fr all itching Iitsenses.
CUTICURA SOAP
An Kx(inllte Toilet. Kith ami Nursery Sanntlve.
Fragrant with (lelictout flower odors nn.l heftlina
naNnm. t'ontain In a niomried fnrm all the virtues
of CrMini KA. the itrritt Skin Cure, and In Indls
).ebs:iMe In the treatment of Skin and Scalp Jus
iiiaefl, and for re.torlnir. uri-servlnif and ne.utlfy
tnir the complexion and kln. The only Medicinal
Hiihy Soap.
Cv'ticcha Kmtnifi sre the only real curatives
for disease, ot the Skin. Scalp nd Blood.
Price: t'l'Trci RA Kksoi.vemt. SI.00 per bottle;
CrTIcCRA. 6t. per hox ; tartce hoxe., $1.00: Cm-
Cl RA M Kl'ICt.L TllILBT So.f, vbc. : t'lTK't 111
Mkdicim al Sh a vi mo Soap. 16c. .Sold erery where.
Principal Ddpot. Waeke A Potter, Bostoa.
CtLEBBATIO 13
STOMACH
It Ip the concurrent testimony of the puhtlc and
the luedlt-al proiemion that Hoeletter's Stomach
Hitters Is a medicine ahich achieves results speed
ily leit thorough and benlico. Keslde reetifyina;
liver disorder, it iDviirnralc the feehle. conquers
kidney and bladder complaints, and hastens the
convalescence of thoie recovering Irom enfeebling
diseases. Moreover. It s the grand specific fur
fever and enue.
i'or sale by all DrutcK'Ists and Dealers arenerally.
Sanford's Radical Cure.
The tirrst Amrrlesn alsamlc 1latlll.
latifln of Witch llaael. Amerteaa
fine, 4 B.Rdlsn Fir. Marigold,
lover Hlntsom, Ac,
For the Immediate Kellef and t'ermanent Care of
every form of Catarrh, from a simple Head Cold or
Influenza to the Ias& of Smell, Tate and Hearing,
Couch. Bronchitis and Incipient Consum ptlon.
Indorsed hy I'hysiclans. Chetnlfts and Medical
Journals throughout the world, as the only com
plete external and Internal trea'.inent.
One bottle Kndlcal Cure, one box Catarrhal Sol
vent and one Ir. Sanford's Inhaler, In one pack
age, of all druggist, tor (1. Ask for S. wroRD's
Kadicax. ecRB. WfcEiS k. POTTtif, Hoe ton.
OrN n t3 6s3 frar
1 a B fl
sax amvaa"
"THE WIGHT fOVCTH OS."
Deep down "monest the reedy hollows,
And away thro' the im-adows low,
Swift o'er its shining pebbles,
Pansine not In Its ceaseless flow.
The brook that coines down the mountain
To the ocean must speed its flieht.
As the briehtness that dawned with the
mornine.
Must die on the threshold of night
The ferns bv the brookside erowlne.
And the reeds as thev murmur and sigh.
And the willows and meadow trasses
Keen time as the hrook sweeps by,
And the ocean is calmlv waiting.
But never a ripple will tell.
When the wallets the brook is bringing
Shall be merged In Its lone, low swell.
And there rometh a roval snnset
That litfhtetb the funeral pvre
Of the dav as It elites down the western sky
And dies In its crimson fire ;
And nieht with Irs swift wine mounting,
The brightness sweepeth away,
And aetteth the seal of darkness
On the tomb of the vanished day.
Ard so it. bnt little reeketh
How radiant ilfe'a dawn mav be ;
It a snrelv wer on to the ploamlng
A the hronk floweth on to the sea.
And however fair rw its evenlne
Its hriehtness will soon he pone.
And the waninelli'Mand the eatherine gloom
Will whisper. "The nisht rometh on."
Anna A Cameron, in Our Continent.
THK SHADOWY HAND.
Iam a traveller and collector for a laree
house which executes many orders throneh
out the country. When 1 have an extensive
district, which Is often the case, I frequently
have a considerable snm of money about me,
and on several occasions the possession
thereof has rendered me very uneasy ; but
no more than that of which I speak.
I had been assigned to a laree territory In
the West, a leeion roueh and mountainous,
and which, I had cause to believe, abounded
In lawless spirits who might possibly give
me some trouble. A petson of my calling Is
always supposed to have a laree sum of
money about him when he has been out for a
number of days or weeks, and many Is the
time that I have seen people look at me with
an expression on their faces that spoke loud
er than words how much they would like a
chance of seelne what my wallet contained.
But thus far they never have had their wish
es gratified in this respect, and, so long as
my faithful six shooter does noi play me
false, I don't mean that they shall.
One day at noortime saw me In one of the
little villsees of the West, hemmed In on all
sides by hich peaks and lofty summit passes.
I had transacted mv business there, and now
sonsht the landlord of the Inn to learn the
way to the next villaee that I had wished to
visit. From him I had learned that it was
twenty miles hv the public read, and rough
and hilly Into the bareain.
"Bnt is there no nearer way ?'" I asked.
"If the road is in the state you say, it will be
lone after nieh'fall before I can rearh there, i
. .. , . . . ....
and it looks much as though we might have
, . ,, ....
a rainfall presently."
, . . . . !
There Is a road over the mountains, he i
answered, after a pause, "but it has not
been much used of lnte years, and the way
Is rough. Still, it can beeot over ; and aa It
is but little over half the distance it is by the
main, road, you will get to Silhy fully an
hour earlier than you could hy that way."
"Then I shall try for it, for I want to get
there before the storm, if possible." j
"Kep the road straight ahead, and keep
your eyes open," he said.
"Thank you ; I shall do so." I answered.
"Good -day."
"Good-dav ; and the landlord waved his
hand as I rode away.
For hours I wound along the most wretch
ed road I ever saw. Every now and then a
path would branch off, lead inc. apparently,
into the heart of the forest The afternoon
passed away, and nieht came on, and still
there was no change In the road, tio sign of
my being near to Silby. All was the same
dreary wilderness as that through whlen I
had been passing so many hours. With the
coming of the daikness the rain began to
fall. This added to the disquiet I had al
ready felt, for I feared that I had left the
road and got into one or those paths that led
I knew not whither.
Faster and faster fell the rain, and with
every moment the eloom increased, until the
darkness was such that it could almost be
felt Still I plodded on, feeling there was
little chance of reaching my destination, but
with the hope that I mieht stumble upon
some cabin that possessed human inhabi
tants, where I could find a fire and shelter
for the night More than an hour passed,
and I had nearly given up all hopes of find
ing shelter, when I beheld the gleam of a
light before me. Encouraged by the sight I
urged my horse onward, and in a few min
utes found myseir In front of alow cabin,
throueh the one window of which the light
gleamed that had attracted my attention.
Dismounting- I approached and knocked
loudly upon the door. There was the sounsl
of shuffling feet within, then it was thrown
open, and a man holding a candle in his
hand appeared upon the threshold, and de
manded what I wanted. As the light flash
ed upon his face I had the impression that I
had seen It before ; but it was gone in a mo
ment. In answer to his demand, I told hirn
I wanted shelter for myself and horse for the
night, and that if in the morning he would
guide me to Silby, he would be suitably re
warded. lie made some reply, the burden of which
I could not eatch owing t the driving of the
rain j and then setting the candle down
upon the floor, he came out, saying, as he
laid his hand upon the horse's bridle,
'"Tain't very good quarters that you'll get
here, mister, but perhaps it's better than it
is out in the rain "
"A ny shelter is better than none on such a
nieht as this," I answrred, as I dismounted.
And I followed him around to a rude hovel,
where he did the best he could for my horse's
comfort
Then we went Into the cabin, he picking
up the candle he had placed upon the floor,
ohserving as he did ao. "I keep bachelor's
hall here, so you musr.'t expect much ; but
you are hunery, I s'pose?"
I replied in the affirmative, as I drew up
to the fire that shone upon the hearth, the
heat of which was very grateful afrer my ex
posure to the storm. I watched my host as
he placed some bread and meat upon the ta
ble, and his very look and motion went to
confirm the impression that I had seen nim
before ; and then It flashed upon my mind
when and where. It was among the rough,
unshorn loafers that were hanging around
the bar.
The food being set out, he placed a rude
seat by the table, and told me my supper
was ready, making gome excuse because It
was not better. I answered him that it was
as good as 1 desired ; apd as banger is the
Ibest appetizer a rnan can have, I did the
o.o ran nrivAnor smnlfl IhqMa VV hpn T
was satisfied, I resumed my seat once more
by the fire, and tried to enter into conversa
tion with my host, bnt made poor headway.
Fie did not seem Inclined to talk, and after
a while I pave it up, and wo sat in silence
for some time, he ever and anon stealing a
glance at me from under his shaggy eye
brows, which. In spite of myself, made me
"feel a liHle nneasy, when I reflected about
the money upon me. At last, tired of this,
I told him that I would like to go to bed, if
he had a place where I could lie down.
Upon this, he rose and led the way Into the
other small apartment of the cabin, and, set
tine down the candle, went out and closed
the door.
There was a rude bed In the corner of the
room, covered with a ragged quilt, and tipon
thfs 1 threw myself without taking off my
clothes. My sir-shooter I placed beside me,
where I could lay my hand upon it at a mo
ment's notice, and then I blew out the can
dle and tried to sleep. But that I aoon
found was impossible to do. A nameless
something feept me awake. I could hardly
define it as fear. It was more of a nervous
ness that I could not shake off, try as I
would. My eyes would not stay shut, bnt
wanted to remain wide open and fixed upon
the wall where the firelight, which shone
through the cracks fn the partition against
which my bed stood, played with a weird
Rort of lieht.
Try as I would, I could not keep my eyes
from the wall. Did I close them, the next
minute they would be again wide open.
Did I turn my head, I would be looking
there aeain almost before I knew It What
I expected to see I hardly knew. Tet It
came at last.
Suddenly noon the wall, where the light
from the Tire shone th brightest, there
appeared the shadowy hand of a man clasp
ing a long and deadly-looking knife.
For a moment my gaze was so riveted
upon it that I could not turn my eyes ; but a
sound in the adjoining room broke the spell.
Siarting hastily up upon my elbow, I peered
throneh the crack that was close to mv head,
and the sight that I beheld caused another
thrill similar to that which the shadowy
hand had given me. My host, with a long
knife in his hand, wag approaching on tip
toe the door which led to my room. It waj
the shadow of his uplifted hand that I had
seen upon the wall.
That he had designs upon my life I could
not doubt, and, thankful for the warning I
had received, I prepared to meet him.
Noiselessly I crept from my bed. and, with
my six-shooter in my hand, stationed my
self at its foot. The door was noiselessly
pushed open, and the would be murd?rer
entered the room as silently a9 a phantom,
and approached the bedside. His arm, with
IflA ripftfltr Vnifa orocnud In Via i.n woa
. ,. , . . - . .. ... ' .
hP'rt above the bed. and then it descended
. ... . , . ,..,.
with a force that would have sent it through
. . . . , . , ,
the body of a man, had one been lying
'
This was al! I wanted.
Surely, it was ev
idence enough to justify me in what I did.
I raised my arm and fired. With a groan
the villian fell forward upon the couch
where I had Iain hardly a minute before.
With my finger still upon the trigger, should
another shot be needed, I struck a match
and liehted the candle ; then, holding it out
before me, I approached the bed. The vil
lain lay motionless. My bullet had found a
way through his heurt.
Tou can imagine how the rest of the night
passed to me. With the earliest dawn, I
mounted ray horse, and as good leek would
have it, rode directly toward Silby, where I
arrived in a couple of hours. I was not long
in searching out the proper officers, to whom
I told my story, and a little later I guided
them back to the cabin, where they found
all as I had stated it, and at once exonerated
me from blame in causing the villain's
death.
Modern Cruboes in the SortH Sea. It
Is not often in the present day that one hears
of a shipwrecked crew being cast upon a d
sert island and compelled to eke out a scanty
subsistence as best they can for many
months toeether, without ever seeing the
face of a human being. As a matter of fact
there are not many islands which can In any
strict sense be termed desert, or which are
not occasionally visited, or at any rate passed
within hailing or signalling distance, by ves
sels of some sort A Yankee commentator
upon Defoe's immortal work lately observed
that it would be out of place at the present
time, and the incidents impossible of realiza
tion, as the first thing a nineteenth century
Robinson Crusoe would do on landing would
be to "wire" home for sufficient funds to
bring him back. A genuine instance has,
however, recently been brought to light of a
crew of no less than thirty-three men who
have been living for the last sixteen months
or more upon an island In the South Seas,
where they were as completely secluded from
human observation, and as entirely thrown
upon their own resources, as was Defoe's
hero in the scene of his banishment The
American barque Trinity, which sailed from
New London, in Connecticut on June 1st,
1880. visited Ileard's Island on a whaline and
fishing cruise early In the following October.
Ilere she remained until October 17th, when
a fearful gale came on, which compelled the
crew to abandon the ship and escape as best
they could to the Island in order to save their
lives. No vessel of any kind visited Heard's
Island, nor did any means of escape present
itself, for sixteen months, until February
15th, 1882, when the United States steamer
Marion happily appeared and took them off.
Ileard'a Island, which is situated in latitude
5.1 S., and longitude 72 E., is perfectly unin
habited, although fortunately a Tew small
huts have at different times been erected by
whalers. The shipwrecked mariner am
said to have suffered severely from the cold,
during the two winters of their involuntary
sojourn, and a couple of them were unhappi
ly frozen to death while out in quest of pro
visions. Sea elephant, sea cabbage, and the
eggs and fleh of the penguin, were all they
had to live upon. Barring the isolation and
the risk pf being devoured by cannibals.
Robinson Crusoe's exile would probably have
been more tolerable than was that of the
crew of the Trinity.
A certain young man brought his affianc
ed aown from the country to see the sights.
One day while they were passing the confec
tiontr's, the swain noticed in the window a
placard, bearing the announcement. "Ice
cream 11 dollar per gal." "Wen," said the
young man, as ho walked Into the saloon,
"that's a pretty steep price to charee for one
gal.but Maria, 111 see you throuah.no matter
what it costs. Flare's dollar, waiter ; Ice
cream for this gal."
THE COXVICT'S ESCAPE.
AS TOLD BT SAILOR IN "A SCatKEB IN THK
AZORES."
One day in March, 1868, while we was lay
In' In port off Bunbury, in Western Austra
lia, I was ashore ; and I see a nice lookln'
young fellow, about twenty-four years old,
eyein' me pretty sharp. lie was at work on
a chain gang. Watchln' his chance, he says
to me : "Are you the mate of that whaler?"
"Yes." says I.
Then says he, "lias the priest said any
thing to you about me 1"
"No," says I.
"Well, he's going to," says he, and passed
on quick.
The priest follered right along, and asked
me if I'd ever seen that young man before.
"Never to my knowledge," says I.
Then he told me it was , a Fenian
prisoner ; that he had been confined In Dart
moor prison In England for seven months,
and then sent to Australia for life ; that he'd
been there goin' on "leveD months, and want
ed to get off. And the upshot of It was the
priest offered me five tundred dollars to get
him off.
I told him I didn't want bis money. If
he'd been a thief or murderer I wouldn't
have tried to help him away ; but I couldn't
make out that he'd committed any crime, so
the priest and I fixed it that the next day,
when my ship was under way, I should pick
him up in the yawl and I did.
It beats all how quick everybody on board
teok to that fellow he was so pleasaDt, and
such a handsome young chap.
Well, It come Ausmst. we had to put Into
Kodrigues for water. It was that or die of
thirst.
By this time the news of s escape
had got ahead of us and was known all over
the world. It was just before sunset wlien
a boat from shore come alongside, and her
officer boarded up.
was standin Just as near me as I
be to you, when the officer up and says to
me : "Have you got a man aboard by the
name of ?"
1 kind of thought a minute It seemed If
'twas about an hour and I says, "No."
Says I, very quiet : "We did have a fellow
aboard by the name of Brown, but he died
two months ago at Java."
He looked at me a minute, then says he :
"Well, you've eot some tlcket-of-leave men
aboard, haven't you ?"
I was mighty glad he asked me that; for
I thought it would take his attention and
give me a little time to think.
"I can't cay as to that," says I.
"Well," says he, "call your men from for
rard and we'll soon find out."
"No," says I; "I don't want nothlneto
do with that kind of business. You can look
for yourselves if you like."
So be and his gang went forrard and haul
ed out the stcwaways, and put 'em aboard
their boat, and pulled ashore, appearin' to be
satisfied.
As soon as they were gone, . half
craty, says tome: "My God 1 it'sall up with
met What can I do? They'll come back
for me, but I'll never be taken alive I"
I knew he meant what he said ; for the
priest had told me he'd tried to commit sui
cide, and, if he couldn't escape, had deter
mined to kill himself. I calmed him down ;
told him to go below and keep out of bight,
and I'd try to think up something ; but says
I : "You shan't be taken as long as I can
stand by you.
I knew very well that as soon as they got
ashore those ticket-of-leave men would blow
on him ; and I really didn't know what to do.
Things looked black.
By this time it got to be dark, and I sat
down by myself to think. Then I remem
bered a kind of locker under the stairs,
where the Stewart sometimes kept the dishes
he wasn't usin. It was shet by pushin' one
of the steps right over it I knew they'd
never find him there. Then I went to
and told him to go and find a little grind
stone there was on the ship, while I kep' the
men busy forrard ; when I come back I'd
stop a spell and talk to the steward, and
when he heard me talkin' he must throw the
atone and his hat overboard, give a shriek
and then run and stow himself in the locker.
When I come along back I stopped and
says to the steward : "I don't know what
will happen when those fellows come aboard
to-morrow morning. will never be
taken alive. He'll kill some of them and
kill hisself ha threatened to do it in Aus
tralia." Just then I heard a great splash and a
scream. "What's that?" says L
"It's ," says the steward, "he's
thrown himself overboard."
Everybody beard it The captain was off
that day. I rushed aft, told the other offi
cers, and ordered out the boats. The men
felt terrible. Every one of tbem was fond
of him. We got out our boats and swept
that harbor for hours. I was the last boat
in. When I got aboard I found the second
mate leanin' over the ship's aide, crying bit
terly. "He's gone, poor fellow I Here's his
hat" says he ; "the men have just picked it
up. We never shall see him again."
There wasn't a wink of bleep on board
that night The next morning I put the dag
at half-mast Everybody was solemn as
death. 's wet bat lay on the hatch
way. They all thought he was dead.
The captain canse off to see what was the
matter. I told him the story bow we heard
the splash, got out the boats and picked up
's hat. Kight in the midst of it the
officer's from Rodrlguescome aboard to claim
their man. We told 'em the story, and
showed 'em the wet hat. Tbey never offer
ed to search the vessel. They see how bad
the men felt, and tbey believed it all aud
pulled off.
Late that afternoon we got our water all
aboard and bore away to sea. I waited till
we was almost out o' sight o' land ; then I
says to the captain : "I guess I'll go below
and get a cigar." I went and hauled the
step away ; and there was , all In a
heap. I can see that fellow's face right be
fore me now, white as chalk, eyes as black
as night He looked like a wild man.
"What now ?" says he, trembling all over.
"Come out of tbaf saya I,
"What do you mean ?" says he.
"Don't atop to ask questions, man," says
I. "Get out ol that and come up; you're
safe for this time. Land Is almost out of
sight"
He crawled out and we went on deck to
gether. "Now," says I, "go and shake
hands with the captain-"
I went to tlfe side of the ship and stood
there smoking, and preteudin' to be scaunin'
the horizon. I see the captain give one look
at , a kind of scared look. De thought
It. was his ghost. Then he wrung s
hand, and burst out cryln' just like a baby.
Pretty aoon be looked at tu. I noYer sajd a
word.
A LIFE-SATER'S TASK.
KFFORT TO HKSTOttB ANIMATION TO AN AP
PARENTLY DROWED LAD.
When a boy Is nearly drowned, and Is fish
ed out within five or ten minutes, the fish
market men, the fishing sailors and the spec
tators usually put an end to what little life is
left in him by roiling him on a barrel. If
people only knew how easy it is to restore an
apparently drowned person whobas not been
In the water more than five or ten minutes'
and how often a person may be brought back
to life whose lungs have been filled with wa
ter for nearly half an hour, we should lose
fewer lives by drowning in this Island eity.
A reporter was walking near Fulton Ferry
a few days ago. In company of one of the of
ficers attached to the Life Saving Service.
There was a rush of people to the Market
slip, and the officer and reporter joined the
crowd. The life-saving officer hurriedly el
bowed hij way till he was at the water's edge.
Three of the fishing seooners were tied tip at
this part of the pier side by side, and on the
deck of the third lay a naked boy apparently
dead. Half a dozen market men and fisher
men stood by, saying that the boy wa9 dead,
and that that was all there was of it. The
life-saving officer sprang aboard the nearest
schooner, and was immediately stopped by a
policeman wno was on guard for the boy
had been out of water some time.
The life-saver was soon on the deck on
which the drowned boy lay. He felt the boy's
skin, felt for his pulse, drew tup one of his
eyelids and looked at tie pupil, and asked
the bystander how long the boy bad been
out of the water.
One of the men said : "lie was stuck in
the mud most ten minutes, and he's been
layln here ten minutes more."
The boy could not have been colder or
more apparently lifeless if he had been dead
for a week.
The officer opened the boy's mouth, an
operation that required some force, and found
it full of mud. Pulling the lower jaw down
he introduced one of his fingers and carefully
but quickly cleaned it out. There was
enough mud In the mouth to choke the boy
If he had not been In the water at all. The
officer whisked off his coat rolled It up Into
a pillow, and laid It on the deck. With the
assistance of bystanders he turned the boy
over on b!s face and laid him so that the pil
low was directly under his stomach. Taking
the boy's two ankles in one of his hands and
giving them to one of the men to hold up so
that the patient's feet were several feet high
er than his head, the officer pressed carefully
but rirmly in the region of the small of the
back, and Immediately a stream of water
gushed out of the boy's mouth. It had been
all this time in his lungs, waiting only forj
proper treatment to help it out The boy
was then, after a minute or two of this exer
cise, tuined over on his back again, and the
officer knelt over him. Putting one hand on
the boy's right side and the other on his left,
just over what are known as the "short ribs"
the officer gave them a powerful compression
and then suddenly let eo. The instant he
took off his hands the ribs sprung back to
their natural position, and a draught of air
rushed into the lungs. This was repeated a
dozen times.or more, but still the body was,
to all appearance, a corpse.
"Oh, eive us a rest on that," said another
of the men. "The boy's dead, and that set
tles it. Can't you let a drowned boy aloue?"
The assertion that the boy was dead seem
ed to be only too true I He looked like a
piece of marble, and the reporter suggested
that it was not worth while te make any
further efforts.
"Why," said the officer, "I haven't begun
yet The boy may live and he may not. But
he's going to have a fair chance for bis life,
anyhow. Stand back a little, all of you, and
give him a little more air."
Discontinuing for a moment the artificial
breathing process, the officer took one of the
boy's hands between Ms own and began to
slap it vigorously, at the same time setting
three of the bystanders at the other hand and
at the two feet. The reporter relieved the
officer at the slapping business, and the lat
ter resumed the rib-squeezing process, com
pressing the boy's frame till be must have
cried for mercy if he had been conscious.
With four men slapping his hands and feet,
and an expert trying to stait his breathing,
the boy must have been unreasonable Indeed
had he been dissatisfied. But he still lay as
dead as a stick, and happily unconscious.
After about five minutes of this treatment,
very much to the surprise of the market men
and the reporter, and greatly to the delight
of the life-saving officer, the boy gave a slight
gasp for breath.
"Get us a glass of brandy," the life paver
said, and redoubled his artificial breathing
treatment One of the fishing sailors went
down into the cabin and soon returned with
a tumbler full of Dot very inviting looking
brandy. The boy meanwhile gasped again,
twitched a little in the legs, rolled his head
to one side, and at length drew a good
breath. The minute he breathed the officer
picked up the glass of brandy and poured the
liquid down the boy's throat
"Now get me two or three blankets as
quick as you can." he said, and at the same
time he unrolled his coat and laid It over the
boy. The patient continued to show more
signs of life. He soon drew short but regu
lar breaths, and ral-ad one hand to his head.
Under the influence of the warm brandy in
his stomach and the fresh air in his lungs he
opened one of bis eyes
"He Is all right now," raid the officer, get
ting up with difficulty and straightening the
"kinks" out of his back. "Wrap him up
well in these blankets and put him in a berth.
Be sure 30a make his hands and feet warm.
IT you have a couple of empty bottles, fill
them with warm water, cork them well and
put them against his feet. In ten or fifteen
minutes give him another glass of brandy.
Ha will be able to talk to you inside of an
hour and tell you where he lives. But he
will probably be too weak to walk home ;
some of you will have to carry him. Come
old fellow (to the reporter), let us go. There
is nothing more for us to do.'' A'w York
Mail and Express.
The head of a large business firm in Bos
ton, who was noted for his keenness in dis
cerning character, was seated at his desk one
day, when a young Irish lad came up and
took off his hat, smiling.
"Do you want a boy, air?"
Mr. J. looked at him.
"I did not a minute ago. But I do now,
and you are the boy."
ne aaid afterwards that he was completely
captured by the honest, frank, all-alive face
before him. The boy entered his service,
rose to be confidential clerk, and is now a
neoeaef ul to e rob ant.
BOIS AND "DOYS."
It is Charles Dudley Warper, we believe,
who urges that boys should be caught young,
put in a barrel and fed through the bung
hole until they have arrived at years of dis
cretion. And yet after many and forcible
reasons for regarding boys as a blessing in
disguise, and so well disguised as to be mis
taken for something quite the contrary, most
everybody will agree with the eulogy he pro
nounces upon the boys. "Arter all," be
Bays, "there is something I like about a
boy."
Boys are the terror of cats, their mothers
and their elder sisters, but the cats would
lead but a dull career without them ; while a
mother would scarcely know what life really
Is if she was freed from the constant anxiety
she feels about her boys. What unruffled
but unprofitable hours of lazy enjoyment
would fall to the lot of elder sisters, were It
Dot for their younger brothers. Sloth and
ease and a mistaken belief that this world is
not a world of annoyances and discomforts
would enervate their characters. Boys make
them feel that we are not put here simply to
enjoy ourselves, but to develop our charac
ters. So with teachers. What a monoto
nous existence would be theirs were it not
for boys I A teacher of girls alone would
mistake earth for paradise, and so not hav
ing any use for Heaven and Dot believing In
any such place as a tefuge from earthly mis
eries would never strive to get there. But a
teacher of boys, every week looks forward
to a better and brighter world, makes good
use of Sunday In fitting himself for it and in
hoping that he will get there sometime, to
make up for his trials here.
The ash man who should not get a snow
ball down his back ; the rag peddler who
never found the wheel of bis cart suddenly
coming off; the streetcar conductoriwho did
not have to drive the boys from tb rear
platform ; the passerby who did not get a
base-ball in his abdomen or a bean in bis
ear: the nurse girl and her baby who were ,
not scared out of their wits by the sudden
rush of the velocipede upon their heels,
would not enjoy their tranquil intervals of
existence nor fully know the value of peace
and happiness. So that after all boys are of
very great use especially as a discipline
and a mean of moral improvement; and
they are not to be dispised, but rather to be
cherished and loved, as they are very apt to
be ar soon as they hav passed their eigh
teenth year.
But there are "boys" and boys "boys"
with a quotation mark and boys without
It Is the "boys" with these marks that do
not not deserve much charity, and do get
but precious little liking and admiration. It
is the "boys" with these marks that frequent
drinking saloons, tand on the street corners,
become rowdies at an early age, are riotous,
foul-mouthed, violent and even bloodthirsty
before they are twenty-one. This is the
kind of "boys'" that are entitled to the name.
They become street rouchs. if not burglars
and hieh way robbers ; or a dissipated, vi
cious, lewd and going to perdition in droves.
It is ganes of this kind in large cities and on
the frontiers, who are known as "boys" but
who belle the name. A mean but true spec
imen of them are the Malley "boys" young
men well advanced in manhood, but cover
ing up their debauchery, disoluteness, riot
ous living, and even graver offenses, by pre
tending to the giddiness and thoughtfulness
of boyhood. Tbey have no claim to any
such excuse or any such exemption. They
are men mature In wickedness and crime
and cannot hide their sins under cover of
boyish folly.
The same may be said of the "J ames boys"
who long since arrived at mature life, and In
stead of being pushed Into crime by the frol
icsome impulsiveness suggested by the word
"boys," long since resorted to robbery and
murder as the business of life, not as the
sport of Irrepressible and hot-headed youths,
The politicians, too, love to hide their
tricks and their games with the public ser
vice by pretending in a jocose and lightsome
way that it Is the "boys" who are really re
sponsible for the evil deeds of caucuses and
conventions, of wire-pulling and political
deviltry generally. They imagine U softens
the offense if they assume that it Is the
"boys" who must be looked after and look
ed to for the wrong-doing in politics, where
as the majority of these "boys" are gray
with the many years they have given to
learning and practicing their contemptible
political frauds and maneuvers. No, in jus
tice to the real boys, whose youth excuses
much because it is "their nature to," the
"boys" of the street-corners, the frontier,
and the political managers ought to have the
name taken from them.
Wanted. A clergyman who can preach
three sermons consecutively without men
tioning Galilee.
A man who will refrain from calling his
friend's speech a "happy effort"
A woman who remembers last Sunday's
text, but is unable to speak understanding
of the trimmings on the bonnet of the lady in
the pew next In front
An editor who never feels pleased to have
his good things credited, or mad when they
are stolen.
A pencil that Is always in the first pocket
you put your hand Into.
A man who has been a fool some time dur
ing his life, and knows enough to keep the
knowledge of it to himself.
A married man who does not think all the
girls envy his wife the prize she has captured.
A married woman who never said, "No
wonder the girls don't get married nowadays;
they are altogether different from what they
were when I was a girl."
An unmarried woman who never had an
offer.
A man who never intimated that the econ
omies of the universe were sublect to his
movements, by saying, "I knew if I took an
umbrella It wouldn't rain," or some similar
asinine remark.
A pockeUknife that Is never in "them oth
er pants."
A mother who never said she "would rather
do it myself" when she should have taught
her child to do that thing.
A father who never forgets that his datles
to his children are as many and as weighty
as theirs to him.
A child who would rather not eat between
meals than at meals.
A converted brother who does not exag
gerate hisforsaken wickedness when relating
his experience.
A person age or aex immaterial who
does not experience a flush of pride upon
being thought what he is not and may never
hope to be.
A woman who when caught in ber second
best dress will make no apology for ber
dreadfol appearance.
fROX WHITE TO BLACK
BiaiBiAmi c?n or a a t AwrioTia
WITH A KARB AM' Sirit.-Oai DtkASB
CHANGES IN COLOR A.VD AWONISH1S
THK MEDICAL PUOrtBtK'N
One of the most reuiatkable ca-ff ever
known to the medical pr fess:on that of S
II. Roblson, of GreeLv'.ile, Ohio, who. s'nee
November last has changed In color LulU be
Is as daik as a native of Africa. The p.v?u
liar and very rare dl-ease known as melano
sis, with which Roblson is affiled, ha
brought hlxu Into prominence, sj that pr:.-"!
clans are going from all parts of th- co :i
to see him. Bunnell, the New York nr -um
man, has made him an offer, whIMi Ms de
clining health will cot permit him K acct.
Among the numerous physicians of proxl
nence to give attention to the case Is Dr. W.
II. Falls, of this city, who returned from
Greenville yesterday, and was seen In 'he
evening by an Enquirer reporter. "'It is cer
tainly one of the most slneular aid remark,
able cases on record, " said the d ctor r her
first approached. Dr. Falls, aflr t'.srwl-ig
the reporter a number of photocrarhs of tho
patient taken recently, proceeded to desr".t
the case from the bep'nnlng. S. n. Roll9nn
was born In Greenville, Augut 31, 1854, of
white parents, being the eldest ron of L.
Lnther and Lavlna Roblson. ne U, as was
bis father, a carpenter by trade, ne Is mar
ried and has one young child. Last Novem
ber the sight of his eye became Impaired, and
about the first of March his right eye 'e"Ani9
entirely blind. 1 On the 10th of March he "-tn
to Cincinnati to be treated by Drv W iia:as
and Ayres. About that time ?rra'l lum;
about the size of a millet seed bvau to 1
elop on various parts of his body and h
mentioned his condition to the physk'st:'.
In April, while In this city, be commenced U
change In color, assuming an ashen hue. Tha
lumps on his body grew larger and more no-
merous. He was hen attended by Dr. FaHa,
who, after a careful examination, pronennr-c T
his disease to be melanosis. This disease if
very rare, especially In this country, and Dr.
Falls can recall but one other case, which
was in New York In 1875, and r.tterdcsJ by
Dr. L. D. Bulkley. Melanosis confls's of
small tumors ar cancers of a b'ack substance
all over the body. It Is a fatal disease, but
generally does not affect the appearance of
the bo.ly like the cae In question. Sreral
cases are reported from abroad similar to that
ofRobison. One worthy of special tret, .ion
came under the attention of the famnns Dr.
Lawrence, of St Bartholomew's hOr.p:ul,
London, In One of the lumrs or. r ob
lson was Temoved by Drs. Falls and Mur-ey
and examined by Professor E' bhen, or ih
Miami Medical college, who found It V be
positively melanosis, or black cancer. Rob
lson, who was a fine-looking fellow, with
skin and complexion as light as the whitest
man, continued to change in color, and w
he is as black as coal. Doctors WUliros ard
Ayres said be suffered from detact.me'ic of
the rectina, due to the deposit of the bl-'-k
cancers or nodules In smaller form within '.he
coats of the eye. After the cae had hw a
thoroughly studied the phyIHan p
nounced Roblson hopelessly blind. Doctors
Carson. Clendenln and others have apeni
much time with Roblson, and, like all others,
thev rronounce It a most remarkable cae.
Returning to his homo, RoVion continued
to irrow worse. The uoduk on 1 : hn.7 tow
number about seven bundle ', 1 nr tboi t
the size of a bean. Tl'cs'chtif " -' Me9
Is entirely gone Jut rectntly every p" -.'n
of the man's body tfiat w.a i- has turned
black. The Inside of hi 'H'a and or -in
black. What he spits fr-m Lis niouti in of
the same color. Cincinnati Kncvirrr.
Really Wonderful Ears. wr'" Les
ter, ag"d lOyears, lives withhls faeror; ti
Wea Plains, rear Layfayette, Indima His
right ear Is as large as a palm lea? tan, -v"ilf
the other is no bireer than the ear cT e- t r
dlnary -sized wax doll. With bis email e r b)
can bear the faintest burring of the ?ma!it-t
bugs and insects, an! even detect sounds tit
tered by the minutest anlmalcd' so ma!l
that they are not visible to the naked eye. A
fly running across the window-pane, a cater
pillar crawling across a sheet of paper make
a sufficient noIse to attract hl attention, ev
when his back Is turned. Th sepae of hear
ing Is so acute In this ear that it Is absolutely
painful to him, and be Is compelled to wit
a cork in It at all times. Therghtand larj-e
ear Is quite the reverse of Its little ccinpntuoT
In both Its powers and properties. To it
those minute and near sounds so plaln'v dis
cernible to the other are lot b'it distant
noises are readily heard. Although resiiin
fifteen and a quarter miles from any raiiroa 1
Lafayette being the nearest poljt -t
Willie can distinctly hear the train and mil'a
blowing their whistles and can eai.'y dii-'Jo-guish
between the engine bells ai' lty be'.la.
ne can hear the coming of a storm lor rs
fore there are any signs of it In the a;-, a-4
even long before the weather bureau give
notice of its approach. At the safrgetlon !
a neighbor Mr. Lester had a wire e?uze Hi
with a tin risa made to fit over Willie's car.
It consists of two thicknesses of gauze, tha
outerone being of larger mesh than the Inner
one; between the two there Is an lntervti.!-,g
thickness of loose flannel to soften sounds.
Willie wears it continually, and this, with,
the cork In the small ear, has the effect ot
reducing his hearing to a normal condition.
Cincinnati Enquirer.
Abott Adtertisino. naif the business
men visited by newspaper agents au 1 rskeJ
for advertisements consider the newpaper
man as a kind of infliction of Provid.jre,
which, like the itch, must take a certain
course before ueing cared. We wish to e--v
vlnce all such erroneous thinkers that th
are wrong. The newspaper, instead r being
a sort of visitation from the lower world, is a
public necessity, and for the pnVie rood.
They, Instead of dead beating their way In
lite world, live fiorn niony hard earr,e, ari
for which they frequently pay. In one mrot
another, two hundred cents" on the dollar.
Business men have made tortrmes, haveriea
from poverty to opu'ence, tlroplv from the
benefits ot the newspaper across the war.
The money the newspapers make Is han-lle'l.
by the men who patronize with their businea
advertisements. We have frequently bad
men tell us : "We never advertise. Ifstoo
much like throwing away money." On or
servlng their business we Invariably see tlielt
moiasses bane! leaking, their dry g.iods cov
ered with dust, their sugar filled with flies',
their scales rusty, their hands dirty, their
finger nails unclean, their pants pal "bed.
their ctitomers few and their success a fail
ure. Tbey hobble along In the world slowly
and are not the men who rise from p"""rty
and obscurity to riches and en'nen. h.r
us a man who advertises extensivelv and w
will show you a man who Mst!'e - 1 v
eaentlal to business s.io"e-. "' '.t
tisements placed in papr rr? : ke n - -1-heartedness
of vouth. heHi;V ;n'l at .lr?t
and reaching ir.tj t)je yi rs n . n .e r s
on apace. Then nev - n T'l:s.i.s
does not pay. Drones and fkaorsunusts oniy
aflvoeate stfeh views.