PARTING. O brook he still] O gentle south “Thy kisses cease among the noisy leaves, And kiss my burning mouth! O stars, make all your light to pour On him whose love to me so fondly cleaves; On him who comes, to come no more! For now, indeed, I cannot spare Fs first-last step; and I fain would see Far as 1 may how sad they fare. Or shall I wish that unaware Sle should come near and sweetly startle me, His hand upon my arm? Tis there! O brook, flow on! O amorous south, Kiss with a thousand kisses all the leaves! His kisses tremble on my mouth! But ah, kind stars, let not your light . Confuse the sweetness of my lover's eyes, That bid farewell to mine to-night! — Farewell! Farewell to mine to-night! RSI A REAL GENTLEMAN, It was a beautiful day in the early Spring of 18—. I lived at the West then, in one of those half rural cities for which the West is so famed. I had started out for a drive. The air was as balmy as Jane. The mud in the streets had dried up, the birds were going mad with joy— the hum of bees and the fragrance of the blossoms mingled with the songs of the birds. Soou I was gaily speeding along the gravel road; down through Dublin, as we called the poorer quarter of the town (though the real Dublin 1s a hand- some and well built city), out into the country, The horses seemed to share my pleasure and enthusiasm in the drive, and 1 bave no doubt they did, Their sleek, glossy coats glistened in the sunshine and they arched their necks and moved proudly, kuowing well the hand that held the reins, and loving the tones of the voice behind them. The odors of the great Dublin Pork Packing Establishment were wafted to us a3 we dashed past its great dark walls aod noisome vaults, past the squalid cabins of squatters; past the distilleries, with their tall chimneys, belching clouds of smoke that seemed to come from subterranean fires; past great rumbling country wagons, with half-drunken drivers, going home from the distilleries with the money from the sale of their loads of corn, except what they had spent for ies and calico, or drank up in whiskey; past slowly plodding farm teams, with sober farmers in gray —and women (seated in straight- backed kitchen chairs in the old farm wagons), in costumes of all shades and colors, with calico sun-bonnets hiding faces old and peaceful, or young snd giddy, alike; past rattling and noisy vehicles of all sorts, out into the soft and sponge-like roads, bordered by green flelds, and the whispering trees of the country, where rattle and sound ceased. Just ahead of me I saw walking in the road a very small boy. He was dressed in plain clothes, known as Ken- tucky jeans. On his head he wore, even thus early in the Spring, a plain straw hat; over his shoulder he carried a bundle, tied up in a red silk hanker- chief and slung upon a stick. In his hand he held his great heavy shoes, while he tugged on manfully and wear- ily, sore of foot and sore of heart, I had no doubt, 1 drove quickly past, and tnen stop- ped and looked back, and waited until the hitle fellow came up, “Halloa?” I'said, “don’t you wanta ride?” “To be sure 1 do,” said he, “Then why didn’t you ask me?” said L “Because,” said he, “I had asked so many times and been refused so often, that I had got discouraged, and I didn’t think that you would let me,” with some emphasis on the “you.” “Well,” I said, “get in.” He stood looking hopelessly upinto the cushioned aud carpeted buggy, and down at his bandle and his stick, and his heavy soiled shoes. “I am afraid I ain't very clean,” he said at last, «Oh! never mind,” I said. *‘Get in; this vehicle was made for use.” “I'd betler leave my stick;” he said. “No, no!” I answered, *‘you may want it again.” And so he climbed in, and the bundle was stowed away under the seat and the stick put down between us, “I never rode in such a nice carriage before, and I don't think I ever saw such nice horses,” he went on, and his eyes fairly sparkied, “Do you want to drive?” “May I?” “Yes, if you know how.” Andsol gave him the reins, and we were friends at once. «Who did you ask to let you ride?” I esked, **Oh! all those men in the great farm ons,” “If they had a load, they said they couldn't, and if they had no load, they ouly smacked their great whips and rat- tled by the faster, and yelled at me to get out of the road.” “And you didn’t ask me. Did youn think because 1 had nice horses and a fine carriage, snd wore good clothes and looked like a gentleman, that, therefore, I wasn't one?” I said langh- ingly. “Well—yes—I'm afraid I did; bus,” he continued, looking me squarely in the face, ‘‘do gentlemen always let bo ride when they want to?” it was my turn to be a little bit ge. zled, and 1 said, “I don’t thick Shey do, bat a gentleman is one who always does all he can to help others and to make them ap ie “Well,” said he, ‘I think you are a tloman, al any rate,” And so 1 said, “Will you tell me who you are, for 1 think you are a gentleman also,” and yet he hadn't “thank you” in words once all this time, Then he told me his story. His mother lived in a log cabin in a little clearing in the woods, in Boone county, His fosher ‘was dead, They were very , He had worked for a good Vario farmer the summer before, who was very kind to his boys, and he was Joing to work for him sagan, He bad walked more than twenty miles that day and had five miles further % go. His foet had become very sore, and so he had taken off his shoes and stockings, putting his stockings in the bundle hd carrying the shoes in his hand. “With all these things to earry, what do you carry a stick for?” I asked. “Why, so that I oan carry the bundle over my shoulder,” he answered. “Is the bundle heavy?” “It didn’t feel heavy when I started,” he replied, *‘but it does now.” “Where did you get the stick?” “A man out it for me in the woods and told me it was just what I needed to help earry the bundle,” «Well, which is the heavier—the bun- dle or the stick?” “I never thought of that, I believe the stick is—I know it is,” he sald at last, “Well, now, that was a mistake. You took a heavy yoke when you might have had a light one—diwdn’t you? I haven't a doubt but that man laughed to see that vou were so simple.” “He did laugh,” said the little fel- low; and his eyes fairly flashed and his face flushed with anger as he spoke: “That was real mean—don't you think son?" “Yes, I do; and I don’t think that man was a real gentleman; and be pretended all the time to be doing you a kindness, Don’t you ever impose on a fellow that's smaller than you are, in that way,” 1 said, «I don’t mean to,” said he. “But you haven't told me your name yet. "” “My name is Richard—they call me Dick for short; but I could never find out why. I don’t like nicknames. Do rou?” “No, I don’t. Almost everybody has a nicknames, however; but why Richard is called Dick is one of tho:s things one can never find out.” M:. Hollyhead, the farmer I am going to work for, always calls me Richard, He's a real good man, only I don’t get used to the thees and thous yet.” “Got any girls?” I asked. He looked at me a moment to see if I was making fan, but I kept a sober face, and thus reassured, he sad: +] guess he has, He has got one.” “Guess!” I said. ‘Don’t you know?” «Well, I think I ought to. She's ingt as pretty as she can be, and I like her first rate, "eause she calls me Rich- ard, too, and that makes me feel like a man,” “Do you live far from the railroad?” I asked. : “Close by,” he suswered. “Why didn't you come on the cars then?” He hesitated a little, and then said, “Cause 'twouldn't pay.” “What do you mean by that?” I asked. ‘Maybe you didu’t have the money?’ “Yes I did, Mother gave me the money, and she said maybe I could come at half price, as I did last year; but, you see, I don“ begin work until to-morrow, and I wanted to see the country, and—and-—and-—well, I just thought I'd walk, Mother put me upa nice snack, and so 1 lad the money in the big leaves of the Bible, right at the thirty-seventh psalm, that mother made me promisa to read next Sunday —for I knew she would read it at the same time—with a little note pinned to it saying that I would walk, Bat I didn’t know it was so awful muddy all through the woods, or I don't believe I should have done it; but I'm glad I did; for, if I hadn't, 1 shouldn't have wet you, and I might never have known a real gentleman in all my life,” “But,” I said, ‘‘isn’t the man you work for a gentleman?” “Well, yes, I suppose he 1s, but he isn't like you.” “No,” 1said; “there are a great many real gentlemen and ladies in the world. [ think the Quaker farmer is a gentle- man and that your mother is a lady, It is said *fine teathers make fine birds,’ but fuss and feathers, fine manners and fine clothes, and fine horses and carriages, and houses and farms don't make gentle. men and ladies. Only God ean rake a gentléman.” “Pid you ever read the story of Ja- cob?” I asked. No, he hadn't; but he knew about Joseph, And so 1 made him promise to read about Jacob, who went out from his fatiier's house with only a stick and a bundle, or wallet—much as he had done —slept with a stone for his pillow; and I asked him to be sure and find out what Jacob saw there that night, as he lay out under the stars, and what wages Laban paid to Jacob when he hired out to him, which I knew would be a little difficult, as Laban changed his wages ten times. Then 1 asked him what wages be had. He suid nine dollars a month, which I thought was very good for a small boy. And so we rode on together, talking about the wages the d pays to those who work for him, and the yoke Christ ves us to Joos ual vo ve w the EN yani when I turn o pe with his stick, bundle and shoes, I lingered a moment longer, and he bade me good by, and trampea brisk- ly down the road, in the December follow sat by a wood fire in my parlor; it was snd freezing without, i drew nearer to the embers, as the door opened, and a great blast of cold air came rusiling in, witha, ol uth as saying, “By your leave, with it came my friend Richard, caf deal. He was neatly dressed, and was ao glad to see me, and I so glad to see him, that all embarrassment was taken away at onoe, ee pasa lo as Hien , A we the » of the drive; but it was evadent Hrehary had come with a purpose, There was something in bis manner which meant business, And so I said, “Well, Richard, what is it? Have you and your pretty little girl at the farm had a quarrel?” “Not exactly; but I—I have given her up.” “Ah! how was that?" “You see, one day she told me she wished I wouldn't speak to her when there were other girls there, unless [ had on my best clothes, for I was such a small boy, and worked for her father, and the girls laughed at her about me; and I said [ wouldn't and 1 didn’t and 1 haven't spoken to her since, and I have given up farming, too,” “Given up farming,” I said. what are you going to do?” “Well, I'm going to try to be a gen- tleman,” he answered. “Can't a farmer be a gentleman?” I said, thinking what foolishness I must have put into the boy's head by my talk during that ride, “You: I s'pose he can; but you said {here were different sorts of gentlemen, and you see I want to try and be another kind. When you told me what a gen- tleman was, I thought I'd like to be one; but I didn't find it as easy as I oxpeot- ed. Then I remembered you said only God could make a gentleman, 1 didn’t know exactly what you meant, but after 1 had got almost discouraged trying, it came to me to ask God's help, and so I am trying harder than ever.” “Well, what sort of a gentleman are you going to be?” 1 asked. “That's it,” he said, ‘You see, I'm so little, [ thought maybe I could do more to help others, and take care of mother, if I tried something else beside farm work,” “‘Had any supper?” I asked. “‘GGuess I have,” he answered proud- ly. “I'm stopping at a hotel.” “Think it will pay?” said I, smiling. “Well, you see, Mr, Hollyhead brought me in, and he is coming again to morrow, The hotel is filled with teamsters and teams, so I asked the landlord if 1 might stay, if I would help take cars of the horses, and he said he'd ‘put me through,’ and he did; and that's the reason it's so late, for I have only just got threugh, and had my supper.” “You want I should help you, you?" “No; I don't want any help, want advice.” And so we talked it all over. He hadn't been to school mneh, and he needed more education, und yet he wanted to help support his mother, and finally we decided that he should go in the morning to the office of The Daily Blunderbuss, and see if he could get employment there, and learn type- setting. I told him he might refer to me. The result was Richard got a place in the printing office, and I used to see bim occasionally at work, with bis sleeves rolled up, his face and hands smeazed with ink; but at night, and on Sundays, he was neatly dressed, and he and the boys became great friends. At the end of the year I took him into my office, for I suspscted the print ing office was hardly the best place for him, and he proved faithful in all his WAYS, My boys were studying history at that time, and they gave him a nick- name, which I don’t think he st all ob- jected to—it was “Richard, Cwar de Lion.” After he had been with me nearly a year, I one dey asked him suddenly ‘*what sort of a gentleman he meagt to be?” “That's it!” eaid he, **I haven't got education enough, and I must go to school, and work half the time.” S80 I got him a situation as book. keeper in a haok, and he worked and went to night school, and finally fitted himself for college. It was a long and hara struggle, but a few years since he graduated with honors at the Michigan State University, and went to Chicago, where he soon obtained a position on one of the daily papers of that city, and got a home for himself and his mother, When the great fire came his busi. poss was swept away, but the cottage where his mother lived, *‘on the west side,” was mercifully spared. In the meantime, 1 had moved to the East, and had lost sight of Richard, except as I occasionally heard from him by letter, or heard of him from others, Fortunately, his capital was in his brains, and a great conflagration could not destroy that; and he was soon at work again, A few months since I received a lot- ter, quaint and curious, in a lady's handwriting, which commenced, ‘Re. spected Friend.” It was full of thees and thous, and it said: ‘“‘Richard” (no other name), ‘‘who was formerly in thy employment, has applied to me for a position as son-in-law, He refers to thee, Thou knowest there be adyen- turers abroad. 1 am a lone widow, to whom God has given one only danghter, What canst thou say of Richard?” 1 wrote: *‘1 have no doubt he will fill admirably the position he is willing to accept. He is a gentleman, in the best sense of the word, and any lady in L$ho land may be proud to become his w eo.” Boon after, Richard was married; and now it is Christmas time a 1 have just received a letter from in which te says: “We have returned from our wedding tour, My wife is a real lady if there ever was one, 1 am sure, i have got used to the thees and thous, and learned to love to be calied simply Richard, better than ever. “We found a double surprise awaiting us. First, an invitation to me to take the position of editor-in-chief of the Daly Chicagonian, one of the largest papers there, which I have ascepted. “It had been that we were to come back to -in-law’s, to spend a fow « before going to my own house, hen we reached the house, we found my mother there, and every- thing arranged to make it a permanent home for us all. “Mother-in-law said she could not live in tho house alone. “Aster was over, Esther and 1 explored the house, and Esther showed mo its treasure of closets, and spotless linen, and all that; then we spent a pleasant, social evening together, and gathered in the Lack parlor for pray. “Why do I only ers, “On the table lay mother’s big old ¥ well-worn Bible, 1 opened to thirty. gseyenth Psalm, and there was the money, pinned to the note in my boyish hand- wilting, just as I had left it twenty years before, It seems mother could never, in her darkest hour, make up her mind to use that money. I tried to read, but my voice faltered, and then it broke down entirely. Mother and Esther knew what it meant; then moth- er told Mrs, (iwynne the story of the walk and the drive, and we all wished that you were here to share our happi, ness,” Thus it was that the boy who worked came to be a real gentleman, Another Great Afrioan Lake. The existence of another equatorial lake in Central Africa, far tn the west of Albert Nyanza, rumors of which have reached Europe from time to time since Sir Samuel Baker's first journey, is again reported, this time in much more definite form. Mr. F'. Lupton, Governor of the Egypuan Province Bahr el Ghezal, writes to us from his station, Dehm Biber, to the effect that Hafar Ags, av employe under his command, on ls relurn from an expedi- tion toward the Uelle, told hum that he and some of the members of the oxpedition had seen a great lake in the country of the Barbosa --a powerful, copper-colored tribe, clothed with a peculiar grass cloth (of which Mr. Lupton sends a specimen In his letter). Mr. Lupton gathered that the lake was in about § degrees 40 north lsu. tude, and 23 degrees east longitude, and that it was quite as large as Victona Ny- anza. When the weather permits, the Barboas cioss the lake in large open boats made out of a mingle tree, the voyage taking three days, and they obtain from the people living on the western side (their own country being east of the lake) articles of manufacture, such as blue beads and brass wire. Mr. Lupton adds Ram Aga's owa account of his route to the lake: Started from Dehm Bekeer, marched tix days southwest to Z:riba el Douleb, then for four days south-southwest 13 Bengler; four days southwest to Z riba Wearendems; six days southwest by west to the Bahr el Makwar, which he crossed afler visiing several large lands inhabited by u people who call themselves Bassango. The Mak- war is called by the Arabs Bahr el War shal, and joins the Uelle, but is a much larger stream; both flow 10 a west-south. west direction. Alter crossing the Mask. war, Rafa: marched ten days south-south- west, and reached the resideace of the Sultan of Barbosa, by whom ne was well received: the lake is situsted four days’ march to the s)uthwest of the Bultan's res. idence. Mr. Lupton concludes by saying: “I feel 1 should not be doing nght in keeping dark this nformstion, which, when looked into by competent persons, may throw some hight on ihe famous Congo asd Uelle rivers. 1 believe the Uells flows mio the lake discovered by Rafsi Aga, snd that the stream which ls sard to Bow out of the lake probably joins tie Congo.” Mr. Lupton further informs us that he is engaged In preparing 8 map of his province, snl thst he was about W siart in a few days on & journey 0 8 country called Umbungu, some fifteen dfs march to the west of Deshun Suber. A — ID WI ——— Up And Out. How many of the dear mothers in “*Our Sitting Room™ consider it a part of their religious duty to take a walk every day in the open sir! “Oh, my!” says a hubbub of voices, ‘“‘what would become of our housekeeping and sewing were we to indulge in oul-door exercise 80 frequently!” ‘‘And for my par,” chimed in a jaded-looking inttle lady, ‘1 find exercise epough in trotting around the house, sweeping, dusting, pickiog up after this one and that, aad 1 am very glad of the chance to take my sewing aod sit down on my feet for a little rest.” Ah! that is just the secret of your jaded looks sod languid movements, and the rest you seek from needle and rocker will not bring the glow to the cheek or buoyancy to the step. It is more im. portant that your health should be taken care of than that the sweeping, dusting and sewing should go om without inter. mission util your energy 1s wasted and your constitution 1s broken. Let house work and sewing go for a while; go out and breathe the fresh mir and gel a change of scene, and see if when you return you do not feel bright and re- freshed, and take ‘hold of things with move zest and vigor. Try my prescrip tion, dear friends. You will be healthier and live longer, and your husband and children will derive a benefit that your too close application to home duties will never give them, Effect of Darkness. And a prolonged absence of sunlight is a very serious matter. Its effects upon the health are direct and peroepti- ble. We get no ozone, and we become dull aud listiess, as if we nad been sitting up all mght. When thus out of tone and below par we are consequently deficient in that vital energy which would enable us to shake off amy ordinary ail: ment. Nor isthis all, Abrence of sun- light for any le period 1s almost invariably followed by epidemic outbreaks. When the sun is active filth of sll kinds putrefies as it collects, When there 1s no sunshine the filth collects, accumulates in masses and ferments. These fermented accumulations are & source of posiive danger a3 500m as the sun resumes ils ac- tivity. Decomposition under a bright sun 1s comparatively harmiecss. Blow decom- position in the dark is eshecially hostlie 10 health. The Grandest Stairway in the World, The Uslvario Hall, just west of the city of Caracas, the scene of a battle between paniards snd the patriots in June, 1821, hes been made into a beau- tiful park. Going up the mount 1s what I believe to bo the most t stair way mn the world. I Bver nest anything approach itm beauty rope. It 18 of sandstone, 100 feet wide and 80 feet hugh. The park cost $2,000,000. The crest is 000 feet higher than the level of the oity, and is surmounted by & statue of the “Great Premdent,” Guzman Blanco, the “llins- trious American,” as he 18 called, who has dons so much t> pacify and build up the country. He may have made money during this working, but the people certainly have the improvements. o is worth about $15,000,000, ‘The Reason Why, “Out again to-night! The fourth time this week, too! And 1t was fust the same last week, and the week before, Once be would not have done it!” and the cbild- wife had her face on the eoft pillows, and sobbed piteously. *“There-there, dear, don’t cry,” sald Aunt Jane Rodney. “You look dreadful when your eyes are red, aud we may have company yet, to-night. It's scarcely nine o'clock; I wouldn't fret about him; I al- ways had my doubts. about him, You know thst, my dear.” Aunt Jane was a childless widow, and had made her home with hergbrother for mapy yesrs, paying occasional visits to her mece, Charlotte, since the latter's mar. riage. Aunt Jane was exceedingly prim, ex- ceedingly shim, and exceedingly suspicious of her masculine relatives. Her own short matrimonial experience had been none of the happiest; albeit, some said that ber sorrow was of her own making; and her favorite quotation WAS: “Men are decgivers ever.” She had the est tolerance for Char- lotte’s early marriage. Her long-continued wedded happiness wa: as 8 personal grievance to the embittered nature of her sunt, making void, as it did, the latter's gloomy prophecies. Now, when the demon of distrust was seeking entrance into the little home, she exulted in her secret heart, and would fain set the door ajar for him, “‘But, Charlotte,” she went on, “does he give no sccount of himself after staying out so late?” “He pever makes any explanation,” sobbed Chariotte. *‘It annoys him to find me sitting up for him. Then 1 don’t care to ask questions. There's something about him which forbids that.” *‘Dices your mother suspect anything?” “Ob, no; both father and mother have every co mildence 1m James, Besides, mother 18 50 mwerable in health, lately, that I don't like to bring my worries lo her.” ‘Y our mother never had proper feeling for her children anyway; aod you haven’ the spirit of a mouse, Charlotte Horton, or you'd never allow yourself to be put upon so." ““But what can I do? He is always sober, always attentive to business, always kind to me—except in regard to these ab- sences from home, and his reserve aboul them.” “I"1l tell you what J'd do,” said Aust Jape, with a countenance intended 10 ex- press BSolomon-hike wisdom; ‘%he nex: evening that be tells you not to expect lum to tes, that be has 8 business engagement night after office bours, be ready for him. Disguise yourself—it’s quite dark at bail past five now; take a discreet companion— myself, for instance—and follow him to bis “business engagement!’ Wonderful business it must be, to be sure!” Charlotte shrank from the proposition, at first: but ber impressible character was so skillfully played upon thst st length she agreed. Indeed, she began to feel 8 certain satis faction in planning the details of the expe- dition and snticipsting its results. Tune thus occupied fied so fast that both ladies were startled when the little, silvery- voiced clock on the mantel proclaimed madnight. “Oh, suntie, 1 hear James’ step on the pavement. There, be has paused si the Mat Aunt Jane bad softly unciosed a window of the front parior, sad was listen ing breathlessly. “There are two of them,” she whispered, beckoning her niece to ber mde. I} was sn inlensely dark night, and the lamp in front of the house was Ly some mischance unlighted—as0 the fgures were unrecognizable. The voices, though lowered 10 whispers, were audible enough “Thank God thst 13 all happily settled!” said James Horton, tervently. “Amen! and may He reward you tor your noble exertions, through which my old age bas been saved from dishonor,” murmured his companion. Charlotte started. Barely thal voice, too, was a familar one. “You have been more than a son to me,” it continued; *‘my own imprudence rought me into desperate straits, and it my poor wife or Uhariotte knew ——" “Charlotte knows pothing of it. Itis better she should not know. A sensitive plant is my dear little wife, and 1 would keep the rough things of this world as far from her as possible. My absences from home and my mysterious silence both have been trials to ber; but the knowledge of your danger would have been a worse trial” “And you are sure that all will be ready to-morrowi” “Yes, father; perfectly sure, I raised the last thousand an hour ago. I'll hand you the full amount in the morning. You can replace it, submit your accounts to the directors, and fear nothing.” Charlotte turned a pallid face 0 her aunt, and rising, hastened to her own ment. The following day, when Aunt Jane sufily announced her intentivn of spending the rest of the winter with her relatives in New York, nobody opposed her plan. James Horton wondered often at the subsequent happy change in his young wife; but be attributed it wholly to the withdrawal of her aunt's evil influeace; pever dreaming that Charlotte had learned the secret which his hagh-souled love had been 80 solicitous to keep from her. Gang vans. Dr. Richard Jordan Gathing is now 66 years old, Hew a tall, broad-shouldered, white w man with a friendly face, cently, said a friend about his gua told me how he came to Invent it. Said be: “I had several inventions betore this, ome of which was the wheat drill which 18 now in use all over the country, and I Shink it ws IY study on it that hrefused mo for the Gatling gun. In 1861 I was living at lodimnapolis. The war had broken out and the country was all excites ment. My house was within a few blocks of the and I was often present here unteers were departing for the field, and also when thelr dead bodies were back home ip boxes for teen three bad been killed 1 actual baitle. thought then struck me if 8 gun could be invented that would do the work of a hundred men, sad would require but a few men to operate it, that the horrors of war would be greatly diminished, and an end would come much sooner of every struggle. More men could stay at home, and lives would be saved. ‘I'he thought took such hold of me that 1 commenced to work on it at once. The result was the Gatling gun, “My first guns were made in Cincinnati, and they would fire from 160 to 250 shots per minute. 1 bad six of them manufac- tured in 1862, when the foundry was burned by inceodiaris—I1 suppose rebel sympathizers—and the guns were des. troyed. Next I had 13 guns made at what 18 now the type foundry in Cincin- pail, and these I sent on by my parteer, a wealthy merchant of Cincinnati, to Wash- ington to persuade the government 10 in- troduce them, He took them to Baltimore whete he left 12 and went with the other to Washington, The chief of the ord- nance department at the time was an old fogy. He received him coldly, told him be had no faith in bis gun and he believed flint-lock muskets were, on the whole, the best weapons for warfare. In shori, he would have nothing to do with him. My partner then left Washington and returned to Baltimore. Ben Butler was there with his troops. He had heard of the guns and asked to see them work. As soon as he bad done 8) he said be would buy them on his own responsibility, aod did so, giving his voucher for $12,000 for them. My partner had this cashed, but at this time there was 8 great fall in pork, and 50,000 hogs which he Lad packed in Uhicago with the expectation of a rise hsd to be sold. 80, for the first 20 guns 1 bad made at a great cost to myself, 1 received nothing. Ben Butler took the guns he had brought with him to the battle of Petersburg and fired them himself upon the rebeis. They crested great consternation snd slaughter, and the pews of them went all over the world. Now they sre used by all of the leading governments of Europe and alsd in Asis and Atrica. They enabled the Prus- gians 10 conquer Austris in 1866, though the Austrians had the larger forces, and they shortened the war by Germany and France so that it practically lasted hLyt sa few days. “The Gatling guns sre now msde in Hartford, in this country, and in Earope at New-Castle onthe-Tyne. 1 sell only to governments, snd the United Blates uses meny of my guns. They new take part in all wars and you have seen the reports of the work they have done in Egypt.” “How far will the balll” “From two to three miles, The new improvements which enable it to be fired {nto the air ave such that the ball, when 1t falls to tbe earth, acquires from the force of gravity such s velocity that when it reaches the ground it will pass through a plank two inches thick. This is at a distance of 3,000 yards from the place of finog.” “Will it shoot accurately?” “Yes, We can aim the gun at 8 plank pailed to a support several thousand yards awsy and by moving the gun rapidly along while firing we can cut a line through the board as though 1t were sawed. Bul- jets of different sizes are used in different guns. No two bullets jeave the gun at the same time, but when you consider thal 1,200 shots can be fired in a minute you see how rapidly and regularly it works.” Gathng un send 8 mismo AIA SrA Lett r-Carrying by Spies The “concealed letters * sent 10 General Gordon from Berber by the hands of native messengers illustrates one of the most pic- turesque festures in the history of Eastern warfare, which teems with stones of the ingenious stratagems connected with these despatches. In the course of one of the countless wars of Northern Arabia, & spy disguised as a pilgrim was overtaken by three of the hostile party, who, baviog searched him in vain, at last threatened to kill him at once unless he gave qup the letter which they suspected him of carry- ing, and which he produced from ameng the curls of his ample biack beard. War- ren Hastings, the first Governor-General of British Indias, when besieged in Beoares hy Cheyte Bingh, sent news of his position to the English army by tightly rolled letters juserted in the quills whica his Hindoo messengers wore instead of earrings. The Rusman garnson left in SBsmarcand (Uen- tral Asis) in June, 1868, being suddenly aiiacked by twenty umes its own number of Bokhanots, sent out eight pative mes- sengers 10 recall the main army. Seven of these were caught and put to desth, but the eighth reached General Ksuffmann with the commandsnt’s letter stitched up in the sole of his sandal, and the garrison was saved then at the very lasl gasp. Even this, however, was surpassed by a French spy during the war of 1870, who slipped through the German lines with an important dispatch concealed in the hollow of one of lus double teeth. —— A —————— interrupting Counsel. Lord Avonmore was very fond of inter. rupting counsel. Hus lordship would ofien say to Carean: **Mr. Curran, 1 kpow your cleverness; but it’s quite in vain for you to go on. I see the drift of it and you are only giving yourself snd me unnecessary trouble.” One day Curran, being too often ® in this way, thus addressed the judge: “Perhaps, my lord, I am straying: but you must impute it to the exireme agitation of my mind. 1 have just wil nessed #0 dreadful a circumstance that my HuAIRIOn bas Uk Yt Sepavered Ioaeh Uae A The § “Go on, & builcher 10 slaughter a call. Fr var at sip fu child unperoel an child _approtelied i the ie-baood gush. the koife into iglo— “Into the bosom of the chuld!™ cried out “Your lordship sometimes anticipates ft weat right into the neck of the calfi™
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers