y i -
HENRY A. PARSONS, Jr., Editor and Publisher.
KlL DESPERANDUM.
Two Dollars per Annum.
r
VOL. XI.
Sonif ol the Steam.
Harness uio down with your iron bands;
Be suro of your curb and rein;
For I scorn the power of your puny hands,
As the tempest scorns a chain.
How I laughed as I lay concealed from sight
For many a conntlosa hour,
At the childish boast of human might,
And the prido of human power.
When I saw an army upon the land,
A navy upon the seas,
Creeping along, a snail-like band,
Or waiting the wnywaul breeze;
When I marked the peasant fairly reel
With the toil which ho daily boro,
As ho feebly turned the tardy wheel.
Or tugged at tlio weary oar.
When t measured the panting courser's speed,
The flight of the carrier dove, - -..
As Uuy boro the law a lung decreed,
Or the lint s of impatient love,
I could not but think how the world would feel,
As these were outstripped afar,
When I should be bound to the rushing keel,
Or chained to the flying car.
II I ha ! ha ! they found me at last,
They invited me fulfil at length;
And I rushed to my throne with a thunder
blast,
And laughed in my iron st length.
Oh, then ho saw a wondrous change
On the earth and the ocean wide,
Where now my firry armies range,
Nor wait for wind or tide.
Hurrah ! Hurrah I the waters o'er
The mountain's steep decline;
Time space have yielded to my power;
The world ! the world is mine I
The rivers the sun hath earliest blest,
Or those his beams decline.
Tlio giant stream of the queenly west,
Or the Orient floods divine 1
The ocean pales where'er I sweep';
I hear my strength rejoieo;
And the monsters of the. briny deep
Cower, trembling, at my voice.
I carry the wealth and the lord of earth,
The thought of his god-like mind;
The wind lags after my going forth,
Tho lightning is left behind.
n tho darksome depths of the fathomless mine
Jly tireless arm doth play;
Where the rocks never seo the sun decline,
Or the dawn of the glorious day.
I bring earth's glittering jewels up
From the hidden caves below,
And t make the fountain's granite cup
With a crystal gush o'erllow.
I blow the beilows, I forgo the steel,
In all tho shops of trade;
I hammer the ore and turn the wheel
Where my arms of strength are made;
I manage tho furnace, the mill, the mint;
I carry, I spin, I weave,
And all my doings I put into print
On every .Saturday eve.
I've no muscle to weary, no breast to decay,
No bones to be " laid on the shelf,"
And soon I intend yon may "go and play,"
While I manage this world myself.
Not harness me down with your iron bands,
lie sure of your curb nu l rein;
For I scorn the ttrviig.ii of your puny hand--,
As the tempest scorns a chain.
lltomas W. Cutttr.
The Victim of a Forlorn Hope
One morning Mark Devine found n
note waiting for luru on Lis office desk
a note without a crest, or monogram,
or paimi-u u.evice ; the paper pure
wnir.e, iiiicK, sarin smootn, Jaintly and
curiously perfumed, with the mingled
odor of violets and frankincense. The
handwriting was easy, with the ease of
constant, yet careless practice, and the
signature that of a woman rising rapidly
to fame and wealth upon the ladder of
ner splendid raind ana arduous, well
directed labor. He had known her well
three years before, when she had comp.
alone and unaided, to pursue her career
in the busy city. They had met at a
pleasant boarding-house, where there
was really a home element, which called
forth the kindly feelings of its inmates
in their intercourse, lie had found her
always bright, agreeable, ready of
speech, full of resource a companiou
much to be desired in the enforced inti
macy of a transient abode. When she
had found her level and taken hold,
she sent for her mother, and went to
her own house, und, gradually, they had
drifted opart. He had heard of her late,
more and more frequently, and had
partly resolved to seek her out and
renew their friendship. Struggles and
success had separated them, but with
her, as with him, he felt sure the
memory of the old days was a pleasant
one, and a return to them full of
pleasant hopes. Now, she sent for him.
The few lines of the note ran thus :
May I ask you, Mr. Devine, to call on me
at my house on Wednesday or Thursday even
ing of this week ? I will not detain you long
and you will find, before von leave, that vou
have greatly obliged KliLMA. U. 15JKNEY. '
Mr. Devine sat a moment balancing
the note on his finger. Then he dashed
off an answer, and sent it by the boy.
On Wednesday evening in June arid
perfect ! he was shown into the dimly
lighted, exquisitely appointed parlor of
a house far removed from the tiny abode
in which ho had seen her last.
A strange sense of unreal yet familiar
surroundings came ever him. It was
like a confused dream. The beauty,
the luxury, the quiet elegance were
hitherto unknown in any thought he
ever had of her, yet, at once and forever,
they became a part of hei to him.
"It is ridiculous 1" he exclaimed,
standing before the mantel mirror in its
carved and massive frame, and looking
at himself with a puzzled air. "But I
could swear I would have known the
room for hers unywhere." He started.
She had come noiselessly in, and he saw
reflected, her pale face, and fine, clear,
dark eyes over his shoulder. She was
not smiling, but an expression of infinite,
sweet still joy struck him as he turned
to her.
"You are very good, Mr. Devine."
die said, holding out her hand. "Ee
membering your habits of old, I scarcely
expected you would be at liberty upon
the instant. Had yon really no engage
ment for this evening f
He laughed, and flushed.
'The old days, Miss Birney, were
long ago. I am not quite bo eager in
the pursuit of pleasure, shall I say ?"
xi were truer, remaps, to call it by
another name," she said, "since the
sport was often very like the bovs and
tiie irogs, ana tne pleasure ail on one
side. Sit down, and tell me, to begin
with, what became of the dark little
beauty I left you raving about ?"
"She " Mark paused, looked doubt
ful, caught her eye, with its subtle
gleam of mirth and answered, hurriedly,
"She is married, I think. Yes, I am
quite sure of it. But I have not heard
of her for a year."
"Yet I thought that really, the 'love of
Tnim lift Unn I A i 1 .
mo. Axua ib uui iuuuu you yvi r
Vr t i . . . . -
inoi as lie shook ins Head in comical
depression. "But I must spare you.
How easily one . falls into old habits,
niiu iukos up auouier s 1110 wnera on
laid it down I Tell me all about yourself
before I enter upon the object of our
meeting. Tell me everything, as you
useu.
She asked it easily enough, but he
found it impossible to comply. The
pale face and the dark eyes, the Bmne
white hand and its dull' heavy ring of
barbaric gold were the same he had
studied in his hours of idle chatter and
half-romance, half-confidence. But
there was something more here than of
old. The self-possession, tho sense of
power exerted and acknowledged, the
gi'flceiui poise ol the stately little figure,
the perfect yet unique, taste of the
simple, yet costly toilet, were new to
the Selma Birney he had known and
counted a "first rate friend." He was
used to women, spoiled and petted by
them as he had ever been, but to-night
there was an unknown field before him,
and he knew it. To pour out as he used
ail sorts of confidences, rhapsodies, con
fessions and excuses, was a thing impos
sible, indeed. There was in his hostess
a hidden power that moved him to
strange new desires and aspirations,
that appealed at once to the higher na
ture he had almost ceased to think of as
his ; that awoke him to earnestness and
self-respect in a way that thrilled him.
In the conversation that followed he
was at his best. Skillfully, steadily,
she led him on from one topic to another,
never directly touching upon his own
life, but draw ing out his opinions, flash
ing light into his thoughts, putting iut j
words half-formed resolves rendering
clearer and clearer fair, yet stern, aspects
ui uuijf uguinsi mica ue naa oiten
closed his eyes. And always, it was
himself, not his companion, who, ap
parently prompted speech and ennobled
thought. An exhilaration of mind,
such as he had not known for years, pme
and exalted, grew upon him, and was
evident in his sparkling, fearless eye,
his animated words, his Ml soft resonant
voice. Miss Birney sank into the em
brace of her bamboo chaise-lounge and
watched him eagerly, breathlessly, de
spairingly, with glowing eyes and quiver
ing lips. When he ceased there was
silence. Miss Birney roused herself and
sat upright.
"I pronv'sed not to detain you," she
said, in a slow, clear voice, that ht
knew must be the result of an effort for
self-control, and at which he wondered.
"I must keep my word and proceed to
explain my motives for requesting this
interview. You do not know them, anc
you will, doubtless, find them a surprise
and shock. I intend to be perfectly
frank with you. Let me ask one favor
of you. Do not speak to me until I
have told you all. Promise me that !"
"I promise," said he, gravely and
briefly, awed by her manner, her pallor,
and the pathetic sadness of her eyes.
She bent her head a momenton her
hand and he saw it trembled. Then
she raised it suddenly, looked him full
in the eyes, and said :
"In less than three months I shall be
m my grave. Unless I am restored to
health by a miracle ; there is no hope
of escape, no hope of reprieve. I have
known it now three months and two
weeks, and am used to the thought al
most ! I have made all arrangements as
fur as is possible. I am gathering up
the loo-o ends and fraved-out purposes
day by day, in the effort to leave inv
lite-work perfected as far as it has gone.
rn.rt.. i 1. i. . . .
i.u.-id in uui juuiMi in retrrei in tnKinof
leave of all. Except for the happiness
I never had. I cannot mourn."
She paused, as thoueh ehoosincr the
words wherewith to proceed. Mindful
of his promise ho sat silent and horror-
struck studying her face. Her eyes had
fallen, and he saw a sudden faint, swift
color flash into her pallor as she
thought.
"Iho happiness I never had!" she
repeated, softly. "Mine has been the
saddest lifo possible for a nature such
as mine. 1 have stood alwavs at the
gate cf Paradise, dumb and chained.
while others passed in before my eyes
to waste the fruits for w hich I hungered
and thirsted, to trample on the beauty
that mocked for ever my longing eyes,
to destroy wantonly the temple upon
which I prayed night and day to be al
lowed to labor in its building up. I have
been poor vilely poor so poor, I
wanted the plainest necessaries of life.
and yet my tastes and my desires could
only have been satisfied by the most
perfect, the most refined, the daintiest
of art's productions. That was mortifi
cation of flesh and spirit. It was a long
drawn agony. And it is only ended
when it is too late. I have been ill and
in pain so many years, that I forget the
very sensation of rest and ease : and all
the time I have been sternly, unflinch
ingly, rigidly forbidden the quiet and
the absence of toil that would have
made my burden lighter. I have the
fondest nature, the most passionately
tender heart, and it has never known
one thrill of liappv love. Maddened,
agonizing, defiant, I have reached the
very verge of that world, respect for
which, or, rather, the proud determina
tion that it should respect me, would
have kept me silent as long as I held
any part or lot in it. There is nothing
now to hold me back from asking for the
one thing on earth precious to me be
yond all words I mean your presence."
Asilonce, dumb as the stars of heaven,
fell upon them. To neither of them,
confused and palpitating with hope,
fear, surprise, passion, :,s it a dark
and hopeless moment. There was in its
mysterious shadow faint glimmers and
sparkles of life that meant one knew
not what, Mark bent forward, and laid
BIDGrWAY, ELK COUNTY, PA., THUESDAY, JULY 14,
his hand on hers firmly, tenderly, yet
gently.in its strength. She lifted it to
her cheek like a child.
"You always said yon would like to
hold my hand," she said, brokenly. "I
know you liked me, and I thought I
thought you were so kind you would
not mind doing such a little thing for
me. I do not ask much, do I ?"
"I will do anything I can for you
anything! I am truly grieved I am
more sorry for this than I can tell you."
"Thank you," she said, simply, "It
will soon be over, and I do not care, if
you will only come to me now and then
when no one else has a claim on you."
"I will come as often as you say.
There is no one who can have a stronger
claim. They are all newer friends than
you are."
The happy nature, crushed, wearied,
breaking down under the lot she had
not depicted darkly enough, rose
blithely to a gleam of sunshine. There
was something inexpressibly arch in the
flash of her eye as she repeated, in a
tone of infinite expression :
"All I and still their name is legion f"
"Yes," he said, gravely ; "and I
thank God, Selma, no nearer, no. more
limited bond than a legion of light co
quetries binds me now. I am free, dear
and honored friend, to do your will."
"Oh, Mark I" she said, "and I thank
God ycu meet me thus. Come to mo,
when you can ; I have two months yet
before the end begins. After that"
she paused and shuddered "after that
I will have done with all but the pains
of death. You will never regret that
you helped me to meet them by all the
strength that only happy hours can
give us."
The tiny clock on the mantel chimed
the hour.
"I must not keep you longer," she
said, "or you will count my promise as
nothing. But I could not help it, and
I trust you have not been very much
bored."
"I have had a most strangely sad and
happy evening," he answered, as he
rose. "I do not know why, but I feel
another man from the Mark Devine of
two hours ago."
"Tell me one thing. Are you are
you sorry you came ?"
"I am not," he replied, decisively,
holding in his both her trembling hands,
and looking down into her uplilted eyes
until they sank beneath his gaze.
"Good-night," she said, "and como
soon again."
"Good-night," he answered, "and I
will be hero to-morrow ?"
"If you care to come."
"Then it will be to-morrow."
An J it was. Mark Devine went home
in a whirl of emotions. What had hap
pened to him ? What change had come
over Lor? Was it pity that moved him
to such infinite tenderness for her?
How dreadful tho thought of death
taking her out of his life ! Two months
and two weeks beforo those wonderful
sweet eyes should be closed for ever !
What a voice she had 1 He could hear
it when he chose, dwelling with such
pathos on those words : "The happiness
I never had." Then the shuddering
horror of that sentence. "It was a Ion;-,
drawn agony"; the pitiful regret of
"And it is only ended when it is too
late"; or, most sweet remembrance of
all the sinking and tremor of the pas
sion stirred defiance into, "The one
thing on earth precious to me beyond
all w ords I mean your presence." He
started as he said it over to himself.
Could it could it mean all it was calla
ble of expressing from her lips? Had
she loved him all this time with a love
sufficient to prompt this action on her
part?
"As I live! he exclaimed, "it never
struck me in that light when she spoke.
What did I think ? That she still liked
me, as she used to say, better than any
man she knew ; that, in the fear ami
sinTnoss of her past and her future, she
thought of what she used to call rav
sunshiny nature, and found relief in it ;
mat our oia friendship had simply
crown deeper ana less lnvolous as -n
learned to think higher thoughts. But,
how much more she might mean by tho
same words. Her love would be a won
derful thing I There was a man who
had it once, and 1 thought always he
wouia never iose it. lint if lie has "
Over and over he recalled their past,
weighing each word and look and tone
of the years gone by against the ever
moving memory of the hours just ended.
It was wonderful how many things he
could bring forth from the shadows to
confront the light. Sometimes he
thought he grasped a new meaning in
sentences spoken, and forgotten by him
at the time. Sometimes he recalled
words and careless actions of hers that
turned such fancies into irritations at
his own folly. But. make what he would
of it, he could think of nothing else
than Selma Birney until he presented
himself before her at the earliest per
missible hour of the next evening.
This time he watched the door eagerly,
and saw her come floating down the long
staircase ana tnrougn the curtained arch
all in white, and scarce less colorless.
She met him with a timid air in spite of
her cordial greeting, and during the
whole visit was so far removed, in her
pleasant grace and cheerfulness, from
the agitated woman of the previous
evening, that he could not recur to the
thoughts he had nervously combatted
all the day. She was certainly charm
ing. Her conversational powers had
always been fine, and study, practice,
the desire to please those superior to
herself in years and honors, had so im
proved them as to render her the rival
of the much-vaunted "talkers" of his
tory. There was about her, moreover,
that witchery of personal attraction
some women possess to the never-ending
confusion and ruin of men, and
others a gifted and glorious exception,
few in number make use of to lead
them on to the best of which they are
capable. To be near her was pleasant
in itself, Mark felt. He left her,
pleased with himself and her ; elated,
he knew not why, and hoping, he knew
not what.
It would be a needless task to track
Mark Devine through the slow advance
of the two months he counted, at last,
hour by hour. Daily he grew in strength
and tenderness, in nobleness of thought
and pure ambition as the wonderful
nature of this woman opened before him. !
In one of their earliest interviews she
had begged that nothing might be said
of the future. "I have eaid all I need
to make you understand. Let me be
something more than a charnel-house
memory when all is over for us. There
is another side to death, Mark 1 That
will fit itself naturally to the best life
we can live here." From that time no
direct allusion to her approaching death
was ever made, but in a thousand and
one nameless ways he was aware that
tne thought of it was never absent from
her mind, and that she constantly
lauorea ana piannea witn it in vain.
let she seemed very, very happy. A
quiet look of sweetness and voice and
manner grew upon her, a charm that
everyone felt lighted her eye and rested
on her lip with each smile. And Mark
Devine loved her with a very agony of
love. It tore his gay, proud heart with
storms of passionate sorrow when away
from her, and sent him hungering and
despahing to learn the joy of her dear
presence anew, ana add yet keener
pangs to the consciousness of his ap
proaching wreck.
The last day of the two months came
and passed. The last day of the two
weeks that were to have seen the end
was over. The full three months had
drifted into the abyss of time, and still
eima iiirney uvea. More than that,
the color had come into her soft cheeks,
and strength she had not known for
years into her fair round limbs. Mark.
trembling in hope, was shocked to find
a shadow of another sort falling upon
his path. Unmistakably she had changed
toward him. Their close and happy
intercourse was sadly marred by
reserve he strove in vain to surmount.
At last, in a passion of hurt feelings.
disappointed hopes and vague tortures,
ne uurst out one evening :
"Selma, I can bear it no longer.
must speak in spite of your wish. What
has happened ? Now that I almost dare
to hope, now that you have been
spared to me even a little longer, oh,
my tiariing, wnat has turned our
friendship into pain to vou ?"
She did not speak, but he saw her
knit her fingers in a close clasp, and ho
felt her tremble as he leaned upon her
chair.
"Listen to me, tfiea, since you will
not speak out!" he cried, almost
angrily. "In these mouths I have come
to love you as never a man loved woman
yes! I am sure of it, for never did
man learn the sweetest of lessons with
such a fate lmpendincr and unavoidable.
I have not dared to tell you lest I dis
turb your so much-needed calmness,
but I cannot, I cannot bear it in silence.
omess yon naie me it cannot pain you
to know I love vou. And. oh. Selma.
you do not, you surely do not hate me
you must love me a little ? '
Then she rose up auieklv. and turned
toward him flushing, paling, trembling
m tears ana xaugnter, ana cryin
softly:
"Oh, Mark, Mark, why did you not
tell me sooner ? How could you help
it ? How could you keep it ? For I love
you I love you with my whole heart,
and and I am not to die, after all."
There is a goodly number of people
in this world who will conjecture at
once what was done upon such an
avowal. There is no one out of heaven,
perhaps, who can realize what was felt.
When Mark Devine folded her to his
passionate, so long-tortured heart, when
lie looked into her sweet face, with no
keen arrow of rankling fear tearing the
depths of his love, there were no words
to tell his happiness. For her, she gave
one long bigh of perfect content and
rested.
"You do not ask me what has taken
away my certainty of death," she said,
looking at him with the fondest eyes ho
ever imagined.
"Love, it is gone. I care for nothing
besides," he answered, stooping to kiss
tho soft white lids. "You are mine, and
i am content.
"Yes, that is like you. But, for my
own sake, if not now, then in the future,
I wish you to go to Doctor Henson, and
ho wilf tell you the truth."
"Very well, I will go. To-night, let
me think only of the future."
Doctor Henson listened to his request
next day with a gi'im smile. He was a
stern old man, whose fiat no one ever
disputed, and he at once admitted he
had told Miss Birney six months before
that, according to the judgment of man,
her days were numbered.
"Miss Birney, sir, has been my pa
tient for years. Hers is a peculiar or
ganization, highly susceptible and ner
vous in the extreme. For some time
she has been bearing a burden of some
description entirely too heavy for her
powers. Latent disease of the nerves
nothing else came to the surface, and
I could see her dying by inches, with
no power to save her. I probed the
wound in vain. One day she came to
me, and asked me in all seriousness and
earnestness to tell her the exact truth
with regard to herself. She assured
me, in her own inimitable manner, that
her happiness for time and eternity de
pended upon it. Sir, I told the truth,
talked plainly to her, and expressed my
firm conviction that nothing short of a
miracle could save her. That miracle
you have wrought. What the difficulty
was between you, you know and I do
not don't want to know. Returning
happiness, with a nature such as hers,
means health and life. I see now no
reason to apprehend an earlier death
than the average. She will always be a
frail casket of a strong soul. Take care
of her, sir. She is worth it. Good
morning." Mark bowed himself out and went to
Selma. His questions were answered
now. She had loved him "all this
time." With tenderness inexpressible.
with gratitude, and what evidences of
his own love he told her all he knew,
and thanked God for it, and for her
courage in sending for him.
"Mark, I could not help it! And
everything else seemed so worthless, so
beneath my notice I I could not die
without one sight of your dear face at
least. But when I came into the room
that night, I had not made up my mind
to ask you. I feared to do it, and I had
another trifling reason ready to cover
my request. It was only when you
came out in your true colors, dearest
and best of men, that I felt I would
rather risk and Jose all than let you
pass away from me when I might hold
yon. When I found I was to live, I
suffered! That made me seem cold.
I did not know you felt more than pity
for me, and I dreaded your thinking
oh, I don't know what some sort of ma
neuvering ; and that I am incapable of,
I am sure."
"It was the desperation of a forlorn
hope, my darling, and it met with its
reward. Purity, truth, sincerity such
as yours, could not but win when tho
outer barriers of conventionalities were
surmounted. But for your courage I
would never have known the depths of
my own heart, or the priceless sweet
ness of yours. If women risked more
fearlessly they would gain more, and
men would have cause to bless them as
I do you."
He was wrong. Let no woman trv
Selma Birney's plan who has not her
magic power. There must be purity
unshadowed, truth unvailcd, sincerity
unflinching, added to grace of mind,
strength of passion, and the higher arts
of a cultivated manner, and perfect
toilets, to carry one successfully through
such an ordeal. But any woman may
labor to acquire these things, which are
the basis of conquest, and in proportion
as she labors will she find her full and
sweet reward.
Tlio Levers of Hie Mississippi.
In Louisiana the levee system is of
comparative antiquity, having had its
beginning in the earlier years of the
eighteenth century, and the embank
ments long ago came under the juris
diction of local and State government
and assumed the dignity of public
works. In Mississippi and Arkansas,
however, the reclamation of the swamp
was an enterprise of much more modern
date, having its origin almost within
memory of persons now living, and at
first and, indeed, for a long time it
was exploited solely by individual effort.
The earlier settlements on the river
between Memphis and Yicksburg
generally wood-yards with small appur
tenant corn-fields were made upon un
usually high spots, which, although
really formed by antecedent inundation,
obtained, absurdly enough, the reputa
tion of being "above overflow," because,
for a number of years, they had not been
actually submerged. They were prized
accordingly, and the corn-fields of the
wood-choppers were gradually trans
formed into cotton plantations, at first,
of course, of very limited dimensions.
Similar elevated spots were sought out
and subjected to culture, and, before
any leveeing operations had been at
tempted, the river bank on both sides
was dotted with settlements of pioneer
planters, who sought to utilize the
fertile soil by cultivation. A very few
years, however, sufficed to demonstrate
the fallacy of the "above-overflow"
pretension; the planter's mind relin
quished the delusion that land should
be high, it was sufficient that it should
bo dry, and the proprietors deemed it
expedient to fortify against their com
mon enemy. The water-marks left by
tho flood upon trees, stumps, and fence's
were as plain as paint ; these indicated
tho level of the water and supplied the
want of engineering science." A make
shift levee of primitive style was con
structed, very near the river bank, bo
cause less land was thereby thrown out,
and because the cround is always
highest upon the marcin of the river.
sloping thence inland. As the planta
tions increased in number and approxi
mated each other, the principle of co
operation appeared ; levees were built
across unoccupied lands until there were
disconnected strings ten, twelve, or
fifteen miles long. The construction
of these was far from satisfactory. The
operatives were generally the plantation
negroes. At that time the Irish ditchers
and levee builders had scarcely made
their appearance in the country. The
colored people are not usually distin
guished for their skill in the use of the
spade, and cannot at all compete with
the Hibernian. Some years there was
high water, carrying dismay to the
planter's heart ; some vears there was
low water, inspiring confidence and
security ; occasionally there was no
"water" at all the river did not etet out
of its banks, and was therefore held in
contempt. In 1844, however, the Mis
sissippi, having apparently lost all
patience with this persistent intrusion
upon its domains, "spread itself," to uso
a vulgarism singularly descriptive of
the operation, and treated its unbidden
guests to a first-class "big overflow,"
the like of which had not been seen
since 1828. The river rose eaily and
went down late : it overflowed the
w hole country, and filled up the entire
swamp ; ruined all the levees, great and
small ; remained at or near high-water
mark week after week and month after
month until late in July, and did not
finally retire within its banks until
nearly the middle of August. Scribnei-'s
Magazine.
Wolves,
I have seen wolves show more bold
ness in the pursuit of dogs their favorite
food, according to my experience than
on any other occasion. Setters and
retrievers are Lequently snapped up
within a hundred yards of the sportsman,
and in broad daylight, when shooting in
thick forest; and wolves will prowl round
the villages at night, and come right
into small towns after howling puppies.
The peasants seldom show fear of them,
and an old woman I knew ran out once,
in the lightest of garments, on a bitterly
cold night, only armed with a piece of
tin and a stick with which she struck it,
shouting loudly to drive off three marau
ders who howled under her window,
whither they'had come in the hopes of
finding her dogs outside. Some watch
dogs, however, know their enemies, and
defend themselves most bravely ; and I
saw a big mongrel Newfoundland that
showed honorable scars gained in sangui
narylfights with wolves. One fine morn
ing I met a young wolf trotting down
the high road in suoh a peaceful, inoffen
sive manner that 1 took him for a large
dog, and so lost my chance of a shot
by not getting behind coveit in time.
As between a toy pistol and a Gat
ling gun, give us the Gatling gua It
is the safest as a parlor ornament.
New Havm Register,
1881.
for the ladies.
A Sultnna'a IHnrrlngr.
The following description of the re
cent marriage of Naile sultana, ono of
the two imperial brides, was furnished
to the London Standard by an English
lady who was an invited guest; On our
arrival at the house, a largo building
situated up a steep, narrow street not
far from Dolma Baghtcho palace, we
were ushered by half u dozen eunuchs
through an ants-room in which lounged
a few atterdants, into a fine apartment
crowded with slaves. There we were
requested to wait, ns tho Sultana had
not yet completed her toilet, coffee and
cigarettes being placed before us to
while away the time. We were just be
ginning to tire of watching the throng,
when the stir without proclaimed the
coming of the bridegroom, a man of
twenty-four years of age, short and in
clined to stoutness, but not wanting in
a certain comeliness. Naile Sultana
had herself chosen him at the Friday's
sclamlik. This power of selecting a
husband, by inspection, as it were, is a
privilege of princesses of the house of
Othman, and is carried to such on ex
tent that even if the favored gentleman
already posseses a wife he must divorce
her and w ed the sultana. Cases of this
kind are rare; but one at least has oc
curred during the latter half of the
present century, when an officer was
compelled, much against his will, to
comply w ith the custom. Being rich,
however, he sought consolation in keep
ing his discarded love m a separate es
tablishment, a proceeding which is sup
posed never to have reached the ears of
his royal partner. In the present in
stance, on tho contrary, Mehemet Bey
was quite ready to embrace the chance
which fortune offered Lim. Toor and
without interest, a simple aide-de-camp
uncertain of promotion, ho suddenly
finds himself the husband of his sov
ereign's sister, a general and highnets
to boot. His appearance was the signal
for a frantic rush, to which he re
sponded by scattering quantities of sil
ver piasters (in olden days they won!d
have been golden liras) among tho
slaves. The bridegroom having passed
into the sultana's presence tho ceremony
of marriage was immediately performed,
but only witnessed by the sultana's
mother. It merely consisted in the
Imam tying th'c-ra together with
a ropn atid declaring tliem man
and wife. Directly this was
over, Mehemet Pacha escapod by a side
entrance to avoid being mobbed and
buffeted, according to tht com-uon
practice of the slaves, who must have
been appeased by unlimited bucksheesh.
As soon as the doors were thrown open
the whole mob poured belter skelter
into the inner chamber, where the bride
was sitting in state, with a sister by her
side. All tho slaves, and also the few
Armenian ladies who had been invited,
bent humbly down and kissed tho hem
of her garment, but with us she shook
hands without rising, and motioned us
to chairs very near her. A fail", sweet
faced woman of some twenty-two sum
mers is Naile Sultana. She was dressed
iu a loose-fitting Turkish robe of rose
colored silk, slashed with gold, while a
long white gauze vail, likewise em
broidered with gold, drooped down
from behind the little cap that sur
mounted her tightly drawn -up hair. On
her hands and bosom sparkled mag
nificent diamonds, ner single-bultcn
gloves had burst in fusteninir. and alto
gether her toilet was far less perfect and
rich than we had expected. Through
out there have been no amusements be
yond a band playing European music
in the court-yard. The whole affair wu
a confession of the economy now neces
sarily reigning at the palace.
Fashion Notes.
Dresses of tinted mull, over v.vini'f.siuo
slips of palo pink, light blup, or crcain
wniie uuusip, aie sryiisu ana uccoming.
A sunshade entirelv covered with
feathers is tho In tost. fnnv. T.IHi.m- unn.
cock or canary plumage is" used to make
When little girls serve as bridemaida
there is a pretty English fashion of al
lowing them to carry an armful of flow
ers instead of a set bouqutt.
A pretty way of trimminur a child's
dress is to have a cascade of laco and
ribbon running from the left shoulder
to the right side of the skirt, ending
there in a large bow.
Jersey bodices of ciel-blue, rose color
or mauve-tinted silk stockinet, are worn
with white surah skirts trimmed with
tinted Spanish lace, corresponding with
the color of the Jersey.
When lace shawls are used for over-
skirts this season they are bordered
with a rather scant lace ruille, an.l are
draped in the back with loops of the
stuff composing the dress skirt, the
point falling in front to make an apron.
A new shape in morning caps is in the
exactt style of the headdresses worn by
the Neapolitan peasant girls, and another
shape called the "Kussian" cap, is made
of white surah, with bayadere stripes
across the fabric in bright colors of
green, gold and scarlet.
Stylish and inexpensive walking
dresses are made by adding a plain
i'-'toJ ikirt of black satin to a Jersey
bodice. A simple scarf of the satin ii
uruped over the skirt, and a bhoulder
cape of the same fabric, relieves the plain
appearance of the bodice.
Ombre weddings are actually in order:
that is, the bride wears of course the
whitest of loses ; arid then, out of six
bridemaids, the smallest or the young
est wears pale pink rosebuds, and the
tallest or the eldest wears the deepest
crimson roses, while the four interme
diates shade upward. This novel effect
is repeated in flowers of other color and
loriu.
Skirt drapery has become a matter of
exceeding complication, and requires
almost as much adjustment after it is
put on as it receives before leaving the
dressmakers hands. In theory one has
only to fasten the skirt belt and walk
forth with each puff and loop hanging
as it should, but the woman w ho enter
tains this theory is not a spectacle for
the contemplation of Hose on pleasure
bent.- , f
NO. 21.
Advertise,
Ye men of business, step this way,
Please notice what I have to sayj
'Tis Bimply this I would advise:
Do not forget to advertise.
The efforts of an honest man,
When mado according to this plan,
Can scarcely fail success to bring,
And wealth will be a cortain tiling.
flow is it with tho stingy knave I
Desirous all his cash to save;
Ho gains no wealth, and wins no prias,
Because ho does not advertise
f
Suppose the cost seems rather high, -Twill
surely pay you by and by,
And all tho world w ill soon despise
Tlio man who does not advertise.
Why should you wait ? It will not pay j
So send your orders right away
Straight to this sheet, where friendly eyes
Await to see you advertise.
This sheet, my friends, is just the thing;
Success it cannot fail to bring.
If yon would be admitted wise,
Iu this sheet's columns advertise 1
HUMOROUS.
Spell pea soup wi'h three letters
S-O-U pea soup. Boston Transcript
According to tho Waterloo Observer
love is so heavy that it sometimes break
down the gate.
At this season of the year most
every man on his way to the barber
shop is looking for a short cut.
"'Tis the last rows cf summer," as
the farmer said, when he finished plow
ing his corn. New York Dispatch.
Astronomer Proctor says the world
will last 60,000,000 years yet. That
will do. Any man w ho demands more
is a hog.
Medical men say no benefit is derived
from seasickness. It will continue to
bo fashionable, however. New Orleans
Picayune.
Two or three hairs properly arranged
on a plate of butter will save it longer
and make it go farther than eight pounds
of oleomargarine. Binghamlon Repub
lican. It takes 800 full-blown roses to make
a tablcspoonful of perfume, while ten
cents' worth of cooked onions will scent
a whole neighborhood. Detroit Free
Press.
" I think the goose has the advantage
of you," said the landlady to an inex
pert boarder who w as carving. " Guiss
ho has mum ia tge," was the wither
ing retort.
The little ones v ill keep on saying
things. Six-year-old Mabel is industri
ously engaged in "cleaning out" a pre
serve jar which her mother had just
emptied. Four-year-old Bobby looks
at her for a while and then blurts out:
" Say, sis don't you wish you could turn
it inside out, so's ; ou could lick it?"
"You sit cn your horse like a
butcher," said a pert young officer, who
happened to be of royal blood, to a
veteran general, who was somewhat
bent from age. " It is highly probable,"
responded the old warrior, with a grim
smile, "it is because all my life I've
been leading young calves to the
slaughter."
Now whoa ! my gallant bicyclo !
3Iy nk-Ulc-platcd steed !
Thou'rt cleaner than an icicle,
Thou art of noblo breed !
They talk of Foxhall, Iroquois,
And Luke, the Blackburn nag;
It's stalo and ancient still!, my boy,
A jockey's maudlin gag.
Now fly, my galliint fjlitterer!
No spoke ol thine be seen !
Weil see who shall be twitti rer
When halts my courser keen !
LuuinciUt L'ottriir-Journal.
Xo Xecd to Drown.
Dr. Henry MacCormac, of Belfast, Ire
land, writes that it is not at all neces
sary or ineitable that a person knowing
nothing of the art of swimming should
bo drowned if ho depends simply and
entirely on tho powers for self-preservation
with which nature has endowed
him. The pith of the Doctor's remarks
is contained in the following paragraph :
"When one of tho inferior animals takes
the water, falls, or is thrown in, it in
stantly begins to walk as it does when
out of the water. But when a man who
cannot "swim" falls into the water, he
makes a few spasmodic struggles, throws
up his arms, and drowns. The brute,
on the other hand, treads water, remains
on the surface, and is virtually insub
mergeable. In order then to escape
drowning it is only necessary to do as
the brute does, and that is to tread or
walk the water. The brute has no ad
vantage in regard of his relative weight,
in respect of the water, over man ; and
yet the man perishes while the brute
lives. Nevertheless, any man, any wo
man, any child, who can walk on the
land may also walk in the water just as
readily as the animal does, and that
without any prior instructions or drill
ing whatever. Throw a dog into the
water, and he treads or walks the water
instantly, and there is no imaginable
reason why a human being under like
circumstances should not do as the dog
does. The brute, indeed, walks in the
water instinctively, whereas man has to
bo told."
Durability of 'Umber.
As showing the durability of timber,
the fact is cited that the piles of a
bridge built by Trojan were found, af
ter having been driven some sixteen
hundred years, to be petrified four
inches, the rest of the wood being in its
ordinary condition. The elm piles
under the piers of London bridge have
been in use more than seven hundred
years, and are not yet materially de
cayed, and, beneath tho foundation of
Savoy Place, Loudon, oak, elm, beech
and chestnut piles and planks were
found in a state of perfect preservation,
after having been there for six hundred
and fifty years. Again, while taking
down the walls of Tunbridge Castle,
Kent, England, there was found in the
middle of a thick stone wall a timber
curb which had been inclosed for seven
hundred years ; and some timber on a
old bridge was discovered while digging
for the foundations of a house at Wind
sor which must have been placed there
prior to the year 1396,