7 I ' ' ' HENRY A. PARSONS, Jr., Editor and Publisher. NIL DESPERANDUM. Two Dollars per Annum. VOL. XII. MDGrWAY, ELK COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 7. 1882 NO. 29. "Cold!" ; They say that ihe is cold, but they Bay what they do not, cnnnot know, The very flowers thnt hang from the girdle of K spring were growing under the snow. Isthe violet cold thnt it shrinks from the gnze and the touch of the herd? Is the song of the thrash, though it is not permitted to fondle the bird? They often love fondest, love surest, who never betrny the emotion. I could tell you of one whom she loves with a passion as deep as the ocean. It is true that, in words, she has never con fessed to the feeling ; Love chooses a daintier way for its choicest and sweetest revealing. Never once has ha touched her lips with liis own, never once caressed her hand Hb might kiss and caress to his heart's con tent would he - " 'Cold I Cold I" Did he know all her heart as they flippantly sny it, He would leap with his might nt the falsehood to throttle and stiHo und elay it. Some time ho will know wlwit to-day what he would barter his life h be knowing Not, perhaps, till t he rose.--, and dairies above her are budding and blowing. She may die with the weight of her delicate secret upon her s Them may God ehiirgo His angels to crown her with Heavenly blessing and honor ! So they who were made to be lovers, alas ! they are nothing but friends ; He dare not, she will not behold, for the want of a word how it ends ! Well, the case is, at least no marvel, the story is common and old ; Mourn over it, sneer at it, which you will, but yon shall not say she is cold ! Anson O. Chester, in Our Continent. HIS TIOJST When Mr. Tom Kain-'er, who do- Mrihed himself as a travel in t photo- graphic artist, was not on the ma J, he lived absolutely alone in an hnmMe cottage on a wide patch of land ad joining Thornton Common, a high, wide stretch of grassy ground, and a place much resorted to in the summer. The village of Thornton, from which the common took its name, was seven miles from the nearest country town. It was a meek little village with an old-fashioned parsonage, an unpretend ing church, a school-house, a forge and a public house, called the Three Jolly Boys. To return to Mr. Kainger when he was not at homo he lived on wheels; that is to say he journeyed round the country in a kind of cart-house. He traveled mostly in the winter, finding through the warm weather no stint of people in Thornton willing to pay from a sixpence to a shilling to see their face, reproduced by the artist's glass. Besides being an artist, our friend was a musician. He really played the vio lin skillfully, and between "fiddling and photographing he got on quite well. At the time of whicli I am writing he was a middle-aged man, strongly built and rather short of stature. His weather-face had on it a look of weari ness, and also of resolution. Other things than the sun and the wind had had their will with that face. A life's tragedy had scarred if. deeper than ever the elements could. His scant hair was iron gray. Tom Kainger was not popular in the viilasre. He wouiu sic lor Jiours at the 'three Jolly Hie had nursed his wife through her Boys, smoking and speaking to no I h-ug and fatal illness, and had been his one. When he did talk there was friend ever since. Unwilling himself something overbearing and aggressive ! to leave the house, as soon as it was in his manner. He never went to J lhrht ho sent out one of the boys of church, buthe might often be seen j the village, to Martha, askin" her to coming out of the churchyard, where, come to him at once. She complied under the grass and flowers, lay what v, ;n, his request, and, while Kate eon had once been " the desire of his eyes" tinned to sleep, Kaiiu'er and Mrs his friend, his companion, his good j Wakelield talked of what was to be angel his wife i.iuiie. One thing was clear, that, if "It was the loss of her." said the , possible, Kate's presence in the cottage Inn11 'nil. rf llii Tin..... T..1I.. 1 ' . . i i. . t . . . . r .uuutuuj vi. tj.uc tivu jjoin, 'that turned lain sour, as thunder turns milk sour." After live years of happiness her fresh gay voice, the blue light of her eyes and the light gold of her hair and all the dear caressing ways, she had gone out of his life and ' left him, as we have seen, a soured man. One midsummer's eve, a time to be come memorable henceforth in Mr. Kainger's life, that gentleman sat in the bar-parlor of the Three Jolly Boys. It was a club night, and having i'or the benefit of the Jolly Buys performed twice on his violin, he put the instru ment away, and shouldering his case, and with his pipe set fast between his teeth, passed from the mixed fumes of tobacco and spirits into the clear, moonlit night. The Jolly Boys were hard at it when he left them, but the sound of their jollity was soon behind him; the common was about a mile from the village. It was a warm, luminous night. Every leaf and every twig of every tree was distinctly visible, such a power of moonlight was on everything. A noto faltered through the warm, compassionate stillness. Then from a clump of trees a nightingale began singing. There were hot tears in Kainger's eyes as he walked along. It seemed to hint as if the moonlight, the warm air, the singing bird, had some mes sage from his dead wife a message which ho could not interpret. Ah, with what a passion of worship he thought of her! "When he reached the cottage, in stead of entering it, he passed on to the common, where moonlight and unbro ken stillness reigned. Standing there, it came to him to take out his violin and to begir playing with all the ex pression of which he was capable, nnd he had no small measure, " The Last Itose of Summer." It was one of the airs his wife liked best to hear him play. Under his hand, which then seemed to acquire the very master' touch, the musio roso nnd quivered and floated far away. He wondered if beyond the moonlight she heard it. All his heart was intent on this when ho heard a sound which made him start. It was the sound of feet hur rying as if one were running a race for life. In another second or two, witJi a low cry, something caught his hand and dropped nt his feet; then a girl's voice said, in a whisper of terror: " Save me! hide mo! they will find me if you don't! They are following me, I know!" Kainger raised the girl, and, acting on impulse, led her to his cottage. As they walked along she said: "As I was running I heard you calling me. That was you, wasn't it?" " It was iny music you heard," he answered. "Your music?" she repeated, sim ply. " I don't know what that is." i i.i.ige, ttiui n. M-holesomn Burden of sweet-smelling flowers. Kainger su uck a light, then he turned and looked at his companion, lie started hack with an involuntary cry; for, in the girl fronting him, he seemed to see his wife agiiin the same shape of face, the same light of gold hair, the same soft, blue eyes, only in these there was a strange pleading, questioning look a look which seemed to say: " Where ami? Oh, save me!" lie came near and his hand fell on her shoulder. He started again, for tlii shoulder lie touched felt warm and wet. He looked down and saw that blood was soaking through her thin dress. " They beat me so," she said, " that I ran away to-night." " "Who beat, you?" he asked. " I don't know; but they did beat me, and made the blood eoiiie." Then the whole truth flashed upon Kainger. About five miles off was an asylum and the girl to whom lie was talking was an escaped patient. " You won't let them take me from v,)!, you?" said the poor thing, gasping his hand with painful earn- t n ess. Again his wife seemed to be looking at him out of those eyes. His wife's voice seemed to whisper through the room: " You must keep her and be a father to her for my sake." ' What is your name?" he asked. " Kate." " I will never let them take you from me. Kate; but you must always do what I tell you; if you don't they will fin. I you and take you away." " And beat me again?" " Yes, worse than ever." Then lie looked at the poor mangled bo ly and dressed the wounds. I am writing of a time, happily past now, when the unfortunate inmate of luna tic asylums underwent horrors which it now sick mis one to think of. lie made Kate lie down upon his bed an I then casting himself on the floor fe!i into a broken, uneasy sleep. Fi nally when the dawn had well come, and birds were talkative, he rose ami went to look at his charge; she was sleeping as peacefully as a child, one h:"id half hidden in her long gold hair. .Mr. Hainger felt that something very precious and very beautiful had come to him, but what was he to do with it ? Fortunately there was one person in ihe village who loved and trusted him, and whom he in return also loved and trusted. This person was not beautiful to look at, and also she was old. Her name was Martha. He re solved to take her into his confidence. musi oe kcih a secret. urs. Wakefield : would send in some livsh clothes for the poor girl, and when night came j liaijjger would take those she now , wore, and which seemed to him a badge of the asylum, and burv them in some wonderful caves close at hand, i holding in their depths miles of night i and darkness. When Kate awoke ! I Martha went to her, washed and j ; dressed her, and shuddered over her i poor, wounded body. AVhen she was j ! dr-'ssed she was brought to see Bain-1 gi r. She bade him good-morning and ! ; put up her face to be kissed. j As a rule Kainger prepared his own ! breakfast ; to-day Mrs. Wakefield j i i.:... !.... . ii -ww . . Kit eu nun mat uoiiiue. Kate s was i taken to her in an inner room, lest I any of the neighbors should catch sight of her in their passing by. It was little work that Kainger got i through that day. so occupied was he : in studying his' charge. Mrs. AVake ! field had lent her a picture book, which j seemed to delight her. Once in the j course of that dav, when she was ! alone with Mrs. Wakefield, she said. fixing her eyes intently on thnt good woman, and speaking in a tone which, in its intensity, corresponded to the look in her eyes: " Where's Tom ?" Siie had heard Mrs. Wakefield call him by his Christian name. "Do you want Tom, my pretty?" anstt ereu me widow. j " Yes, I want Tom," replied the girl, ! dreamily. Then she fell to looking at ! her hands, as if they had suddenlv grown strange to her. ' : Mrs. Wakefield went lor Kainger, i who was not far off. The girl threw her arms about his neck, buried her i face on his shoulder and sobbed and laughed by turns. Then she asked for the music, so ho got his violin and played to her. As lie played it seemed as if her poor spirit, wandering in lands lit by dubi ous lights, echoing with unjoyful laughter and sad ringing, haunted bv shapes terrible and indescribable, was striving desperately and vainly to i grope its way back to the land of rea so; i and reaiity. 'What could there bo ' to apprehend in her? She seemed strangely gentle. Her voice was very low and had in it a subtle inner music which went right to the hearer's heart. 1 cannot set forth in words the pas sion of tenderness with which Kainger thought of his new charge. When he wont on the common he left her locked up in the house with doll or picture- book. So passed a couple or months. One cold, wet, windy August night, a nitwit when nature seemed shudder- ingly to realize the impending desola tion of the end, Kainger lay asleep in the room adjoining the one oc cupied by Kate. He was a sound sleeper. Suddenly, however, he was awakened by some one shaking him violently. He started up to see Kate standing by his side. She carried a light in her hand, nnd her gold hair vwi nil unbound. There was a look in her keen, ovm tpnt 1'c '-: . there belore a look of protest and in finite horror the look of an animal about to undergo some torture from which it knows there is no escape. " AVhat are you doing, Kate ?" he asked; " has anything frightened you?" She placed the light on the table and her lingers began working in one an other. Then she said, in a tone of voice scarcely louder than a whisper: " I am going to scream." She had scarcely uttered the words when she flung back her head and stretched out her hands, while from her lips there broke a shriek so terri ble, so unearthly, as to make the blood of any one who'heard it turn cold. It was a cry which seemed to rend the sense of hearing. It was so wild, so unlike anything ever heard before, that it suggested some new agony of body and soul a fresh discovery in the realms of torture. Fortunately, there was no cottage within a mile of Kainger's. He came near her, but she sprang at him like a wild thing, her eyes flashing, her lips drawn back and showing her gleaming teeth. At length breath failing, she fell to the ground, where she lay cow ering as if she expected every moment to feel the stroke of a rod. It was clear that she was liable to these terrible and dangerous outbreaks of insanity. Before morning she was taken with another wild lit of screaming, after which she giew strangely quiet, and then fell asleep. When she awoke she was again the gentle, trusting, childlike Kate. ' AVhat if such a fit should take her in the daytime?" thought Kainger, and he shuddered. Every day she seemed to cling more find more to her protector, whom only she and the old woman loved. ( H'tent for hours together, he would hold her slight form clasped against his heart, as if she had been his child, Ikt bright head leaning . upon his shoulder. He told her fairy tales and simple rhymes, of which she liked the sound; but most of all she delighted in hearing him play. He was seen h ss and less at the Three Jolly Boys, and became still more unpopular. Then people grew curious to know how and where he spent his evenings. ( ne evening a man stole to his cot tage door. It was closed, but the man thought he could hear Kainger talking to himself; he was telling Kate a story. For four months the patient search had been made for the escaped mad girl, but with no good result. It often happens that when we have searched long and diligently for some object, and have at last given it up as lost for ever, we come upon it by accident when there is no thought of it in our minds. So chanced it with Dr. Prince, a shrewd, hard, implacable-looking man. He had quito given up the hope of lin ling his escaped patient, when fate led him to the very place where she was. The doctor, who enjoyed bodily exercise, was returning on foot one evening to the asylum. His way lay over .the common. Jfe had counted oh a moonlight walk, but instead of moon light a log fell over everything a fog, too, that wetted- one like rain. Dr. Prince was perplexed to know what course lie should take when to the left of him he spied a gleam of light, which proceeded from Kainger's cottage. The doctor gave thanks for it, and, pushing open the gate, stood in the little garden, whicli, because of the season, smelt then only of decav. "A pest on these November fogs'," thought the doctor, before rapping at the door. Then he stood there ar rested by what he heard from within, though what he heard was simply a man's voice saying- " Well, when the good fairy saw how sad little Alice was, v th no 'books, no pretty pictures, no nice dresses, and no dolls" Then a girl's voice, quest ioningly: " Didn't she have any dolls?" Then the man again: "Xo; no dolls at all, not one." Then the girl: "Did she have any music?" " No; no music, cither." " Then she must have been a very sad little girl !" "So she was; but let mo what the good fairy did." tell you "It must bo she!" ejaculated Dr. Prince. "I should know that voice anywhere. Kun to earth at last, mv d-ar." AVithout more delay he knocked on the cottage door. The man left off talking, and said " Hush !" in a low tone of voice; then feet moved across tiie floor and a door shut. Then the door that led from the garden, into the sitting-room was opened by Kainger. " I have lost my way most hopelessly in this horrible fog," began the doctor; " and, catching sight of your friendly light, I thought you might be able to oblige me with the loan of a lantern." The unsuspecting photograpner re plied that he should bo happy to sup ply the desired object; and, while he was getting it ready, the doctor came iu and made himself at home. There was something in him that Kainger mistrusted and disliked. "You live here alone?" questioned the newcomer. No answer. " I say, you live here alone." " Yes, I live here alone." " I thought when I came to the door I heard voices." Mr. Rainger stopped in preparing the lantern, raised his eyes, fixed them on the Btranger's face, and said, inso lently, it must be owned: " Perhaps you did and perhaps you didn't. AVhat business is it of yours whether I speak the truth or not ?" ' Asithappens,"answered the doctor, "it is my very special business. I believe nay, I am almost certain that you have concealed a dangerous -and escaped lunatic, for whom the closest search has been made." ."!'"nt's nonsense!" returned the other, bruaviv. ,,,... v?,u Wjfi, the lantern. "There is no escaped lunatic here." " I am sorry to doubt your word," replied the doctor, " but, really " and as ipiick as lightning ho darted to the door of the adjoining room and opened it. At the same time a shape sprang from it, rushed passed him, and falling at Kainger's feet, implored him wildly to take care of her and not to give her up. Dr. Prince looked on with a satis fied smile he had recaptured his vic tim. " It's too late to remove the patient to-night," he said. " I will send for her in the morning. I assure you, my friend, she will be well punished for this." And his cruel eyes gleamed. " I'll keep her against the whole gang of you," answered Kainger, sullenly. " Have no fear, my darling; they shall not touch you." ' " She will be removed as early as possible in the course of to-morrow," said Dr. Prince, quietly. " I shall pass to-night at Thornton;" and, taking up the lantern, he walked out into the night. Kainger closed the door after him and locked it. Then he sat down and con sidered what he could do, nnd Kate crouched beside him, crying from time to time, " Oh, Tom, save mel" " i es, my love, yes," he answered, "I will save you still;" but he asked himself, "How?" At one time he thought of getting out his wandering house and driving her away in it; but what good would that be? They would be followed and soon found. AVhat was there to be done? Ho had always prided himself on being a man of resources, yet now he seemed resourceless. Presently he got up and went into the garden. A strong, keen wind had sprung up, and had wholly scattered the fog. The cold air was radiant with moonlight. He walked up and down, sorely dis tracted as to what he should do. Sud denly he stopped in his walk and ex claimed, "Yes, better even that than to give her up to them." He took an other turn to and fro; then he went on. Kate was sitting just where he had left her. her face buried in her lands. ' Kate," he said, " I can save you if you will do just what I tell you." " 1 will be good, she answered. Shortly after this a man, powerfully built, though somewhat low in stature, and a slightly-made girl might have been seen walking together in the direction of the noted Thornton caves, in which once Druid priests had per formed their dread sacrificial rites. The girl carried a violin case, the man carried a lantern and a spade. The two soon reached the mouth of the caves. " AVhere are we going?" asked Kate. "In here, dear," he answered. She sprang back, saying, "It looks so dark in there, I'm frightened." " It won't be dark with this," he said, turning up his lantern to the full. " I n here you are safe. litre they w ill never find you." " Are yon quite sure they won't find me?" " Quite sure; bend your head very low. There, that's it; you can stand up now." They were in the everlasting night and winter of the Thornton caves. In deed in that mighty darkness the rays of the lantern seemed just a faint pro test of light. The ground was thickly covered with sand, whicli rendered their steps noiseless. In parts this sand collected in drifts, forming regular hills. "Iain frightened," she paid, begin ning to cry. " I want the music." (Jiving her the lantern to carry, he took the violin from its case and began playing, and so he drew her on as Or pheus drew his Euridice. The caves are cold and the caves are dark. They stretch for miles, and wind as snakes wind. At length they reach a remote part. Kainger leaves olf playing and restores the violin to its case. " Kate, my own darling," he says, drawing her close to him, " I love you as I should have loved her child and mine." "AVhat aro you crying for?" she asks, putting her hands to his eyes, from which, indeed, the tears aro fall ing fast. "I'll be good; don't cry, Tom," and she lays her face caressingly against his. lie draws one arm away and feels for something in his coat a Hash, a si mrp report, a whizz of something through the air, a puff of smoke, a cry, it thud on the sand then absolute si lence. Kainger stood for several minutes without moving; then he took the lantern from the ledge of rocks where he had placed it, and kneeling down by the fallen form looked closely at the face and felt the pulse and heart. Yes, she was passed all earthly detection, all earthly dread. He re placed the heavy old-fashioned pistol in his coat, and using the spade he had brought with biin duar under a pro jecting slab of rock a rough grave, wherein he reverently laid the fair body. "God bless you," ho said, as he turned away from her he had loved so well. He was at home in these caves, as very fjew people Were, so that he had no trouble in retracing his way to the entrance. Oh ! tho deserted little cottage to which he returned 1 Kate's empty bed; Kate's empty chair 1 Still ho said to himself that it had been the only way. He had loved her too well to let her live for sulTering worse than many deaths could be. The next day, with a force of keep ers, Dr. Prince presented himself at Kainger's cottage. " I have come to remove my patient," he said. To which answered Kainger: " She has removed herself; the bird has flown out of the cage. Look long enough and perhaps you will find her.'' ..... - .tnfr, nnaa. linf ofrpr nil what evidence could be alleged against Kainger, unpopular as the man was? I, however, think that his trust was well kept. Philip Jfourke Marxian. The Rising of the Nile. Measuring from the cataracts of Sayene, where the Nile enters Upper Egypt from Nubia, to the most north erly points of the Delta, oi' Lower Egypt, there are about six hundred miies of country, the settled popula tion of wliicli is peculiarly dependent upon the great river for very exist ence, and every year swayed by hopes or fears as the waters of the stream are sufficient or scarce or too abundant. The welfare of the Egyptians is, in truth, intimately bound up with the annual recurrence of a natural phe nomenon known as tho " Kising of the Nile." The river, issuing from a val ley a few miles nortli of Cairo, enters the low, wide plain, which, from its resemblance to the fourth letter of the Greek alphabet, received from that people the name of tho Delta. The stream divides itself into two branches, that of Kosetta, or old Canopic, and that of Damiat, or Fhatnitic, Tho river at Kosetta is about 1,800 feet wide, and at Damiat nearly 800 feet. Tho rise of the Nile, occasioned by the periodical rains of Central Africa, begins in June, about the summer solstice, and con tinues to increase until September, overflowing the lowlands along its course. The Delta then looks like an immense marsh, interspersed with nu merous islands, with villages, towns and trees just above tho water. Should the. Nile .rise a few feet above its cus tomary elevation, the inundation sweeps away the mud-built cottages of the fellaheen, drowns the cattle, and involves the whole population in ruin. Agiiin, should it fall short of tho or dinary height, bad crops and dearth are the consequences; The inunda tions having remained stationary for a few days, begin to subside, and about the end of November most of the fields are left dry and covered with a fresli layer of rich brown slime; this is the time that the lands are put under cul tivation. During the winter in Eng land, whicli is the spring in Egypt, the IM'.a, as well as the valley of the Nil.1, looks like a delightful garden smiling with verdure and blossom." Garibaldi's Character. Tins battle of the Yolturno, the flight of the king and the siege of Capua followed in rapid succession. During the whole of that stirring time I was tit Naples. I saw the dictator of the Two Sicilies at the summit of his power and popularity, and I saw how he used both. It was commonly said that for a fortnight after he en ter; d Naples no crimes were committed. I stayed long enough to see the place become a sink of iniquity once more. After the battle of the Volturno there was little to do except to get into mis chief, and plenty of mischief there was duels, assassinations, gambling and Worse. But what a spell seemed to fall upon the city whenever Garibaldi was in it ! The nights were as a rule noisy and uproarious. One night he sent out word that he could not sleep, and you might have heard a pin drop on the pavement all through that night. The women brought him their chil dren to bless, he stroked their heads he rebuked their superstition but he could never say an unkind Word to them. His care for the wounded was unwearied. lie went daily through the military hospitals at Caserta. The doctors said his visits did more i'or the men than all the physic. They declared his touch and very look were full of healing; tho dying heads were lifted to see him pass, and wounded men leaped from their couches to seize his hand. He was just the same on the battle field he always went over it himself to be sure that all the living had been taken up and all the wounded cared for. This is how he won the great and simple love of his soldiers. His own soul was great and simple. I remember his life at Naples the talk of the town. He would live in no palace he would not even be called your excellency, although supreme ruler of both Sicilies. He was lodged up in a little attic at the top of the Toledo. lie said ho liked to be high up to breathe the air. At Palermo tho costliest wines and viands were prepared for him he lived on beans, potatoes and the com mon wine of the country; he spent on an averago eight francs a day, and never had anything in his pocket; any one who asked him for money got it. He had a simple method. He borrowed of whoever happened to be near him, and gave it away. The people whom he borrowed from generally got paid; but he never spent anything upon, or asked anything for, himself. One week lie was the irresponsible controller of millions, and the next weeek hset sail for Caprera with half a sack of pota toes his only wealth I Jiev, Ji, Ji If awe Is. in Good Words. The Chairs of Xoted Senators. Daniel Webster resigned his seat in the United States Senate on July 20, 1850, says a AVashington letter. His desk is still in the senate chamber, but which one, where its sits, and who is the lucky Senator that has it, are se crets to all the world except Captain Bassett. whom Mr. Webster brought here wneu a mere boy, and put him in position as a page eighteen years before he resigned. Captain Bassett has held a place in the Senate from that day until the present, being acting assistant sergeant-at-arms now. But . to the story of the desk : As above stated the possessor of or its number is as pro found a secret to tho Senator who sits in it as it is to nn Egyptian mummy. Captain Bassett's reason for keeping all knowledge of the numbers of Mr. AVebeter's, Mr. Clay's, Mr. Calhoun's sents a secret is that, knowing and understanding t.iie deslio of mo Average American citizen, both male and female, for relics, he fears to give the secret away lest the desk would bs chipped away by piecemeal by the curious who throng the capital every day. There has been no change in these desks from the day they were brought into the capitol until now, other than the annual coat of varnish. Captain Bassett has a memorandum record of their numbers and places, which he keeps under lock and key, and will, when he conies to shuttle otf this mortal coil, furnish to the proper per son all the information relative to these desks, in order that their history may bo carefully preserved and handed down to future generations ns memen tos of AVebster and his associates in the Senate. There are three other desks in the Senate chamber whicli cu riosity hunters Would like to bo able to see and know that they Were the right ones. These are the desks of Jefl'eron Davis, of Mississippi; Stephen A. Douglas, of Illinois, anil Charles Sum ner, of Massachusetts. Mr. Davis desk occupied the same position in the chamber that Mr. Beck's does now,- but it is not known to any one except- Captain Bassett whether or not it is the same one. Mr, Douglas was in tho same place as that occupied by Mr. Pendle ton, and Mr. Sumner was in the place now occupied by Mr; Dawes. In 1802, when the New York Zouaves were in the city, about t wenty of them went into the Senate chamber early in the morning to destroy the chair and desk that-hud been occupied by Jefferson Davis. Just as they were in the act Captain Bassett put in his appear ance, and asked them what they Were about; They quickly told him that they were going to des .roy tho seat anil desk because they were the one used by Jeff Davis. Captain Bassett suggested to them that their mlwion in Washington was to protect public property, and not, destroy it. They saw the point, and Captain Bassett proceeded so to change the number of the desks as to be able to say to nil who might inquire that tho desks that were used by the Senators were not now in the same places, as they had been changed around for the express pur pose of preventing them from being mutilated by relic andj curiosity hunters. Her Eyes Unsealed. Those Who have read AVilkie Col lins "Poor Miss finch," says the Koehester (N. Y.) 1'o.st, will readily recall Lucilla's misfortune blindness from birth, caused by cataracts. Dr. Grosse's fallacies regarding the strug gles of sight to assert itself in persons who have been blind for life, the illu sions of the patient regarding dis tance, color, forms, etc., will he re membered. Lucilla could not, from restored sight, tell whether an object held before her was a cube or a globe; whether a handkerchief was white or colored. She had a great horror of anything dark; that is, when she was blind. In her imagination Lticilla's answers to questions were pat to the theories of " Surgeon Optic Grosse," and he was pleased at the result of his skill. There is in Koehester, at the city hospital at the present time, the counterpart of Lucilla in all the realities, but not in the " surgeon optic," his fallacies and theories. The sub ject is Emma AVaterstraath, twelve years of age. She was born in Loets, Pomerania, Germany. On the 8th of April, this year, she came to Koehester and resided with her aunt on Hoelzer street, her father and mother being dead. Two or three months of this time she passed in the blind asylum at Bar tavia, where she learned to read raised letters by the touch. Her trouble was congenital cataract, and from birth she could only see so as to distinguish be tween day and night. AVhen taken to tho city hospital, tho eminent oculist of the institution, after an examina tion, said her sight could be restored, and three weeks ago he operated- on the left eye, producing a " rift in the cloud" which had shut out her sight for so many year3. The writer, interested . in see ing her when tho first test was made, visited the hospital, and when tho bandage was removed by the sur geon she told him she could see his fingers. A vase of flowers was held before her, and she said they were flow ers and one of them red. She told what other objects were, and their form. " Dr. Crosse's " confirmed theories, "Poor Miss Finch's" verification of the " surgeon optics " fallacies, were disproved, dispelled by this practical illustration, this fact. Emma's sight continues to improve, as the " rift in tho cloud" widens from absorption. No further operation may be necessary, and there is no question that in the good time she may see " as others see," The patient sees and learns so gradu ally, the same as a child learning to read, that tho mind is educated to forms and distances easily. Cataract patients never see instantly after the operation. Why a Duel was not Fought. Opposite tho city resides Mr. J. M. Harvey, a genf 'cinan who has lived a very adventurous life. Emigrating from a Northern or AVestern State more than thirty years ago, he came to New Orleans, where he settled, marry ing into a very wealthy and prominent creole family. Previous to his settle ment in Louisiana Harvey was engaged in the merchant service and had sailed on several whaling voyages. Having married a creole, Harvey strove to con form to the creole ideas and usages, which were quite opposite and repug nant to his old notions and feelings. The transition was certainly a very vio lent one, from an old skipper, whose tastes had been acquired aboard a Nantucket whaler, to tho highly re fini drules and customs which govern creole society in Louisiana. At a gay party at a creole neighbor's one evening, where Harvey was pres ent, a game of cards was proposed, and tho game proceeded quito pleasantly when an altercation arose between Harvey and a creole gentleman of high position and for many years an editor, Albert Fabre. The dispute finally be- came very hot, winding up in words of insult from Fabre to Harvey and in a knock-down from the heavy fist of the latter, the blow inflicting a very dark "black eye" upon tho unfortunate creole. The next day- Harvey was jvaited upon by a friend of Fabre with a demand for satisfaction and a request to be referred to his seconds, with . whom tho terms of an early meeting . might be arranged. Harvey asked what all this meant. The second re plied that lie wanted him to meet Mr. " Fabre in nn honorable combat and thus atone, for tho blow he had given him. " But," replied Harvey, " he grossly ' insulted me and I returned tho insult with a blow. I think that makes ;.us even, or, if we ain't even, I'll pay up the balance." ' The second was surprised to hear such a response from gentleman who ' had married into a creolo family, and, as a mutual friend, he warned Harvey that if he persisted in this view of the affair ho would be tabooed by all his wife's relatives. Tho suggestion some what alarmed Harvey, and he asked his visitor what would be the terms of the proposed combat. The second, brightening up at the success of his appeal to " tho better feelings" of Harvey, and at the pros pect of a lively affair, quickly respond ed: " Oh, of course, being the chal lenged party you have the choice of weapons."" This announcement was a great re lief to Harvey, who knew Fabre to be an experienced duelist, skilled with the pistol and rapier. He, therefore, asked, with an air of great simplicity, what were the weapons usually em- ploytd by gentlemen on such occa sions. ' ' Pistols, swords, rifles, shotguns or any dangerous weapon in which you may be skilled." " I understand you," Harvey replied, "arid my weapons are harpoons hickory handles, ten feet in length; distance twenty feet apart. I have a brace of them, from which your friend can take his choice. The creole was astounded, shocked and puzzled ; still more horrified was lie when-Harvey showed him one of these weapons, which had seen good service on the Pacific. " AVhy," ho exclaimed, "do you think my friend is a fish to be struck by such a tool as this?" -"Fish or no fish," Harvey replied, "that is my weapon. Your friend is quite ns .skillful in handling sword or pistol as 1 am with the harpoon. AVhen I challenge him, he will have the choice of weapons, and now I claim the right, as the challenged party, to use the only one whicli 1 feel I can use with skill and effect." " But, sir, your proposition is bizarre and ridiculous and will bring contempt on all who are engaged in it. This is a serious affair, sir, and I expect you to treat ii seriously." "You'll find " harpoons serious enough," replied Harvey, at tho same time going through the harpoon exer cise as practiced on whaling ships. The indignant creole retired in ex- . treme disgust. And the next day everybody in the city knew of this spoiled duel. It may indicate the rad ical difference of ideas of the two races that while Fabre's creole friends reported the incident a3 one which re flected great disgrace on Harvey, the Americans laughed over it most heart ily as a rich joke and a fair commen-.. tary upon tho absurdity of .the duello. New Orleans Letter. The Cravat. An English trade journal gives this account of the early days of the era-' vat: In BjOG a foreign, regiment ar-" rived in Paris, in the dress of which one characteristic was much admired by the people a neck-wrapper or scarf of muslin or silk for the-officers, or common stuff for the . men, alike tied in a bow with pendant ends, and used by them, it is said, to support an. amulet worn as a charm against' sword cuts. Parisians speedily adopted the novelty, styling them first Croats, from the nationality of the regiment, and afterward cravats. The rich then used embrojde'red- and richly-laced cravats, sucli as we. find shortly after used by Charles II., who is charged i'20 12s. in the hist year of his reign for " a new cravat to be worn on the birthday of his dear brother." James II. paid 3G 10s. for a cravat of Venice lace to wear on the day of his .coronation. Toward the end of the last century the cravat was revived, and worn of such extravagant size th&t whole pieces were sometimes used, and even shoulder cushions, over which folds of stulf were draped ."so that it was as impossible for a man to turn his head without wheeling bodily round as for an early coach to turn withiu its Qwa length. . N '
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers