THE UNSOWN SEED.
BY CLARA M. HOWARD.
I WW & garden, in springtime,
Prepared with f-iviiteat euro,
And 1 thought wl"'" tlio sumine*
ltare flowers w/M I"" blooming there.
But summer A'liud in the garden
Full ninny " noxious weed
With i).• •' i a (lower among tliem,
For i: ne lia 1 sown the sued.
I saw n li'e that gave promise
< if a harvest rich and rare,
Ha I t ho tortile soil boon tended,
And the seed been planted there.
Neglect wl and uuplauted-
OVrgrown with sin's foul weeds—
O, the llowers we might gather
Did we only BOW tlio seeds!
Oh, tlio precious moments wasted I
The doeds f Jove undone;
Tlio hitter thoughts wo cherished
Come back to us one by one ;
And wo sigh for the vanished Hpriug-ume
Of which we took no heed.
Oh, the harvest we might gather
Did we only BOW the seed!
Hud wo sown the seeds of virtue,
Of holy love and truth,
Of charily and kindness
In the -piiugti : oof our youth;
In the nut m we'd have gathered
A harvest li -h and rare—
A harvest of fragraut flowers
Been blooming for ua there.
We'd have nover cause to murmur
At the hardness of our lot:
Our lines full of contentment—
DM \!r improve the golden springtime,
Hoot out each noxious weed—
Whft' a bountiful harvest waits ÜB,
Do wo only sow the sued!
HARVEY. Wis.
HANKS HITTER LESSON.
BY WM. ALEXANDER BOWEN.
KBA V F LING
the great
I ** • piue regions oi
I Fast Texas ouc,
S(J summer Satur- 1
\y day afternoon ,
' v r l found mo on one j
of those dcop sand
v \ roads, several
miles from the ;
/p IT nearest town. I
Tgt knew that all
\ vJ : business was SUB- ,
ponded in those
country towns on |
I Sunday, and that j
jiltill the entire popu- i
lation attend ;
via BtDn C^ * N IE
N ' morning, and
the men sit out in front of their stores |
in the afternoon and whittlo goods ]
boxes and gossip. Talk about a church j
sewing society! No association of J
women 1 ever know of can compete I
with these gatherings oi men in our ,
small towns on Sunday afternoons, or !
on election, or holidays, for gossiping.
Many family feuds have arisen from |
these Sunday male gossip gatherings !
in the towns and hamlets of the South I
which resulted in assassinations and
bloody battles between the families in
volved for several generations.
1 did not care to spend the Sabbath
in one of those small towns, so I stopped
at the first inviting house I came to on
the road-side that looked like there
was plenty of provender for my team,
a shelter for my buggy and room for o
"stranger," as wayfarers are called iu
the provincialism of tlio country, tc
sleep in.
In response to my "Hello!" an old
lady came to tlio door, vigorously knit
ting on a woolen sock. Peering ovci
her steel-rimmed spectacles, she asked
what was wanted.
"I would like to stay here over Sun
day, if I can. Ido not wish to spend
the Sabbath in n town, and I am will
ing to pay for my accommodation and
for my horses."
"Wall, my son Hank ain't here now,
but liia wife is. I'll fetch her. Hank's
gone ter town, an' I Tow she kin tell
you more about it. Oh, Jinny!"
In answer a young woman of about
twenty-two years came to the door.
She said 1 would be welcome to stay if
I would "put up with what the family
had,'' as they hud made no prepara
tions for company. "My husband will
be home soon," she said.
A boy was culled, who took my team
to the "lot," and I went into the house.
It was one of those great double log
houses, "chinked" with cement, and
whitewashed outside and ceiled within
and papered. It was a warm day,
about two hours before sunset, and the
great open fireplace was used to set
flower pots in with native flowers,
which filled the rooms with a delicate
perfume. In looking over the album
on the table, 1 came across a girl's face
I had seen in Illinois years before on a
trip to the country. As the hostess
passed through the "front" room, I
asked her if she knew the original of
that little girl's picture. Sho stam
mered. and said it was hers when she
was small. 1 then told her when and
where I was at her father's house, and
ascertained that she had met her hus
band, Mr. Hank Adams, a Texas
planter, uncultured but big-hearted,
while he was up there buying some
fine horses; they fell in love at sight,
a fid had been happily married more (
than a year. As she said this, her j
beaming face told of supremo happi
ness and contentment, and in speak
ing of lier husband, her voice took on !
that soft, low accent and tone which
told of deepest love and entire confi
dence. I mention these things be
cause i ha<l them forcibly and pain
fully brought hack to me within the
succeeding twenty-four hours.
When her husband came in she in
troduced me as an old acquaintance,
whom he had met in lier girlhood at
her father's, in Illinois. He gave men
cordial greeting, and I heard him kiss
ing liis pretty littlo wife in tlio next
room a moment afterwards, and telling
her tiuit nothing was too good for an A
one who had known her "folks" anil
her.
The next morning Hank was called
away early to go to a lower plantation
he had a few miles from home to attend
to some breaks in the fences made by
cattle which had broken into his corn
and cotton fields during the night.
Mrs. Adams took the family buggy and
went alone to church a few miles away,
as her husband's younger brother
"had ter go and ride tor church
with .i girl up ther road who lie is
struttin round," his mother confiden
tially informed me, This left no one
at the house but old Mrs. Adams and
me. being informed that dinner would
no*. L>n IMJV ON K.>. W W V unt.lL ABOUT.
four o'clock in the afternoon, I strolled
out in the woods with a hook, about
noon, to enjoy a quiet repose under the
shade of the trees and the thick hang
ing vines so common to that locality.
It may have been imagination, uml
it may have been the spirit of proph
ecy, but I stopped reading to hear
the sighing of the great tall pine trees
as the zephyrs gently swept through
them. It seemed to be whispering to
them a story of sadness and tragedy.
As the soft voice of the southwest
winds played upon the long needles of
the pines, I could hear them say,
"Go oh, o o-o-h! W-w-o o-e-e, w-w-o-
O-e-e! 8-s-s-o-o-r-r-row!"
1 closed mv book, the soughing,
mourning pines making me too sad and
lonely to read more, and went back to
the house. As I drew near 1 heard the
voice of old Mrs. Adams crying and
moaning, and adding herself why was
she ever born, and what had her "dear
son, thor best an' kin'es' son au'trust
fulest husband in the world, ever done
ter deserve sich deceit an'sich er blow
tor liis liap'ness?" 1 was amazed be
yond measure; but when I went in my
amazement was turned into bewilder
ment at what 1 heard and learned.
Mrs. Adams started in fright when I
entered, and 1 asked her what was the
matter, and she shrank from me as if I
were a ghost.
"Whur is Hank? Didn't he fin'
yer?" she asked, as if amazed.
"Where is ho? Find me? Why, what |
has happened, and what docs he want
with me? Where is Mrs. Adams? ;
lias anything happened to her?" !
For a moment she eyed me in sol- |
emn silence, then said, slowly, as if I
weighing every word, and prepared to 1
doubt anv answer I might make:
"Wliur"is Hank? Gone ter tin' you
with er Winchester. Whur is Jinny ? |
Thet is jes' w hut he's agoin' to ax you.
Look hour, Mr. McPherson, ef thet is
ver name, haven't yer seen Jinny?"
"Not since she left here this morn
ing. My God! what has happened
here that your son is looking for me j
with a gun, and wants me to tell
him where his wife is? I don't under- j
stand."
"Wall, it'pears'sif yer wuz speak in :
ther truth. But yer'd better be hidiu'
when Hank conies tell I kin tell him
wlmt yer said. Jes' read this," and
she thrust a piece of note-paper into
mv hands. Before I could read it we
heard Hank coming up the road, mut-
"BACK I DON'T YEH DARE TER TOUCII ANYTHING WIIUT HUE HAS WRIT,"
tenug curses on some one, and alter
nately blessing and cursing liis wife
and calling down imprecations on liis
own head l'or being blind to something
or other. 1 could not comprehend any
more than I did what it was all about.
His mother snatched tho paper from
me and thrust me into tho other room
and shut the door just as he came in. *
"Wall, I coulden tin' tlier white-liv
ered cuss, an' I tolo yer thet all yei
talk fur him wur in favor of a sneakiu'
wolf, mother," he said, as soon as he
came in and saw no one but his mother |
there.
"O, ef I could jes' got a beadoll him,
I'd show him how ter steal inter a
man's house liko thet. Poor little
Jinny. God knows I meant well by
her, mother; an' I wuz a fool not ter
see thet she wur pinin' fur somthin'
whut I could never give hur. Ef she
had only told me thet alio wanted tei
go 'way, an' thet she coulden love me
as she should, I'd liev sent hur any
wliur. Hut ter leave like this, an with
a man whut "
I could hear no more. I saw ib all
now. His pretty, innocent-looking wife
had eloped, and lie thought I was the
scoundrel. I burst into the room, and
exclaimed, before ho could say a word
in his astonishment:
"Mr. Adams, I have just learned
what all this trouble is about. I am
innocent of this, in thought, word, or
deed. As God is my judge, and as I
hope to receive mercy above, I have
not seen nor heard of your wife since
she left here for cliurch this morning.
You may bo mistaken. Why do you
think she lias left you? Let me see
that paper your mother had just now."
For answer ho gavo liis mother a
terrible look, and she cowered before
liis gaze as if in terror. He then
reached for his gun, and said, in a
voice so low and calm as to he more
terrible than a cyclone of wrath:
"Back! Don't vor dare ter touch
anything whut she has writ with yer
vile serpent paws. 1 will give yer jes'
two minutes ter tell whut yer done with
lier, an' then I'm goin' tor make yer
swar ter keep her always. An' ef I
over hear thet yer liev lot her want fur
anything, or tlict yer liev got tired of
her, I shall kill yer on sight, jes' as I
j would a miserable, cowardly cyote thet
yer are. Whur is she?"
j "My dear sir, you must bo mad. I
! swear to you I liev not "
I With a quick motion ho brought liis
! gun to his shoulder, when his mother
caught it and held on to it with a
death-grip.
"Don't, Hank; not thet way. Give
thor stranger time ter pray. Give him
a chance. Let him read ther letter.
Don't yer see liis bosses an' buggy air
in the lot. Don't yer put blood 011 yer
soul whut yer can't ever wash off.
Hank IUV sou. wait ies' a little. His
com in' back shows lie might be inner
cent."
"His bosses an' buggy ain't 110 sign,
nor bis bein' back bear, nutlier, 'cause
he'd be sharp ernough ter try an' blin'
us that wav. But I'll let yer liev yer
way, mother, : e. in' as yo air all I hev
lei' ter me now."
He handed me the paj or, andT read,
in a clear, feminine hand, these terri
bly plain words, the outraged husband
watching ine closely as I read:
"Dear Hank I thought I loved you
once, but I find I do not. I ought to
have told you before, but could not
bear to do so, as you scorned so happy.
T cannot longer bear the loneliness,
and the drudgery, and tho desolation
of life here. If I staid longer I should
hate you for bringing 1110 here. (), how
can I sign my name to this terrible let
ter? Igo awav with one you do not I
know, but do not try to find me. It
will be useless. I will not sign my
name, becauso I want you to forget it.
l'orgivo me, as I hope God will."
1 hat was all. But I trembled as 1
read it, and staggered, and would have
| fallen, had not his strong arms caught
me.
i . r \ Adams," I managed to say,
I ' this is, indeed, terrible. How yon
ever came to imagine I was concerned
j in it Ido not know. Hut. kill mo il
i you will; but, if you believe I did this
I I terrible thing, I ' shall die forgiviug
i you. I believe that if God ever doe.-t
forgive a murder, it is when a man,
suffering the wrong you have suffered
kills, in a moment of mad anguish, the
man who stolo his happiness and
robbed him of his wife's honor. But,
before you commit this rash act, ask
yourself if you have any grounds to
oven suspect nie? None, except that
I am a stranger, and happened to meet
your wife when she was a young aud
innocent girl. And, as T heard her
speak of you yesterday, and as I saw
her face beam with a happiness which
could not have been feigr ed while tell
ing me of how much she loved you, L
believe there is some terrible mistake
here—that your wife has either played
some joke on you, or that this letter
was not meant "
"Stop, stranger! I believe ye air
innercent; but ef yer try ter preach
j ter mo erbout lier, I shall curse her
I purty face. Oh, fool, that I ever
1 brought her ter sich a lonely place as
this. But If!thought she meant it
j when she said she'd be happy any-
I whares with me. God curse ther day
tliet I ever thought she could be liappy
here. I wuz so happy I thought of
none but myself. 1 see now she hain't
been ther same since I got lier tliem
new dresses, an' the books of city ways
an' styles, an' thet line lookin'-glass
tliur. An'ther little gal has changed
since ther papers I 'scribed fur came
nil tilled up with love, an' grand ways !
o' livin', an' plenty o' company fur
young wives. {She wur all alone.
I know I ougliteu ter expected she'd
like it, an'it never oughter come 'tween
us, me bringin' her here. It's awful
rough, stranger, but I guess I'm ter
blame. My God! she mighter stayed
0110 ay longer, an giv me warnin', no
's I could er drunk in ernough o' ther
music o' her voice ter las' me, an' so's
"STOP THERE, OAIJ ! WHUT YF.LL COM IN' HACK PUR?"
I mighter bathed myself in the sun
shine o' her hi ight eyes one 1110' day.
Hut she's gone, as I mighter expected
ef I'd thought ernough ov anything
'eept myself. An' here's her noto, as
slick an' nice es enny sehoolmarm
coulder writ—but ther words seem
hard and cold ter me, an' 1 feel like er
man tliet's dying by inches of ther bite
o' a pisen narpent; but yet I can hoar
the music o' her voice's if it wur sound
in' ter 1110 from away off What's
thet? Her voice? What's slio savin'?
Excuso her fur bein' so late, but she
stopped by Mrs. Quillin's,whose baby's
dyin"? Stop thar, gal! Whut yer
comin' back hear fur?"
Poor Jennie, who heard these words
as she started lightly up tho steps,
with her lips pursed up for the usual
kiss, stopped as if petrified at hearing
these words, and seeing her husband
with a gun in his hands. Before she
could reply, 110 had flung the paper at
her, and hissed:
"Ileur, take yer note, an' go with
ther man who will treat ver better 'n
T hev. Go, quick, befo' I furget
thet "
She glanced at the note, recovered
her spirits in a moment, and then burst
into a peal of the merriest laughter I
ever heard—laughter in which real
mirth was mixed with the melody of a
happy heart suddenly relieved of a
great burden. Then, before he could
recover from the stupor into which
this throw him, she ran up the steps,
grabbed his face in both her hands,
looked into his honest eyes n moment,
and then kissed him ropeatedly, laugh
ing and crying, and exclaiming :
"You sweetest of husbands, and did
this littlo note make you jealous?
And did you have that gun to kill me
011 sight, or the man whom you thought
I had gone with V"
She explained tho noto was one slio
had penned as the beginning of a little
story she was going to write for an
Eastern paper, and which she did not
intend Hank to see until she read it to
him in tho paper. She had written
several stories, and had been paid for
them, and was going to use his name
in this one, and then road it to him,
and tell him the secret.
It was a merry household that night,
and I never was treated so royally in
my life. Hank took me out into tho
"horse lot" after dinner, and saw that
110 one else was near, and then said :
"Mr. McElierson, I hope yer will not
hint ter Jinny whut er blamed fool I
mado o' myself over thet fool thing. By
jings, I trimble when I think how near
I come ter shootin' yer. I hev told
mother tor never breeth er word o'
whut carryin's on we had 'fore Jinny
conio hack. It haslarned me er lesson
I —a bitter one, too. I'll never be jeal
ous o' my wife ergain. I think a
jealous man is ther bigges' fool on
earth. I said this onct befo', when I
saw er play erbout thet feller, 'Tliello
an' Desaymony, but I never knew whut
I it meant till now. A man whut is
I iealoua ova wife whut is lovin' an'
gentle an' bright to him at home is a
villain; that's wliut I think. An' I
don't want Jinny ter ever know whut
er blamed fool I wuz fur notliin'."
I promised I never would tell, and I
have never done so. If they see tliia
they will know who wrote it, perhaps;
but I know they will forgive mo, and
I know that Hank will bear me no ill
will for thus breaking the spirit of my
promise, as there is a great lesson in
this experience to others. I think
most of us can profit by "Hank Adams' j
Bitter Lesson."
IN THE ROYAL MEWS.
How tlie Ciorgeous Equipage of England's
Sovereign Is Housed and Cared For,
/ a number of
\\ U,> ( the Cosmopolitan
V \ tT/ ( flßu was a vor -V attractive
\ !■( ul c^e b y Charles S.
I IM lhdham - Clinton on
an abstract of which
|W|' an scarcely fail to bo
)\/f7rmr7T^'read with interest.
Vv Uij jlj! i "The stables, w liich
1
MM Mil K°. VJl l Mews, adjoin
lj| L-iiu—-Buckingham Palace,
but, however, are not
under the same management. The
head functionary is the Master of the
Horse, nt present the Duke of Port
laud. The otlice goes with the govern
ment. and is always given to a man of
rank and wealth as well as of great po
litical influence.
"The main entrance to the stable is
through the handsome gateway that
opens upon Buckingham Palace road.
In the quadrangle formed by these
gates and the archway leading to the j
main courtyard are the offices of Wil
liam Norton, Superintendent of the
Hoyal Mews, with those of the Duke of
Portia d and his lieutenant, Sir
George Maude. The main part of the
work of arrangement and management
falls upon Sir George Maude and Mr.
Norton. The former selects all the
horses, arranges the processions, and
has the general ordering of affairs,
while Mr. Norton looks after the minor
details. Some idea of the work of
managing such a large affair as the
Queen stable's can be inferred from t he
fact that there are 110 horses in tlie
stables and eighty men employed as
coachmen, grooms, and outriders.
The head coachman, G. Paine, has
been for fifteen ye-ars in his present
position and for fifty years in the
Queen's employ. He always drives
the state carriage in which lier Majes
ty iits, and handles the ribbons over
the famous 'creams.'
"We enter the Boyal Mews through
the main gateway, which is surmount
ed by a hirge clock that chimes the
THE QUEEN'S COACH.
hours. Tho whole Mows was designed
by John Nash, of Dover, Kent, and
was completed in 1825. Tho court
yard is about 400 feet square. The
right side is taken up by tho royal car
riages. Opposite these are the sta
bles for the chargers, tho harness
room, and several stables of carriage
horses. Opposite the entrance are
'creams' and'blacks,' and the celebrated
thirty-two-stalled stable.
"I suppose in no stable in tlie world
can such a collection of horses be seen.
All are over 10 hands high, and most
over 10J. The general color is bay or
brown, and white legs and feet are
conspicuously absent. Tho animals
are all given names that commenco
with as many letter* of tho dealer's
name as practical, as a record of their
purchase. Thus Blackbird and Black
cap were both purchased from a dealer
named Blackmail, and Jonquil came
from Jones. All the names are placed
on iron plates above the racks. The
Hoors of the stables are all sanded in
patterns, and the straw litter is fin
ished off with a neat straw plait.
Against the posts are neatly arranged
sheafs of straw. There is a foreman in
charge of each stable, and to every
eight horses a coachman, who has un
der him a competent number of men
and an assistant coachman.
"The horses are all clothed alike in
ZULU, ONE OF THE RLACK WHEELERS.
neat red, white, and blue rugs of a
small check pattern, bound with red.
The initials Y. li. are on tho quarters,
and tho quarter cloths have the same
initials, with no display. Tho price of
tho horses varies from £l5O to £250
apiece. They must be young and pass
a rigorous veterinary examination.
After being purchased they are thor
oughly trained. The chargers havo a
special drill in the riding school over
timber, walls, aud hurdles and are
also taught to ' stand fire.'
"The coachmen have four liveries
apiece—the state livery, which is a
mass of gold : the epaulet livery, which
is but a little loss costly; tlie ordinary
scarlet livery, and the plain black liv
ery with whito waistcoats, that is used
on all ordinary occasions. All the
men live in the rooms abovo tlie
stables, and almost a military dis
cipline is maintained."
A Neglected Condiment.
An Englishman partakes freely of
mustard ; he w ill never eat beef, bacon,
ham, or steak without it, and many oi
them season mutton with it. An En
glish tramp to whom you gave an un
seasoned beef saudwhich would Htop
and ask you for mustard beforo he com
nienced to devour it. With Americans
it is different. They never take mus
tard with beef, and rarely with any
thing else, unless it is very fat ham.
Americans deluge their meat with hot
Indian and other sauces, but they let
mustard alone. There are few restau
rants that use a pound of mustard a
week,
SOME NOTED BRUISERS.
CHAMPIONS OF THE PRIZE-RINO IN
THE PAST.
Hconan, Yankee Suliivun, Tom Sayer*,
Tom Hyer, anil Otlur Pintle Artlsta—
Some of Their Mont Noted BaMos Ko
calleri.
*"T" *HE first
pion of
ittfjfljml er, who was born
WjfMlie held the title
iVTSa' * for a long time,
until Yankee
Sullivan fought him for SIO,OOO and the
championship at Still Pond Creek.
Md., Feb. 7, 184!). It took Tom llyer but
17 minutes and 18 seconds lo oontirm his
light to the title of championship. Then
Hyer retired, and Sullivan succeeded
him. Sullivan fought John Morrissey at
Boston Corner, N. Y., Oct. 12, 18."3 f for
$2,000, and, though ho really had whipped
Cr~.Of
(w Np|j
Q MB
■WV rj,, l \Jot
A QUARTETTE OF KILRAIN'S FORMER
COMPETITORS.
his man. he left the ring during aw raugle
and thus lost the tight.
A vigilance committee executed Sul
livan in California.
It was in 1H55 that John C. Heenan
flashed into view in the constellation of
pugilistic stars, lie was familiarly kuown
as the "Benicia Boy," from his residence
in Benicia, Cal. Ho fought John Mor
rissey May 20, IKSB, at Long Point, Can.,
for $2,000 and tho championship. Mor
rissey won through Ileenan injuring his
hand. The latter soon challenged Mor-
again, but ho would not accept,
and Heenan was declared champion, and
soon issued n defiance to the world.
This led to the great battle between
Ileenau and Sayers in England in 18G0.
The battle was a lively one. Sayers stood
up before Heenan for thirty-seven rounds,
but had the worst of it at all times. At
tho end of tho thirty-soventh round the
referee loft tho riug. Then seven more
rounds woro fought, when Sayers'friends,
seeing that their man was whipped, cut
the ropes and the tight endod in a general
row.
Heenun challenged Sayers to another
fight, but the latter refused.
After Heenan'a retirement Joe Coburn
claimed the championship, but had to
defend it against Mike McCoole, of St.
51 j|
YANKEE SULLIVAN. TOM HYER.
Louis, and also tried to make a fight with
Jem Mace.
After Coburn's retirement Bill Davis,
of California, loudly trumpeted his
claims as the first man in America, but
lie was silenced by James Dunn, of
Brooklyn, in Piko County, Pa.
Then McCoole became ambitious and
he challenged Davis, who had again be
come blatant after Dunn's retirement.
The fight took place at Rhodes' Point,
Mo., September ID, 18(5(5, and McCoole
won in thirty-four minutes. He had to
defend his trophy against Aaron Jones.
Joe Coburn again entered the ring and a
match was arranged, but the police pre
vented the fight.
Bill Davis and Tom Allen, of St.
Louis, next tried conclusions, and Allen
won.
Tom Allen, the English pugilist, met
McCoole on Poster's Island, near St.
Louis, Juno 10, 1801). McCoole, though
badly worsted, was declared tho winner
on a foul.
Jem Mace and Tom Allen fought for
the championship and $">,000 at Kenner
villo, near Now Orleans, May 10, 1870,
nnd Mace won. Then Mace and Coburn
mndo a match, which was a fi.isco, but
they finally got together at Bay St. Louis,
Miss., Nov. 31, 1871. The tight ended in
a draw.
Mace next went to England, and, when
VOX ALLEN. JEM MAOH.
he returned, brought Joe GOBS with him.
Goss was matched to light Tom Allen for
$2,0(0 aud the championship. They mot
iu Kentucky Sept. (', 187G, and Goss won
on a foul.
Jimmy Elliott and Johnny Dwycr fought
for SI,OOO a side nnd tno champiouship
May 0, 1879. Dwyer won the battle, which
was fought iu Canada.
Paddy Ryan was the uoxt champion, as
Jo I I Nr. 11E ENA N. TOMSAY E It S.
he defeated Joe Goss at Collier Station,
Va.. May 30, 1880.
About this time there seems to have
Hogau and Tom Allou fought for $2,000
been a multiplicity of champions. Ben
at Pacific City, lowa, Nov. 18, 1873. The
battle ended in a wrangle in three rounds,
lasting sixteen minutes, although Aller
was in a fair way to win.
Tom Allen beat Miko McCoole at
Chouteau Island, near St. Louis, in sever
rounds, Sept. 21, 1*72.
Feb. 7, 1882, John L. Sullivan nnd
Paddy Ryan fought for $5,000 and an out
side bet of $2,000. Sullivan won in nine
rounds, lasting eleven niinutos. The bat
tle took place in Mississippi City, Miss
Sullivan-Jackson.
The proposed match between John L.
Sullivan, the American champion pugil
ist, and Peter, Jackßon, tho Australian
negro giant, who l.itoly defeated Jem
Smith, tho champion of England, has
brought to tho surface several Questions
or Interest to the sporting World. It
would certainly bo an event in the his
tory of the prize ring in this country if,
after nil the triumphs won by Americans
in this special held of skilled athletics
"PP.TNTF" MOTiIN'ETTX.
hero ana nnroaa, the laurels were to be
handed over to a negro who had fairly
earned them by his superior skill,
prowess, and endurance.
In a majority of cases pugilists begin
their actual experience early in life, and
soon reach the zenith of their powers.
I should say that twenty-five years is the
average ago at which they reach theii
GEORGE GODFREY.
fistic prime, although there are, of
course, notable exceptions where a man
is even better after that age than at any
time of his life. Still, the rule holds
good that for a pugilist who, like most
men in his profession, has begun early,
say at sixteen or seventeen, the maxi
mum of bis powers is attained in eight
or ten years thereafter, at the very
farthest. I have known many young
fellows in England who fought twenty
battles before thoy reached their prime.
Of eouffte, where a man's life is full of
such experiences he matures physically
all tho faster and is the sooner worn out.
There have been several noted pugilists
PETER JACKSON.
of color at different times who hav mads
surprising records.
The question has often boen asked:
Has tho negro tho grit and the Haying
qualities of tho white pugilist? Can he
stand the punishment and face the music
as well, and is he hjs equal in skill? I
know of no reason why a colored fighter
should not possess all . those qualities.
One of the earliest and best was Thos.
Molinenx, who was called in England
tho "Morocco Prince," and who won nino
battles in his day. Another .was Bob
Travers, whose real , name was Charley
Black. Travers won everything. before
him until lie.was beaten by -Job Copley in
185(>. Ho was afterward defeated by Jem
Mayo in 1800., There was another Moli
neux, who fought eight battles. Still
another good lighter was GeOrge Pierce.
All were tremendous hitters.
I regard superiority in height and reach
as of tho greatest advantage to a pugil
ist. Other things—weight, skill, eu
durance, and condition -being equal, the
difference in height and the consequent
advantage in-reach will tell heavily in
favor of the taller man. This, however,
is the only point where a big man has the
advantage ovor a shorter one. He roaches
farther, and, if lie be equally, clover and
scientific, it is obvious that the greater
roach will make all the difference between
tho two.
Weight is not of so mtlch importance
as some imagiue in a fight. Take any
good-sized man of 156 or 158 pounds, and
he is fit to fight almost anything under
ordinary conditions. Tom Sayers, one
of tho best men in the- world, was only
6£ feet high and weighed 156 pounds when
in condition. Jem Mace, who was 5 feet
9 J inched in height, weighed 150 pounds
in his bost days, when he scored all his
famous victories. I have seen him box
when he was much heavier, but it was
later in life, when he was getting old and
far beyond his prime as a pugilist. He
•weighed about 150 pounds when he de
feated Travers and Beardon.
WIWUXNC EDWARDS.
Five milium* or M>:aierH.
Some years ago an idea suggested
itself to an obscure workman of Belle
ville, an idea that since then lias en
gendered an nriny, amply qualified,
were it a question of numbers alone, to
realize tho dream of eternal peace, by
keeping in check tho assembled armies
of Europe. He sots on foot 5,000,000
soldiers a year. These soldiers are of
humble origin, but so was Napoleon.
They spring from old sardine boxes.
Relegated to the dust hole, the sardine
box is preserved from destruction by
tho dustman, who sells it to a rag mer
chant in Belleville or in Buttes Chau
mont, who in his turn disposes of it to
a specialist, by whom it is then pre
pared for the manufactories. The
warriors are made from tho bottom of
the box, tho lid and sides are used for
guns, railway carriages, bicycles, etc.
All this may seem unimportant at first
sight, but the utilization of these old
sardino boxes has resulted in tho
foundation of an enormous manufac
tory, at which no less than 200 work
men are employed. Tho poor work
man, out of whose head the armed tin
soldier sprung—via the sardine box—
is now a rich man, and, what is more,
an eager and keen-sighted patriot,
who in his sphere deserves the grati
tude of his country.
VISIT TO A PERSIAN PRISON.
Bow the Prisoners Are Confined and
Treatod in the Orient.
A mud wall about twelve feet high
surrounded an inolosure of a quarter
of an acre. On one side was an arched
entrance, guarded by massive wooden
gates covered with sheet iron. Over
the gateway were two rooms, the abode
of the jailer and his family, which were
reached by a rude flight of steps.
Squatting at the gato was a guard
of three soldiers, needy-looking fellows
in tattered uniforms of gray. Three
muskets, with rusty bayonets attached,
rested against the wall close behind
them.
Upon seeing a Fcringhi—European—
and two of the Governor's fan-ashes ap
proaching, the soldiers rose to their
feet, seized their muskets and favored
us with a military salute. The slight
commotion they made in doing this
brought to the door of the bnla khana
above the jailer, who at once saluted
us with "salaam aleykum" and invited
us up.
The farrashes explained the object oi
our visit; the jailer stroked his henna
stained whiskers in token of approval,
spread a piece of carpet on the floor
and bade me be seated. Two kalians
or water pipes were quickly produced,
one of which was handed to me and the
other to the farrashes.
The pipes being finished we descend
ed the stairs and entered the gate. Thfi
jailer and the guards who accompanied
us carried in their hands iron maces
with spiked heads. These weapons
were intended to warn the prisoner?
against attempting any violence. Seat
ed beneath tho further wall was a row
of about forty miserable-looking
wretches, with hut a few tattered
rags to cover their nakedness.
Around each man's neck was an iron
ring of rude workmanship. Heavy iron
chains, passed from collar to collar,
bound each prisoner to his neighbor.
In another place were several poor
wretches lying on their backs with
their feet thrust through holes in a log
of wood. Heavy iron fetters passed
around each ankle and held the feet
secure.
The jailer explained that the men
with the iron collars about their neck?
were the ones who had committed small
offenses, petty thieves, debtors and
others who were in for short periods of
time. Those with their feot in tho rude
stocks were criminals of more impor
tance, murderers, highway robbers,
old offenders and jail-breakers.
On either side of the gato was a long,
low room, built against the wall, also
of mud, and without windows or venti
lation save two or three small, round
holes in the side. These were places
of confinement for the prisoners at
night and in rainy weather, hut there
was neither bed nor furniture.
In one of these dons were seated
three prisoners with huge blocks of
wood chained to their feet. The jailer
explained that they were refractory
new arrivals who were being brought
to terms. Thomas Stevens, in
Youth's Companion.
Properties oi qmcKsnna.
The properties of quicksand are thus
described in the Mechanical News :
"The difference between building sand
and true quicksand is most easily ex
plained by comparing building sand to
road metal, while the quicksand must
he represented by fragments no larger
than largo buckshot, but shaped like
very smooth potatoes. In a word, the
quicksand is small and thoroughly
waterworn; so that every fragment has
been deprived of all its angles and
fairly well-polished. Its particles are
very small as compared with those of
tho building sand. Tho smaller the
size and the more complete the round
ing the more nearly will the sand ap
proach a liquid condition when it is
moistened. The first glance at a fairly
mounted sample of quicksand under a
microscope is sufficient to show that the
quickness of the sand is amply ac
counted for by tho innumerable fric
tion wheels which the particles them
selves furnish. Sharp or building sand,
on the other hand, will show few round
corners, many angles, corners and a
general condition like that of broken
stone. Sea sand is often unfit for
building, even though perfectly de
prived of its salt, the reason being that
the particles have been worn and pol
ished till they have no more binding
powers than so many cobble-stones. It
is well to remember that quicksand
when dry, if very fine, shows tho same
properties as a liquid. In holding up
the centers of large bridges it is some
times put into cylinders with a plunger
on top of it. It will, when thus con
fined, hold up the load like a column
of water. When it is desired to strike
the center a plug is drawn out of tho
side of the cylinders, and the sand
flows out like so much water. The ad
vantage, of courSo, is that the sand
does not need a packed piston, and
does not leak out, though the work be
Srolonged for years. Quicksand when
ry and confined forms an admirable
foundation, and when wet can be load
ed over its whole surface, and give a
good support if side openings can be
avoided."
She Would Like to Be Wicked Just for
Once.
There is an inherent desire in the
breast of nearly every woman of life
and spirit to be at times just the least
bit wicked. She wants to don the un
mentionables occasionally, figuratively
speaking, and go out and have a time.
As a young married lady remarked the
other day to an intimate female friend:
"How I would like to go rut on a 'toot'
some night. I want to take in the back
rooms of two or three saloons, drink a
glass or two of beer, and eat some dry
bologna and Swiss cheese. My hus
band occasionally brings a lunch of
that sort home with him, and accom
panies it with a bottle of beer, but
there is no fun in it unless you go to
headquarters. I have often urged my
husband to show me tho 'elephant' to
a mixed extent, and have offered to
wear a veil or his old clothes, but he
always frowns down my importunities,
and I don't think it would bo much
fun, anyway, to go with one's own hus
band. "Why should we be so circum
scribed in our amusements ? I for one
propose to get out of the old rut some
night, and, while 1 don't intend to be
too wicked, I shall be just wicked
enough to enjoy myself." And there
is no doubt but tnat she will. Her
ideas may be condemned, but in how
many feminine hearts will you find a
reflex of her desires \—Sacramento
Bee.
THE every-day cares and duties
which men call drudgery, are the
weights and counter-poises of the clock
of time, giving its pendulum a true vi
bration, and its hands a regular mo
tion.