Democratic Sentinel, Volume 2, Number 31, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 September 1878 — BAD BOYS. [ARTICLE]

BAD BOYS.

A Little Boy of Six Beaten Almost to Death by a Lad of Nine Tears. A most horrible affair lately occurred at Squirrel Island, a favorite summer resort near Augusta, Me., the following particulars of wnich we glean from the Boston Globe: “It seems that the other day a little 6-year-old boy, J. Howard Butterfield, son of Henry R. Butterfield, of Waterville, who is stop* ping at the island, in company with quite a number of other boys* the most of whom were older than himself, were playing in the water. They were throwing stones into the water to notice the effect of the splashing made. A stone thrown by the Butterfield boy happened to splash water upon a boy 9 years old, who became angered, apparently, and told Butterfield if he caught him he would ‘give him a licking.’ The threat was carried out with a terrible vengeance. On Saturday morning Howard Butterfield was missing; his mother became alarmed, called loudly for him, but there was no response. Finally a search was instituted, and, after some time, the little fellow was found in the water-closet in the rear of the bowling alley. His clothing was stripped from him, his body' was covered with blood, and the poor child was nearly dead. He was tenderly taken up and carried to the house, and, after being partially restored, was able to tell something concerning the transaction. Coaxed and questioned, he said, in substance, that the boy to whom reference has been made induced him to go to walk with him, promising to give him some candy. He consented, and, as they were passing the bowling alley, the boy seized Butterfield and dragged him into the watercloset. He tnen forced him to undress, assisting him at the same time to strip every particle of clothin-; from his little body, threatening to kill him if he screamed. He then beat him with a stick and kicked him violently in the stomach. The boy heard his mother calling him, but dared not respond for fear of still harsher treatment. The body of the boy was badly bruised, and the marks of the kicks were plainly visible on the bowels, and it is feared that he will not live. ”

A Child Fratricide. East Cambridge, Mass., furnishes another instance of youthful precocity in crime. Johnny Lane, 13 years old, stabbed and killed his brother Timothy, a lad of 15. Tne boys, the sons of a blacksmith, had purchased a rabbit, and were amusing themselves with it when the fatal quarrel occurred. Two carpenters, at work on a neighboring house, observed the elder boy sink down close to the fence, back of which the rabbit’s box was. His face was dreadfully pale, and black clotted blood was oozing from his breast and running over his scanty clothing. In answer to the shouted inquiry of the carpenters, the wounded boy replied that his brother had stabbed him. The youthful murderer had in the meantime run away. The victim was immediately visited by the carpenters, who had raised him in their arms to carry him into the bouse, when he vomited, and immediately afterward expired. The tragedy was soon known throughout the neighborhood, and hundreds of curious spectators thronged around the body as it lay upon the grass awaiting the arrival of the medical examiner. The youthful murderer was tracked by the police to Boston, and was arrested in the house of an aunt, where he had taken refuge.

A Boy of Sixteen Kilis His Mother. Hiram Pixley, aged about 16, recently shot and instantly killed his mother, at her residence, near Tucker’s Corners, N. Y. Mrs. Pixley lost her husband during the war, and was left with this son, Hiram. She had a sister who, a few years ago, married M. J. Bower, and they have lived in common at the place above named. The neighbors have witnessed many bloody fights between the two sisters, the meek man Bower and this boy Hiram now and then taking a hand in. It appears that the women were engaged in one of their spasmodic fights, and this boy got his shot-gun and told his mother if she didn’t dry up he would shoot her, and, after a few more words, he lifted the gun and shot her through the breast, and she died instantly. He had threatened to shoot her many times.

Leather. Leather has a long history. If it is a too exclusive motto that “there is nothing like leather,” few manufactured things are older. It was probably the very first bit of manufacture—rude, yet suited to its purpose, the use of bark for hardening and preserving skins having, no doubt, been practiced in pre-historic times. Even your progenitor—the ancient Briton—used a strong hide thong to throw his stones with, and was scantily clad in leather—anticipating the odd desire of George Fox, the founder of Quakerism. Within the period of authentic history leather has been legislated for and protected, and has often been included in sumptuary regulations. It is very odd to read that in England in the sixteenth century complaints were made that skins were tanned in three weeks (thus unconscionably shortening the period of use and wont, which had been about one year), and that in consequence an act was passed in 1548 prohibiting tanners from selling hides that were not attested to have been nine months in the tan- pit. And the jealousy of rival guilds, which did something in old days to secure the division of labor, if nothing more, is also seen in the history of leather. In 1439 tanners were prohibited from being shoemakers, while in 1562 butchers were precluded from becoming tanners under a penalty. Some of the restrictions which surrounded the leather manufacture actually remained until 1830, when they were completely removed by an act of George IV. Free trade in tanning, then introduced, gave an immense impetus to the application and extension of the chemical discoveries which had been made by Seguin in 1795, and by Sir Humphry Davy in 1803. Good Words.

An Angel Unawares. A few days ago a couple of young bloods entered the smoking car of a P. W. A B. R. R train and tried to turn one of the seats before sitting down. The seat was locked, but the bloods didn’t mind that, and one of them took out his knife to pick the lock. While he was at work an elderly gentleman, seated behind the bloods, quietly remarked that they ought not to do that. “That’s all right, old man,” returned the blood, “ wo know what we’re about, so just keep your clothes on.” “ Don’t you know that you are liable to prosecution for that ?” continued the old gentleman, mildly. “ It's the same as burglary, in the eyes of the law. If you want the seat turned ask the conductor, and he will do it for you. ” “You talk as though you knew a good deal,” said one of the bloods, looking up with a sarcastic smile. “How long have you been in the railroad business ?”

“ About twenty-five years,” returned the old gentleman, genfly. The blood looked just a little bit surprised as he asked : “ And, pray, what position do you hold now ? ’ “I am President of the road,” returned Mr. Hinckley, “ and if you disobey any further rules of the road I shall call upon the officers to arrest you.” The young bloods took the rear car, while the passengers smiled.— Chester {III.) News.