Rensselaer Republican, Volume 17, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 September 1884 — Page 6

A TALE OF A CHICKEN BONE. I BY EUGENE J. HALL She -st in the car on the seat ahead; Her hair was waxy i nd almost red ; Iter voice had a <lnlc t tone: Her face w lovely, her look was bland, I. bhe held in her pretty and » ender hand A savoiy chicken bine. - [ Herte th were perfect and white as milk, f Her lonir and soft as silk, . And her exes with splendor shone* Feautiful, jelly and full of fun. With laugh. with giggle and girlish pun, She nibbled her chicken boi.e. She shookher head and she tossed her chin; She twist-'d her red tongue • ut and in; She pouted her lips, s > sweety S-he t lied up her pre ty nose: She showed the s.ripes of h< r brilliant hose, And patted the floor with her feet. Greasy and brown wi.h her finger tips. She brought the bone to her lovely lips, With a sly glance sideward thrown At a vouth who looked at her while she lunched. Who sat and sighed while she munched, and munched The meat from the chicken bone. Awkward and shy. of a rustic mold. Wit a scanty mustache of flaxen g ‘ld, He spoke in a piping tone. He'd a longi tg look and a languid air: He w hispired lo w, with a « istf ul st arc; “1 wish I’se a chicken tone!” I broadly smiled at the odd conceit — A novel subji it id cook and eat. To munch with a maiden's jaw! Tn iw s< -vtihd and do ie t o a roval brown. - To be nipped, to Le gnawed, and then swallowed down. Like corn in a chicken's craw. He heaved a couple of dismal sighs. With i is very soul in his yearning eyes, _ As she upward gaze lat him, ■ ■ . With a laugh and toss of her thoughtless head: ‘What a silly goose you . re." she said—"l've promised to marry Jim!" O, gay coquet of the auburn hair! O, yearning ydut.h of the wistful stare! You will me t my gaze no more. There is many a love that is never told ; There are million* yet to be sadly sold ky the flirts whom they adore.

HIS WIFE'S FRIEND.

When Phil Partlow married Florence Tragmer, his friends said that in selecting a wife he had been true to his business habits, for he was a note-broker, who dealt only in what is called “giltedged paper,” and Miss Tragmer, like the notes which Phil bought and sold, was of the best origin and amply endorsed, Like many other popular business men who are in society, Phil knew po more of music, art, and literature than he was obliged to do, but as it was, thesproper thing, when he was looking' for a wife, for a lady to analyze an opera, criticize a picture and talk well about poetry and novels, the young man did not fully commit himself until he was assured that Miss Tragmer was the envy of all her friends who were afflictedwith the aesthetic craze. Young “Collignon, whom Phil pronounced the greatest fool he had ever known in business, but who was believed to know all about music, declared that no pianist he had ever heard could interpret Chopin as skillfully as Miss Tragmer. Collignon also saiif that he had never known another lady who had read Goethe's “Faust” in jjhe original German. As for art, * did not the two or tiuee painters who were patronized by some of Phil's society friends always seem at their best while chutting with Miss Tragmer ? So Phil made love to Miss Tragmer, who really was as accomplished as he, believed her, and quite handsome besides, and in his persistent, businesslike way he strove as hard to make himself conversant wdth the subjects in which the lady seemed most conversant, that his suit prospered finely. Miss Tragmer believed him to be all he seemed, just as any other woman should have done, and just as Phil honestly believed any woman would have been justified in doing, and as Miss Tragmer had as much heart as head, she was so deeply in love when Philip proposed that she did not even protest against the early marriage Which the young man, still prompted by his business habits, suggested. And what a honeymoon they spent! The bride, who had always been of too 'strong characteT'to”be mg, wrote two or three young ladies who were engaged that she pitied them from the bottom of her heart—that they didn’t know anything whatever about love. As for Phil, who had always been an'enthusiast at billiards, he confessed to his friends on his return that he hadn't touched a cue since his marriage. And how the couple roamed about together while furnishing the house which Phil bought for his bride ! Florence, like all persons of aesthetic taste, detested all things conventional; so, by laying a dozen upholsterers under contribution for the carpets for twelve rooms, and buying a single article of furniture at a time, and studying effects of papers and hangings, and having a piano case so made that by no possibility would it look like any other piano case, the bride enjoyed many hours of bliss, all of which her husband shared. But lovers have appetites, and furniture bills have to be paid, especially when incurred in New York, so Phil soon became restive to return to business. Once back at his office the force of habit made itself felt; he threw himself into his work with energy renewed by long rest, and from that time forward he thought and talked business whenever he was awake. He was always affectionate when he was at home; he could not help being so, with a glorious creature like his own Florence, but neither could he help being suddenly inspired, in the midst of a conjugal conversation, to occasionally take a memorandum book from his pocket and make a business entry. He frequently had to “just run around for a moment” to a hotel where business men were congregated at night, and the minutes which did not lengthen into hours were rare. He persisted in telling business incidents to his wife, he had always talked business, after the day was over, to his male friends, so why should he not do so to Florence, who was now his dearest of friends? He was frequently prevented from keeping his engagements with his wife for parties, or operas, or drives, and he mourned sincerely when he found that such failures always caused great disappointment, and that his explanations never seemed entirely acceptable as excuses. / This troubled his honest heart so much that one afternoon —a few hours before the first performance in New York of “La Gioconda,” which he had promised to hear with his wife—he was made entirely miserable by the necessity of investigating for liimself the rumor that's firm whose paper he had

handled largely was in /trouble. He ■was at first inclined to let the firm and their notes go tri ruin rather than have his wife disappointed; then he realized that money was money, and that Florence won d certainly be sensible enough to understand when he should tell her all about it. While he was wondering what to do, Colligrion sauntered into the office. “Col," exclaimed Partlow, “don’t you want to take my wife to the opera tonight ? ’Twon’t cost you anything. I'vethet-ickets, carriage—everything!” The dawdling youth answered in the affirmative as soon as he could catch his "Breath, To be seen at the opera with a handsome woman was a delight which seldom fell to his lot. Phil wrote a hurried explanation to his wife, and went about his work with a much lighter heart than he expected to carry. He felt still happier when, receiving his wife on her return from the opera, he learned that Florence had passed a very enjoyable evening, and that Mr. Collignon had really been very good company. Then she told Phil a great deal about the opera, and might have told him a great deal more had he not dropped riff to sleep while she was talking. After that, Phil frequently offered Collignon as a substitute. The fellow had nothing in particular to do, and*he was glad enough to enjoy himself in good company at some other man’s expense. Some of “the boys” joked Phil on the subject, but of course they did not mean anything, said the busy young broker to himself pno one would be fool enough to imagine a splendid woman liketjFlorence being more than courteous to a rather viper, insignificant fellow like Collignon. As for Mrs. Partlow, she talked a great deal to her husband about Collignon. and seemed to discover ill that uninteresting being many’ good qualities of which men had never suspected him; but Phil attributed this to his wife's admirable characteristic of discovering, through hei' sympathies, whatever was good in any one; that she told her husband all she thought of Collignon, was to Phil sufficient to prevent suspicion. Indeed, the principal effect was to amuse file young husband and cause him to throw the two people oftener together, so that he might hear more that was new and astonishing about his stupid acquaintance. So Phil dropped into his old business ways again, making the business day last until nearly midnight, and not always succeeding in dining at home. WhenbFlorence’protested, Phil always explained that there was a great deal of money in his work, which they would spend in the good time coming, when lie would not work so hard and they would be together more. • •‘Besides,” he would say, “you shouldn't feel lonesome, you know, for Collignon wdl be sure to drop in.” And Collignon usually did. Other gentlemen called occasionally, but mar-' riage generally puts most of a woman’s admirers far from her; so. from Being Mrs. Partlow's occasional resort, Collignon became a frequent visitor. He played on the piano for her and with her; he brought her new books; he read to her, ho talked with her on anyand every-subject she might introduce. Phil, too, was quite willing to talk when he was at home, but the honest fellow had such a way of thinking aloud that his conve sation was largely about what business he had done -during the day, andsuch.oLlus.customers whose standing threatened to change, and what some acquaintance “on the street” had said or done about a horse, or a dog. or a yacht, or a girl. From one of these brilliant conversational flights Phil was roused one evening by his wife saving: "Phil, I want to go to Europe—at onceJ - “Bless me!” exclaimed Partlow; “what for?” "Because I want to—that’s all, Isn’t that reason enough?” “Why, certainly, dear girl; but I can’t bear to think of your crossing the ocean alone.” . ■ “1 haven’t the slightest idea of going alone. You must accompany me.” “Oh, Florence! You know I can’t leave the business—not at such short notice, at least. I should lose lots of money,” “Would there be any left? If there would, let’s lose the rest. I’d rather lose money than lose my husband —I don't have any husband nowadays.” “Why, Florence, dear, I’m afraid you’ve got the blues. No husband? Ain’t I home every night and morning? I solemnly swear to you that no other woman ever enters my mind.” Mrs. Partlow rose from her chair, leaned over her husbamj and kissed him repeatedly. Phil looked into her face, and it occurred to him, suddenly, that she had not looked so charming before in months. He put his arm around her and seated her in his lap; he caressed her and called her tender names. Finally he said: “I’ve been a brute. Y'ou need a change. Y’ou shall go to Europe.” Again Mrs. Partlow kissed her husband repeatedly. She did not seem to know how to stop, but stop she suddenly did when Phil'continued; “I can’t go with you, but I know Collignon would be glad to make an excuse to go over on the same ship if I were to buy a ticket for him. Then you wouldn’t be lonesome you know.” Mrs. Partlow arose with an abruptness which startled her husband, and the manner in which she said “Very well,” startled him still more. She retired to her room, and when her husband followed her and endeavored to renew the conversation, Mrs. Partlow complained of eYtreme weariness. Phil devoted most of the night to thought. He tried in many ways, but without success, to devise a plan of getting away fpr a month or two and going abroad with his wife wjthout letting his business suffer. Of one thing, however, he was sure—Florence should have the very best state-room that money and influence could secure. He would attend to it be:ore he done another bit of business. Full of this idea he left the room before his wife was awake, and an hour or two later he astonished her at her solitary breakfast by exclaiming: “Flo, I’ve got you the very best stateroom in Saturday’s Cunarder; I paid a

fellow a tremendous, premium for it." Instead of looking pleased, Mrs. Partlow turned very pale, but in a moment she said f ' “Thank you.” Then Phil felt provoked and put on an injured air, and said: “I wouldn’t have imagined it, if you hadn’t said,it.” “Oh, Phil, dear!” exclaimed Mrs. ; Partlow, springing at her husband, and nearly strangling him with her arms, “Do go with me.” “ Flo, it s impossible—it really is. You shall have all the money you want to spend, though, and I’ve been as good as my word about another already made Collignon promise to go on the same steamer.” “Oh,|well,’*said Mrs. Partlow,and her arms dropped like lead from he’r husi band’s neck. Then Phil felt that he was indeed an injured man, and he stood on his dignity and remained there so persistently that during the remainder of the week he was the most miserable husband in all New York. On his wife’s sailing day, ho.wever, Phil was so affectionate that Florence deelaredshe would not go at all, upon which rhil urged her not to lose heart; then Mrs. Partlow grow frigid again, and remained so until her husband escorted her into her room on the steamer, when she burst into tears and clung to Phil and kissed him wildly and begged him not to leave her, until Phil feared a scene, and so made a business excuse to hurry ashore. As he walked up to the pier, however, his heart smote him; it seemed unmanly to Jeave his wife in such a state of excitement, so he hurried back. As'he entered the state rqom, he saw his wife in Collignon’s arms. Florence saw her husband, who abruptly retired. She sent Collignon away. Phil saw him depart, re-entered the room and gasped—- “ What were you doing in that man’s arms?”

“I was where you put me said his wife her eyes flashing and her lips rigid. PFor months you have sent him to me when I have wanted you. Y’ou have insisted in putting him in your place. He has been to me nearly everything you should have been. Finally he fell in love with.me —-I saw it—and God forgive me—l feared I should fall in love with him if business continued to divorce you and me. I wanted to go abroad to escape him and regain my husband again l —you arranged that he, instead of you, should go. with me. A few moments ago you left me the most wretched woman alive, ho found me and tried to comfort me, and I—l was desperate enough to be willing to be comforted.by anybody.” “V'Flo,” said Phil, “I am a villain, but tell me one thing more. Was this the—first time?” “Do vou doubt it?” proudly asked M?s. Partlow. “Then it shall be the last!” exclaimed Phil. “I’m going over with you, my darling.” “How will you manage about the business?” asked Florence. “By some straightforward lying,” said Phil. “Unloose me—-just a moment, dear, until I can get a sheet of paper and an envelope—l promise you I wont leave the vessel,” Phil was greatly missed by his partner that morning, and still worse in the afternoon, when a letter sent back from Sandy Hook announced that Mrs. Partlow had suddenly been taken too ill* to remove from the steamer, so that humanity had compelled her husband to remain with her. Collignon, who had discreetly hurried ashore, made himself invisible, so there was no one to deny the story, which consequently was cabled to Europe by anxious members of the family. One consequence was that several friends who happened to be in England went to Liverpool to receive the invalid, and were amazed to find Mrs. Partlow healthier and hand-somer-than s-he had over before been in her life.—The Hour.

The Burgoo.

“If you should go out to Kentucky about this time,” said the old Judge, “you would probably be invited to a burgoo. You don’t recognize him by that name, do you? No? Well, a burgoo (accent on the first syllable) is a grand, good thing. It is an all-day picnic in the woods, with a feast which throws the clam chowder and the barbecue in the deep shade of obscurity. In fact, the burgoo usually includes a barbecue as a sort of incident. You go out to a corner of the woods where the thick underbrush has been carefully cut away, and where there are trees enough for shade, but not enough for gloom, and there you sit and play poker and smoke the finest tobacco in the world, and drink only ten-year-old sour mash, and sniff the delightful aroma of the burgoo until along in the afternoon, when the niggers pronounce the burgoo ready and ladle it out to you in big bowlfuls. The burgo is a delicious broth which is the perpetual remainder of the aborigines, who handed it over to our pioneering forefathers when they began coming across the mountains from Y’irginia. You take—or rather the darkies take—a gigantic kettle and hang it over a roaring fire. A light broth is made first; then they throw imyoung chickens, young ducks, sucking pigs, and all sorts of small game, with fresh potatoes, green peas, string beans, corn, and every other vegetable. Everything is cooked until the meat begins to fall to pieces. Then the waiters, with shining, smiling black faces, and snow white jackets and aprons, bear great bowlfuls of the toothsome stew through the grove. Oh, how good it is ! My mouth waters as I tell you of it. Afterward there .is more burgoo, and then, more burgoo, until everybody has actually had enough. Then the darkies satisfy themselves, while you return to your pipe and your glass, until the shadows of evening gather sleepily around you.” His voice became low and his look became dreamy. Suddenly he roused himself, and remarked, as he turned away: “A fev weeks later the darkies helditheir camp meeting on the same Letter. Mr. Herbert Spencer fears the tendency of-free government to enforce systematic restriction of personal conduct till it becomes equivalent to despotism.

AT A GEORGIA CAMP MEETING.

Mlns Patience Potter’n Wooing and its Sad Besnlts. Camp-meetin’ is a great place for good eatin’, and for couples to court; and foi> old folks to git talk over old times. Miss Patience Potter was thar, rigged out in her Sandiest best, and Caledony ’lowed the rainbow wasn’t nowhar to the colors she was diked out in, and her Sunday frock, they say she hadn’t wore it afore sence 4th of July, ten years ago. It had been cranim ed a way in her chist, and f rom the wrinkles ’peared like it had been dragged out’n a gourd. Brother Cole is a old widower with gran’chillun, but he flies around with the 16-year-old gals; and the po’ole man never had no suspicion that none of them widders and„ ole maids was a settin’ of ther caps for him. Miss Patience had a way of gwine to him ever mornin’ at camp-meetin’ to talk about her sperrit-ual wel-fare, he was her parson, she lowed, and slje had a right to talk to him and it wern’t nobody's business but her’n. She abused herself tumble, and told" him that she was a sinner, and a benighted sinner at that. Oh! if he could have seed tol the bottom of her heart, how she loved to have him tell her that she was good, and a gittin’ riper and riper all the time for the grave. She expected him to praise her, and he did. He would tell her that she wasn’t no wusser’n thousands that walked to and fro upon theyeth; but she kep’ on a tellin’ him that she was a sinner—oh! sich a turrible benighted s nner. “And I needs some-, .body,” says she, “to lead me down the dark thorn-beset path of life in this benighted, sin-struck, ontimely world.” He had disputed her bein’ a sinner, and contradicted her so long that he made up his mind that he wouldn’t do it no more. Next time he agreed with her. f

“Y’ou thinks I haint no sinner,” says she, “but if you calls settin’ up a idle on the yeth like the golden calf and failin’ down and a-worshipin’ of it a sinner, then I know I am a sinner, and a benighted sinner at that; leastways theidle I worships ain’t a calf, nor is he —is it, I mean—any ways liken unto a calf, but I worships it all the same as if it was a cal f, ” and she tuck a big dip of snuff. Then old brother Cole put in a big chaw of terbacker and lowed: “You thinks you air a sinner, and in cose you knows the in’ardness of your own heart better’n me, and it looks reasonable to s’pose as how you knows, so es you maintain that you air a sinner I reckon as how you air. ” She spit out the snuff and the tears came in her eyes. Miss Patience was mad. She never looked for him to agree with her, and she was disappointed and was making up her mind to tell him that she was as good and a sight better than some that sot theyselves up for Christians—some gals he was a-flyin’ around too, but the tears of disappointment was a-chokin’ of her so she couldn’t speak. ' He went on: “A Christian air a hard thing to find, I tell you Mother Potter, a Christian air a hard thing to find, and all that’s left for mo to do now, Mother Potter is to- ” He aimed to say was to pray for her, but the old maid rizin her wrath. She could have stood his callin’ her a sinner, and a benighted sinner at that, but when he come to call her “Mother Potter” it made her mad, hoppin’ mad —-it.fairly riz.the dander, on her head. “I'll have you to understand,” says she, “that I'm no mother. You needn’t ‘Mother Potter’ me. I’m no mother. I’m not the mother of nobody, nor likewise the stepmother of nobody. (Here she broke down cryin’ when she thought how she would have liked to have been the stepmother of his children), and if you mean to hint that I am o-o-old oo boo, I know I haint so powerful young, but I let you know if hit’s the oldness that you air a hintin' at that you haint no spring chicken your own self,” and with that she riz and flirted up off’n the bench, and left him a wonderin’ what he had done.— Hamilton,” in Atlanta Constitution.

Uncle Pete and Uncle Sam.

Some time after the war it was down in Georgia it happenen—a couplfe of colored boys came to a scijoolmistress to be taught to read and write. They were brothers, and their names were YVallace and Mitchell. Those were the only names they had, or, at least, if they had any 'last name they didn’t know what it was. The teacher wanted some name or other to enter in her book and sent for the father of the boys. But he didn’t have any last name. His name was simply Pete, and he was always called Uncle Pete. He had been a slave, he said, and his boys had been born ip slavery, and he didn’t suppose he was of enough importance to deserve two names. “But the boys must have a family name, somehow,” said the teacher. “Suppose vou give them one right here, uncle?” The old darky seemed pleased and began to scratch his old bald < head. Then a happy idea struck him and he smiled, and the tears started from his eyes. “Waal, missus,” said he. “I guess you may call ’em Gov’ment. Gov’ment has done ’bout’s much fo’ me as anybody has.” And from that time the two boys, went by the names Wallace and Mitchell Government. — Boston Globe.,

Advantages of a College Education.

“What profession has your son decided to follow?” said Gilhooly to Col. Yerger. of Austin, who has a boy off at a Northern college. •'At first,” replied the old man slowly, “I thought he ought to follow medicine, law, or divinity, and I went on to Boston to see about it ” “Which profession does he seem to prefer to follow ?” s “Well, he seems to prefer to follow a divinity, with blue eyes and yejlow hair.” “Yes, that’s the way those college students are.” “After I had found out how little he had learned of law and medicine, and I had made him give up his divinity, I came to the conclusion that he mrist follow some other profession for which he had more taste.”

“And what profession is that?” “Base ball. He knows almost enough about it to graduate,” and the old man went off shaking His head.— Texas Siftings.

A Strange Fish.

Some traveling men were talking over their experiences in the Plankinton House one evening, when the subject turned upon fishing, and each gave a racy experience. One told how some Sparta lellows got him to go out trout fishing, by telling him that,about eight mil6s out there was a stream which was alive with trout, and how he hired a livery team and took the boys with him, and how they put him on the stream and told him to follow it down about four miles where they would meet him at a bridge with the wagon. He broke brush all the forenoon, got mired in the mud, had a cow chase him up a tree, and farmers drove him out of fields with pitchforks, and finally he arrived at the bridge, without having a bite except from mosquitoes, and found the wagon gone, and he walked to come home, supposing he had Sparta and lound that the boys had got to the bridge ahead of them, and got a ride to town with a farmer. He swore they played it on him on purpose, and said that it cost him twelve dollats.

Another told ot hiring a man to row him on Lake Winnebago, to troll, and how he trolled all the afternoon and never got a bite, and being near sighted never found out until he got back to the hotel that his oarsman rowed rrght around in one place all the time, where there was no wind and no fish, being too lazy to go out where the wind blew and where fish would bite. Others told of spearing suckers, bobbing for catfish on the Mississippi river, until finally it came the turn of the man who sells platform scales, and he opened up. Said he : “Boys, I have caught something that no live man ever caught.” “If there is anything we caught We want to hear it,” said the boot and shoe man. “Well, you shall hear about it,” said the scale man, lighting a cigar. “I was trolling for bass in a lake up north, with a man rowing the boat for me. YVe had noticed a loon swimming around and diving, and keeping watch of us, and I was wishing I had a rifle, when the loon dove, and I got about half asleep when all of a sudden 1 felt a yank on my line that nearly pulled me out of the boat. It was just as though a horse was hitched on the hook and running away. The oarsman turned pale and said I had got a muscallonge. I grabbed the line and began to reel in, when there was the awfullest pulling and fight'ng 1 ever felt on a fish line. Pretty soon the loon came to the surface with the hook in his mouth, flew a few yards, got tangled and dove again and began to swim off. Then we saw that the loon had been swimming around and had seen the minnow on my hook,-and swallowed it. It —was a-new experience, and I reeled him in until he got near the boat, when the oarsman was going to kill the bird, but I insisted on keeping him alive, to give to some historical society as the only loon ever caught with a hook and line. He came near swamping us, getting him in the boat, and fought us after he was in. YVe sat on him ami held his wings to keep him from beating our hands black and blue, and he was more trouble than a white elephant drawn in a lottery.

The hook was so far down his neck we couldn’t get out without killing him, so I cut the line near his bill, and put on another hook. The boatman put the loon down in the bow of the boat, under the end seat, and piled coats and the lunch basket on him, but he kept fighting, pinched the oarsman in the pants with his long sharp bill, and finally he worked the coats off his body and flew out of the boat and dove under water, and when he came up he was thirty rods away, shaking his head and trying to get the hook out. He went down again, and came up farther off, and looked around at us and squealed as though he was expressing his opinion of a man that would deceive a poor bird that way. We lost sight of the loon, and were sorry to lo*e him, but I never think of that experience without laughing right out, when 1 think of the disgusted look about the loon’s eyes w en lie was pulled up to the boat, and how he seemed to say, 'You think you are darned smart, don’t you,’, when he got loose and bid us good bye. I suppose a man riiight fish a life time and not catch another loon.” ~ The boys looked at each other with a sort of disbelief in the story, though it was true, and when a Chicago grocery man started in to tell about catching an ostrich on a pin hook once, they all adjourned to the cigar stand where the cigar man was telling about catching the ague. Everything is catching, among the boys.— Peckls Sun.

The Reward of Merit.

Merchant —Hasn’t Fogg made his appearance yet this morning? Head Book-keeper—No, sir. “Strange! Have you examined his books?” . “Yes," sir; they are correct to a cent.” “What about the cash-drawer?” “Not a dollar, gone.” “This is very strange. Can you explain it?” “I have just heard that he had eloped.” “With my daughter?” “No, sir, with your wife.” “Poor wretch! Havel to pity him. Stay. You say he has no money?” “None that 1 know of.” “Make out a check for SIO,OOO and mail it to him. It shan’t be said that I failed to appreciate tbe honest endeavors of a poor yeuug man.” — Rochester Post-Express.

Boys and Their Fathers.

A companion piece to the song, “Where is My Boy Tpmight?” has been issued, entitled: “My Bov. Where is Your Father To-night?” This is wrong, very wrong. Boys should not go to inquire too much where their fathers are. Fathers are liable to be all right if the boys are.— Peck's Sun. The inventor of the long-handled shovel died unlamented because he couldn't’ attach a rocking-chair to it

SUICIDES OF STATESMEN.

A lew Senator* anti Congi eHsinen Who Have Gone Unbidden into Elernitv. One of the most promineiit was the suicide of the Hon! Freston King, who for many years represented the State of New York in of the United States. Hie was .a rfcxge man in figure and heart; a sort of David Davis, in person, at least, and, like most men of large weight, was tender-hearted and sympathetic. He was appointed by* Eresident Andrew Johnson co lector of the port of New Y’ork after his retirement from the Senate; The duties of that office and the annoyances of its administration, particularly the appeals for position, bore upon the mind of an( i one day he was found missing. Efforts to find him were after a week successful, when his body was found floating in the river, attached to which was a twenty-five pound bag of shot. The tender-hearted collector, driven to desperation by the appeals of office-seekers, had sought death in thia manner. The suicide of so prominent a man created quite a sensation at that time, and it is well remembered by old New Yorkers in the government service here yet. Another suicide of note was that of the Jefferson Rusk, of Texas, who was a member of the Senate in 1835, and who committed suicide just after his retirement from that body by shooting. Whether the story of Senator Rusk’s suicide is as. accurate as that of Senator King is uncertain. It can only be given as gathered here, and is not a matter of historical record, as is the case with Senator King. Senator Rusk was very prominent in Texas, which State he represented in the Senate. He had been secretary of war in the republic of Texas when it was a republic, and had held other prominent positions there. In the early history of Texas many of its citizens iVere. so the story goes, men who had found it convenient to leave their former residences on account of incidents which law and good society did not tolerate. The story that this was the cause of Mr. Rusk’s removal from South Carolina to Texas has never been verified, but there is a story of this sort. Anyway, be the facts what they may have been, it is alleged that his suicide was the result of having this sort of charge thrown against him in the Senate during a debate. His suicide was by shooting, and occurred at his home in Texas soon after leaving the Senate. Congressman Hise represented Kentucky in the Thirty-ninth Congress,and had been elected to the fortieth. He had also been United States minister to Guatemala, and had likewise taken a prominent part in negotating a treaty between the United States and Great Britain immediatelj r preceding the Claytou-Bulwer treaty. His suicide was supposed to have been the result of monomania caused by overwork. Still another Kentucky suicide was that of James L. Johnson, who was in the Twenty-first-Congress. He suicided at Owensboro, Ky., during a fit of despondency caused by illness. The case of a man more prominent than any of those already mentioned was that of Lincoln’s most prominent cabinet officer, Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton. He is printed in history as having died suddenly. Old residents of YVashington, however, who were here at the time of his death, and were in a position f o know by reason of their intimacy with men prominent in public life, say that Mt. Stanton died from an incision in the throat made by his own hand in a fit of insanity caused by overwork and the mental strain of this the most responsible position in the greatest war this country has over seen. Whether Mr. John Ewing, who represented Indiana in the Twenty-third and Twenty-fifth Congrtsses.committed suicide is not stated in history; but his death was at least a curious one. He was found sitting- in his chair at Vincennes dead, and the following couplet freshly written lay beside him: “Here licsa man who loves his rir nils, 1 Hi* Go<l, liiscoiintry. and Vincennes.” His death occurred in 1857. Felix McConnell, of Mississippi, was one of the most brilliant orators in the Twenty-eigth and Twenty-ninth Congresses,but Felix had a weakness for liquor, e the story goes, and after a long spree cut his throat at the Charles Hotel, in this city, and died. John D. Ashmore, of South Carolina, was in the Thirty-sixth Congress, and was also in the confederate army. He blew out his brains in 1871 at Sardis, Miss.„ Williamson R. W. Cobb, of Alabama, was a member of congress from 1857 to 18G1, when he withdrew on the secession of Alabama, and became a member of the confederate Congress. His death occurred from a pistol shot, the weapon being held in his own hand, though that it was intentional suicide is not certain, the supposition being that the discharge of the pistol was accidental. James H. Lane, of Lawrenceburg, Ind., was a senator from Kansas from 18G1 to 1866, and shot himself at his home in Kansas soon after his retirement from the senate. Sobeisk Ross, who was in the Fortythird and Forty-fourth. Congresses from Pennsylvania, suicided shortly after his return from Congress by shooting himself in his barn at his home, in Pennsylvania. Loss of health and consequent despondency were alleged as the cause. John White, of Kentucky, who was in the Twenty-fourth, Twenty-fifth, Twenty-sixth, Twenty-seven th, and Twenty-eighth Congresses, and was speaker of the House in the Twentyseventh, committed suicide at RibhKy., by cutting his throat. Jesse B. Thomas, who was in the Tenth Congress from “Indiana Territory,” arid who was later on a Senator from Illinois, suicided in 1850 by cutting his throat with a razor because of mental aberration. U ’ Alfred P. Stone, who was in the Twenty-eighth Congress from the Columbus, 0., district, was afterward appointed i ollector of internal revenue, and, having engaged in some contraband cotton speculation, became, a defaulter, and suicided upon the discovery of this fact by taking poison and dying upon the graves of h s two children at the cemetery, near Columbus, in 1865. Men of the our—“we" editors.