Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 April 1886 — Page 2

TU cascuAco AIRON. Cod* ‘ pr °° 08 -“ 4 ** “j Hoqiwn wi<h (»«nN diadem ooaid b« mn | And wlwn’ »ho sauntered down the lano and ? Jwarhalth-1 rtdon iriw, Xtbouchi I saw mw comloK fata, whose name tu Kitty Leo. (had not spoken mnoliof tore, thonnh often we hfhl And yet alio answered something. oner, I ooaid j not well forget: I But eh* *m fa r and roey, and I thought how nice 'twoutd be JB, when the tied tnat apron on, the tie waa meant for me. (Ehe dimmer eun wu nestling down beyond the difttnt hiH*. Oh voice alone Minted us—tbi plaintive whip* paor-wiU'*. * (■poke about my loneliness. of toil* and cere* |U|| . ,1,, , ■ - *;■;■ ; ■ ' had the. with toothing reaJlnett, waa glad that we had met One know* not bow anch little w<#ds prooeed from let* to more, somehow, we came nearer than we eeee ' ttood before; a . iwl when I *aw the meaning that her beaming face supplied, I found my aim wa* resting where I mw that apron tied 1 1 And so I put the question that must happen soon or late, Aad found that Love wa» reiuly to obey the call of Fate. O Kitty lew. I thank you—for when you that ajiron tied, Too shaped a wondrous love-knot that won you for my hr Ida.— -*.) Jhel Bmtfm, in Bemorett t Monthly. AT DAY-BRKAK. The earth is rolling towanl the sun. Another day—another day begun! And all the hates of yesterday. And thoughts that night should ehann away, stir to new life, aa swords of light Cleave down the cohorts of the night The earth it rolling toward the light from out the clinging shades of night And all the griefs of yesterday lioom dinilv up i n Life’s highway: like giants grim they stir and wake; .... And Memory o. mea when day doth break*The earth is rolling toward the east Of all ibe shining planets, least; But full of strips and mad distress. That night lulls to forgetfulness. , The soul most arm her for the fray At break of day—at break of day 1 Comes hates, and strifes, and fears, and woeal The earth is rolling into rosa. Before the shafts of goldenoight — : — —* Flutter the truce flogs of 'the night O soul, be strong to worthy way I Faint not, faint not at bstak of day I Overland Monthly.

PAUL’S EXPERIMENT.

BY ANNABEL B. WHITE.

Pan! Vane, artist, had been riding since •arty morning through what appeared to. be a limitless Southern pine forest. He was weary and hungry, ana kept his eyes well open to discern what might be a ‘‘human habitation, ” where might be found, “.entertainment for man and beast.” It may bo vary romantic to walk or sit “under the moaning pines,” bnt as a matter of fact, they are anything but inspiriting to one who fears that he may have to spend the night amid the mysterious noises and unknown inhabitants thereof. So, Paul Vane, as the sun swung low, was keeping a sharp lookout for a house. Humble it was sure to lie, but he eared Bow only for a rude bed and draught of water to cool his parched tongue. At last his wearied eye discerned an opening. Yes. there was the inevitable log cabin of ihe “piney- woods’ hoosier;” and the addition of two “shed-rooms” gave evidence that he would probably find a spare bad whereon to stretch his tired limbs. On each side of the house, and in the rear, were “clearings” containing “patches” at com, cotton, and sweet potatoes, and a goodly “patch” of succulent sugar cane. It was a golden day in October, and Paul knew the corn had been gathered, and the size of the field told him he conld find a generous supply for his horse if the good people were not averse to selling it. A woman, red-haired and angular, sat on Hie small porch, made by continuing the roof several feet beyond the dwelling. A limp sun bonnet was on her head, and this, together with the primitive occupation of “carding” cotton into “bats,” prevented her from seeing the approach »f the stranger till a resonant “Hello!” caused her to glance up. ,

Paul Vane made a kingly figure as he sat on his thoroughbred horse, his hat pushed back from his white brow,, making greater the contrast of tanned cheeks, while the gloomy pine forest loomed up in dark perspective. ..A. girl ..picking cotton - in the “patch” stopped her work and straigKtehed up'td” look : at him. A second girl sidled around the house to gaze at the unaccustomed sight of “a man •-horseback a-eomin’ to ther house.” “My good woman, can I stay all night? I have traveled all day. and my horse and I are ▼ery tired. lam willing to pay you well for both.” “Well, I dunno, mister. My ole man went over to a neighbor’s ’bout a mile from here to git a ’po6Suin dog, an’ he haint kem back yit. I dunno what he'll •ay." “PapH say yes,” said the girl who had •idled around the house. •At least I can rest awhile and water my horse?” •O, yes; git right down an' kem in. Cull’ll water yer hosa. Yon, Cull!” The girl in the cotton patch slowly left her work and came to the house. As She entered the yard, Paol Vane started at the eontrast between the two girls. Both were apparently 10 years old, bnt the one who was sure “Pap’d say yes,” was red-haired and angular like the mother, while the other had a face which gave promise of that dark, glittering, sumptuous beauty so fatal to the generally, and so dangerous to the peace of all men who behold it.

•Tek the gen’leman’s hoss, Cull, an* give it ten years o’ com an’ a bim'le o' fodder.” “No, stay,” interposed Paul quickly, all his Southern chivalry rising in protest •gainst this command to the youthful Enid. *1 am quite accustomed to feeding my own horse, and could not think of allowing this .child to do it. -Where is the well?” The two went before himHto reveal the whereabouts of that well, for whose cooling waters both be and his thoroughbred thirsted. . _ -'• ; The dark girl glanced at him. It was a curious gaze—something like an Intelligent animal’s, who has been released from a grievous burden, long and patiently home. The horse disposed of, the quartette retained to tile front of the house. A tall, lean man, with whitened hair and bent shoulders plainly indicating that he was a son of toil, was just entering the yard. I had almost said gate, but there were no fences, consequently no need of **liwes the patriarch of this interesting family, and he speedily granted the j stranger’s request for food and shelter. After the supper of buttermilk, sweet potatoes, fried bacon, and “pane" com bread was served, the family sat out on the little bout porch, as is the Southern fashion. “Cull? That is a curious name,” said FsuL as his hostess bade the girl prepare Mr. Vane’s couch for the night. •Yes, an’ th’ gal is curiouser. She hain’t oum, but her mammy died at our

fcaus* ’bout five year ago. She stopped I here one evenin' an’ wit* h adin' the little gal. j Feared lak she wm tick. They had walked a long way, Bhe said, but, the. didn't tell whar ,>ahe waa from, nor whar she with gwine. She wa’n’t nble to gitoulen th’ bed next momin’, an’ ehe died in a week. She hod a fever on’ didn't have the go tine ter tell us nothin'. We've done the beat ' we kin by Coll, bnt ahe'a so sullen, "pears j liik u e kain't mck nolhin' onten her." "Can she read?" asked Fanl, reflectively, aa he knocked the ashes off his cigar. • "Lor. no; we hain't nigh a school, an’ pnp an' me don't know nothin' ’hop 1 hook V I "Mia. Vostoii, I should like to adopt this girl," announced Paul, slowly. ‘ tirpM don’t say aol" ejaculated the male “clav-cater." “Vt’ell, I never!" echoed the female one. It was a decision l’aul had come-to within the last few moments with that reckless promptitude characteristic of the man’s artistic nature. ' The question was discussed animatedly, then Cull was called out. "My child." said Paul, kindly, “how should you like to go with'me and he my own, little girl? I would teach you all about hooks, and you should have a father in me, Inm 3.1 and ijnite old enough to bb her fnther. Mrs. Vestoii,” turning husiily lo I that person, whom he saw at once was ihe "weight” in the family. “I ali'd say so!" she enunciated."expectorating snuff profusely, then putting her “brush” in the box for a fre»h “dip.” “I dunno nothin’ ’bout books, ner no pap,” said Cull, in her hoarse, uncultured voice.' It had been one of Paul’s visionary dreams to adopt a child, male or female, and make the perfect, creature out of it he felt sure he could. He was alone in the world, nnd unmarried. * After due explanation, Cull—the only name she had ever known—was prevailed upon to understand what was required of her. The next morning she, in her long, checked homespun dress and flapping bonnet of the same inaterral, was mounted behind Mr. Vane on his horse on an old quilt, which Mrs. Ye stub informed him ho .could “Give way ter some niggab when he cimi ter tfaerstation ’bout ten mile fruni thar.” "He a good gal. Cull, an min’ Mr. Vane. I wißht ’Lizy might have yer chance er bein’ a rich lady, ” Cull sat with her brown feet and bare ankles hanging straight down by the thoroughbred’s flank, but answered never a word, staring off into the sombre depths of the pine forest all about them. “I reckon yer won’t never let her kum back ter see us agin? " Mrs, Veston urged. After all, the child did have some sort of a place in her fliidv heart, and the S2OO that had been placed in her handß but a few moments ago seemed to lose tfteir value when she thought of the break there would be in their lives after Cull had gone away. “I cannot promise that, for my house is many hundred miles from here. Don’t look for her, and you will not be disappointed.” Pnul laughed as he rode away. To a more Worldly wise couple this barter of 'a child might have seemed a grievous wrong, but •to these ignorant people Cull was a “stray” of whom they were glad to be rid. Of her life—of Paul Vane’s intentions towards this girl of 10 years—they never thought. When, they had ridden live miles Faul Stopped* ■ “Cull, yon must be tired, and I shall let you rest awhile. I wish to ask you some questions.” Cull obediently slul down from her perch, and l’,aul seated himself on a gnarled tree root. “How old ate you?” “Mammy says I'm 'bout ten,” she answered dutifully, as she stood before him, bonnet off and her mowt dark curls crinkling all over her shapely head. She gazed at him fearlessly, boldly. “Have you no name but Cull?” “None’at I ever hearn tell on.” He sighed softly, for her defective grammar grated on liis educated ear fearfully. ““Very well, i- am “going to call you Eleanor Vane. Shull you like it?” “Dunno; reckon so. Reckon one name's good’s ’uother.”

"Very true, but remember, when you are asked your name, it is Eleanor Vane,” “All right. El’ner Vane.” Paul winced at her, pronunciation of this aristocratic name, but said nothing further, ami, remounting, they rode to the ’Village, or “station.” Here he stopped at the only hotel, and at once asked for the landlady, if the house boasted of one. Fortunately for him it did, and a very important one, too. “My dear lady, Ihave -just” brought—my -uieee-frbm—-woods,’ where she has been reared, as you can see. I wish to take her home, but she must have other articles of dress. I can’t take her in this guise." Mrs. Wheatley smiled at the evident contrast between the well-clad gentleman in his traveling suit lovely color, “Confederate gray,” and the shabby appearance of the sullen-browed girl who clung so tightly to his hand. ’ “I should think not,” she assented cheerfully. “Well, are there such things-us readymade clothes here?” “Not for girls. How old is she?” “Ten.” “Well, my Maud is about her , ago and size. T enn let yon "have a suit of her clothing that will answer till you get to the city.” “A thousand thanks, and I will refund you.”

Mrs. Wheatley went put; bnt soon- returned. ’’ , “Jf the little girl will go with me now. I’ll send her to yon in an hour or two transformed.” “Eleanor, go with the good lady.” "I won’t." - * “Why?” -asked —Paul, astonished and grieved at this exhibition of stubbornness. “ ’Cause you’ll go off an’ leave me.” “No, my dear, I shall not. I shall remain here, and to prove it you may take my hat with you, ’’ said Paul, smiling, for was a man ever known to leave a house without his hat.? Never, except uuder Very extraordinary circumstances, surd this did not seem to be one. • _ ’ —— ~■ — Cull actually took the hat and followed the landlady out. *: * That day was her first acquaintance with a bath room and stockings. In two hours the door opened and a quiet little girl tip-toed into Paul. He looked up inquiringly. T “I’m Cnll.” v 1 -lE’.

“Bless my soul!” and Paul stared with all his might, for with a man’s stupidity he could not understand how dress can transform, as it were, the ugliest and most insignificant of the fair sex. _ Mrs.* Wheatley came in laughing. “Will she do?” - “I should not have known her. You are a good woman —a Wonderful woman," said he, shaking her most cordiapy by the hand. She blushed a little and answered coquettishly: “Oh, no; I am only a woman, and all women are.wonderful—at times.” We must-explain, however, that the blush.was for the large piece of gold she felt left in her'hand and which was hastily transferred to her pocket. It was s*2o and doubly paid her for the polished buttoned shoes, the scarlet hose.

white dress and neatly -made pad ! prettily-trimmed underclothing; all of which she had furnished from her daughter's wardrobe, they being her best, bnt the astute lady frit "assured she would lose nothing by it; she could easily replace them with, the glittering gold now resting in her packet. “She still needsu plain hat„linen ulster, and lisle gloves," added Mrs. Wheatley. “Very well; where can I get them?” “O, I will get them at once from the store," she laughed, going out again. Paul stood near Cnll, stroking her soft silky hair, now seen nt its best for the first time. Her hands were fearfully browned, hut they were well-shaped, and her hair was fashionably arranged—being soft and curly, it was very becoming to the brown, flushed face. She was daintily perfumed nnd powdered as any curled darling of fortune. In one word, Cull waR clean! The ulster, the quiet’little hat, the gloves, the small Rachel with its pretty white handkerchief, were all arranged on Cull's willing form, and the afternoon train whirled man, child, and horse away. Whither? No one know. »f , .» ; * ““** 1 , « ■ Six years have passed. A .sumptuously beautiful girl and a man of 41V, or thereabouts, were' talking in a handsome room in a handsome house in the city of Charlestown. - ' "But Uncle Paul, I do not want to go to Germany,” the girl"vehemently protested. “Hut why, Kleqnor?” asked'Paul Vcue,smoothing back her lovely hair in a fatherly way. The girl's lips grew white. I go?” "J think it best," he gravely answered. “Very well, uncle,.” then starting up hurriedly, she walked quickly from the^room. In six years a governess and masters had done much for “Cull,” or Eleanor. Vane, as she was now known, hut “Uncle Paul” had just told her that it was his' intention to spend the next five years in Europe, solely for her benefit. She had entreated,’ prayed, and rebelled, but all to no purpose. He wished to give her every advantage at his command, and not being dependent on his profession: for a livelihood, but on the contrary, having great wealth, Paul Vane, artist, had many advantages at his command. Most girls would have been wild at the thought of a European tour. Why was Eleanor so averse to it? Hitherto she hadnot disappointed him fin anything, and he -had begun to think that he was really moulding her into that dream creature that had always been his ideal of wpmanhood. They went to Europe. One day, while in Zurich, Eleanor sought her uncle. “Uncle Paul, I have come now' to tell you why I did not wish to leave America.” She sat down on a sofa far away from him, and the room being dim, he did not see her livid face and writhing lips. “Yes, dear,” and putting aside his-writ-ing. he went ov.er and stood in front of her, one hand behind his back, the other thrust into his bosom. Her breath came heavily, her hands were clenched till the blood stood out on the white snrface—for Eleanor was no longer rough and brown. “Yes, dear,” lie repeated, gently, looking caressingly down on the satiny ripples of hair crowning the -head droopirigbefoi e him. “Pity me, Uncle Paul, and oh, forgive me! Ob, don’t you knowL, u Can’t you see?” and she sank down at his feet abjectly. “I have been a wife for six months and one day shall become a mother!” she Wailed. “Oh, God! Eleanor! Have you deceived me?” hei cried, starting away from her as if she were a plague-stricken thing. She lay on the carpet moaning. He came back, stooped over her, and placed her on the sofa, sitting down by .her Side. “Tell me the man’s name.” “Reuben Stiles.” . “Onr grocer’s clerk?” “Yes, uncle." “How came yon to know him? Arc you hie wife?” f! “Yes, uncle,” she answered, still in the same mechanical manner, but placing a paper in bis hand. ■ : He was silent as lie read the words that bore witness to the fact that Eleanor Vane was the .legal wife of Reuben Stiles, the handsome but illiterate clerk of the grocer who supplied the exclusive Paul Vane with all the choicest groceries. “What made you do it?” he asked in a despairing kind of way. “I do not know,” she answered humbly. "It must be the bad blood-in my- veins. ” “O, toy child! it seems to me that I could -wfillugly/giye evefy~ttl'Op of my blood ifritr would wash away the stain of this act of yours. You hare deceived me! Can I ever trust you again?” She fell to weeping, wildly, unrestrainedly, as a woman will who feels that she has" done wrong but’ can offer no excuse for it. “I met him several times on the sidewalk. I knew who he Was—once he restored my handkerchief—once he caught me as I was falling.” Then she attempted an explanation. - “But where was your teacher?” “Miss Knowles was always with me.” He groaned aloud. “But he made love to you? He married you?”

“Tee, uncie. I can't tell how it was all done; but he made me love him. I love him now, and one night we were married in the church on C— street.” •“But what shall I' dev about it all?” he groaned in anguish again. “Let Reuben come to me, or let us go home to him.” _ “Never! My God! girl, do you think I have spent myself on you, heart and soul, to have you end this way? You are, after all, only a child. If I meet this Reuben Stiles i shall kill him!” he ended up passionately, striking the arm of the sofa frenziedly. Eleanor clung to his arm, weepingweeping. A few months afterwards her child was born, but it was dead. ~ Five years came and went. Eleanor Vane and hiiraai-disani unclewere returning to America. This girl had developed into a marvel of beauty, but she was.called cold and proud. She had only to look at a man with those 6oftlv-magniticent eyes of hers, and straightway he became her slave, willing to barter all he held dear, even honor, and life, if by so doing-he could have gained a love word from- those perfectly-chiseled lips. But no man had won that word yet—except Reuben Stiles. Paul Vane was in despair, but Eleanor’s spirits rose as they neared an American port. ' Her husband was to meet her at last! When she had cast off her old life with her old name, “Cull,” she retained all her native stubbornness, only now it was gracefully concealed. She had refused in toto to procure a divorce, or to be otherwise separated from her boyish and handsome husband—as she remembered him—and who was also the father of her dead child.- » “Southern Women do not disgrace themselves by appearing in a divorce court,” she haughtily replied to Paul’s suggestion. Paul had kept her secret well, and no one knew that his beautiful heiress was al-

ready out of the reach of greedy fortune hunters. They arrived at their,hotel. “Eleanor, your husband is in the parlor.” With an inarticulate cry «f joy Eleanor obeyed her guardian’s summons, and went into tlie private parlor which he had thoughtfully engaged for this first meeting ofthe’ —— N But the elegant woman started back in dismay as she opened the door of the parlor and saw sittibgTu uchair facing her, a hulking, slouching figure, gaudily dressed in broad plaid clothes, with a diamond blazing in his shirt front, his hat between Ms knees, his large red hands spread over them. Eleanor turned and looked in Paul’s impassive face., “Who—who ui uus . husband!” “No! no!" and she was receding from the room when a coarse voice arrested her. ““Hullo! Elly! A warm welcome after your five years’absence!" Eleanor advanced. /‘Are j/oi( : Reuben Stiles?” “That's what I’m called. Howdy!” and he stretched forth a large hand, laughing hoisterously. 1 It was too evident that he had been drinking. ■ • “O, God! The punishment of my 6in is more than I can hear!” and turning precipitately, Eleanor, who had been noted as the coldest and nioßt self-possessed woman in hey circle—Eleanor tied back to her room. Mr, Stiles gazed blankly at Paul Vane. ‘‘The deuce! What does she mean?” ’*•** * * * * “It is horrible!horrible!"moanedEleanor a few hours later, after being “brought roimd” from a faint into which she had fallen when informed'that Reuben Stiles,’ on leaving the hotel, had unluckily fallen down the stairway, thereby causing death, his steps having been rendered unsteady by drink. * “But it is best!" soothed Paul Yang. - “God knows!” she murmured. “1 did wrong to show him so plainly that I was disappointed—that I was disgusted! O, Paul, I did wrong ever, ever to leave him.” But Paul had no word of comfort for her. Happily, time heals all bruised hearts. Time is kinder than' man. —Chicago Ledger.

Trichinae.

The trichinae is a species of threadlike worm, and'was first discovered by Professor Tiedmaun in 1822. When mature the male is one-eighteenth of an inch long, the female at least twice that length. The eggs about one twelve* hundretli of an inch in diameter. After fertilization and six or eight days of gestation, they are developed into embryos, which, when extended within the intestines of an animal, commence at once their migrations. The hog is especially liable to trichina), but it has been found in horses, dogs, sheep, birds, cattle, and ells. After uncooked flesh has been eaten, containing the undeveloped trichime, the worms remain in the intestines, and by the second day become fully developed and freed from their capsules. By the tenth day they find their way through the connective tissues and by the blood into the voluntary * muscles, and the fourteenth day finds them eneapsuled throughout the muscles. As many as 10,000 or 15,000 have been found in a cubic inch of hog flesh. Professor Dalton estimates the number of trichinae in a human body to be 85,000, and that roir 1,000,000 to 2,000,000 may exist in a single human body, according to examinations made in several cases. The. most startling case was at Hettstadt, Prussia, in 1863. Out of 103 persons who were dining at a nobleman’s house and hall eaten sausages, smoked and warmed, but not cooked, twentydied almost immediately and eighty • were ill for many weeks. The sausages that were left were swarming with trichina), and the muscles of the victims were found to be alive with them. The first case recorded in America was discovered by Dr. Scheutter v of this city, in 1864. In 1*865-66, a committee of physicians was appointed in Chicago to examine the hogs. The result of the examination showed that out of 1,000 hogs, one in fifty had trichinae. A year before at Brunswick, .Germany, a similar examination showed that about one ■in 10,000 hogs had the diaease. In 1878 from ten to twenty per cent, of American hams contained trichina), and in the same year out of 2,500 Westphalia hams only one contained the worm.— New York Star.

Keep the Chinese Out.

In China there are between 300,000,000 and 400,000,000 people, a quarter of whom would come under the head of laborers. Without doubt 25,000,000 laborers could be spared without injury to the industries of the country. Wages for common laborers are so low that Americans cannot understand how the laborer lives. If he gets $2 a month more than the bare necessities of life he is content! ’ Between this human hive] and the sparsely settled Pacific coast lies a body of water over which Chinese lalwrers can be transported at a cost of about sls each. The steamship Company charges $25, but the business is so profitable that they want all they can get of it. The laborer whose time is worth $2 per month in China -GMYearn from sls to $25 per month in California. In industries requiring a little skill he can readily earn from $6 to $8 and $lO per week. It will be seen that it is worth while for the Chinese laborer to pass from China to the Pacific coast. If the cost of the trip was $250 in place of $25 there would be money in the business of importing themTfor any company which has the machinery to control them. The United States lias passed a law forbidding all Chinese laborers to land on American soil without proof that they were in this country at a certain date. There is $225 clear profit in. violating this law. The Chinese companies readily give about SIOO to their agents and keep $125 for themselves. Under any possible enforcement of the law there would be many violations of it. The Chinese are cunning and unscrupulous. Violating an American law does not shock their* moral instincts. They act always upon the assumption that the law can look out for itself. If they can beat the law they hold that they have a perfect right to do so. They have not found much trouble in getting the best of American officials. In some cases doubtless the officials were paid •not to see, and in others alittle Chinese dust was thrown into open eyes. The result is that Chinese have come about as fast as ever, though it has cost them more to come. — San Francisco CaU.

A REMEDY FOR STRIKES.

President Cleveland Recommends the Creation or i Commission to Settle Labor Disputes. The Workingman Should Be Properly Represented at Washington—Message to Congress. The President sent the following message on the subject of the labor troubles to Congress on the 22d of April: To ihk Hknatk and House or Bepbssextattves ; The Constitution imposos on the President the duty ot recommending to the consideration of Congress from time to time Bocta measures aa he shall judge necessary and expedient. I am so deeply impressed with the importance Of Immediately and thoughtfully meeting the problem which recent events and a present condition have;thrust upon us, involving the settlement of disputes arising between our laboring men and their employers, that I am constrained to recommend to Congress legislation upon this serious and pressing subject. Under our form of government the value of labor as an element of national prosperity should be distinctly recognized, and the welfare of the laboring man should be regarded ns especially entitled,.to legislative care. In a country which offers to all its citizens the highest attainment of social and political distinction its workingmen cannot Justly or safely be con-, sldered as irrevocably consigned to the limits of a class and entitled to no attention and ab6wed no protest against neglect. The laboring man, bearing in his hand an indispensable contribution to our growth and progress, may well insist with manly courage and as a right upon the same recognition from those who make our laws as is accorded to any other citizen having a valuable interest in charge and ibis reasonable demand should be met in such a spirit of appreciation and f airaeßß as to induce a contented and patriotic co-operation in the achievement of a grand national destiny. While the real interests of labor are not promoted by a resort to threats und violent manifestations, and while those who, under the pretext of an advocacy of the claims of labor, wantonly attack the rights of capital, and for selfish purposes or the love of disorder sow seeds of violence and discontent, should neither be encouraged nor conciliated, all legislation on the subject Bhould be calmly and deliberately undertaken, with no purpose of satisfying unreasonable demands or gaining partisan advantage. The present condition of the relations between labor and capital are far from satisfactory, The discontent of the employed is due in a large degree to the grasping and heedless exactions of employers and the alleged discriminations in favor of capital as an object of governmental attention. It must also be conceded that laboring men are not always careful to avoid causeless and unjustifiable disturbances. Though the importance of a better accord between these interests is apparent, it must be borne in mind that any effort in that direction by the Federal Government must be greatly limited by constitutional restrictions. There are many grievances which legislation by Congress cannot redress, and many conditions which cannot by such means be reformed. I am satisfied, however, that something may be done under Federal authority to prevent the disturbances which so often arise by disputes between employer and employed, and which at times seriously threaten the business interests of the country; and, in my opinion, the proper theory on which to proceed is that of voluntary arbitration as the means of settling these difficulties. But I suggest that, instead of jarbitrators chosen in the heat of conflicting claims and after each dispute shall arise, there be created a commission of labor consisting of three members, who shall be regular officers of the Government, charged, among other duties, with the consideration and settlement, when possible, of all controversies between laborand capital. A commission thus organized would have the advantage of being a stable body, and its members, as they gained experience, would constantly improve in their ability to deal intelligently and usefully with the questions which might be submitted to them. If arbitrators arq chosen for temporary service as each caße of dispute arises, experience and familiarity with much that is involved in the question will be lacking; extreme partisanship and bias will be the qualifications sought on either side, and frequent complaints of unfairness and partiality will be inevitable. The imposition upon a Federal court of a -duty-foreign to the judicial function, as the selection of an arbitrator in such cases, is at least of doubtful propriety. The establishment by Federal authority of such • a bureau would be a just and sensible recognition of the value of labor and er as right to be represented in the departments of the Government. So far as its conciliatory offices shall have relation to disturbances which interfered with transit and commerce between the States its existence would be justified under the provisions of the Constitution which give to Congress the power to regulate commerce with foreign nations and among the several States. And fn the frequent disputes between thelaboring men and their employers Of less extent, and the consequences of which are confined within State limits, and threaten domestic violence, the interposition of such a commission might be tendered upon the application of the Legislature or Executive of a State, under the constitutional provision which requires the General Government to protect each of the States against domestic violence. If such a commission were fairly organized the risk of a loss of popular support and sympathy resulting from a refusal to submit to so peaceful an instrumentality would constrain both parties to such disputes to invoke its interference and abide by its decisions. There would also be good reason to hope that the very existence of such an agency would invite application to it for advice and counsel, frequently resulting in the avoidance of contention and misunderstanding. If the usefulness of such a commission is doubtful, because it might lack power to enforce its decisions, much encouragement is derived from the conceded good that has been accomplished by the railroad commissions which have been organized in many of the States, which, having little more than advisory power, have exerted a most salutary influence in the settlement of disputes between confliot- • ing interests. In July, 1884, by a law of Congress a bureau of labor was established and placed in charge of a commissioner of labor, who is required to collect information upon the subject of labor, its relations with capital, the hours of labor and the means of promoting their material, social, intellectual, and moral prosperity. The "commission which I suggest could easily be engrafted upon the bureau thus already organized by the addition of two more commissioners, and by supplementing the duties now imposed upon it by such other powers and functions as would permit the commissioners to act as arbitrators when necessary between labor and capital, under snch limitations and upon such occasions as should be deemed proper and useful. Power should Jalso be distinctly conferred upon this bureau to investigate the •auses of an disputes as they occur, whether submitted for arbitration or not, .so that information may always be at hand to aid legislation on the subject when necessary and desirable. Groved Cleveland. Executive Mansion, April 22, 1886.

“Ha, ha! That’s a good one on yyomen,” laughed Mr. Dulman the other morning; “What ticklesyounow?” asked Mrs.Dulman. “Why, ha, ha! a Canadian doctor says more than half the women are fools!” “Yes,” replied Mrs. Dulman, wearily, “I fancy he’s right. Most women marry!” - ' 1 *'. ?r. Leopold Schenck, editor of the German edition of Puck, died at Aiken, 8. C., and his body was cremated at Fresh Pond, “Dri... - yoonnt of the strike, it put $200,000 into the pocket of Jay Gould inside of eight weeks. Will Haskell, editor of the Minneapolis Tribune, is building a fine house for himself on a ioue island in Lake Minnetonka. Mb. Gbadt, editor of the Atlanta Constitution, has been elected President of the National Poultry and Breeders’ Association. Edwabd Atkinson says that a man can five comfortably in Boston on S2OO a year. Beans are cheaper. General McClellan’s book, it is intimated, will desd vigorously with a numberof politicians.

AN AWFUL DEED.

A New Jersey Mother, While la A- Religious Frenzy, Slays Four of Her Children^ She Says She Did It to Save Them from Pain and Sorrow—A Sickening BecitaL tr- ■ [Keyport (S. J.) special.] Mrs. Fannie Smith, the wife of a farmer living about seven miles south of this place, became insane this morning, took a dose of poison, and crushed in the heads of four of, her children with an ax. The youngest child died immediately and tho others are nOt expected to live till morning. Mrs. Smith also is, very low and will probably diet- ' I The family Consists of J. Monroe Smith, the father, about 55 years old; the mother, who is 43 years of age; and their six children —19, 18, 13,11, 7 and 4 years old respectively. ■ Last night the family retired rather earlier than usual, so Mrs. Smith arose about 5 o’clock this morning and roused her husband at the same hour. Their' breakfast had been prepared by n colored woman who had been in the family’s service for years. After eating, Mrs. Smith left" her husband in the kitchen and went out to the hen-house. Mr. Smith followed her, in a few moments, to a hot-house, which was about 100 yards away from the house. In the hen-house Mrs. Smith took out of her pocket a package of rat poison which she bought and concealed over three years ago. She swallowed a large dose of the poison, and threw the box away. Oh her way back to the house she picked up a large ax, which she concealed beneath her dress. Entering the house she went first to the bed-chamber of the four-year-old daughter, Edna, who was quietly, sleeping. She took the ax from under her dress and bronght it down with terrible effect on the child’s head. She did this three times, until she saw that the little curly head was split open. Then she left,’ and entered the bedroom of her son Rufus, thirteen years old. She struck him three or four blows on the head with the back of her ax, which laid the side of his head open. Next she turned her attention to her eleven-year-old daughter Bessie, whom she found on her knees praying. The child seemed to know that her turn had come, as she had witnessed the attack on the others. She lifted up her hands imploringly and begged her mother in a faltering voice,to spare her, bnt this had no effect on the frenzied woman, for she let the ax come down on the poor child’s head with as much force as at first, and a moment later her third victim was lying on the floor with her skull fractured. A moment later she had struck Alida, another of her children. The sound of the child’s voice had reached the ears of Bettie Beldo, the aged colored ran to the child’s assistance up-stairs. Mrs. Smith had just completed her bloody work, but she was still in a frenzy of excitement. She turned on the old woman and raised her ax with the intent of adding another victim to the list. Bettie turned and ran down stairs, pursued by the woman, who now began to show her insanity by howling at the top of her voice. Finding that she could not overtake the colored woman Mrs. Smith threw the blood-stained ax after her, but it struck the wall, and the colored woman ran out of the house screaming with terror. The insane woman picked up her fearful weapon again, and retraced her steps up the stairs to the room where her eighteen-year-old daughter was. This girl had seen some of the tragedy, picked up tho baby, two years old, and fled to the apartment for safety. She had not time to lock the door when her mother, with the ax raised above her head, was upon her. Then a fearful struggle began. The girl knew that her mother meant death, and all her energies were roused to keep the door fastiill assistance would come. She threw her body against the door, while Mrs. Smith struggled to break it in. Finally the brave girl succeeded iu turning the key. Then she laid down the baby, and hurried away to tell her father of what haci ocourred, while the mother was trying to batter down the door with the ax. The girl met her father and Bettie Beldo hastening from the hot-house to the scene of the tragedy. The husband ran up the stairs,. The insane woman turned with rage, and raised her weapon, but it sight of him she cowered and let it fall nervously to the floor. Then she fell down herself, dnd groveled at his feet. Tears sprang into the, man’s eyes, and trickled down his cheeks as he cried: “Fannie, what made you kill my children?” Without any apparent sorrow for her terrible work she answered calmly; “Why, Monroe, I was told by God to do so, and I obeyed His commands." Then getting upon her knees and looking up into her sorrowful husband’s face, she said; “I know I did wrong, but it was the only thing to be done to save them from hell.” Mr. Smith' ’could say nothing. He was completely prostrated by the blow he received from his wife’s actions. When spoken to by a reporter he begged to be left alone with his misery. He would repeatedly ask how his children were, and the doctors would .give him very little encouragement. The neighbors vainly tried to arouse him, but he would not pay any attention to them. The oldest daughter, who so nobly fought for her life, was found at a neighbor's‘house, whither she was taken after the affray. When asked when she first had any idea of her mother’s work she said she heard her little sister scream. She ran in to her, and when she saw the ax in her mother’s hand and one of her sister’s dead she ran for the other room where the bafby was, starring to go down-stairs. She was met by her mother, who chased her to the door. By main effort she closed the door, ■ and in this wav escaped. Little Edna never breathed after the ax struck her. The other three chiltlren are in a very low condition, and the four doctors who are in attendance fear that they will be dead before morning. At this writing, 10 p. m.. they fear that both the mother and children will die during the night. The poison that Mrs, Smith took appears to have just taken effect upon her and she is sinking rapidly. ■--- • t--

V .\IT is cited by Senator Ingalls’ friends, in refutation of the charge that he is an infidid, that all of his children have been bap- ■ -feed in the Episcopal Church. A person who lived two years among the Creek Indians, in Indian Territory, says he never knew of an Indian man kissing an Indian woman. M. Gabnieb, Mme. Bernhardt's principal support in her Paris engagement, expects to accompany her in her tour through this Country. . :