Rensselaer Republican, Volume 19, Number 24, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 February 1887 — Page 3

THE MIMi HE NEVER WROTE. BY HULUN HUNT JACKSON. , nu thoughts wore song, bis life was singing; Men's hearts like harp* ho held and smote, Bnt in his heart went ever ringing, ' Ringing, the song ho nover wrote. •) Hovering, pausing, luring, fleeting, A farther blue, a briehter mote, The vanished sound of swift winds mooting, The of>al swept beneath the boat; A gleam of wings forever flaming, Never folded In nest or coto; Secrete of joy, past name or naming; Measures of bllsß, past dole or rote; Echoes of music, always flying. Always echo, nevor the note ; -—- —, Pulses of life, past life, past dytlfg— All these in the song ho never wrote. Dead at last, and the people, weeping, Turned from,hU grave with wringing hands—- • What shall wo do, now he lies sleeping, His sweet song silent in our lauds '/ •Just as his voice grew clearer, stronger”— This was the thought that keenest smote—••O Death ! couldst thou not spare him longer? Alas, for the song he never wrote!”

A DETECTIVE’S WORK.

BY J. M. MERRILL.

As I alighted from my vehicle in front of the rather imposing dwelling of Lucas : Corning, Esq., I was met by thnt individual himself, a slender built man, with pale face, keen hhiclc eyes mid the air of one •well up in the wnys of the world. Mr. Coining grasped me by the hand and led me into the front room. “You can talk freely here, Mr. Craft. Of course, you heard of the sad affair before I sent for you.” “I barely heaid of Col. Freeland’s death when your dispatch was placed in my hand. I have had no time to investigate,” I said in hurried reply. “Of course not.” He eyed roe keenly, but I hnd been long in the business and did not flinch. I had never until this moment met Lucas Corning, and to say that I was not prepossessed in his favor would be stating only the truth. He had sent for me up and investigate the death of his partner, senior member of the tirm of Freeland & Corning. •The name of the firm was not unfamiliar, and I had once met Mr. Freeland, a man of sixty, portly and good natured, with a fund of anecdote that was quite pleasing. I have the reputation of being a detective of more than ordinary ability, and Lucas Corning had heard of me, this was his excuse for sending for me. “My partner went to the city, twenty miles below here, on business for"the firm, and it was while returning late last evening that he was murdered,” said Mr. Corning in explaining the affair to me. “In what manner was he slain?” I questioned. “He was stabbed to the heart, which leads me to believe that the assassin was not lying in wait by the roadside, but a passenger with my poor friend.” “Indeed! Yon have a theory, then, regarding the crime?” “Not being a detective I suppose I ought not to have one,” said Mr. Corning, with a slight raising of the thin mustache, “but if you will accept an opinion from me, I will tell you plainly what I think about it, and 'then you can form your own conclusion. 11 I signified my willingness to listen and • Lucas Corning went on: “I knew of but one man in Horseshoe Bend who had a motive for this murder, and that man is George Bawson, our bookkeeper, a man of violent temper, yet cunning and secretive, one who would well understand how to cover up his tracks after committing a crime. I am almost sure he is the man you need. You can get a warrant from Justice Cooper in the morning and place him in custody; that, in my opinion, would be the safest way, since Rawson may take the alarm and leave the neighborhood." “In which case my services will not be necessary in the caße,” I said with tt smile. “Of course, if you know who the assassin is, the service of a detective is wholly unnecessary.” .. “Ah, my dear sir, you do not understand me. Although lam confident that George Rawson is the guilty party, I haven’t the proof, and'l expect you to furnish that beyond peradveuture, and then we can send the fellow to prison.” “Exactly,” I returned. “Tell me what you know and then I will see what cnn be done. You said that Rawson had a motive for this crime?” “Yes, and the opportunity.” “That gives us ground on which to wwk; proceed.” —V—"George Rawson has been in our employ for a year; he came a stranger, without even a reference, nnd I should not have employed the fellow, only that he told a pitiful story, and Mr-' Freeland was prepossessed in the young man’s favor. I fear it was the old story of warming the chilled serpent in one’s bosom. “Rawson gave eminent satisfaction, how-' ever, so far as keeping his books in good ehnpe was concerned, nnd all went well until Mr. Freeland made the discovery that the bookkeeper was paying his addresses to his daughter Minnie; then my partner forbade him the house. A littffe later they quarrelled, and last week we discharged Bawson from our employ.” “Exactly.” “Instead of departing from Horseshoe Bend, however, the young fellow hung . about town aud seemed determined to make further trouble. Minnie being instructed by her fnther, gave the bookkeeper to understand that she did not wish his attentions, and then he ceased calling, but was heard to make threats, among others, that 6he, Minnie, would be sorry for her act in refusing to see him further. Early yesterday morning Mr. Freeland drove to Millville with his grays and buggy, aud with him as a pasßengei; went George Rawson. Last evening on the return Jacob Freeland was stabbed to death, and his body left in the buggy, the horses bringing their ghastly burden home about.njidnight. “Minnie has been nearly dead with grief since. It is avery sad case, and Ido hope that the assassin will meet with swift arrest and punishment.” At the lust Mr. Corning .evinced considerable emotion, and I began to regard him with more favor than at the outset. “Another thing that lends me to believe that Rawson had a hand in the crime is the fact that he appeared in Horseshoe Bend •early this morning, and has been bold enough tccall at the Freeland honse and" view the body. I regard this fact with suspicion, since, when he* left here, Ra,wson had asserted that he would never again set foot in Horseshoe Bend.” After listening to* Mr. Coming’s story I repaired to the honse of the Freelands and viewed the body of the murdered man. It was evident that George Rawson was a man of nerve and cool villainy if he was the assassin. I had met snch cases before, however, and was prepared for any phase in the nature of the human animal. The body of the dead lay ih the front room of the house, and was the object for many curiosity lovers. I pushed my way into the room and stood by the corpse. I soon ascertained that a single knifewound was on the person of the dead, and that directly through the heart. The clothing still remained as it had b#en worn by lumberman on that fatal trip. I was not long in making a most important discovery—the shirt alone had the cut of a knife through it.

f This I did not exactly understand. Had | an assaein sprung suddenly upon his viclim 1 he would doubtless have sent, his knife through vest and cont, It was late in the ; autqrnn, and the night before had been frosty one, so that it was likely Mr. Free* ! land, who had not been in the best of health for some time, would have his outside coat buttoned. From this I concluded that there had been no struggle, thnt Freeland nud been an easy, perhaps sleeping victim. I saw Minnie Freeland, who, lhongh almost crashed under the aWfnl blow, gave me a full account of what she knew of jbe affair. Mr. Rawson was with the girl when I entered. Ho seemed to be a pleasant young man, modest and quiet in denieauor; yet for all this he might be the murderer. “A man may smile, and smile, and be a villain;” this I had long ago learned in the prosecution of my calling. As I left the house I felt a hand on my shoulder. George Rawson bad followed me into the road, a look of settled anxiety on his face. “You are a detective, sir." I nodded, “I suspected it. I am glad you hnve come. Minnie is now alone in the world, nnd she is not in a state of mind calculated to look alter a case of this kind. I propose to act for her, and assure you that a large reward awaits the man who seoureß the conviction of Mr. Freeland’s assassin.” “Yes, Mr. Corning has employed me, and I expect to i rin the reward!” I regarded the young man fixedly as I uttered the remark. He started, nnd I detected an uneasy look shoot across the man’s face. "He sent for you then?” “Yes.” “Sir, has he whispered any suspicion to you?” eagerly demanded Rawson, clutching my arm, and peering into my face with a nervous twitching of the facial muscles. “I am not at liberty to state.” “No? I realize that he has whispere l a falsehood iu your ear. Beware of Lucas Corning; he is a bad man.” Then Rawson dropped his hands and rushed back to the house. “The fellow shows,guilt,” I mused, ns I regarded his retreating form, “but it is my province to make sure before I spring the trap.” After making all the investigation I deemed necessary I went to Millville, the town twenty miles distant, to which it was said that Mr. Freeland went on the morning before the crime. Here I learned that Freeland hnd transacted his business and departed from the city late in the day with his book keeper again a passenger. From Millville I followed the road on foot, and made inquiries at every house regarding the passing of Freeland. There were several dwellings and one tavern, averagipg about two miles apart, until the pine woods were reached, six miles from Horseshoe Bend in which There was no dwelling. The last house on the oak openings was a tavern kept by a man named Wisdom. He said that Freeland stopped at his house for a few minutes, and that his companion, whom he recognized as George Rawson, refused to enter. “The two seemed to be on the best of terms,” said Wisdom in answer to a question. “Did vou see Rawson again that night?” “I did not.” “Who else called?” “Mark Wilson. He came about midnight or a lititle after. He came on foot, nnd was looking for a doctor, his wife having been taken suddenly ill. He did not get the doctor till the next day, because he was gone miles away to see another patient.” “Where does this Wilson live?” “At Horseshoe Bend.” “Then he must have passed over the six mile stretch between here and the Bend about the time Mr. Freeland was on the road?” “Later, sir. I don’t think he met them. Anyhow he made no mention of it to meC’ 1 questioned Wisdom a little further and then returned to Horseshoe Bend resolved on interviewing Mark,Wilson. Afterward I was glad that I did so, since he proved a most telling cord in the combination. I was not a little chagrined to find that Georgy Rawson had been arrested during my absence. I* went at once lo Lucas Corning and demanded sternly why he had proceeded thus. “I made the arrest on my own responsibility, Mr. Craft,” returned the lumberman, with a smile that looked to me more like a grin. “I have arrived at the belief that you are not moving fast enough. I have found proof sufficient to convict George Rawson of murder, and consequently your services are no longer required.” - As he finished Lucas Corning drew a well filled wallet from his pocket with the intent of paying me some money. I felt angry, but managed to control my temper admirably. “How much am I indebted to you?” “Not a cent, sir.” I turned and left him with a feeling of intense indignation completely mastering me. I soon ascertained where Rawson liras confined, a log building near the outskirts of the town, nnd thither I repaired at once. I had not given up the trail, nor been thrown off the scent by the cool assumption of Lucas Corning, Esq. Rawson was pale but calm. “Yes, 1 ain imprisoned for the murder of my employer,” he said, “and I suppose 1 shall have lo suffer.” “George Rawson, answer me truly, are you guilty of this murder?” I looked the young man squarely in the face. “I am not guilty.” “I believe you,” I said in an earnest tone. “The end is not yet. I wish to ask a few questions, and then I will be ready to pursue investigation in another quarter. AVhat is Minnie Freeland to you?” ’ “My betrothed wife, sir.” It seemed to me that his stature increased a little as he spoke. “With or without her father's consent^" “Without.” “Ah!” “That may seem to you bad,” proceeded the young man quickly,- “but I will not tell an untruthAo save my life. Minnie had two suitors; I was the favored one in her eyes, but Mr. Freeland wished her to marry the other.” " - “W’ho was the other?” “Lncas Coming.” o “Exactly.” “Rut Minnie detested him, andlt may be that out of this trouble grew. I did quarrel with Mr. Freeland, or rather he quarreled with me, bnt, he seemed willing enough to let me ride with him to Millville and back again.” “You then did ride back With him?” “I did.” “Why was this?” , r . * ' v • “Simply because we came to an understanding. I agreed to forget all attention, or claim on Minnie for one year, at the end of which time if she was not engaged qr married to another I was to have free consent to win the girl myself. Of coarse she was lo know nothing of this. I was not fully satisfied with the plan, hut it Was_ the bestl'could do under the circumstances, and I had full faith in Minnie’s remaining true.” “Then of course you had no strong motive for taking the life of Mr. Freeland.”

“Good Heaven! Steele Croft.; don't ask or hint at such ft thing. I could not commit snch a crime under any circumstances.” j, The man’s words were earnest and effective. I believed he wus telling the truth. I then questioned him with regard to the ride to the village of Horseshotf* Bend.' ,“No, if I said I returned to the Bend with the lumberman I conveyed a meaning not intended. Just after passing Wisdom’s tavern, aud entering the woods, I lett Mr.' Freeland and went to the river to look for a job with a man 1 hnd once worked for. It was six mile< to his house from the spot where I left Freeland. I reached the home of my friend about 10 or later. No one was there. I rested for the night in an old stable, and next morning came to Horseshoe Bend to learn with horror that Mr. Freeland had been murdered.” “This is your explanaiion of how you became separated from the murdered man that night?” “It is the truth, sir.” I left the prisoner and met Lucas Corning at the door. Hiß light wagon stood near. “I am going to take Rawson to the county jail for safe keeping; you are at liberty to ride if you choose, Mr. Craft.” Bnt I did not choose. An opportunity was now afforded me that I had longed for—the absence of Lucas Corning from Horseshoe Bend would give me Opportunity to visit bis home. A strong nnd nwful suspicion held sway in my heart which I was determined to banish or confirm at the earliest possible moment. “You are excused from further work on •this case, Steele Craft,” 6aid Corning, a little severely. “Certainly, but J may have other business here.” was my retort. He eyed mo an instant with a look that was piercing and suspicious, but in my placid countenance he saw nothing to hang upon. , I walked'away, nnd soon after had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Corning drive from the Bend in the direction of Millville. All this occurred nearly a week after the murder, nnd three days after the funeral. I repaired quickly to the dwelling of Lucas Corning. An old maid sister presided, and as she was ill with a severe headache I applied to the housekeeper for permission to search the house. At first she demurred, but after a little consented, when I told her that I was an officer of the law and was only here in the discharge of duty. In two hours I made a thorough search. I was amply rewarded for the time spent, and when I left the house I repaired with a feeling of elation to the humble cabin of Mark Wilson. “Come,” I said, and Wilson followed me aside. Our plans were well arranged when in the edge of evening, Lucas Coming returned to Horseshoe Bend. That evening, after supper at Wilson's dwelling, I met Corning in his own parlor. He was certainly under the influence of liquor and very garrulous. I was not in the least put out at this. When wine is in wit is out, and 1 felt that ffiy plan would work to easier perfection with the man in such a condition. “The young dog’ll be inside State’s prison inside of two weeks,” said Corning, rubbing his thin hands rapidly together. “I fancy lam quite a detective, old boy. I flatter myself that I got the start of you—” “NO doubt, but it is barely possibla that you have made a mistake,,Mr. Corning,” I said, drily. “A mistake? Oh, no, that can’t be. In what way, old boy, in what way?” “Will you permit me to tell a little story, Lucas Coming?” “Certainly, certainly, sir.” I went (o the table on which burned the big parlor lamp, and turned the blaze down so as to cast the room in shadow, and then I began: '"i“Just a week ago to-night, while a

genial old man was riding through the woods sonth of this village, he was stopped by a friend, who entered the vehicle and rode in his company. Before gaining the bend the friend plied the old man with rare old wine; that wine was drugged, nnd the elder gentleman soon lay back on his seat in a profound slumber. “There was a devil in the heart of the sleeping man’s companion; he had planned to rid himself of one—his partner—whom he was owing a large sum Of money, and whose daughter he hoped to gain for a wife. That hope was put to flight by the fact that the girl was engaged to another. Realizing that he could not win the girl with her lover in the way, this villain concocted a plan to murder his partner, fix the crime on the girl’s lover, and thus save his money and put himself on the high way to gaining his rich partner’s girl for a wife. “His plans worked well. He drove tfie team to the back door at the hour of midnight, or nearly that; lifted his drugged partner and bore him to the floor of the cellar where, baring his bosom, he drove a knife to his heart, and suffered the old man to bleed in the sand at the bottom of the cellar. Then the murderer carried his victim back, replaced him in the buggy, and turned the team loose upon the street, where, at a later hour, the dead was discovered. From his partner the assassin had learned that George Rawson had been with him up to the time of his entering the woods, and it was this fact that led you, Lucas Corning, to complete your plap of murder that night!” ' I paused. I could hear the hoarse breathing of the man before me. He clutched the table for support and finally blurted out: “It’s a lie! I did not kill Jacob Freeland.” “Y.ou did.~Here is the bottle that contained the drug, some of which still remains, and the bloody sand at the bottom of the cellar tells the rest; moreover you were seen to commit the deed.!” “I seen to do if?” Lucas Corning gasped the words, and then I stamped my feet and cried in a stern voice: “Behold the witness!” The door had noiselessly opened nnd a man with white hair, glowing eyes, and face pallid as the sheeted dead confronted tho trembling lumberman in the dim light. On the instant I turned the light on to a full glow, revealing a sight calculated to shock the strongest nerves. * Confronting the lumberman stood one who so much resembled the murdered man as to deceive the sharpest eye. He stood with clothing drawn open, revealing the bare skin over the heart where appeared a bleeding, ghastly wound. Not a word did the apparition say; it was not necessary. “Great Heaven! Jacob, why have yon come back to haunt me? God have mercy! I killed you, and now— —” He did not finish the sentence but reeled and fell heavily to the floor in a fit. “Enough,” 1 cried; “the assassin is revealed. Yon have played your part well, Wilson; I piyself would have sworn you were the dead man had I not known to the contrary. . * * * * * * * * When the miserable Corning came to himself once more he realized that he was doomed. My ruse had worked to perfection and wrung confession from his lips. I cannot call it all a ruse, however, since Wilson being up late on the night of the murder on account of his sick wife, had seen Carning [Corning] disappear in the cellar with

his partner in his anus. This fact verifies my suspicions. 1 searched the house to find in the cellar the drugged wine carefully hidden away, and a spot in the sand where blood had been spilled—the redt of the facts I manufactured. but the truth, ns ,J|he guilty wretch afterward confessed, almost perfectly. NVjlson’s part in the denonoment was taken at his own suggestion and worked perfectly. Lucas Coming died in jail of norvous iirostration bofored he was sentenced; as or George Rawson und Minnie they were afterward happily married.

The Great Guns of England.

England's big guns are made of liars such as just described, coiled spirally, and Welded into solid mass by the hammer. These red hot furnaces contain a straight bar; at a word the door is slightly raised, and with huge nippers its head is seized by loops made for tho purposk A steam winch draws out the glowing mass, and brings it to a horizontal capstan fixed before the door. A water hose is turned upon the loop, and while it blackens under the chill a stalwart fellow, wielding a heavy sledge, fixes the loop on a nut projecting from the capstan wheel. Then the machine revolves with resistless force, curling the hot metal round and round on its drum neatly and smoothly, a£d as easily as one of Jordan-Marsli’s girls would wind ribbon. Ho the coil is formed, whether for the breech piece or the body of the gun, or for its jacket. This again is cooled, and after a while is refined for welding-under the hammer. You ought to see the Woolwich hammer. It weighs forty tons sheer weight, and when it drops it falls forty feet on to a block that rests on spiles, massive masonry and enormous quantities of iron. Between two great shafts this hammer is suspended, a solid block, which, driven from above by steam, and gathering impetus as it fall, strikes with a force of many hundred tons. A veteran workman has charge of this massive hammer. He starts and drops it by a touch of his thumb and finger. I saw an open face watch laid down on the block; then he dropped the hammer, and he stopped it just in time to break the crystal—and nothing more. They call this last operation of the furnace the “great heat,” and about every monarch there is in Europe has seen it, just as I did yesterday. While I am wondering what. they thought about it, the furnace to be emptied is firing with impatience. Through the interstices of its great door blue, red and purple flames are leaping nut. A huge crane swings round a pair of pincers, at the end of which a dozen Britons cluster. The door rises a little, the white light blinds us, and, although I am at least twenty yards away, the heat burns my face uncomfortably. Water is thrown into the awful gap, and then the men perceive their prey. The huge arms part and firmly close, the door rises to its fullest extent, a clash of the crane gear, a shout from the men and out it comes, easily and softly, a monstrous coil. The crane swings about and places it on end upon the anvil. Then the hammer falls, shaking the solid floor beneath us, crushing the red-hot mass inches down at a blow, welding its coils together so that they can never part. But the inside hollow has been knocked out of shape by this process, so, when the tube has beefi reduced to its proper length, a solid mandril is deftly slipped betwixt the hammer and the iron. For two or three blows the contracted coil attempts resistance, but it gives way, and the. mandril slips to its base, as into butter. Then the great pincers are used again, and it drops the mass on its side, where again it is battered and struck all around. The irregularities caused by all this hammering are afterward removed by the plane; as I have already mentioned, and then the gun is made by other machinery.—Cor. Boston Herald.

How Iron Breaks.

Hundreds of existing railway bridges which carry twenty trains a day with, perfect safety would break down quickly under twenty trains per hour, writes a British civil engineer. ' This fact was forced on mv attention nearly twenty years ago by the fracture of a number of iron girders of ordinary strength under a five-minute train service. Similarity, when in New York last year, I noticed, in the case of some hundreds of girders on the elevated railway, that the alternate thrust and pull on the central diagonals from trains passing every two or three minutes had developed weakness which necessitated the bars being replaced by stronger ones after Very short service. Somewhat the same thing had to be done recently with a bridge over the River Trent, but the train service being small, the life of the bars was measured by years instead of months. If ships were always among great i waves, the number going to the bottom would be largely increased. It appears natural enough to every one that a piece, even of the toughest wire, should be quickly broken if bent backward and forward to a sharp angle; but perhaps only to locomotive anct marine engineers does it appear equally natural that the same result would follow in time if the bending were so small as to be qnite imperceptible to the eye. A locomotive crank 'xle bends but one-eighty-fourth inch, and a straight driving axle a still smaller amount under the heaviest bending stresses to which they are subject, and yet their life is limited. During the year 1883 one iron axle in fifty broke in running, and one in fifteen was renewed in consequence of defects. Taking iron and steel axles together, the number then in use on the railways of the United Kingdom was 14.848, and of these 911 required renewal during the year. Similarly during the past three years, no less than 228 ocean steamers were disabled by broken shafts, the average safe life of which is Said to be about three or four years. Experience lias proven that-a Tery moderate stress, alternating from tension to compression, if repeated about 100,000,000 times, will cause fracture assurely as a bending to an angle repeated only ten times. It is not worth while to think too much about doing good. Doing the best we know, minute by minute and hour by hour, we insensibly grow to goodness as fruit grows to ripeness.

REMINISCENCES OF PUBLIC MEN.

BY BEN: PEIRLEY POORE.

Tho Colonel of a New York regiment tells a story of the battle of Winchester. In the thickest of the fight, when the slaughter in the Union line had become perfectly frightful, he detected a stout Irishman of his regiment curled up behind a great tree. He rode up to the delinquent and savagely reprimanded liim for his cowardice. But the man, with irresistible Hiliernian drollery, responded, “Now, Colonel dear, don’t he hard with a poor felly like me! A coward is it? Faith, I think I am; but I’d rather be called that every day in the year than be like that poor crayter yonder. ’’ The “poor crayter yonder, ” to whom the Colonel’s attention was directed, was the mangled corpse of a soldier whose head had been entirely demolished by a shot. Tho odd earnestness of the fellow’s ex,cuso mode the Colonel laugh heartily, and the man was left to the enjoyment of his tree. The first newspaper printed and published iu Washington City was the Gazette, the first number of which appeared on the 15th of June, 1796. It was edited and published by Benjamin More, a book-seller, on Wednesdays and Saturdays, at $4 per annum, and was really a good paper for that day, well made up and neatly printed. The editor complained bitterly from time to time of the want of patronage, and finally, after thirty-five weeks of existence, it was discontinued. The National Intelligencer was started by Mr. Smith, a Philadelphia editor, who took his press and type to the new city being laid out in the woods on the bank of the Potomac. The first number was issued in September, 1800, and after a while it became the property of Gales & Seaton, hv whom it was published for upwards of half a century. Originally conservative, it became the organ of the Whigs, and occupied the position until it followed the Whig party to the grave. Since the Intelligencer was first issued, 126 newspapers have been started in Washington City, political, religious, agricultural, literary, mechanical, and military, and few of them have survived a year, and the metropolis has been termed the cemetery of newspapers. The Congressional Temperance Society, as originally organized in 1833, recognized abstinence from tho use of ardent spirit and from the traffic in it. The phrase “ardent spirit,” employed in the pledge, meaning distilled liquors, and not wine, cider, or malt beverages, was found inadequate to define the boundaries of safety and danger; some of the very men for whom their brethren in the Senate and House had employed the organization as a reform club fell, and that without breaking its pledge. One of these, a man of uncommon brilliancy, illustrating the truth that this vice, as has been said of death, “loves a shining mark,” had been, apparently, saved from his terrible appetite, but as the pledge did not include feriiiented liquors he soon fell, - and one day rushed up to the noble man who had persuaded him to join the society, exclaiming: “For Heaven’s sake, Gov. Briggs, give me something to save me; this pledge isn’t worth the paper it is written on!” A new organization was soon effected, on tho basis of abstinence from all intoxicating drinks; and Tom Marshall commenced his speech at the next public meeting with the suggestive words: “Mr. President, the old Congressional Temperance Society has died of intemperance, holding the pledge in one hand and the champagne bottle in the other.” In later years the society has had annual meetings and chosen officers, but the number of its members has been very small. Senator Wilson took a great interest in it, and good old Dr. Chickering has kept it alive, and has seed that its proceedings were reported by type and telegraph throughout the land. There has been a very gratifying improvement in the deportment of Congressmen, so far as intemperate drinking is concerned, of late years. True, whisky has only been nominally banished from the, Capitol, but very little of it is drank as compared with former years, and during tlie last session Ido not think that there were more than two Congressmen intoxicated during the session.

It may not be generally known that there are, on,the banks of the Potomac, tho sites of two proposed cities, whose projectors were once sanguine that they would grow aflfd attain a national importance in population and trade, but which stubbornly refused to thrive in spite of all that was done to push them forward. The first of these is Jackson City, on the Virginia side of the Potomac, just opposite to Washington. The idea of building this city as a rival to the National Capital was conceived by some of “Old Hickory’s” friends during his presidential term, ami such faith did they have in the name that they did not think failure was pbssible if they called it Jackson City. Accordingly, they bought of Mr. George Mason, for $100,009, a large part of which was paid in bonds of the company, a tract of land and laid it off in lots, streets and avenues on a magnificent scale. Then, to give eclat to the scheme, they determined upon a public demonstration on the occasion of the laying of the corner-stone of the new city. Accordingly on the day appointed a large crowd assembled on the spot, among which were President Jackson and members of his Cabinet, and many other distinguished persons; and after an oration bad been delivered by George Washington Park Custisthe corner-stone of Jackson City was hud with- imposing ceremonies. But, strange to say, that is about all that ever was laid, notwithstanding the magnificent send-off with which it had been inaugurated. The traveler who passes the site to-day sees only one or two dilapidated frame houses to. mark the spot * The other dead city is Quantico, on the Potomac* some twenty miles below Washington. Soon after the close of the late war, when the Richmond, Fredericksburg and Potomac Railroad was extended to that point, the city "was laid out on an extensive scale, anil such confidence did its projectors have in its future that they went to work and built a large and handsome four-

story hotel, at a cost of many thousand" dollars. They also obtained a charter) conferring upon the company extensive/ powers, such as to build railroads, do banking business, engage in manufaor turing projects, etc., but, contrary to their sanguine expectations, the enterprise never thrived, and instead of a hustling, busy city, Quantico is a quiet country railroad station, and not likely ever to"be anything else.

Fish as Food.

Fish has always, within historical times, been an important article of diet. In some parts of the world it is the staple article of food. The huge shellheaps in Europe and America, the remains of tribal feasts in periods long anterior to, written records, show how greatly shell-fish entered into the diet of aboriginal races. Fish is cheap. It furnishes to most people an agreeable change with meat. Salted and dried, it is in season at any time of the year, and can be exported to regions where fresh fish is unknown or rare. It is held by some authorities that fish contains elements of special value as food for the brain, nerves, and bones. But, in the matter of diet, we need always to plan for weak stomachs. There is a difference of digestibility in fish. Some contain a large proportion of oil, and are therefore of more value to such as can digest them. Others are comparatively free from oil. There is much difference also in the muscular fiber of fish, which in some are short and tender. Salt fish is more difficult of digestion than fresh. The manner of cooking fish makes a difference iff digestibility. Fish fried in butter is easier digested than fish fried in ordinary fat; boiled it is still easier, and steamed it is easier still.

It is a common belief that fish is a very good dish for the sick, when convalescing. But a writer in the Lancet has found cases frequently occurring in his practice in which a dish of it had been followed by dangerous and even fatal, relapses, and he had become accustomed to restrain its use. He afterwards, however, concluded that the sole difficulty was in the cooking. He says: “For this hint lam indebted to the intelligence of a patient. I had, as usual, forbidden fish, and explained my reasons. I was told that fish steamed, as was done in that house, was tender, and never disagreed with the patient, but was partaken of with relish and benefit. I got a steamer for myself, have since recommended this plan of cookery to my patients, and have had satisfactory results. Dieting is the half, and sometimes the best half of nledical treatment; and perhaps, a little to my chagrin, I find that this system of preparing fish has been specially recommended by t various schools of cookery ."-Companion. ,

Logging Railways.

Development in the direction of logging railways on the Pacific coast might be taken as an indication that operators in that quarter are making snch a hole in their timber resources as to require longer hauls and the improved facilities which these make essential, in order to keefc their mills supplied with stock. This, however, is not a necessary conclusion. In hauling the large, heavy timber which abounds in the country, there is reason to suppose that a good logging railway would prove more effective and much cheaper than trucks and animal power. When there is business enough to warrant it, logging by rail proves the cheaper method in Michigan and Wisconsin, where they have the advantage of snow roads and sled hauling to help gut on the side of the old way, and it would be strange indeed if the Pacific coast lumbermen could not make it even more economical as compared with any other method open to their use. They are evidently codvinced that they can do so, for the past year has seen more money invested in improvements of this character in the Puget Sound district, in Washington Territory, than has been so employed altogether in times past. And the work still goes on, A recent writer speaks of seven different lumber concerns in that regibii which have such roads already building. Most of them are standard gauge roads, well graded, substantially constructed mt? equipped with first-class motive power and rolling stock. They are roads which are in keeping with the business as it is conducted in that district, and it is not to be doubted that their projectors will find them eminently profitable. The building of them indicates that the lumber makers there are enjoying a measure of prosperity, and that they see ahead the opportunity of selling a good deal of lumber. The fact' of such heavy investments in the*machinery of logging, by the Pacific slope operators, indicates a purpose to cut liberally, which they would not be apt to entertain unless there is warrant in the outlook for an increased production of the mills— The Timberman.

A Famous Dancing-Master.

In 1825 and 1826 he was my dancingmaster, and the statement then was that he had been chief dancer at the Opera* and having broken the tendon achillis, was obliged to leave the stage. He was in England at that time, and, so far as I know, long after, aud previous to 1850. Before 1850 and before Charles Keane he had been a ballot-master, and so far as I remember, at the Opera. It is possible 1795, tho year of the reputed birth, is near tjre time. In 1825 he was a handsome map of, say, 35. He was then maried, sto that the wife named in the article was a second wife." Oscar Byrne kept his class of boyish clubs in order in a special way. He promised them that if they were orderly and obeyed his instructions he would dance to them, and, like Orpheus, his brutes surrendered to his enchantment. Hia hancing delighted even rough boys, and they "would say, “Mr. Byrne do give us another dance!”— Botes and Queries. V ' 1 . A clergyman was lately depicting before a deeply interested audience the alarming increase.-.of intemperance, when he Astonished his hearers by Saying, “A young woman in my neighborhood died very suddenly last Sabbath, while I was preaching in a beastly tftate of intoxication. ” ■