Rensselaer Standard, Volume 1, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 August 1879 — Page 1

- j n jr. —Published Every SaturdayMIBVII O. CIBfINL. tzrks: On* copy, one Year « ** six m0«UM....._- 50 “ three rnontb«.„..„„. » Orrrcx :—Ln| Leopold■» atone BaikUng, up ■bobs, rear room.

” . OUR CHOIS. ' BY HKXBT B. KUBC. There’ll Jsae Hopb is, And Ann Marie, With Obadiah, -■. i7' , And Jedekiah, In oar choir. stiptsi -t«To eoar above all earthly things. When ebe leads off on Bonday; I While Ann Maria’s alto choice Hl oca out in such harmonicas voice That sinners in the ch a reh rejoice, . And wish she'd sing till Monday. Then Obadiah's tenor high ■ *- la unaarpassed beneath the sky— Just bear him sing “Sweet by an by,” And yon will sit in wonder: While Jedeklali’s baas profound . Goes down so low it jars the ground. And wakes the echoes miles around, Like distant rolling thunder. Talk not to me of Patti's fame. Or Nicol ini’s tenor tame. Or Cary’s alto—bat a name— Or Whitney’s pond Tons lasso! They sing no more like Jane Sophia, AntrAnn Maria, Obadiah, And Jedektali, in oar choir, Than cats sing like Toidmso!

WINNING THE WIDOW.

“Oh, what a handsome man!” cried Mm Hunter; “and such a charming foreign accent, too!” Mrs. Hunter was a widow—rich, childless, fair and 35—and she made the remark above recorded to Mr. Buuting, bachelor, who bad come to pay an afternoon call, apropos of the departure of Prof. La Foutaiue, who had, according to etiquette, taken his departure on the arrival of Mr. Bunting. , , “Don’t like to contradict a lady,” said Mr. Bunting; “but 1 can’t say I »gr*M» with you; and these foreigners are generally imposters, too.” Mrs. Hunter shook her head coquetIsbly. I * She was rather coquetish and rather gushing for her age. • “Oh, you gentlemen! you gent’emen!” she said; “I can’t see that you ever do justice to each other.” And then she rang the bell and ordered the servants to bring tea, and preweed Bachelor Bunting to stay to partake of it ; J There was a maiden uunt of 80 in the house, to play propriety, and allow her the privilege of having as many bachelors to tea as she chose, and Mr. Bunting forgot his jealousy and was once more happy. He was, truth to tell, very much in love with the widow, who was his junior by fifteen yean*. ■ He liked the idea of her living on the inerest of her money, too. She was a splendid housekeeper and a fine pianist. She was popular and good ToOkiug He intended to offer himself for twr acceptance as soon at* he felt sure thati she would not refuse him. But this dreadful Prof. La Fontaine, with black eyes as big as saucers, and long side whiskers —black also as any raven’s wing, bad the advantage of being the widow’s junior. This opportunity to make a fool of herself is so irresistible to every widow. It trouUed his dreams a good deal—not that he thought him handsome. Oh, no! . . But still at 50 a man does not desire a rival, however he may despise him. “She dkl not ask him to stay, and she did ask me,” said Mr. Bunting, and departed, after a most delightful evening, during which the maiden aunt (who was, at best, as deaf as a poet) snored sweetly in her chair. But, alas! on the very next evening his sky was overcast. Prof. La Fontaine took', the widow to the opera. He saw them enter the doors of the opera house, and, having followed and secured a seat in a retired portion of the house, also noticed that the Professor kept his eyes fixed upon the lady’s face in the most impressive manner during the whole of the i>erformance, and that she now and then even returned his glances. “ItiCan’t go on,” said Mr. Bunting to himself. “I can’t allow it. She’d regret it all her Life. I must remomstrate\rith her. No woman likes a coward. Faint heart never won fair lady. She’ll admire me for speaking out.” » _/*“ that very evening Mr. Bunting trotted up to the wido »’* house, full of a deadly purpose, aud with a set speech learned off by heart. The speech he forgot as he crossed the threshold. The purpose ablded with him. There was the usual remarks about the weather. The usual chit-chat followed, but the widow saw that Mr. Buntiug was not at his ease. At last, with the sort of plunge that a timid bather makes into chilly water, he dashed into the subject nearest his heart. “He’s a rascal, ma’am, I give you my word.” “Oh’ dear! Who is?” cried the widow. “That frdg-eater, ” replied the bachelor. -‘Upon my soul, I speak for your own good. lam interest in y< ur welfare. Don’t allow his visits. You don’t know a thing about him.” “Do you allude to Monsieur La Fontaine?*’ asked Mrs. Hunter, solemnly. “I allude to that fellow,” said Bachelor Bunting. “Why his very contenence proves him to be a rascal. I—l’d enjoy kicking him out so much, I—” “Sir;” said the widow, “if you haven’t been drinking, I really think you must be mad.” “Ma’am !” cried Mr. Bunting. “Perhaps, however, I should take no notide of such conduct.” said Mrs. Hunter. “Perhaps I should treat it * with silent contempt” v “Oh, good gracious!” cried oachelor Bunting; “don’t treat me with silent contempt. It’s my affection for you that urges me on. I adore you! Have me. Accept me. * Marry me and be mine to cherish and protect from all

audacious French men. The widow’s heart was melted. She buret into tears. “Oh, what shall I say?” she sobbed. “I thought you merely a friend. l—am—l—l—l am engaged to the professor: he proposed yesterday evening.” Bachelor Bunting bad dropped down ugon bis knees while making the Now he got up with a sort of groan —not entirely caused by disappointed love, for he had the rheumatism. “Farewell false one,” be said, feeling

THE RENSSELAER STANDARD.

VOL I.

for his hat without looking for it j„ leave you forever." ■ He strode away, banging the door after him. The widow cried and then laughed, and then cried again. In fact she had a genuine fit of what the maiden aunt called “stericks.” and the chambermaid “highstrikea," before she was brought to, and prevailed on to take a glass of wine and something hot and comforting in the edible line. After which the thought of her fiance consoled her. ; Days passed on. Bachelor Bunting did not drown himself or sup cold poison. The wedding day was fixed. The housemaid informed her friend that Mrs. Hunter “kept steady company." The maiden aunt, who had no income of her own f curried favor by being almost always in a state of apparent coma.

The widow was in the seventh heaven of bliss, and all went merry as a marriage bell until one evening, as the betrothed pair sat before the fire in the polished grate, there came a ring at the bell, and the girl who answered it soon looked into the parlor to announce the fact that a little girt in the hall would come In. “Oh, let her in,” said Mrs. Hunter. “I am so fond of the dear children in the neighborhood. It’s one of them, I presume?” But, while she was speaking, a small, but very old-looking little girl in a short frock, with a tambourine in her hand, bounced into the room, and, throwing herself into the Professor’s arms, with a strong French accent, screamed: “Darling papa, have I then found you? How glad mamma will be! We thought you dead.” “I am not your papa,” said the Frenchman, turning pale. “Are you j crazy, my dear little girl?”

“No, no, no; you are my papa!” cried the child. “Do not deny your Estelle. Does she not know you? Ah, my heart, it tells me true!. Dear mamma and I have almost starved, but she has never pledged her wedding ring—never. She plays the organ, I the tambourine. - We have suffered, but now pappa will return to us. Ah, heaven!” “My gracious! the morals of fUrriners. He’d have married missus!” cried the girl at the door. “She tells one black lie. \ Never before have I seen her; belieLnie, madame!” screamed the poor Freqchman. , i “Ab, mon Dieu, am I “Ob, Alphonse!” cried the widow. “But there, I will be flrm. My best friends warned me of you. Take your I hat—go. Never enter my presence again. Go with yous unfortunate child—your poor, half-starved little ’-girl. JdkOiome to your deserted wife! “Ah, madatue, zese is falsehood,” cried tbe unfortunate Frenchman, loe- : ing his temper in his excitement. “Be- ' lief—” “Out of my house!” cried the widow. “Peggy, open the door. Go. What an escape I nave had!” The professor departed. Mrs. Hunter threw herself into her chair and bursted into tears. After a while she grew more calm, and, taking a letter from the drawer, she perused it. “Ah me! what deceivers those men are!” she said, ns she pensively lav back on the cushions. “(Inly to think he could write a letter so full bf love, and prove such a villain ;■ but I am Warned in time.” And she tore the letter into fragments. The maiden aunt, who had not heard a word, demanded an explanation. Biddy howled it through her ear trumpet in these words: “The scoundrel has ever so many wives and families already, playin’ j tainbouriiH-s for their bread—the ras- ; cal!” _ ; • And in the midst the door liell rang and Mr. Bunting Walked in, with a polite bow. Biddy and the aunt slipped out of the room. Mr. Bunting approached the widow. “I called to apologize,” he’said. “I was hasty the other day. Had I known the gentleman was dear to you, I should have restrained my speech. I wish you happiness; I—” “Don’t, please,” cried the widow. , “He’s worse than you painted him. , I’ve found him out, I hate him. As , Tor me, I can never be happy again. “Not with your own Bunting?’’ cried the bachelor, sitting down beside her. “I’m afraid not,” said the widow. ‘Are yor sure?” asked Mr. Bunting. “No, not quite,” said Mrs. punter. “Then marry me, my dear, and try it Do, oh, do!” Mrs. Hunter sobbed and consented. After having a white-collored silk made up and trimmed with lace, it was too bad not to figure as a bride after all.

She married Bachelor Bunting and was very happy. It was well, perhaps, that she had not the fairy gift of the invisible cap, and did not put it on and follow Mr. Bunting to a mysterious recess in the rear of*a theater, whither he took his way after parting from the widow on the night of his engagement. There he met a little girl, small but old looking, theaame indeed whb had claimed the professor as her lost papa, and this is what be said to “Here is the money I promised you, my child, and you acted the thing excellently well. I know that by the effect you produced. She believes that he’s a married man, and he can’t prove to the contrary. I knew you’d be able to act it out when I saw you play the desei ted child in the tragedy.” Then SIOO were counted out into the ■ little brown hand, and Bachelor Bunt- ' ing walked off triumphantly. To th is day his wife does not know the truth, but alludes to poor, innocent Prof. La Fontaine as that wicked ' Frenchman.

The Breastplate.

Apropos of the breastplate question, the editor of the Raleigh Observer says he was stationed at Charleston when the fight at Secessionville took place on James Island in the Spring of 1862. At that fight there was a display of desperate courage and determination on the part of a New York regiment composed, perhaps, chiefly of Scotchmen. There was an officer on the field riding a white horse, who, it is said, seemed very reckless and careless of

RENSSELAER, INDIANA SATURDAY, AUGUST 16, 1879.

his person. In fact, he appeared to possess a charmed life. Eventually, however, he was killed. After tfie fight a breastplate, which it Is said he wore, .together with half a dozen other such “protective devices,” was exposed at Charleston and attracted considerable attention. These breastplates were to a considerable extent efficacious, and were without doubt a great protection. Many such trophies were gathered from the field of Becessionville, and inspected by thousands of persons. In many instances rifle balls had made dents in the cuirass, but did not penetrate. Ordinarily the men who were killed wearing these contrivances met their fate by grape and can-

ister, which no buckler could resist In one of the battles around Richmond, the Colonel-of a Pennsylvania regiment, Black, we think his name was, lost his life by trying to protect it with what may be called a metal liver pad. He was struck by a Minnie ball which did not penetrate, but glancing up, bit the Colonel under the chin and came out at the top of his head. Genend Henry C. Wayne writes to the Bavanah News: The breastplates were introduced into the United states army by Major General Irvin McDowell, of the United States army, when Major and Assistant Adjutant General, for the protection of our officers and men in Indian fighting against lances, arrows and armes blanches generally. The Major had visited Europe and Inspected its armies, and brought back from France this breastplate or cuirass for introduction into our service for the purposes above mentioned. This was shortly before the war.' I was, at the time, in charge of the bureau of clothing, equipage and equipment in the Quartermaster General’s office of the United States army, and Major McDowell exhibited ana explained to me officially the use and manner of using the plates. Their introduction was approved and sanctioned, by the authorities, and having been adopted as an incidental equipment, were no doubt used in the civil war. I heard during the war of their use, and that their utility, extra weight considered, was a matter of discussion. The famous Cuirassers of France wear steel breastplates aud back pieces outside over tneir clothing, and assuredly their record is one not to be ashamed of. The change from one heavy piece outside to two light, flexible and tough steel plates, conveniently pocketed, when desired, in the breast of the ordinary military coat of other arms of service, was an improvement in accordance with the progress of the period. They were recognized in Europe as legitimate protectors, and so worn, and were equally legitimate in America. We had none. If we had possessed them those who believed in their protection would, no doubt, have carried them as in Fnffice, sans peur et sans reproche.

An American Girl’s Adventure in the Catacombs of Paris.

Miss Bessie Darling, an American actress, has had a serious and almost fatal adventure in the catacombs of Paris. These catacombs contain, in numberless galleries, extending under nearly half of the city, the bones of nearly 3,000,000 of people* On each side of these weird avenues, from the floor to the ceiling, are piled bones and skulls. The bones of the arms, legs and thighs are piled in tiers along the walls, their uniformity being relieved by three rows of skulls and croes-boues arranged In fantastic patterns, and at intervals, cut out of the gypsum of the cavernk underlying Paris, are little chapels or altars. At 10 o’clock one morning a few weeks ago Miss Darling, who was one of a party of thirty, descended the steep staircase of ninety steps leading to the catacombs, and preceded by guides entered the galleries. whose tortuous winding and. ramifications have all the perplexities of a labyrinth. Miss Darling, with tbe independence of an American girl, quitted her party and set out to explore underground horrors alone. Among so many sbewas not missed. A little of this sight-seeing satisfied her companions, and they returned to the light and to their dinners. In the meantime Miss Darling was hurrying through one gallery after another. Unfortunately she had not provided herself with a supply of candles, and when the one she carried was burned out she was left in utter darkness, and she began to realize the horrors of her situation.- It was then, so the story runs, that “she did what every other woman would have done in similar circumstances—she fainted away." How tong she remained insensible she does not know; but when she came to herself she made throughout the remainder of the day and through the night the galleries echo with her shriek for Kelp. Fortunately, at 10 o’clock the next morning a workman, while passingjtlong a neighboring gallery, heard her cries and hurried to the rescue. He found her in one of those galleries that have no thoroughfare and are simply side passages, and two yards from the spot where he encountered her was the mouth of an exhausting shaft, down which she had only escaped falling by tbe suddenness with which she had fainted, and the pertinacity with which she remained on the spot where she fell. When at the end of eighteen hours she* was brought to the light she fainted again. But “all’s well that ends well,” although for a short time her situation appeared to be- critical. There is a moral in this story, which behooves adventurous young women to heed. In foreign travel, whether among the Alps or the Roman and French catacombs, or in strange cities where the more dangerous classes abound, too much independence ot companionship is perilous, apart from the conventionalism abroad, which looks askance at a young woman wandering about alone. ‘ *

How a Woman Made a Fortune

The New York Times tells the following story of the life of a woman in that 'ln Elizabeth street, not far from Broone stands a dingy, old-fashioned house, managed by an Englishwoman upon the stereotpyed English lodging-house principle. This house is owned by, and has for years been the residence of a woman, whose career possesses some extraordinary features, who commenced with nothing and amassed a fortune of $1,000,000 by real estate operations, and at TO years of age is intending to finish her career in the world by writing a treatise on

religion and science. More than fifty years ago a young girl in an interior eountyln this State walked 30 miles to engage the vacant principalship of a village academy. Although not competent to pass an examination for the vacancy, the trustees were struck by the indomitable pluck of the young rustic, and kindly promised her the situation if she would prepare herself to pass an examination within the two months’ between the spring and fall terms. The girl went home, shut herself up in a little garret room, lived on bread and water, quarreled with her mother about the house work and applied herself night and day to arithmetic, geograpy and grammer. But when sturdy little Louisiana St John reported for examination, at the expiration of the two months, she answered every question triumphantly, and entered upon her duties as the principal of a village academy. For more than twenty years

Miss St. John pursued the career of a pedagogue, amassing money dollar by dollar, and investing her savings with circumspection, until she though herself financially strong enough to abandon the scbooima’am’s desk and remove to this city. At first, her operations in real estate were small ana tentative, the Englishwoman, then strong and active, acting as her agent. But successful accumulation engenders confidence, and the year 1873, memorable for its financial crisis, found the adventurous schoolma’am, operating on a large scale in Western land, St Louis city lots, etc., and exercising from her little parlor in Elizabeth street a potent influence on the market. Her habits are peculiar and methodical. Rising with the sun, she lays out the business of the day with mathematical precision before breatfast, and issues her instructions to her trusted lieutenants, giving minute directions as to the conduct of each enterprise, and holding each subordinate to a military accountability. Although 70 years old and suffering ing from dropsy, not six months ago this indomitable old lady journeyed unattended to St. Louis, and there, week after week, while the bridge across the river was in progress looked after the interest of a large property likely to be affected by that enterprise. Beset with sharpers and interested parties of all sorts, her woman’s insight rapidly sift out the false from the true, and protects her million alike from the speculative enterprises of the visionary and from the bubble companies of the professional financier. She will tell you, nevertheless, with a sigh, in a moment of confidence, that her whole life has been a failure, and her splendid fortune only a trouble to her for these many years; that she wonld give her million for a toddling little granddaughter, but in the absence of the granddaughter means to leave it to found an institution thatshallin some way benefit humanity.

A Plea for Sunday Out-Door Recreation. N. Y. Herald.

It is probable that those superlatively good people who desire the suspension of all business on Sundays, except their own business of going to church, may be correct in supposing that if the whole world could be persuaded to maae a labor of prayer on the day of rest, from sunrise untill night, we should sli be more pious than we now are. A tall events we should be more bilious and dyspeptic, which .are indications of Puritanical perfection. But there is a certain amount of the old leaven in mankind, which, as it cannot be expurgated, must be taken into consideration in our efforts to manufacture piety, and a vast number of people insist upon being good in their own way. One popular method is too devote a . certain portion of the day of rest to religious duties -and the remaining portion to healthful recreations calculated to aid morality by strengthening the body, invigorating the constitution and giving a cheerful happy tone to the disposition. To ordinary minds this appears to be a very desirable practice, and one that deserves encouragemen t. We want Sunday travel and innocent Sunday amusements, and we cannot have too much of eitner. Haifa million of people who are shut up in close workshops and unhealthy tenement houses from morning till night and from night till morning again on six days of the week do not want to pass the entire seventh day at prayer in churches and. in their closets. They want to go forth in to the fresh air, to drink in seabreezes and enjoy the fragance of green fields, and the more freely they can do so at a trifling cost, carrying their puny, suffering children with them, the better Christian men and women they will be. The running of all the rapid transit railroad trains on Sunday will facilitate travel and give the working classes the chance of spending their only leisure day in the country. If caurch congregations here and there are annoyed by passing trains, let them remember chat the cars carry thousands upon thousands of human beings out oT the hot crowded tenement house districts into pure air of the upper part of the island, and if they are realy Christians they will forget the momentary offence to their delicate ears in the thought that it is the signal of happiness and health fur half the population of the city. It is to bejnoped that the Metropoltan rapid transit road will carry out its intention to run Sunday trains, begin ing next Sunday. No class has a right to object to what is for the general convenience and the general good. The idea that the running of trains is a desecration of the Sabbath is an exploded piece of bigotry that ought to be buried with the blue laws, and is about as sensible as to claim chat walking, dressing washing and cooking are similar desecrations. The church-goers who insist that for their own comfort or their own fancies thousands of people shall be denied the opportunity to take a cheap ride into the country on the Sabbath must be sufficiently frigid in their Christianity to be able to sit in their places of worship with closed windows In the dog days, and thus escape the noise of the passing trains altogether.

A New York lady writes: “If I could have my way, every smoker should many a smoker, or live alone forever.” Now, do you know that would be rather a nice idea—matrimonial smoke as it were—one pipe with but a single blast, two stems as smoke as one. Smoking girls desirous of getting married will please mention the particular brand of tobacco they effect.

A WONDER IN SOUTH CAROLINA.

A Deaf Mute Hears and Speaks— Curious Circumstances of the Case. Columbia (S. C.) Register, July 13. The following remarkable, if not miraculous. occurrence is taken from the Greenville Daily News of the 10th instant. Rev. Samuel Lander, whose signature is appended to the communication, is the President of Williamston Female College. If this is not a case of fraud in the substitution of another person for the boy who was an absentee for eight years, it would seem that the days of miracles have returned: Mr. Editor: Allow me to inform your readers of a strange event which has recently taken place near our village. On tne night of the 8d instant the gift of speech was suddenly bestowed on a colored youth, 23 years of age, who had all his life been known as a deaf mute by all of our older citizens. Your Oak Lawn readers will remember Marcus, a deaf mute boy. a slave of Colonel T. E. Ware, deeeasd, who was employed after the war by Colonel Ware’s son-in-law, Mr. Arnold, as a hand about the house and farm. His services were quite valuable, as he was an active, obeaienc, intelligent boy. He frequently came over to Williamston as a teamster, and thus became well known to our community. Eight years ago Mr. Arnold removed to Mississippi. Just before his departure Marcus disappeared. No one knew whither he had gone, His mother tried in Vain to get information of his whereabouts. No tidings of him reached his friends at home until the last day of June, when his return to the house of his uncle, Edmund Jones, was as unexpected as his mysterious departure years before. In the meantime he had learned to converse in writing, so that he found no trouble in communicating his history during his long absence from home. Nothing noteworthy occurred from Monday to Thursday, the 3d inst. On that afternoon be became extremely nervous and restless, “hearing dreadful loud noises, and seeming as if his head would burst with pain.” This condition continued till after nightfall. He then fainted, his extremities became cold and his body was convulsed with violent paroxysms. After something more than an hour, these symptoms relaxed, and he broke his lifelong silence by asking, quite audit ly, but not very distinctly for a drink of water. At intervals of about fifteen minntes during the night he continued to speak, saying almost anything he wished, nut feeling fatigued after every effort. Oh the 4th, he spoke as occasion required, with increasing ease freedom and clearness.

On Saturday, the sth, with several other gentlemen, I visited him and conversed with him for about an hour and a half. He had no difficulty in hearing all we said; and we noticed considerable improvement in his articulation during the interview. At first he declined trying to pronounce the word “Williamston,’’' because he said he could not pronounce it right; but, at the close of the interview, he inadvertantly pronounced it very well. The extent of his vocabulary, the clearness of his articulation, the correctness of hit} vowel sounds, the accuracy of his.accentuation, and the general propriety of his language, were matters of great astonishment to all. Sunday afternoon he heard his first music. 'He attended service at the Colored Methodist Church, and the singing, which was right vigorous, overpowered him. He could not realize tne distinction of the sounds, but it all seemed to him “like a loud noise blown through a straight horn.” After service he heard a lady play some sacred pieces on the reed organ, and. though he enioyed it a little, it still “had no turn.”

On Monday, while listening to. the piano, he seemed greatly interested, and professed to enjoy it Veiy much; but it seemed to me as I watched him, that he was more impressed with the auick movements of the hammers jan with the tones of the instrument.

For the statement in connection with bis strange attack on Thursday afternoon, I am indebted to Marcus himself and his uncle, Edmund Jones, whose character for veracity is unusually fair in our community. As to the other points in our narrative, there is no room for doubt. He was a deaf mute from his birth till he left here eight years ago. He seemed to be in the same condition when he returned last Monday week. He can hear and speak now as well as the majority of our people. How the wonderfiu change was Drought about remains to be explained. With your permission I will send you for your next issue his account of nls history during his absence, which may throw some Tight on the mysterious question. lam yours,

Life at Leadville.

Cor. of the Bprtnfleld (Mass.) Republican. There are twenty-one gambling houaes in Leadville, and games are conducted openly as Sunday school exercises in Springfield. There is a gambling saloon on Chestnut street where a dozen games are going on at once. The room is large, the full ground area of the building, and is fitted so that short faro is played here, faro there, chuck-a-luck yonder, and lansquenete, high-ball poker, rouge-et-noir, the paddle-wheel and the nutshell game in other parts of the room. The gamblers do not wait for the evening, but begin by 9 o’clock in the morning, although business is apt to be light in the daytime. With the approach of evening, however, the gambling saloons fill up; three seedy-looklng individuals begin to torture a fiddle, a harp and a cornet, and the voice of the banko man rings outupon the evening air. Thegamblers include all class of men. There are the well-dressed professionals, the unlucky professionals, and the “low down” professionals. There are furnace men just from the smelters, laborers from the streets and miners from the headings, all in their working dotheaand with the grime of the day’s toil upon them. Among them stand clerks, accountants and professional men, all intent upon the turn of the wheel or the falling of ths cards. The scene would not be complete without two or three drunken men spoiling for a fight, and there are usually a few men who fancy themselves opera sigh-

ere and bellow unimaginable airs tn voices that make the discords of the fiddle and harp seem sweet as the singing of a summer breeze. As the evening wanes, bummers fall asleep around the stove, whereupon practical jokers tie the sleepers in their chairs ana stick pins into them in order to see them jump. If the suddenly-awakened sleeper jumps well, the pin is applied with such vigor that he usually jumps out through the door carrying the chair with him into the street. The barkeeper starts after the man who is hopping off with the chair, but sees preparations for a raid upon the bar if he leaves it. and so remains at his post cursing the jokers and their victim in the most original and animated manner. Possibly the men engaged in play have glanced up and smiled, but more likely they have noticed nothing unusual and have kept their eyes upon their play. The favorite game is faro. Chips cost from 10 cents to $1 apiece, ana the limit generally is $25. In-

stances have been numerous, however, where pretty tall play has prevailed for a short time. Gamblers, like other people have their lucky days, and when a professional feels that he has “conquered the dealer" he will sometimes stake his pile. Sometimes heavy bets are made out of pure recklessness. The spirit of “make or break” is so strong that if a man has a dollar, he will risk it in some way so as to have two or none. A man came into a gambling saloon on Chestnut street one night and, after watching the play a few minutes, said, “I bet a thousand that the ace wins.” Ihe man meant what he said and the dealer sent for the proprietor of the- bank, who scratched his head and said the bank would take a fourth of the bet. Wouldn’t some of the gentlemen, like to make up the rest “I’ll take $250 of it,” said a man leaning against the bar. “I’ll take $250 more,” said another, and in three minutes $2,000 lay on the table and the dealer took up the cards. He dealt three or four turns and the ace came loser. The partners took $250 apiece, and the man who had risked so much on a single card walked off smiling and as unconcerned as could be.

The dance house prevail upon State street, but they do not differ much in appearance or actions of the inmates from those to be seen in any Eastern city. Men pay 50 cents for the privilege of dancing with a woman whom it would seem to be more to the purpose to give 50 cents to be excused from dancing with- “Residences for ladies” are numerous, and market men and painters and others, who have occasion to visit them, say that they are altogether the best furnished and most luxurious houses in the city. The inmates are said to be of a class much higher than their haggard sisters in the dance houses. They are treated with respect and consideration, and if they unfortunately die receive tender and eloquent obituary notices. Apart from Leadville the city is Leadville the camp. The fortune-hun-ters who rushed into the place during 1878 could not locate in the city, but up on the hillside there was room enough and logs enough. The logs were quickly piled into rude houses, set down anywhere among the stumps. There are winding roads through the camp, but a stranger loses his bearings in no time. He sees in tbe distance, whichever way he looks, snow-clad mountains; he sees about him stump gulches and log or slab houses, and they all look precisely alike. I walked from the Clarendon Hotel to the Little Pittsburg mines four times in three days, ana I never succeeded in going and returning by the same path, and not more than twice followed the same eath to or from the mines. The camp as a life of its own., It has its own saloons, boarding-houses, other houses and stores. 'Hie miners do most of their own cooking, and they do their housework In a way which would render a Massachusetts housekeeper speechless.

Another Lucky Coachman.

In society circles in the Seventh ward, Newark, New Jersey, there is considerable com motion over the marriage of a wealthy widow of 31 with her father’s coachman, a youth of 19. Her father, who is called “Colonel,” has titled relatives in England. He has resided in Newark about forty years, and is considered one *of the wealthiest and most successfill of business min. He is well known in political circles. Jennie is his only child, and some years ago was considered one of the most beautiful and accomplished young women in Newark. About eightyears ago she married an only son, who inherited a large fortune on the death of his parents. He died a year ago in Philadelphia, leaving an only child. By his will he bequeathed his property to his wife, confident that she would properly provide for their boy. Shortly after tne death of her husband the young widow returned to her father’s house in Newark. In the Colonel’s employ was James, who for three or four years had attended to the orses, run errands and acted as coachman. The widow frequently had the young man take her out in the family carriage. The two fell in love, ana one day visited New York, where they were quietly married. The marriage was kept secret until the widow and her mother visited Boston a few weeks ago. The coachman followed them, and was officially introduced to the old lady as her son-in-law. The coachman and his wife took up their residence in New York. When tbe Colonel was informed by his wife of what had taken place, he was the madaest man in Newark. Recently his anger has cooled off, and himself and wife pay an occasional visit to their son-in-

S. LANDER.

A Woman of 92 in the Hay Field

Bsadlng Eagle. Elizabeth Diebesberger, aged 92, resides in Richmond township, this county, and is, in all probability, one of the richest maiden ladies in the county. She owns several beautiful farms in Richmond township, where she has lived nearly all her life. She has silvery gray hair, is neat and trim in appearance. A few days ago her farmhands commenced hay-making. To their great surprise the aged lady and land-owner made her appearance in the field, rake in hand. She was suitably attired for the occasion, her skirts and dress being well gathered in and tucked back so as not to drag or give her any trouble in moving over the field. She said she was going to show them how to work. This was greeted with a clapping of hands and

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NO. 9.

cheers. Miss Leibesberger went to work to good earnest, tossed the hay over and over, raked it into rows from one end of the field to the other, and then helped to rake It onpflea, and finally assisted in loading and raking after the wagons.

The astute New York Tribune says clairvoyants always see beforehand af“Ninety and nine" folks in the hundred make a mistake when they cut off a dog’s tail. They preserve the wrong end. Scan dal-mon gers may learn this lesson from the frog—once overpassed the season of his adolescence, he gives up tail-bearing. Troy boasts of a man with so many dead languages in his head that to be in the same room with him is worse than having an interview with Limburger cheese. A son of General Pillow, who lives in Arkansas, was bitten by a rattlesnake the other day, and immediately swallowed a quart of raw whisky. The snake is dead. An Insurance agent is a good deal of a bore, but he isn’t a*gimlet to the man who is sure that your mother and his father were grandmothers to each other—or some such relationship. t “Whin do yez intend to go back/ Mike?" asked one exile of another. “If I live till I doye, and God knows whither I will ot not, I intend to view ould Ireland once more before I lave this country."

It is dangerous work for women to play with souls.—Francis Hodgson Burnett. Stay, mother, stay, whate’er may hap; remember your nervous “flipper;” remove the lad from off your lap, nor play with sole of slipper. ; One day last week a North HUI man made a wager that lie could eat thirty eggs in thirty minutes. He lost the <money. The first egg did the business ’ for him. It was. no young, giddy, ioexperienced egg. It was a venerable old sage, and it did it with its little hatch’t. The boy stewed on tbe burning deck, He wished that he were dead, Till all of a sudden into the river He dashed heels over head. The steamer steamed upon its way, The boy,Oh! where was heT He was kicking his heels in the tumbling surf As jolly as he could be. In a little town is Missouri a lady teacher was exercising a class of juveniles in mental arithmetic. She commenced the question, “If you by a cow for $10—” when up came a little hand. “Whatis it. Johnny?” “Why ; rou can’t buy nakind of a cow for $lO. Father sold one for S6O the other day, and she was a regular old scrub at that.”

Lives there a boy with soul so dead Who never to his ma has said. “ Gimme a piece of buttered bread?” Lives there a ma with soul so dead Who never to her boy has said, “ Come now, bubby, get off to bed!” And is there boy that is not dead Who does not need a piece of bread, Or ever wants to go to bed? A correspondent wants to know i wearing a hat tends to make a person bald. We believe it does. Woman don’t wear hats and they are not bald, at least they do not wear them on their heads, and so they are not bald there. Hats destroy hair. A woman’s hat is worn on the back of her head, and that is the reason why women have to buy so much back hair. A mother leaves a pail of scalding water on tiie floor, and the little child backs up against it, sits down and immediately goes to be ffn angel. The fond father allows his baby son toplay with a revolver, and usually the little felloW pulls out to meet the girl that sat down in the scalding water And then the sympathetic neighbors call around to discuss the affairs as dispensations of Providence. “Good afternoon, my dear friend; I am delighted to see you. Aud to what am I indebted for the pleasure of thia visit?” “I’ll tell you that presently;, but first permit me to embrace your charming child. Cun’! 1. my uttle man?” “Yes, sir; if you’ll promise not to cut Into papa.” “Cut into papa?” “Yes; ’cause papa said, when he saw you coming, ‘Here comes that fellow to bore me again!’ ” Perhaps no American school-boy’s composition has ever put “the Father of His Country” on a stranger moral basis than thia—the letter appears in a ' transatlantic cotemporary: “George Washington was a little boy what once lived in Verginny what had a nax give him by his ole man. Wen Georges old man foun out what Gteorge an the nother boy done, he called George too him an he see. George Washington who cutted the bark oten the cherry tree? Georgeses i did. Tha old man sals you did George see I did and i cannot tell a IL Why can’t you tell all sals the old man. Coz sais George il i tell a 11 this here fellarl blow on me an then ill be spanked twict Thats rite sals the old man whenever Ser get in to trouble the eftyist way out i tha best."

And now for a story about old Gaffer One day Jack Brily, which is the wicked sailer, swears and everything, he was going by old Gaffres house, be toun him diggin a well, an a boy was pullin up the rocks in a bucket with a winlass. So Jack be giv the boy to bits and sed: “You go an git sum candy, an lie pull up for you till you git back,” ana the boy done it. Then Jack he put his bull dog in the bucket, and let it down, and the dog It jump out in the wel with Gaffer, which hollered wild, and the dog too. Then Jack be cough t ole Gafferses cat and pitch that down, too, and the dog tackled the cat between Gafferses legs, and the eat run it up Gaffer like be was a tree, bn J all yellin like Ipjens, there wasent never such a site! After a while Jack he let the bucket down and hauled old Gaffer up with the winlass. lookn mighty beat an bis close tore bad. Fore Gaffer cud git his breth, Jack sed: ‘-Tellyou wot, Gaffer if I badent come along yude had a pretty rough time of it Iges, cos that boys gon for another cat.” Then Gaffer he helped Jack git the dog out which had killed the cat, and Jack and the dog went a way, and wen the boy come in site Gaffer he met him morn hales way and licked him til he was sick in bed, and wen Billy he sassed the school master he was licked too, yes indeed, and made beller.—[The Argonaut.

CONDIMENTS.

Old Gaffer Peters.