Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 6, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 October 1874 — Page 1

HORACE E. JAMES & JOSHUA HEALEY, Proprietors.

VOL. VII.

THE LAST. Thk last kiss— Whose fond lips will give it? The last joy— What blest heart will live it? The last mom— What bright eyes will see that? The last man— What poor soul will be that? The last pang— Whose sad heart will know it? The last smile— What fair face will show it? The last boon— Who will give this kindly? The last fault— Who will pass that blindly? The last hope— Fancy drops the curtain! Of things last Only two are certain: The last aid—- _ This will be a true man's; The last word— • That will be a woman’s! —Geo. Cooper , in Hearth and Home.

ALL A MISTAKE.

BY L. H. FOOTE

Mbs. Alvohd said “it was a shame.” Mrs. Denton wondered how she dared thus to impose upon people, while a score of mesdames and half a score of Mr. dames, gratified at somebody’s version of something that did not happen, rolled the tit-bit under and off their tongues with the gusto of gourmands. It all happened in the quiet little town of Carlton, where the people mean to be, and are, good and kind as the world goes; but somehow mistakes will occur, and human nature is prone to accept the wrong version of. things, and then it is so pleasant to “ Put horns on the heads of our friends. Put intrigues in the heads of their wives.” “To think,” said Mrs. Denton, “ that FanßyHoward,the-daughter_Ql .axon.-., victed felon, should come here to teach our children and put on such airs! I never liked the girl; I always thought there was something wrong about her. The brand of shame is plainly to be seen behind her smiling face.” Mrs. Denton’s ideas of right and wrong hinged entirely upon what Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Tracy and Mrs. Williams might think, and that social conclave had already convened and decided. “As for me,” said Mrs. Smith, “I shall never speak to her again. I shall take Benny from the school at once, and 1 think we should ignore her entirely.” Mrs. Smith was the wife of that very important functionary, the village justice. The counterpart of her phlegmatic husband, she was tall and angular, sharp in feature and sharp in tongue. Her house in the outskirts of the city was the rendezvous of that female —I had almost said feline—inquest which seems to pertain to small communities. God, in His goodness, had given her one child —the aforesaid Benny—as if thereby to soften the asperities of her nature. What she might have been without the gift we can only conjecture. It is therefore impossible to estimate just what part Benny had played in the softening process. Twelve months prior to the matters related Fanny Howard had come to the village of Carlton, in answer to an advertisement for a school-teacher, bringing letters and commendations which had secured for her the place sought. For one year Fanny had taught the school with much satisfaction; her sweet face and gentle ways had won the hearts of the children, while her zeal and conscientious discharge of duties had won the approbation of the parents. As the last quarter was drawing to a close, a stranger, staying for a night at the inn, had seen the school-mistress on the street, and upon being informed who she was had replied: “I thought I was not mistaken; I have seen her before; her father is in the State’s prison at N Upon all the invisible wires of social intercourse the news flew ; the very birds of the air seemed to whisper it; that concentrated battery of pent-up country life expended its force in circulating the fact. As Fanny passed, inquisitive groups gathered at the street corners, the women watched her from the windows, the children even, silent and shy, seemed to avoid her. “ What can all this mean?” said Fanny, her eyes filling with unshed tears, and the specter of pain haunting her faces “Oh, that Mrs. Carlton was here; she would not desert me.” Mrs. Carlton was the widow of the late Col., Henry Carlton, after whom the town had been named. The Carlton estate extended for ten miles in every direction; its broad acres stretched from mountain to mountain, embracing the entire valley; its flocks and herds fed upon a hundred hills. The family mansion was situated two miles from the town, in the midst of charming grounds, beautifully planted and laid out. It was a plain, substantial, comfortable home, with broad porches, wide halls and ample rooms, wonderfully suggestive of hospitality! From the first Mrs. Carlton had taken to Fanny; frequent invitations had been extended for her to pass the weekly holidays aU“The Grange”—as the place was called—while Harry, the only son and heir, a stout, manly young fellow of twenty-five, helped amazingly to make the hours pass pleasantly; there were walks and drives and dinners and croquet parties under the trees and music and dancing in the moonlight. Now, alas! Mrs. Carlton and Harry were absent and our heroine, depressed by the weight of an intangible something, wearily bore the new burden. • : It was the last day of the term; on the following Monday, the Ist of May, was to be held the annual picnic, an old country fete revived by Col. Carlton for his people, as he was wont to call them. Delightful grounds in the hills, two miles away, had been set apart for thia purpose; there were groves of trees, plats of greensward and charming bits of scenery ; a mountain stream came tumbling down from the hills in a succession o c waterfalls, forming at base a tiny lake, where'* the ferns and the flowers seemed most to luxuriate. The May-day sun broke bright and clear, as it always does in this Arcadia, tinging the mountain peaks with crimson and filling the valley with yellow amoer. There was an early and unwonted stir m the village and farm-houses;

THE RENSSELAER UNION.

troops of merry children were congregated in the streets and lanes, happy a# the birds which gave them, greeting. Vehicles of all descriptions were to be seen wending their way to the grounds. Tables had been spread, booths had been constructed, a May-pole garlanded with flowers had been erected. There was to be a dinner, a poem, songs and dancing, and some one was to be crowned “ Queen of the May.” The farmers for miles around the countryside had come with their wives and their little ones; the parson and the deacon, the lawyer and the doctor, were there; there was Steve, the blacksmith, his face washed white for the occasion; Briggs, the landlord of the “Golden Swan," with the proverbial rotundity; Tony, the shoemaker, with his halfdozen chffdren PuLat the toes, as usual; Uncle Billy Rogers, who had crossed the plains with Col. Carlton in ’46, and, as he said, “was raised in the same town andknow’dall the Colonel’s kinsfolk.” Uncle Billy’s talk always opened or closed with some allusion to his departed friend. Tom Brown, the stage-driver, had taken a day ofl to be present. With just the proper amount of dash he drove six horses on to the grounds, dressed in characteris|ic garb—Mexican sombrero , immaculate shirt, red sash, high-heeled, close-fitting boots drawn over his pantaloons. After a slight excess of anxiety in the proper disposition of his team, with the indescribable, insouciant air of his calling he lounged over to where mine host of the Golden Swan was standing, gave a scarcely perceptible noduf recognition to Uncle Billy and Tony, and remarked, patronizingly: “I say, Briggs, what’s all this yere talk ’bout the schoolmarm? I don’t see that she’s to blame; she seems to be a klmMispositioned critter,-and-has-allersf done her work well. As for me, I’m blamed if I don’t think she’s got good blood in her —thin in the nostril, wide between the eyes, clean limbed ; you bet your life there’s no mustang in her.” “Yes, Tom,” said Briggs, “ but you know women are women, and naturally hate each other. If they catch one of their own sex out alone, without at>rotector, they all go for her; and thi#girl seems to be in that fix just now.” “ Oh, Tom,” with a half-defined side motion of the head, at the same time pointing mysteriously to his pocket. As Tom would have said, “ A wink to a blind man is sufficient," and the three —that is, Briggs, Tom and the flask — went quietly into the shadow of the trees. Uncle Billy looked querulously after the departing worthies, and said sadly o Tony: “The Colonel wouldn’t ’a done that.” The servants had erected the Carlton tent, but did not know if their mistress would return in time to be present at the festivities. During the earlier part of the day Fanny sat alone, or wandered about the grounds, meeting cold looks and averted faces from some; from others that peculiar recognition so fraught with meaning. Again and again she wished herself far away, and only remained hoping by chance to meet Mrs. Carlton. After the ceremonies had concluded, just as she had determined to leave the grounds and go across the fields to her ownrhome, Apparently by accident she happened upon Tom Brown. The stage-driver, who had never spoken to Fanny, touched his hat—a remarkable exhibition of politeness for him—and said: “ I beg pardon, miss; I’m a plain man, and can’t say what I want to, but if you should need anybody to speak a word for you, or to take your part, Tom Brown knows how to do it.” Fanny comprehended the blunt sincer ity of the man, and as she thanked him the tears which had been all day in her eyes dropped upon her cheeks. From that moment Tom was her slave. He followed her at a respectful and unobserved distance; for her sake he would have charged and routed the whole camp. Many a high-born lady has had a less faithful and puissant knight. This incident served to lift the load from Fanny's heart. She wandered down by the tiny lake, and for the moment was happy. Near at hand several children were at play, their parents and the elder ones being elsewhere occupied. She heard a splash, a scream, and saw little Benny struggling in the water. Springing forward, with rare presence of mind she leaped upon a rock, seized the as he was sinking, brought him to the shore, pacified him, and taking him by the hand led him forward to find his mother. At a distance was a group of ladies and among them Mrs. Smith. As Fanny approached, the circle she encountered the frigid stare of Mrs. Smith, who said with metallic voice—all eyes being riveted upon the two —“ Benny, come to me; Ido not wish you to associate with thieves and murderers.” Not far away, with his hat over his face, stood the stage-driver, as if waiting the word of command*; but nearest-at hand was another knight, HarrjrCarlton, who with his mothejr had just arrived upon the grounds and had been near enough to overhear the words. Stepping forward, he said to Fanny, who stood pale and tremblihg: — J!- Do not remain here to be insulted by these people. My mother would like to Speak with you.” And taking her upon his arm he escorted her to the tent which had been prepared for them. One standing near at hand would have heard words of explanation, interrupted by broken sobs on the part of Fanny, with kind and gentle soothings by Mrs. Carlton; w,oiild have seen Harry start up with a haughty, unorthodox word on the end of his tongue, saying he would find out what all this meant, and after a short absence would have seen him returning, his hand clenched, and his big, burly frame bristling all over with indignation ; would have heard animated conversation for a moment in the tent, followed by subdued laughter. Shortly thereafter the family carriage was ordered, and Harry and Mrs. Carlton, accompanied by Fanny, left the grounds.

RENSSELAER, JASPER COUNTY, INDIANA, OCTOBER 29, 1874.

The month of vacation was nearly ended; Fanny had disappeared; the Carlton mansion was closed, and occupied only by servants. Harry and his mother were, some said, in the city; some said at the seaside: Upon the last day of the school vacation, after the arrival of the mail, an unwonted something seemed to ruffle the surface of affairs in the quiet town. Curiosity was upon tiptoe, and wonder was looking out of open eyes into open eyes. Mine plethoric host of the inn, dressed as was his wont of a summer afternoon, in shirt, pantaloons, and slippers, from his seat on the table wiped the perspiration from his rubicund face, and read to his thirsty satellites from the Yerba Buena Tribune , as follows: “ Married, at Grace Church, in this city; : by the Rev. Dr. Peters, Harry Carlton to Miss Fanny Howard, daughter of Maj. William Howard, formerly of the United States Army, now Warden at the State Prison at N .” The landlord laughed. Tom Brow 4 threw his favorite hat upon the floor and, jumping upon it, said: “Do you call that a mustang?” “The gal’s a Carlton, anyhow,” said Uncle Billy, complacently; while Tony glanced wistfully at the row of decanters and wondered if the occasion would not suggest an invitation to imbibe. A new school-mistress has been engaged at Carlton, and in some mysterious way Tom Brown has become sole proprietor of the stage line. At the last stated inquest Mrs. Smith was heard to say, consolingly, to Mrs. Tracy r “lam so glad it was a mistake; I always liked Fanny.” —Sacramento Union.

The Shah’s Diamonds.

The Friend of India, in an article which professes to be a summary of what the authors of recent books on Persia have written about the royal treasurehouse, says: The Shah’s strong-box consists of a small room, twenty by fourteen feet, reached by a steep stair and entered through a very small door. Here, spread upon carpets, lie jewels valued at £7,000,000 sterling. Chief among the lot is the Kaianian crown, shaped like a flowerpot, and topped by an uncut ruby as large as a hen’s egg, and supposed to have come from Siam. Near the crown are two lambskin caps, adorned with splendid aigrettes of diamonds, and before them lie trays of pearl, ruby and emerald necklaces, and hundreds of rings. Mr. Eastwick, who examined the whole, states in addition to these there are gauntlets and belts covered with pearls and diamonds, and conspicuous among them the Kaianian belt, about a foot deep, weighing perhaps eighteen pounds, and one complete mass of pearls, diamonds, emeralds and rubies. One or two scabbards of swordj are said to be worth a quarter of a million each. There is also the finest turquois in the world, three or four inches long, and without a flaw; and “I remarked a smaller one of unique beauty, threeeighths of an inch broad; the color was lovely, and almost as refreshing to the eyes as Persian poets pretend. There are also many sapphires as big as marbles, and rubies and pearls the size of nuts; and I am certain that I counted nearly a hundred emeralds from half an inch square to one and three-quarters inches long and an inch broad. In the sword scabbard, which is covered with diamonds, there is not, perhaps, a single stone smaller than the nail of a man’s little finger.” Lastly, there is an emerald as big as a walnut, covered with the names of Kings who have possessed it. The ancient Persians prized the emerald above all other gems and particularly those from Egypt. Their goblets, decorated with these stones, were copied by the Romans! The Shah also possesses a pearl worth £60,000. But the most attractive of alLthe Persian stones is the turquois, which is inlaid by the native lapidaries with designs and inscriptions with great effect and expertness. The best come from Nishapoor, in Khorassan, whose mines ornamented the gold armor of the Persians so much admired by the Greeks. Chardin records that in the Treasury at Ispahan he saw “in each chamber the stones in the rottgh piled high on the floor like heaps of grain, filling innumerable leather bags.” As with the King of Burmah and his rubies the turquoises of Persia are always first inspected by the Shah. They are divided into two classes, according to tho position in which they are found. The first, called Senqui or stony, are incrusted in the matrix and have to be removed by means of a hammer; the second are taken from the alluvial.deposits, and, though larger, are of less value than the former, which are of a deep blue color. Although the Lord of Lords contented himself with taking the least valuable gems of his incomparable collection on his recent tour in the West, he carried no fewer than 200 talismans, which, while they may be p6or in appearance, possess limitless value in the eyes of Persians. Among others there was a fine-pointed star, supposed to have been worn by Roostan, and believed to have the power of making conspirators at once confess their crimes. Around his neck the Shah wore a cube of amber, reported to have fallen from heaven in the -time of Mahomet and to confer on its owners invulnerability. Most precious of all, however, and in Nusseeroodeen’s case the most useless, was a little casket of gold-studded emeralds, said to have the remarkable property of rendering the royal wearer invisible so long as he remains celibate.

The death of Prof. Blot recalls a story ! of “ real thrift” on the part of a Boston | domestic. A lady, at her own expense, i sent her cook to the professor’s Class, and was delighted with her progress.' At the end of the course she was surprised to learn that that functionary was enfaged in looking for pastures new. “ Why, iridget, you are not going to leave me? If you had not intended to remain with us, not have sent you to learn cooking.” “And indade, mum, you don’t expect me to cook in the new way on the old wages?”

Intelligence of Animals.

It is sometimes said that animals do not reason, but man does. But animals are quite capable of at least two modes of reasoning: that of comparisonand that of inference. They compare two modes of action, or two substances, and judge the one to be preferable to the other, and accordingly select it. Sir Emerson Tennent tells us that elephants employed to build stone walls in Ceylon will lay each stone in its place, then stand ofl and look to see if it is plumb, ,and, if not, will move it with their trunk till it lies perfectly straight. This is a pure act of reflective judgment. He narrates an adventure which befell himself in Ceylon while riding on a narrow road through the forest. He heard a rumbling sound approaching, and directly there came to meet him an elephant, bearing on his tusks a large log or wood, which he had been directed to carry to the place where it was needed. Sir Emeason Tennent’s horse, unused to these monsters, was alarmed and refused to go forward. The sagacious elephant, perceiving this, evidently decided that he must himself go out of the way. But to do this he was obliged first to take the log from his tusks with his trunk and lay it on the ground, which he did, and then back out of the road between the trees till only his head was visible. But the horse was still too timid to go by, whereupon the judicious pachyderm pushed himself further back till all his bodv, ex cept the end of his trunk, had disappeared. Then Sir Emerson succeeded in getting his horse by, but stopped to witness the result. The elephant came out, took the log up again, laid it across his tusks and went on his way. This story, told by an unimpeachable witness, shows jQgjbearerJnferred from the horse’s terror that it would not pass; he again inferred that in that case he must himself get out of the way; that to do this he must lay down his log; that he must go further back; and accompanying this was his sense of duty, making him faithful to his task; and, most of all, his consideration of what was due to this human traveler, which kept him from driving the horse and man before him as he went on. There is another well-authenticated anecdote oil an elephant; he was following an ammunition wagon and saw the man who was seated on it fall off just before the wheel. The man would have been crushed had not the animal instantly run forward and, without an order, lifted the wheel with his trunk and held it suspended in the air till the wagon had passed over the man without hurting him. Here were combined presence of mind, good-will, knowledge of the danger to the man and a rapid calculation of how he could be saved. A gentleman who has recently died in Paris, belonging to a well-known Boston family, was in his early life a sea-captain. He had a dog which he sometimes took to sea with him, and sometimes left behind, at his father’s house in Somerset street. He once sailed for India, taking his dog. Some three or four months after the family in Somerset street were astonished by the arrival of a dog, very lean and dirty, but who claimed acquaintance with them by many unmistakable signs, and whom they recognized at last as the captain’s dog. But how had he got home? The vessel on which he sailed had hardly arrived in India, much less returned. Inquiring on the wharves they at last learned that he had come to the port of Boston on a vessel just from Marseilles. The captain could only say that this dog had come on board in Marseilles and had insisted on remaining till they arrived in Boston, when he instantly leaped on the wharf and disappeared. The difficulty now was 'To know how he got to Marseilles. This mystery was solved on the return of his ownftr wme months after, who said that at sea h|£ had received such kindness from a French captain, who took a great fancy to his dog, that he could not refuse to give him to the Frenchman. The dog, therefore, had been carried to France, and then had found his way to a vessel bound for Boston and had come home. "Whether he smelt a certain Boston aroma hanging round the ship, or merely observed that the crew spoke the language with which he was familiar, we cannot say. But it is not every man who can succeed in getting home so readily from a foreign Perhaps I may properly introduce here an account of the manifestations of mind in the I have had the most opportunity of observing. I have a horse, who was named Rubezahl, after the Mountain Spirit of the Harz, made famous in the stories of Musaeus. We have contracted his name to Ruby for convenience. Now, I have reason to believe that Ruby can distinguish Sunday from other days. On Sunday I have been in the habit of driving to Boston to church; but on other days I drive to the neighboring village, where are the postoffice, shops of mechanics, and other stores. To go to Boston I usu ally turn to the right when I leave my driveway; to go to the village, I turn to the left. Now, on Sunday, if I leave the reins loose, so that the horse may do as he pleases, he invariably turns to the right, and goes to Boston. On other days he as invariably turns to the left and goes to the village. He does this so constantly and regularly that none of the family have any doubt of the fact that he knows that it is Sunday; how he knows it we are unable to discover. I have left my house at the same hour on Sunday and on Monday; in the same carriage; with the same number of persons in it; and yet on Sunday he always turns to the right, and on Monday to the left: He is fed at the same time on Sunday as on other days, but the man comes back to harness him a little later on Sunday than at other times, and that is possibly his method of knowing that it is the day for going to Boston. But see how much of observation, memory and thought is implied in all this. Ruby has shown a very distinct feeling of the supernatural. Driving one day up a hill near my house, we met a horse-car coming down toward us running without horses, simply by the force of gravity. Mv horse became so frighb

ened that he ran into the gutter and nearly overturned me; and I got him past with the greatest difficulty. Now he had met the cars coming down that hill drawn by horses a hundred times and had never been alarmed. Moreover, only a day or two after, in feoing up the same hill we saw a car moving up-hill before us, where the horses were entirely Invisible, being concealed by the car itself, which was between us and the horses. But this did not frighten Ruby at aIL He evidently said to himself, “ The horses are there, though I do not see him.” But in the other case it seemed to him an effect without a cause—something plainly supernatural. There was nothing in the aspect of the car itself to alarm him; he had seen that often enough. He was simply terrified by seeing it move without any adequate cause—lust as we would be if we saw our chairs begin to walk about the room. That the love of approbation is common to many animals we all know. Dogs and horses certainly can be influenced by praise and blame as easily as men. Many years ago we had occasion to draw a load of gravel and we put Ruby into a tip-cart to do the work. He was profoundly depressed and evidently felt it as a degradation. He hung his head and showed such marks of humiliation that we have never done it since. But, on the other hand, when he goes out under the saddle by the side of a young horse this veteran animal tries as hard to appear young as any old bachelor of sixty years who is still ambitious of social triumphs. He dances along and goes sideways and has all the airs and graces of a young colt. All this, too, is excessively human. At one time my dog was fond of going to the railway station to sec the people, and I always ordered him to go home, Tearing- he should-be hurt by the cars. He easily understood that if he went there it was contrary to my wishes. Nevertheless he often went, and Ido not know but this fondness for forbidden fruit was rather human, too. So whenever he was near the station if he saw me coming he would look the other way and pretend not to know me. If he met me anywhere else he always bounded to meet me with great delight. But at the station it was quite different. He would pay no attention to my whistle or my call. He even pretended to be another dog, and would look me right in the face without apparently recognizing me. He gave me the cut direct in the most impertinent manner; the reason evidently being that he knew he was doing what was wrong, and did not like to be found out. Possibly he may have relied a little on my near-sightedness in this maneuver. —James Freeman Clarke, in October Atlantic.- =

“She Can’t Mad.”

A writer in the North End Mission Magazine tells a good story of a Miss Bishop, who gave the besT*years of her life to the Indians in the far West as a missionary teacher. They loved her devotedly, and well they might, for she was patient and long-suffering with them to such an extent that it was affirmed by the members that within the memory of the oldest scholar she had never been known to lose her temper. Such a constant and perfect example of self-control in a pale-face became altogether unbearable, and one day during recess the large boys held a council over the matter. Was there no possible scheme to be arranged by which the serenity of this lady might be ruffled? All suggestions failed to meet the approval of the majority, and the council was apparently a failure, when Jimmy Corn-planter, whose small, black eyes had been gazing intently into space for some moments, suddenly sprang to his feet, exclaiming: “I know! I no tell! You come to-mor-row morning and seel Miss Bishop, she mad, she very mad!” Doubt was expressed on every countenance, but they promised to come. The morning was bitterly cold, but Miss Bishop started out in good season to open the school-house and build the fire for the day. Making her own path through the snow, she was somewhat damp and chilled. It was with benumbed fingers that she unlocked the door, troub led by a few stray thoughts of the comfortable home she had left in the East, where father, mother, brothers and sis ters would have shielded her from every drudgery like this. Banishing these thoughts, she resolutely entered the house, and taking her little basket of kindlings she opened the door of the stove, wMch, to her amazement, was filled to the brim with snow! Suspicious of observation from some unseen quarter, she then calmly walked to the door, and taking the water-pail and fire-shovel patiently set about taking out the snow, not one impatient look upon her face, not one reproachful word. It was too much for the invisible boys, who soon emerged, very sheepishly, it must be confessed, from their hidingplaces, and taking from her the pail ana shovel soon repaired their miscMef and built a rousing fire. Again and again, during the recess of that day, Miss Bishop heard the children shouting triumphantly, “ Miss Bishop —she can't mad!" Such self-control conveys a lesson which is not soon forgotten. It is an evidence of inward strength. A prisoner in the State Prison at Charlestown, Mass., has just been detected in an imposition which he sucCessfullv maintained for two years and a half, hoping to get a pardon. He took to his bed nearly three years ago and has lain there ever since, stating that his lower limbs were paralyzed. A few days ago the prison surgeon, who was by no means satisfied with the fellow’s statement, administered ether to him, when he got out of bed anjl danced around the room. When the effects of the ether passed away the prisoner got into bed again, where he still remains. '.— r A Missouri agriculturist tells a story of his having corn thirty-three feet high, and expects the public to give ear to it.

SUBSCRIPTION : 99.00 ii Tear, Hi Advance.

At the recent commencement exercises of one of the New York grammar schools Miss Bertine read the following letter from the well-known humorist, Mr. Clemens: - Hartford, Conn., Oct. 5,1974. Miss K. W. White— Dear Madam: I regret exceedingly being unable to accept your kind invitation (also Mr. P. G. Duffy’s) to be present at your commencement exercises, but the annoying and vexatious illness which,still hangs about me, together with some business engagements, will prevent. The illness to which I refer is a severe cold which I took in New York last winter during the lecture season. Perhaps the recital of bow I tried to cure this cold may be of interest, and may serve instead of tbrfew marks you so politely asked pie to make to the friends and pupils. The first time I began to sneeze a friend told me to go and bathe my feet in hot water and go to bed. I did so. Shortly after another friend told me to Set up and take a cold shower-bath. I id that also. Within the hour another friend assured me that it was policy to feed a cold and starve a fever. I had both. So I thought it best to fill myself up for the cold, and let the fever starve awhile. In a case of this kind I seldom do things by halves; I ate pretty heartily. I conferred my custom upon a stranger who had just opened his restaurant on Cortlandt street near the hotel, that morning, paying so much for a full meal. He waited near me in respectful silence until I had finished feeding my cold, when he inquired if the people about New York were much afflicted with colds. I told him I thought they were. He then went out and took in Ms sign. - —— Istarted up towagd-the-offlee— and on - the way encountered another bosom friend, who told me that a"quart of warm " salt-water would come as near curing a cold as anything in the world. I hardly thought I had room for it, but I tried U anyhow. The result was surprising. I believe I threw up my immortal soul. Now, as I give my experience only for the benefit of those of your friends who are • troubled with this distemper, I feel that they will see the propriety of my cautioning them against following such portions of it as proved inefficient with me, and acting upon this conviction I warn them against warm salt-water. It may be a good-enough remedy, btiTl think ft is rather too severe. If I had another cold in the head and there was no course left me but to take either an earthquake or a quart of warm salt-water, I would take my chances on the earthquake. After this everybody in the hotel became interested, and I took all sorts of remedies—hot lemonade, cold lemonade, pepper tea, boneset, stewed Quaker, hoarhound syrup, onions and loaf-sugar, lemons and brown sugar, vinegar and laudanum, five bottles fir balsam, eight bottles cherry pectoral and ten bottles Uncle Sam’s remedy, but all without effect. One of the prescriptions given by an old lady was —well, it was dreadful. She mixed a decoction composed of molasses, catnip, peppermint, aqua fortis, turpentine, kerosene and various other drugs, and instructed me to take a wineglassful of it every fifteen minutes. I never took but. one dose; that was enough. I had to take to my bed and remain there for two entire days. When I felt a little better more things were recommended. I was desperate, and willing to take anything. Plain gin was recommended,then gin and molasses, then gin and onions. I took all three. I detected no particular result, however, except that I had acquired a breath like a turkey-buzzard, and had to change my boarding-place. At this new place they suggested a different remedy to any yet tried. A sheet bath was recommended. I had never refused a remedy yet, and it seemed poor policy to commence then; therefore I determined to take a sheet bath, though I had no idea what sort of an arrangement it was. It was administered at midnight, and the weather was very frosty. My back and breast were stripped, and a sheet (there appeared to be a thousand yards of it) soaked in Icewater was wound around me until I resembled a swab for a columbiad. It is a cruel expedient. When the chilly rag touches one’s flesh it makes him start with sudden violence and gasp for breath, just as men do in the death agony. It froze the marrow in my bones ana stopped the beating of my heart. I thought my time had come. When I recovered from this a friend recommended the application of a mustard plaster to my breast. I believe that would have cured me effectually if it had not been for young Clemens. When I went to bed I put the mustard plaster where I could reach it when I should be ready for it. But young Clemens got hungry in the night and ate it up. I never saw a child with such an appetite. lam confident that he would have eaten me if I had been healthy, After all this experience you cannot wonder that I dread going to New York, and feel obliged to decline your kind invitation. Wishing you a successful and pleasant time, I remain, very respectfully, S. L. Clemens (Mark Twain).

How Mark Twain Cured a Bad Cold.

A Born Controversialist.

A few days since, says the Rochester Union, W. H. Dinehart, better known as “ Cap,” the peanut peddler, paid a small sum to the County Agricultural Society for the privilege of selling nuts at the fair to be held in a few days. “Cap” bid for the privilege of selling all kind of nuts, and he insists that this includes doughnuts. On going to thg Treasurer, who is a lawyer, to pay his fee hd wanted mentioned in the contract —doughnuts. Treasurer—Why, you have no right to sell doughnuts. That’s an absurd claim. “ Cap”—Yes, I have. I bid for all kinds of nuts and I am going to sell doughnuts. / Treasurer—You have no right to. Doughnuts don’t grow on trees. “ Cap”—Neither do^peanutfe; at least I never heard that they did. This ended the dialogue and “ Cap” retired the victor so far as the argument was concerned.

. NO. 6.