Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 November 1875 — Page 1

HORACE E. JAMES & JOSHUA HEAEEY, Proprietors.

VOL. VIII.

AT CHESS. Above a checkered table they bent— A man in his prime and a maiden fair, Over whose polished and blue-veined brow Rested no shadowy tinge of care. Her eyes were fountains of sapphire light; Her lips wore the curves of cheerful thought; And into her gestures and into her smile Grace and beauty their'spell had fraught. Above the checkered table they bent, Watching the pieces, red and white, As each moved on in appointed course Through the mimic battle’s steady fight— The queen, in her stately, regal power; The king, to her person friendly shield; The mitred bishop, with his support, And the massive castle across the field; The pawn, in his slow and cautious pace, A step at a time; and the mounted knight, Vaulting, as gallant horseman of old,. To the right and left, and left and right. But a single word the silence broke, As they cleared aside the ruin and wreck Of the battle’s havoc; and that word Was the little monosyllable “Check!” Pawns, and bishops, and castles, and knights Trembled together in sad dismay, While a pair of hearts were pulsing beside To a deeper, wilder, sweeter play. Yet the gaze of each—the man and the maid— On the board was fastened for turn ofgfate, When she archly whiskered, with raaiant glance, And a sparkling smile: “If you please, sir, mate!” And gently her fluttering triumph-hand, As white as a flake of purest pearl, She laid on the crown of her victor-king, While the other toyed with a wanton curl. He lifted the first to his smiling lips . And on it imprinted a trembling kiss; And he murmured softly: “I should not care For losing the game could I win but this!” What the maiden answered ’twere treason-to tell,. . As her blushes deepened to crinason glow, Mounting like lightning-flashes quick Till they burned on cheeks, and ears and brow. And in three months’ time the church-bells rang, And the parson finished the game begun, When both wore the conqueror’s triumphsmile, And both were happy, for both had won. —Hallie A. Brock, in Appletons' Journal. 5

LA TOUR D’AUVERGNE.

Until the year 1814 there was a touching and beautiful custom to be witnessed in a certain regiment of French Grenadiers, which was meant to commemorate the heroism of a departed comrade. When the companies assembled for parade, and the rolls were called, there was one name to which its owner could not answer. It was that of La Tour d’ Auvergne. When it was called, the oldest Sergeant stepped a pace forward and, raising his hand to his cap, said proudly: “ Died oh the field of honor.” For fourteenyears this custom was continued, and only ceased when the restored Bourbons, to please their foreign masters, forbade everything that was can culated to preserve the spirit of the soldiers of France. La Tour d’ Auvergne was not unworthy in life the honor thus paid him after his death. He was educated for the army, entered in 1758, and in 1781 served under the Duke de Crillion at the siege of Port Mahon. He always served with distinction, but constantly refused promotion, saying that he was orily fit for the command of a company of Grenadiers; but finally, the various-grenadier companies being united, he found himself in command of a body of 8,000 men, while retaining only the rank of captain. But it is of one particular exploit of his, more than of his career in general, that I wish to write.

When he was over forty years old he went on a visit to a friend not far from that section of country that was soon to become the scene of a bloody campaign. While there he was busy acquainting himself with the features of the country, •thinking it not unlikely that this knowledge might be of use to him some day; and while there the brave grenadier was astonished to learn that the war had rapidly been shifted to this quarter, and that a regiment of Austrians were pushing on to occupy a narrow pass about ten miles from where he was staying, and the possession of which would give them an opportunity to prevent an important movement of the French which was then on foot. They hoped to surprise this post, and were moving so rapidly upon it that they were not more than two hours distant from the place where he was staying, and which they would have to pass in their march. „ It matters not how he heard the news. It is sufficient to say that he determined at once to act upon it. He had no idea of being captured by the enemy in their advance and he at once set off for the pass. He knew that the pass was defended by a stout tower and a garrison of thirty men, and he hoped to be able to warn the men of their danger. He hastened on and arriving there found the tower in perfect condition. It had just been vacated by the garjison, Who heard of the approach of the Austrians—and had been seized by If panic thereat and had fled, leaving even their arms, consisting of thirty excellent muskets. La Tour d’Auvergne gnashed his teeth with rage as he discovered this. Searching in the buifiling, he found several boxes of ammunition which the cowards had not destroyed. For a moment he was in despair, and then, with a grim smile, he began to fasten the main door and pile against it such articles as he could find. When he had done this he loaded all the guns he could find, and placed them, together with a good supply of ammunition, near the loopholes that commanded the road by which the enemy must advance. Theil he ate heartily of the pro: visions he had brought with him, and sat down to wait. He had absolutely formed the heroic resolution to defend the tower alone against the enemy. There were some things in his favor in such an undertaking. The pass was steep and narrow, and the enemy’s troops could enter it only in double files, and in doing this would be fplly exposed to the fire from the tower. The original garrison of thirty men could easily have held it against a division, and now one man was about to attempt to hold it against a regiment. It was dark when La Tour d’Auvergne

THE RENSSELAER UNION.

reached the tower, and he had to wait some time for the enemy. They were longer in coming than he had expected, and for a while he was tempted to believe that they had abandoned the expedition. About midnight, however, his practiced ear caught the distant tramp of feet. Every moment the sound came nearer, and at last he heard them enter the defile. Immediately he discharged a couple of muskets into the darkness to let them know that he knew of their presence and intentions, and he heard the quick commands of the officers, and front the sounds he supposed the troops werp retiring from the pass. Until the morning he was undisturbed. The Austrian commander, feeling sure that the garrison had been informed of his movements and was prepared to receive him, saw that he could not surprise the post, as he had hoped to do, and deemed it prudent to wait until daylight before making the attack. At sunrise he summoned the garrison to surrender. A grenadier answered the summons. “ Say to your commander,” he said in reply to the messenger, “ that the garrison will defend this post to the last extremity.” The officers who had borne the flag of truce retired, and in about ten minutes a piece of artillery was brought into the pass, and opened on the tower. But to effect this the piece had to be placed directly in front of the tower, and in easy musket range of it. They had scarcely got the gun in position when a rapid fire was opened on it from the.tower, and continued with such marked effect that the piece was withdrawn after the second discharge with a loss of five men. This was a bad beginning, so, half an hour after the gun was withdrawn, the Austibui Colonel ordered an assault. As the troops entered the defile they were received with a rapid and accurate fire, so that when ■ they had passed over half the distance they had to traverse they had lost fifteen men. Disheartened by this they returned to the mouth of the defile. Three more assaults were repulsed in this manner, and the enemy by sunset had lost forty-five men, of whom ten were killed.

The firing from tho tower had been rapid and accurate, but the Austrian commander had noticed this peculiarity about it—every shot seemed to come from the same place. For a while this perplexed him, but at last he came to tire conclusion that there were a number of loop-holes close together in the tower so constructed as to command the ravine perfectly. At sunset the last assault was made and repulsed, and at dark the Austrian commander sent a summons to the garrison. This time the answer was favorable. The garrison offered to surrender at sunrise the next morning if allowed to march out with their arms and returned to the army unmolested. After some hesitation tlie terms were accepted. Meanwhile La Torn- d’Auvergne had passed an anxious day in the tower. He had opened the fight with an armament of thirty loaded muskets, but had not been able to discharge them all. He had fired with amazing rapidity and with surprising accuracy, for it was well known in the army that he never threw away a shot. He had determined to stand at his post until he had accomplished his end, which was to hold the place twenty-four hours in order to give the French army time to complete the maneuver. After that he knew the pass would be of no consequence to the enemy. When the demand for a surrender came to him after the last assault "he consented to it upon the condition T have named. The next day, at sunrise, the Austrian troops lined the pass in two files, extending from the mouth to the tower, leaving a place between them for the garrison to pass out. The heavy door of tower opened slowly, and in a few' minutes a bronzed and scarred grenadier, literally loaded down with muskets, came out and passed down the lines of troops. He walked with difficulty under his heavy load, but there was a proud and satisfied look on his face. To the surprise of the Austrians no one followed him from the tower. In astonishment the Austrian Colonel rode up to him and asked in French why the garrison did not come. “ I am the garrison, Colonel,” said the soldier proudly. “What!” exclaimed the Colonel, “do you mean to tell me that you alone have held that tower against me?” “ I have had that honor. Colonel,” was the reply. “AVhat possessed you to make such an attempt, grenadier ?” “ The honor of France was at stake.” The Colonel gazed at him for a moment with undisguised admiration. Then, raising his cap, he said, warmly: “ Grenadier, I salute you. You have proved yourself to-day the bravest of the brave.” „ 1 The officer caused all the arms which La Tour d’Auvergne could not carry to be grenadier into the French lines, together with a note relating the whole affair. When the knowledge of it came to the ears of Napoleon he offered to promote La Tour d’Auvergne; but the latter declined to accept the promotion, saying that he preferred to remain where he was. The brave soldier met his death in an action at Ouerhausen, in Bavaria, in June, 1800, and the simple but expressive scene at roll-call in his regiment was commenced and continued by the express command of the Emperor himself. |- t)

RENSSELAER, JASPER COUNTY, INDIANA, NOVEMBER 4, 1875.

—An old lady who has traveled much says that the employes on Western railroads are much more polite than those in the East. At the East conductors are usually the pets of some Director or officer of the road who recognize no obligation to the public. At the West are found men who have gained their position by actual merit and promotion. They don’t swell about with fine clothes and heavy jewelry but understand their business and consider courteous treatment due to all. —An old man in Georgia claims to have a pair of suspender-buckles which he has worn constantly for fifty years, Dis father having worn them for twenty-five yeart previous.

A Painful Scene and a Touching Confession.

The Maroa (Ill.) News of a recent date gives an account of the resignation of the pastor of the Christian Church of that village. For some time the reverend gentleman’s habits had been such as to cause great grief to his friends and bring reproach upon the church. At the close of the sermon, which was preached by a neighboring pastor, the unfortunate man delivered the following affecting address: “As a man I have the highest conception as to what the life antjl character of a minister of the Gospel should be. I know that he should lead a consistent and an upright life, that can be looked to by the community as an example of purity and righteousness. Knowing that my life has not been such in all respects, ,1 desire to tender to this church, for which I have labored so long, my resignation. “ You are aware that I refer to my sin of intemperance. This may be my last opportunity of addressing you, and I warn to ask you that you will not charge this great shame to the religion of Christ. It teaches better things. Charge it all to my own depravity and sinful nature. To you who have not this habit it is strange that I should thus yield to temptation. I well remember the time when I thought it strange that others drank and ruined themselves with alcohol. I am glad that there are so many young men here this morning, that I may lift my voice in warning, and beg them to profit by my example. You think now that you are strong, and in no danger. I well remember the time when I believed the same. Twelve years ago, when I reached forth my inexperienced hand and took the intoxicating cup, I thought I was sttong; but I developed a habit that pow holds me in chains, and in the most awful slavey that humanity was ever subjected to. It holds me in its embrace when I seek my bed for repose; it disturbs my dreams during the weary hours of night, and seizes me as its prey when I rise up in the morning to enter upon the duties of the day. “ Profit, oh! profit by my example; see what it has done for me. There was a time when I stood as fair as any minister of the church in Illinois; there was a time when I had as bright prospects and as cheering hopes for the f uture as any of my classmates. But now they are all gone because of intemperance. Oh! that I could bring the whole world to hear my warning voice. Young ladies, you can do much to remove this curse from the world by not countenancing its use among your companions. “ Brethren, I sever my connection with you as your pastor with a sad heart. It would be sad under the most favorable circumstances, but much more so as it is. But I shall remain with you in the church, and labor in the community for a livelihood; I will come to your social meetings and work with you in the Sun-day-school, and will do what I can to atone for the great sin I have committed. “ God knows I do not wish to injure His cause. Pray for me that I may yet overcome this besetting sin. I trust I shall be able to conquer. But, should I go down under the withering influence, I ask that you remember me kindly. Whenever you meet me, and under what circumstances, remember there was a time when you were proud of me. But trust me as you may, act toward me as you choose, I beg that you will remember my wife kindly. Do not give her pain and sorrow because of my wrong-doing. Poor woman, she has always suffered enough. I married her a sweet and innocent girl. She has been a patient and faithnil wife. Again, I ask that you will kindly remember my wife and children.”

In a Barber-Shop.

My friend the barber welcomes me as the rightful captive of his razor and his shears. I have it in mind to cast myself into the clutch of his art—to submit my flowing locks to the scissors, my scalp to the fiery shampoo, and my chin to the harvesting steel. He, therefore, congratulates his secret soul and proceeds to do with me after the manner of his kind. To all of which I solemnly assent. He first cuts my hair. That is to say, he combs it over my eyes and leaves it in that position. Then, with a slow rake of his toothed instrument he fetches it over either ear, careless that the aforesaid ear projects some sufficient distance from the skull. It cheers me in this moment of awful uncertainty, when the comb is deliberately descending, to reflect that if I were indeed an ass he would give the matter more attention. The back of my head he also furrows in order, I presume, to sow “ Tonic” in if, by and by. Then he clips and chatters and gracefully waves his particular customers to his especial friends among his fellow-artists; and clips and snips my ear, and begs a meclianical pardon or two ; and jerks his head on one side, and clips and pushes me forward and pushes me back; and respondsaffirmatively when ] tell him only to take the ends off of it; and clips and says that will be all right; and drives the cold steel on its triumphant way over my forehead and around the outer boundaries of that wig which? is the serene result of his cuts, cross-cuts, shinglings and shearings. Nay, he would even shave the back of my neck did I pennit him so to do. » And now he pours upon my devoted head an anointing which is like that of Aaron. It runs down to my beard and it would go to the skirts of my calico bib if it had anything like the proper success. As it is, 1 open the corner of an eye in order to expostulate and a lava-stream of borax and ammonia plunges into the crevasse. How that eye smarts and stings! Meanwhile the ten fingers of Monsignor are busy with my occiput and sinciput. He traverses every bump and is especially severe with firmness, benevolence and self-esteem. He plow's back and forth upon the moral faculties with an occasional excursion across philoprogenitiveness. I notice with pain that he does not rouse "the dormant energies of combativeness or destructiveness; neither does he meddle with form, color, order, number or size. Like unto all my fellow-men, I suffer these indignities, nodding back and forth, my head one mass of whip-lather, utterly

defenseless and solaced only by an accidental touch or two which is softer than the rest. As I have mentioned (land ruff to him, he considers that suggestion the cue for renewed energy and more desperate exertion. At length he “ raises my hair,” literally. A cloud-capped tower of royal Egyptian shampoo ascends upon my skull, twirled to a peak by those dexterous fingers. And I, with closed eyes, follow stumbling across the room. No one laughs at me; for they all know how it is themselves. But to the inhabitant of another world it would be< awfully funny. Now, the water is either too hot or too cold. It is never just right. It rains upon me and runs down the back of my neck; to prevent which I am jammed lower and lower into the basin. Halfstrangled and with a lurking sense that every particular hair is now sore at the root, I rise up, and, beholding men as . trees walking, I go back to my station. My friend presses both forefingers into the balls of my eyes, he works the towel with which he is armed into the remotest recesses of the drums of my ears, and by an indescribable circular motion he follows this last process with a wipe across my face. Mechanically he conveys each possible unclean particle from the nape of my neck and the back of my ear around to my nose, and then regularly adjourns the movement. It has now become time for the razor. This, being duly selected from a wellworn and dirty heap, is rushed with a whish and a hish back and forth upon some extremely suspicious canvas and across some equally doubtful leather. My friend the barber is by no means a neophyte, as it were. He tips me back until my nose is like the petal of a flower, and then hw lathci's me to his liking. During this procedure he frequently finds it necessary to talk to some familiar or to hold counsel with the “boss,” while the lather dries in to the required consistency. It happens on the present occasion that the razor is villainously dull. After two or three efforts, in the course of which I dare not call my soul my own, he graciously inquires “if it pulls.” I remark that perhaps it does. He selects another instrument of torture, less obdurate of edge, and we progress with more satisfaction to all concerned.

I make no account of all the sharp corners, crooked defiles, capes, promontories, timber-land, or open country around or over which he travels. He is a fairlyexperienced person and I have no great fault to find. True, he nicks a place under toy chin and he scoops out certain hairs from two days beneath the surface; but in this he is not exceptional. The finishing touches command profound admiration. I make no suggestions, and simply and severely commit him to his own devices. Hence, as to my hair, he applies “ Tonic,” which strikes like liquid fire upon all capillaries and abraded surfaces. To this he adds “ Pomatum” (of which I stand in reverent awe, as an unknown substance), and, should I stay his lavish hand, he spreads the residue thereof upon his own ambrosial ringlets. I take no heed of his remark, made in the interest of the “ Universal Hair Restorer,” that the top of my head is but sparsely provided with what ought to grow there. I awake from a reverie in which I behold myself with a high part to my front hair and a waved lock plastered low down upon my marble brow, in time to catch his inquiry if he shall “ put cosmetique on ’em.” With him it’is a word and a dab. Some eccentric mass of lard and perfume is smeared upon my mustache; an extra allowance is appropriated to either extremity; A couple of twirls a la Louis Napoleon—and the trick is performed. . J When or how r my face was submitted to a powder-puff, which fills up all my pores and hides the rents the razor made, I am unable now to testify. I realize it in a vague and misty fashion as a portion of it is being rubbed off at my release. My friend eyes me with adtoairation. I am a here after his own heart. I have exhausted the resources of the establishment. He hands me out a copious check and cries “ Brush!” with undoubted sincerity and begs me to call again. I wander forth scarce knowing what manner of man I am. My mustache sticks stiffly out like the wing of a chick-en-hawk nailed against a farm-door. My hair clings to my forehead like a wet and comfortless wife to her consort after a seabath. lam sad and unnatural in spirit. The top of my head smarts as if it had been trying conclusions with a bramblebush. lam a barber’s image—a walking emblem—a sort of wonder and dismay!— Rev. 8. W. Duffield, in N. Y. Independent.

"Gil.”

A ragged, sad eyed boy, aged nine or ten, stopped me on the street the other day and said: “ I haven’t had anything to eat this whole day! Won’t you please give me ten cents?” I gave it to him. I’d have given him the money if it had been necessakytopawn my hat. “ Do you let impostors swindle you in that manner ?” inquired an acquaintance. A journalist who has knocked abound for a daily paper a dozen years has seen every phase of human life. Men, women and children have swindled him, or sought to; people have lied to him; his money has been given to whining, lying vagrants who told direful tales of distress, and he ought to be able to correctly read human nature. “ I’ll bet that boy is a professional beggar,” continued my friend, chuckling at the idea of my being swindled. None of us care for the loss of a shinplastef on the street, while every one feels vexed and annoyed a£ the idea of bein& swindled out of a single penny. I could not say that the, boy was not a sw’imiler, and yet Fwould have divided my last shilling with him. “Why?” ” ». I told my friend why, and I will tell you. One day last year when the wild wind blew the snow over the house-roofs and around the corners in blinding clouds, and when the frosty air cut one’s face like a knife, a boy often came up to me as I waited for the car. He was thinlydad, %<•

his face betrayed hunger and suffering, and in a mournful voice he pleaded: , “ I’m hungry and cold!” “ Why don’t you go home?” I asked. “ I haven’t any!” “Haven’t you any relatives?” “Notone!” ‘ ‘ How long have you been here ?” “Three weeks.” The boy spoke in that drawl which professional beggars assume. I believed, too, that I had seen his face on the streets time and again. I hardened my heart and said: “ Boy! I know you, and if I catch you asking anyone for money again I’ll have you arrested!” He moved aw r ay quickly. I argued that this proved his guilt, forgetting that a homeless, friendless waif might evince fear when entirely innocent. Five hours later, when night had come and the wind had grown to a fierce gale, the boy halted me again as I plunged through the snow-drifts. I did not see him until he called out: “ Mister! I’m almost starved, and I’ll freeze to death if I can’t get some place to sleep!” •The same thin, ragged clothes, hardly comfortable.enough for June weather—the same whine to his voice. I felt like giving him money, but the fear that he had been sent out by his parents to beg restrained.and angered me. Catching him ,by the arm, I yelled out: “ See here, boy! if you don’t own up that you are lying to me, I’ll take you to the station!”

Through the blinding storm I saw his white face grow paler, and he cried back: “Don’t take me—don’t! Yes, I was lying!” I released him and he hurried away, while I walked on, flattering myself that I had played a sharp game and done the generous public a good turn. An hour later, when the night had grown still wilder and colder, some one knocked at my door. It was a timid knock, and I wondered who could have sent a child abroad on such a night. When I opened the door that same boy was on the step, his face blue with cold, his whole form shivering, and a look of desperation in his eyes. “Please, mister !” he began, but stopped when recognizing me. I was puzzled to know why he should have followed me home—why he had selected me for a victim and trailed me so persistently. I might have argued that the storm had driven people off the streets and that the freezing, starving boy had, in his desperation, called at the house, but I didn’t. Had it been any other boy, or any other person, asking charity I would have given promptly and freely. But I was angry at his trailing me—angered that he thought he could swindle me—and I grabbed at him and inquired: “ Boy, what is your name?” He leaped back, and, standing where the furious storm almost buried him from sight, he answered: “Gil!” “I know you, sir!” I shouted, and he moved away without another word. \ May the Lord forgive me for that night’s work! But you might have acted the same. When morning came, after a night so bitter that policemen were ’ frozen on their beats, I opened the front door to find that boy dead on the steps, frozen to death! I knew, as the dead, white face looked up at me through the snow, that I had wronged him with my suspicions, but it was too late then—the angels had opened to him a gate leading to a place where the human heart and its unworthy thoughts can never enter. Poor Gil! A warm meal or a shilling would have saved his life, and I drove him out to his death. This is why I give when I am asked now. I know that I sometimes give to the unworthy, but it would be better to give all I possessed to an impostor than to have another homeless waif creep back to die on the spot where I had unjustly accused him.—“ M. Quad,” in N. Y. Graphic.

Innocence and Obstinacy.

The other evening a Detroit joker slipped a little pink love-letter into the pocket of a staid old citizen as they were riding on the street-car. Of course the old citizen’s wife made a dive for his overcoat pockets as she passed through the hall, and when she had digested the love-letter she determined to commit suicide. While going up-stairs after her bonnet she got mad and l changed her mind. Walking into the room where he sat before a cheerful fire, she exclaimed: “ Loves you better than her own life, eh!” “ Who—what?” he inquired. “ And she wants to know how that baldheaded wife of yours gets along, eh!” “ I really—l can’t ” “ And she wants fifty dollars to buy her a set of furs, does she ?” “ Why, Mary—w'hy, what are you talking about?” “ (q,; —it ’ s come out—l ’ve —got the proofs!” she shouted, making a dash for his hair. The worthy man has sworn the most solemn oaths to his innocence; offered to let her employ a detective to shadow him; accounted for every hour of his absence during the last year, and furnished fifty theories in regard to the letter, and yet the wife coldly remarks that she is staying there solely on the children’s account. — Detroit Free Press.

—A tailor possesses the qualities of nine men combined in one, as will be seen by the following observations: First. As an economist, he cuts his coat according to his cloth. Second. As a gardener he is careful of his cabbage. Third. As a sailor, he sheers off whenever it is proper. Fourth. Asa play-actor, he often brandishes a bare bodkin. Fifth. As a lawyer, he attends many suits. Sixth. As an executioner, he provides suspenders or gallowses for many persons; Seventh. As a cook, he is generally furnished with awarm goose. Eighth. As a Sheriff's officer, he does much at sponging. Ninth. As a rational and Scriptural divine, his great aim is to form good habits for the benefit of himself and others. — Chicago Evening Journal.

SUBSCRIPTION; $3.00 a Year, in Advance.

Some time ago my neighbor Perkins made up his mind to try to get out of poverty by inventing a patent medicine. After some reflection he concluded that the two most frequent and most unpopular forms of infirmity were baldness of head and torpidity of the liver, and he selected the compounds recommended by the pharmacopceia as the remedies which he would sell to the public. One he called “ Perkins’ Hair Vigor” and the other “ Perkins’ Liver Regulator.” Procuring a large number of fancy bottles and gaudy labels, he bottled the medicines and advertised them extensively, with certificates of imaginary cures, which were written out for him by one of the editors of the Argus whose liver was active and whose hair was abundant. It is not at all unlikely that Perkins would have achieved success with his enterprise but for one very unfortunate circumstance. He was totally unfamiliar with the preparations, excepting in so far as the pharmacopoeia instructed him; and, as ill-luck would have it, in putting them up he got the labels of the liver regulator on the hair-vigor bottles and the labels of the latter on the bottles containing the former. Of course the results were appalling; , and as Mr. Perkins had requested thcafliidted to inform him of the benefits derived from applying the remedies he had not sold more than a few hundred bottles before he began to hear from the purchasers. One day as he was coming out of his office he observed a ma,n sitting on the fire-plug with a shot-gun in his hand and thunder upon his brow. The man was bare-headed, and his scalp was covered with a shiny substance of some kind. When he saw Perkins he emptied one load of bird-shot into the inventor’s legs, and k* was about to give him the contents of the other barrel when Perkins hobbled into the office and shut the door. The man pursued him and tried to break in the door -with the butt of the gun. He failed, and Perkins asked him what he meant by such murderous conduct. “ You come out here, and I’ll show you what I mean, you scoundrel,” said the man. “You step out here for a minute and I’ll blow the head off of you for selling me hair vigor that’s gummed my head up so that I can’t wear a hat and can’t sleep without sticking to the pillowcase. 'Turned my scalp all green and pink, too. You put your head out that door and I’ll give you more vigor than you want, you idiot. I expect that stuff’ll soak in and kill me.” Then the man took his seat again on the fire-plug, and after reloading the barrel of his gun put on a fresh cap and waited. Mr. Perkins remained inside and sent a boy out the back way for the mail. The first letter he opened was from a woman, who wrote: “My husband took one dose of your liver regulator and immediately went into spasms. He has had fits every hour for four days. As soon as he dies I am coming on to kill the fiend who poisoned him.”

A clergyman in Smyrna wrote to what were the ingredients of the liver regulator. He feared something wasyvrong, because his aunt had taken the medicine only twice when she began to roll over on the floor and howl in the most alarming manner, and she had been in a comatose condition for fifteen hours. —A man named Johuson dropped a Line to say that after applying the hair vigor to his scalp he had leaned his head against the back of a chair, and it had now been in that position two days. He feared that he would never be released unless he cut up the chair and wore the piece permanently on his head. He was coming up to sm Mr. Perkins in reference to the matter when he got loose, and he was going to bring his dog with him. A Mr. Wilson said that his boy had put some of the vigor on his face in order to induce the growth-of a mustache, and that -at the present moment that boy’s upper lip was glued fast to the tip of the boy’s nose, and his countenance looked as if it had been coated with green varnish. Mrs. Martin wrote from Dover that she had shaved her poodle too close, and had attempted to cure him by applying the vigor. Thereupon the dog had gone mad, bitten two children and eaten the cat and poll-parrot. There were about forty other letters giving the details of sundry other cases of awful suffering,,, and breathing threatenings and slaughter against Mr. Perkins. Just as Mr. Perkins was finishing these epistles Jim Woodley came rushing in through the back door, breathless, and exclaimed : “ By George, Aleck, you better get over the fence and leave town quick as you can. There’s thunder to pay about those patent medicines of yours. Old Mrs. Gridley’s just gone up on that liver regulator, after being in convulsions for a week? Thompson’s hired girl is lying at the last gasp; four of the Browns have got the awfulestlooking heads you ever see from the hair vigor, and about a dozen other people are up at the Sheriff’s office taking out warrants for your arrest. The people are talking of mobbing you and the crowd out here on the pavement are cheering a green-headed man with a gun, who says he’s going to bang the liver out of you so’s it’ll be beyond regulating. Now you take my advice and skip. It’ll be sudden death to stay he re. Meander! leave! that’s your only chance.” r ' Then Mr. Perkins got over the fence and made a straight streak for the State line and an hour later the mob gutted his office and smashed the entire stock of remedies. Perkins is in Canada . now working in a saw-mill. He is convinced that there is no money for him in the business of relieving human suffering.— Max Adder, in N. Y. Weekly.

—A. London chemist recently analyzed a man and presented the result of his investigations as far as possible in a palpable form before his audience at one of his lectures. The man weighed 158% pounds. The chemist exhibited on the platform "23.1 pounds of carbon, 2.2 pounds of lime, 22.3 ounces of phosphorus, and about one ounce each of sodium, iron, potassium, magnesium and silicon. He apologized for not exhibiting also 5,525 cubic feet of oxygen, 105,900 cubic feet of hydrogen and 52 cubic feet of nitrogen.

NO. 7.

Perkins’ Remedies.