Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 December 1876 — Page 3

The Kensselaer Union. ' RENSSELAER, - - INDIANA.

A CHRISTMAS IDYL. ft • < • Oh, the wintry winds blew chilly through the long end dreary night, But the ChrUttnas bells ring gaily through the gray, dim m*noing light. In the moonlight cold and sparkling gleamed the white and drifted enow. But the morningeutiilght blended with the hearthflre’e cheery glow. Chime, chime; merrily chime, »of the holy Chnitnue time; with your mtialc the echoes that sleep, Whuh the gray mountains their solemn watch keep; Ring out your gladness o'er hillside and main; Ring till the New Year bells echo the strain; Tbll ror t he old year's record of wrong, Wad for its losses in agonized song; Chant a glad pnan for victories won. And an anthem of hope for the days that will come. Flash, ruddy Urea, in your roseate light, Weave us fair pictures Of memories bright; Golden and warm let the embers burn. As the pages of memory’s tablets we turn. Some of the pages are blotted with sin, Wrong has been wrought since the Old Year cama in. Evil been done since the last Christmas time. Hands then unspotted are crimsoned with crime,. Hearts have grown colder to truth and to love— Bartered for trifles their birthright above. Tear-sprinkled pages that whisper of loss— Of wearing the thorn-crown, and bearing the cross— Pageso’er which bitter tears have been wept; Pages on which the glad sunshine have slept, Pages so precious, the wealth of the seas Never would tempt ng to parting with these. Deck the walls with green and holly 1 Heap still more the Christmas fire I Bnild your castles la the embers. Glowing turrets, flaming spires t Bring the gifts of love and friendship, True heart-tokens let them be; One and all, with Joyous faces. Gather round our Christmas tree. 'Tis the birthday of the Christ-child, For Uis sake we keeo our feast; They that seek shall surely And him, Lo! His star is in the East! —Alice If. Guernsey, in Aldine.

A CHRISTMAS COMEDY.

“ The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang art a-gley.” ’TWas on a Christmas that all this trouble happened, and Cora’s happiness destroyed for almost a whole year, though it seems rather incredible that such a trifling matter could almost break five hearts; but so it was. Everybody blamed everybody else, and finally took the blame upon himself. Cora’s eighteenth birthday came on the 23d day pf December, 1874, and that day she was made happy by a gift from her father of-a beautifulseal-skin suit, sacque, muff, boa and cap. Nothing could exceed her delight, and she danced about the house, followed by her little brother Louie, who, not content with exclamations of admiration, must feel the soft fur with his small sticky hands, much to Cora’s discomfort. “You had better take your cloak oft, if you don’t want it worn out before spring." said Maggie, a friend who had come to spend the holidays with Cora. “Nodanger, Maggie, it seems pretty tough; but I’d better be at work or I won’t have that scarf finished.” So Cora removed her finely, and as she put it carefully away she said • “ There’s my old sealskin muff, i believe I’ll send that to cousin Ella for .a Christmas present—eh, Maggie?” “Just the thing, if she is fond of castoff clothing,” laughed Maggie. “Indeed she is. You see Uncle John can’t afford to give her many things, 40 I give her everything I’m tired of or can’t wear, and she makes them all overhand is glad to get them. It won’t take me many minutes to finish this scarf, then I’ll write a note to Bowen and tell him to Sut new tassels on the muff and send it irect from there to cousin Ella.” This scarf that Cora was making was intended as a Christmas giftfor Mr. Julius Brown, a gentleman who was very devoted to Cora and stood high in her favor. She had accepted from him an invitation to a party, to be held the night before Christmas.

Residing in this village was a Mr. James Browne, or Jim Browne, as he was usually called. To this gentleman Cora had taken a great dislike; though Mr. Browne tried all in his power to make himself intensely agreeable, he only succeeded in making himself most unconscionably disagreeable to Cora. “’Tis finished!” cried Cora, holding up the scarf for Maggie to see. “ Isn't it lovely?” “ Yes, it is a miracle of beauty and good taste. Suppose you lend it to Fred, he has invited me to lake a sleigh-ride this afternoon,” said Maggie, laughing. “No indeed, I’ll not lend it to brother Fred, it’s too precious for that! This scarf shall never be worn by anybody but Mr. Julius Brown,” replied Cora. “it must he time for me to be dressing,” said Maggie, slowly taking the hairpins out of her long brown hair. “ Yes, if you are going with brother Fred, for if there’s anything he hates, it is to be kept waiting. You see I’ll keep you posted about Fred’s little failings,” she added. “ Do," said Maggie, laughing, “I would like to know all the idiosyncrasies of his nature.” “They are legion; but on the whole, brother Fred is a pretty good fellow, don’t youthink so, Maggie?'” Maggie only laughed, and her fair face colored slightly. “ Now 1 must write a note to Mr. Brown, and send him the scarf, and a note to Bowen about the muff," and Cora sat down to her desk and wrote a very pretty note to Mr. Brown, asking him to accept the scarf as a Christmas gift from her. “ Cora, there's ladies down-stairs; they want you to go and help fix the presents on the Christmas tree; they are in a dreadful hurry.” said Louie, presenting herself at the-aoor. The festival for the children of the church that Cora attended Was to be held Christmas night, and Cora was called upon to assist in selecting and arranging the gifts. ■ ? -; “O, what a bother!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t written to Bowen about the muff, or addressed this note or package to Mr. Brown. Maggie, won’t you do it for me ? That’s a dear girl.” “ Yea, run along. I’ll attend to it,” said Maggie. “Remember the address,” said Cora. “ For there’s another Mr. Brown here, and he has the same initials, only his name has a final e. Mr. J. C. B-r-o-w-n-e,” said Cora, spelling it over. ‘‘ I don’t see why he couldn’t as well have been named Smith. It’s so provoking.” “Quite heartrending,” laughed Maggie- . “And don’t forget to write that note to

the furrier. I won’t have time to stop there to-day.” “Yea, yes, I’ll remember everything. Go on, they are calling you now." Cora ran down stairs to Join the ladies, and left Maggie still busily arranging her hair. When she had dressed herself she said, “ Let me see. what was it Cora said about the address—to be sure and put a final s.’i Maggie paused to think, with her pen suspended over the envelope. The truth is, Maggie was thinking so much of the aleigh-ride in prospect, that she had forgotten altogether, or rather had not paid any attention to what Cora Irad told her. After hesitating a few moments, she wrote upon the envelope and Kn the package, “Mr. J C. Browne.” n taking a sheet of paper, she began a note to the furrier, when unfortunately at that moment, in rushed Louie, shouting: “ Here’s brother Fred, with the sleigh.” “ Yes, I’ll be ready in half a second,” replied Maggie. “What is the furrier’s name, Louie, is it Bowen?” “Yes,” answered Louie, repeating the name, but he pronounced it Bouin. “O, Brown! Yes that’s it. Cora said to be careful about that name. This is Brown without the e.” So Maggie began the note: “Mr. Brown: Take this." Louie, who was standing at the window, cried out: “Hurry up, Miss Maggie!” “Is Fred getting impatient?” said Maggie, running to the window, and looking down at the occupant of the sleigh. “ You’d better hurry up! You’d better hurry up!” sang out Louie. Maggie ran back to her desk, and with Louie’s words ringing in her ears, she wrote “you—” , “The horses is a dancing,” cried Louie, again. Maggie in her haste wrote “old muff—” and then exclaimed: “ Louie, you’re enough to drive one crazy! I’ll finish this when I come back,” and thrusting the unfinished note into the box, she put on her wrappings, and as she was about to leave the room she said; “Louie, I promised Cora to send this note and package away; won’t you see that they are sent all right? Be sure you have it sent to the right person; you know there are two Mr. Browns.” “ I’ll ’tend to it,” replied Louie. And away rushed Maggie, down-stairs and out at the door, apologizing to Fred for keeping him waiting so long. No sooner had they started on their way than Louie, thinking himself very important, resolved at once to deliver the note and package himself. “ Mr. J. C. Brown®,” he read aloud. “ Miss Maggie said there were two Mr. Browns. I don’t see anything else to take." He glanced all around, but saw nothing that looked as if it was to be sent away, and then he peered into the muff box, and saw the note beginning “ Mr. Brown.” “ Here it is,” he said, and taking up note, package and box, he sallied out. To Mr. James Browne he carried the note and scarf. To Mr. Julius Brown the muff box. Mr. James Browne was both surprised and delighted on reading the note and opening the package that he had received ; in vain had he sought the smiles of Miss Cora, and now all at once she had sent him this beautiful present. He put the scarf around his long neck, and indulged in many broad grins of delight. Louie did not find Mr. Brown at his office. The boy in attendance stated that Mr. Brown had received a telegram, and instantly gone out. Louie left the box, with instructions that it should be given to him as soon as he returned. The telegram Mr. Brown had received was a call to the bedside of his father, who was dangerously ill. He made immediate arrangements to leave town that evening, and hastened to tell Cora that he would be unable to attend the party the next evening. Cora, the servant informed him, was not at home; so he left word with Bridget, charging her to tell Miss Cora as soon as return of his inability to escort her to the party the following eve. Now Bridget was a blundering girl, and no sooner had she closed the door on Mr. Brown’s receding footsteps than at that instant a smell of burning cake greeted her nostrils; she rushed to the kitchen to find her jelly cake pretty well scorched, and this disaster caused Mr. Brown’s message to vanish from her mind.' When Mr. Brown returned to his office, the muff-box was straightway presented to him. On opening the box, and examining the contents, he was somewhat puzzled to know what it meant; but when he read, upon the slip of paper; "Mr. Brown, take thia, you old muff," he was completely non-plussed. “ Who brought this box ?” he demanded of the boy. “ Louie Irving, sir; he said it was sent by his sister.” Mr. Brown scrutinized the box again; on the inside of the lid he saw written in a fine hand, “ Cora Irving." “ I should think it was a mistake,” he said to himself, “ but this note is certainly addressed to me,” and he read again, “ Mr. Brown, take thia, you old muff." Then he remembered of a philopena that Cora owed him; perhaps she had sent this for a joke, but he could not see anything remarkably funny in it; or perhaps she was tired of his attentions, and by sending him this muff and note, he was to understand she considered him an "old muff," and wished the acquaintance to cease; but it did not seem like Cora could do anything so rude; “ but we are often deceived in people,” he argued to himself. . _ He put the muff back in the box, thrust the note into his pocket; there was no more use to puzzle about it. Mr. Brown was a sensitive man, and rather jealous in his disposition, consequently it was his way to jump at conclusions without waiting to inquire into any matter. When Cora came home that afternoon, she found Maggie had already returned from her drive. •‘Did you dispatch everything all right, Maggie?” was her first inquiry. “ They are safely at their destination, I presume,” replied Maggie. “Louie promised they should be attended to at once.” Maggie, alas! had forgotten all about the muff’. “ Pro awful hungry for pop oom tonight,” ejaculated Louie; “s’pose we have some.” “ Very well, bring the com, and we’ll have some,” replied Fred. “ Cora can pop the best—you always bum it,” said Douie. “ Miss Maggie and I will shell the com, Cora will pop it, and you, I suppose, will eat it,” observed Frea. Cora was soon down on her knees before the crimson coals, vigorously shaking the com popper in her little white hand; her fair fluffy hair shone brightly in the reflected glow of the embers. Maggie and Fred were busily employed, keeping Cora supplied with an abundance of com, while Louie shouted and

capered about, as each brown kernel bursted into a beautiful white shell. Mr. Brown took a roundabout way to the train that evening; and as he slowly passed the house, he paused, and looked in at the merry group (for the curtains had not yet been drawn), a preltv picture he thought as his eye rested on Cora; he had half a mind to go in and express his regret at being so suddenly called away, and not seeing Cora that afternoon, but that muff popped into his mind, and he thought as he looked at Cora, that she did not seem to be at all .disturbed at the news of his absence; and with a sigh he went on his way. , The next day Maggie and Cora were busy at work over ~such little finery as girls love to adorn themselves with. The daylight hours flitted swiftly by, the moon arose and cast her mellow light over the snow, as jf to beautify and light the way to the approaching scene of festivity and pleasure. Cora was dressed in her most becoming attire, and waited for Mr. Brown’s coming. Maggie and Fred had already gone, and Cora began to get impatient, and now and then pushed aside the curtains and looked up and down the street, wondering at Mr. Brown’s long delay. Still the evening wore on, but Cora’s escort failed to appear. “Mamma,” she said, “is not this very strange ? If Mr. Brown could not come for me he surely would have sent me word.” “Hewill not come at this late hour. You may as well take off your dress, my dear,” said her mother. Cora removed her dainty robes, and took the clinging smilax from her hair, lingering long before the glass, the while, there was so much bewildering loveliness reflected there, while tear-drops glistened on her cheeks, and little sobs were in her throat. Mamma tried to be as comforting as possible, but ’twas of no use, for Cora was bitterly disappointed at Mr. Brown’s neglect. “Where have you been all the evening?” exclaimed Maggie as soon as she returned. “ Right in this room,” replied Cora. “ Mr. Brown never came for me, and here I have been waiting the entire evening.” Maggie and Fred were both surprised at Mr. Brown’s uncourteousness. Maggie endeavored to enliven Cora, by giving a glowing description of the party, but Cora would not be pleased with anything she could say, ana retired in a silent ana unamiable mood. The following evening, Maggie, Cora and Fred went to the children’s festival and Christmas tree. Cora was very distrait all the first part of the evening, wondering if Mr. Brown would be there, and what he would say for his non-appear-ance the night before. At last she tried to rouse herself and join in the merriment around her this Christmas night, but it was of no use. Young Simpkins tried to make himself agreeable. In vain; it was not appreciated. She looked at the hundreds of tiny, glimmering wax candles, at the long, looping strings of the white pop corn, that covered the Christmas tree, yet this did not serve to distract her attention from the door, where her eyes would wander in spite of herself. Maggie, who was selling boquets, passing, all radiant with smiles, paused an instant to rally her on her solemnity. ’Twas all to no purpose. Cora could not be gay. Mr. Brown did not appear that evening, and Cora went home and cried herself to sleep. I must go back a little in my story to a person I have somewhat neglected. Mr. Jim Browne, the next day after he had received the scarf, started on his way to thank Cora for her gift. When he had almost reached the house, he stepped on a treacherous piece of ice, and fell prone upon the sidewalk. He tried to arise and look dignified, but his right foot twinged with dreadful pain, ana he sat down and groaned. “Confound it!" be exclaimnd, “I believe I’ve sprained my foot!” He essayed to arise again, and stood upon his feet, but could scarcely walk. Just then a dray came by, Mr. Browne hailed the driver and was soon helped on to this rough cart, and driven home pretty well bumped and jostled around, and in anything but a joyful humor. His call was postponed indefinitely. At the close of the holidays, Maggie went home, but ere she had taken her deEarture, Fred had been made happy by er promise to become his wife at some future day. After Maggie’s departure, Cora grew, as Louie termed it, “ Jes’ as solemn as an old crow.” She scarcely smiled, and every time she heard the doorbell, she would brighten up for a few momenta, as if expecting some dear friend, only to be disappointed, for it always proved to be some one she did not care to see.

One evening, Louie darted into the room, and announced that Mr. Browne wanted to see Cora. Cora thinking only of one Mr. Brown, entered the parlor with quite a beating heart ; to her dismay, there sat Mr. Browne. He arose and limped forward to greet her with his lank outstretched hand; he at once began a profusion of thanks for a superb gift, intermixed with apologies for his long delay in expressing his thanks, while all the time he waved in his other hand the identical scarf that Cora had spent so much time over. When he haa finished his oration, he sat down, spreading the scarf on his knee and stroked it lovingly. Poor Cora did not know what to say, and stammered out: “ I think there is some mistake. I never sent you that scarf.” “Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Browne, opening his eyes very wide. “There is certainly a mistake,” repeated Cora. “I don’t understand,” said Mr. Browne, “I received this scarf and a note from you, asking me to accept it,” and. he closed his hand over the scarf, as if he expected some one to take it from him. “ I intended that scarf should be sent to Mr. Julius Brown,” said Cora, desperately. Mr. Browne’s face grew rather rosy. “I can’t understand,” he muttered, “if the scarf was intended for another, why it should be sent to me.” “ It was sent to you by mistake,” cried Cora, sharply. “Possibly! Possibly!” ejaculated Mr. Browne, btill he sat and held the scajf, and there was a silence for a few momenta.'’ Mr. Browne seemed to be lost in thought; at last he said, “ I will leave the scarf; I have no wish to wear what belongs to or was intended as a gift for a more favored one. But I must protect my throat before I go; my throat was always tender,” and he coughed pathetically, while he took from his pocket a large handkerchief, wound it carefully around his throat, and tied it in a hard knot. Cora could hardly help smiling, he looked so ridiculous as he hobbled to the door, and mournfully bowed himself out. “ This is absurd,” said Cora, taking up the unfortunate scarf.

When Cora related to her mother and Fred the fate of the scarf, they advised her to go the next day to her cousin's And see if the muff had been more fortunate in reaching its destination. To her dismay, she was informed that.no muff had been seen by any member of the family. She then repaired to Bowen’s, and found that the muff had not been sent there. “ Maggie has made a grand mistake,” she said, when she went home, “ though I don’t see how she could, for I cautioned her several times. I can’t imagine where the muff could have gone to. I ought to have known better than to trust such a careless person as Maggie with anything of the kind,” she added, for she had begun to feel pretty hard toward Maggie. This exasperated Fred considerably. “ What object could Maggie have for so doing?” he demanded. “ Well, I don’t know myself,” replied Cora, “ what motive she could have.” “You had beiter wylte to Margie and ask her something about it, ana not accuse her of such a wrong until you have some proof that a wrong was intended.” Cora wrote, and soon after received the following reply: “ Dear Friend Cora: I can’t imagine how the mistake you speak of could have happened; not through my carelessness, I hope. But I remember now, though it had escaped my mind until I received your letter, that I left the note about the muff unfinished in the bos; but I can’t understand how that would prevent the furrier from receiving the muff. If he did not understand the note, he would surely have kept the muff until called for. I don’t think I addressed the notes wrong. lam sorry to have caused you any annoyance.” “I’m as wise now as I was before I read this letter,” said Cora. “That’s just the way with Maggie. She overlooks the most important part of anything; she writes about the muff, and never mentions the scarf, and that’s the worst. I’d rather lose a dozen muffs than to have had this scarf around Jim Browne’s ugly neck.” So Cora went on, from day to day, magnifying the evil to such an extent, that Fred became affected by it, and his letters to Maggie grew beautifully less, and finally ceased altogether. Maggie did not know what to think, and worried and wondered, and grew thin over this unexplained silence. Her mother decided to take her to the seaside the following summer, to see if a change of scene and new faces would make her forget her faithless lover. One morning Maggie was sitting in her favorite nook among the rocks, where she often went to read her favorite authors. She had started with a volume of Tennyson, that Cora had given her. After looking at the view stretched out so majestically before her, she put out her hand for the book, which she thought she had laid on the ground by her side, but it was not there. Maggie rose to go in search of it, when at that moment a little breeze sprang up, and a slip of paper came flying toward her ana lit at her feet. She stooped and picked it up. Her eyes were riveted to the paper, for on it were these words: “Mr Brown: Take this, you old muff.” A flash of bewildered recollection came over her. She recognized her own handwriting. “ Where in the world did this come from?” she exclaimed; and, looking up, she encountered the gaze of a gentleman who stood before her with a book extended in his hand. “My book!” exclaimed Maggie, “ thank you; I was just going in search of it.” “ I am glad to save you the trouble,” said the gentleman; and it has been quite a pleasure to find it, for I see written on the fly-leaf the name of an old friend of mine, Miss Cora Irving.” “Are you acquainted with Miss Irving ?’ ’ asked Maggie; ‘ ‘ then this book might serve as an introduction. I believe my name is also written on the page.” “Miss Gaylord? Ah! I have often heard Miss Irving speak of you as her dearest friend. And it is possible vou may have heard my name mentioned by ‘our mutual friend,’ if 1 may so express myself—Julius Brown,” and he gallantly raised his hat “Yes, indeed,” said Maggie cordially. And she really felt delighted to see Mr. Brown, for with this slip of paper in her hand, she fancied that she had found a little clue to the mystery which had for the whole summer perplexed her, and which Mr. Julius Brown might be able to explain. 8o she politely invited him to be seated by her side. A long conversation ensued, during which Maggie fully comprehended her vast blunders in sending notes, muffs and scarfs about in so reckless a manner. They separated, each with a laugh at their own folly, ana the next day, Mr. Julius Brown took the train for , and the home of Cora Irving. Then the great mystery of the muff, the scarf, and of Mr. Brown’s non-appearance on acertain evening—all —all stood revealed. Consequently Fred started immediately on the train. But he went in the direction of that particular spot by the seaside, where Miss Gaylord was located. Therefore joy and tranquility are restored to our once more harmonious quartette, and cards are now out for a double wedding.— Prairie Farmer.

Cabinet Etiquette.

A witty lady, once a member of the Cabinet circle, told it to me on herself. One of the great trials of that circle is the imperative rule custom has imposed on the families of the President’s counsellors to make the first call, at the beginning of each session of Congress, on the ladies of the household of every Senator. The lady in question, who was both young and beautiful, had spent hours over the “ Congressional Directory” making up her visiting list by the aid of the cabalistic signs attached to each Senator’s name which indicate who has a wife with him, who a daughter, and who “other ladies .’ ’ What wonder that her bright eyes wearied of the task, and she saw stars, paragraph marks, and perpendicular parallels where none existed ? Nor is it surprising that after searching all over the city, in the determination to get through her list for the day if she died in the act, she found herself alone at dusk in a dingy parlor in a remote quarter of the town with a venerable widowed Senator unused to city and Congressional ways, much flattered at the honor of a lovely woman’s visit, but greatly puzzled to know “to what he was indebted,” etc. Explanations followed as a matter of course, in which the lady’s native wit and dimity saved her further embarrassment, ana she departed knowing that her amusing blunder had resulted only in adding another to her list of friends.—Cor. Washington Nation. There is one thing in which Nevada is greatly ahead of her sister Territories and States. She hag 80,000 square miles of desert.

INCIDENTS AND ACCIDENTS.

—A girl at Sunderland, England, while running to look at a funeral, fell down and a hair-pin ran into one of the apertures of her spine through which the nerves pass, causing inflammation of the spine and ultimately death. —Mr. Tom Appleton, of Boston, when he turned into a narrow street through which a powerful blast of wintry wind was pouring, remarked that he wished there was a shorn lamb tied at the head of that street, for he had heard that God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. —The Augusta (Me.) Journal of a recent date, contains this item: “ A woman on the poor farm in Belgrade recently came near poisoning all the inmates of the alms-house there. She came from Bristol, but had recently been living at Pittston. Her husband, who had left the alms-house, sent her a quantity of poison in a letter. This she managed to get prepared for the inmates of the house, and came near poisoning the whole lot” —A prominent lawyer and politician of Pine Bluff, Col. M’Gehee, after a short illness last week, died,! and his mourning family and friends in sorrow and grief saw his eyelids closed, as they supposed, forever. He was to be interred in a metallic case after the usual time. His funeral was about to take place on the second night of his supposed death. After near thirty hours the watchers over his supposed remains were surprised and horrified by seeing the glass casing of the coffin broken open ana the appearance of the corpse’s head thrust through the aperture. The Colonel wanted to know “what they were trying to do?” It is unnecessary to state’ that he was soon relieved from his uncomfortable situation, and at last accounts he was in a fair way of recovery, and worth many dead men— Pine Bluff (Ark.) Press. —The police at the foot of Hammond street, New York, recently rescued a horse from the water, concerning which there is a remarkable history. Nobody at first knew anything of the animal or its owner, but the next day a claimant appeared who stated that he was the owner, and that the horse had reached the city by swimming the entire distance from Fishkill —forty-three miles distant up the Hudson River. The owner had flightened the horse somehow and chased him to the river, where he boldly plunged in and started for the opposite shore. The man followed in a boat, when the horse turned his head down stream and kept on until the owner, tired out, returned to the shore. Then he sought to follow him in a wagon, and left it for the train, as he heard constantly of his horse swimming on. At length he gave up the chase, and came to this city to hear that the animal had been taken ashore by the police, as stated.— N. Y. Cor. Chicago Tribune. —The Piute squaws, says the Gold Hill (Nev.) News, are a harmless set of creatures and never trouble anybody if let alone. They love their babies like other women, and nothing pleases them more than for a white man or woman.to stop and take kindly notice of the copper-col-ored little images. But don’t fool with a Piute mother. ~ This forenoon a butcher crossing the sidewalk to a wagon roughly thrust aside a squaw with a papoose on herback. The little one was hurt—at least it squalled. Quick as thought the squaw darted behind the butcher, seized his hair with both hands, and gave such a vicious tug that the fellow roared out in surprise and pain. Before.he could recover his presence of mind Mrs. Jim scuttled down the street as if life depended on her speed.

PERSONAL AND LITERARY.

—Carl Schurz will reside in St. Louis during the winter. —Mr. Richard Hemy Dana, the poet, recently celebrated the eighty-ninth anniversary of his birthday. —Secretary Chandler has issued an order prohibiting smoking in his Department during office hours. —Joel T. Headley, the once-popular author, is now living at Newburgh on the Hudson. He appears in the magazines at intervals, but has few readers. —McKinney, Tex., boasts a blind lawyer, John McClelland, who has an extensive practice, and is—thanks, possibly, to his horse being well trained—an expert equestrian. —Mr. Lincoln told his oldest boy, Bob, to let the youngest, “Tad,” have his pocket-knife “to keep him quiet.” “ But I want it to keep me quiet,” was the reply of the oldest. —Washington was married, but had no children. Adams was married and had one son, whom he lived to see President. Jefferson was a widower; his wife died twenty years before his election. They had six children—all daughters—of whom only two survived infancy. Madison was married, but had no children. His wife was the most elegant woman that ever adorned the Presidential mansion. She survived him, and was for many years the pride of Washington society, having lived to listen to Hemy Clay’s farewell speech in the Senate. Monroe was married, and sowas John Quincy Adams. Jackson was a widower .and so were Van Buren and Harrison. Tyler was a widower when he entered office, but soon afterward married the heiress, Miss Gardner, of this city. He was the only President that married during his term of office. Polk was a married man, and his wifesurvived him a number of years. Gen. Taylor was a widower. Pierce was a married man, but Buchanan was a bachelor. The social condition of such men as Lincoln, Johnson and Grant needs no reference, except to add that Grant is the first President who had a daughter married while in office.—Cincinnati Gazette.

Adulteration of Wine in France.

A sort of panic has been caused here (Paris) on the subject of the adulteration of wine, and lam able, from personal knowledge, to say that there is good ground for the alarm. A. M. Grandeau, who is an authority on such matters, has just written an interesting report on fuchsine, which is now generally used for the coloring of wine, and which is most deleterious. „ According toM. Grandeau, wine has for many years been the object of frauds of various Kinds. No one will attempt to contradict M. Grandau in this, but he adds that at no epoch have adulterations been so numerous as at present, and so injurious to the public health. Wine used to be doctored with brandy and to be colored with matters having a vegetable origin ; but now a fictitious color is produced more cheaply by the employment of fuchsine, which contains arsenic, and is extremely hurtful. An almost microscopic quantity of this dangerous substance will give a gallon of water the appearance of red Bordeaux dr Burgundy; it is cheap, and M. Grandeau knows houses which spend between £4OB i

ried. in consequence of serious conf* plaints made at Nancy M. Ritter, a professor at the Medical College, was directed to examine several samples of wine, and the analysis proved that the employment of fuchsine Is very general all through the South. In some instances the wime was found to contain such quantities of this arsenical matter that any one drinking it would have felt seriously ill after a couple of days. M. Ritter mentions the case of a man having taken some of this adulterated wine, and a quarter of an hour afterwards his ears became exceedingly red and his gums slightly tumefied. M. Grandeau tells us how, with the aid of ether and vinegar, people may analyse their own wine.— Pall Mall Gasstte.

An Hour in the Detroit Police Court.

“ It’s awful—awful!” sighed Bijah, as he ranged the big Japan spittoons In battle-line across the room. “There I went and bet $2.18 on ’lection, and here it’s tied up in the stake-holder’s hands for goodness knows how long. I want a new box of collars, and my board bill is piling right up.” One of the prisoners overheard the old man growling around, and called out: “ Never mind, uncle, you can hang up your stocking pretty soon.” “ Yes, hang up my stocking,” sneered BiJah— “hang up my stocking and get a Sunday-school card, three harness buckles, a candy cat and four old herrings in it. You keep away from that door and don’t sass me, for I feel like a Numidian lion creeping through a Mississippi canebreak to eaten a colored State Senator.” His Honor came in, took in the situation, and consolingly said: “ Never mind, Bijah. Be good until court is over and you may go over to the Free Press of&ce and read all the Associated Press bulletins they have put out for a week.” The janitor’s feelings underwent a change at once, end as the crowd began to file in he went around singing: “ Another such • lection tune I never hope to see: And Mary had a little lamb, As white as It coaU ba.” When the gate was thrown open an old man walked out. He leaned heavily on his cane, and he sighed lonesomely as he looked up at the clock which was ticking his life Sway. “Old man, from what town came ye, and whither are ye going?” asked the Court. “ I came from Rochester, and I’m going to the bastile,” was the prompt reply. “ Do you mean that you want to be sent up?” i “I mean I got drunk, licked two of your police force, stand ready to lick two more, and don’t care a copper what becomes of me!” The Court looked down upon him again. The vision changed. He was not a good old man, floating gently down the stream of time to Heaven’s harbor. He wasn’t just the sort of an aged grandfather to sit in the chimney-corner and watch the fitful dance of the fiery tongues. He wasn’t the sort of an old man to smoke, a corn-cob pipe on the front veranda and tell his grandchildren how the Indians used to whoop around the fort of Detroit. No; he was a two-legged catamount, anxious for a row, and four stiff glasses of whisky wouldn’t weaken his legs a bit. “ Be it the bastile, then, fortiurty days.” said the Court. “ And look out for claws and gore when I am free!” growled the old duffer, and soon after disappearing within the corridor he was heard daring Bijab to knock a chip off his shoulder, or to Just barely touch his nose.

INFORMATION wanted. ’The second man out was Walter Gram, who was allowed his liberty a week ago because he had a heavy bet on election. His Honor was looking him over, when he said: “ I dropped in here last evening to find out who’s elected ?” “Ah-ha! And the Captain told you, didn’t he?” “ No, sir; he took me by the collar and shoved me into the cell.” “Didn’t he even hint to you that anybody was elected?” anxiously asked the Court. “ Not a hint, and there he knew I had monev on the result.” “ Well, life is full of sad undulations and sorrowful ridges. When we think we are up we are generally down. If anybody was to offer to make me Postmaster of Detroit it I would tel the nameof thenextPresidentlcouldn’tdoit.’- “ Why didn’t the Captain kindly tell me that the result was still uneertam?” demanded the prisoner. “ Why didn’t he treat me like a gentleman?” “ Don’t add to my anxiety,” replied his Honor. “All I know is that one of the captains has three boils on one of his legs, and perhaps it’s the one having charge here. Well, shall we say sixty ft* •‘ I don’t know nothing about sixty.” “ Sixty days up there on the eminence, I mean.” “ Would yon go and send me up for asking the news?” inquired Mr. “1 would!” “ Send me right up for wasting to know who was elected?” “Yes, sir!” “ Great snakes! But is that law?” “It is!” The prisoner fell back in despair, and even half an hour later, when the Black Maria came up on a trot, his eyes had a far-away look, as if his mind was still amazed. “PETER AND I.” It was a housewife this time, and while her papers were being made out she walked to the window, looked out at the dreary sky and said to herself: “How I do pity those poor women whose wash-day comes on Saturday!” “ Well, Mrs. Clayton,” remarked his Honor, as he bunched up the papers, “the charge is disturbing the peace. They say you had a row with your husband and hit him with a club.” “ Peter, come up here,” commanded the woman, turning to the audience. Peter came. There was a court-plaster over a scalp-wound, and her conviction seemed certain. “Now, dear Peter,” smiled the wife, “ you and I were playing around upstair, and you ran against the door. They say we had a fight, my darling, but you know better, don’t you?” Foran instant Peter was undecided, but a second look into her smiling face caused him to say: “ I never knew us to fight, and of course you didn’t strike me.” “ Peter and I never quarrel,” remarked the wife. “There isn’t a day that we don’t say how much we love each other, and how glad we are that fate threw us together. Are you satisfied. Judge*” The Court gave Pater a lookef contempt, and motioned the pair to go out, while Bijah wore agrinas bigaaabee-hivqwhen I he closed the court.—4Mro»4 FVw