The Corvallis gazette. (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, October 30, 1885, Page 3, Image 3

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She practiced on him all her wiles
Till in love's silken net she caught him,
And showered on him her sweetast smiles
When to her feet she captive brought
But when he pleaded with the maid
To be regarded as her lover,
She sighed a little, blushed and said,
"Please wait until the summer's over."
And then began love's golden dream;
To every picnic, every dance he
Took her, bought her lemon-cream
And other things that maidens fancy.
At beach hotels with her he hopped,
For she was quite an ardent dancer
At length the youth the question popped
And waited for the maiden's auswer.
It drew the sweetness from his life,
It burned andjscorched him like a blister;
'Twas this: "I cannot' be your wife,
But I will be to you a sister."
Boston Courier.
"Our ship! our ship! See, Henry, she
is sailing away without us. What can
it mean?"
The speaker, Lucy Morril, was a
beautiful girl a dark-eyed brunette;
the person whom she addressed was
her lover Captain Henry Cavendish
a young man of twenty-six.
They had left the vessel in the dingy,
only an hour before, to visit one of
those isles of the Pacific ocean, near
which the ship was then lying "off and
The name of the craft was the Swal
low, and she was the joint property of
Cavendish and of Lucy's brother. She
contained a valuable cargo, which the
two owners expected to dispose of at
Sydney, Australia, at a profit of many
His share would, the captain had an
ticipated, afford him the means to com
merce married life with, and he had
already won a promise from the sweet
girl, who had accompanied her brother
on the voyage, to become his wife as
soon as the cargo was sold.
Now, at Lucy's exclamation, her
lover, who was in a small valley, gath
ering llowers for her, ran to the sum
mit of the hill on which she stood.
"Aye, what can it mean?" he cried
in surprise and dismay.
The ship had made all said, and, be.
fore a fair wind, was receding from his
gaze at a rapid, rate.
He gesticulated waved hat and
kerchiet m vain. On went the vessel
and at last her hull was invisible, and
only her upper sails could be seen.
Gradually these dipped lower and
lower, until every vestige of the craft
was lost to view in the distance.
The two looked at each other with
blanched faces.
Here they were, left by themselves
on this tar away isle ot the Facihc,
which they knew was out of the track
of passing vessels.
"Something is wrong," said the cap
tain sadly. "I fear I have lost every
thing. I was in a fair way to be hap
py and prosperous. Now 1 am poorer
than a beggar.
Tears rose in Lucy's eyes.
I advised you not to go into partner
ship with my brother," she said, "but
I did not believe he was dishonest. I
thought he was only wild and reckless.
Now I do not know what to think."
"It has spoiled our happiness," said
Cavendish. "Probably we will never
see the craft again, and as I am thus
penniless, I cannot think of obliging
you to mini your promise ot being mv
For several moments Lucy's dark
eyes were veiled by their long lashes;
then she threw herself weeping on her
lover's breast.
"Can you believe me to be mercen
ary?" she said. "Oh no, Henry; I am
yours the same as ever."
"But," replied Cavendish, "we have
no money to live on now, if I should
make you mine."
"We hardly need money here," said
Lucy, smiling.
"That is true; but we will want
"We would want that whether we
were married or not," said Lucy
"And so you are willing to be my
bride to marry me now?"
"I I did not say so," she answered
shyly. "It is for you to say."
"Who is here to marry us?"
"True enough; but but I don't
know I have heard that missionaries
are sometimes on these far away is
lands." "We will go and look for one," said
Cavendish, offering his arm.
They had not proceeded far when they
met a native a dusky, wildly-ciad
man, with long, black hair. He show
ed surprise on seeing them, and asked
them many questions in broken Eng
lish. From him the lovers learned that
there was a missionary on the island.
Heguicled them to that person's house;
a small building, with a thatched roof.
The missionary, an aged man, re
ceived them kindly and heard their
"It is seldom that vessels pass this
way," he said. "Iam afraid you will
have to stay here for months. You
will have to live principally on fruit
and fish."
"Can we get plenty of that?" inquir
ed Cavendish.
If you have a boat, you can go out
and catch all the fish you want. As
to fruit, it grows wild on some parts
of the isle, but to make sure of getting
enough, you had better cultivate a
plantation of your own."
The young man had no difficulty in
inducing the missionary to perform
the marriage ceremony.
Assisted by the good 'man, the cap
tain then set out about erecting a hab
itation. It was finished in a few days,
and the missionary loaned the young
couple a few utensils to "commence
housekeeping" With. For a pocket
knife and a silver tobacco-box, one of
the female natives sold to the captain
half-a-dozen dresses, which she had ob
tained, in exchange for fruit, from the
master of an English vessel that had
once anchored off the island. These
dresses, Lucy, who was skillful with
the needle, soon altered to fit her per
son. And now, while Cavendish never
ceased to legret the loss of his vessel
and cargo, he and his pretty wifecould
not help enjoying their island life.
Thecaptain eventually had a thriving
plantation, on which he cultivated
not only fruit, but also vegetables.
In his boat the Dingy he would
row miles a way from the island to ob
tain fish, and often Lucy would ac
company him.
Happy in eachother's society, the two
at last became attached to their snug
little island home, which stood, with
its thatched roof, perched on a rising
bit of ground above the beach, where
the sea waves came rolling in white
and high. One morning, after they
had lived there almost a year, Caven
dish left his wife to go on one of his
usual fishing excursions.
It was a calm, still day, and the
young man, rowing far from the isle,
was soon lost to the gaze ol Lucy who
was watching him in the misty distance.
An hour later a terrific gale sudden
ly came sweeping over the ocean. The
wind and the sea together roared with
a din that was almost deafening, and
it seemed to Lucy that thegreat waves,
scattering sheets of spray that filled
the air like white clouds, were as high
as mountains.
Terrified and anxious on her hus
baml's account, she watched in vain
for his return.
"He is lost! He is lost!" she cried,
wringing her hands. "His boat could
not live in a sea like that. Oh, Henry!
The old missionary made his ap
pearance. He strove to console her,
but he could give no hope, for he, too,
could not help thinking the captain
was lost.
The spray and the rack of the storm
covered the raging water for miles, so
that no object could at present be 6een
through the cloud-like curtain.
Straining their eyes to the utmost,
the two anxious watchers vainly en
deavored to pierce with their gaze rush
ing masses of vapor.
All at once Lucy fancied she saw
something like a black speck tossed
and buried along towards the island.
"See! What is it?" she gasped.
"An overturned boat," said the
missionary, when the object had drifted
"It is his boat!" Lucy cried in agony.
Such was indeed the case.
Broken and battered, the dingy in
which Cavendish had left the island,
was at length hurled high upon the
It seemed as if Lucy would lose her
With wild eyes she gazed upon the
Not a sound escaped her.
She stoodlikea statue, staring at the
broken dingy, as if she could not tear
herself away from the spot.
"Come, child," said the missionary;
"come. It is hard, but you must try
to control yourself."
"I will stay here. I will watch for
his body," she groaned. "It must
soon come."
But she waited in vain.
The waves refused to give her the
remains of her husband.
She tottered to the lit tle house, and,
throwing herself down on a rustic
lounge there, she gave way to hergrief.
"To think that I will never, never
see him again!" she cried "Oh; I wish
that I, too, was dead!"
There was a bright, hectic color on
each cheek, and a restless gleam in her
The words of consolation offered by
the missionary fell unheeded on her
ears. A delirious fever was fast tak
ing possession of her brain.
The old missionary went outside of
the house, and walked to and fro, his
mournful gaze turned seaward.
The violence of the gale had now
abated and the atmosphere had
Far away the watcher beheld a large
ship, apparently headingfor the island.
"Here comes a vessel!" he called,
hoping thus to turn the young wife's
mind a littlefrom the grief.
She was on her feet and out of the
house in a moment. With eager in
terest did she gaze on the approaching
"I know that ship," she cried, in a
voice of agony. "It is my husband's
and my brother's the swallow. But
it has come too late! too late! My
Henry has gone, and I will never leave
the island. I will die here, and when I
die I must be buried in the sea, where
he lies, and there weshall meet again."
Wildly shone her eyes as she spoke,
and the missionary feared that her
mind had already begun to wander.
Meanwhile on came the ship, until
she was within a mile of the beach,
when a boat was lowered and pulled
As it drew nearer, there was a sim
ultaneous cry of joy from Lucy and
the missionary, for they recognized
Captain Cavendish, standing in the
bow, waving his hat to them.
"He has been picked up and saved.'"
cried Lucy'scompanion.
"Aye, aye, safe and well!" shouted
the captain, hearing the words.
boon alter the boat s keel grated on
the beach, and Luey threw herself into
her husband's arms.
"Have you no greeting for me?" said
a voice near them.
Lucv looked up to see her brother,
whom she had not recognized on ac
count of his thick beard.
As the cantain released her. he em
braced and kissed her.
"This is, indeed a. happy day for
me," he said. "Out in the storm, just
as it commenced, I fell in with
your husband, struggling in his
little boat, and I was fortunate
en oush to pick him up. The boat
however, drifted away from us before
we could secure it. Now I find my sis
ter, well and happv, still, I hope, hav
ing faith in her wild scamp of a broth
"Why did you desert us?" inquired
Lucy. "Why leave us on this island?"
"It was not I who deserted you; but
the men. They rose in mutiny, which
they had probably been for some time
planning, knocked me and the two
mates down, tied our hands and feet,
thrust us into the hold like pigs, and
then, clapping on sail, headei away
from the island.
"Their object as I afterward learned,
was to take the vessel to some South
American port, there sell the cargo,
pocket the funds, and then make ofl
inland, leaving the craft in our posses
sion. They were not good navigators,
and, therefore, they were many months
beating about the Pacific Ocean.
"At last they were within some hun
dreds of miles of the South American
coast, but by this time half the num
ber concluded that their plan was not
a feasible one. They would, on reach
ing port, be boarded by the authori
ties, questions would be asked, and
detection, it seemed, would be inevita
ble. They were unanimous for freeing
us and returningto their duty, provid
ed we would promise not to punish
them severely for what they had al
ready done.
"Two others did not like this propo
sition; the two parties quarreled, and
the end of it was that they all finally
resolved to desert the vessel in a body,
and make for an island they saw in
the distance. They did so, first setting
us at liberty. They took the launch
the best boat we had and many
useful things from the ship.
With the cook and steward, there
now were only five of us to work the
ship. A few days later, however, we
shipped some Portuguese sailors from
the Felix Islands, off which we then
lay becalmed.
"As these men wanted to go to Syd
ney, and would not ship until I had
promised them I would make a
'straight wake' for that place, I was
obliged to head in that direction, in
stead of retracing my course to the
distant shore a thousand miles away
on which you and Cavendish had
been left.
"A fair wind favored me, and I final
ly arrived at Sydney, when I disposed
of our cargo to a much better advan
tage than I had even expected. Then
I shipped another crew, and headed
for this isle, off which, it seems, I ar
rived just in time to save your hus
band's life. I have to add that his
share of our profits is with mine, safe
under leck and key, aboard ship."
A few days later, Captain Cavendish,
now the fortunate possessor of many
thousands, sailed away with his wife
from the island. In due time the hap
py couple reached London, and on the
outskirts of that city they erected a
comfortable cottage their future
Growing oldl The pulse's measure
Keeps its even tenor still;
Eye and hand nor fail nor falter,
And the brain obeys the will;
Only by the whitening tresses,
And the deepening wrinkles told,
Youth has passed away like vapor;
Prime is gone, and I grow old.
Laughter hushes at my presence,
Gay young voices whisper lower,
II I dare to linger by it,
All the stream of life runs slower.
Though I love the mirth of children,
Though I prize youth's virgin gold.
What have I to do with either?
Time is telling I grow old.
Not so dread the gloomy river
That I shrank from so of yore;
All my first of love and friendship,
Gather on the further shore.
Were it not the best to join them
Ere I feel the blood run cold?"
Ere I hear it said too harshly,
"Stand back from us you are old."
All the Year Round.
The Cultivated People of This Section and
Their llupiy Pastoral Life.
Letter in the New York Evening Post.
That one may hear the English lan
guage spoken here in purity; that the
best magazines are read; that Ameri
can authors are discussed and intelli
gently liked or disliked; that young
ladies know good music and are as well
dressed as those of New York; in short,
that there is hereaclass of people who,
in all that goes to make up culture
wealth, travel, manners, morals,
speech, etc. are the equals of the best
Americans to be found anywhere, are
truths unsuspected ' by many, and
doubtless incredible to many others
with whom invincible ignorance or in
grained prejudice are obstacles to faith.
The pastoral life goes on prosperously
and happily year after year in the
bluegrass region. It is necessarv that
discrimination be made at the outset
as to locality. Between the dwellers
in this rich rolling plain and the in
habitants of the river and mountain
counties is all the difference, as re
spects cultivation and peacefulness,
that one might reasonably expect to
find between different races. Undoubt
edly by the stranger who should visit
this country for the first time, the
class of people first to be met and
studied are the more prosperous and
intelligent farmers, lie need not go
among them armed to the teeth. In
the vicinity of the towns he will find
that some of them are men of busi
ness in town bank officers, profes
sors, lawyers, etc. And so they are
men of ideas. They have private li
braries, they drive the most beautiful
of horses over the most beautiful of
level white limestone roads. The
grounds and the woodlands around
their homes are sometimes worthy of
an English park. Of course you will
expect to see the herds of Jerseys and
Durhams grazing over their fertile
meadows. One of them may show you
the stables where famous trotters or
racers are being groomed. Anoth
er may take you to the aromatic
shed where his men are pressing
the tobacco which has of late begun
to be so largely cultivated in this part
of the State. Another may open for
you the bonded warehouse, where "old
Bourbon" is st ored away, barrel above
barrel, tier after tier, and, of course, if
you have a mind to, you can find out
what "old Bourbon"is when you return
to the shaded veranda. You walk to
some k'ioll, and from its summit cast
your eye over the succession of mead
ow , field and forest . The negroes are fol
lowing the ploughs down the long rows
of the young Indian corn. The shuttle
of the reaper is heard in the wheat field
on the distant hillside, and the faint
scream of a locomotive as it rushes
along the banks of the winding river.
A cool wind, sweet with the odor of
wild rose and elder bloom, with the sa
lubrious smell of freshly cut clover, or
newly ploughed earth, blows from this
quarter and from that. Above you is ,
the deep, serene blue, with white clouds
drifting over. Under you is the deep
green of the velvet turf. Around you
is an atmosphere the most luminous
and crystalline. To you come the
coo of building doves, the notes of the
speckle breasted lark, the shriek of the
i.iritated blue jay, the drowsy tattoo
of the woodpecker, driving his bill
against the top of a dy;ng walnut.
You think of the heat and dust and
din and weariness of the great city,
and ihank your stars that you are in
the blue grass region of Kentucky, j
Taking tea the' other evening with
an old acquaintance, now professor in
a New England college, the conversa
tion recalled some of the friends of our
younger days, and he surprised me
with this remark: "A woman's sym
pathies lie nearer her heart than her
love." . But he surprised me more by
the story he told to prove it.
"I guess it was seven years," he
said, "that our chair of astronomy
remained vacant. You know Dr.
Merdon? It was justly that the world
finally gave him fame. Well, after his
death, the trustees were at a loss to
fill his place. A weak man would have
been insufferable there.
"Do you remember his family?
Charming wife and daughter. They
spent several years abroad after his
death, and when they returned, not
withstanding that the widow still wore
mourning, the number of our little so
cial events doubled. The daughter
had a string of millionaires after her
constantly. Female society, perhaps
you know, was limited, and it was
with a foundation of truth that the
fellows grimly joked about calling on
the girls their fathers had courted be
fore them. Charlotte Merdon was as
fascinating a young woman as her
mother had been, so say the old folks,
and it was to her that Professor Lutz
quoted from Horace, 'Oh, daughter!
j more beautiful than thy beautiful
! mother!' when he brought down on
j himself the ridicule of the mountain
: day party. Yes, she could have had
the pick from a dozen rich boys, and I
! think she would have taken it, too, if
she hadn't discovered that hermother
j was trying to influence her in their
At the senior party that year, Char
I lotte held court, as she did every where.
She was surrounded by the rich fellow's
of Charlie Elliott's set. Elliott was
happy that night. Charlotte had been
unusually gracious, and her mother
had made her favor clearer than ever.
i " 'Ed,' said he, turningto his chum,
'I tell you what will be great sport.
Bring Seymour up and formally pre-
sent him to Miss Merdon. It will con-
I fuse him. He won't know what to do,
and there will be a deuce of a scene.'
"The chum complied, and in a mo
ment he had the reluctant Seymour
by the arm. The scene that followed
must have been all that Elliott desir
ed. For a moment the poor student
stood before the belle. It was not un
like the beggar and the princess. Her
easy attitude contrasted strangely
with his painful awkwardness. Elliott
had not miscalculated. The effect was
immediate. All eyes were turned to
ward the couple, and a smile went
"Charlotte Merdon saw it, and her
cheeks flamed. She had diined the
heartless joke. To the surprise of
those about her, she begged Seymour
to be seated insisted that he should
be seated. Then she tried to draw
him into conversation. But it was
impossible. Embarrassment seemed
to have driven his wits away. Only
one remark he ventured to make.
Glancing at a protrait on the wall, he
stammered out, 'That's a good picture
of the president.' The protrait was
taken thirty years before, and was
anything but a good likeness of the
president as he then appeared; the un
fortunate remark caused another
smile. Elliott was delighted: His joke
was a splendid success. Poor Seymour
twisted about in his chair and hung
his head. His discomfiture was com
plete. "Miss Merdon took a deliberate look
at the picture, and did not smile.
'Yes' she said 'it is called a very good
likeness of him just after graduation.
Have you seen the president's flowers,
Mr. Seymour? Let me show them to
"Rising and excusing herself, she led
the young man into the greenhouse
adjoining the parlor.
'"The devil!' said Elliott. 'I didn't
look for anything like that.'
"Seymour, rescued in this way from
the trying ordeal, hardly knew what
to do or say. He felt as if a millstone
had been taken from his neck. The
pain and the manner of relief worked
strangely on his sensitive nature. He
elt that he was in great debt to his
companion. He wanted to kiss the
hem of her garment. He wanted to
cry. He knew he was feeling and act
ing like a fool. He felt that he would
make a greater fool of himself than in
the parlor. But some way he didn't
care. He had lost all fear of the beau
tiful girl. Her act of mercy had
brought him nearer than years of
acquaintance could. He talked rap
idly of the flowers, for he knew of
them. Charlotte listened, listened
wondering why she cared to listen, lit
tle thinking that her sympathy had
brought the awkward student nearer
than he would have been had she
known him a life-time and had never
Been him in pain. So, whenhepointed
out the observatory where he worked,
the queerly-shaped building that
showed its dark outlines in the moon
light, just over the campus on the hill,
she wondered what it was that
prompted her to beg him to take her
there, to exact the promise that on the
very next night he would conduct her
through the buildings that had been
built after her father's orders. She
persuaded herself that it was a desire
to see some manuscripts of her father's
which Seymour told her had been left
there. Perhaps it was.
"Notwithstanding her mother's
mild remonstrance, the next evening
found her with Brent Seymour in the
telescope room of the observatorv.
The roof had been let down and she
was watching the stars.
"'I wonder if father often studied
them from his room?' said she.
" 'Whenever the sky was clear.'
t ; T wnnilor if 1 wi no 1-1 t-4- V, . 91
hvuuvl u vain oco liicui L1J vv :
" 'No, I think that through one of
them he is looking at us.'
"Far from science and astronomy,
far, very far from his scholarly stand
point, the man's childish reply had
taken him, but it carried him nearer
to the heart of the girl than he
"Mrs. Merdon's disapproval of her
daughter's visit to the observatory
with Seymour broadened into anger
as his calls were repeated, and repeat
ed often. An intimacy grew between
the young people, that even to them
selves they did not undertake to ex
plain. The girl's friendship had open
ed a new world to the hard-worked
student. Had he known more of life,
he would have known he was falling in
love. Over the other a secret was steal
ing as steadily as comes over us the
morning. A month had passed since
the senior party. The two sat in the
telescope room. She seemed to be
studying the stars.
" 'And do you remember,' she was
asking, 'that evening you thought
through some of them father was look
ing at us?'
" 'Yes.'
" 'Do you suppose he can see us
" 'Yes,' (in a surprised way.)
" 'Then, hesitatingly, 'do you think
he is glad is glad to see us together?'
" 'Won't you,' (the voice was very
husky) 'won't you answer for me?'
" 'Yes,' she said, in a voice as clear
as a harp-cord, 'I know he is.'
"Seymour wondered if his senses
were giving away. He hardly knew
what followed. He meant to ask if
she did not think her father would be
glad to see them always together.
Somehow the words seemed long and
heavy and he could not make
the words come. He had a chok
ing sensation in his throat and
his eyes were blinded with tears.
He felt just as he did in the greenhouse,
the night of the senior party. He
wanted to kiss the hem of her gar
ment. He felt that he was in deDt to
her and falling deeper in debt every
moment. He knew he was making a
fool of himself, but he didn't caret
He was the happiest fool that moment
in God's happy world.
'"You are just as much mine,' she
said at last, her hands resting on his
head which some way or other had
found a place in her lap, 'you are
just as much mine as if I had done all
the wooing myself.'
"The Merdon mansion had never
seen such a storm as followed Char
lotte's avowal of her betrothal. Her
mother insisted that she should never
consent, never in the world, and the
girl who had always honored her
wishes above everything else wras in
" 'But you did not marry a rich man
yourself, mother; why should you
want me to?' she urged.
" 'I married a man who was great
whom everybody knew; why, if you
were to marry the man, whoever he is,
who will fill his chair, I should be hap
py forever, but this fellow,' and her
shelett the room.
It was late in the evening when Char
lotte stole up stairs. Passing her
mother's room, she saw the door was
partly opened. She knew what it
meant. Women, even among them
themselves, make their reconciliations
gracefully, gradually. She pushed the
door open as her mother intended she
should, and went in. The lady sat by
her writing table; her head resting on
her hand, and she was evidently sleep
ing. A little pile of letters lay before
her, a picture beside them. Tears had
dropped upon the letters and the pic
ture bore the stain of tears. Char
lotte looked at the picture closely.
The face was familiar.
Surely she had seen it before. But
She could not place it among her ac
quaintances. Whose face was it? A
broken uncertain voice seemed to say,
'That's a picture of the president.'
UHer lover's remark of the portrait on
the wall, the picture that her mother
cried over. It was all clear, very clear,
and she didn't care to read the open
letter by the picture.
'"My poor, dear mother, she
thought, as, without awakening her.
glidedfrom the room, carrying withher
the greatest secret of her lifetime, save
"It was after midnight when Mrs.
Merdon awoke. She had hoped her
daughter would come in. She wanted
to tell her that she was no longer angry,
she had been carried back over parts
of her own life, and she wanted to tell
Charlotte, that after all, she must
follow the voice of her heart that
her own experience had taught
her so. She was almost ready to
confess to her although she had
married a man who was great, whom
every one knew, she no, no, no, she
could not tell her daughter that she
could not tell her daughter that! Very
slowly she put the letters away, saying,
'Yes i loved him then, and, God for
give me, I have loved him ever since.'
"At noon the next day, a servant
brought a note to the president's study:
Charlotte E. Merdon requests the
pleasure of a few moments private
" 'I wonder what Addie Mather's
daughter wants of me,' thought the
old bachelor, as he passed down into
the reception room. 'How that girl
brings her to mind!' j
"In a dignified manner that evens
surprised herself, Charlotte began:
" 'I understand that the trustees
have given you the power regarding
the professorship which 'my father's
death made vacant?'
" 'Yes.
" 'Have you made any provisions
yet?' " 'No.'
" 'I have a candidate to present.'
" 'What! you! A candidate! Who
is it?'
" 'Brent Seymour.'
"Charlotte's intimacy was not un
known to the president, but this as
tonished him:
" 'It is impossible,' he said, 'I don't
see how you can think of it.'
" 'Would you not do much to bring
to you one you loved?' she asked boldly-
"A peculiar light came into the grey
eyes behind the steel-bowed spectacles
" 'Yes.'
" 'How much?'
" 'Anything.'
" 'Would you give a professorship?
"The peculiar light increased, ft
was almost ablaze.
" 'Will you give me this professor
ship if I bring you one you love?'
"The grey eyes were now fairly
aflame. She was understood. He
sprang to his feet.
"Age seemed to fall from him like a
" 'Girl' what do you mean?' be shout
ed. " 'That she loved you all the time."
Essayon Toothache.
From the Pittsburgh Chronicle. .
There are a great many alleged cures
for the tooth ache, such as hot poul
tices, cayenne pepper, dynamite, to
bacco, etc. If the sufferer is noc ad
dicted to the use of the last-named
remedy, it might give him temporary
relief that is, it will make him so hid
eously sick that he won't have time
to think about anything else than the
trouble with which he is grappling.
One chew of tobacco will give such a
person about an hour's relief from
toothache then look out. Perhaps
the best remedy is to sit on a
dentist's door-step; sometimes look
ing at his sign is all that is necessary
Still, it is best not to trust too im
plicitly on this means of relief. I have
known people to travel for miles in
search of a dentist, and when they
finally reached his door the toothache
would disappear, and they could only
look foolishly in the servant's face who
answered the door-bell, and say they
didn't want anything that they had
pulled the wrong bell, etc. And I have
known those same people to co home
grinning all over at how they had out
witted their teeth and saved 50 cents
into the bargain; but the moment
their own door was reached there:
came a blood-curdling, nerve harrow
ing, hair-raising twinge of pain, and
the accompanying shriek of agony told',
that the "battle was on once more,"'
and the dentist several miles away..
Then the first performance was re-enacted,
with the exception that the
sufferer walked right in and sat down
in the inquisitorial chair, and had the
offending tooth removed without any
more ceremony than being hauied-irom
his seat and around the room at the
end of a pair of forceps. It is an ex
perience that once enjoyed is never
forgotten; it will return at the dead
hour of midnight to threaten a man
until he is almost scared out of his
boots if he happens to have them on
at that unseemly time. It will cast a
shadow of gloom over the most soul
satisfying enjoyment in the world to
think that in another hour a fellow's
wisdom tooth will resume its satur
nalian orgies, and make him regret .
that he was ever born.
Personal Gossip.
Queen Victoria wore the Koh-i-noor "
diamond at Beatrice's wedding.
The actual cost for Gen. Grant's
funeral, at a moderate estimate, will
be $875,000. This for the city of New
York alone.
The late Colonel Fred Burnaby
prided himself on his descent from Ed
ward I., and when reminded that
monarch was a tyrant, would say;
"No doubt . But I would sooner be
descended from those who dared op
press the people then to belong to the
people who are cowardly enough to
submit to oppression."
Somewhat astonishing is the fact
that the formerly notorious Victoria.
Claflin Woodhull is married in London
to John Biddulph Martin, a wealthy
banker, whose cousin , George Biddtilpb,.
is married to the daughter of Lord Sal
borne, who is connected by marriage
with Lord Salisbury.
Charles Neuville, a gentleman with
a talent for matrimony, has just died
in the State Prison at Columbus,
Ohio, to which he was sent in Decem
ber, for bigamy. His usual plan was
to provide for an illegality in the mar
riage, and to plead that when arrest
ed, but the thitreenth case proved un
lucky. He left a message to his wife at
Peterboro', Canada, declaring that
she was his only love, as she was his .
only lawful spouse.
The appointment of General Mac
Pherson as successor of General Rob
erts in the command of the British
army at Madras, in India . is significant. .
He greatly distinguished himself hi the
Afghan campaign, and is one of the
best fighting men of the British army.
The new British Cabinet is putting the
best men at the front in India.
It is said that Mrs. Sartoris wflR
make a short visit to England this
fall, and will then come back to this;
country with her children for the pur
pose of educating and bringing them.
up as Americans. It was the wish of
tieneral Grant that the children should
be so educated. Besides this, Mrs.
Sartoris is anxious to be with her
mothtr for some time at least, and
Mrs. Grant wishes to have her children
about her.