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About The Eugene City guard. (Eugene City, Or.) 1870-1899 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 22, 1879)
AT THK BIW-MILL, Vnn,'nMhthmll,T-tmdy ' In (xncfful reverr unk prof n ml, Aoi wnlclmd tb water ruah away, Aud marked ttiacumbroua wliatl to rouoi. Tha eawa sprang flublng on mr view It all appeared a dream j maie 'Trwy Aerealjr tore long elianosl through A fit trunk prona upon to way. 'Th tree aaemed eoncloua of lu pain; A Dei. ai tha randlng it eel xrogrwA. Tntia mnantd to ma I La mournful atrnlO. ' Wbilt quivering Ibroei oonrulaed Ita Dreait. "At flltlng hour want tbon Inclined, U wanderer hither to rep Mr; Thou art the fated one unkind - For wbom tbesa teolb niy boaom tear. TI thou n hnnlaaa fine, for whom Aabriua from menun'a baud Khml make, Wherein, dark-chambered In Iby tnrnrt, Thy lasting (lumber tbou abalt take." TIhid dropped four plankul I aaw and heard; My bean wun itiauen leargrewcnui; X aougbt to frame an anaweriiig word Tbal Instant, lo! the wbeel stood ill: "went' in the place of "gone," and it was the hardest work for her to remem ber that "two negatives are equal to an affirmative;" and she knew nothing of mufiio or sin inner, save a few old Metho dist Hymns which she was wont to sing, as she sewed, in a sweet, bird-like voice and she had never waltzed nor galloped in her life, and she wasn't a bit "stylish" j i i! .1 ui uur suupie calicoes aim inuniius. Truth to tell, she was scarcoly pretty. but she had a winsome face, and made you think of dandelions and daisies, mends of the grass and the clover. LITTLE UIKL. Pretty as a picture was Little Girl 'Silky, faint golden hair; eyes "deeply, beautifully blue;" lashes long and dark; lips delicately curved and red as straw berries, and the most angelic expression nt countenance an expression that art fete often seek in vain when endeavor ing to portray infantile saints or cher nbim. Ethel was tho nomo that her sponsors in Iwptism nutoher did give; but being tho only girl among ten children, as well as the vounorcst of them all, "Little Girl" sho had been dubbed by her nine brothers immediately on making her an nearanoe in tho family circle .Little V " .itli vainnim fnnrl fuli'npt.l vfl irl," with various fond adjectives pre fixed, she hail remained ever since, i Never, I verily believe, in all the world was child so adored by iiitner and mother so worshipped by her brothers ho petted and carressed by her uncles, Iter cousins and her aunts of whom she liad a great number as Littlo Girl. Sho bad actually gone through tho first four a i l l i. 1. ... ycras oi ner mo whhoui evur ueunug uu impatient word, much loss receiving an impatient blow. But in the beginning of the fifth year Littlo Girl come very near looming tho crisp old English word "spank, and feeling the definition or it. And tho way it happened was this: Aunt Delia Steele, who lived in New Tork, came to visit Mrs. Raymond, Lit tie Girl's mamma, lust summer. Sho wu a tall, fine-looking woman girl., she called herself with heavy bruids of jot black hair, arclied eyebrows to corro siroud, rosy cheeks and chin, and daz idingly wlnto teeth. Sho owned to live .and twenty, played and sang tolerably well, danced not badly, nnd talked upon no many subjects with so much anima tion nnd so many shrugs of her sloping .shoulders and nuxiics of her black eyes that you wondered why it was that you could never remember a singlo thing she .said. Shortly after her arrival at Raymond Iloiise Jlrs. Raymond, by-the-by, was only a half sister, nnd as different as pos sible, being fair, short nnd rather stout the following conversation took pluco Iictweon the two ladies one bright morn ing when they sat sewing together in the cosy sitting room: Mrs. Raymond Delia, my dear, it is really tune you were settled. Miss .Steele As if I didn't know it, Minnio 1 And you've no idea how stingy pa is gottin raised an awful row about my last dressmaking bill. I do wish I had accepted Will Hazleton. Minnio Why didn't you ? Jelia I thought Harvey Young, who bud a thousand a year more, wits coining forward. 1m sure ho gave me every reason to believe ho was but he didn't. Minnio (sententious.') If girls would ' only wait till the men they want did eoruo forward before jilting the men who want them Delia Yes, yes; I know all that you would say. lve heard it a hundred times before. And there hasn't a soul proposed to mo since Will; that's two years ago except Mr. Rears, and I wouldn't marry him, you kuow how could I ? He has a dreadful squint and six children. Minnie (dropping her work and chip ping her hands) I havo it ! Elain bean I Delia What a namo t Who is ho ? Minnio A young farmer who lives a r.ouplo of miles from here. His mother died a few mouths ago, and I know he wants a wife. He hits houses, lands, cat tle, and money. Is doceutly woll edu cated, titll, good-looking and generous. Delia (with a grimace) A furmer ! I am afraid I never could bring myself to love chickens and pigs. Minnio You'd liave nothing to do w ith chickons and igs. You'd have a .splendid home and m near me and Lit tle Girl (dwelling with fondness ou the pet name). Yon hod better muke up your mind to marry him, Delia, I am iure you can if you choose to. There is no ono in this place to rival you. He wants an accomplished wife. Ho has told mo so. He's a few years younger tli an you Delia Rut he needn't know that. Minnio Of course not. That is, he needn't know how many. It may bo your Last chance, Delia, and its almost good enough to bo your first one. Nice house, fruit orchard, ny phaeton Deli (interrupting) Enough. Ring up the) curtain. Enter Elnm Rean. Minnie I'll invite him hero to-morrow evening. (She did, and he come and was smitten at onco with dork hair and brows, the rosy cheeks and chin, the wonderfully tine teeth and brilliant conversation of Jthe city lady. He, himself, as Mrs. Raymond had aaid, was a tail, good-looking follow, with broad shoulders, blue eyes, chest nut hair, a loud, honevt voice and a Lcarty, laugh-provoking laugh. (Somebody in tho village thought him wery handsomo poorbttle Libbic Green, .the dressmaker, who lived at Trumpet wiae cottage, the first small house after After yon ssod the Dean farm, and who had been a great favorite with F.Iam's mother, and, in consequence, Elam hiving no sister, had inherited the) old lady few old-faiduoned trinkets. Llam, too, had always leen very kind to Libbie, and once, before he went to boarding school, used to call her his lit tle wife. Rut alas! she had been able to fro to school but a very short time during her life, having always had a blind father to look after; and her reading was queer, and her writing peculiar, and she often said "them" when she should bar aid "those," and just as often said A month had passed since the fuir match-maker had brought tho young larmor and her not-as-young sister to gether, and all sorts of gayeties and pleasures had been crowded into that month. Picnics, drives. Dinging parties, dancing parties and reading parties, at each and all of which Miss Steele had quoonod it with her elegant costumes, her regal manner and her many (for a country village) accomplishments. "I wish she were a little vouncrer." said Elam to himself one lovely August morning as he passed out of his gate on his way to call on his lady-lover; "for to confess tho truth. I would like to have my wife my junior; but she is so hand some l never saw such hair and teeth and bo dignified and so clever. I'm sure I couldn't do better, and I'll propose his very day. Ah! Libbie, good morn ing; and with a little twinge at his heart, for which he could not account, he strode past Trumpet-vine cottage, whore poor pale Libbie (her checks nsod to be as red as roses, he suddenly re membered) was standing, ostensibly tying a fallen vine-branch to one of the pillars of the porch, in reality waiting to see him pass. As he entered the front door of liay mond House (which stood hospitably open) Little Girl nurso was in the kitchen having a chat with the cook, and the brothers had all gone fishing with whom he was a great favorite, came joy' fullv running to meet him. "Veys out, sho said in her sweot, baby way, "few minutes to Mrs. Mills." (Mrs. Mills was the next neighbor, about a quarter of a mile away) . "She's goin' to show vem her now dress. I creamed to go, but mamma said a sick dirl vos varo; so me stayed home. Tell a story. r"llain luted the pretty little thing upon his knee, and gavo her a kiss. "1 II tell you a story directly," ho said. "How is Aunt Delia?" "Nacky Aunt Delia don't love her any more, tossing the shining head. ''Don't love pretty Aunt Delia?" "Ain't pretty. He's a witch." " 'A witch!' Why. what do yon mean Little Girl?" "You'll never toll." said Little Girl, standing up on his knee and grasping his head in her dimpled arms. "Aevcr: promised he. shaking turn self free. "Vare vos comp'ny last night lots six, four, two. An' vey put two strange chilluns in my bod holhd Chilians one had holes in her stockin s, an mamma said I must seep wif Aunt Delia. An' I woked up when Aunt Delia corned up. an' I looked at her, an' her's a witch a hollid old wttch. Vare's ono in my fuiry book Sunta Claus gib me Christmas. "Rut why do you think sho s a witch? asked Elam laughingly, as the child broke off in her story to kiss him on the top of his nose. 11 'Cause, she is," said Littlo Girl, with decision. "She tooked off all her hair, an' ven sho washed her face she had no red cheeks, an' only one eye-brow; an' all her teef dropped out, an' I vos so rraid I frowod myself ont ve bed an runnod to my mamma. Wouldn't Rut Elam hastily placed her upon the floor, and, tolling her he had forgotten something, and must go home again, fled from the houso, taking a path that did not lead to Mrs. Mills'. And the Raymond family, much to their astonishment, saw no nioro of him. "He had boen called away nnexpcetodly," his old servant told tho messenger thoy sent with a note of inquiry. Rut, two weeks alter, tho nnlk-boy brought tho news that Elam Roan hod returned to Rean farm, and was married. ' Married! almost screamod May Ray mond. "Yes, mam'am, to Libbie Green the drossmuker." "What ever could have possessed him?" sho said a few moments after to Miss Steele who was packing her trunk preparatory to starting for New York. 1 m sure 1 can t imagine, remind that dark-haired lady, with a scornful curl of the lip. If she could have linaginod father, mother, grandmamma, nino brothers and all the uncles, cousins, and other aunts would have been unable to restrain her avenging hand, and Littlo Girl would have certainly added "spank" to her rather limited vocabulary, with a painfully realizing sense of the meaning of the word. French Hotels. The Simplon 'luuael. Several of the French newspapers have taken up tne suDjeci or hotel ex tortions. Hotel charges are indeed reaching, or rather they have already reached a ridiculous pitch. Still the public is to blame. Our fathers used to travel in stago coach or diligence and put up at an inn or auoerge. What tue cheer, what the welcome and what the comfort of the old fashioned inn was has been said ana sung over and over again Now, however, things have changed, Tho modern man defines a competency in his own mind, as the having a little more than his neighbor, so the porte is to-day called a concierge, the cobbler is a shoe manufacturer, the inns have be come hotels and the innkeepers or au borgists hnve been transformed into hotel keepers or hoteliers. The Euro pean hotel is a palace as far aa the dining room is concerned, and a barrack as far as the sleeping rooms go. The dining room is covered with gold and crystal costly paintings adorn the walls, marble statues adorn the niches; and plush-clad servants move noiselessly or noisily, as 4k . - l. l.l.;.1 41. ...4' wio uww may uc, uuuiuu tuo viniiui o chair. The bed room is a bare, cold looking place, small, uncomfortable, with a clock that does not go and a chim ney that does not draw. On the other hand it is provided with an electric bell and a copy of the rules and regulations of the hotel in a gold frame. To these regulations you must conform under pain of expulsion. The modern traveler exists for the benefit of the hotels, and not vtce versa, as should be the case The traveler is th. 1 victim of an organized corporation of industrials, who agree among themselves and form syndicates to exploit him. The inns or hotels are no longer kept and served by the people of the country; the Stewarts and waiters who attend upon you at Trouvillo during the summer will attend you at Monte Carlo during the winter; the charges will be exactly the same in both places, and in both places you will be obliged to pay for candles that you have never burned and for attendance that you have never received, to say nothing of fool that you have never eaten and omnibuses that you havo never even heard of. In Nor mandy vou will find it impossible in the grand hotels to have cider, and in JJnr gundy yon will find no Burgundy wine In tho one place the hotel keepers will force you to drink champagne, and in the other Rordeaux, and you will drink it and pay for it and try to per- suude yourself that you are happy, ion would likewiso pay ten or twelve francs for a long and mediocre tame a hotel dinner served up in great style, with massive silverware and abundance of flowers on the table. The fish will be cold and the meat flubby, but you will eat it and pay for it, although at homo you would grumblo if your fish were not hot, and you never had any epergnes or confer pieces with which to docorato your humble board. The fact is that you are paying not so much for yonr dinner, or your paltry bed-room, or for the indifferent attendance, as for the architectural beauties of the palatial hotel, its statues, and the gilding and paintings of its dining-room. There are peoplo, I suppose, who have arrived at the melancholy state of having more meney than they need or more vanity than brains, who need to dwell in pala tial hotels and to dine in gilded saloons, but there is absolutely no reason why the prices of these so-called Grand Ho tels should be extended to all hotels that think proper to imitate the Grand Hotel system merely in its superficial aspects. Tho majority of people want hotels at twelve francs a day, instead of twenty five or thirty francs, aud the public, aided by the press, has only to demand these prices, and hotels and inns will spring up to meet the want. The same remarks apply to many of the restaurants of Paris, whore the chtvrges are bocoming both ridiculous and arbitrary. One way of repressing the evil would be to oblige all restaurateurs to mark the price of each dish on the carte. Then at least the victim would rush knowingly to his fate. America has had not a little to do with the demoralization of the European hotel-keeper. The millionaires of the New World have como over to Paris, to Vienna, to Roiue, to Naples, athirst for luxury and craving after the refinements of an old civilization. They had un limited confidence in the ower of money, and so, money in hand, they asked for the biggest pearls that were ever seen, the biggont mountains, the biggest picture galleries, the biggest singers, the biggest churches, and the biggest stago plays; and, perhaps, of all the big tilings that were given them, that which most completely camo up to, aud even surpassed their idea of bigness, was tho hotel bill. The PttrUiaii. OwNKliSIUl' OF THK RoSIA.N TaKTHEOS. Liberal and church puKrsat Rome are engaged in an animated discus-sion of the of the ownership of the Pantheon whether it belongs to the church or to the nation. The organs of the Pope hold, of course, that tho building is tho property of the church, aud never hav ing IxH'ii taken from it, any questions about its restitution to the Poe is want ing in common sense. 1 he organs of the Lilieral party aflirni that the right rests with the State on aristocratic and archae ological grounds, if no other, the Pan theon Wing an ancient monument. More moderate secular paissrs maintain that all uncertainty as to the ownership of the building in which lie the remains of Victor Emanuol should at once be re moved. Victor Emaunel is not the only man whose remains lie within these famous walls. Raphael also is buried there. Some doubt early in this century waa raised in certain minds whether tne dust of the artist was really there, and examination disclosed the fact that it lav precisely where history had recorded that it lay near that of Maria di Ribbiena, niece of Cardinal Ribbiena, to whom he had been betrothed. The Pan theon is the best preserved ancient monument in Rome. It prolutbly owes its preservation to its having become, as early as the seventeenth century, a Christian church, just as the splendid bronze equestrian statue of Marcus Anrclius on tha hill of the Capitol owes to a belief long prevalent in the dark and middle ages, that it waa a statue of Con stantino the Great, the first Christiana Emperor. Lovk-Sick Maidens Determined to Die. Many months ago, in that part of the city of Rordeaux which is known as the Quartier de la Corned ie a scene was enacted, which, if it had been allowed to take its course, would have warranted the change of the name of the district into that of tragedy. Two young sisters, dressed in white garments, were discov ered half asphyxiated in a room, from the middle of which a brazier sent forth the deadly fumes of burning charcoal. The windows were immediately opened, and after two or three days care in the hospital the girls recovered. lhey had been crossed in love, it appeared, and deeming life not worth keeping, they did their Iwst to abandon it quietly and painlessly. So closed the first act of the drama. One day, by the side of an avenue of poplar trees leading to the residence of a gentleman of Rordeaux were found the bodies of two yonng women. Blood was trickling from their corpses, and lay in a pool aronnd them. Two revolvers were close to their hands, and the people who quickly collected around tue sot recoguized in the dead before them the sisters who had previ ously attempted to commit suicide, as mentioned above. A letter addressed by one of them to a local paHr throw a faiut light on the history of these poor maidens. " e shall die, so ran the letter, "close to his abode," the name of the owner of the avenne of poplars was here mentioned "to relieve nim, his family and his friends of the trouble of repeating what thar hive said namely, that I had played a fearful comedy in order to become his bride." The best natnred man will get a trifle mtd, when his wife telle him that she made "ulster for the boys" ont oi his last winter's ear-muffs. The engineering enterprise of the pres ent age is so great that there is nothing extraordinary in the fact that even before the St. Gotliard tunnel is completed it is contemplated commencing a third gigan tic tunnel throusrh the Sunplon. A com pany for the construction of this tunnel and the railways in connection with it was iormeu in ivit, ana i uas aircwiy um down the line from Lausanne through the valley of the Rhone to Rreig, at the foot of the Simplon. The French minis ters, tocetlier with M. Gambetta and also President Grevy, are very anxious that this colossal undertaking should be proceeded with without delay, and it is affirmed that the ir rench uovernmeni m tends to apply to the chambers for a grant of 48,000,000 francs lor this pnr- Dose. It is asserted that the Italian Government is disposed to undertake the construction of a line from Isili, at the foot of the Simplon, which will bring the tunnel into connection with tno Italian railwoy. This line, it is estimated, will cost some 28.000.000 francs. Con cerning the tunnel itself the following details are taken from tho records of tho posts and telegraphs. Though the Simnlon will be longor than either the Mont Cenis or the St. Gothard tunnel, it is thought that the eonstruction will not be more difficult. The entrance to the St. Gotliard tunnel is situated at an alti tude of 1152 metres above the level of the sea. and the Mont Cenis tnnnel at 1500 metres. The entrance to the Simplon tunnel will be situated comparatively low, and the railway leading to it from Lausanne is qui to straight, with an in cline in no case greater than one in iuu. On the northern slope, however, the in cline will be greater 13 in 1000. In con sequence of the low position of tho tun tel the work will not be subject to such constant interruption by the snow as has been the case with the Mont Cenis and St. Gotliard tunnels. The Rhone on the Swiss and the Rivera on the Italian side ill furnish the necessary water power for the boring, and, thanks to the warmth of the climate of the canton of Wallis, it ill not be necessary to suspend opera tions even in the most rigorous season. The tunnel will be even longer than the St. Gothard, as this lutter is but 15 kilo meters in length, whereas the bimplon will be 17 Y, kilometers long. Geologists are of the opinion that the stone of the Simplon is less hard than that of either Mont Cenis or St. Gothard, and it is cal culated that the boring can be proceeded with at the rate of from nine to ten meters per day, so that the tunnel will probably be comploted in six.or at most, seven years from the date of its an nouncement. The estimated cost of the enterprise is 80,000,000 franos 74,000, 000 francs for the tunnel itself, making 4,000,000 francs per kilometer. This es timate may be considered a little high in comparison with the St.Gothard Tunnel, which is being constructed for 2,500,000 francs per kilometer; but 1,000,000 francs will be expended on the completion of the tunnel, and 5,000,000 on tho building of a large international station at iirieg. Only a Bmall portion of 80,000,000 francs which will be necessary to carry out this enterprise will be raised by public sub scriptionthat is ts say, only 13,500.000 francs. Tho remaining 66,500,000 francs will be granted to the company as fol lowg; The Swiss Government will sub scribe 3,500,000 francs; the Canton of Waadt. 5.000.000 francs; the Canton of Wallis. 1.000,000; the Cantons of Rerne, Freiburg nnd Geneva, 2,000,000 francs; lhe Swiss Western Railway Company, 5,000,000 francs, and France 48,000,000 francs. A Colonial ilovernor'a Wedding. A recent visitor to the mansion at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, of Gov ernor Renning Wentworth, who ruled New Hampshire in coloniul days, writes as follows: "We stand before the fire place and see that it is covered by a fire board and screen, and then are reminded of a story whieh we will relate: There was a boarding house on the ancient Pitt street, and one day the matron of it saw a careless, laughing, Dareiouiuu gin iwm ing before her door, carrying a bucket of water, and wearing a uress mat dui scantily covered her form. She knew her and cried out to her, 'You Pat! you Pat! Whv do vou go looking so ? You should be ashamed to be seen in the street.' 'No matter how I look.' was the pert reply; 'where theso rags are I shall wear luce uuu riuo 111 wy uum Years had rolled on meanwhile. The Governor had lost his first wife and his three sons and was left widowed and childless. After having vainly striven to deprive another husband of his wife, he turns his glance to a yonng maiden who is doing the work in his kitchen and keeping his house in satisfactory order, On a certain day. therefore, the uov ernor invites a party to didner at nis mansion, and among the rest of the guests comes, wearing a cocked hat. Rev. Arthur Rrown of the Episcopal Church. Dinner is served with the pro fusion and variety that befit a Governor i table. The guests have boen satisfied with their repast, the Governor quietly wlnsners to a messencrer. and soon from the door in which we entered Martha Hilton, the independent Miss, whose scanty carb had nrovoked the criticism above mentioned, comes blushing and takes her stand in front of the fireplace she seems regardless of fire; does not ap pear to have any particular business there; she waits, and no guest has divined for what object she has come. She is 20 years of ago, while the Governor's hairs begined to be whitened by the snows of bO winters. He rises from the table and says to the rector, 'Mr. Rrown, I wish you to marry me. 'To whom? asked the startled pastor. 'To this lady.' was the answer. The rector stands con founded, but the bridegroom rouses him from his bewilderment by the imperious mandate: 'As the Governor of New Hampshire I command you to marry me. There is no delay now, and from this hour Martha Hilton becomes Lady Wentworth. Tradition declares that she made an excellent wife, and retained the affection and esteem of her husband. On his decease in 1770 he left her his entire estate. In her grief after his departure, friends camo to this parlor to proffer sympathy, and Bpecial consolation she found in the society of a retired Colonel of the British army, who bore the name of Michael Wentworth, and who, ere long became her husband." Forty-Eisht Hourg Unfer uTc A recent issue of the Nosonvill xc: consin, Jinnublwan tolls th story of a brave and successful ,t2 to rescue a man buried alive in aTP well: Last ; Friday, at noon a " el? l,? ing dug at the Fair Grounds caved hi the" bottom after it had reached a iWi . 116 feet, burying f man, under about thirteen fr.t. J ...5. measuring from his head while he vtafi ueany upngm position. This well had reached tlm feet when a stratum of loose i; , .... l,.i . -i auim i., wuicumoae curbing nooe. sary An upright curbing in Section four foet long was used. .....v in the fourth sentinn lm ..!J . ? well tookplace, first crushing jn ! lower section not yet finished, and nin! mng Selves in solid sand and nearly to his armpits. It was instantly followed by the three sections above, which were crushed into the center, leaving a vacuum there. On seeing it start, Selves had in stinchvely raised a section of the curb ing over his head, bending backwards face up, with the arm supporting the place of curbing stretched over his head In this position the sand settled about him, completely binding him, except his hood and one arm, which ho could move at that time. The section of curbing which he had raised above his head cre ated a vacuum, which for a short time communicated with the vacnnm rl,roi. the center of tne well made by the com- iug wjgeiuer oi uie Darrei-iike curbing. As soon as possible a tras nine fn purpose of pumping air to him, was in serted through the opening Selves, who had one arm at liberty, placing it as near his mouth as the boards over him would permit. Soon after this was accomplished the sand settled solidly above him, loav ing only the vacuum under the board which soon filled so close as to imprison the arm that had beon at liberty and also to render his head immovablp. Tn this situation, plainly depicted by him self in sepulchral tones through tho air tube and perfectly andible at the top of the well. William Selves, then six linnru without food, and seramped and chilled by the cold sand, said he would hold on to life if there were brave hearts enough above him to undertake his re leaso, knowing full well the danger of those who might undertake it in a hurry. The task was to remove from thirteen to eighteen feet of sand from the bottom of a well 110 feet deep, by puttinar in new curbing while taking out the sand and debris of the old curbing, and to do it all so carefully as not to fill the little vacuum above his face. Coupled with this task was the apalling danger to the workmen of a fresh caving of the well, now more imminent than the first, for above the ominous vacuum mode by the caving of the sand hung the hundred feet of cluy wall, with no support but its own adhesion, its natural foundation of sand being gono. The bore through the clay being but 27 inches in diameter, could not, for the lack of both time and space, be curbed. In tho face of these discouragements, there were brave hearts enough found to work night and day, never slacking, except for a short time on Saturday morning, when for a time fur ther attempts seemed suicide, by; reason of the caving in of a small portion of the clay wall. Rut soon new precautions were devised, and the almost hopeless work went on to its practical conclusion at 1 o'clock this (Sunday) morning, when a friendly hand raised tho plank and brushed the sand from the now nearly unconscious face. He had retained his mind perfectly up to a few moments be fore, when the tenderly cautious hands above him, in spite of their care, had so disturbed tho sand as to cover his face, and to interrupt the supply of air from the tube. He returned to perfect con sciousness in a few moments, and, his hands released, the work went bravely on, he himself helping materially after his hands were released. At 3:30 o'clock, nearly forty hours after his incarceration, William Selves stepped firmly from the mouth of his living grave, and was received in the arms of his young wife amid the glad shouts of the throng who had so long shared his suspense. His operations in assisting to free himself had given him the use of his limbs again, and, when he reached the surface, about all he seemed to need was nourishment, which he had not had Bince the Friday morning before, nearly two days. Veterans or 1812. It was a sad and sorrowful meeting, that which was hold recently in the Merchant's Exchange building for the purpose of dissolving the association known as the Veterans of the War of 1812. Charles Hudson, of Lexington, presided. There were seven teen aged warriors present, and the most intense interest in the proceedings was manifested. In opening the meeting Mr. Hudson congratulated his comrades on the large attendance and good health of the members. He said that all proba bly saw, as he did, the wisdom of carry ing out the suggestion made at the last meeting to dissolve the organization. The members, as was to be expected, ere fast passing away, one having died but a few days since. He himself had not been ont of his house for two weeks except on this occasion. There was no property, and the question to be decided was, " hat should be done with the rec ords?" He suggested depositing them for safe keeping in some public institu tion. At Lexincrton. he said, they were gathering many historical records and mementoes, and have lately added the pistols which Major Pictairn dischargea at Lexington, and which were actually he first shots fired in the Revolution. These weapons have come down through the family of. General Putman, whose descendants have preserved them. On motion made by Alvan Raymond, of East Weymouth, and seconded by William A Parker, of Boston, the records were unanimously ordered to be placed in the care of President Hudson, who is to de posit them with other records in the town of Lexington. The records of the pre vious meeting, held one year ago in th rooms of the Mechanics' Charitable A sociation, were read. An address pre pared by Charle Hudson for the occa sion was then read by Elmore A. Pierti whose voluntary aervices, in view of th venerable age of the member and their difficulty in hearing one of their on number, were accepted. Eugene Hale did not uffer from hem orrhage of the lungs, but from malar. fever. Old Musical Scales. The important part played by mnsie in the worship of Jehovah, and the development of the Jewish choral service, is sufficiently proved by tho Old Testament; and there is an abumdance of treatises, both ancient and modern, on Greek scales or modes. Rut all this is of comparatively little importance to the musician and the student of modern music. It is true that some of the Greek scales the Dorian, the Phrygian, the Lydian and the Mixo-Lydian are said to be identical with the four authentic modes attributed to St. Ambrose, and to be still surviving in the Gregorian chant, and on rare oc casions modern musicians have made use of them. Reethoven, for instance, heads movement in his great quartet in A minor, "canzona di ringraziamento in modolidico offerta alia privinita da nn guarito," and Liszt and Rubenstcin have borrowed tho augmented intervals of the old Eastern scales, which have survived in the mnsio of the gypsies and of some Salvonio nations. The gypsy heroine of Bizet's Carmen also is well characterized by a theme containing the superfluous second. Rut these few survivals, intro duced with the distinct purpose of gain ing local color, do not constitute a real organic connection between the ancient and modern systems. London Quarterly A Notorious Di'eust. In most coun tries where the practice of the duello still prevnils, there are a few persons who in dividually illustrate the absurdity of this mode of settling disputes. , lhey pass their leisure time in shooting gallories and fencing saloons, and when any one calls them out they pink him or shoot him for a certainty, thus proving, ac cording to the test of the trial by battle, that they must be always right, though, as it happens, they are generally not. France abounds in such individuals, and Spain possesses at least one in the person of the Marquis de Gil d'Olivares. This hulalijo is master of all possible weaiKms, and has the mania of fighting for his friends, it is no doubt, an amiable feature in a man's character to defend the absent; but when hecarries the principal to the length of slaying the backbiters one is compelled to admit that virtue in the superlative degree has a strong sem blance to the opposite. The Marquis ha i'nst fought a duel at Ostcnd with a French gentleman who ventured to steal the good name of Marshal Martinet Cam pos. As always happens when the Marquis d Olivares is a combatant, his adversary got the worst of it, receiving a feanul saber-cut, which renders hi re covery extremely doubtful. If M. de Ronvie dies, he will be the third victim offered up by the Marquis on the shrine, not of friendship merely, but of his friendship for Spanish Marshals. In iv3 he killed his man lor backbiting Marahael NarTaez.and in 1862 he avenged an insult to Marshal O'Donnel in similar deadlv fashion. The Wife's Secret. ''I will tell you the secret of our happy married life," said a gentleman of three score and ten. "We have been married forty years; my bride was the belle of Now York when I married her, and though I loved her for herself, still a lovely flower is all the lovelier poised in an exquisite vase. My wife knew this, and true to her genuine refinement, has never, in all these forty years, appeared at the table or allowed me to Be her less carefully dressed than during the days of our honeymoon Some might call this foolish vanity, I call it real womanliness. I presume I should not have ceased to love her had she followed the examplo of many others and, considering the everyday life'tf homo necessarily devoid of beauty, al lowed herself to be careless ot such small measures as that of dressing for her husband's eyes; but love is increased when we are proud of the object loved, and to-duy I am more proud of my beau tiful wife with her silvery hair and gentle face than of the young bride whose love linoss was the theme of my tongue. Any vounff hulv can win a lover, hut how few f . , can keep them such atter years of mar ried life. In all the little courtesies of life, in all that makes one attractive and charming, in thoughtfuiness of others and forgetfulness of self, every house should be begun and continued. Men should be more careful to sympathize with and protect tho wife than the bride, more willing to pick up her scissors, hand her the paper or carry packages than if sho were a young lady; and as no young woman would for a moment think of con trolling the engagements and movements of a young geutleman, neither should she do bo when he is her husband. If by making herself bright and attractive she fails to hold him, compulsion will only drive him farther from her. I do not believe it possible to retain the friend ship of anyone demanding it. I do not believe it possible to lose it by being lovable. A Dat With Wagner. Dutton Cook contributes to Belgravia an interesting chapter on the music of Wagner, with special reference to the work of the librettist. An extract is given from Roche's account of a day passed with the musician of the future, the former ham mering out the words, the latter the music, which is worth reproducing: "He came, says Kocho, "at seven in the morning; we were at work without rest cr respite until midday. I was bent over my desk, writing, erasing; he was erect, pacing to and fro, bright of eye, vehement of gesture, stiking the piano, shouting, singing, forever bidding me "Go on! go on!" An hour, or even two hours after noon, hitBgrf and exhausted, I let fall my pen. I was in a faint st tte. "What's the matter r he asked. "I am hungry." "True; I had forgotten all about that; letns have a hurried snack and go on again.' Night came and found ns still at work. I was shattered. stupefied; my head burned, my temple throbbed. I was half mad with my wild search after strange words to fit the strange music. He was erect still, vigor ous and fresh as when we commenced our task, walking up and down, striking his infernal piano, terrifying me at last, s 1 perceived dancing about me on every aide his eccentric shadow cast by the fantastic reflections of the lamp, and crying to me ever, "Go on!" go on!" Miss Linda Deitz is winning golden opinion in .London, bhe has been transferrel from the Haymarketto the irinee of Ie 1 heater, where the play Mother and son. has been produced under the title "Duty," Mis Deita play ing her original role of Marcella.