The Columbian., February 15, 1884, Image 1

THE COLUMBIAN.
Published Eveky Friday,
at
ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA CO., OIL,
BY
E. 0. ADAMS, Editor and Proprietor.
1
Published Eveky Friday,
at
ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA CO., OR.,
BY
E. 0. ADAMS, Editor and Proprietor.
SrBscnrpTioN Uatks:
Advertisino It atks :
One square (10 lines) first insertion . . $2 00
Each subsequent insertion 100
One year, in advance $2 00
Six months. 1 '
VOL. IV.
ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA COUNTY, OREGON, FEBRUARY 15, 1884.
NO. 28.
Three months. " 50
THE COLUMBIAN.
3IAN
I
THE BELLS OP LYNN.
Temple Bar.
When the eve is growing gray, and the tide
is rolling in,
I sit and look across the bay to the bonny
town of Lynn ;
And the fisher folks are near,
But I wish they never bear
The songs the far bells make for me, the bonny
bells of Lynn.
The folks are chatting gay, and I hear their
merry din.
But I look and look across the bay to the
bonny town of Lynn ;
He told me to wait here
Upon the old brown pier.
To wait and watch him coming when the tide
was rolling in.
Oh, I see him pulling strong, pulling o'er the
tKiy to me,
And I hear big jovial song, and his merry
" face I see;
And now he's at the pier.
My bonny love and dear!
And he's coming up the sea-washed stops with
hand outstretched to me.
O my love, yonr cheek is cold, and your hands
are stark and thin !
Oh, hear you not the bells of old, the bonny
bells "of Lynn?
Oh, have you naught to say
Upon ourWedding day i
Love, hear you not the wedding bells across
the Bay of Lynn?
O my lover, speak to me ! and hold me fast,
mine own !
For I fear this rising sea, and these winds and
waves that moan!
But never a word he sai J !
He is dead, my love is dead !
Ah me! ah me! I did but dream; and I am all
alone
Alone, and old, and gray; and the tide is
rolling in;
But my heart's away, away, away, in tha old
graveyard at Lynn !
SOJOURNER TRUTH'S SAYINGS.
Her Powerful Outburst at a Woman's
ItifflitM Conveution.
Chicago Tribune.
Mrs. Frances D. Gage has recorded
one of Sojourner Truth's impressive
outbursts on the public platform in the
"History of Woman Suffrage." It was
at a woman's rights convention at Akron,
Ohio, iu 1831. During its sessions old
Sojourner for she was SO years of age
then -"sat crouched against the wail
on the corner of the pulpit stairs, her
sun-bonnet shading her eyes, her el
Ikjws on her knees, her chin resting on.
her broad, hard palms." Few dared
to have her speak, many implored
Mrs. Gage, who was president
of the convention, to prevent her
from speaking. They didn't want
their cause "mixed with the abolitionists
and niggers." But the time came when
Sojourner Truth felt it borne in upon
her to speak : "She moved slowly to
the front, laid her old bonnet at her
feet, and turned her great speaking eyes
to me." Hisses came from the audience.
Bat she looked As disapproval down.
Nearly six feet high, her head was
thrown back, and her eyes "pierced the
upper air like one in a dream." At her
first words there was a profound hush.
She spoke in deep tones, though not
loud, which reached every ear in the
house. Here are some of the words she
said, and they will show how powerful
and original a character was this full
blooded African woman, and how justi
fied her fame was :
"Dat man ober dar say dat womin
need to be helped into carriages and
lifted ober ditches, and to hab de bes'
place eberywhar. Nobody eber helps
me into carriages or ober mud piles, or
gibs me any bes' place !" And raising
herself to her full height and her voice
to a pitch like rolling thunder, she
asked, "And a'n't I a woman ? Look at
ray arm P (and she bare I her right arm
to the shoulder, showing her tremen
dous muscular power.) "I have plowed
and planted, and gathered into barns,
and no man could head me. And a'n't
I woman ? I could work as much and
eat as much as a man when I could get
it and. bear the lash as well. And
a'n't I a woman ? I have borne thirteen
chilern, and seen 'em mos' all sold off to
slavery, ami when I cried out with my
mother's grief none but Jesus heard me.
And a'n't I a woman?
"Deu dev talks 'bout dis ting in de
head -what dis dey call it? ("Intel
lect," whispered some one near.) DaJ;s
it, honey. What's dat got to do wid
womin's rights or nigger's rights? If
my cup wc-'t hold but a pint and yourn
holds a quart, wouldn't ye be mean not
to let me have my little half measure
full? Den dat little man in black, dar
he says womin can't have as much
rights as men, liecau.se Christ wa'nt a
woman ! Whar did your Christ come
from?" Boiling thunder could not
have stilled that crowd as did those
deep, wonderful tones, as she stood
there with outstretched arms and eyes
of fire. Raising her voice still louder,
she repeated: Whar did your Christ
come from ? From ( J o.l and woman !
M an had nothin to do wid him !"
Ieatli on a Fale Horse.
New York Cor. .Chicag.i Journal.
"Death is on a pale horse, racing
right alongside of Eole," said a man at
my elbow. We were at the Brighton
Beach races.
The speaker was a physician. The
visible horse that he referred to, Eole,
was the property of Freddie Gtbhardt,
the Lansrtry-famous young man, and
was winning the race.
"What do yon mean about seeing
Death as a rider in this run?" I askel.
"Simply that he is contesting with
the jockey who Is mounted on Eole,"
was the reply. ''That fellow's name is
McLaughlin! you say? Well, I was
over at the we'ghing stand when he
was preparing to ride. A jockey has
to be a light-weight, for horse owners
don't care to weigh down their Leasts.
This is a dreadfully cold day. "We're
shivering in thick overcoats, with the
collars turned up. McLaughlin has
nothing on under his thin silk jacket.
He hasn't allowed himself an extra
pound in flannels. To all intents he is
exposed naked, not only to .the low
temperature, but to the tremendous
w.'nd made by the speed of the race.
Every time he rides unclothed like that,
he takes a big risk of pneumonia. That's
why I say that Death is running a pale
horse by his side, and is just as likely
as not to beat him to-day."
Arkansaw Traveler : Dar's some lit
tle truth eben in de bigges' lie, eben
ef it is no more den de fack dat it is a
lie.
INTO THE UNF0RG0T-
TEN LAND.
"Madge Carrol" in Arthur's Magazine.
Arthur Okill Bat in his deceased friend's
office, perusing, in the capacity of executor
an epistle directed to Joseph Laux, and
signed Ermyntrude Southwayd. Although
addressed familiarly ' 'Dear Joe," and over
flowing with sentimental reminiscences, it
was a business, not a love letter, else he would
not have read it. It appeared that the
writer's father left Thornton twenty years
previous, owing Joe who had then just en
tered man s estate money . for house-rent.
Having but recently discovered this fact, the
lady, being now xjssessed of considerable
projierty, desired in justice to pay both
principal and mtere.it.
Such was the sum and substance of this
letter, read in the golden after-glow of one of
Junes fairest days. There was, however,
one line over which Arthur Okill pondered
seriously. It ran thus:
"The story so sweetly begun and so sadly
brokeu off under that roof you know well."
Yes, of course, Joe Laux knew. When
queenly Ermyntrude Southmayd broko her
engagement with Arthur Okill, all the gos
sips in the village got hold of this racy bit of
news and rolled it like some toothsome morsel
under their tongues. The elders remembered
it to this day, although the discarded lover
had at different times honorably wooed and
won two of their daughters and hail buried
them, and children with them, under the red
and white clover bloom in Thornton's little
green graveyard. Folks seldom forget
things of this sort. More's the pity. From
his rose-draped window he could see across
the way the moss-embroidered eaves under
which they parted so sadly and so coldly long
ago.
Since that memorable evening he had
written all sorts of hard and bitter tilings
against this beautiful, imperious creature,
and had closed and sealed the pages time and
again, only to open them once more and re
write, although for nearly twenty years her
light step had never crossed his path.
Now at last, as the day died in amber reds
along the gentle slopes of Thornton, he fell
to reading between these fiery lines penned
with his heart's best blood, and to wondering
whether if be had but refused to have taken
that rash girl at her word she would not have
been touched and have melted like wax under
love's indomitable flame. Sitting there in
the crimson and amber sun-glow, with white
and pink rose-leaves floating in at the open
window like scented, tinted snowflakes, he
wished, vaguely, that this thought had oc
curred to him then, and that he had acted
upon it. As it was, it was too late. Even
the ahes of that old love were scattered. He
would sooner expc ct to behold those whom
he had kissed and laid away come forth in
fleshy habiliments than to find that
annihilated passion clothed anew and dwell
ing in his bosom.
What in the world are you doingP ex
claimed Mrs. Seth Okill, opening the door of
the office from her parlor adjoining. "I
thought you were going out."
"No,. I'm attending to a little business," re
plied her brother-in-law, hurriedly seizing
some legal documents and making lelieve to
look them over. "Say, Cad," recalling her
as she was about retiring, "you remember
the Southniayds, don't youf
"To be sure I do. hat was that beauti
ful daughter's name? Glen wool? Elf en
hood No, that don't sound like it either."
"Try Ermyntrude, suggested Arthur,
drily.
"Sure enough! Ermyntrude. I used to
name all my prettiest dolls after her. Nice
family, but awful poor and proud, weren't
they? What about them V
"She's written to Joe from Jersey City,
and is coming to see him on business."
"Poor Joel And he dead and buried this
two weeks!" sighed Cad Okill. "She's
pretty old now, isn't she? I'm twenty-eight,
and she was grown up when I was a little
girl."
"She s thirty-nine," replied Okill, running
his shapely fingers through his own thickly
powdered hair and beard, wondering the
while how "Empress Ermyatrude's" rare
auburn braids stood the test of time.
"Thirty -nine and not married!" exclaimed
Mrs. Okill, as if compassing the round of
human misery. "Is she after our dear old
bachelor Joe f .
"Nonsense! You know all about Joe's love
affairs. Any way, she always held her head
too high for such as h, or, indvd, any one,
for that matter. Now that she's rich, she
doubtless holds it higher yet."
'Yes, I recollect, she was called the Em
press, wasn't she? She was so beautiful and
seemed to be so grand, I really thought stie
ruled a kingdom, and often wished I could
slip into the house and see her crown and
throne. hen is she coming? '
"To-morrow noon."
The morrow's mid-hour found Miss South
mayd alighted at the pre tty vine engarlanded
station, and rapidly pursuing her way toward
the well known intersecting streets, on one.
corner of w hich was Joe's office, and upon
another the rambling, tree-girdled structure
she once called home..
Despite the changes nearly twenty years
had wrought, "Empress Ermytrude," al
though she pulled her gray travel iuj veil
over her face, half determined neither to? see
nor be seen, recognized a. familiar residence
and bit ' of woodland green and emerald
sward. She had not come with any intention
of remaining even for one day. There were
painful memories connected with the
place other than those interwoven with
love a young dream." Then, too, there was
really no one she cared or dared see, except
ing Jne Laux. The remaining member of the
only family whose acquaintance she had kept
up removed some three months previous, and
were now her neighbors in the city where she
made her home.
Still, . strive as she would, bitter-sweet
memories c owded in upon her, and when at
length she met Arthur Okill face to face, hers
was rapt, dewed like that of a rose in the
flush of dawn.
The ripe, red lips still disclosed their seed-
pearl rosary ; there was no thread of silver
among those chestnut braids, no trace of a
wrinkle on those rounded cheeks. While far
younger wol en, such as Cad Okill, aged un
der the m" trimonial yoke, and "child-birth
pain left its traces on heart and brain," she
retained her splendid health, and,
although she had earned her bread and met
many trials, was even-more regally beautiful
than in the olden time. In early maidenhood
critics had pronounced her "too fat and too
red." The .tendency of over-riicness had
been checked, that tropical richness of color
ing toned aown, and criticism on that score
was disarmed.
"Arthur!" she cried, not flushing in the
least, yet ..ith all the light of her countenance
dying out and a strange gloom overshadow
the warm, brown eyes.
"Ermyntrude!" exclaimed he.
One instant these two, who had wrecked
each other's lioie, clasped ban Is, and eye met
eye in searching, yearning gaze; then the lady
said, quietly enough outwardly:
"This is an unexpected meeting. I regret
being so pressed for time; I am obliged to
seem abrupt. I came to see Joe on a matter
of business. Is "
"I know, I know," replied Arthur Okill
Interrupting her; "sit down, please; I've
something to tell vou."
She sat down and he told her about Joe's
death and his reading of her letter. He
could not reach the necessary papers for a
day or two, he said, and in the course of a
week would bo obliged to visit Jersey City;
if agreeable, he would be happy to wait upon
her there.
"Taught by tears and calmed by time,"
there was little more said on either side. Mrs.
Okill was summoned and chattered for about
fifteen minutes, after which her brothor-in
law attended Miss Southmayd to the little
rose-banked station, pressed her band, and
bado her good-bye.
Miss Southmayd's parlor was not gorgeous;
it was simply a cozy nook in which to do or
to dream great or lovely things. " Sitting
there, with roseate lights and violet shadows
flitting over fate and figure, "Empress
ErmyntrudeV heart beat true, but she was
on her truard asainst this much-married
lover.
Not so he. Seeing her still so rarely beau
tiful, so like the queen of life's unforgotten
May, memory failed to produce a record of
the hard and bitter things written and sealed
against her; later loves and ties were ignored,
and, although self-controlled and apparently
cool and at ease, he felt the passion of that
earliar, better day blossoming redly in his
heart.
They parted as the' had met, old acquaint
ances; that, seemingly, was all. It was,
nevertheless, odd what a vast amount of "red
tape" Mr. Okill managed to wind about this
bit of business. It became necessary he should
call again. ' During this interview, he dashed
into the subject nearest his thoughts and
heart in a manner which might strike one as
abrupt, awkward, but "very human."
"I think I never saw you look so well in
anj-thing as you did that evening in the red
dress."
She knew to what he alluded. They had
quareled over a dress, which, when she dis
played it in triumph as the one she was to
wear at a coming party, he said would
"extinguish" her; it was too much the color
of her hair and eyes. One word brought an
other, finally she flashed out:
"If the way I dress don't suit your lordship,
perhaps I don't suit you either, and we may
as well break our engagement"
"As you please," he had replie 1, Lftily.
Two days afterward they met at the party
and did not speak, so the affair became com
mon property. Following close this heart
tragedy came the Southniayds' removal, and
that seemed to bo the end of love's young
dream.
"You mistake," she replied; "it was not
red, it was cinnamon-brown. They would
call it terra-cotta now."
There was a moment's silence. Each had
opened the page of life's past and was reading
their stories with strained, pained hearts and
eyes.
They stood near the breeze-haunted bay-
window, over which a woodbine strung her
scented garland. Somewhere, a sweoN
voiced girl sang "Home, Sweet Home." When
the last note died lingeringly on the summer
air, Arthur spoke:
"Nor is there in life any thins so sweet as
the honey of young love. One may roam
the world over, ' drinking at every-spring;
might even banquet with the gods, aud never
find, nor hope to find, -such nectar as he first
drank from love's golden chalice."
Ermyntrude, gathering some fallen white
and creamy blossoms, murmured something
about flowers that never freshen, and they
stood in silence again, looking into the unfor
gotten land of youth.
The Hairpin Crate,
Milwaukee J ournaL
"A crank."
"What breed V
"A very common one just at this time.
He's a hairpin crank."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, simply what I said. It's a new
craze that has struck all in a heap those pecu
liarly rattle-pated individuals who have been
wont to burn the midnight lamp composing a
sonnet to my mistress' eyebrows. As the
small boy used to gather postage stamps and
the wee girl fill up her buttou-strong, so do
these tender-hearted youths collect hairpins.
They watch the ladies as they pass along the
streets, at parties, balls, and in stores on
shopping excursions, and when a hairpin
works loose and falls to the ground or floor
it is quickly picked up, the lady's name
discovered if possible, and the hairpin,
properly labeled, therewith goes to swell
the collection. The bolder of the hairpin
collectors will succeed in picking a loose
one from a lady's back hair without her
knowing it. I was invited the other evening
to inspect a collection of these relics of beauty
gathered together by a Seventh ward young
man. Ho had 300 of them, and they all bore
the name of the charming wearers,
including all tho changes of fore
and aft on the name Smith, from
Arabella to Zola, and from plain Smith,
to Schmith and Smyth. One of the pins, my
delectable companion informed me, was from
the head of one of the leading society belles
of the city, and cost him Jf.5 to secure it, a
rival collector having obtained the precious
trophy and sold out to him."
"What do they do with them?"
"The same as the boy did with his postage
samps,orthe girl with her button-strings
keep them to look at and to admire. The
craze has just struck the west. It originated
among the dudes of Boston about a year ago,
and has just arrived. In all probability it
will die out in a single season, as it seems too
foolish to endure long."
HakeR 'Km Kespect a Man.
Rockland Courier-Gazette.
"What's this Dead Scott decision about?
queried Mrs. Wigglesworth, lo -king np from
the paper. "Dread Scott not Dead Scott,"
corrected Mr. Wigglesworth, with a man's
patronizing smile of superiority. "Well,
Dread Scott, then. What is it?" Mr. Wig
glesworth was stuck, but he looked wise.
"Something to do with the Mexican war," he
explained. "Gen. Scott, you know, was a
terrible fighter, and tho Greasers got to refer
ing to him as the Dread Scott. Some decision
or other he made about a battle is what tho
papers mean." Mrs. Wigglesworth, with a
satisfied air, folded the paper back and
turned to see if any new people had been
born, while Mr. Wigglesworth winked to
himself at his having got out of it so smoothly.
"All a woman needs," he mentally remarked,
"is to have a thing explained one way or an
other. Don't matter what you ' tell 'em, so
long as it's something. It's a mighty sight
easier than having to answer a hundred ques
tions. Makes 'em respect a man, to j"
California Cotton Raising.
Chicago Herald.
Cotton raising in southern California has
not proved as profitable as was expected, and
the chief trouble seems to be inefficient labor
and its high price. Most of the planters en
gaged Chinese to do the work for them, but
one season's experience has proved that,
while the Chinaman demands almost as much
for his work as the white man, he cannot
pick one-third tho amount of cotton. A num
ber of negroes are to be engaged to take the
place of the Celestials.
Among the 50,000 postmasters in the United
States, $8,000 a year is the highest salary,
and 5 cents the lowest. There are forty
seven who receive $1 a year salary.
RURAL ENGLAND.
Hearty Old Fashioned Politeness
and Fresh Unaffected Country
Girls.
London Letter in New York Sun.
Almost the first thing you are told when
you take up your temporary residence in
Blankshire, is that your comments mnst be
guarded and your conversation diplomatic,
as all the families within a visiting radius of
twenty miles are related to each other. And
so they are. for a death puts all the country
side in - mourning, while a wedding calls out
universal'sympathy. Along the route of tho
bridal cortege, every cottage or farm house
hangs out its little decoration, and in the
town every tradesman has i-3ag, his bunch
of flowers, or his bit of bunting, for has he
not catered for the wants of the young couple
from their christening upward?
Visitors and invitations promptly flow in
upon the new comer with a hearty old-fash
ioned politeness. Dinner parties are not pop
ular. In the summer other gatherings are
preferred; and in winter or autumn the mala
portion of the community, the men who have
been shooting and hunting for seven or eight
hours, refuse to don the tail coat aud white
tie and drive ten miles for a ceremonious
meal. Moreover, coachmen and grooms,
hard worked by their attendance on the ex
acting hunter (meaning the quadruped), turn
crusty at being kept out till the small hours
for social duties, although they are ever
ready to turn out at 1 a. m. when it is ne
cessary to ride eighteen miles to be at a meet
for club hunting at 5 in the morning.
The girls the strong, fresh, health y, un
affected girls of Blankshire seem to exist
on lawn tennis, with an occasional trial at
cricket, in which manly sport they are no
mean adepts. But tennis is the inevitable,
the universal, the all-engrossing game. In
front of the low, broad, many-windowed,
creeper-grown houses of the gentry, spread
the well-kept lawns, smooth as carpets, soft
and springy as moss, and across their green
expanse are stretched as many nets as the
accurate measurement of the courts will
allow. There from morning till sunset the
balls fly, sent over by strong, supple wrists,
while the air echoes to reiterations of the
tennis slang. The men of all ages and de
nominations are clad in their flannels, and,
like the girls, wear the flat India rubber
soled shoe, for on no account must the ad
mirably kept turf be cut np. While tho
game progresses the strangeis and the non
players are plied with tea and the thinnest of
bread and butter.
At no hour between 3 and 6 can you pay a
visit in the country without the neat silver
service being brought in, and tho rifes of 5
o'clock tea complied with. Then you are
shown over the house by the kind hostess,.
and gladden her soul by genuine admiration
of the rare bits of china, the quaint-carved
balusters of oaken staircases, odd recesses,
curious old engravings, older and more
curious books in gigantic bindings and
colossal type. Among these, in strange dis
sonance, and yet unmistakably the index to
the keynote of oourtly- minds, shines the red
binding of all the peerages and volumes ded
icated by Burke, Debret and othrs to the
nobility aud gentry. Some in three
volumes, others fat and voluminous like a
commercial directory, others only pocket
editions of the same. Each family knows its
own lineage and descent of every other.
What the New Testament was to the old Cov
enanters, the printed record of his ancestors
is to the British landowner his vade niecum,
his guide, his fundamental dogma. Some
times of two brothers one only figures in the
"Landed Gentrv." The other has lost his
claims to appear iu the "Livre d'Or," for he
has embraced trade and become a broker or
brewer.
Mnalls for the Table.
Paris Cor. San Francisco Chronicle.
Another "delicacy" in this country is the
escargots, or snails. For my part, I don't
like them, and after having once screwed my
courage to the tasting point I have ever since
been wondering where was the pleasure of
chewing at a little piece of gristle that liore a
close resemblance to boiled sole-leather.
However, the French consider the snail as
an edible mollusk, and the nasty, slimy,
crawling creatures are sold on the street
corners just the same as oysters and at
about the same prices. They aro served up
in their shells, into which is stuffed a com
pound of butter, parsley, and sometimes
garlic, and you are supplied with a sort of
picker, with which to extract them. The finest
come from Burgundy, but of late years a
numljer of departments haVe turned their at
tention to the breeding and fattening of
snails for the Paris market; now it is the
department of Ander that ships the greatest
quantity. Toward the end of summer the
escargots are collected into little inclosures,
arranged in the corners of tho fields and gar
dens, the spot selected being cold, damp aud
shady. In this corner all surts of aromatic
plants are cultivated, and it is frequently vis-
isted to see that the snails do not stray too far
away, lowarti tne end oi autumn ury moss
and leaves are scattered in the inclosure, and
when the snails have built up the opening of
their shells aud gone 'to sleep for the winter
they are gathered into boxes and shipped to
market.
The Habit of Harry.
London Daily News.
The whole of modern life, whether in the
centres of pleasure or the centres of business,
is dominated by tho desire to do too much,
and the consequent necessity of doing it with
precipitation. It is a horrible habit a detri
mental habit; we had almost said a vulgar
habit. The whole world is in a conspiracy to
double, to treble the pace. And what is
gained by it? Loss of teraier, deterioration
of manners, injury to digestion, increase of
nervous diseases these ant the natural and
inevitable results of that high pressure to
which we nearly all expose ourselves and
subject each other. Who is made better by
it, who wiser, who even richer? Everything
is relative in this world; an 1 if everybody
gallops nobody is better off than if every
body walked. But who will consent to alter
it? It would require a universal consensus;
and this is not attainable. -
After the Porpoises.
Exchange.
A company has been organized by persons
living in Philadelphia and Cape May to catch
porpoises, by means of a net invented for
that special purpose, and convert them into
oil, leather, and fertilizers. Those products
of the sportive porpoise are said to be par
ticularly valuable, but hitherto the difficulty
has been to catch the porpoise. The new net
with which the company is to make war is
capable of accommodating 150 of them at a
time.
Home Additional Nisns.
Courier-Jou rnal.
Lord Bacon's signs of short life aro quick
growth, fair, soft skin, soft fine hair, early
corpulence, large head, short neck, small
mouth, fat ear, brittle, separated teeth. The
other signs are: Going into a saloon at
twelve intervals a day, sitting on a railroad
crossing, and writing original poetry.
A whaling company with $1,000,000 capital
has been started in San Francisco.
COMMUNISM IN RUSSIA.
THE GOVEIiXMKXT OF THE MIB - WHY
THE NIHILISTS HAVE LEFT THE PEAS
AXTKY.
Translation from Paris Figaro.
Every commune, every mir is gov
erned just the way it wants to be.) The
Knssian mir is the perfect realization
of the perfect commune dreamed iof by
certain occidental Socialists, j I he
property of the commune is indivisible,
and as each has always more land than
it is possible to cultivate, a regular con
ference is held every year and a decision
made as to what part of the sou shall
be planted, and what products shall be
cultivated. Every soul in the village
is employed in the work, and after har
vest the profits are equally divided.
Ihe mir has the privilege of-banian
ing lazy or worthless characters.' If a
crime be committed all the inhabitants
are held responsible until the guilty
party is found. In the same way every
member of the community is held re
sponsible for tho payment of taxes
But in practice things do not run so
smoothly by any means, as the theory
of the system might lead one to sup
pose. There are plenty of lazy folk,
turbulent and dangerous characters.
ambitious men ; and over all i these
tower the employes of the central gov
ernment who rule tyrannically and
make the peasantry pay them heavily
for overlooking certain things or pre
tending to ignore deficiencies. j
Yet, after all, what better condition
of affairs could the revolutionary, party
promise to the peasant? In reality,
none. But the revolutionaries did find
one vulnerable spot through which the
peasant brain might lie reached and
excited to dissatisfaction. Alexander
II. had given a part of the seignorial
lands of the peasantry. The Nihilists
have persuaded the peasants that the
gift was given only as the first install
ment of a larger one ; that all the lands
really belong to "them, and are due
them : that the lords have succeeded in
devising means to keep the emperor
from giving the peasant all the landed
estates. They have thus taught the
peasant to believe that tire nobility are
their natural enemies. Thus have the
seeds of social war been sown by the
Nihilists. But the Nihilists have not
thus been able to win the poor people
to the cause of political reform.
Consequently the Nihilists j havo
ceased their propagandism among the
peasantry. Thev at first made it a
dutv ' to pro among the people" as they
called it: and they really did mingle
with them, lived with them, identified
themselves with the masses. But they
were soon disillusioned. It is now
chiellv among the educated classes, the
intelligent classes, that they seek for
converts ; and thev make a great many.
It must be confessed that their journal,
Land and Libertv, is still published in
spite of all efforts to suppress it-f-pub-
hslied irregiilarlv, it is true, but still
published in the teeth of all opposition.
i
THE AMENDE HONORABLE.
Bill Nye in Detroit Free Press. j
I remember an incident which oc
curred last summer in my office while I
was writing something scathing. A
large man with an air of profound per
spiration about him and a plaid flannel
shirt stepped into the middle of the
room and breathed in all the air I was
not using. He said he would give me
four minutes m which to retract, and
pulled out a watch by which to ascer
tain the exact time. I asked him if he
would not allow me a minute or two
to go over to the telegraph office and
to wire my parents of my awful death.
He said that I could walk out that door
when I walked over his dead; body.
Then I waited a long time, till he told
me my time was up, and asked me what
I was waiting for. I told him 1 was
waiting for him to die so that I could
walk over his dead bodv. How could I
walk over a corpse until life was ex
tinct?
He stood and looked at me, at first in
astonishment, afterward in pity. Finally
tears welled up in his eyes and ploughed
their way down his brown and j grimy
face. Then he said that I need not fear
him. i
"You are safe," said he. " A J youth
who is so patient and cheerful as vou
are, one who would wait for a healthy
man to die so that you could meander
over his pulseless remnants, ought not
to die a violent death. A soft eyed
seraph like you who is no moro con
versant with the ways of this j world
than that, otfeht to be put in a glass
vial of alcohol and preserved. I came
up here to kill you and throw you into
the rain water barrel, but now that I
know what a patient disposition you
have, I shudder when I think of tha
crimo I was about to commit." j
PHYSICAL' EFFECTS OF COLOR.
John W. Root in Inter-Ocean. j
Certain effects of color on domestic
animals (ruminants, fowls, etc.) are
well know.i. It is only within! a very
few years that anything like systematic
investigation lias ueeu luuue ui tuu
effects on men, but, as far as they have
Leon maile. it aimears that thev can be
recognized and rudely predetermined.
In the case of certain lunatics, ana
other persons of deficient mental con-
trol, red and yellow was ooviousiy ex-
itant, blue and green soounng as
vith thosfi of us who are not lunatics;
whilfl all savacre tribes manifest for red
and yellow, and for all brilliant and
glittering things, a marKea ana
passionate fondness.
A COSTLY RESIDENCE.
Millionaire Flood, of San Francisco,
ftbmit. t.n beerin the erection Df what
is
ho sara will be the handsomest and
most costly private residence 'in the
United States. It win ue oi( urowu
stone brought from eastern quarries,
and the cost when completed is esti
mated at $3,500,000, not including the
value of the ground. j
A GORGEOUS SCREEN;
Now Orleans Times-Democrat. i
All tliH best needle-workers in New
York are engaged on a gorgeous screen
for the Vanderbilt mansion, it is oemg
mad at Mr. John La Farge's ! studio,
under the supervision of Mrs. Tilling-
hast. The gold tnreaa aione useu iu
is embroiderv cost $30,000. j Such a
screen as that should cover a multitude
of sins. . !
THE PRISONER'S TASK
Swinton's Story-Teller.
He passed the first ten years of his
imprisonment without doing anything;
just time to turn himself round, settle
down and get into the ways of the
place.
Then, as he still had twenty years to
serve cut, he said to himself one fine
morning that it was shameful to lead
so lazy a life, and that he must find
some occupation worthy not of a free
man, for he was a prisoner but simply
of a man.
He devoted a year to reflecting, to
weighing the different ideas which
passed through his head, and examin
ing what should be the definitive ob
ject ofhis life. '
To traiii a spider? That was very
old, well known! Copy Pellison, peugh!
flat plagiary !
To count on his fingers the wrinkles
on the wall? What! that was a ridicu
lous and useless amusement; nothing
worth while.
He said to himself: "I must find
something which would be at once
curious, profitable and gratifying to my
desire for vengeance. I must invent a
task which will make the time pass,
which will produce some benefit and
which will have tho value of a protest."
A fresh year was spent on this dis
covery, and finally success rewarded so
much perseverance.
The prisoner lived in a veritable
dungeon, where the sun entered only
for half an hour a day, and then only by
a thin line like a single hair of light.
The wretched pallet on which the un
fortunate man rested his cramped limbs
was literally - nothing but aheap of
damp straw.
"Now, then," he cried with energy, "I
shall bother my jailers and bluff the
law. I will dry my straw !"
He first of all counted the stalks
which formed his bundle. There were
1,307. A poor bundle.
He next made an experiment to find
out how much time it needed to dry one
of the straws. It needed three-quarters
of an hour.
This made then, altegether, for the
1,307 straws, a sum of 'J80 hours and
fifteen minutes; or taking it at half an
hour sunlight a day 1,961 days.
Assuming that the sun shone on an
average, one day in three, he ar
rived at a total ot sixteen years, one
month, one week and six days.
At the end of six months this was
what remained for him to do.
He set to work then.
Every time that the sun shone the
prisoner held one of the straws in the
ray and thus utilized all his sunlight.
The rest of the time he kept warm
beneath his clothes what he had been
able to dry. -
Ten years passed a a ay. The prisoner
had now only a third of his damp bundle
to sleep on, and had his chest stuffed
with the two other thirds which had
gradually been dried.
x if teen years passed. Oh I joy, only
136 stalks of damp straw left! Four
hundred aud eight days more and the
prisoner would be finally able to stand
erect, proud of his work, victor over
society, and cry with the vengeful voice
and satanic laughter of insurgents : .
"Ha! ha! You condemned me to
damp straw in vour dungeon 1 Then
weep with rage ! I lie on dry straw 1"
Alas! cruel fate was waiting in am
bush for its prey!
One night when the prisoner was
dreaming of his future happiness, in his
ecstasy he made furious gestures,
knocked over his pitcher, and the water
fell osbis chest.
All the straw was wetted.
What was to be done now ? Begin
again the Sisyphus task ? Pass another
fifteen years in getting bits of sun into
bits of straw.
And his discouragement! You, the
lucky ones of the world, who give up a
pleasure if you have to take twenty-fave
steps to get it, dare you throw the first
stone at him ?
But, you will say, he had only a year
and a half to wait !
And do you reckon for nothing his
wounded pride, his abortive hopes?
What, this man shall have worked fif
teen years in order to sleep on a bundle
of dry straw, and then consent to leave
his prison with bits of damp straw on
his hair! Never! There is nothing be
tween self-respect and lying down in
the gntter.
Eight days and eight nights he de
bated in anguish, struggling with de
spair, trying to find a footing again in
the annihilation which overwhelmed
him.
He ended by surrendering and con
fessing himself vanquished. He had lost
the battle.
One evening he fell on his knees,
crushed, despairing.
"Mt God!" he said with tears, "I ask
Thy forgiveness for being without
courage to-tlay. I have suffered for
thirty years, 1 have felt my limbs decay,
my skin w:tl er, my eyes wear away, my
blood become pale, my hair and teeth
fall out. I have fought against hunger,
cold, solitude. I had one desire which
sustained my efforts, I had one ob
ject in my life. Now my desire cannoi
possibly be satisfied. Now my object
has fled forever. Now I am dishon
ored. Fardon me for deserting my
post, for leaving the battle, for running
away like a coward. I can no more."
Then in a fit of indignation he re
sumes :
"No," he cried, "no, a thousand times
no! It shall not be said that I have
lost my life for nothing. No ; I am not
conquered! No; I shall not desert!
No ; I am not a coward I No ; 1 will not
lie a minute longer on the damp straw
of the dungeons ! No ; society shall
not get the better of me !"
And the prisoner died during the
night, vanquished like Brutus, grand as
Cato.
He had died of an heroic indigestion.
He had eaten all his straw.
Two questions ana All Was Over
San Francisco Post
"Have you got quail on toast f asked a
seedy looking party as he entered a Market
street restaurant the other day.
"Have you got an eagle on silver?" asked
the proprietor.
And the conference adjourned sine die.
There is one lawyer for every 700 people In
the-United States.
QUICKLY WOULD THE SHADOWS
FLEE.
Mary Torrence in Demoreet'i Monthly.
If you should come all suddenly
And let the soft, sweet glory of your eyes
Light up the darkness of this sombre room.
Ana cnase away the area mess or tnia aay or
gloom.
And grace it with the dawning of a glad sur
prise. How quickly would the shadows flee.
And looking out, amazed, I'd say:
U beautiful, bright, happy day,
How could I think vou aark and cold.
When in your heart such Joy you hold,
U rair, sweet Uayf
Your gentle hand should wander swift.
How quickly would each leaf be edged with
gold,
And every shining rage would hold
A message sweeter than a fairy gift,
And down through long dead years would
eome . - .
The far faint echo of the sage's vow.
In music sweeter than the world bath known,
And looking up surprised I'd say:
"I wonder why this gloomy day .
So fair hath grown."
If while the wind is making moan
Through leafless branches of the trees,
And I am trying, all in vain,
To shut away the sob of pain,
Your voice came floating on the breeze,
How would its long-remembered tone,
In music sweet fall on my ear,
And I no more the moan would hear,
But your voice my heart would fill
With its music and its thrill
And its echoes clear.
ELI PERKINS' BOOK AGENT.
A Short Narrative Embracing lie
markable Chain of Circumstances.
New York Star.
A Philadelphia book agent importuned
James Watson, a rich and close New York
man, living out at Elizabeth, until he bought
a book the "Early Christian Martyrs." Mr.
Watson didn't want the book, but he bought
it to get rid of the agent; then taking it un
der his arm, he started for the train which
takes him to his New York office.
Mr. Watson hadn't been gone long before
Mrs. Watson came home from a neighbor's.
The book agent saw her, and went in and
persuaded the wife to buy another copy of
the same book. She was ignorant of the fact
that her husband had bought . the same book
in the morning. When Mr. Watson came
back from New York at night Mrs. Watson
showed him the book.
"I don't want to see it," said Watson,
frowning terribly.
"Why. husband V asked his wife.
"Because that rascally book agent sold me
the same book this morning. Now we've got
two copies of the same book two copies of
the 'Early Christian Martyrs,1 and "
"But, husband, we can "
"No, we can't, either!" Interrupted Mr.
Watson. "That man is -off on the train be
fore this. Confound it! I could kill the fel
low, I "
"Why, there he goes to the depot now,"
said Mrs. Watson, pointing out of the win
dow at the retreating form of the book agent
making for the train.
"But it's too late to catch him, and I'm
not dressed. I've taken off my boota and,
Tt
Just then Mr. Stevens, a neighbor of Mr.
Watson, drove by, when Watson pounded on
the window-pane in a frantic manner, al
most frightening the horse.
"Here, Stevens!" he shouted, "you're
hitched np; won't you run your horse down
to the train and hold that book ageut till I
come? Run! Catch 'im now!"
"All right," said Mr. Stevens, whipping up
his horse and tearing down the road.
Mr. Stevens reached the train just as the
conductor shouted "all aboard I"
"Book agent r he yelled, as the book agent
stepped on to the train. "Book agent! hold
on! Mr. Watson wants to see you."
"Watson? Watson wants to see met" re
peated tho seemingly puzzled book agent.
"Oh, I know what he wants! he wants to buy
one of my books; but 1 can't miss the train to
sell it to him."
"If that is all he wants," said Mr. Stevens,
driving np to the car window, "I can pay for
it and take it back to him. How much is itr
"Two dollars for the 'Early Christian Mar
tyrs,'" said the book agent, as he reached for
the money and passed the book out through
the car window.
Just then Mr. Watson arrived, puffing and
blowing, in his shirt sleeves. As he saw the
train pull out he was too full for utterance.
"Well, I got it for you," said Stevens; "just
got it, and that's all."
"Got whatr yelled Watson.
"Why, I got the book 'Early Christian
Martyrs,' and-7 w
"By the great guns!" moaned Watson,
as he placed his hand to bis brow swooned
right in the middle of the street
A Man With a Milver HkulL
Chicago Times.
One of the queerest curiositieson the globe
is a man with a silver skull whdlsnow vis-,
iting in Louisville, Ivy. Durind a fiercely
contested battle in the late war this interest
ing Individual was struck in th head with a
piece of shell, which tore awavthe entire top
of his skull, leaving the braili most horribly
exposed. Strange UrtHy, he survived the
terrible wound andb noted surgeon who was
one of the physicians in attendance upon the
late lamented Oarneid, succeeded in fitting
a suver piato over tne opening wmcu
shielded the brain, equally as well as the
skull. This plate is about the size of a man's
hand and works on hinges, and may be
raised up and down at wilL The re-skulled
man does not experience the least iain, and
he wears a wig all evidence of a shattered
skull is concealed.
A Hint on Chimneys.
Industrial Chronicle.
It is well known that the round form is the
best for chimneys in workshops. It facilitates
the escape of the smoke and gives less bold
for the wind, besides requiring less material
for construction. Round chineys are, bow-
ever, difficult to build, and in some places the
want of workmen to make the round kina
has compelled the adoption of square or octa
gonal forms. To obviate this a European
firm makes bricks in the shape of wedges
and corresponding with the radius which the
chimney is to have.
A Joke on Ineersoll.
Chicago Times.
An aged colored woman of Washington.
while at the colored indignation meeting in
that city recently, was so overcome by the
Methodist sound or Ingersoll s voice that she
began the general routine of gymnastics com
monly used in camp-meeting viz: jumping
up and down, droning out a hymn, and keep
ing time to the tune by the gentle pit-a-pat
of her pedal extremities. She had mistaken
the genial star-route attorney for a minister
of the gospel.
Experiments are in progress In Ohio for
turning )alinetto leaves into paper for news
print. It was the material used for Bank of
England notes with such secrecy for years.
New York Commercial Advertiser: V Why
speak of these stocks as 'securities V asked a
Broad street operator: why not call them 'in
securities P