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About The Columbian. (St. Helens, Columbia County, Or.) 1880-1886 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 5, 1884)
THE COLUMBIAN. THE COLUMBIAN. Pttbushso Evkby Friday, AT ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA CO., OR., BT B. 0. AT) AITS, Editor and Proprietor. Published Evert Fridat, at ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA CO., OR,, t E. 0. ADAIIS, Editor and Proprietor Subscription Rates: One year, in advance f 2 00 Six months, " 1 00 Thne months, " 80 . -ADVKBTisrao Rates : One square (10 lines) first insertion . . $2 00 VOL. V. ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA COUNTY, OREGON, SEPTEMBER 5, j 1884. NO. 5. Each subsequent insertion 1 00 "OUT TO OLD AUNT MAR VS." Jarats Whitcomb Riley. Wasn't it pleasant, Oh, brother mine, In those old days of the lost sunshine Of youth when the Saturday's chore were through. And the "Sunday's wood" in the kitchen, too, And we went vixiting. "I and you. Out to old Aunt Mary's?" It all comes back so clear to-day! Though I am as bald as you are gray Out by the barn lot and down the lane We patter along in the dust again, As light as the tips of the drops of the rain, Out to old Aunt Mary's. We crows the pasture and through the wood Where the old grey snag of the poplar stood, "Where the hammering red-neads hopped away, And the buzzard raised in the open sky And lolled and circled as we went by Out to old Aunt Mary's. And then in the dust of the road again; And the teams we met and the countrymen And the long highway with the sunshine spread . As thick as butter on country bread. And our cares behind and our hearts ahead, Out to old Aunt Mary's. I we her now in the oven door Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er The clapboard roof. And her face oh, mc ! Wasn't it good for a boy to see? And wasn t it good for a boy to be Out to old Aunt Mary's. And oh, my brother, so far away, This is to tell you she waits to-day To welcome us. Aunt Mary fell Asleep this morning, whispering, "Tell The boys to come!" And all is well Out to old Aunt Mary's. GROWTH OF THE GRAVER. Income of a Flrst-Class Engraver- Work on magazines. (Boston Herald. A generation ago the engraver used to bo considered of comparative unimpor tance, and he was remunerated accord ingly. Within fifteen or twenty years. however, he has come to the front, and now he divides both ' glory and profit with the artist on a more equitable scale. The magazines, you know, apparently consider it as mucn of an advertisement to mention the engraver's name as that of the designer. The former have thus become much more independent, and a great many of them, if they don't like a - drawing, won't have anything to do with it. A proportion of the leading engravers ' are fairly well off. I know a number of them who may be worth from $50,000 to $75,000. Yet there is not enough money in the business to make a man rich, as we reckon ncb.es nowadays. The income of a first-class engraver ranges, perhaps, from $2,500 to $6,000 or $7,000, the average being nearer to the first mentioned figures, while those who get the latter can be counted upon your angers. In an establishment like liar per's, the engraver who works bv the week receives probably from $30 to $50. The amount paid per piece for work, of course, varies very much, according to the size of the drawing and the nature of the subject. Speaking in a general way, the expense of engraving a draw ing' that costs $20 would range from $50 to $100. In the "Lady of the Lake" .there are two sketches, for which Frost was paid $20 each, that brought $120 aDiece to the engraver. It costs from $100 to $250 to engrave Gibson's work. The illustrated magazines, as I have intimated, were a potent agent in put tins ut the prices of engraving by in creasing the demand for good work. should judge that the monthly art bill of The Century and Harper s ranges irom $3,000 to $4,000. and perhaps more in tome instances. Burying" an Kxeentlonere Sword. Exchange. A Paris contemporary gives, from ad vance sheets of the memoirs about to see the light of Henry Heine, an account of the friend of Heine's child, the beautiful daughter of a public executioner. One night a number of elderly strangers as sembled at her father's house, and ranged themselves round a stone table in a half circle. They remained long seated by torchlight, whispering together. Then each in turn emptied a large goblet of wine, and all shook hands with effusion. Then her grandfather, also an executioner, recited something which Sefchen, in her hiding place, could not catch; while tears rolled down his cheeks, and the other executioners began to show like emotion. Then all quitted their seats, doffing the red mantles they had worn, and walked two and two to the foot of a true, where one, taking up a spade, . dug a deep trench. Then Sefchen's grandfather, who alone had not doffed, his mantle, approached, and drew from his folds a long white packet. This he carefully placed in the trench, which he hastily covered with earth. Five years later Sefchen learned that the packet thus ceremoniously buried was the sword with which her grand father had cut off the heads of 100 con demned. By ancient custom, when this number had been reached the instrument was regarded as having a sort of ac red ness and as a thing to be put wholly apart. The Soger Beet. Atlanta Constitution. Sugar is declining the world over, on account of the immense beet root yield. The yield of beet culture in 1883-84 is estimated aa follows: Germany, 940, 000 tons; Austria-Hungary, 455, 000 tons; France, 465,000, tons; Russia, 310,000 tons; Belgium, 105,000 tons, and Holland, 40,000 tons mak ing a total of 2,315,000 tons as against 2,047,000 tons the year before. House Plants. , Exchange. A method of growing house-plants without soil is claimed by Captain Hal fordV Thompson, a similar plan having been previously suggested by a French man named Dumesnil. The plants are reared in a prepared or "fertilized" moss, and are said to grow even more luxuri antly than in soil. Specimen baskets of plants cultivated in this way have been exhibited in London. Cincinnati Saturday Night: He had just hinted that he could not spare the time to take her to a picnic.: ; "Ob, I see, " she responded rueUy, ? Hi me is money." ::i':'r -3 ; t. Jfsriereabachr X good jot 'hould.uiifiiteationfcl. THE INUNDATION. iBelsravia. The floods were out at Wendelthorpe. Boats were moving hither and thither in lower-lying streets, and out in the open coun try field after field was changed to a lake. From amid the waters rose a solitary farm house, black against a darkening sky. The surging flow heaved and tossed and struck beavilr upon it Here was no languidly nre&din? expanse, but the hurry of the swollen river rushing impatiently .forward and rising in its impatience higher and ever higher. At an upper window six persons were gathered, watching the motions of lieht that came and went slowly, and seemed to be drawing nearer by degrees. The group was made up of the farmer, his wife, three children, and ' a vouue man who was the eldest daughter's lover. The light was mani festly approaching, the dark shape of a boat become distinct, they beard tne cup ana splash of the oars; at last the boat paused in the lee of the house, and their rescue was secure. It could be Been now, in the light of the lantern, that there were several persons in the boat and that one of them was a wo- man. A voice called upward "How many are you J" to those within And a voice called downward in reply "Six." To that answer followed a moment silence. of Then, amid the sound of the water, came up the words, "We have only room for four. "Shall vou be able to come back for the others f asked the farmer. Again followed a pause, brief, but sufficient to foreshadow the coming negative. No. hardly, it was trettine too dark and too dangerous. Within were quick questionings and de nials, a half heard debate, caught and lost again between the ominous beating of the rising floods. By daybreak the housetop would scarcely be left above water, even the walls should be strong enough to hold out so long. "Jack and I will stay," said the farmer at last. "If Jack stays, so will I." answered the clear voice of his daughter. Then a man rcse in the boat and said "There is no woman who would say that for me, so let me stay." The others in the boat looked at him as he stood leaning one hand against the walL He was a stranger who had reached Wendel thorpe only that afternoon, and bad volun tee red his services at the starting of the boat. The woman sitting in the stern moved little and said: "I will stay, too," and all eyes turned back to her. Her they knew. She was the new mistress of the village school, grave young woman, and reported eccentric. There was no remonstrance from the boat; only a slow, ruminating surprise; from above. indeed, came protests, but faint and quickly overruled. A window was opened in a lower story ; the two entered upon a landing that was already flooded and went quickly upward. Warm. broken thanks met them and eager promises or return in tne first hours of dawn. 1 hen, from the upper window, the two watched the embarkation of the six, heard their shouts of thanks and of farewell, then the dip of the oars, and felt at their hearts a sudden blank. They stood side by side, watching the waver ing progress of the departure and the waver ing reflection of the shaken light. At last. when the boat was far away and no dim echo reached them of its sounds, they turned to wards each other and toward the inner room. The room had, in the interval, crown nearly dark, and as they turned this way they beard the nap of the water lite a step, on the stair case. "Have you any bope of their coming back in timer afcked the woman. Her companion answered, "No;" and she saw through the darkness that he shook his bead. "Nor have I." said she. They stood aimlessly looking into the fast darkening room. They had no occupation due to await tne coming up of the water. and they were strangers who had never so much as beheld each other's face by full daylight. TLe wind and the water went sweeping bv outside, and In th bouse were ghostly sounds of doors and win dows stealthily tried and shaken. "Had we not better go up to the attic while we canr' asicea the man by and by. tone assented, and they went inward to tte dark core of the house. The Inkv rii tude below was full of creakiugs and rust lings, above shone a suuare of vellnnr KbY, revealing a steep ladder. A lie-hted 1a ntitm ' a a - A-auar had been left for tbem in the attic, together witn ruoa ana warm wrappings 1 will retch the lantern " ho A swung himself quickly upward. one stood Deiow, holding fast to the side of the ladder. His quick step sounded above her head; the light shifted and hricht- nea;snesaw nis iace in a quick illumina tion; men tne ngnt whirled toward and beyond her. down, down intv t.ii darkness and flashed upon the stairs. Her breath stood still: she had a sickening fulin- oi oeing ieit atone. Assurance of her com .. . . . . panion's safety reached her. however, in th form of an imprecation, checked, indeed but hearty, uttered about two feet above her. "The handle of the lantern was loose." said he, as he came to her level. "I'll go down and fetch it up." "No, don't! It's too dark. Please don't 1 Let us go up." She had found his arm in the darkness and held him back. In the darkness, which was much the blacker for that brief interposition of light, they made their way into the attic, and crossing it carefully, afraid of the low roof, afraid of unseen stumbling blocks, afraid of returning upon the yawning aperture, made their way to the gray square of the window. Here they found large box, upon which they sat down They spoke but little; there were so few things left worth utterance in 6uch an hour as this. By and by, as their eyes grew ac customed to the dimness, they discerned the general character of their surroundings. There was a table near them with food ; there were boxes and bundles and a couole of old pictures, brought up hither apparently when the tide began to rise. - In the middle lay the black square through which they had made entrance; at the far end a rough heap oi straw was aimiy distinguished, and from this cams restless gna wings, scrapings and rustlings, causing the woman to shrink and shudder. "I suppose they are rats," she said once. when the sounds grew louder. "I suppose so; do you mind very much" "No, if we could only see them." Again for awhile they were silent, hearing the little sounds within and the ever -increasing souuds without. At last the man stood up, and, passiug his hand aoross his face, said: "Ob. this is very coldblooded I They used to torture witoka. so, fixed to a stake, when the tide was oasvlag v.p." He moved to and fro impatiently, and btood still by the (able. "CoM you not eat something J" "No, than y-u." He broke himself a piece of bread, and re turning to the window, ate a few mouthful. He pushed open the lattice and leaned oat. The water was rising rapiiily, and was already washing on the window of the room below. He turned back toward her a face of dismay; hers as she sat within the room -ras not clearly visible, but her attitude was calm and undisturbed. He sighed and came back auietlv to sit beside her. But his Quietness was of short duration. He asked, after a few minutes, 'Would you not like to go out upon the roof? "We shall have to do it sooner or later, and I don't think we should feel quite so much imprisoned. "Ob yes, let us go. Is there a trap doorr "I don't think there is. I looked just now. But I can get up through the window the roof is close above and then I can help you. He set his foot on the window sill, and thrust his bead and shoulders through the narrow opening. "Ob, yes, it is quite blows! We had better easy. But how it have some of those shawls." She brought them and banded them out, watched him draw himself . up, and then mounted in her turn from box to window ledge, and, reaching her hands upward, found herself lifted safely to the summit. The surge of wind and water was terrific her bat was blown away at once and she was blinded by her hair. When she had freed her face and drawn up her shawl over her head she was able to perceive that the root was formed of two long parallel gables, and that between them, at each end, a stack of chimneys rose from a solid platform. They went forward to the more sheltered group and sat down on the block of brickwork at the base. They had before tbem the wide, desolate expanse of waters below them torrents ran thundering between dwelling and out-houses, and in the pauses of the cannonadj that beat the walls and of the rushing and rending sounds within, they heard a southern wind drifting with sighs between the chimneys. There was no token of life, no light, no sound of hope. Yet they felt a sense of relief and freedom in being here, where they could see and know what was befalling. "Ob, that is better!" said she, and lifted up her face to breathe the fresher air. "One would say," said he, watching the dark cameo of her face, as it detached itself from the straight line of masonry, "that you had a kind of enjoymeut of all this." "In a sense I have. There is so much space and power. And there is the feeling of hav ing for once put action and responsibility out of one's hands. There is nothing now which it can possibly be one's duty to do." "You don't feel any fear of death, then?" "I fear it physically, of course the actual drowning and chokiug -ah, don't let us talk of it. But at least we shall have had this hour of freedom aud rest." "I could bear it better," he returned, "if there were any element of struggle. To sit still in a cage until death' chooses to come and put an end to you that's terrriblei She turned toward him and seemed to con sider his point of view until it became hers, for she shuddered and said: "It is horrible 1" There was silence again between them for a little wniie. Again, when her lace was bent forward, be was able to watch its out line. Surely she was younger than be had supposed. "What made you stay!" he asked suddenly. she hesitated a little. "What made you?" "I hardly knew, more than what I said that nobody cared much whether I did or not, and that I did not care much myself. But I am older than you, and I have had about as much out of life as it will ever give me. "I don't think that it need be a question of age bow much one's life is worth. Mine did not matter to any one, either; and it was not very easy or hopeful for myself. I had wanted so much, and had to learn that I must do with so little. Of course it is not noble to care so much about one's own petty happiness, but oh I one does caret And then, all , at once, here was a way of escape, not selfish, but to help happier people, and it seemed the key to everything when you stood up in the boat and said that you would stay. " "Yet," said he, "I could not help wonder ing as we stepped out, whether what we were really giving to those young lovers was only time to lose their love for each other, even in remembrance. For death can only destroy the future, but life can destroy the past, too. "Are you sorry, then, that you staid!" There was a little note of mockery in the question, or his conscience created it "No. it seemed the thing to da One can but act in the present. And even if a man could Jcnow certainly that death would keep their love for them, and life would lose it, he could harly bring himself to say. Then let death come.' It takes Apollo to give death when he is asked for the best gift But yet, what a chance for two lovers to have died together so!" She drew a rather deeper breath and made no spoken answer. Down at the far horizon the late moon was rising, vague and cloudy. A ghostly light, bringing in its wake mysterious shadows, spread slowly as the moon drowsily lifted herself and dropped the mists from her shoulders. The man, looking down, In this clearer light, to the water, started and said, "it is coming up much faster." She stooped and looked. Then their eyes, lifting, sought each other. Both faces were pale . in the moonlight On both sat the human shrinking from this upward crawling fate Yet it was something to see each other. "How long is it to morning?" she asked. He drew out his watch, but there came a cloud across the moon and they had to wait "It is just past 12," said be. "Perhaps they will come out by moon light" "Perhaps," said he. But neither of them had any trust in the hope. He had seen in the moment when they looked at each other that she was indeed younger than his first supposition, though hardly so young as his second. She mfght be 25. It was not the face of a girL She had returned to her former position, and now, leaning back against the chimney. lifted up her face to the sky. Her eyes were closed and her lips drawn in. There was but time to look once before the lips curved again into a smile and the eyes opened to a calm gaze. The man sitting by her heard the changing and deepening tone of the water as it came up and up. "You are too young for this," said he ab ruptly. His voice had changed aud deepened like the tone of the water. "No. no," she answered after a moment "Don't trouble about me." "I do trouble about you. It's horrible 1 horrible 1" She again kept silence for a little snace: then she sai 1: "When I heard you sav that in the boat, and get up to stay, I felt sud denly as if it was a cruel thing not to stay with you, ton, ss well as to save tbem." She bad been obliged to speak the last wonls loudly, for the wind rose suddenly and fiercely, and the shock of the water broke noisily on the walla And as she ceased cams terrible crash; the whole build ing creaked and swayed; ther were kaaw snlaohaa in Vi a .n4 - i spouted over tbem as they caught and clung to eaoo otner. juong oair was mown perore I his face. They held each other fost, panting and trembling. There was a sound of water, running, trickling and dropping. The calm moon, pursuing her leisurely pathway, passed out from behind a cloud, and showed them that the olatform at the other end of the house had given way. and the stack of chimneys opposite had fallen. "If it had been these?" said she. They crouched nearer together, each still holding to the other. The fear In each mind now was the fear of being divided, of losing all human companionship. The waters were rising faster, rising, as it seemed, with malignant, hungry joy." "It can't be long now, said the man. "No," said she. There were a few more life-long moments in which they sat silent breathing hard. The wild gust of wind abated; the moon found a wide, open archway among the clouds; the face of the waters grew by com parison still again. "And so, said he, "it was for me jou stayed, and even at the end I can't go away in peace without pulling down some one else. And you, who stayed, are a stranger, and we shall die here together, strangers. Ob, the Irony "of this worldl . All my life I have been solitary and deserted. It has been my fault no doubt it has been my fault; and now life is over. It's all too late, and there's no time." She remained silent, and the monotonous pulse of the water throbbed below. . "But if. by any miracle, we should be saved, at least we know each other now,' said he. . "Do we! . Well, the depths, perhaps, of each other, but not the shallows. If we were to ba saved we should feel like friends till we came to land, and then you would go your way and I mine; and if we were to meet once a week for a twelve-month we should speak to each other at first, and then we should nod and smile, and by and by we should pass and take no notice. No, what knowledge or friendship we have does not belong to this life!" "You believe, then, in another? "It is hardly that I believe in another life, so much as that I can't believe in death. We could not be capable nf so much, and de- sirious of so much, and nothing come. We have not half enough. I feel so much, much more. No, I am pot afraid. There' more." He in his turn was, silent Perhaps he fore bore, out of pity, to put forth a word against her hope; perhaps in his soul, too. like hope, which he bad taken to be long dead, began to stir and murmur. The moon had put on, minute by minute, a fuller glory; it was illuminating an arch of clouds, and beyonl the arch lay measureless, liquid, lucid depths. She looked and pointed upward. The full glow shone on her face. He saw in her dark eyes a slow, ineffable softening; in all the lines of her features breathed a spirit of exultant reception. "The open doorway of infinity," said be, fitting to this radiance its apt poetic descrlp tion, but without anything of the poet's rap ture or belief, her lips moved to a recognizing smile. "And can you look up to that and despair?" she asked. That has no voice for me. It is too far off, too silent too unmoved. That glory may "come back, as serene, to look' down on my drowned race. But you have to die with me. What bope there is in life or death you have shown me. 1 don't know that it is last ing or that it is good for much; but such as it is, it comes from you," Again the water came rushing over the fallen chimneys, and they looked out in mo mentary apprehension. But the sudden tor rent subsided, and the waters went on rising again slowly as before. He then quietly proceeded; "One thinks of life as the life one has known. To-night glimpse has come to me of something that seems to make life worth going on with. It may be life on the other side of a division; I can't tell. I don't want to be carried back into the old life, but I do want life, the life that I nearly saw just now, when we thought that our time was upon us. And I have found you, standing with ma under the brink. We do not know each other, you say; we are not friends, and we can't be. I don't know. I only know that I would neither go on nor back alone." Her band, which still clung to his .arm, trembled and was withdrawn, and the next moment stole softly into his. They sat quite silent, and the endless night drew on. Memories rose before each of them of hopes and dreams that had once bean all and all, and now were small and faint, and immeasurably distant Around them, rising always, surged the persistent ' waters. Now and again gusts of wind awoke suddenly and brought a sweep of waves over the sub merged masonry. Presently, oozing drops began to creep be tween the chimneys Denia l tbem. "We must go up higher," said the man. They quitted their sheltered nook, and. mounting, stood upon the platform of brick work. The wind flung itself upon them in fury. Tbey clung to the chimneys and to each other, and for a few minutes stood so, battling strenuously to keep their footbold. The man cried out suddenly: "Obt if there were only some place for you. It is too hard a death for you. I am so sorry fcr you." And even while he spoke the water was up about their feet, snatching and dragging at tbem. "I am not sorry," she answered. "And ob. nol it is not hard; it is the best moment life has ever brought me!" Her voice was blown away as it crossed her lips. It was only because they were uttered at his ear that he could hear her words. And his, of reply, the winds snatched and carried away forever. The time of words was over. There was nothing now but bard-drawn breath, and the vain struggle of resistance, and then, a placid moon shining over a waste of floods. The Boy with a Watch. Detroit Free Press. It stands to reason that a boy cannot have a watch and retain that sweet boyishness which is the delight of his parents, and the terror of the neighborhood. How can be tear through back alleys, and over vacant lots in "hi spy" with a watch in his pocket, or crawl under sidewalks and circus tents with ease and propriety if timed down by an hour hand? How can he stand on his head, or make a wheelbarrow of himself, or do cart wheels, or "wrassel" for the championship of the crowd? What excuse can he give for be ing late at school, and early at a fire? No; don't watch the innocent youth. Don't let him begin in his early years to go on tick. Lime Kiln Club: Dar was a lot o' slek hosses in Wall street, an' when the condishun powders gin out de animau rolled ober an' died. In kickin' around dey hit sartin people on de shins. To wed, or not to wed? that is the question. Whether it is wiser in a gin to enjoy The tempting visions of single blessedness, Or, to be led, by some man of our times, to the altar. And, by marriage, end them? To wed, to doubt No more; and by that act to end The heartache, and calm the palpitating Bosom of soma love-sicK youtai 'tis a cou summation Devoutly to be wished. -rvaasar ausceuany. ANCIENT DIVORCE LAWS. The Customs and Practice of the Hebrew, U reeks and Romans. Cincinnati Enquirer. - The- well-being of society demands the existence of the marital relation, yet the evil incident to the hasty mar riages, or between uncongenial parties leading to alienation and crime, and the commission by one party of acts sub- versive of the terms of tne contract, have more or less weight to make exceptions to the rule. Among bar- barons and half-civilized tribes wives were put aside with little or no formal ity. The Mohammedans allow divorce by the consent of both parties, although they seek to restrain it by revolting ceremonies. The Hebrews, to whom we owe many of the leading elements of our civiliza tion, while they recognize marriage i as an institution, for which a man left his parents and clung - to his wife, slyly winked at polygamy, and countenanced divorce whenever the husbands found some nncleanliness about their wives. What this uncleanliness was has led to much discussion among theologians. It has been a subject of discussion be tween the schools of Shammai and Hillel;the latter understanding it as anything offensive or displeasing on "the part of the wife, the former considering it as only applying to adultery. Solon endeavored to elevate the in stitution of marriage, but the wayward temper of the voluptuous people who worshiped God, continually engaged in amorous peccadilloes, was not to be checked by either the wisdom of Solon or the edicts of Draco. The Greek husband put his wife aside for slight causes. In Crete a man could divorce her if he was afraid she would become the mother of too many children. At Athens it took two forms, the first was apopempein, or sending away or out of t'ae house, when the husband repudiated the wife; the other was apoleipein, when .the wife left and .vent away. Little ceremony was used when the husband sent the wife away, and often times the causes were slight. Timo crates finds a rich heiress, so he sends off his wife, who, in a day, marries Aphobus, the guaidian of the boy Demosthenes. When the wife left the husband she was compelled to go before the archon and present a writing in which the rea sons for the separation were set down. If both parties agreed, that was the end of the affair, and her husband paid over whatever dower was in his hands. If not agreed, a suit arose. Ilipparete, the wife of Alcibiades and daughter of one of the leading men of Athens, became indignant at her husband's licentious excesses, went before the archon with her grievances, but Alcibiades collected a band of men and dragged her back, perhaps for the sake pf her great dower of twenty talents, and she lived with him until her death. Among the Romans the husband had the right of divorce by the laws of the twelve tables. The first divorce was the case of Sp.Carrilius Ruga, who put away his wife for barrenness, yet re ceived the condemnations of the simple republicans. After the extension of the Roman empire in the eajt and the ex tinction of Carthage, corruption and lax morals crept in and divorces be came common. Sulpicius G alius put aside his wife because she went outdoors with her head uncovered; Antistius Vetus because his wife spoke to a freed woman of the common sort, and Sophus because she went to the circus without his permission. Cicero, the orator, dis missed Ferentia for no crime, after a long marriage, so that he could marry Publitia, a rich young lady, and piy his debts Among the grounds which a husband had for divorce were some sufficiently nonsensical, as witchcraft, eating with strangers, dealing falsely, raising the hand in anger, frequenting . theatres when forbidden, sacrilege, murder and violating the sepulchres. Under the Christian emperors the laws of divorce were several times modified. In 439 divorce by mutual consent was allowed. So great were the odds in favor of the husband that the historian Gibbon savs: In the most rigorous laws a wife was compelled to support a game s tor, a drunkard or a libertine, unless he was guilty of homicide, poison or sacrilege, in which cases the marriage, as it would seem, might have been dis solved by the hand of the executioner." In the times of Christ he announced that divorce ought to be restrained to the single cause of adultery, and when his disciples expressed surprise his reply was, "What God hath joined to gether let not man put assunder. As early as the eight and ninth centuries, when the power of the church of Ivome was becoming nrmiy grounded, tne doctrine was taught that' marriage was a sacrament. For a time this doctrine was rejected by the civil tribunals, but when the church had gained strength enough to take from the civil authori ties the jurisdiction of marriage and di vorce, the revolution was complete. Marriage became a religious ordinance, and no power except that of the church itself could dissolve it, Tell Us f Oar Bias. New York Hour. Here is a chance for the ministers. When they come home from their long vacations let them omit to tell us what i they have seen abroad or in the moun tains or at the seashore. Let them take the people to task for their little sins ; don't let us have any doctrinal sermons or theological discourses : let us have undiluted Christianity, which denounces lying, dishonesty, trickery, undue ad vantage over one's neighbor, licentious ness and all kinds of wrong-doing. Where Mature Humps Her Back. Cor. Denver News. While on earth I never expect a view more glorious than on uray s Jf eaK, Col. No pen can describe it, and this is merely the stub of a 5-cent pencil. If in some sphere oi tne future were is a panorama more grand in its roughness,' more magnificent in its extent and less adapted to general transportation, no wonder that the inhabitants have wings. How seldom we realize the massiveness of nature when she really humps her back. A Heal Summer Hotel. Cor. New York Mall and Express.) Of the days I spent in exquisite cool ness and comfort in the delightTul Cuban house3, there was none when I did not reflect how strange a thing it is that our summer hotels and summer cottages m this country are not built upon the tropical plan. The more I turned the question of the practicability of the ter over in my mind the less rea mat- my mmd the less reason 1 could see why, with such modes before us, we continue to build summer dwel lings upon the same plan as our city wmterhouses. - The most delightful lodgings I ever in habited were in a hotel in llantanzas. My bed-room had a floor of tiling at least fifteen and perhaps twenty feet be low the ceiling. The door was cut in two, width-wise, so that the top could be shut to keep the sun out, or the bottom could be shut to keep intruders out while the open top r let in the air; or a curtain could be -drawn across the lower half when I wished to read or write, or take comfort in my shirtsleeves, with privacy and coolness combined. A little window high in the opposite wall provided for the circulation of air. But when the door was wholly open, I saw beyond the little covered gallery that led to all the rooms around a central court, a tropic garden at my feet and the clear sky overhead, lor the court was open to the sky, and was planted with fruit trees and flowers in great boxes on a flooring of marble mosaic. Every room in the two-story hotel opens on this court and has a window or door through the outer wall. The guests sit in the dining-room looking out upon the smiling park across the street or back into the little garden in the heart of the house. The kitchen, the baths, the closets and the sleeping-rooms of the help are on the farther side of this court, to all intents and purposes in a separate building. The front of the hotel on the ground floor is a series of doors and win dows so big and close together that whem all are open the people of the house en joy all the advantages of the open air wiinom suuenng irom wie sun. n me air is moving m Mantanza it moves through that hotel. The Early Riser a Nuisance. San Francisco Chronicle "Undertones." I remember many years ago reading a most sensible article in an English paper on early rising. It set down early rising as ine Dane oi modern civuizacion. Really, I believe it is right. The gentle man over me is not a newspaper man. He goes to bed early and very early he begins to move about. In the con sciousness oi virtuous industry he despises all who do not get up as early as be does. Sometimes he sings, but there is always a heartiness and cheer fulness about his dressing in the morn ing which keeps all below him awake. As a positive iact tne early riser is a nuisance, in these days when life only begins alter dinner, the man who rises with the lark breaks up everything. He begins to yawn during dinner. He goes to sleep and snores immediately after. He is remonstrated with, and gives as an excuse that he gets up at daylight. He gets up at daylight, he wakes up all the house, he is merry when people are en joying their best Bleep, and he simply inflicts upon himself, with the most vir tuous and praiseworthy intent, annoy ance. An army of Benedicts. London Truth. The it -ban army has for some yean been known as a legion of benedicts. For many years it was a royal rule that no officer holding his majesty's com mission should marry unless he possessed a certain amount of private income. It aly is not a rich nation, and . the subal terns of its army are not wealthy. The consequence is that married officers have been the exception, not the rule in Italv. The grievance for in this light the rule has been regarded by its victims was recently brought under the notice of his majesty, and the king- has now relaxed the regulation, fixing- the marriage in come of his officials at a point which will enable . gallant gentlemen to enter the : bonds of matrimony in the broad light of day, as becomes the action of the soldier, instead of marrying in secret and repenting at leisure. ' X Burial In Paleetlne. Jaffa Cor. Kansas City Journal The other day a tomb was opened, and I had the surprise of discovering that the Biblical method of interment still prevailed. It was a young man who had died. His body was first washed and then wrapped in new white linen, the feet and hands being tied with the same stuff, and a napkin being wound around his face, as in the case of Lazarus. Then the bones of the young man's father were taken out of the grave, and put back into the new grave with the fresh remains. As this process is repeated from generation to generation, of course the dust of previous paternal ancestors is mingled with the fresh consignments of clay, so that the dead may literally be said to "sleep with their fathers. A French Equipage. New York Post A new style of equipage is to be In troduced at Newport and Lenox this year, called by the French a char-a-bano. It is intended to accommodate a large party, and is better adapted for country drives than for regular avenue parade. Its distinguishing novelty is the three horses abreast which drag it, and a Rus sian innovation of a large hoop fastened over the back of the middle horse, to which small bells are attached, has been introduced with those that have been imported to this country. The effect will bo novel and picturesque, no doubt; but in a country neighborhood the tink ling bells might call up memories of the rag and bottle man, or tne summer ice cream cart. The 8rengtS of Growing Birch. Exchange. There is a birch tree in York, Me., only about forty feet high, two roots of which have been able to lift some twelve inches a block of granite computed to weigh twenty tons. The tree is still growing, and. the rocK continues to do raised and pushed sideways at mo rate of nearlv an inch a year. Philadelphia Call: A patent device for fastening a neck-tie has just been sold to a company for $1,000, 000. If it will keep the necktie from playing leap frog with the collar it Is worth it. "OUR OLD MAMMY." var Drivers' Care for a Old Waasaal . Because She Uke4 All. 1 Detroit Free Press. "What's that for?" asked a Free Pressj man, as he saw a car driver on Wood-; ward avenue take a nickel from his' pocket and pass it into the fare box. ' "What her?" The car stopped and the driver got! down with a "Good morning, mammy,", and assisted an old woman of 70 to enter the car. "Did you pay for her?" "Yes." "Why?" . "Well, the story runs back for almost two years," he said, as he picked up his lines. "I reckon you know Hill V "Yes." "Well, two rears . aero he was one of the toughest men in Detroit. He drank,1 swore, gambled and had all' the other vices lying around loose. " I tell you, he was a terror when off duty and on a spree. He was getting so bad on his car,! that another week would have something hap bounced him, 'but pened." "What?" "He was coming up one evening, half drunk and full of evil, and somewhere about Davenport street he lurched over, the dash-board. He caught and was dragged, and the horse began to kick; and run. That old woman there was the only passenger on the car, and, when she saw the accident she came' out, grabbed the flying lines with one' hand and the brake with the other, and looking down upon Bill she called out: . - Oh! Lord I help me to save him! He's a wicked young man and not fit to die!" Well, she stopped that car and held to the horse until some one came along and helped BUI out of his fix, and she was all the time calling him 'poor boy and 'my son' and thanking God he was not killed. He had a close call, though, and it was a solemn warning. From -that night he haani taken a drink, and no driver on this line has a cleaner mouth or is taking better care of himself." And the old woman? She lives away out, along with a daughter. Many's the dollar Bill has sent after her since that night in the way of clothes and provisions, and hell never forget her. The story came to the rest of us after awhile, and we've sort of adopted her as 'Our Old Mammy.' We help her on and off, pay her nickel out of our own pockets, and. when the car isn't too full we have a minute's chat with her. Sherlikes us all. and we wouldn't trade her off for the whole line. It's a bit of romance among ourselves, you see." - "xes. Did she eve? talk to you?" Did she? She., sat right there on - that stool one day two months ago and said: 'My son, let drink alone! It robs the pocket, cheats the brain, and leaves you friendless ! Don't swear ! Oaths go with a vicious soul! Keep your temper. The man who can't con trol his temper is no better than a caged wolf I'" "She said that with her blue eyes reading my soul and her old voice trembling with earnestness, and every word went right to my heart ' and lodged there. She's had something to say to most of the boys, and I reckon each one is the better for it. Curious, ain't it, how we found our old mammy, and maybe youll believe with some of us that Providence had a hand in it." A Wenderfal Dream. New York Times. A correspondent in a foreign scientific contemporary tells this story about dreaming: "In the summer of 1822, 'when an undergraduate of Trinity col lege, Cambridge, I was permitted to reside in college rooms during the sum mer long vacation. As fires were not wanted in our sitting-rooms it was cus tomary for each resident's bed maker or other officer to carry his water kettle fcr breakfast and tea to the college kitchen and bring it back with water boiling. On one occasion I had overslept my usual hour, and I dreamed a dream. I was at the gate of a country farmyard well known to me, and there came a long proces sion of horses, asses, oxen, hogs, sheep, and all the animals usually to be found in a farmyard, followed by a north country drover with his plaid crossed over his shoulders, who walked up to me and said : Sir, I have brought your cattle.' In an instant I perceived and actually heard (so intimately were the auditory sounds and the intellect ual interpretation intermixed) that my bed maker was at my chamber door calling to me : 'Sir, I have brought your kettle.' The hearing had been confused; there had been no reasoning-; but there had been instantaneous vigor of creative imagination." The VerMajre ef the Ceurta. New York Tribune. ' I was in court a few days ago," said a time-worn litigant, " when a young lawyer, arguing before Judge Joseph Barnard, read from one of the papers in the "Case including the usual verbi age. The judge suggested a briefer statement of the point, probably believ ing, with the judge of the supreme court in the anecdote, that justices may be presumed to know something of the forms of law. The young man then stated his point in plain and condensed English. The idea then struck me, when would it be possible to relieve the law of all the flummery of verbiage now employed. "In actual proceedings before a magis trate this verbiage is discarded as abso lutely unnecessary in argument; yet it is religiously maintained in all matters of pleading and in all orders, injunc tions, etc., granted by the courts. Half the delays grow out of the use of ver biage. Half the quibbles out of which some unscrupulous lawyers make their living are based upon this needless use of unnecessary words. A lawyer -who was present could give mm no encour agement to look for a speedy reform ; on the contrary, he irreverently said that the verbiage of the law was as nec essary to the existence of the lawyers as the flummery of some religions was to the success of its advocates nn4 min isters.