THE" niDEPEHDEIiT
HAS THE
FINEST JOB OFFICE
IN DOUGLAS COUNTY.
CARDS, BILL HEADS, LEGAL BLAMS,
And other Printing, includio
Large aai Heavr Mers and airvy Eoi-Bllls,
Neatly md expeditiously executed
AT. PORTLAND PRICES.
m
1 9
One Year -Six
Months -Three
Months
$2 50
1 50
1 00
Them are the terms of thone paying In advance. The
Independent offer fine inducements to advertisers.
Terms reasonable. . ,
VOL. VIII.
ROSEBURGy OREGON, SATURDAY, . JANUARY I 26, 1884.
NO. 42.
THE I1TBEPE1IDEIIT
IS ISSUED
SATURDAY MORNINGS,
BY THE
Douglas County Publishing Company.
ft .:'ft-ft ftftftv;ftft'.. ftftft ftft 'v'''''''''ft-l:'ft'ft ftftiiftftft ft i ft. ft '.'.ft ftft'.. ftftft-ftftft'ftC ft'::''ft;'.7v'';''':ftftftft ftr''ft'ftv' ftftftW
HAW-Y H ff Si I rTTI :5--r7rKL I II M liVi! t II . N it I a
VP?
J. JASKULEK,
. PRACTICAL
WatcMater, Jeweler ani Optician,
AIL WOEK WAERANTED.
Dealer In Watches, Clocks, Jewelry,
(Spectacles and Eyeglasses.
AND A TCLLUS OF
Cigars, Tobacco &c Fancy Goods.
Th only reliable Op torn er in town for the proper adjust
ment of Spectaolw; always on hand.
Depot of, the Genuine Brazilian Pebble Spec
tacle! and Eyeglasses.
Office First Door South of Postoffice,
; R08EBUB6, OREGON. "
1
Boot and Shoe Store
On Jackson Street! Opposite the Post Office,
' Keeps on hand the largest and best assortment of
Eastern and San Francisco Boots and
Hhoes, Gaiters, Slippers,
And everything in the Boot and Shoe line, and
SELLS CHEAP FOR CASH.
Boots and Shoes Made to Order, and
Perfect Fit Guaranteed.
I use the Best of Leather and Warrant all
my work.
Repairing Neatly Done, on Short Notice.
I keep always on hand
TOYS AND NOTIONS.
Musical Instruments and Violin Strings
a specialty.
LOUIS LAXGEXIIERU.
DR. M. W. DAVIS,
Si? . DENTIST,
BOBEBVR6, OREGO,
Office On Jackson Street, Up Stairs,
Over b. Marks & Up. s New btore.
IiIAHONEY'S SALOON,
Nearest the Railroad Depot, Oakland.
JAN. MAIIOXEY, ... Proprietor
The Finest Wines, Liquors and Cigars in
Douglas uounty, and
THE BEST BILLIARD TABLE IN THE STATE,
KEPT IN PROPER REPAIR.
Parties traveling on the railroad will find this place
very handy to visit during the stopping of the train at
JAS. MAHONEY.
JOHN FRASj
9
Home Made Furniture,
WILBUR, OREGON.
UPHOLSTERY, SPMS MATTRESSES, ETC.,
- Constantly on hand.
FURNITURE.
I have the Best
STOCK OF FURNITURE
South of Portland.
- ,. And all of my own manufacture,
No Two Prices to Customers.
Residents of Douglas County are requested to give me
call before purchasing elsewhere.
ALL WORK WARRANTED.
DEPOT HOTEL.
Oakland, Oregon.
RICHARD THOMAS, Proprietor.
This Hotel has been established for a num
ber of years, and has become very pop
ular with the traveling public.
FTSST-CLASS SLEEPING ACCOMMODATIONS
AND THE
' Table supplied with the Best the Market affords
. Hotel at the Depot of the Railroad.
H. C. STANTON,
DEALER IX
Staple IDry Goods,
Keeps constantly on hand a general assortment of
Extra Fine Groceries,
WOOD, WILLOW AND GLASSWARE,
ALSO
CROCKERY AND CORDAGE
A full stock of
SCHOOL BOOKS,
Such as required by the Public County Schools.
All kinds of Stationery, Toys and
Fancy Articles,
TO SUIT BOTH TOUJTO AND OLD.
Buys and Sells Legal Tenders, furnishes
Checks on Portland, and procures
Drafts on San Francisco.
SEEDS ! SEEDS
SKEJ3DS!
ILL KINDS OF THE BEST QUALITY
' ALL ORDERS
Promptly attended to and goods shippe
witn care.
Address,
IIACIIE Y A BEXO,
Portland, Oregon.
Hard on the Small Man.
A small man always has enough to bear,
but his dress becomes exceedingly heavy when
the despicable salesman of the clothing store,
just after the small man has got into his new
clothes, cries out to the accountant, so that
everybody else can hear; "Boy's suit I Mark
gonel"
The Mississippi annually carries- 812,501,
000,000 pounds of mud into the gulf of Mex.
lea So says a scientific chap.
Doubting Dixon.
Texas Sifting.
"I don't reckon," observed Emigrant
Blakely; "I don't reckon I told you any
thing about Doubting'Dixon yesterday when
we was talking of Denver in '53r
Emigrant' Blakely and I were seated cae
pleasant summer evening, after a comfort
able supper, in front of the Paxton house,
Omaha. Mr. Blakely had been labeled "Emi
grant" because of his intimate relations with
the land department of the Union Pacific
railway, and his indefatigable exertions in
providing easiem colonies with new homes
on railroad land in the fresh and adolescent
west. ' ..
"No, I believe not," I replied. "You told
some very interesting anecdotes of early
days on the frontier, but I don't think you
referred to Doubting Dixon."
"No, I b'lieve not. Wal, Doubting Dixon
come on from Massachusetts in 1852, 1 think,
an' all he had in the world was about one
hundred an' fifty dollars in cash an a 4-year-old
kid. He thought everything of that boy,
an' Dixon couldn't very well go back on
him, neither, fur the lad was a perfect im
age of himself a regular epitome of Doubt
ing Dixon, only he war a dummed sight
livelier. Dixon w as a silent, taciturn sort of
a bean-eating Yankee; didn't nave much to
say when folks was around, an' contrived to
keep hisself to hisself in the best kind of
shape. He got the name of Doubting Dixon
because he never seemed to believe in noth
ing nor nobody, and when anything a little
out of the ordinary rut was told to him,
he always kinder threw cold water
upon the account an' talked an'
acted as if he didn't take no kind of stock
in it. Of course, such monkey business as
this rather conveyed the idea to people who
was telling him anything that Dixon consid
ered them cool, calm and unrogenerate liars.
"Dixon staked a claim fifteen miles out
from Denver, put up a -shanty, and lived
there alone with his kid. He didn't c -ne into
town oftener than once a week after some
small stores, tn' mighty small stores they
was, too, I tell yer. The boys used to won
der what him and the kid lived on. He
generally come in Saturday nights, an' after
hanging aroun' the saloons, b tores an' post
office a while, he'd pile on his mule an' pike
f er his claim. There was another little pe
culiarity about Dixon, he never would drink
anything at the bar, an' he didn't ever carry
home anything in a jug. In consequence
of this little excentricity. Doubting:
Dixon was unpopular with the boys, an'
Dixon, hisself, didn't appear to have
any great an' overpowering affection for
them. I said that he was unpopular, an'
didn't seem to have many friends. There
was one exception. This was a vicious look
ing York state feller, a gambler, and the boys
all said a skin gambler at that He an'
Dixon were seen together occasionally, con
versing in low tones, an' ever, body wondered
why Pistol Grip, as this York state chap was
called, an' Doubting Dixon should be so
thick when Dixon didn't gamble or drink
either. One day this Doubting Dixon struck
it rich in his claim, an' he sold out for $140,-
000, ' an' he an' the kid left the shanty an'
come into town an' commenced boardin' at
the hotel. One Saturday afternoon Doubt
ing Dixon sat watching a game of billiards
in the Senate saloon, an' Monte Bill come in,
an' he says:
" 'Dixon, there s a lady outsido in a ker
ridge as wants ter see yer.'
" 'I don t know no ladies in Denver,' said
Doubting Dixon, a trifle uneasy, 'an' I don't
believe as any ladies wants ter see me.'
" 'Mebbo you think I'm a liar,' said Monte
Bill, carefully rubbing the nickel-plate on his
revolver with his thumb.
" 'No, I won't say you're a liar, Bill,' said
Dixon, meek as a lamb, 'but I don't hardly
reckon any lady wants to see me. Who is
sheF
" 'I don't know who she is,' said Monte
Bill, 'but she's a lady, an1 says she got some
news from your wife.'
"Doubting Dixon started suddenly from his
chair, an' then 6at back again, an' his face
was blue, just as though he had been swim
min' in ice water for an hour or so.
" I don't believe she has got any news
from my wife,' said Dixon.
" 'Well, come along out an' see,' said Monte
BUL 'Hit ain't no use of your sittin' here
mooning an' implying as if everybody else
but you was a liar. Come along oat an' see
for yourself.'
"When Doubting Dixon got up out of the
chair, he weaved back and forth a minute, as
if he was going to fall, but he braced up, an'
went out to the carriago with Bill. There
was a lady there, sure enough, an' a right
handsome one at that, dressed up to kill, an'
diamonds a!l over her where they would do
the most good.
" 'Is this Mr. Dixonf said the lady, with
a most fascinating smile.
" 'Yes, ni'm,' said Dixon, huskily.
" 'Well, your wife is down at the Tallman
house, an' she would like to sea you.'
"Dixon seized hold of the tire of the car
riage wheel to steady himself.
" 'She wants to take the kid way from
me, don't sheF inquired Dixon, with a terrible
anxious look on his face.
" '0, no, I guess not,' said the lady pleas
antly.
" 'She's got a divorce an' big alimony, and
the care of the boy, an all that sort of thing,
I suppose. Remember I've got the money an'
I'll fight it; I'll fight it through every court in
the land.'
" 'No, nothing of the kind,' said the lady,
"but she wants to see you an' the boy. She
came here with mo from Boston, where she
has been working.'
" 'Working P said Dixon, blankly.
" 'Yes, she has been living all alone by her
self, and working hard for her support. Get
into the carriage with me, an' we will drive
down to the hotel.'
"When they arrived, Dixon met his wife
with the coolest kind of reserve, an) she, poOr
woman, was almost heart broken. The hand
some lady and Dixon had stopped on the way:
an' got the kid, an' Mrs. Dixon cried over
the boy, an' hugged an' kissed him, but Dixon,
he stood by as cold as an ironclad, an1
never cried a drop, while the woman washed
the boy's face with her tears. Dixon spoke
up an' said:
" 'Katie, where's the garablerf
" 'What gamblerF said Katie, looking
suddenly up, an' it seemed as if the fire in her
eyes had dried up all the tears.
' 'The gambler chap you took up with an'
run away from home with.'
" 'It's false,' said the woman, 'false as
hell!'
"Doubting Dixon looked wonderfully puz-
rled at this.
" 'Didn't you leave me, KatieF he said.
" I did, Harry,' answered the woman, 1
left you for your own good. I left you be
cause I sawliOthing but ruin for you, body
an' soul, an' weary poverty for tho litte boy
an' nie. You drank the last cent away that
vou an I rould cam'
".'I :.! bowl up too much,' said Dixon,
"but then '
" 'i left tho child with its father in the faint
hove tliat i& uifoht wcrk ia you reformation.
I knew he was tho apple of your eye, and
trn:std he miht save vou. He has; I now
come back to take a last farewell of him an'
yo, an' to thank God for having kept my
oved ones so secure.'
" 'Ben Darnley said you eloped with a
gambler an' went to Philadelphia.'
'He lied!'
" 'Your wife speaks the truth,' said the
handsome lady, 'I have known her history
since she left your humble home, and stole
away to trust, to wait, to pray. She come3
to you as pure an' as true a wife as the day
she left your roof.'
" 'Doubting Dixon leaned against the door
casing for support. The strong man's tears
were coming now, dropping full an' fast. He
looked at the little, wondering kid, an' the
kneeling mother, smothering it with
caresses. Then he stepped away from the
door casing, hesitated a moment, as though
fearful of a repulse, threw open his arms, and
said:
"Katier
'.'In another moment the wife, kid and
Doubting Dixon were all mixed up in a hug
ging match, and the handsome woman from
Massachusetts, who had at her own expense,
brought about this happy reunion, looked so
pleased and delighted over the success of her
scheme, that she really deserved hugging by
somebody on her own account.
"That night, 'Doubting Dixon and Ben
Darnley, the vicious New York gambler, met.
" 'You are positive,' said Dixon, 'that my
wife eloped with the Philadelphia faro
dealer?
"'Know it," said Darnley. 'Why she
even hinted once that she would leave home
with me if I would come west.'
" 'Say, Darnley, now be honest, didn't you
kinder try to take advantage of me, an'
make love to Kate?" -
'' 'Yes, Dixon, since everything is all over
now, an' you know just what kind of a
woman your wife is, Til confess that I did.
But, then, to be honest agin, IH just say that
she fairly froze the blood in my veins with
her indignation. Heigh, ho! This is a d d
curious world, an' very few people ever get
out of it alive.'
" 'Right you are,' hissed Dixon. . 'You are
right, Darnley. Old man, my wife is safe an'
sound in her own home, with her own boy,
an' under the protection of her own hus
bandman' all this in spite of your devilish
revenge. Ben Darnley, for years you have
kept my wife an' I apart. For years you
have daily lied to me, an' worked upon the
passions of a weak an' doubting man'
" 'Hold hard there, Dixon, or by the gods
of war, I'll kill youl'
" 'I doubt it, Darnley. This is' a day of
retributive justice. You will not kill me.'
"Ben Darnley was quick with his gun, an'
a flash an' report were his answer to Dixon.
Then Darnley turned and ran into a saloon.
He had missed his man. Cool an' dispassion
ate, Doubting Dixon, standing outside on the
sidewalk, looked down the long, brilliantly
iigmeu saioon. tie looKea aiong tne Drignc,
shining barrel of his revolver. At the farther
end of the saloon crouched Darnley. Cool
an' dispassionate, Doubting Dixon took
deadly aim, an' down through the ninety
feet of glittering light and gilded mirrors
he sent a bullet true to the heart of Ben
Darnley."
A Revolution in Beer.
In our neighborhood lives a German far
mer named Liebig, who claims to have
mado a discovery which seems to me so re
markable that I have concluded to report it
to the press. He is engaged in raising hops
on a small farm, keeps some cows, and seems
to be doing well. He is quite a scientific
man, and has a diploma from some big agri
cultural college m Germany, the name, of
which I have forgotten. His' neighbors call
him the Latin farmer. This is what he says:
Among his cows is one of the English breed,
the best milker in the lot. Some time ago
the milk from her had a bitter taste and
a brownish color, which rendered it totally
unfit for use. This gave him considerable dis
tress, and he could not account for it. Latwr
on he discovered the cause of the trouble,
He saw the animal coming out of his barn,
where he has his hop-bins. Evidently the
cow had been feeding on bops and, naturally,
the milk had acquired the objectionable taste.
He commenced a series of experiments, the
reasons for which he gave me, and which
seem quite plausible. His arguments were:
If the food has such a direct influence on the
taste and color Of the milk, have we not
the means at hand to give the product any
character we choose? He evidently regards
the animal economy of the cow as a sort of
chemical laboratory. So he went to work to
produce a drink similar to beer, and if his
statements, are true (as I believe) he suc
ceeded completely.
He continued to feed hops, for which she
had a natural liking, then malt, and then
corn. Grass and hay would not do, because
under it the liquid resumed its natural milky
character. The product under this feeding
was a turbid light brown liquid with a sweet,
slightly bitterish taste. Warm from the cow
he adds some yeast, sets it in a warm place
and lets it ferment. This seems to generate a
certain amount, of alcohol and the liquid at
the same time becomes clear. If the fermen
tation is, however, not interrupted at a cer
tain stage the stuff gets sour and is unfit to
drink. He stops the fermentation by pour
ing tho liquid in a strong jug, corking tightly,
and letting it down in a deep well. Two or
three days after he draws it up. It is then a
clear, light brown color, effervescing, form
ing a creamy foam on top and tastes de
liciousto me, a great deal better than most
of the beer I have ever tried. ,
Hotel Dead Beats.
The head waiter is the sentry of the dining-
r6om. Five minutes before the dinner a list
of the guests of the hotel is sent up stairs by
the clerk. On the list is the number of every
room in the house with the name of the occu
pant (if any) opposite. The head waiter
stands by the door and when a guest comes
in he is asked quietly the number of his
room. He gives it, and the waiter
instantly sends him to a table. The man, if
he thinks of it at all, supposes that the num
ber of his room has something to do with his
seat and passes on. The instant his back
is turned the head waiter consults his list,
and if the room of the number given is va
cant, or if it is occupied by some one known
to the waiter, he goes at once to the man, and
while. deftly rearranging the napkin or plac
ing the knives and forks in ieat rows, asks
him seductively his name, If that name
fails to clear away the doubt the clerk is
sent lor. lie may recognize the man. If he
does not an investigation is made, and if the
man is proved a fraud he is taken out and
handed over to the pouce.
The Real Empire State.
Sixty-eight new counties wore organized in
Texas last year. Taxable property increased
to the extent of $130,000,000. Immigrants
are pouring in. That state contains territory
twice as large as Georgia which is yet undi
vided into countiea It promises to be the
roal Empire gtate of the union.
Durins War Speculation.
The elder Vanderbilt came into Wall street
at the era when speculation was the phoenix
from a devastated land, and it seemed that
from the dying souls of the combatants there
danced in the flames the rich men of the
future.
A REMAEK ABLE MAN.
Sketch of France's Greatest Story-
Teller, Dumas Pern
Kew Anecdotes of the Noted French
Author His methods of Work,
,. and Wonderful fdter&ry
Fecundity.
Theodore Stanton in Inter Ocean.
Alexander Dumas was especially proud of
three things; his literary fecundity, his dex
terity as a fencer, and his talent for cooking.
The prolificness of his pen has probably never
been equaled. "From an anecdote ho would
make a tale," says M. de Bury; "fronj a tale,
he would make a novel: from a jjiovel he
would make a play ; and would nevpr aban
don an idea until he had drawn fror ,it not
only what it could yield, but whatSt could
yield to him." There were mornings when
Dumas, on opening his mail, wou-i sad let
ters from half a dozen of the leading newspa
pers of Paiis all asking for copy. On such
occasions he would call together his literary
creditors; would obtain from one a delay of
ten days, from another three months, from
this one a week, from that one three days,
from still another twenty-four hours, and
from the last a month. He would then sit
down, go doggedly to work, as Dr. Johnson
used to say, and finish each task within the
stipulated time.
INDEFATIGABLE.
About in his Sunday's speech toldh w,
when on one occasion he met Dumas in Mar
seilles, and they came back from the theatre
at 2 or S o'clock in the morning, the indefat
igable novelist said to him: "You, old man,
must go to bed. I, who am only 55, have
three f euilletons to write, which must go off
in the morning's post. If, when they are fin
ished, I have any time left, I shall send Mon
tigny a little piece which I have promised
him." With that he lighted two long candles
and began. When About woke up, he saw
Dumas humming to himself while he shaved,
three large, well-filled envelopes addressed to
as many different Parisian journals, and a
package for Montigny, which contained that
little masterpiece, the "Invitation a la
Valse." M. de Girardin, the great French
journalist, made it a point to have one new
idea every day. Dumas had a thousand.
HIS COLLABORATORS. .
But an author who produced a hundred
volumes a year had to have collaborators,
and Dumas had them by the score. His ene
mies made capital out of this excessive col
laboration. They pretended that the cellar
of his house at St. Germain was filled with
poor devils, hacks driving their weary quills
under the heartless literary lash of the burly
Dumas, and the work completed, only to be
turned off with a mere pittance, while the
greedy master pocketed more than the lion's
share. Dumas never denied that he had-col-
laborators, and the collaborators themselves,
many of whom are still alive and have se
cured a high place in current literature, have
testified to the generous treatment experi
enced at his hands. If he was benefited by
their preliminary labors, they gained by his
tremendous popularity. If his talented pen
had not given life to a weary story and his
magic name appeared on the title page,
many a book would never have found a
publisher uor a reader. A3 has well been
said, there were two Dumas Dumas alone
and Dumas legion. But the productions of
the latter bore the incontestable stamp of the
mastermind.
MANNER OF WORKING.
Dumas' manner of working was peculiar.
He could write anywhere, at any time and
under all circumstances. In the midst of his
boon companions, discussing in the loudest
tones, his pen kept steadily on. He was no
Carlyle. What would the poor wife of the
Chelsea sage not have given for such a hus
band? Dumas would even take part in the
conversation from time to time, showing that
he followed the thread of the discussion while
he wrote. To a new comer he gave the left
hand, without disturbing the busy rizbt one.
On a certain occasion, after hunting from 6
o'clock in the morning, and having killed 30
birds, he complained of being sleepy and re
turned to the farm house. When his com
panions entered at 5 o'clock they found him
seated before the fire. He said he could not
shut his eyes on account of the noise of the
animals in the farmyard, so he had amused
himself by producing a play in one act,
"Romulus."
He bad a way of writing several works at
almost the same time. Thus he would pass
from a novel to. his memoirs, and then on to
a play. He would chase from his mind all
thoughts of the last work in order to have his
head quite clear for the next. His pen once
in hand he never stopped to study his subject,
but wrote straight on. Unless writing an
important piece, he rarely reviewed his
manuscript. If he was preparing a play for
some second-rate theatre he would always
turn off an act a day, so that in five days the
whole was finished. If, however, he wished
to compose an important work he would
often disappear from the house, seek some
isolated village, and return in a few days with
his task completed. "I am like a hen," he
remarked, "I look for a place to set"
SOLVED THE DIFFICULTY.
Dumas was indeed a genius. Here is one
example from a thousand: In "Richard Dar
lington," it was necessary in the last act to
get rid of Richard's first wife, at the end of a
very violent scene, and at the moment when
Richard awaited the coming of the young
woman whom he wished to marrv. Dumas
and his collaborator, Goubeaux, were in a
dilemma. The latter proposed that she be
poisoned. "But what shall we do with her
body?" asked Dumas. "No," he continued;
"it would be better to have the house where
the scene takes pface on the edge of a tor
rent, and Richard will throw his wife out of
the window." Goubeaux objected, on the
ground that the spectators would be sure to
laugh at the display of legs when Richard
lifted up his wife to get her out or the win
dow. Dumas took the manuscript home
and solved the problem in this way, after
these words: "They will find a woman here.
Richard runs to the door and locks it In the
meantime his terrified wife rushes to the
window and shouts from the balcony, "Help
Help!" Richard follows her; she falls on her
knees before him. A noise is beard in the
stairway. Richard pulls the window shut
Husband and wife are now on the balcony.
A cry f ollows. Richard, pale and wiping the
perspiration from his brow, throws open the
window. ' He is alone. His wife has disap
peared. Dumas had gotten over the dim
culty while Goubeaux was still racking his
brain. .
FOND OF GOOD LIVING.
It has already been said that Dumas was a
real Vatel, and with this peculiarity of the
novelist this already too long letter must
close, without having exhausted, however,
the long list of remarkable characteristics of
this astonishing personage. He had studied
the subject profoundly and could distinguish
the shades of difference between the Italian
and Spanish or German and Russian cooking.
He was even prouder of his culinary superior
ity than of his literary reputation. As he
stood in front of the stove watching the pro
gress of some dish, he would be writing on
the kitchen table a chapter of some after
ward famous novel. Dumas was always in
debt often on account of the 6ponging of
his mends so that jeven while cooking he
had to keep his pen a-going.
When tanner., was ready Dumas rang the
dinner, Jbell himself, j While his guests were
devouring the excellent menu the cook
rarely touched more than two plates.
His foes used to proclaim him a glutr
ton a genuine Apicius. But this was false.
Dumas was temperate not only in eating,
but in diinking. He drank water only col
ored with wine, and never smoked. At
midnight he often invited his friends to
partake of a fine little supper which he
also got up, and then when the guests went
off to sleep the host would go to his study
and work till far into the morning.
buch are a few of the moie strikicg trait
of a man than whom none in all French lit
erature was more original and fecund, bolder
and freer, more vilified and praised. He was
as regardless of the behests of society as
Byron, as hard a worker as Scott, as peculiar
as Dr. Johnson, as generous as Goldsmith,
as hospitable as Rogers, aa witty as Hood,
and as imaginative as Poe. No wonder,
therefore, that Paris, after more than ten
years of silence, has called to miud her old
favorite and prodigy, and now cannot say
too much in his praise, nor do too much in
honor of his memory. . Alexander Dumas,
dead, is indeed alive again.
VISIONS OF JIM-JAMS.
The Experience of a Man Who Delib
erately Halts Business and Gets
Drank.
TFrank Wilkeson in New York Sun.
"The warnings some drinking men receive
are very strange," said the oldest of our
party. "I know several men who are spreers
who have warnings, generally visions more
or less horrible, but invariably the same,
when they approach the wall behind which
the jim-jams lurk. Probably the most strik
ing case is that of a gentleman who inherited
his diseased craving for alcohol. He wul
not drink, it may be, for a year. Then he
will put his business in such shape that he can
leave it for a few days, and deliberately get
drunk. For two days he devotes his energies
to getting drunk, and staying drunk. He is
not of the least trouble to any one when he is
drinking. He shuts himself up in his room
and drinks alone. In two days he will drink
a gallon of tho best sour mash bourbon
whisky money can buy. ; He always begins
drinking in the evening, i The third evening
he goes to bed in a beastly state of intoxica
tion. "At about midnight bis vision comes to
him. He dreams that he went to bed and
slept soundly until awakened by a bard,
white flickering light. He lies awake won
dering what causes the light, and hears a
loud knock on his bed-room door. "Come in!"
he cries. The door is thrown wide open, and
a man who has been freshly flayed stalks in.
The flayed man smiles in a ghastly manner
and nods in friendly recognition. The flesh
is gone from his mouth. His teeth grin
mockingly. He stations himself opposite the
bed and leans against the wall, his shoulders
making a bloody mark where he leans. His
lidless eyes roll, and his tongue lolls. The
bed-room door remains open.1; My friend looks
out of the door into the street There he sees a
long column of fl-iyed men marching rapidly
down the road. Stragglers drop out from the
column and enter his room. )
"When ten men have entered his bel-room
door sloses. The flayed men, who are cov
ered with fresh blood, walk silently around
the room looking at him. They point their
bloody fingers at him. At a signal from the
man who first entered they all march out
Presently they return, each carrying a
flayed and bloody corpse. The blood has
dried on the live men while they were ab
sent, and it flakes from them as they re-entr
the room with their ghastly burdens. Tho
corpses are placed on the floor in a row, side
by side. At a signal from the leader of the
skinless horrors they straddle the dead
bodies, and, bending over, grasp them around
their waists. Then, straightening up with
the legs of the dead men between their own,
they move around the room in a weird
dance, now advancing, now retreating, then
circling around the lied, and always leering
and grinning at my friend. After desperate
efforts ho awakens, and the vision disap
pears. It is his warning to quit drinking,
and he heeds it, too."
Trimming Elephants' Feet.
Boston Globe. -Yesterday
Prof. George Arstingstall and
four assistants were occupied all day in trim
ming the feet of two elephants. The opera
tion is performed three times a j'ear once
on the road, once in the fall and again in the
spring. The sole of an elephant's foot is
heavily covered wih a thick horny substance
of material similar to the three toe-nails, upon
each foot, and as it grows thicker and thicker
it tends to contract and crack, often laming
the animal. When the work of trimming is
undertaken, the elephant stands upon three
legs and places the foot to be operated upon
across a big tub. Two men hold the leg down-
and one stands at the animal's head to pre
vent him from turning. Then Prof. Arsting
tall, with a two-foot drawing knife, proceeds
to shave off great pieces ot bone fro n tho sole
of the foot. Shavings of bone six inches by
four and a quarter of an inch thick are rap
idly cut, the edges of the foot being carefully
trimmed. !
Often pieces of glass, wire, nails, etc., are
found imbedded in the foot, which have been
picked up during street parades. Sometimes
these irritating morsels work up into the leg
and produce a festering sore. A large nail
was founl yesterday in Pallis' foot imbedded
over three inches from the bottom. Prof.
Arstingstall extracte 1 it with a small pair of
pincers, then syringed the woun 1 with warm
water, and subsequently covered it with tar.
The professor, when hurried on the road,
sometimes draws out such nails with his
teeth. Pallis apparently suffered great pain,
but seemed to know that the operation would
give relief. He held the foot high and quietly
of his own accord until all was finished, then
flourished his trunk, trumpeted, and ex
pressed almost in words his sincere thanks.
After paiing the foot each toe-nail is cut be
tween and then filed down, giving each foot
a white, clean look with its setting of pol
ished nails. It takes about six hours to finish
dressing an elephant's feet, and it is said to
be one of the hardest bits of work that men
have to ( O.
Korweelan Farming.
St Louis Globe-Democrat
Farming in the Norwegian valleys presents
some unique aspects. Gram, potatoes and
turnips grow in little patches. Meadow hay
is carefully cut and cured on rocU or ropes
supported on tall poles. Every corner on
which grass will grow is utilized for hay, even
the little nooks among the crags, from which
it is lowered to the valleys by means of ropes
or wires, that nothing may be lost The
Scandinavian cows are or a peculiar national
breed, and not only they, but goata, and
even ewes, contribute to the cheese vats.
Horses are seldom larr than mere ponies.
These little animals do all the farm work,
for in Norway oxen are employed for tillage,
Norway is sparsely settled. Emigration is
taking away its more ambitious sons and
daughters. But its people are intensely
patriotic, and their laud contains much to
delight the traveler. ,
LITE-SAYING SERVICE.
The "International Code" of Signal
ing by Day and by KTight
How the Life-Boat . Is Manned
Sending a Line to the Wreck
-Bringing the Ilfe-Car
into Service.
Courier-Journal Exposition Notes.
All that science and skill can accomplish is
demonstrated in these governmental depart
ments, and of these there are none more in
teresting than the exhibit made by the
United States life-saving service. It appeals
strongly to every thinking person. It shows
tne great care and skill which pervades the
system inaugurated and sustained by the
government Every appliance to save life,
to rescue the imperiled at sea, seems to have
been adopted.
SIGNAL FLAGS.
In the day-time communicate is carried
on between vessels and stations by means of
flags. The symbols of the international code
consist of eighteen flags, grouped as follows:
One burgev four pennants and thirteen
square 'flags, j Every nation represented in
this code provides its vessels with a set of
these flags and their interpretation, and the
simple hoisting of the different combinations
according to the schedule laid out, is unmis
takable English to any life-saving station on
the American coast, no matter what the
nationality of the vessel may be. These flags
represent eighteen letters of the English
alphabet, and no two are alike In color.
The different colored flags represent letters,
the letters represent sentences, and conversa
tion is carried on between stations and ves
sels by simply , hoisting the combinations of
flags according tothe signal key.
At night, if any signaling has to be done,
white, green and red rockets are sent up
the different combinations of colors express
ing certain wants and giving affirmative or
neg itive answers. For instance, a ship want
ing a part would make her wishes known by
sending up three rockets in quick succession
white, red, white; red, white, red I am in
distress; green, white, green yes; white,
red, white no. On the more
DANGEROUS COASTS
there are sometimes two or three stations sit
uated five miles apart At night a lookout is
left in the station, and the rest of the crew
patrol the beach, meeting the crew of the sec
ond station half way, exchanging checks and
then making their way back to their respec
tive s tar tii. g points. If a patrolman sees an
accident- or a vessel in distress, signals are
fired calling the , attention of the rest of the
men to that point The life-boats are then
put on surf wagons, drawn by horses,
and earned down to the sea. These
boats are self -bailing and self
righting; that is, if one of them up
sets, it immediately rights itself, and bails
out ny water shipped as fast as it comes in.
A boat of this description is manned by
twelve oarsmen arid one steersman, and will
carry in safety thirty additional people. Be
hind the surf wagons follows the hand-cart
drawn by the crew, containing Lisle guns,
whip lines, shot lines, faking boxes and other
necessary articles, i For example's sake we
will say that a ship has been driven on the
rocks some three-quarters of a mile or a mile
from the shore, and is gradually being bat-
tered to pieces. If lives are to be saved there
is no time for play. The life-savers, first of
all, want to reach the ship with a rope so
that it may have direct connection with the
shore, and this is ft
THE WAX THEY DO IT.
If there are no trees in convenient distance,
to which a heavy rope can be attached, a trench
three and one half feet deep is dug in the
sand, and in this the sand-anchor, composed
of two heavy wood cross-pieces, is buried.
The rope, after being securely fastened to
this anchor, is then run over a crotch from
fifteen to eighteen feet high. Attention is
now given to the faking box, which consists
of a smaller rope Wound around forty-eight
pegs. By lilting up the board on which
these pegs are mounted the rope slides off in
a co. on the sand, and in being fired from
the mortar c. n not possible get tangled or
twisted in its rapid flight to and over the
vessel. The shot is an iron piece, resembling
very closely in shape and in length a car
coupling-pin. A small opening in its end ad
mits a screw, and to this screw through a
ring is fastened the small line to be fired,
which, in its turn, is made fast to the larger
rope before mentioned. The mortar is then
loaded with from two and a half to four
ounces of powder, according to the distance
of the vessel from shore, the shot is placed in
position, . ft
A FIZZ AND A BANG,
and away goes the small line along with its
iron predecessor over the ship's deck, where
willing hands seize it and eventually pull in
the strong, heavy rope from the shore. At
tached to this latter are tally-boards, giving
the following instructions in many different
languages: "Make the tail of the block fast
to the lower mast well up. If masts are
gone then to the best place you can find.
Cast off rocket line, see that the rope in the
block runs free, and show signal to the shore."
A second shot fro 1 the mortar carries an
other line, and this enables the breeches buoy
block to be drawn from shore to ship, and
vice versa, over the mam rope. This rope,
after being made fast to the ship's masts,
is hauled taut on shore, by three sets of
blocks, to the rear of the tall crotch over
which it runs.
There is a slant from the ship in, and the
crotch, as may now be seen, is used to give the
rope a sufficient altitude over the angry sea
waves.
THE BREECHES BUOY BLOCK,
that is hauled backward and forward with
passengers, consists ..of a large round cork
ring covered with canvas, to the under side
of which is firmly attached a pair of knee
breeches. A passenger lowers half of his body
through the cork opening the knee-breeches
prevent his being washed out, the cork buoy
keeps half the body above water, and he is
pulled safely to shore with no. damage beyond
V. THF LIFE CAB.
If it be found necessary to carry shoreward
at one time more than a single passenger, the
life car is brought into service. Its bottom
is shaped like that of a lap-streak boat
and that portion of it showing out of
water is oval, with a small aperture on
top and .in the centre. It accommodates
five or six people, and after they are safely
stowed inside, the opening is securely closed
and battened down. The main rope pa which
it runs, unlike the one connected with the
breeches-buoy, is taken from its high crotch
and lowered to the surface of the water. In
rough weather, while being drawn into shore
by means of a windlass, it rolls over and
over and is alternately under and above the
water. To prevent the bruising up of the ex
cursionists within, the inside is thoroughly
fitted out with the softest of padding, and
very minute diamond-shaped holes in the top
of the car furnish' all the air needed, dilated
with a very insignificant and hardly notice
able quantity of salt water. This car is made
oat f heavy galvanized iron, riveted, and
WAivlia TfV rtinr1n
THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL.
A Few General BalesThe Famous
Brown-Stone Front Only a tfloomy -
Tunnel.
Joaquin Miller's Washington Letter.
The building mania seems to have at
tacked the whole civilized world, and
apropos of this fact I have been asked
by the editor of this paper for an arti
cle on architecture and decoration. I
have only space to lay down a few gen
eral rules and describe one or two in
teriors. In the first place, then, if you con
template building a house in a crowded
city you must at once become recon
ciled to the sad fact that the appear
ance of your house is not going to de
pend nearly so much on what kind of
a house you build as on the kind of
houses your neighbors build.
I have a friend who built, this year,
a rare and daintily-chiseled front
such daisies of windows, too, delicate
bits of painted glass, and ; so on. It
was tmlv a Tmm in : fitnn and strvni
there modestly back from the street,
the pride of builder and owner. But
now there have grown two great Jo
nah's gourds quite overshadowing it,
thrust far out toward the street, throw
ing it all in the gloom and background
and shaming its modesty by their blaz
ing brick fronts and great sheet-iron
top3. So, to begin with, you must
know who your neighbors are before
build in a crowded city.
Man is the only animal who builds
his home after I he pattern of a dry
goods box. And it is only the half-
civilized man who insists on doing that.
In all Borne you do not find a single
square room. An Italian will not live
in the conventional square room. They
tell you in Home that the rooms
are built in such strange angles
and triangles and so v on as
a charm against the evil eye. But that
is largely fiction. The Italian builds
his home in curiously shapen rooms be
cause of the art and love of the beauti
ful and shapely that is in him. Permit
me to lay this down briefly as another
one of the rules to observe m. building
the house beautiful." No square room
can be made either comely or comfort
able. No bird, no beast, not even an
Indian will live in one unless as a
prisoner. A round room or semi-giooe
shaped is perhaps the most restful.
The Indian wigwam is the nvt perfect
form of architecture we get here in
America. Let us ldCk ,in one of the
hundred thousand hideous brown-stone
fronts in the fashionable parts of New
York city. You find this home is
simply a tunnel. It is sixteen or twenty
feet wide. It is eighty feet deep.
There is some straggling light at either
end of this tunnel. But, at best, the
famous New York brown-stone front is
simply a deep, gloomy tunnel.
.London and Paris.
Corw St. Louis Republican.
What strikes one in London, every
where and in everything, is the deifica
tion of the human and the lowering of
the divine. . For what are St. Paul's and
Westminster bat homes of nero worship
and shrines of the mortal, whilst God's
presence fills their walls no more nor
renders sacred their fanes. Monuments
of human greatness, indeed, are St.
Paul's and its noble statues, but no
church, while the Abbey tells in it3
saintly tombs and many chapels of a
glory that has gone.
London impresses one with the idea
6f great strength and stabibty, of the
wonderful mastery of mental and
physical prowess Paris tells of a higher,
more tasteful and more spiritual people.
Her streets and homes, public and
private, are an unending joy. lhere is
a light and happy airiness about her
clime and people, civilized habits there
print very pleasant memories in tho
mind. Her people, too, are very
religious. We saw to-day -a due propor
tion of men in all the churches visited,
and the attendance in all cases and at
all hours was remarkably large. 'Tis
the city of sin and sanctity, of bravery
and madness. Extremes here meet as
nowhere else in the whole world. One
point I hav gained, whether in Dublin,
London or Paris : I now know what a
church building is. And what will it
be when I have seen the masterpieces
of religious thought, piety and zeal, as
revealed in the heart of the church, her
centre and her soul the everlasting
city? ,
Literary Talent on Dally Periodicals.
New York Sun.
Undoubtedly the best literary talent,
and the most fruitful, is now devoted,
in one way or another, to newspapers or
other periodicals. It there finds what
all expert ability, directed to the mak
ing of a living is anxious to get,
namely, steady employment and sure
pay.
But it is nonsense to say that the lit
erary talent so employed is buried. It
is exercised where it produces the widest
effect; and the continuous and method
ical labor required of the writer, so far
from injuring him, tends to the develop
ment of his intellect and the improve
ment of his literary faculty. He gets a
better command of bis rower, and ac
quires literary habits of great use to
him. He also learns how to address
the public in such a way as to com
mand attention and interest his readers.
He makes of himself a better and a
more practical workman.
Of course, we speak only of men who
write with skill and care, and who are
held up to their duty by an editor com
petent to criticise what they do. Such
writers do not acquire habits of slov
enly composition. They rather become
more direct and precise. : Nor need
they, lose any real beauties and elegan
cies.' They are more likely to get rid
of mannerisms and exuberances, and
to learn to think about elucidating
what they have to say, and not about
showing off mere literary tricks.
The Vanderbilt Mausoleum.
Chicago Herald.
The new Vanderbilt mausoleum in
the Moravian cemetery at New Dorp,
Staten island, is intended to be a very
costly affair, though as yet the design
has. not been finally fixed upon. The
site is on the summit of a hill in the
centre of the burial ground and covers
nine acres. Besides the money he will
spend on his own plot, Mr. Vanderbilt
intends to make the cemetery one of
the finest in the country.