- ' - ' A . -' - "
v ' ; ' : A
- j!
. NO. 41. V 1 '
011
l iyiWPJly
v I III
DEVOTED TO NEWS, LITERATURE, AND THE BEST INTERESTS OF ORECON.
VOL. 11.
OREGON CITY, OREGON, THURSDAY, AGUUST 2, 1877.
I
1
THE ENTERPRISE!
o
A LOCAL NEWSPAPER
FOB THE
Farmer. Baalnes Jlan and Family Circle
ISSUED EVERT THURSDAY.
PROPRIETOR AND PUBLISHER.
Official Paper for Clackamas County.
Offiee: In Enterprise Buildlns, -
One door South of Masonic Building, Main Street.
Tt-rnia of .Subscription :
o
Single Copy, one year, in advance $2 00
single Copy, six months, in advance 1 50
Terwa of AdTrrtining:
Transient advertisements, including ail legal
notice, per square of twelve lines, one
week $ 2 50
Ear eauh subsequent insertion .". 1 00
Ooa Col asm, one year ..; . ; 120 (JO
Half Column, one year - 60 00
Quarter Column, one year.. 40 (X)
Iiusine8 Card, one square, one year 12 00
SOCIETY NOTICES.
OREGON LODGE, No. 3, I. O. O. F.
Meets every Thursday Evening, at--,-
!H o'clock, in Odd Fellows' Hall.
Main Street. Members of the Order j
are invited to attend.
By order of
X. o.
REBECCA DEGREE LODGE, No. 2,
i. u. u. meets on the Second and
Fourth Tuesday Evening of each month.
" iu me vaa renown nail.
Mambers of the Degree are invited to
FALLS ENCAMPMENT, No. 4,
t. u. u. meets at Odd Fellows' Hall on
the First and Third Tuesday of each month.
Patriarchs in good standing; are invitt-d to
attend.
MULTNOMAH LODGE, No. I,
A. F. k A. M., holds its regular coinmuni- -a
cations on the First and Third Saturdays f
In each month, at 7 nVlrr-v fmn, 'am, v .
of September to the 2oth or March and
7X o'clock from the 20th of Mr, h t. th ' v
20th of September. Brethren in ood standing are
q lnvitod to attend. By order of V. M.
BUSINESS .CARDS.
J. W. NORRIS,
I'li.ysioiaii ami Surgeon.
OKFICK AMI RESIDENCE :
Oo Fourth Street, at foot of Cliff Stairway. tf
CHARLES KNIGHT,
CANDY, OREGON,
IMijsician and lrug;s.t.
VPrescriptions carefully filled Ht short notice
ja7-tf
PAUL BOYCE, IW. D.,
Physician and .Surgeon,
Obkoon ClTT, Or.EtiON.
Chronic Diaeagoa and Diseases of Women aud
Children a specialty.
Office Hours day"and uiht; always roadv when
duty calls. aiut2.V76.tf
DR. JOHN WELCH.
ODEXTIST.
OFFICE IX. OREGON CITY OREGON.
Highest cash price paid for County Orders.
JOHNSON & McCOWN,
ATTORNEYS and COUNSELORS AT LAI
OREGON CITY, OREGON.
Will practice in all the Courts of the Slate.
Special attention given to cases in the inited
btates Laud Office at Oregon City. 3apr'72-tf
L. T. SARIN.
ATTOIIXEY AT IAW,
OREGON CITY, OREGON.
Will practice in all the Courts of the State,
novl, '7j-tf
W. H. HICHFIELD,
sulillshort Nlncv
1 O,
wue uoor .North of Fope's Hall,
Q MAIS ST.. OBECIO.V 'ITV. Oltt:;0
H , Jr ir""1' of Watches. Jewelry, and
is . 'ui an oi wuicn
are virrint. r . .' . . W
forT.-fS!,"11 dODe " bOTt uotlce: nd thanUul
tor past patronage.
'ata I'm Id for County Orders.
JOHfi M. BACON,
-faint
BOOKS, STATIONERY.6
PICTURE FRAMES. MOULDINGS AND MISCEL
LANEOU8 GOODS.
IH4JIKS MADE TO ORDKII.
fcr At the Post Ofrtce, Main Street, west side.
q novl. '75-1 f
J. R. GOLDSMITH,
Collector ami Solicitor,
PORTLAND, OKF.GOX.
CF"B(!Bt of references given. dot 25-' 77
HARDWARE, IRONAND STEEL,
Hubs, Spokes, Itinis,
OAK, ASH AND HICKORY PLANK.
XOKTrtKI P A THOMPSON
mr31.'76-tf Portland, Oron.
J. H. SHEPARD,
BOOT AM SIIOK STOUK,
One door North of Ackerman Bros
aatr.Ic'h0et.Ve,tJ.Sb0f' M
MILLER, CHURCH & CO.
FAT THE HIGHEST PBICE FOR WHEAT,
O At all Umea. at the '
OREGON CITY MH.T.s.
And have en hand FEED and FLOUR to sell at
.... ,.ke. nrucs uesiring ced must furnish
novltf
A. G. WALLINC'S
lioneer JLCook Bindery
r'"oc' Building, cor. of Stark and Front Sts..
rOKTJLAXD, OREGO.Y.
B dtmlJLI00?8 RCLED AND BOUND TO ANY
siw.D,'i Music Bocks. Magazines,
knowS t-KetC.-' bund lQ 'verT variety of style
Promptly attended to.
... .. vomers irom tn rnnntrr
novl, 75-tf
RECON CITY BREWERY.
IITTIr-r. '
no prepared ? the pnblic thlt th"7 areCSS)
quaUry P ed ,J nafacture a No.
soodafefn01111 BEER.
Wd.r, iic?t.1?!f,JU,ned Mywhere in the State,
""cited and promptly filled."
MimnaiT
A SOXU FOR THE UIRL I LOVE.
A song for the girl I love
God love her I
A song for the eyes of tender shine.
And the fragrant mouth that melts on mine.
The thiiuniering tresses uncontroll'd
That clasp her neck with tendril gold.
The blessed mouth and the dainty chin.
And the little dimples out and in
The cirl I love
God loyj her !
A son!? for the girl I loved
(tod love her !
A song for the eyes of faded light.
And the cheek whose red rose waned to white -The
quiet brow, with its shadow and gleam.
And the dark hair drooped in a long, deep dream;
The small hands crossed for their church-yard rest.
And the lilies dead on her sweet dead breast.
The girl I loved
God love her !
OX A SAIGHTY LITTLE BOY,
SLKEI'I.VU.
BT BRET IIABTE.
Just now I missed from hall and ktair
- A joyful treble that had grown
As dear to me as that grave tone
That tells the world my older care.
And little footsteps on the floor
Were stayed. 1 laid aside my pen.
Forgot my theme, and listened then
Stole softly to the library door.
No sight ! no sound ! a moment's freak
Of fancy thrilled my pulse6 through;
" If no "and yet, that fancy drew
A father's blood from heart and cheek.
And then I found him ! There he lay.
Surprised by sleep, caught in the act.
The rosy Vandal who had sacked
His little town, and thought it play.
The shattered vase; the broken jar;
A match still smouldering on the floor
The inkstand's purple pool of gore '
The oliest-men scattered near and far. '
Strewn leaves of albums lightly pressed
This wicktd "Baby of the Wo ids"
In fact, of half the household goods
This sou and heir was seized possessed.
Yet all in vain, for sleep bad cau"ht
The hand that reached, the feethat strayed
And fallen iu that ambuscade
The victor was himself o'erwrought.
WhHtthousU tora leaves and tattered book
Still testihed his deep disgrace ?
I stopped and kissed the inky face
ith its demure and calm outlook. '
Then back I stole, and half beguiled
My guilt, in trust that when my sleep
Should come, there might be One who'd keen
An equal mercy lor his child.
Harper't Magazine fon July .
THE EVIL-OMENED OPAL RING.
BY ANNIE MORI OX.
A strip of jellovr sand, with tiny wave
lets washing upon it; a wide expanse of
blue-green water; a tiny pier; a yacht at
anchor, with sail flapping idly; a little
boat, crimson cushioned, in which lie a
pair of oars and a huge dog; these are
the objects which have been before the
unseeing eyes of Ouida Lindon for
hours; and now, with a long, shivering
sigh, she awakens from her day-dream,
rises slowly, gathers the fleecy white
shawl which has slipped unheeded from
her shoulders, and taking a seat in the
little boat, is about to push from shore,
when a clear vcice speaks her name:
"Miss Lindon!"
"Mr. Rutherford, you here? I imag
ined you faraway; indeed, I had it from
your own hps that this week would find
you on your journey."
"I thought so then" he stepped into
the boat and sends it swiftly bounding
over the waters "but fate decreed
otherwise. I shall not travel just at
present."
The girl lifts her eyes and meets his
searching gaze, and as suddenly drops
them again, a scorching flush dving her
face. And, as she sits voiceless among
the cushions, one perfect hand trailing
through the water, the other caressing
the dog at her feet, the man quietly
watches her, his fierce eyes fixed on her
face with astrange resemblance to some
animal watcliinr its nvw iTa ia Tiot,i.
O J,'--, M. -J
some but for those eyes, which have in
Al J 1 1 J .
mem "an me seeming of a demon that
is dreaming;" and even they hold a fas
cination for the girl opposite, who feels
rather than sees them. Those eyes now
gleam with desperata determination;
and any one who has seen that look on
Erie llutherford's face, k
have his way.
He knows full well, has known all
this long spring time, that Ouida Lin
don loves him, aud is fighting her love
with a true woman's strength; for is she
not in honor bound to another? And
she is trying to do right; it is easy, too,
when he is away, and she can live her
accustomed lonely life, with only Clyde,
the dog, to share it; but when Erie is
near her, and wakes as he only can
with a caressing touch of his hand, or
a glance of his eye, all those passions
which seem to sleep in his absence, she
feels that sometimes he will conquer.
Two years before Ouida Lindon had
never seen Erie Rutherford, and was
the happiest girl who lived, ho thought,
when Tracv Wilde had asked her to
share his heart'and home. Her's had
been a strange childhood. Her mother,
Tvi.lnivn.l ennn o ft&v OniMa'a l-iit-li
buried with her dead husband all the
love she had given him living. She
knew that Ouida was clothed, fed and
taught; beyond the fulfillment of these
duties she seemed to have no interest.
The child, when her lessons were done,
would roam the sands for hours with
her dog Clyde, living utterly in the
realm of her own dreams. Her only
knowledge of the world was gained
through books, and, as her library con
tained only the purest of literature, what
wonder that she believed with implicit
faith in all mankind, and deemed the
noblo heroes of whom she dreamed the
same as the men of the nineteenth cen
tury ?
Then had come that bright spot in
lier life when the woman who had been
her mother's companion in girlhood
came to their home; .and, finding some
thing in the girl's marvelous eyes,
which, as she saij, quite bewitched her
persuaded Ouida to spend some time in
town, Marion Wilde carried her new fa
vorite home, to daily companionship
with her idolized son.
And Tracy "Wildo was handsome and
chivalrous enough to personate one of
Ouida's heroes well, and when he told
the girl how he loved her and wanted
her always with him; that life without
her would be dreary; and pictured the
home they would make themselves; the
mystery of life was still so sealed to her,
she doubted not that the pleasure she
felt in his presence was love. So they
were engaged; and when, in the spring
time, Ouida went back to the seaside
and the old pursuits, there was still
about her the happy restful ness which
had enveloped her since her future had
been settled.
The summer passed swiftly, and one
early autumn day the woman, who had
so long mourned her dead was carried
to a place beside him, and Ouida was
motherless. The Wildes wanted her
then; but her determination to spend
this last winter in the old home could
not be shaken.
So it happened that, wandering along
the beach one dreary October day, she
met Erie Rutherford. He was struck
at once by the wondrous beauty of
Ouida's dark face, with its great brown
eyes, and frame of twany hair, the grace
of her movements, and above all charm
ed by the frightened look which she
gave him when he addressed her. He,
so well nseA to charming others, was
himself captivated at last, and made the
most of his opportunities to cultivate
the acquaintance of this girl whom a
cruel fate had thrown in his way. She
wrote Tracy of her new acquaintance,
and in return received the information
that her betrothed knew the gentleman
slightly. Later, when Erie had at last
gone back to town, and Tracy and his
mother had come to spend a brief time
with Ouida, they carelessly mentioned
Mr. Rutherford in her presence, but
they did not note the crimson flush that
burned her dark cheek, nor guess how
wildly her heart throbbed at the sound
of that name.
And the spring came. One of its
dreary days when the great waves moan
ed along the beach, found Ouida ecstat
ically happy in her dreams, slumbering
before a glowing fire; and Erie Ruther
ford, entering the tiny room, in the
familiar fashion of bygone months, with
a world of love in his dark eyes, bent
over the luxurious chair and" the fair
dreamer, and pressed passionate kisses
on her full red lips, crying:
"Ouida, my darling."
The girl's dreamy eyes opened; her
lips smiled on him; her whole face was
glorified; she put out her hands, mur
muring "My love, my love at last! but it has
been so long!"
His arms were around her in a mo
ment, and for a little each forgot all
else ia that blissful embrace.
"You missed me, then', little one?
And were you lonely all the winter days
after you were so cruel as to send me
away?"
"O, heavens!" cried Ouida, coming
suddenly back from the delirious joy of
her vision to a terrified consciousness
of the reality; and her face grew ashy
white as she struggled to free herself,
holding up her left hand, upon the third
finger of which a slender diamond cir
clet glittered. "Why, O, why did you
come back when you mnst leave me
now and for ever? You knew this! O,
I am so tired, so tired. I cannot bear
it!"
She broke down, and wept such pas
sionate tears as made Erie miserable.
He promised that he would not further
forget the fact of her engagement dur
ing the brief stay he should make by
the sea. Bat when he left her presence
he told himself, between his clenched
teeth: "She shall never be his wife!"
They met daily, and although Erie
outwardly kept his vow, he never for a
moment forgot the girl's confession, and
was determined that she should be his
wife. Ouida strove to remain loyal to
Tracy, remembering his tenderness and
goodness, until she could endure the
torture of her struggles no longer, and
sought to end them by sending Erie
away; and they had parted, he promised
her, for ever; but he had broken his
vow to return this morning, and he was
sure to gain the victory.
They are far out on the rippling sea
before the silence is again broken.
Then Erie speaks softly:
"Ouida, do not blame me. I could
not go and leave you! Do not strive
against fate any longer; it is a cruelty
to both. 'My life, my love, I love
you?"'
She lifts her great, brown, adoring
eyes to his face, and he goes on :
"My own little love, any one would
tell you the wickedness of marrying one
man, loving another; and, my darling,
I cannot be mistaken, yon do lovo me!
Tell me the truth, Ouida!"
The girl leans over and lays her small
hands in his. He lifts them, draws
from the one that pledge which binds
her to another, and then kisses the slen
der, ringless finger. A magnificent
opal gleams on one of his own white
hands; he substitutes it for the dia
mond. Ouida shivers, and he says, ten
derly: "You are chilly, darling; we will go
home."
She holds out her hand, on which
gleams the opal.
"No, not cold; but this is an evil
omen, and it frightens me!" Then
quickly and passionately: "I have done
wrong, but it is all for you, Erie!"
"You think too much of signs, my
love!" not noticing the latter part of her
sentence. . "No evil can come to you
through me."
They row back over the water, and he
is triumphant.
On the piazza of a villa overlooking a
river Ouida Rutherford stands on a
bright October morning. She is very
beautiful in her black, trailing robe,
with a knot of pale flowers in the bronze
hair that falls in a curling cluster about
her shapely shoulders. Clyie is by her
side, and her small Drown nanas.toy
with his silken ears.
A step comes through the hall, and
she turns, with a glaa smiie, 10 uer uus
band. Erie bends over her tenderly.
lUVTefcite one. I'm loth to leave you.
even for a day! Just think, four months
married, and we've never been parted
so long! Are you not almost tired of
me?"
"As if I ever could be tired of you,
Erie! But I think 111 manage for a
day," laughing softly. "O! there comes
T
the boat." She walks by his side to the
landing.
"Good-bye, my darling?" Erie breathes,
passionately, and watches Ouida retrace
her steps until a dark cloud momentari
ally hides the sunlight, and throws a
sombre shadow upon the fair head that
had shone like burnished gold, under
the glory of the morning; sun. Before
the shadow lifts, the steamer has borne
him from sight of her, and he frowns
darkly as a thought of Ouida's strange
belief in omens crossed his mind.
"Nothing can take her from me now,"
he mutters. "Even that should not! I
love her, though I have sinned against
her!"
Ouida walks slowly back to the pret
ty villa, where she is visiting a friend of
Erie's, and meets her hostess's young
brother. -'
"Mrs. Rutherford, will you come
with me? It is a pretty drive," says
Jimmy Deloraime. "Thomas has rheu
matism, and I've got to go for medi
cine. Do come, wont you?"
The boy worships beautiful Mrs.
Rutherford, but complains to his sis
ter, "One can't speak two words to her,
for Rutherford is always at her elbow."
"Yes, I'll come, gladly," says Ouida;
and they go off directly, with gayest
spirits.
They reach the farm-house alter many
delays, the carriage is a mass of ferns
and foliage.
"You'll have to wait a bit," says an
old lady, coming to the door; " but if
you'll come inside, miss, I will bring
you a glass of fresh milk and make you
comfortable."
Ouida walks into a cool, scrupulously
clean room, and seats herself in one of
the great, old-fashioned arm-chairs,
and then begins to turn the leaves of a
little album lying on a small mahogany
table.
She pauses at the picture of a beauti
ful young girl, with soft eyes and sweet
lips and wonders how she knows it so
well. Then comes the memory of a day,
when looking over some photographs of
Earl's, she found the counterpart of this
picture, and noticing his start of sur
prise, rather curiously questioned him
of the original. His answers had been
satisfactory enough. She was an ac
quaintance only, and her name matched
her face it was Lily. Ouida wonder
ed at finding the same picture here.
"Here's your milk; you'll find it re
freshing." Ouida lifts the album.
"Will you tell me whose picture this
is ? "
"O, my deary, it is a sad story; I
don't rightly know who the poor thing
was, but, at least one name she had, and
that was Lily."
"A sad story, why should so sweet a
creature have sorrow?" Ouida asks.
snuttmg the cover over Lily's face, and
idly twisting her opal ring to and fro
on her finger, as she looks at the old
lady.
"Ay! why should she?" answered the
woman, seating herself by Ouida's side.
"She was so gentle and loving. It was
a year in June that she come here with
her husband, or wo thought him that,
and I do believe, in spite of his wicked
lies, that ho was her husband. They
wanted to board her here for the sum
mer, and she was in delicate health and
so pretty, I couldn't say no, so they
stavea. uarnet was her name.
Ouida puts out her hand quickly.
"What?" she says. "What?"
"Garnet, I said, dear. It's an uncom
mon name.
" Y'es, " says Ouida. "Go on please."
"Well, they were a pretty pair, he
tall and dark, and she lovely and fair
asanower; and he seemed so fond of
her at first, and she fairly worshiped
him. bho used to sit here the days he
would go away, and tell mo how she
had been a poor shop girl, and he had
married her and made her so happy.
And I got to love her as if she had been
my own. Well, at the end of the sum
mer in October, I think he went to
the seaside for a week, and the very day
she expected him back that letter came.
I can see her now as she came in. She'd
been up the hill, to the station, to meet
him; and she was all in white, and so
lovely; and she'd the letter in her hand.
That letter broke her heart. Her blood
is on his head. She sat down jnst
where you sit now, dear; and I sat here
knitting. 'I'm sure he'll be here to
morrow, Mrs. Foster; but' I can't wait,'
she said ; kissing the seal of the letter
before opening it. All was still a mo
ment, until the crackling of paper made
me turn my head. O, deary me, I can't
bear to think of it. She looked like a
person dying; the letter was crumpled
in her hand, but she did not speak;
only stood up, and took off her wedding
ring and threw it on the floor; then
flung both arms over her head, and
cried out: 'God help me!' and dropped
in convulsions. She never spoke again.
All that night she lay in fits, and in the
morning both she and her baby were
dead. Then I got the letter and read it;
there were ten fifty dollar notes with it;
he was rich, I know, and he wore such
a splendid ring, for all the world like
yours. We used some cf the money to
bury her and the baby such a pretty
little thing it was and then I put the
rest away with the letter and her wed
ding ring."
Onida draws a long convulsive sigh.
"Can I see it the letter I mean?"
It does not seem to her a strange re
quest. She is conscious of nothing but
a strange, deathly pressure at her heart.
Erie's name is Garnet Erie Garnet
Rutherford and a ring like hers! . Is
she mad. she wonders?
Mrs. Foster crosses the room, opens a
little cupboard, and takes the letter from
a small box. Ouida holds out her hand,
clutches it, atmost tears it as she. un
folds it. It is in Erie's handwriting.
"October 14th, 187G.
Lily: I write this to undeceive-you.
You are not my wife, though once I
really thought to make you such. The
ceremony was performed by a friend of
mine, who had no power to make it
binding. I have met a woman I love
and mean to marrv ! I am will in cr to
I provide for you, but I shall never see
I you again. Erle Gabnkt."
COURTESY OF BANCROFT LIBRARY,
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA,
Ouida reads it through. She even
takes up tho wedding-ring and reads
the inscription, 'Erie to Lily,' as quiet
ly as if her heart was not breaking. Af
ter a moment she lays them both back
in the box, and takes up the pictured
face once more.
"She is better dead?" she says, ques
tioningly. The old woman, who had been shed
ding some quiet tears, wonders at the
great, haunting eyes fixed on her face,
waiting for the answer.
"Yes, dearie; far better so than liv
ing. She could not live and bear it."
"I thought not," Ouida saja, slowly.
"Good-bye, Lily." She kisses the pic
ture with a swift, impulsive motion, and
rises. "I must go now Mr. De
loraime is waiting probably. . I thank
you that you were good to poor Lily."
It seems ages to Onida before she
reaches the villa. She has no thought
but one. She must fly from Erie! She
loves him to madly to see him again!
She enters her room. Clyde is on a
mat by the door; he is the poor child's
only friend ; she kneels by his side and
caresses him; rising, she puts on a
sacque and hat, ties on a thick veil,
opens a casket; kisses Erie's pictured
face, and slips the locket containing it
upon the chain about her neck.
"Come; Clyde! " she says, "'we will
go home."
The huge dog rises and follows her.
Twenty-four hours later, and the day
is cold and lowering. The sea sighs
and moans, and splashes threateningly
upon the beach. Erie Rutherford paces
to and fro in a state of mute, mad de
spair. The crowd gathered near, dare
not speak to the stony-faced man with
the burning, wild eyes. They only
whisper among themselves, and, like
him, look out to sea, where some sturdy
oarsmen are fighting the breakers iu an
effort to reach a tiny, dark object that
tosses just beyond the surf. Onida's
nurse, old Marie, is moaning with the
women, and Clyde stands by Erie's side
uttering dismal howls. And the min
utes go by; and the rowers return from
their vain endeavors; and the sea beats
along the shore more fiercely; and with
the rising storm, by the encroaching
tide, the tiny upset boat and the fair
woman are brought ashore.
Ashore at her husband's feet, where
he first saw her, dead! Her mantle still
about her; her long hair tangled with
seaweed and sand, the opal gleaming
from her hands locked upon her breast.
And when they parted the hands and
tore the wet draperies from above her
heart, they found her husband's picture,
Lily's photograph, and the following
paragraph torn "from a paper:
Wilde. Died on the Oth inst., Tracy Wilde,
aged twenty-four years."
"And the wild waves hiss, 'She is dead ! she is dead I'
And the mermaids sing. 'Sad fate'.'
Aud his palo lips moan. 'Come back, my love!'
And the hoarse winds whisper, 'Too late I' "
Swearing in Cromwell's Time.
Laws against swearing were strictly
enforced during the times of the Com
monwealth, and with the largest inter
pretation against the accused. We are
reminded of the reproof that Sir Wal
ter Scott put into the mouth of Crom
well, "What can it avail the to practice
a profanity so horrible to the ears of
others, and which brings no emolu
ment to him who uses it?" Every oath
was counted. For a single oath the
fine was Gs. 8d.. but the charge was re
duced to 3s. 4d. each "on taking a
quantity." HumfreyTrevett; forswear
ing ten oathes, . was committed till he
paid 33s. 4d. to the poor of Halt ford,
John Huishe, of Cheriton, was con
victed for swearing 22 oaths and two
curses at one time, and four oaths and
one curse at another time. Of course,
the greater number of these cases were
disposed of at Petty Sessions without
being sent for trial. One Justice re
turned the names, of ten persons whom
he had convicted of swearing since the
previous sessions. We. are not left
without examples of what was consid
ered swearing in those days. William
Hearding. of Chiltlehampton, for say
inp: two several times in court "Upon
my life,'f was adjudged to be in the act
of swearing, for which lie paid 6s. od
Thomas Butland was fined for swearing
"On my Troth." Gilbert Northcott
had to pay 3s. 4d. for saying, "Upon
my life." Thomas Courtis was fined
for swearing in court "God is my wit
ness," and "I speak in tho presence of
God." Christopher Gill, being reprov
ed by Mr. Nathaniel Durant. clerk,
"for having used the oath, God's Life,
in discourse," went and iBformed
against the minister himself for swear
ing !
Nil Desperasdum. One of the
Scotch judges, rather noted for his light
treatment of serious punishments, had
once sentenced a man, convicted of
sheep stealing, to be hanged on the 28th
of the then current month. The prison
er, when being conducted out of the
dock, turned round to the judge, who
was busy arranging his papers previous
to leaving the court, and cried out, "My
lord, my lord, I haena got justice here
the day! The judge, looking up from
his occupation with a twinkle of grim
fun in his eye, consolinglv answered.
"Weel, weel, my man, ye'll get it on
the IJSth."
"You doan nebber hear of nobody
failing on me, does you?" "Not as I
remember of. "In course vou doan'
.Why, cause I has bin right down fine
on business principles ebber since the
crash of o7. .Now JVLisser White, look
me in de eye while I tell you dat de
proper way is to keep your eyes rollin'
around de business horizon. " If you
owes a firm, an' dat firm is shaky,
doan pay de debt, but wait till dey
fail. If a firm is shaky and owes vou
.:i -i .I -1- i. . ? , J -
su uii tie uuau-siep un you eret de
X' M - I . -.
mvuey. nuw &J luug WU1 your WUlt
wash."
It has been discovered in Paris that
the little yellow marks upon certain
brands of Havana cigars, which causes
tnem to De greatly prized by smokers.
are creaiea Dy ue sprinkling of acids
r
Fashions and Fancies.
Linen fans, trimmed with torchon
lace, are the latest.
Black silks for summer wear are
trimmed with grenadine.
Servian costumes are the latest im
portations from London.
The latest ornaments for bangles is of
gold, and shaped like a chicken wish
bone.
Boas, made of white lace studded
with fine flowers, are worn around the
nock. ,
Bouffant (puffing) was, a year ago.
tho watchword; now it is collant (cling
ing). Bonnets made of feathers, stripped
from the stems are taking the place of
the flown bonnets.
Natural oats strung on chenille is the
new trimming for black and cream col
ored suits.
Bonnets in Paris are now mostly
black straw, and trimmed with fruits
and flowers indiscriminatelv.
It is reported from Paris that the la
dies there wear thirty-six colors in their
dress and forty-eight on their bonnets.
Ribbon chatelaines are more fashion
able than metal ones. For full dress
they are made of chains of flowers and
leaves.
The Croisette comb, shaped like a fan.
and worn a trifle to one side, is used
when the hair is confined in an invisible
net.
Belted waists are cominp; in again.
Pipings, sometimes double, and of con
trasting colors, mark all the outlines of
dresses.
The latest importations in linen col
lars have a square piece turned over in
the back, while the front has standing
English points.
The Glasgow percales, without gloss.
trimmed with white embroidery, are
very popular. They are forty-five
cents a yard, and come a yard wide.
There is an exciting report that the
Prince intends to discard tall hats. It
will be the first sensible thing we have
heard of His Royal Highness doing yet.
Breakfast caps are all the raere with
both married and single ladies. The
Madras, a bright colored silk handker
chief, worn a la contrabands is the most
popular.
According to Albert Durer's measure
ment, a woman's foot should be to her
height in the proportion of seven to fif
ty, or one-seventh, minus a slight frac
tion.
The newest stvle of collars for cren-
tlemen are straight linen bands, in
clerical style, though an effort is being
made to introduce the broad linen col
lar in the Cromwell style.
Among the many odd fabrics used
for dresses this season, are unbleached
sheeting and ticking. The sheeting is
trimmed with torchon lace, and the tick
ing with twine fringe.
The Normon is the new shoe. It is a
half shoe of red satin, faille or cashmere,
embroidered, and matching the color of
the dress. It is finished off with rib
bon quillings and bows.
Worth has just introduced a new
mantle, that passes over the shoulders
high behind, and falls to the feet in two
straight pieces. It is called a surplice,
and has a very clerical look, being usu
ally made of black satin and trimmed
with thread lace.
"Throat renovating" is the latest im
provement shown by fashion. A French
officer, with a fine military record, and
withal a lover of chemistry, has invent
ed a wash known as "Eau Montespan,"
by which a woman of fifty can renew
the whiteness and 2JlumPness of the
throat in a short time.
The prettiest dress for bridesmaids
for summer weddings, says Harper's
Bazar, are of organdy muslin over
white silk, and trimmed with Mechlin
lace, a square necked corsage, and el
bow sleeves. The silk being cut low,
and the organdy with full frills of lace
very high. Knife pleating and lace
flounces for the skirt.
Flowers were never more used in toi
letts than now. They are seen every
where; even parasols are embroidered
with them, and each flower perfumed
with its natural fragrance when not the
natural blossoms themselves,, removed
two or three times a day. Colored
laces and colored embroideries on
everything is the rule. It is the reign
of the paint pot.
The simplest coffures are now the
most popular. The front hair is usually
Waved ami rvmlw,l atraiirlif.nn fi.-,m iYtn
" . " " " "
neck and arranged in a knob on the
crown. &ome arrange it in Chinese
fashion, in one fl:it snnttVxl-rmr. knrd
or several loops, creped underneath to
give them more fullness, and on the
forehead fringed or arranged in frisons
or very small curls.
The multiform is a new style of hair
arrangement. It conists of a pntt of
hair Ttenrlv a varl in lono-tli whifli in
brushed into shape over a metal cylin
der, and formed in various shapes, x or
a very full chignon two puffs are re-
together with the cylinder, and cost $10
to 15, according to shade. Invisible
nets are worn with them.
The Court "Prisoner, after having
skilfully imitated the signatures of sev
eral large banking-houses and negotiat
ed the forged securities, you executed a
check purporting to come from Gob
seck Sc Co. On presenting this you
were inevitably arrested. You mirjht
have known that the pai tners of t. at
firm had ja6t been apprehended for
bankruptcy." The prisoner "O, your
Honor, I thought I was dealing with a
reputable house. "
"What's the use of making such
fuss about a little water?" said a J udr"
before whom motion after motion ha.
come in a case where a small spring
was the object of contention. "The
parties are both milkmen," quietly said
.... i-Vl T ,1 1
one of the lawyers.
'Oh. I see," said
the Judge.
Colio in Horses.
Dr. Cressy, the well-known Vermont
veterinarian, in a recent lecture gave
the following as a proper treatment for
colic in horses:
The most common kind of colic in
horses is known as wind colic. This
arises from fermentation of the food in
the stomach, instead of its healthy di
gestion. If a horse is brought in tired
and is fed immediately, and fills his
stomach, there may not be sufficient
gastric juice to perform" its office. The
food will them ferment. Soon the horse
will bloat; the breathing becomes hard,
with frothing at the month. This may
not be confounded with the hard breath
ing in Inng fever, since, in the latter,
there is no bloating
The passages of the stomach and
bowels become clogged with masses of
undigested food, the gas arising from
the fermentation cannot pass out of .the
stomach, which becomes distended, and
presses the diaphragm forward so that
the lungs caunot expand, the breath
becomes short and the rapid breathing
will shortly induce frothing. If the
trouble reaches this stage, the horse
will rarely live more than an h.mr. As
soon a& you see your horse i bloating,
give something to stop fermentation.
For this, a heaping tablespoonful of
saleratus is the best thing. Spirits of
hartshorn in a does of half an ounce,
very much diluted, is also good. If
now you have checked the fermentation
for five minutes, the next thing is to
make the gas pass off. To do this, give
warm watery injections freely, injecting
all the animal will hold, if it is a pail
ful. Turn the horse's head down hill,
and use a small force pump, if you have
one, or if not. use a piece of rubber
tube, which should be inserted as far as
it will go with ease, and the end of the
tube may then be turned up and a fun
nel put in, into which put warm water.
After you have put in all the horse will
hold turn him about and let it pass
away, and repeat the operation till the
bowels become free, and the gas passes
off. Meantime another hand should be
pre paringa dose of physic, which should
be from one-half to three-fourths of an
ounce of aloes. This, if put into water
by itself, will not dissolve, but, if pnt
into a pint of warm water in which a
heaping tablespoonful of saleratus ha
been dissolved, the aloes will dissolve,
and the saleratus will be useful as an
antiseptic to stop the fermentation : to
this can be added some molasses to
make it more palatable.
Should the animal seem to be in much
pain give two ounces of laudanum or
tin ounce of ether, or half an ounce of
chloroform.
- Should the physic not operate in an
hour, or half an hour, if it is a very se
vere case, repeat the dose, keeping up
the injections during the time.
If there is stricture from kinking of
the bowels, there will be no help. The
lecturer had known a horse to die in
thirty minutes, in spite of all efforts.
Aconite is sometimes given to cure
colic, but it was of no avail; nor is salt
or vinegar, or both, of use. Chalk and
vinegar, which are sometimes given, the
chalk first and then the vinegar, will
alone produce cholic, and should never
be given, as the effervescence may give
pressure sufficient to burst the bowels.
In no event take the animal out and run
or trot him about, nor rub his belly
with a chestnut rail. -
The course sometimes adopted of lay
ing the horse on his side, and getting a
heavy man with thick boots to -walk
across him, back and forth, is also use
less and cruel in the extreme. If the
horse can be saved, it will be by the use
of injections and physic. Rural Neus
Yorker.
American Cheese. A correspondent
of the Boston Cultivator speak as fol
lows of our domestic cheese manufact
ure: It is generally supposed that our
American cheese is inferior to the .ng
lish, especially because it does not sell
as high in the English market. It is
also often hinted that we are not a
cheese-eating people, because we do not
make an article that meets the wants of
our own consumers. Now, there is
some truth in both these assertions.
First, as regards the . quality of the
cheese exported. It seems to be the
great aim of our manufactures to make
an article that will bear transportation,
and the result is a very hard-pressed,
indigestible article, that will bend to an
angle of. 45 degrees without breaking.
Such a cheese is very unlike the crisp,
highly-flavored cheese of the English.
Is it any wonder that American cheese
is at a discount in the English market?
Au English cheese-maker in America
makes a cheese that the most of our
people like, but it will not bear trans
portation, and in a few years he makes
a different kind. - We are not a cheese
eating people, and why? Simply be
cause we produce cheap meat. If Eng
land could produce meat as eheaply a
we do, it would make a vast difference
in her consumption of cheese.' Still, to
increase our home consumption, we
must meet the wants of consumers, and
while manufacturing with tho sole pur
pose of transportation we cannot do it.
And while we are attempting to com
pete with the English in their own mar
ket, we are, to a certain extent, injuring
our home market. There are but two
markets for every nation foreign and
domestic and the wants of each should
be carefully .studied, but one should
not be cultivated too much at the ex
pense of tho other. A pound sold is
sold, no matter who the purchaser may
be. There seems to be an evil in mak
ing for either market at the expense of
the other. Who sees a way to remedy
it?
There is, perhaps, no more perfect
picture of perplexity than the counte
nance of a man who finds in his pocket
a letter which his wife gave him a month
ago to mail, and holds it up to the light
in a futile effort to determine whether
there is anything in it that would con
vict him if he were to earry it in his
pocket the rest of the year, and mail it
on the anniversary of the day on which
it was written. Worcester Pi eou.
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