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DEVOTED TO NEWS, LITERATURE, AND THE BEST INTERESTS OF OREGON.
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YOL. 111.
OREGON CITY, OREGON, .THURSDAY, NOVEMBER S, 1877.
NO. 3.
Cfl
1
V I III
v
7
1
THE ENTERPRISE.
A LOCAL NEWSPAPER
r o u i u
I'ltrwrr, BunlnrH 71 mi nutl t'unill.t I li olr
ISSUED EVERY T II I it S D A Y .
rin?RIE?ii2 AND PfUI-IIJKK.
OfHciul Paper for Clackamas Couatj.
O aier: lit i:iite-rjtrit Hull, Sin;;,
Oue door Houthrvf Masonic Building, Main Street.
TrmU of KuiMrripiiuu :
Sin'.!! Copy, one year, in advance 2 -,0
SlUjflrf Copy, six uiontlu., iu advuucc- i so
3rt of Ad erf fi i
TrausUut advertisements, iuelu Jing all legal
notices, per square t.f twelve lines, one.
week $ Z
Fur each subsequent instrtioii 100
One Column, oue year 120 00
Half Col.imn, one year m OJ
Quarter Column, out y-ar. a 40 00
fcaslne C'arJ. oie square, I'-'ic jear 12 00
SOCIETY NOTICES.
OREGON LODGE, No. 3, L O. O. F.
M-ets every Thursdav Evening, st.,---. -v -;t
o'clock, in Odd fellows Hall. " .-( fT-N.: I
Main Street. Members of the OriliTVp,..
ar Invited to attend.
lij order Of
-. G.
REBECCA DEGREE LODGE, No. 2,
i. j. kj. i., meeis on me Mecona and 1 7 r "B I
Fourth Tuesday venin?H of each mouth, f " I 8
at 7 S o'clock, in the Odd Fellow' Hall.""' Y 3 f
jiruum ui in.jri'e are inviieit to
attend.
FALLS ENCAMPMENT, No. 4,
I U. O. r., ineeH at Odd Fellows' Hall oni ti
ttie Flr.t and Third Tuesday of eaoh month. OyT
farrlartha iu good staudina r iuvited toV'
attend.
MULTNOMAH LODGE, No. I.
a. F. ii A. M., hdd9 it- regular communi- p
cation ou the First aud Third baturdavs -
in each mouth. l 7 o'clock from the 2uthx OX)
ut bcptomber tj the auth of .Muroh- Mni '- ,
o'clock from the 2i-th of Mar.-h to the f
Xith of September. Brethren in pood Ft.-ndin" nrr
lavitud to attend. By order of W. M.
BUSINESS CARDS.
WARREN N. DAVIS, TV?. D.f
riiysii::ti and SEirgeajjs.
UiaJuaie i.f the V uiversitv of PeriBsylvania.
0rici: a r Curt HoitK.
CHARLES KNIGHT,
CANBY, OREGON.
iJi sici;;ii and Inajjj;i!.
ftPrei.-riptioui carefullv filletl at short Mt!; e
ja7-tf
PAUL BOYCE, M. D.f
lMiysician mad Nurgvon.
OntfioN City, Osbo.v.
Chnn.10 Liiseases and liiheasis T Wol.ien and
Luildren a kpecialty.
Otfice Hours day'aud nil.t ; always ready wh.11
O diitycall: au2.-.. 'Titf
DR. JOHN WELCH,
OFFICE IX OREGON' CITY OHF.GOX.
P'o'lie-it cash j rice paid f. r C ounty Order.
JOHNSON & McCOWN,
ATTORNEYS ani COUNSELORS AT LAY
G OHEoOX CITY, OREGON.
Will piaciloe in all the Courts of the State.
V'tal attention Klveu to cases in the I nited
Uto-a Und om.-e at Oregon City. 3apr2-tr
L.T. CAR IN,
ATTOKXKY AT
OKF.GOX CITY, OREGON.
v- HI practice in all the Courts of the Sttte.
u ivl, '75-tf
W. H. HICHFIELD,
,:"tublUhcrt since
One d,.or Xorth of Pope's Hall,
0 MAIN ST.. Bi:o. CITY. OKKVO.V.
Sctn ThBrtm:".J- of Jewelrv. and fL
"?l?T,T, , "v!" CIOCk"' f Which V?vV
Lr 1 10 be M presented. cNliS
Se " -"ort notice; and thank,,,.
Hh a, ior Couuty Order.
JOHN mTbacOn".
BOOKS, STATIONERY,
HCTI RE FRAMES. MOULDINGS AND MISCEL
LANEOUS GOODS.
I X MAItKTO OROf.lt.
Orehox Citt, Orf.oos.
y"At the I'oit Office, Main Street, wet side.
q " novl, '7.1-tf
J. R. GOLDSMITH,
i 1 :r iz u -v 1 . m:ws ivvit.u
Co licet or and Solicitor.
O l'ORTLANl), OUECiON.
LC" Best of references given. k i 2.V77
HARDWARE, IRON AND STEEli
Units, Spokes. It i ms.
OAK, ASH AND HICKORY PLANK.
oitTiiuri a- Tiionpsox,
maiSl.'TG-tr PortUnd. Org .11.
J. H. SHEPARD,
IIOOT AM) SHOE STOili:,
One door North of Ackerman Pros.
7 Boots aud Shoes made aud repaired as cheap
aa the cheapest. uovl. "75-tf
MILLER, CHURCH & CO.
PAY THE HIGHEST PRICE FOR WHEAT.
At all times, at the
OREGON CITY MILLS,
and have on hand FEED and FLOUR to sell, at
market rates. Parties desiring Feed must furnish
a.ks. uovli-tf
A. C. WAL LING'S
lioncer 35ooIt Bindery
Vittocfc's EuildiDg. cor. of Stark and Front Sts..
0 PORTLvVXD, OREGO.V,
OLaSK BOOKS RULED AND BOUND TO A"T
desired lattern. Music Bocks. Magazines,
knn ptr-tc- twwnd in svery variety of style
w8.,'0 the ,nle- Orders from the country
W01tUr nwnae.1 to. uovl. -75-tf -
ORECONCITY BREWERY.
UuisBtl wrckM'a lhe bove Brewerv.-SS3v
te IMvarld1. the IllbUc that tnf fJ
w4 " mauafaoture a No. lifeii
"Wu? ,lAGER BEER.
hc? VuiaeJ mywhere in th Sure.
aCj tron,i tly filled.
Till: VOV.UiETO COME.
The Old Sailor to Ills Wifk.
When in my youth I sailed the sea.
My love was linked to thine;
I thought of thee when waves ran free;
I knew thy heart was mine.
An.l vflin my bhip to our own shord
Came back from dangers wild.
"i'uab thou, whose greeting shorn hufure,
"I'was thou Who fairest builUJ.
X.) lonjer o'er earth's stormy sea
1 Hail as when a boy;
old ne to home endeareth me.
And perished is youth's joy.
But thou art still beside me. love.
And thou art sea and sky;
The shadows t;row e round us. l.ivi.
And wintry things must die.
Uut hih aloft on Clod's bright ra
Our ship shall mount with pride.
And fair our voyage shall ever be
W'iih true love sido by side.
TllV. DIIEAJIS OF Vol' Til.
I1T '.V. 1 AVI E BKRN VIiD.
Wo had our dreams when we were youn
Of what we thought the world must be.
Of justice ever conquering wrong,
Aud love assuaging misery.
We built up this bright world of our
Of golden hues and lordly foruis.
As children fashion 1 ills and towers,
Iu gorgeous clouds that cover storms !
We were deceived, but. Bister, dear.
Were we the worse for such a truth i
lieeause we found no human sphere
Could span the golden world of youth 1
Had we been happier, had our trust
15een grudged to human powers and aims.
And man divine been viewed as dust.
That bouts not vrith Immortal flames?
No. no, be sure the best belief
Is always wise when least repaid.
It is not an uncheering grief
That fcitfhs for all that heaven Las made.
Dreim on if dreams preserve the bonds
" Of man to man, nor think it vain.
The worse to whom 3-our heart responds.
Your heart jnay win to love oguin.
THE GHOST.
"'Well, I believe your honor heard
me tell lon ago how ray father left the
army, and tho way that ho took to an
other liue of life that was more to his
liking. And so it was, he was happy
as the day was long; he drove a hearse
for Mr. Callagan, of Cork, for many
years, and a pleasant place it was; for
ye see, my father Avas a cute man, and
knew something of the world; and
though he was a droll devil, and could
sing a funny song when he was among
the boys, no sooner had ho the big black
cloak on him, and the weepers, and he
6eated on the high box with the- six
long-tailed blacks before him, you'd
really think it was his own mother was
inside, he looked so melancholy and
miserable. The sexton and grave-digger
was nothing to my father; and he
had a look about hi;j eye, to be sure
there was reason for it, that you'd think
he was up all night crying; though it's
little indulgence he took that way.
"Well, of all Mr. Callaghan's men,
theie was none so great a favorite as my
father; the neighbors were all fond of
hiin.
" "A kiu.l crayture every inch of him,'
tho women would say. 'Did ye see his
face at Sirs. Delaney's funeral?'
"'True for you,' another would re
mark; 'he mistook the road with grief,
and stopped at a shebceu-house instead
of Kilmurry church.'
"I need say no more, only one thing,
that it was principally among the farm
ers and tho country people my father
was liked so much. The great people
andtbio quality I ax your parJon but
sure isn't it true. Mister Charles, they
don't fret so much after their fathers
and brothers, and they care little who's
driving them, whether it was a decent
respectable man like my father, or a
chap with a grin on him like a rat-trap?
And so it happened, that my father
used to travel half the county; going
here and there wherever there was trade
stirring; and, faix, a man diiln't think
himself rightly buried if my father
wasn't there; for ye see he knew all
about it; he could tell to a quart of
sperits what would be wanting for a
wake; he knew all the good cryers for
miles around, and I've heard it wa3 a
beautiful sight to see him standing on
a hill arranging a procession, as they
walked into the churchyard and giving
the word like a captain.
" 'Come on, the stiff now the friends
of the stiff now the pop'lace.'
"That's what he used to say; and,
troth, he was always repeating it when
he was a little gone in drink for that's
the time his spirits would rise and he'd
think he was burying half Mnnster.
"And sure it was a real pleasure and
a pride to be buried in them times; for
av it was only a small farmer w ith a po
tato garden, my father would come
down with the black cloak on him, and
three yards of crape behind his hat, and
set all the children crying and yelling
for half a miie round; and then tho way
he'd walk before them with a spade on
his shoulder, and sticking it down in the
ground, clap his hat on the top of it, to
make it look Hko a chief mourner. It
was a beautiful sight!"
"lint, Mike, if you indulge much
longer in thi3 flattering recollection of
your father, I'm afraid we shall lose
sight of the ghost entirelv."
"No fear in life, your honor, I'm
coming to him now. "Well, it was this
way it happened: In the winter of the
great frost, about forty-two or forty
three years ago, the ouhl priest of Tul
loughmuray took ill and tlied;hewas
sixty years priest of tho parish, and
mightily belnved by all the people, and
good reason for it; a pleasanter man,
and a more social crayture never lived;
I twas himself was the life of the whole
i country-ski e. A wedding nor a chris
! tening wasn't lucky av he wasn't there,
! sitting at the top of the table, with may
le his arm round the bride herself, or
the baby on his lap, or a smoking jug
of punch before him, and as much kind
ness in his eyes as would make the for
tunes of twenty hypocrites if they had
it among them. And then he was bo
good to the poor; the Priory was always
full of ould men and ould women, sit
ing around the big lire in the kitchen,
so that tho cook could hardly get near
it. They were eating their meals and
burning their shins, till they were
speckled like a trout's back, and grum
bling all the time; but Father Dwyer
liked them, and he would have them.
" 'Where have they to go,, he'd eay,
'av it wasn't to me? give Molly Kinshela
a lock of that bacon. Tim, it's a cowld
morning; will ye have a taste of the
'dew?'"
"Ah, that's the way he'd spake to them;
but sure goodness is no warrant for liv
ing, any more than devilment; and so
he got cowld in his feet at a station, and
ho rode home in the heavy snow with
out his big coat for ho gave it away to
a blind man on the road and in three
days he was d?ad.
"I see you're getting impatient; so I'll
not stop to say what grief was in the
parish when it was known; but troth
there was never seen the like before;
not a crayture would lifta spade for two
days, and there was more whisky sold in
that time than at the whole Spring fair.
Well, on the third day, the funeral set
out, and never was the equal of it in
thorn parts; first, there was mv father,
he came specially from Cork "with the
six horses all in new black, and plumes
like little poplar trees; then came Fath
er Dwyer, followed by the two coadju
tors in beautiful surplices, walking
bare-headed, with the little boys of the
priory school."
"Well, Mike, I'm sure it. was very
fine; but for heaven's sake spare me all
these descriptions, and get on to the
ghost."
"Faith, your honor's in a great hurry
for the ghost; maybe you won't like
him when ye have him," but I'll go fas
ter if you please. Well, Father D wyer,
ye see, was born at Aghan-lish, of an
ould family, and he left it in his will
that he was to be buried in the family
vault; and as Aghan-lish was eighteen
miles up the mountains, it was getting
late when they drew near. By that
time the great procession was all broke
vp and gone home. The coadjutors
stopped to dine at the 'Blue Bellows'
at the cross-roads; the little boys took
to pelting snow balls; there was a fight
or two on the way besides; and, in fact,
except an ould df-af fellow that my fath
er took to mind the horses, ho was quite
alone. Xot that he minded that same;
for when the crowd was gone my father
began to sing a droll song, and touldthe
deaf chap that it was a lamentation. At
last they came in sight of Aghan-lish.
It was a lonesome, molancholy-looking
place, with nothing near it except two
or three ould fir-trees, and a small j
slated house with one window, where
the sexton lived, and even that same
was shut up, aud a padlock on the door, i
Well, my father was not over much
pleased at the look of matters; but as
he wa3 never hard put to what to do,
he managed to get the coffin into ' the
vestry; and then, when he unharnessed
the horses, he sent tho deaf fellow with
them down to the village to tell the
priest that tha corpse was there, and to
come up early in the morning and per
form mass. The next thing to do was
to make himself comfortable for the
night, and then he made a roaring fire
on the old hearth for there was plen
ty of bog fir there closed tho windows
with the black cloaks, and wrapping
two round himself, he sat down to cook
a little supper he brought with him in
case of need.
"Well, you may think it was melan
choly enough to pass the night up there
alone, with a corpse in an old ruined
church in the middle of the mountains,
tho wind howliug about on every side,
aud the snow-drift beating against the
walls; but, as the fire burned brightly,
and the little 2late of rashers and eggs
smoked temptingly before him, my
father mixed a jug of the strongest
punch, and sat down as happy as a
king. As long as he was eating away,
he had no time to be thinking of any
thing else; but, when all was done, and
ho looked about him. he began to feel
very low and melancholy in his heart.
There was th3 great black coffinon three
chairs in one corner ; and then the mourn
ing cloaks that he had stuck up against
the windows moved backward and for
ward like living things; and, outside,
the wild cry of the plover as he flew
past, and the night-owl sitting in a nook
of the old church. 'I wish it was morn
ing, anyhow,' said my father; for this
is a lonesome place to be in; and, faix,
he'll be a cunning fellow that catches
me passing the night this way again.'
Now there was one thing that distressed
him most of all; my father used always
to make fun of the ghpsts and
spirits the neighbors would tell of,
pretending there was no such thing;
and now the thought came to him:
'Maybe they'll revenge themselves on
me to-night, when they have me up
here alone;' and with that he made an
other jug stronger than the first, and
tried to remember a few prayers in case
of need; but somehow his mind wa3 not
too clear, and he said afterwards he was
always mixing up ould songs and toasts
with the prayers, and when he thought
he had just got hold of a beautiful
psalm, it would turn out to be 'Tatter
John Walsh,' or 'Limping James, or
something like that. The storm, mean
while, was rising every moment, and
parts of the old abbey were falling, as
the wind shook the ruin; and my fath
er's sperits.notwithstanding the punch,
were lower than ever,
" 4I made it too weak,' said he, as he
set to work on a new jorum; and troth
this time it was not the fault of it, for
it nearly choked him.
" 'Ah!' said he now, 'I knew what it
was; this is like the thing; and, Mr.
Free, you are beginning to feel easy
and comfortable; pass the jug; your
very good health and a song. I'm a lit
tle hoarse, it's true, but if the company
will excuse '
"And then he began knocking on the
table with his knuckles.asjif there was a
room full of people asking him to sing.
In shoTt, my father was drunk as a fid--dler;
the last brew satisfied him, and he
began roaring away all kinds of droll
songs, and telling all manner of stories,
as if he was at a great party.
"While he was capering this way
about the room, he knocked down his
hat, and with it a packof cards he put
into it before leaving home, for he was
mighty fend of a game.
"'Will ye take a hand, Mr. Free?'
said he, as he gathered them up and sat
down beside the fire.
1
"I'm convanient,' said he, and be
gan dealing out as if there was a part
ner forninst him.
"When my father used to get this far
in the story he became very much con
fused. He says, that once or twice he
mistook the liquor, and took a pull at
the bottle of potteen instead of the
punch ; and the last thing he remem
bers was asking poor Father D wyer if
he would draw near to the fire, and not
bo lying there near the door.
"With that he slipped down on the
ground and fell fast asleep. How long
he lay that way ho could never telh
When he awoke and looked up his hair
nearly stood on end with fright. What
do you think he seen forninst him, sit
ting at the other side of the fire, but
Father Dwyer himself. There he was,
divil a lie in it, wrapped up in one of
the mourning cloaks, trying to warm
his hands at the fire.
"'Salre hoc nomine patri ' said my
father; 'av it's your ghost, God pre
sarve me !'
"'Good evening t'ye, Mr. Free, said
the ghost; 'and av I might be buold,
what's in the jug?' for ye see my father
had it under his arm fast, and never let
it go when he was asleep.
'"Pater noster qui es in potteen,
sir,' said my father, for the ghost didn't
look pleased at my father talking Latin.
" 'Ye might have tho politeness to ax
if one had a moiith on him,' then says
the ghost.
" 'Sure, I didn't think the like of you
would taste sperits.'
" 'Try me,' said the ghost; and with
that he filled a out a glass, and tossed it
off like a Christian.
" 'Beamish!' says the ghost, smacking
his lips.
" 'The same,' says my father; 'and
sure what's happened you has not spoilt
your taste.'
" 'If you'd mix a little hot,' says the
ghost, 'I'm thinking it would be better;
the night is mighty eevare.'
" 'Any thing that your reverence
pleases,' says my father, as he began to
blow up a good fire to boil the water.
" 'And what news is stirring?' says
the ghost.
" 'Devil a word, your reverence;
your own funeral was the only thing
doing last week; times is bad; except the
measles, there's nothing in our parts.
" 'And we're quite dead hereabouts,
too,' says the ghost.
"'There's some of us so, anyhow,
says my father with a sly look. 'Taste
that, your reverence.'
'"Pleasant and refreshing,' says the
ghost; 'and now, Mr. Free, what do you
say to a little spoil five, or beggar "my
neighbor?"
'"What will we play for?' says my
father; for a thought just struck him
'maybe it's some trick of the devil to
catch my soul.'
" 'A pint of Beamish,' says the ghost.
"Now the whole time the ghost was
dealing the cards, my father never took
his eyes off of him, for he wasn't quite
asy in his mind at all; but when he saw
him turn up trump, and take a strong
drink afterwards, he got more at ease,
and began the game.
"How long they played it was never
rightly known; but one thing is sure,
they drank a cruel deal of spirits; three
quart bottles my father brought with
him were all finished, and by that time
his brain was so confused with the liq
uor, and all, he lost for somehow he
never won a game that he was getting
very quarrelsome.
" 'You have your own luck of it.' says
he, at last.
"True for you; and, besides, we play
a great deal where I come from.'
"'I've heard so,' says my father. 'I
lead the knave, sir, spades; h,i I ccsh to
it, lost again.'
"Now it was really very distressing;
for, by this time, though'they only be
gan for a pint of Beamish, "my father
went on betting till he lost the" hearse
and all the six horses, mourning cloaks,
plumes, and everything.
" 'Are you tired, Mr. Free ? maybe
you'd like to atop?'
" 'Stop ! faith it's a nice time to stop;
of course not.'
" 'Well, what will ye play for now'?
"The way he said these words brought
a trembling all over my father, and his
blood curdled in his heart. 'Oh,
murther !' says ho to himself; 'it's my
sowl he is wanting all the time.'
" 'I've mighty little left, says my
father, looking at him keenly, while he
kept shtifning the cards quick as light
ning. " 'Mighty little; no matter, we'll give
you plenty of time to pay, and, if yon
can t 110 11, 11 snail never trouoie you
as long as you live.
" Oh, you murthering devil !' says
my father, flying at him with a Npade
that he had behind his chair, 'I've found
you out.'
"With one ldow he knocked him
down; and now a terrible fight began,
for the ghost was very strong, too; but
my father's blood was up, and h:'d have
faced the devil himself then. They
rolled over each other several time, the
broken bottles cutting them to pieces,
and the chairs and tables crashing un
der them. At last the ghost took the
bottle that lay on the hearth, and
levelled my father to the ground with
one blo w. Down he fell, and the bottle
and the whiskey were both dashed into
the fire. That was the end of it, for the
ghost disappeared that moment in a
blue flame that nearly set fire to my
father as he lay on the floor.
"Och ! it was a cruel sight to bee him
next morning, with his cheek cut open,
and his hands all bloody, lying there
by himself; all the broken glass, and
the cards all round him. The coffin,
too, was knocked down off the chair;
maybe the ghost had trouble getting
into it. However that was, the funeral
was put off for a "day, for my father
couldn't speak; and, as for the sexton,
it was a queer thing; but when they
came to call him in the morning he had
two black eyes and a gash over his ear,
and he never knew how be got them. It
was easy enough to know the ghost did
it; but my father kept the secret and
never told it to any man, woman
child in them pait." Charles Leret
or
COURTESY OF BANCROFT LIBRARY ,
Color in House FarnisTo.ins;
From a recent lecture on "Industrial
Arts," by Charles L. Eastlake, we take
tho following paragraph: While on the
subject of color, I cannot help saying
that the more I study its effect and
value, whether in iictorial or decorative
art, the more convinced I am that its
application will be found more harmo
nious in instances where one dominant
hue is found to which all others are
subordinate. You have all heard of
that famous picture, "Gainsborough's
Blue Boy," which is the delight of
every painter and connoisseur. Now
why has this portrait such extraordina
ry attraction Chiefly, I venture to
think, because it has this quality of
chromatic unity. You recognize it at
once as a blue picture. I don't mean
that it is all cobalt, or French blue, or
Prussian blue. It may pass from one
to another of these shades, and include
gray, white and green. You may get
warmer hues of pink and brown in the
flesh tints and background, by delicate
contrast, but tlio prevailing tone is defi
nitely blue.
Well I think that our rooms should
be decorated on this jmuciple, not in
the upholsterer's sense of harmony by
covering all his f urnitnre with stuff cut
from the same piece, and by hanging
up curtains to match, but by making
one color dominant and ringing in a
variety of changes on it. In this way
yellow might lead up to green, silver
gray up to purple, and Yenitian red up
to brown, but the subordinate tints in
in each case should have a certain affini
ty to the dominant color, and when you
have settled all thi3 you will find that
any little bit of contrast introduced pro
vidod it be unobtrusive, and does not
interfere with your scheme, will havo a
cheerful rather than a discordant effect.
And this principle concerning the deco
ration of a room may be Bafely applied,
I think, to all departments of design in
which the element of color is a leading
feature; as for instance, in textile fab
rics, paper-hangings and the surface
patterns of pottery and china. Where
ever you find two or moro colors intro
duced iu such even proportions that you
are puzzled to know which rules, so to
sjeak, be sure the design is bad.
Danger of Sleeping in the Moon
light. The evil consequences liable to
result from exposure to a burning sun
are only too well understood, but it is,
perhaps, not so generally known that in
many parts of the world, notably in
India, there is a strong and very gen
eral prejudice against sleeping in full
moonshine, as it is supposed to produce
"moonstroke."
An old Italian resident has recently
been devoting his attention to the sub
ject, and comes to the conclusion that
any ill effects arising from sleeping in
the moonlight are not due to any direct
influence of the moon itself. His ex
planation of the origin of this prevalent
belief in the baleful qualities of the
Gcddess of Night is very rational, and
may be summarized thus:
A clear sky admits of rapid radiation,
and any person exposed to such radia
tion is sure to bo chilled by the rapid
loss of heat. There is reason to believe
paralysis of one side of the face is some
times likely to occur from chill, as one
side of the face i3 moro likely to be ex
posed to rapid radiation, aod conse
quently loss of heat. The chill is more
likely to occur when the sky is perfectly
clear and in full moon.
Tha whole matter thus conies clear on
this explanation. Prolonged exposure
to cold is almost certain to produce
headache, neuralgia, or even paralysis,
owing to the retardation of circulation,
and these or similar injuries have been
attributed to the moon, when the proxi
mate cause may really have been the
chill, which will always be the greater
oa the very clear nights.
Dress IIeform. A few years since
the philanthropic women of the New
England Woman's Club, recognizing
tho wide-sjn'ead aud rajjidly incr asing
dissatisfaction . in regard to women's
dress and the caprices of fashion, deter
mined to make serious inquiry in re
gard to these dissatisfactions, and to de
termine what steps could be taken
toward making it more healthful, artist
ic and serviceable. They discovered
that the citidal to be attacked was the
underclothing for, says Mrs. Woolson,
"What are a few ruffles more or less, a
fitful change in the trifles of finish and
trimming, to tho inequalities of tem
2erature, the burdens and the compres
sions, which our dress in every one of
its many forms must inflict. They are
but mint, anise and cummin compared
with the weighter matters of physical
laws perpetually broken by an estab
lished and unvarying style of senseless
underwear. What then is needed is not
to assail fashion, but to teach hygene,"
and in order that at least once a year
a national object lesson may be given,
Mrs. Woolson suggests that at every
national, State ami county exposition
wo ought to have a dress department,
where the best material may be shown,
aud where styles, from a hygenic,
aesthetic, and economic point of view
may be discussed.
A keligiovs paper says: "There will
be no issue of this paper next week, as
nil hands desire to attend camp-meeting.
We aim to show by example that we be
lieve in attending gatherings of the
Lord's people. Work in the job depart
ment will be continued as usual." Draw
your own moral, job printers.
Flannel petticoats should be em
broidered only in the simplest patterns.
The best material is Shetland wool, as
it wears better than floss or linen thread,
and after once washing, presents a soft
appearance, amalgamating with the flan
nel. In stockings, all ornamentation is in
the front, and arranged lengthwise upon
the foot, extending above the ankle.
Sometimes the stocking is half of one
color, and half of another; but we think
this is in bad taste, in fact, is vulgar.
Tlio Cuban Wax.
WHAT THE PETTY INSCERECTION HAS COST
SPAIN IN BLOOD AND TREASURE A
TEF.RIBLE RECORD.
There is a growing sentiment in Spain
that there is something very wrong in
the conduct of the war in Cuba, and
Gen. Salamanca recently made a long
and earnest speech in the national legis
lature against the further useless ex
penditure of the resources of the coun
try and the lives of its soldiers in vain
attempts to put down the insurrection.
A New Y'ork Herald correspondent
writes from Barcelona, Spain, on the
subject : The Cuban insurrection has
now lasted nine years. Nine years of
civil war, and war attended with such
barbarities never has the world known
before. Yet such is the case with the
"petty insurrection" begun at Y'ara in
1868. The whole resources of the proud
and haughty mother country, in men
and money, the valor of her soldiers
and the skill of her Generals, have not
yet sufficed to suffocate it. When the
bill of costs is footed up it will astonish
the world. From official documents I
learn that tho number of soldiers sent
out from Spain to Cuba, between Octo
tober, 1868, and 1st of June, 1876, was
179,875 ; sent out 1876-7, 25,000. Total,
20-4,875 exclusivo of Generals, Chiefs
and officers. In two months 15,000
more will embark.
The average of a soldier's passage has
been 30. Thus these 204,875 men will
have cost $(5,116,250 in jiassage alone.
Besides this there is the cost of those
who havo come home when their time
has expired, and the cost to and fro of
the Generals, Chiefs and officers and of
employes. As to what has been spent
in food, clothing and war munitions, I
have no statistics, and so will not ven
ture to guess, nor at the pay of the
army from tho highest to the lowest
rank. It must, however, have been
fabulous. Apart from the treasure
poured out, the blood reckoning is also
appalling. I have before me the offi
cial list of bnjas or casualties frc-m 1868
to June 1, 1876 :
In Hospitals. Chiefs, officers. Troops.
Of infirmities 61
Of wouuds '1
Killed in the held VI
Inutik-H
467
01
34,877
718
1,389
10.673
46.C56
Total
Not iu hospitals.
Of iufirmit'u s
Of wounds
C91
.1
.10
1CJ
170
.72S
3.377
9,105
46.C5G
H" ,7 71
Total
Total in hospital
fai
Aggregate
.9-J
9il
No official list is obtainable later
kUail
June 1. 1876.
That there is something wrong i3
self-evident, and is confirmed by the ab
solute ignorance in which the Span
iards in the Peninsula are kept as to the
true state of affairs. Every one of the
dozens of governments Spain has had
since 186S has fled from discussion, in
the Cortes and the press, of the Ouban
war. All alike have been cries of
"peace, peace, when there is no peace."
Hundreds of times have I myself heard
Prim, Serrano, Topete, Sagasta, Zo
rilla. Castellar, and the other men of
the home revolution, declare iu the
Cortes that the insurrection was "about
to end," was "ended," etc.; oftentimes
reading telegrams from Dulce, Cabal
lero de llodas, Balmaseda, Crospo, Jo
vellar, and others of the "Generals,"
who, in rapid succession, havo held
supremo command in the island to that
effect. The public, however, could not
reconcile all these boastful assertions
with the constant demands for more
troops and more money, which ever ac
companied them, always under tho pre
text of covering natural bajas and ad
ministering the "finishing stroke." But
a mistaken sense of national pride pre
vented much being siaoken or written
on the subject. From 18C8 forward, he
who ventured even to hint that Spain
might bo worsted in the struggle, "or
that she was not doing all that she
could to maintain her supremacy, or
that the war was far from its termina
tion, or that it was prolonged through
the blunders of her Generals and the
cupidity of her army contractors, or
of the cliqno in Madrid and Havana,
who fatten on its continuance, was in
stantly denounced as a filibuster. The
mere application of the word sufficed
to terrify everybody, and o everybody
tried to prove his "patriotism" by hold
ing his tongue on the disagreeable ques
tion. Governments, Cortes, and peo
ple alike, buried their heads in the sand
and became veritable ostriches in the
great dangers existing beyond the At
lantic. Ruined nr Japanese Cheap L abor.
The ingenuity and perseverance of Jap
anese workmen have caused alarm in
some of the manufacturing houses of
Birmingham, where articles for the
Japan trade are made. A sufficient
quantity of these article3 is already
made in J apan to cause European houses
in that country to discontinue the im
portation of them. The impossibility
of competing with Japanese workmen
is explained by a gentleman in Yoko
hama, writing to the Birmingham Post :
"F rngal as badgers, industrious as bees,
the Japs undersell every labor market
they enter, and outdo every civilized
artisan at his own trade. Any one who
sees a Japanese carpenter at work, with
his toes for a rise and his thighs and
stomach for a bench, has seen tools well
used and goods equal to European
turned out. Thev will, in f;ict, become
formidable on all kinds of Western
manufactures. The Japanese are al
ways rea y to learn, and to outvie every
thing that the West does, and this they
do with less food, less air, less clothing
and less comfort than any civilized
workman." The writer further states
that he was olfcivd a lare order for
Birmingham goods at a price at which
he would lone about ten per cent. ; yet
a factory at Osaka took the order and
made the goode.
"Was his life insured?" "Yes." "For
whose benefit?" "Why, for the benefit
of the insurance company, to be sure."
Literary Feats of Aed Authors
Many authors have produced their
best works late in life, and have begun
new studies at an age when the majority
long for mental leisure. Izaak Waltou
wrote some of his most interesting bi
ographies in his eighty-fifth year, and
edited a poetical work at ninety. Hobbs
published his verson of the Odyssey at
eighty-seven, and of the Iliad at eighty
eight. Sir Francis Palgrave. under an
assumed name, published, at eighty
years old, a Fr? nch translation of a
Latin poem .
Isaac D 'Israeli notes that Socratad
learned to play a musical instrument in
his old age; that Cato learned Greek at
eighty; that Plutarch entered upon thu
study of Latin almost as late in lifa,
that Theophrastns began his Character
istics at ninety; that Sir Henry Spelman.
a gentleman-farmer until fifty, at that
age began to study law, and became au
eminent jurist and antiquarian; that Col
bert, the distinguished statesman, re
sumed the study of Latin and of Law
at sixty; that the Marquis de Saint Au
daire began to write poetry at seventy,
"verses full cf lire, delicacy ai.d sweet
ness;' that Chaucer did not finish his
Canterbury Tales till he had reached
sixty-one ; that Drydon felt 1 is powers
sufficiently in their strength at sixty
eight to plan a complete translation of
Homer's Iliad into English verse, al
though circumstances prevented uiio
from giving effect to his intentions; and
that Ludovieo Monaldeschi wrote hi
Jlemoirs of his own times at the extraor
dinary ago of one hundred and fifteen.
Dipping into the literary annals of
different ages and" different countries,
there are not wanting abundant addi
tional examples of men continuing their
literary work to an advanced period of
life, or else beginning de novo at an age
when most men would prefer to lay
down the pen and let the mind and the
brain rest. Montfaucon, the learned
authority on artistic antiquities, contin
ued his custom' of writing eight hours a
day nearly till his death at the age
of eighty-seven. His labors, too,
had been of a very formidable kind, for
he was seventy-nine when he put the
finishing touch on his Monumens de la
Monarchic Francai.se, in five folio vol
umes, and eighty-five when he publish
ed the liibliotheca Bibliothecarum, in two
tomes of similar magnitude. J ohn Brit
ton and John Nichols, artistic and anti
quarian writers, both continued to driv
the quill until past eighty. Sir Isaac
Newton worked on till his death, in his
eighty-fourth year, but did not make
scientific discoveries in the later period
of his career. Euler worked on at his
abstruse mathematical writings till past
eighty. William Cowper, although he
wrote few hvmns and letters in early
life, did not Till after fifty begin those
works on which his fame chiefly rests
beginning with Truth, and going on!to
Table Talk, Expostulation, Error, Hope,
Charity, Conrersutlsn, Retirement, The
Task, Jolm Gilpin, and the translation of
Homer. Gray wrote late and little, de
voting seven years to polishing and per
fecting his famous Elegy. Alfieri, who
was taught more French than Italian
when a boy, studied his native languag
sedulously late in life, in order to be
able to read the great Italian poets, and
wrote his own principal works after
ward. Goethe gave advice, which is
certainly not followed by the majority
of novelists namely, not to write nov
els till past forty ; because until then we
hare scarcely an adequate knowledge of
the world and of the human heart.
Necker said in his old age: "The era of
threescore and ten is an agreeable age
for writing; your mind has not lost it
vigor, and envy leaves you in peace."
This corresponds in substance to are
ply given by the hale and hearty old
premier, Lord Palmerston, to a question
"Wnen is a man
seventy."
in his prime
'At
The Discoverer of Mars' Moons. -Prof.
Asaph Hall, the discoverer of th
moons of Mars, began life, it is said, as
a carpenter and with meagre education.
He married a school-mistress, and it
was this wise lady who induced him to 4
study higher mathematics, and who
herself became his instructor. He
rapidly surpassed his gentle teacher, and
at twenty-five became an assistant iu
the Harvard Observatory. Shortly after
the astronomical actively of the Naval
Observatory in Washington was revived,
in 1861, a number of professors of the
Navy were appointed, and Hall was
given a position as assistant. In 1863 he
was promoted to be a professor. There
he has remained ever since, heartily ap
preciated by his associates. It was on
the night of August 11th that he first saw
Mars' attendants. Between the 11th
and the 16th, when the weather was un
favorable for successful observations, he
both hoped and feared, but his wife, to
whom alone he communicated his dia -covery,
was enthusiastic and confident.
While impatiently waiting to confirm
his discovery, his generous disposition
almost induced him to communicate his
chances of success to his associates, so
that all could share the honor; but tha
thought of his many years of labor with
out any "luck," convinced him that it
would be foolish to throw away his first
really good chance. One hardly knows
what to admire most, Hall's persistent
and successful struggle with his un
trained mind, or his wife's brave and
womanly help and inspiration.
One of these excrescences in life, a fe
male slanderer, went into a neighbor's
house the other morning, with her
j tongue loaded with new venom. There
were several women presetd. and tne
slanderer's eyes glistened in anticipa
tion. Throwing herself in a :hair, tdie
sighed and said, "One-half the world
don't know how the other half lives."
"That ain't your fault." quietly observ
ed one of the coaipany. The slanderer
turned yellow.
A Milwaukee editor says George
Sand may have died from strong coffee,
but there has been no mortality from
that cause at his boarding-house.
A two foot rule keep your feet diy.
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