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About Yamhill reporter. (McMinnville, Or.) 1883-1886 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 17, 1884)
MANON THE LEFT. . rentN’inaii on the left, Kate—do you h.ui-' He has looked frequently towards Kibef ^■bt) is itf’ Hojniiot 1 havo not setn him ” ^Epptise you look?” Hji’-fer n*»t. 1 came t »see the play. Is ^■elen Fanehet superb?” *». 1 wish you would tell mo who ■Lfutlenuui on the left is. 1 tun sure he v u. iunl ho is strikingly handsome.” stng’’ interests me. Besides, Kn are rude enough b> stare at strangers, ■ IJ()occasion for us to imituti» them.” Kur ladyship has uo curiosity ?” ■Lt any; I exhausted it some time ago.” Her ladyship was not telling the truth; Htt'i|1t‘,n>*‘ Iy curious, but it pleased her at ■time to pique the honorable Selina ■< That strange sympathy that makes Kitantlv <’»nsrioiH of a familiar glance, Kn a crowded building, hud solicited her Kj just as Selina hud advised her of it, Keluvl net b»en aske I to look toward her ■¡he would probably have done so; as it ■ she r*solutely avoided any movement in ■direction. K play finished in a tumult of applause. ■ Kate Talbot forgot everything in her ■‘in-'iit, and jus site stood up flushed and ■bling, she inadvertently turned toward K.f. Instantly she recognized a pres- ■ wi ll which she ought to have been ■liar enough. ■e gentleman bowed with an extreme re- ■ Lady Kate acknowledged thocour- ■ in manner too full of astonishment to ■together gracious, and lhe elaborate jx»- ■e^-if tiw recognition was not softened ■ hv glaiice implying a more tender inti- ■y than that of mere acquaintance. ■y lady was silent all the way home, and Lome reason Selina was not disposed to ■nipt h r reverie. It di 1 not seem to I m » ■nplvtisant one. Kate’s face had a bright I) <>u i:, and her eyes held in them a light li ght that resemble 1 what Belina would |e cal!»• 1 hope and love, if my lady had I Iteen already' married, and her destiny jen ii ly settled. Beiina. when you have got rid of ull that I an * satin, come to my room; 1 have leihing to suy to you.’’ Llina nodded pleasantly. She was sure bneerned the gentleman on the left. She I no love affaire of her own on hand or irt at present, and l/eing neither literary | charitable, her time went heavily on- rd. A little bit of romance, (»specially if hected with the cold or proper Lady Tai- -would be of all things the most interest [he was speedily unrobed, and with her |g blonde hair hanging loosely over her [tty dressing gown, she sought my lady's mu . Lady Talbot sat in a dream-like still- k looking into the bright blaze on the Lrtii. She sfjarcly stirred as Selina took a re chair tieside her, and ten the J if Us I one of her I said, “What exquisite fee! True »olden.” ’Yes, it is beautiful. I know that, of ■Of what are you thinking so intently?'’ ■Of the gentleman on our left to-night.” ■Ah, who is he? He saemed to know you.” ■He ought to know me much better than ■does. He is my husband, Lord Richard ■I« it.” ■Kate!’’ ■‘It is true.” ■*1 thought he was in Africa, or Asia, or ■rope. or somewhere at the end of the ■‘He is now in England, it seems. I sup- ■se he just arrived. I have not seen him ■ore.” ■Where is he staying, then?'* ■‘I presume iu the left wing of this mansion, ■otice there are more lights than usual in ■to-night. His apartments are there.” ■‘Now, Kate, do tell me all, dear. You low I love a romantic love affair, and I am fre this is oue.” ■‘You were never more mistaken, Selina, lere is no love at all in the affair. That is ■ secret of the whole position. 1 thought btas you were staying here this week, and Ight probably see or meet my lord, it was ■ter to make all clear to you. People are ■ to associate wrong with things they do k understand.” |“To lie sure, dear. I suppose Lord Richard Id you have had a little disagreement, bw, if I could only do anything toward a* [conciliation, I should be so haj py, you low.” [“No, Selina, there has been no quarrel, and hl can do nothing at all I m 'tween us. I don't f; int you to try. Just be kind enough to ig- re the whole circumstance. Lord Richard d I understood each other nearly four years ■o.” ■‘‘But it is not four years since you mar led?” ■ “Just four years—yesterday.” ■ “And my lord bar been away—” ■ “Three years, eight months and eighteen kys, so far as I know.*’ ■ “Well, this is a most extraordinary thing, ■id very, very bad, I must say.” I “It might easily have tieen much sadder. J ■n going to tell you the exact truth, and I fcly upon your honor and discretion to keep ke secret inviolable.” I “My dear Kate, I would not name it for the lurid.” I “Listen, then. One night, when I was purely 17 years old, my’ father sent for me Io his study. I had known for months that k‘ was dying. He was the only creature pat I had to love, and I loved him very ten- lerlv. I must mention this also, for it krtly explains my conduct that the idea of poteying him in anything had never pre butt'd itself to me as a possibility. This light I found with him his life long friend, [he late Lord Talbot, and the present lord, py husband. I was a shy’, shrinking girl, kith. >utany knowledge of dress or society, pi'l very timid and embarrassed in my man ors. Then my father told me that it was pessary for the good of both houses that Richard and I should marry, that Richard pd consented, and that I must meet a few’ friends in our private chapel at 7 o’clock in [he morning a week later. Of course these things were told me in a very gentle manner, Jn<l my dear father, with many loving kisses, bagged me as a last favor to him to make no objection.” ‘And what did Lord Richard say?” “I glanced up at him. He stood near a window looking out over our fine old park, and when he felt ray’ glance he colore* I deeply and bowed. Lord Talbot said rather angrily, “Richard, Mias Esher waits for you to sj-eak.” Then Lord Richard turned to ward me and said something, but in such a jo* voice that I did not catch its meaning. “My son says you do him a great honor—and Pleasure,” exclaimed Lord Talbot, and he kissed me and led me toward the unwilling bridegroom. “Of course I ought to have hated him, Selina, but I did not On the contrary. I tell desperately in love with him. Perhaps it Would have been far better for me if I had tot Richard read my heart in my face, ®nd despised his easy conquest. As for me, * suffered in that weak and torturing sus- of a timid school girl in love. I myself in the best of my plain, un- w*'nHi!Ug’ toilet, and watched r< i i“?0; ‘lay for a visit <"»■>«( husband; but 1 ni, Iu„reo, ‘I uinil our Wedding morning. By thi» very rich clothing had arrival f.„ 1 Illi ulso a, Ixmdou maid, and I think, >‘11 then, my appearance was fair enough t . n . “ conciliated Richard «it. But ho scarcely looked at me. The cen loony Ulls «.rupuiously and ooldly per- fined, my father, aunt and governess being I/T’ i’t <*n my side, an*I on Richard’s his athcr and his three maiden sisters. 1 never saw my father alive again, hfl Uled the following week, and the mockery of our wedding festivities at Talbot castle was siLsixmded at once in deference to my grief. I hen he came to London,and my lord selected for his own use the left wing of the house, and politely placed at my disposal all the re maining apartment«. 1 considered this an intimation that I was not expected to intrude U|K>n his quarters, and I scrupulously avoided every approach to them. 1 knew from the first that attempts to win him would be use- les.'., an i indeed I felt too sorrowful and humiliated to try. During the few weeks that we remained under the same roof we sehlxu met, and I am afraid I did not make fteoB run* interviews at ull pleasant. I felt w ’□aged and miserable, and my wan fare and heavy eyes were only a reproach u> him.” “Oh, what a monster, Kate!” Not quite that, Selina. There were* nianv excuses tor him. Oneday I saw a paragraph in The Times saying that Lord Richard Tal- liot intended to accompany a scientific ex ploring party w’hose destination was central Asia. 1 instantly sent and asked inv husband for an interview. I had intended dressing myself with care for the meeting, and mak ing one last effort to win the kindly regard, at least, of one whom I could not help lov ing. But some unfortunate fatality always attended our meeting, and 1 never could do myself justice in his preserve. He answered my request at once. I suppose he did so out of respect and kindness; but the consequence was, he found me in an unbecoming disha bille, an*I with my face and eyes red and swollen with weeping. “I felt mortified at a prompt attention so malaprojios, and my manner instead of being winning and conciliating, was cold, unpre possessing. I did not rise from the sofa on which 1 had been sobbing, and he made n > attempt to sit down beside me or to comfort me. “I pointed tc the paragraph and asked if 1 it was true. “ ‘Yes, Lady Talbot,’ he said, a little sadly and proudly; ‘I shall relieve you of my pres ence in a few days. I intended Writ well to call on you to-day with a draft of the pro- , visions 1 have made for your comfort.’ “I could make no answer. I had thought of a good many things to say, but now in the presence 1 was almost fretful and dumb. He looked at me almost with pity, and said in a low voice, ‘Kate, we have both been sacri ficed to a necessity involving many besides ourselves. I am trying to make what repara tion is possible. 1 shall leave you unrestricted use of three-fourths of my income. I desire you to make your life as gay and pleasant as you possibly can. I have no fear for the honor of our name in your hands, and I trust that and all else to you without a doubt. If you would try and learn to make some ex cuse for my position, I shall bt grateful. Perhaps when you are not iu constant fear of meeting me, this lesson may not be so hard.” “And 1 could not say a word in reply. I just lay sobbing liko a child among the cush ions. Then he lifted my hand and kissed it, and I knew he was gone.” “And now, Kate, that you have become the most brilliant woman in England, what do you intend to do?” “Who knows? I have such a contrary streak in my nature. I always do the thing I do not want to do.” Certainly it seemed like it, for, in spite of her confession, when Lord Talbot sent the next morning to request an interview, Kate regretted that she had a prior engagement, but hoped to meet Lord Talbot at the duchess of Clifford’s that night. My lord bit his lijis angrily, but neverthe less he had l»eu so struck with his wife's brill iant beauty that he determined to keep the engagement. She did not meet him with sobs this time. The centre of an admiring throng, she sjxjke to him with an ease and nonchalance that would have indicated to a stranger the most usual and commonplace of acquaintanceships. He tried to draw her into a confid »ntial mood, but she said, smilingly, “My lord, the world supposes ’is to have already congratulated each other; we need not undeceive it.” He was dreadfully piqued and the pique kept the cause of it continually iu his mind. Indeed, unless he left Ixmdon, he could hardly avoid constant meetings which were constant aggravations. My lady went everywhere ■ Her beauty, her wealth, her splendid toilets, ! her fine manners, were the universal theme. I He had to endure extravugant comments on them. Friends told him tliat Lady Talbot had never been so brilliant and so Switch ing as since his return. He w’as congratu lated on his influence over her. In the meantime she kept strictly at the distance he himself had arranged four years ago. It was evident that if he approached any nearer his beautiful but long-neglected wife, he must humble himself to do so. Why should ho not? In Lord Talbot's mind the reasons against it had dwindled down to one. It was his valet. This man had known all his master's matrimonial troubles, and in his own way sympathized with them. He was bitterly averse to Lord Talbot's making Mny concessions to my lady. One night, how ever, he received a profound shock. “Simmons,” said Lord Talbot, very de cidedly, “go and ask Lady Talbot if she will do me the honor to receive a visit from me?” My lady would be delighted. She was in an exquisite costume, and condescended to exhibit for his pleasure all her most bewilder ing moods. It was with great reluctance he left her after a two hours’ visit. The next night be stayed still longer. My lady had no other engagement, and he quite forgot the one he had made to be present at the mar quis of Stairs’ wine party. The following week my lady received every morning a basket of wonderful flowers, and a little note with them containing a hoi» that she was in good health. One morning she was compelled to say that she was not very well, and Lord Tallxjt was so concerned that he sent Simmons to ask if he might 1« permitted to eat breakfast with her. My lady was graciously willing, and Lord Richard was quite excited by the permission. He change*! his morning gown and cravat several times, quite regardless of Simmons’ ¡»eculiar face, and, with many misgivings as to his appearance, sat down opposite the lovely little lady iu pale blue satin and cashmere and white lace. It was a charming breakfast, and during it the infatuated husband could not help saying a great manv sweet and flattering things. Kate tarrieii them very prettily. ‘ It is well,’’ she said.‘ that no one h-ars us. If we were not married they would think we were mak- ing love.” . . “ And if we are married. Kate, why not make love now, dear’ We had no opportun ity before we were married.” "Ah Richard, in fashionable life we should make ourselves ridiculous. Every one says nur behavior is irreproachable. I should have dearly liked it woen only a shy, awx want country girl; but now, my lord, we would be laughed at.” “Ihen. Kate, let us h» laughed at, I for one am longing for it—dving for it. If time should mu back and fetch the age of gold, why not love' Let us go back four whole' years and a half. Will you, Kate—dea.est and sweete.-vt Katef* “U e should have to run away to the coun try. Richard, and now I think of it I have not Let n to Esher since we—were—married, love.” AV hen such a conversation as this was pro longed for five hours it w as little wondered that my lord's valet and my lady’s maid re ceived orders to pack valises and trunks, or that next day Esher hall was in a happy tumult of preparation. Love comes better late than never, and Lady Kate always told herself that she never could have been so happy in those sweet old gardens with her lover as she was with her husband. Probably they were both as per fectly satisfied as it is possible for human love to be; for, greatly to the amazement of the fashionable world, they not only spent the whole summer ulono in their country home, but actually, when they came hack to Lon don, had the courage to appear in the very height of the season, iu the same box at the opera. “Really. Kate,’’ said Miss Selina, “I never i w as so astonished. The gentleman on your left—” “Is always nt me right now, dear. He will never be in the opposition again.” "How delightful!” “For us? Oh, yes. Charming.” I>ow ntuil of I tie Mons of Malta. It is perhaps not generally known, but the dissolution of the Sons of Malta throughout the United States was the result of an unfor tunate and fatal accident ’here. George Harding, an employe of the wholesale grocery | establishment of Reynolds, Earl <K Hatcher, a brave and brawny Scotchman, desired to l>ecome a member of the order, and the order was only too glad to “take him in.” A night was set apart for his initiation, and as he was a particularly ¡owerful man, the gathering of the clans was unusually large. The initia tion proceeded amid uproarious fun up to the elevated railway and a plunge into the seething waters of the lake—a w’et blanket in the hands of a dozen strong men, in which the aspi rant was tossed al»out until they became ex hausted. Harding was an intensely earnest man, and took the initiation to be a serious affair, being told by the grand conductor that from the elevated railway he would be plunged into the lake, he had contracted his muscles and nerved himself for the battle with the waves. When he struck the blanket the shock was too great for his nerves. He was taken to his home a j»aralytic. He lived a year, suffering intensely, and died in great agony. The order paid out over $2,000 in his behalf. All that medical skill could do was done, but to no purpose. He was a noble man. and bore his sufferings like a hero or a martyr, never once complained or spoke harshly of those who innocently caused it all. His sufferings and death were the death knell of the Sons of Malta, not only in Lafayette but throughout the country. The Law of Hex. An English author, Mr G. R. Stark weather, thinks he has discovered a great “law of sex,”of which The London Athena»um gives this summary: If the husband is superior to the wife the family will consist mostly of girls, and vice versa. Dark com plexion is superior to light, dark plants and trees are the most hardy, and dark horses the best. A square forehead and prominent veins are “superior,” a large prominent eye (which “indicates conversational powers”) is the reverse. But the best indication of superiority is a large and prominent nose, Roman or aquiline, full u third the length of the face. Philosophers, lawyers, editors, poets, liter ary men, and brain workers generally, have a large exeess of daughters. Wine mer chants, tavern-keepers, small retail dealers, orators, physicians, and musicians have a preponderance of boys. Clergymen appear just to struggle through the ordeal without incurring the stigma of inferiority, being equally intelligent, sober, and moral with their wives, and producing on equal number of boys and girls. Of course, for the stability of the new law it becomes necessary to show that musicians, medical men, and orators are inferior. Ac cordingly the first are lymphatic, the second are made rather than bom to their profession (and the most distinguished as an exception have large families of daughters), and mere public speakers do not possess “the highest or der of faculties or intellect,” while in most of them “the base of the brain will be found to predominate over the superior portion.” Our Rich Men. But how can we I »»‘ar an existence, which ‘ measured by Vanderbilt's, is a pitiful failure?1 Are you sure, my friend, that his life is such I a magnificent success? If a man were happy in proportion to his possessions, which is really the popular notion, then indeed money would be the great good. Here is a gardener worth a $100. He sings while about his work, enjoys and digests his dinner, watches his children as they play among the flowers, and seems contented. Suppose Mr. Vander bilt with his $200,000,000 were as happy in proportion to his wealth! He would climb to the top of Trinity steeple, face Wall street, yell and shriek his tumultuous emotions, and in the madness of his joy leap into eternity. Study his face when driving Maud S., and see if you think him very happy. He retires from business at 60, because his back is sore from the heavy burden. The strain has nearly crazed him. People envy him Maud 8. Poor fellow, I wish he had a mare that could go in twenty seconds; but, eventhen, he could not get away from the ghost of the “West Shore.” Boyn and <«irln in Rome. In the .luiigfraii'M Nhadow. The most glorious sight I have ever seen was one evening at Interlaken, when, ju t as the last rays of the set ting sun had left the valley, the Swiss lady with whom 1 was chartering about wood carvings exclaimed: “Look! look at Jungfrau!” I looked at Jungfrau. She stood transfigured against the clear blue sky; her white mantle illuminated from summit to base with such a Hood of translucent, rosy splendor, as the imagination cannot paint if the eye has , not seen it. and words are inadequate to describe. The glorious spectacle lasted for perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, when I the gray shadow of evening crept I slowly up the mountain side, and the dying light rested like a blush upon her cheek and forehead, and then van ished in the twilight. It is not often that the atmospheric conditions permit Jungfrau to present herself in this; superb costume. I suppose you are tired of Jungfrau. If I could be tired of mountains I ought to be fatigued with the* constant recur rence of the same peaks wherever I have been for the last two weeks, For it is a strange peculiarity of the bigger mountains that they seem to follow you in whatever direction you travel—to skip and caper like a troop of frisky Brobdingnagian maidens in revolving circles about you—peeping coyly now over the shoulders of their nearer neighbors—now through the gaps or around the corners of the huge wails which hide them, or confronting you at full length through the broad o]»enings of some valley; but al ways hovering about you as if they knew you liked their company and did not want to part with you. The far ther you go away from them the nearer they come to you. They haunt you liko gigantic ghosts in their white shrouds, reappearing when yon least expect them and vanishing with tantalizing capri ciousness just as you don’t want them to do it. The illusion is partly an optical one and partly the result of the bewil- Jeringly tortuous and circuitous routes one is obliged to take in this mountain ous country. Cumulative fetwearlna;. In later years, after the discovery of the carbonates and the birth of Leadville, much of the freight of that famous city was car ried up Ute pass. This was before the railways had pushed into the town, and the old settlers are ever ready to tell about the days when the mule teams struggled up the range and through the pass which is now so quiet and beauti ful. From all 'accounts a Leadville teamster was anything but a mild- spoken man. His profanity was some thing wonderful, and liis collection of oaths was inexhaustible. Some used to call the place “Hell pass,” and it is said that some of the doad trees one sees scattered about were robbed of life by the sulphur smoke which arose when half a dozen ¿earners got into swearing trim and gave their oaths full fire. If a man driving the forward team got stuck he swore a lit tle, and his successor also swore, with a little harder oath, just for companion ship. And so on down the long line, each man getting out something slightly more profane than the man ahead of him; and when the last teamer swore, it is re}>orted that his oath was some- tiling so new, original, and, withal, so startling in its wickedness that the leading team immediately started up. fully persuaded that the devil himself was not far away. Those days, how’- ever, are past now, and the traveler to the park will find tho old pass pretty quiet. Where lie Made n Profit. Twenty years ago there was an old farmer living about one hundred miles from New York who took forty pounds of dried apples to tho village merchant and was told that the price was 4 cents per pound. “I’ll be hanged if I submit to this ex tortion any longer!” he exclaimed. “ \\ by, they are quoted iu Horace Gree ley’s paper at 7 cents!” “Hadn't you better take’em to New York ?” “I 11 bo kicked if I don’t.” And he did. When he came home and figured up he said to his wife: “Wall, Hanner, it cost me $8 to come and go, $2 tavern bill and may be a lit tle extra for tobacco.’’ “Then you lost by the trip?” “Yas, kinder lost in one way, but in another I got my tea for 4 cents a pound less than Jackson sells it, and I tell you 4 cents don’t grow on every thistle!” A Polite Pupil. The Philadelphia youth is growing more end more precocious. An up town grammar-school boy became so obstreperous yesterday that his teacher, newr in her vocation, young and pretty, determined to try the plan of keeping him in. After school she sat with grim determination until it became dark, and then she let him depart. What was her astonishment at the gate to find the youth awaiting her! He greeted her with: “It’s too (lark for a young lady to be alone on the streets. Will you allow’ me to accompany you homo?” A society for the protection of the waifs of the streets, with Prince Borghese at its head, has been started at Rome. It was high time. During the winter the public streets are in fested with tieggars. In the summer boys and girls in great numbers are sent out into i Total Almtinmee. the country to work, but on the advent of November they retuen to the city where they are often left by their parents to shift for It was some time ago when an effort themselves. Under pretense of selling was being made to induce the children matches and flowers these children virtually i to sign the total abstinence pledge. On lead the lives of beggars, and thus constitute I the way from the hall a little girl, an ever-present social problem of great di-1 evidently profoundly impressed with mensions. Prince Borghese lias already dope the sweeping character of the pledge much for the relief of poverty, and a s<x?iety 1 with him in charge ought to be highly sue- 1 she had taken, was heard to ask, “Mamma, can I chew gum now?” cessful. ________________ Vegetable Wool. IBean-« Tor Moo ruing. A Dutcn paper calls the attention to a de Boston always hangs one peg higher scription of vegetable wool cal lei kapoc. It than the rest of the world. When a cr>mes from Java, and a specimen is on view father (lies in this modern Athens the at the Amsterdam exhibition. It arrives at family feed on black beans for a month Amsterdam in its leathery covering, being I out of respect to the deceased« itself enveloped in the seeds. It is then freed from both, and is carded so as to make a very I A Mun There I«« a Loud Call For. light mattress wool, worth aljout per , pound. One of the houses engaged in this Ho who sedulously attends, point operation had made trials in spinning and , edly creates, calmly speaks, coolly an dyeing this material, but the filaments are ( swers and ceases w hen he has no more said to be like strings, and their industrial ; to say, is in possession of some of the application is consequently a matter of un best requisites of man. certainty. IN ARISTOCRATIC BALTIMORE. A City of Pride. Pedigree and Xan- ProgreuMlon. “LWCLA’ TOJTS cabin :9 SURPRISE OF T1IE AUTHORESS WHEN SHE RECEIVED HER FIRST CHECK FROM THE PUBLISHERS. As far as politics goes, you get more , of it in Baltimore than in any other spot on this gl<»!»<». You hear fellows chatter ing around the corners of Barnum’s alxint the local politicians. You sit down at dinner among the slovenly- dressed men inside, and they are talk ing politics without the least grasp of principles gierely repeating some stuff they have picked up in ltx'al news papers. There is not a railroad station in Baltimore city that is not a disgrace to a place of its population. I do not mean to say that there is not yet beauty in Baltimore, because it has a very large population; and there are some mixtures and tints of complexion in that place that are always attractive if they could only be illumined with the broad spirit of our times. This is the most aristocratic town, I suppose, ir the United States—that is to say, there is more talk in it ubout family, and marriage, and such things, and they all know their pedigrees, more or less. But the shadow’ on the town is its self-righteousness, its belief that it has the best, that it can not learn any thing from the present day. I will give a conversation that I hud in Washing ton with a prosperous man on this sub ject. He was an intense southern man, and his father, I have understood, was the courier who brought the news of Nat Burner’s insurrection fifty years ago from the governor of Virginia to the president. I have never talked to him about politics. I knew that a few years ago, when Wade Hampton made his first appearance at Washington, this gentleman sent him the most gorgeous carriage he had. I was therefore sur prised to hear him say only yesterday: “I went over to Baltimore to see Tom Winans’ new house. From what the Baltimore people said, I thought it would be a wonderful thing. Why, my dear sir, we have got fifty houses in Washington, that we don’t brag about, that put it in the background. Balti more has got to be a very insipid place. The people come driving to Washing ton on all the railroads they can find, and I hardly see anybody who knows anything about Baltimore.” “What is the reason?” said I. “A confounded want of liberality. Walking around in a circle, like a blind mule in a bark mill, believing that the bark they see and the circle they go in is this universe.” ■Iowa Conscientious Condnetor twot Promoted. “How did I become superintendent?” answered the railroad official. “Why, it was this way: 1 was conductor of the morning passenger express, and one day as we were coming down by the junction we struck a misplaced switch and ran into a freight train that was standing on the siding. As we were running almost thirty-five miles an hour, of course it piled, things up a good deal. Oui> engine was smashed all to pieces, the ‘smoker’ telescoped the baggage car, and the forward pas senger coach ran up on the heap and rolled over. I was standing on the platform at the time the thing hap- pened, and luckily was slung off about thirty feet l>eside the track. “When I picked myself up everything was confusion, the air was filled with clouds of escaping steam, and about fifty passengers were somewhere in the wreck. Of course, it was what you might call an ‘emergency,’ but there’s no such word as that in the company’s dictionary. I had my orders and knew what to do. The roof of the smoking car lay near me, and I heard a man crying out from underneath it. After about ten minutes’ work I got the stuff all cleared away and reached him. He was very weak and groaning. ‘Oh, heavens!’he said, ‘this timber presses me so, I can’t move. Both my legs aro broken below the knee.’ Think you’ll be here till the next train?’I asked. ‘Oh, yes,’ he moaned. ‘Then you’ll need a stop-over check, sir,’ 1 said, and I made out a pasteboard and gave it to him. “‘Youngman,’ he said, ‘I observe that you have neglected to fill in the day of the month, but, under the circum stances your mission is excusable. I am a director of the company, and, if I survive, your attention to duty shall be rewarded.’ The old gentleman pulled through, and is now vice presi dent. That’s how I’m superintendent, and—” he continued musingly, as he fingered his lantern watch-charm, “I believe in the old saying that the com pany has rights which the public is lx)und to respect, and rules which they must conform to.” I m There no Rule. Even if we leave the high moral and mental ground, is it true that there is any dietetic certainty ns to the purely physiological results with food or drink? I am not a man of science, but I havo u dim memory of reading, I think in some papers by George Henry Lewes, that chemists utterly fail to predictor asoertain the exact operation of food or drugs in the living human body. They can say that according to chem ical laws such and such sul«tatm ought to produce certain results, but again and again life baffles them, for the incalculable action of the living organism falsifies their forecasts. Does this account for the ex traordinary manner in which doc tori’, fail and doctors disagree? Homo of the most eminent medical men have told m<i that occasionally they come across patients whose peculiarities of constitution upset all their calculations, and we have in every circle stories amply authenticated of cures b. quacks where regular practitioners fail. Our grandfathers, who rarely went to bed sober, were hale and strong. Their steady grandsons and granddaughters, who are never even tipsy, have delicate organizations and sensitive nerves. The Americans take strong tea, and are re t- less; the Chinese take more, and are stolid. Coffee makes many English men sleepless; the l urks take it to ex- ceos and are drowsy half the day. Must our rule be, “there is no rule;’ or are the exceptions larger than the rule itself ? “Cornwall” in Inter Ocean. “How did you come to be publisher of ’Uncle Tom’s Cabin?’” I asked of John P. Jewett, the first publisher of Mrs Stowe’s famous work. “1 suspect it was principally because I was a rabid anti-slavery man, although the fact that 1 hud previously been the publisher of a book by the llev. Henry Ward Beecher may have had something to do vrith it. After a careful examina tion I concluded that the story would not only repay the cost of publication in book form, but would yield some profit. Possibly I was helped to that conclusion by my firm conviction that tho volume would prove a strong anti slavery document. At all events, I expressed n willingness to publish it, and the next thing was to arrange the terms. Prof. Stowe was in favor of selling the manuscript for a sum down. ‘I tell my wife,’ said he to me, ‘that if she can get a good black silk dress or $50 in money for the story, she had better take it,’” ‘’Do you believe that you could have bought the story for $50 ?” “I believe I could have bought it for $20.” "So large were the orders for the book that from the day I first began to print it the eight presses never stopped day or night, save Sundays, for six months, and even then there were com plaints that the volumes did not appear fiust enough. In a little while I was able to inform Prof, and Mrs. Stowe that their percentage already amounted to $10,000, and although my contract with them required me to give a note only I would pay them that sum in cash.” “How did they receive your informa tion “They seemed a little dazed by the news. The sum was so vastly beyond anything they expected or had hereto fore possessed, that it appeared to them like a great fortune. When they called at my office I handed Prof. Stowe my check for $10,000, payable to his order. Neither the Prof, nor Mrs. Stowe had ever before received a check, they told me, and they did not know what to do with it, or how to get the money it represented. I explained to the pro fessor that he must indorse the check and present it for payment. I advised him to deposit the money in the same bank. We went thither together. I intro duced him to the president, and tho professor opened an account. After instructing him how to keep his check book and so on, and cautioning him and his wife never to go about with more than $5 in their pockets, I hade them g(xxl day, and they went their way rejoicing. When I gave them a second cli(‘ck for $10.000 I found they needed no further instruction.” “How many copies of ‘Uncle Tom’ did you publish?” “More than 320,000 sets of two volumes each were published in the first year. After that the demand fell off.” “ A LAW YUK'S NOVEL. Prof. Swing, of Chicago, in an ad dress at the Acton, Ind., assemblage approved of judicious novel reading, and told this anecdote : “I heard of a Chicago lawyer once whose wife read two novels to him when he was sick, and ho said to her: ‘I have been en tirely too much wrapped up in law, and have forgotten almost everything else. When I get well I shall lay aside my statutes and write a novel,’ and so he did. The first chapter told alx>ut a idee young man and a pretty young woman. The second told how they fell in love. The third, a very pretty chapter, told how they took a walk together in the evening and how they got outside the town because the sun went down and they couldn’t see tho corporation line. It was a very ro mantic story, but he spoiled it in tho next chapter. After the lovers were appropriately seated in the shade of a spreading oak, although it was night, the young num said: ‘Adelaide, I can no longer conceal my feelings. I love you madly, distractedly, wildly. I can not live without you. Your imago is in mv heart by night and by day, and without you my life is incomplete.’ Now, that was all very pretty, but— would you believe it?—the lawyer com menced that maiden’s answer to that burning declaration with: ‘Tho other j>artv responded substantially as fol lows,’ and that took away all tho romance.” VOMPETiri VE A’A.l SUN AT IONS. My experience has led mo to doubt the value of competitive examination. I believe the most valuable qualities for practical life cannot be got at by any examination such as steadiness and perseverance. It may be well to make an examination part of the mode of judging a man’s fitness, but to put him into an office with public duties to per form merely on his passing a good ex amination is, I think, a bad mode of preventing mere patronage. My brother is one of the best generals that ever commanded an army, but the qual ities that made him so are quite beyond the reach of any examination. zLV ENGLISH VIEW (JE^'llHJAGO. As a matter of fact tho city is hide ous, and, even if it were the finest ever designed and completed by an archi tect, the telegraph |»osts in the princi pal ktr<»ets, carrying wires by the dozen, would render it distastefid to any one having the slightest eye for ar chitectural effect. The Chicago people think the sight of killing pigs one of the finest in the world, and the visitor is taken to see it as the greatest of treats. jf/UA HOOT SOLES. Mica has been applied to a now use— that of fashioning it into middle soles to boots and shoes. The invention con sists of a sheet of mica, embedded in thin coatings of cement, and placed in the boot or shoe under and adjacent to the insole, the upper leather of the shoe lapping over its edges, or next under the filling and the outer or bottom sole, and covering the under space from the toe to the instep.