Wagers Pretty Wife Will Be Freed By Jury
Most Beautiful Woman in State Will Soon Face Court for Shooting Husband
EL PASO, Texas, February — Two to one bets are being made in Texas that beautiful Mrs. Ida Ott of El Paso, who shot her husband in Dallas Dec. 23, 1919, will never be convicted.
There are two reasons for the bets and the odds. One is: Mrs. Ott is one of the most beautiful young women in the State. In fact, she is only 22 years old and has been pronounced by art critics as one of the most beautiful women in the country. The other reason is: Mrs. Ott has employed a firm of Dallas attorneys knows as "the sob squad" to defend her. This firm, it is asserted, makes a specialty of defending pretty women and their record of acquittals is almost without equal in the State.
Mrs. Ott shot her husband, Andrew Ott, an automobile salesman, late Tuesday afternoon, on the 23rd day of last December. The shooting took place in the presence of hundreds of Dallas Christmas shoppers. She shot her husband following a heated argument. After he fell, Mrs. Ott, bystanders say, bent over the prostrate form and fired four more bullets into his body. Then she collapsed over her husband's corpse and exclaimed: "Oh, Honey, have I killed you?"
Mrs. Ott's trial was set for last Monday, but no witnesses appeared and the case was indefinitely postponed. The pretty defendant is pleading self-defense, It was after witnesses failed to appear that Texas sports began betting two to one the woman would not be convicted.
The Otts were married in El Paso Feb. 15, 1915, by County Judge Adrian Pool. Mrs. Ott was born in Alhambra, Ill., and her husband was born in Des Moines, Iowa.
Mr. Ott had sued his wife for a divorce in Dallas. In his petition he alleged she had tried to kill him twice before, once in Albuquerque, N. M., and once in San Antonio, Texas. On Oct. 15, 1919, he said he gave her $4,000 on condition that she stay away from him and leave him alone. A court had enjoined Mrs. Ott from molesting her husband, according to Dallas reports.
The question now is, can a jury be obtained that will convict Mrs. Ott?
Would you convict her?
Note: She was found guilty and given a two year sentence. There was an appeal, a second trial, etc. A few details are here and here.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Have Been Made Into Cloaks Since Doughboys Had Them
PARIS, France, Feb. 26. — How the humble Army blanket, protection of the grumbling doughboy, has increased in value from 12 francs to 200 francs, and come to be apparel of French beauty along the boulevards, has been brought to light in Paris.
At a sale of Army stocks, a French grocer bought 2,000 American Army blankets for 12 francs each. He sold them for 11 and 20 francs each to a clothing manufacturer.
The clothing manufacturer made them up into women's cloaks and sold them at 70 francs each to a department store, which retailed them at 180 and 200 francs each.
Voila, la vie chere!
Woman, 102, Walks Miles to Hospital
NEW YORK, N.Y., Feb. 26. — Despite her 102 years Mrs. Fannie Cohen traveled alone and unassisted from her home to Bellevue Hospital, where she sought admission. She is suffering from ailments due to old age. Her home is several miles from the hospital.
Wants Husband Declared Dead
PORT HURON, Michigan, Feb. 26. — Mrs. Alice Reo has brought suit in Circuit Court to have her husband, Capt. Joseph Reo, declared legally dead. Captain Reo was in command of the Government survey boat Surveyor, and last was heard from May 25, 1910, when he left the boat at Cleveland. Mrs. Reo wants to acquire property held by herself and her husband.
Baby Adds Fifth Generation
Kansas Child's Great-great-grandmother Is Still Living
HARTFORD, Kansas, Feb. 26. — A son was born a few days ago to Mr. and Mrs. James Hartenblower of Eureka, Kan. This baby has two grandfathers, one grandmother, two great-grandfathers, two great-grandmothers and one great-great-grandmother.
The great-great-grandmother is Mrs. Mary Ann Rhoads, of Topeka.
Kicks Off Hot Shoe, Sets Blacksmith Shop on Fire
SANDFORDS MILLS, N. Y., Feb. 26. — Upon his arrival in town, Abner Gesner, who lives near here, led his horse into W. A. Wirts' blacksmith shop to be shod. Mr. Wirts prepared the horse's feet without trouble. When he raised the left hind foot of the horse it resented having the red hot shoe applied to its hoof and began jumping and kicking. The horse kicked the hot shoe into a pile of shavings at the end of the shop, igniting them. Wirts had to call out the village fire companies to extinguish the flames.
Blind Coroner Enters Vaudeville
ATLANTA, Ga., Feb. 26. — Paul Donchoo, Atlanta's widely-known blind coroner, has gone into vaudeville. Besides being a coroner and a lawyer, Donchoo is an accomplished musician.
Take 585 Gallstones From Man
HAZLETON, Pa., Feb. 26 — Five hundred and eight-five gallstones were removed in an operation from John Koda, at this place. The man felt much relieved after the operation.
At 91 He is a Movie Fan
CALDwELL., N. J., Feb. 26. — Augustus Bogert at his home in Hanford place, Caldwell, passed the 91st anniversary of his birth. Mr. Bogert was born in New York. He is a movie fan.
SAN FRANCISCO, Cal., Feb. 26. — Gentle, kindly ways — human sympathy and the power to radiate the joy of life — seldom bring their just returns on the money market.
But these precious qualities were recognized to the extent of $90,000 in the will of the late Lucien Guilbert, pioneer lumber man of Yreka, who died recently.
As a result, Miss Caroline O. Koester, chief clerk of the field division of the Federal General Land Office in this city, and her mother, Mrs. Katherine Koester of Alameda, are wealthy.
"The large legacy came as a great surprise to mother and myself," said Miss Koester, when seen at her Alameda home, following a decision of the Third District Court of Appeals, which awarded them the bulk of the Guilbert estate.
"We were kind to Mr. Guilbert's sister during her long illness at Yreka, and she always considered our home her home. We simply did what we considered our duty as friends, and had no idea that we were going to be so richly rewarded. Mr. Guilbert, of course, often spoke of our kindliness and real helpfulness to his sister, and seemed to appreciate it deeply."
"Shall I continue to work at the land office? Why, of course. I have always worked, and I don't see why this money should change my life in any way."
The Guilbert will was the subject of bitter contest, waged by the four children of Guilbert's half-brother, who were each left $500 bequests. They alleged that he was incapable of disposing of his property when the will was made. The half-brother, Louis B. Guilbert, of Manteca, was left $5,000.
Other bequests of the will included several $500 gifts to friends of Yreka, $250 to a church and $500 each to two other children of Mrs. Katherine Koester — Edward Koester, of McCloud, and Fred Koester, of the United States Army.
Archaeology, according to Dr. Freshfield, who lectured at the London Institute, becomes an absorbing passion when once the initial stage is passed and the victim is too engrossed to find time for any other occupation.
He can find no better field for exploration than London — even without the aid of the steel excavator. He can see excellent Roman remains while doing business at the money order department of the post office. With a little more trouble he can study Saxon remains in Edward the Confessor's Chapel or the Chapel of the Pyx, at the Abbey. The Tower and the Bow Church woo him with allurements of the Norman style. Then the parochial records of the city and of the city companies call for the explorer who has caught the fever.
He will have the joy of learning that the plague of London was preceded by three other worse plagues in the same century, and that the dog — not the rat — was officially regarded as the disseminator. After this we may expect to see stockbrokers forsaking golf and gold and rubbing brasses in Westminster Abbey. — London Chronicle.
A man may be simply mulish during his lifetime, but in the obituary notice it is always said that he had the courage of his convictions. — Denver Post.
"Her one comfort is in her daily visit to the tomb of her husband. She seems to be living only in his memory and for the purpose of honoring him."
The words were spoken of Mrs. McKinley by an intimate friend of hers. They tell in a nutshell the daily life of the woman who has not recovered, and never will recover, from the effects of the shock by the assassin's bullets that cost the life of her illustrious husband at Buffalo.
For her convenience at the vault a rocking chair has been placed in the house of the dead, near the McKinley casket. A heavy rug on the floor protects her from the dampness. When she enters the tomb she is always clothed with heavy wraps, so as to prevent any cold from getting hold on her system. The guards of National solders on duty have come to regard her daily visit to the vault as sacred, and they pay to the most profound sympathy and attention. — Philadelphia North American.
In a splendid series of matinees extending over two weeks, Prof. William P. Jones danced the whole of Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
The first two colonies were danced in slow time, to the accompaniment of two flutes and a lyre. The poses were statuesque rather than graceful, and the gestures had to them a great deal of the oratorical.
But, beginning with the story of the barbarian invasions in the third volume, Professor Jones' interpretation took on a fury that was almost bacchantic. The sack of Rome by the Vandals in the year 451 was pictured in a veritable tempest of gyrations, leaps and somersaults. The subtle and hidden meanings of the text called for all the resources of the professor's eloquent legs, arms, shoulders, lips and eyes.
A certain obscure passage in life of Attila the Hun, which had long puzzled the scholars, was for the first time made clear to the average man when Professor Jones, standing on one foot, whirled around rapidly in one direction for five minutes, and then instantly reversing himself spun around for ten minutes in the opposite direction.
In the ballroom of the Hotel Taftoftia, during Christmas week, William K. Spriggs, Ph. D., held a number of fashionable audiences spellbound with his marvelous lucid dances in euclid and algebra up to quadratics. Perhaps the very acme of the terpsichorean art was attained in the masterly fluency of body and limbs with which Mr. Spriggs demonstrated that the sum of the angles in any triangle is equal to two right angles. — Simeon Strunsky, in Harper's Weekly.
The chief breaks the spell — he stands up and gives his orders. All rise, and at a signal the men go down upon the green carpet of floating field.
Complete silence again — we hold our breath in anxious expectation. The hippo is invisible; if he is there he is hidden under the protecting grasses. Our wait is short; the hippo is indeed there; a man has felt him under his feet. But the beast travels under the moving vault. The blacks never lose track of him for a moment; the circle closes in; for an instant they fear that he will escape them by going out toward the river, and they hurry after him with lances poised; but he goes back to the middle of the lake by an underground passage. A man is knocked over; jostled by the invisible animal, he loses his footing and falls.
The hippo is here — quite close to us — we see the grasses move; with great skill a man throws a harpoon with a strong cord attached to it. A shout of joy goes up; the harpoon stays upright, firmly planted in the animal's back. He disappears once more, and the crowd of hunters pursues him closely. A second and a third harpoon are successfully thrown, and the ends of the ropes quickly passed to men in canoes. They pull at the animal, which struggles and resists, pushing up his head, bellows furiously. He plunges down again, pulling after him the canoes and paddlers. There is an anxious moment, but the weight of numbers tells, and he is brought back to the surface.
Finding he cannot escape, he becomes infuriated; he fights and struggles and throws himself against the canoes, biting at them with his huge jaws; he turns and attempts to charge, then tries again to wreck the canoes. It is too dangerous a game to be allowed to continue, and the men close in and spear him to death with their long lances. His death is almost pathetic; with an effort he lifts his forequarters out of the water, and rests his head sadly against the side of a canoe. Then his head falls, his eyes close, and he dies. — H.R.H. the Duchess of Aosta, in Harper's Weekly.
Little Brother — "Do you know what 'ostentation' means?" Little Sister — "The way other people show off. — Puck.
The sun never sets on the British dominions, and it rises occasionally in London. — Puck.
The great grief at forty is the discovery that eye-glasses are not becoming. — Atchison Globe.
An egg and an office-boy differ in that one is best when it's fresh and the other isn't. — Philadelphia Record.
Border — "I never eat shad." Wyld — "Why?" Border — "It always reminds me of boneless codfish." — Puck.
The Professor (awakening) — "Is there anybody in this room?" The Burglar — "No, sir." The Professor — "Oh, I thought there was." (Falls asleep again.) — Life.
"Fannie, I have told you time and again not to speak when other persons were talking, but wait until they stop." "I've tried that already mamma. They never stop." — Texas Sifter.
First Woman — "I was suffering untold agony." Second Woman — "Dear me! What did you do?" First Woman — "Oh, a neighbor happened in just in the nick of time and I told her." — Detroit Tribune.
She — "I hope, dear, you were not thinking of business in church this morning. You know your thoughts should be of higher things?" He — "Well, I was thinking of that $22 bonnet of yours. Is that high enough, think you?" — Statesman.
Absent-minded Professor — "I don't know what's the matter with me, doctor, I am perpetually limping to-day. Is it locomotor ataxy, I wonder?" Doctor — "Why, professor, you are walking with one foot on the curbstone and the other in the gutter."
Romantic Miss — "Have there not been moments in your experience when life seemed full of unsatisfied wants?" Mr. Hardhead — "Y-e-s, that's so." "At such times I always fly to music for relief. What do you do, Mr. Hardhead?" "I advertise." — Spare Moments.
"Some folks think this Venezuelan affair will be settled without trouble, but I'll dogon if I do," said Mr. Janson, as the crowd about the grocery store made room for the old man. "I never see one of these here line fence quarrels yit that didn't wind up in a fight!" — Indianapolis Journal.
"I don't know," muttered Rivers, picking himself up from the sidewalk and moving on with a perceptible limp, "whether there is any such thing as a bicycle face or not, but I am thoroughly convinced of the existence of the phenomenon known as the banana skin." — Chicago Tribune.
A runaway couple were married on a railway train near Shelbyville, Ind., last week. The girl's parents opposed the match, and watched her closely to prevent her giving them the slip and getting married. The young man learned that the squire was to travel by a certain tram one day last week, and arranged with the girl to meet him at the station. He went to Columbus and got the license, met the girl at the station as the train came in, and the pair boarded it and were married by the squire before the train had gone many miles and before any stop was made where they could be intercepted by a telegram from the girl's parents. — New York Sun.
Lee Ephraim's Sevens
Certainly the figure seven has marked the career of Lee Ephraim, of Roanoke, Va., to an extraordinary extent. He was born in the year 1877, on the seventh day of the month and on the seventh month of the year and seventh hour of the day. He has seven letters in his surname and it requires seven letters to spell the name of the State in which he was born. He has lived in four cities, and the name of each one contained seven letters. He has seven sisters and brothers, and one time drew a valuable prize on the number 77. Oddly enough this prize was not $777. — New York Press.
At a recent exhibition of antlers at Berlin the Emperor took two prizes, one for the best collection and one for the best single head.
A report from Consul Robertson on the free port system of Hamburg, just published by the State Department, contains the curious item of information that in the great new warehouses constructed in the German port wood is being substituted for iron to secure better protection against fire.
These buildings were originally provided with iron beams and girders, but when one of them was burned some years ago it was found that the iron had been so bent and twisted by the heat as to become a source of great danger to the adjoining structures. "In all the warehouses, therefore, which have since been built," observes Mr. Robertson, "it has been deemed advisable to substitute wood for iron as much as possible." Probably a heavy wooden beam, imbedded in some non-conducting material that would exclude the air, would be as nearly fireproof as anything except brick or stone. It might be charred on the outside, but the interior would probably remain sound in any ordinary heat.
It is a curious speculation to imagine what would have happened if the present method of construction in Chicago had been in vogue before the great fire. A twenty-five-story, steel-cage building warping into a corkscrew and boring a hole in the sky would be a spectacle worth going miles to see.
Derivation of Whiskers
The word whiskers is derived from whisk, and the Anglo-Saxon wisch, which means a slight brush. Less than a century ago the expression was unheard of, the whiskers as well as the mustache being spoken of as part of the beard. It was only when the latter was divided, and the true whiskers disappeared as well, that their name was changed to the mutton chop part of the beard left on the cheek.
Friday, June 29, 2007
One-fifth of the world's commerce in ivory comes to Great Britain, and it will astonish most people to learn that 15,000 elephants have to be killed every year to keep our markets supplied with the precious substance. Altogether, to keep the whole world in ivory — apart from fossil tusks — 75,000 elephants are slaughtered annually.
Africa is the great ivory country, and in the Congo basin, the best hunting ground there are supposed to be about 200,000 elephants, worth altogether about half a million sterling. The average weight of ivory obtained from a single elephant is about fifty pounds. Tusks weighing about a hundred pounds each have been procured, but this is very rare.
The most expensive tusks are those used in the manufacture of billiard balls; they cost, as a rule, $550 a hundred-weight.
Ivory dust and shavings are used by confectioners to stiffen the more expensive kinds of jellies. The scrapings are often burnt and made into a paint known as "ivory black," worth about $100 a ton.
The hardest of all ivory is that obtained from the hippopotamus. It will emit sparks like a piece of flint when struck with steel, and is principally used in making artificial teeth. — Answers.
The hide of the horse has always been valuable for making ladies' fine shoes and thongs for belt-lacing. It is much finer than the hide of the beef, and when split makes a very fine and soft leather.
A few years ago the market could not get enough of them. That was in the days when a horse was a horse, and worth something, before the electric motor drove him from the street car service. As high as $5 was paid for a good hide, and it was a very poor one that would not bring $2.50. But as the horse got cheaper and the advocate of horseflesh as food was reinforced by the butcher who could palm it off for beef, things slowly began to change. Prices went down steadily, until now it takes a No. 1 hide to bring $1.50, while fair ones go for fifty cents and the poorer ones are thrown away.
The consumption of horseflesh in Europe, particularly in Paris, seems to have increased wonderfully, judging from the heavy importation of hides to this country, while in this country it is said there is not a large city where the horse is not slaughtered for the market and sold either openly or secretly. The meat-canning establishments are also credited with using a great many broken-down animals.
Thus, while the beef hide market has its fluctuations and days of glut and scarcity, the horse hide market is completely stagnated, and there does not seem to be any possible hope for a revival of it. — St. Louis Globe-Democrat.
Leon, Iowa area, no date given
Iolan Succumbed in Hospital in Clarinda, Iowa
Mrs. John Merwin, of 901 East street, received the sad news in a telegram from Clarinda, Iowa, this afternoon, that her husband died there this morning at 1 o'clock. She will leave tonight for Iowa and escort the remains to the old home at Leon, Iowa, where the funeral will be held.
Mr. Merwin was for five years employed as a carriage builder at the McCarty carriage works on South street, but broke down and went to a hospital in Iowa to take treatment for paresis. His recovery was always doubtful and the end was not unexpected.
He was a man twenty-nine years old, and is survived by his widow and three children, the oldest five years and the youngest a babe four months of age. He had many warm friends in Iola who will be sincerely grieved to learn of his death.
Leon, Iowa area, 1894
Miss Tilda Mills, of Leon, and Mr. McKee, of Garden Grove, were united in marriage at the Presbyterian parsonage Wednesday Nov. 28th, 1894, Rev. Gurley officiating. This couple is well known, especially the bride, who is the daughter of W. H. Mills, one of the successful farmers of Eden township.
Miss Tilda is one of Eden's most exemplary young ladies and will be greatly missed by the young people as a leader of the society. She is one of Decatur county's most popular school teachers. During her time in the field she put forth such efforts that the good example she put before the public in her school room will be hard to fill. She finished the course of Decatur County Institute, in June 1894. By her modest and pleasant manner she has won many friends.
Mr. McKee, although not personally acquainted with him, we understand is a young man of good habits, an industrious farmer and a successful stock raiser. He is the owner of a valuable farm near Garden Grove where the happy couple will make their future home. May they live a long happy life together.
Allie Merwin, who is a druggist at Tulsa, is visiting his parents, Mr. and Mrs. A. Merwin, and other relatives.
Leon, Iowa area, no date given
One of the best known citizens of Decatur county, passed away at the home of his son Frank A. Gardner five miles northwest of Leon last Saturday.
Judge Gardner was born in Syracuse, New York, April 10, 1821, where he lived with his parents until manhood, when he came west. In 1850 he went to California and spent several years in the far west, returning to Chicago where he engaged in the wholesale lumber business and amassed a fortune, but it was swept away in the great Chicago fire. He then came to Decatur county and purchased several hundred acres of land and engaged successfully in farming and stock raising.
He was married to Miss Maria E. Reynolds on Jan. 26, 1847, and to this union were born three children, one daughter and two sons, the eldest son dying in infancy. Mrs. Gardner died in 1887, the surviving children being Frank A. Gardner who lives on the home farm and Mrs. Ellen Perry.
Funeral services were held at the home on Saturday, March 18th, at 11 o'clock, conducted by A. M. Pilcher, pastor of the Leon M. E. Church, interment being in the Leon cemetery.
Judge Gardner was loved and respected by all who knew him and he was a polished gentleman of the old school. He loved to gather his friends around his home, and until the death of his wife, "Ocean Farm," as he named his beautiful country home, was the scene of many pleasant social gatherings. A few years ago he was severely injured by his horse falling on him and of late years has been in quite feeble health.
Note: The article had Marie E. Reynold, without an 's'.
Leon, Iowa area, 1905
Mamie Dale Sylvester, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J. N. Sylvester, was born in New Buda township, Decatur county, Iowa, Feb. 4th, 1874, died at Leon, Iowa, March 10, 1905, aged 31 years, 1 month and six days.
Her last illness dated from Feb. 4th and everything that medical skill and kind hands could do was done, but to no avail. As a last resort an operation was performed on last Thursday by Dr. Ruth, of Keokuk, but the shock was too great and she passed quietly and peacefully away the following morning at 5 o'clock.
She was united in marriage to Dr. Fred A. Bowman at Davis City, on June 12, 1894, and their married life was truly an ideal one. She was from a child a member of the Advent church and faithfully did she live the teachings of her religious faith. Thus ends the career of a soul immortal so far as this life is concerned.
The brief words of the above sketch tell the sad story of the passing of a pure soul whom to know was to love. "Dale" as she was familiarly and affectionately called by her friends, possessed the rare combination of child-like beauty of face and form, with a strength of character, where her highest convictions were concerned, unusual for one even of greater years, yet she never obtruded her faith upon the attention of others. She simply lived it and thus gained for it, and for herself the highest respect from her associates.
The funeral was held at the M. E. church at 3:30 o'clock Sunday and the large building was filled to overflowing with those who wished thus to express their love for the departed and their sympathy for the bereaved. The service was conducted by Rev. Dr. Pilcher of the M. E. church and Rev. W. A. Montgomery of the Presbyterian church. Each read from the scriptures words of promise and helpfulness and added such words of comfort and consolation as they were able to draw from their own experiences of life and of Christian faith. The music under the direction of Mrs. C. E. Gardner was very beautiful. A quartette consisting of Mrs. Gardner, Mrs. J. A. Caster, H. J. Vogt and J. S. Warner sang three selections, the first being "The Ninety and Nine," the favorite hymn of the deceased.
The various orders of which Mrs. Bowman was a member, The Eastern Star, The Thirteen Club, of which she was vice-president, and the P. E. O. society were represented by attendance of members and by beautiful floral offerings while the Knights Templars in uniform formed a guard of honor and escorted the cortege to the silent city. The white casket containing the beautiful white robed body was almost hidden beneath its load of sweet flowers.
This was fitting, for no short-lived flower ever shed abroad a sweeter fragrance in the world than did this fair and lovely woman during the short stay she made among the inhabitants of earth. She wore ever "the white flower of a blameless life" the memory of whose fragrance and beauty will linger long with those who knew and loved her and will continue to be an incentive toward all pure, joyous and noble living. Such a life is a benediction, and for the privilege of having been allowed to share and enjoy it, even for so short a time, her friends should now give thanks.
Leon, Iowa area, 1906
Maria Beavers was born May 24, 1845, in Highland county, Ohio, died at her home in Leon, Iowa, May 9, 1906, aged 81 years, 11 months 15 days.
The deceased moved with her parents, Joseph and Christina Beavers, to Decatur county, in 1855, where she was united in marriage to William H. Paris, July 12, 1866. They were the parents of nine children, four of whom died in infancy. On April 23, 1897, this happy union was severed by the death of the husband.
The five living children, Mrs. Cora Campbell, of near Leon, Mrs. Etta Rosengrant and Mrs. Nanna Warrington, of near Garden Grove, Mrs. Frank Manning, of near Kellerton and Ralph, of Leon, were present during her sickness. She was suddenly taken with pneumonia May 4th, and lived but five days. All was done for her that kind friends and willing hands could do, but the disease claimed her so far as earthly appearance is concerned, but death is not the victor, for the same Christ who loved her and who conquered death will care for her and take her home to rest. Mrs. Paris united with the Christian church under the pastorate of Elder Hubble about two years ago, remaining a faithful member until death. She was also an esteemed member of the Women's Relief Corps, of Leon.
She was a kind mother and neighbor, and numbered her friends by her acquaintances. Elder D. F. Sellards conducted a short service at the home in Leon and the main service at High Point. The W. R. C. of Leon and Garden Grove assisted at the grave. Services Friday at the home at 11:30 a.m., at High Point 3 p.m.
Frenchmen are born diplomatists, yet in a free and unguarded moment even one of that tactful race will sometimes speak his mind without a tinge of flattery.
Such an ungarnished speech is recorded of a young Frenchman who, during a visit in London, was taken to see Madame Tussaud's famous waxworks.
"What do you think of them?" asked the friend who was acting as guide on that occasion. "Oh," said the young man, with a slight shrug, "they seem to me very like the people at an ordinary English party, only perhaps a little stiller."
Rewards of Fame
The Chicago Tribune intimates that, even if "republics are ungrateful," our great men are not forgotten.
"Still," said the old friend who had called to converse with the venerable sage, "in your advancing age it must be a comfort to know your fame is secure."
"Yes," replied the aged scientist, "I am told there is a new disease and a five-cent cigar named for me." — Youth's Companion.
Thanksgiving intelligence from Guam, although somewhat belated, was of a cheering sort, as befits the day.
The governor of the island, in his report to the Secretary of the Navy, in speaking of the services in honor of the day, held in the Roman Catholic Church, says that the congregation in attendance was so large that it completely packed the edifice and overflowed outside into "rows fifteen deep."
"The entire assemblage," the governor observes, "seemed to evince a sincere, earnest and devout interest in this their first American Thanksgiving day."
And throughout the island the people were equally and heartily responsive in their observances of the day, thus testifying to their "cordial and faithful acceptance of the radical change in government," concludes the governor. — Youth's Companion.
Half-heartedness never wins in this world. If a thing is not worth doing, do not do it, is a good rule. The late Robert Louis Stevenson was always an enthusiast in whatever he undertook, even when at play.
His stepdaughter, Mrs. Isabel Strong, who was for a time his amanuensis, says that Stevenson used to maintain that no one could write a good story who was not a good player — who could not enter fully into the spirit of a game. He himself threw all his energies into whatever he might be playing.
At one time he was visiting a house where a small boy was "playing boat" on the sofa. When the lad got tired he did not wait for the ship to come to port, but got down from the sofa and walked toward the door.
Stevenson, who was watching him eagerly, cried out to him, in apparent alarm, "Oh, don't do that! Swim, at least!" — Youth's Companion.
Henry Fawcett, says Sir Edward Russell, had an extraordinary memory for persons. One night Sir Edward was in the House of Commons, to hear a debate, under the gallery.
A friend introduced him to Mr. Fawcett, who, learning why he was there, said:
"Oh, then you can look after my old father, and tell him who the people are. He is going under the gallery, too."
Three or four years later, Sir Edward was presented to Mr. Fawcett, who was then chief guest at a political dinner, and said to him, in "the usual conventional mumble:"
"I once had the pleasure of being introduced to you, Mr. Fawcett, but it's a long time ago." "I remember," said he, "you very kindly looked after my father under the gallery at the House." And this was the memory of a man totally blind. — Youth's Companion.
The following story of a canal in Central America has no relation to the proposed canal across Nicaragua. It is told of a civil engineer who visited the country more than twenty years ago.
At the village of Cabecera, near Tenosique, he was asked by a deputation of the inhabitants, who had heard of his skill as a surveyor, whether he thought a canal could be made from their village to Provecue, which would save a very long river journey. He visited the district, and found that by taking advantage of two small streams a canal of about a league would be all that was necessary.
The committee were delighted with this report, and they begged the surveyor to write an official letter to the government on their behalf, asking that they might be permitted to begin the work at once.
Ten years after this the surveyor was again at the village of Cabecera, and the first question asked him was:
"Do you not think a canal could be made from here to Provecue?"
On his informing them that he had been asked the same question ten years before, and had taken some time and trouble about the matter, the chairman replied that on account of politics, the death of his father, and so forth, the government letter had probably been overlooked. Search was made, the letter was found, and once more all was excitement. Nothing was talked about but the canal.
Some years later yet the surveyor was again at Cabecera. Immediately on his arrival a deputation waited upon hip. "Do you not think a canal —" The speaker never got any farther with that question. — Youth's Companion.
A Vexed Question
The great problem is how to train and keep the physical system at the top of its capacity for work and enjoyment all the time. Those who do not get an abundant of outdoor exercise in their regular avocations must secure its equivalent in some other way, or suffer the consequences.
The more exacting the work of the brain, the more needful is it to keep the whole system toned to the highest degree of endurance and vitality. How to do this each must settle for himself as best he can, with such professional advice as he can command; but to do it in some way is both an interest and a duty.
There is a religion of the body as well as of the spirit; indeed, true religion includes both body and mind. It is not a crusade on calisthenics and the other methods of physical training that is wanted, but a wiser and more general use of them. We have mastered the art of making a perfect tree, and persuading a rose to bloom in any color we may choose; we know exactly how to rear just such a horse or dog as we desire; but who shall tell us how to develop and train the human body to perfection?
When we go back and study the old Greek and Roman models, our pride oozes out and we are inclined to question whether we have not lost in one way quite as much as we have gained in another by this intangible something we call civilization.
A Welcome Gleam to the East-Bound Atlantic Voyager
The first glimpse of Great Britain that the American tourist gets on his European tour is that of the Fastnet lighthouse.
It stands on a rugged and solitary rock, situated nine miles south of Crookhaven, at the extreme southwest corner of Ireland, and is, perhaps, more storm-beaten than any other around our coast. The rock is eighty feet in height, and the lighthouse towers another seventy feet above, yet, in winter gales, the Atlantic billows literally bombard the massive structure and have even smashed in a portion, of the lantern at the summit of the erection, the seas frequently sweeping over the rock with tremendous force.
Some two or three years ago the stormy weather then prevailing prevented all communication with the rock for many weeks, so that the store of food was consumed, with the exception of some flour. At last a schooner managed to approach sufficiently near to enable a small quantity of food to be dragged through the sea by the hungry men, and, fortunately, the next day the sea moderated, and the stores were once more fully replenished.
Except in very calm weather, the Fastnet is surrounded by a fringe of foam, and the only means of landing is by the aid of a "jib" fifty-eight feet in length, so placed on the rock that, in moderate weather, its end reaches outside the surf. When a visitor wishes to land (an unusual occurrence) he is rowed in a small boat as near as the waves permit, and the light-keepers throw out a small buoy, attached to a rope, which is secured by the man in the boat. The jib is then swung out, and the visitor, placing one foot in the loop and catching tight hold of the rope, is hoisted about forty feet vertically, and then the jib, being pivoted at its foot, swings him horizontally about 100 feet on to a safe landing. — London Sketch.
Sailors have always been superstitious fellows. No wonder, then, that the ignorant sailors of Columbus, anxious for some excuse to turn back to Spain, believed the "sargasso sea" — that tangled mass of seaweeds in mid-Atlantic — was a trap set by Providence to catch them. Science to-day analyzes and explains all such natural phenomena once deemed supernatural. What is it that causes that mysterious sargasso sea?
Simple enough. The rotation of the earth, the rush of the tides, the steady winds unite to cause a vast surface current in tropical waters, moving at about ten miles an hour from east to west, known as the equatorial current. This, in the Atlantic Ocean, feeds the Gulf Stream, which then is shifted by the contour of the North American continent out across the Atlantic to warm the outlying shores of Northern Europe and only spend itself away on the frozen borders of Franz Josef Land. What results? An eddy. Put a few bits of wood in a basin of water and stir the water till it acquires a circular motion. The bits of wood will all collect in the center of the whirling mass.
So the Atlantic Ocean is one great eddy, and the sargasso sea is only the center of it. A "marine meadow," the Spaniards first called this stagnant water. Later it came to be called the sargasso or sargassoa sea, from the Spanish word sargazo, meaning seaweed. Here the seaweed detached from the bottom of the ocean collects, buoyed up by peculiar little air-cells.
Woe to the ship that wanders into the meshes of this great net, six times as big as all France. The same conditions that produce the great sargasso sea of the Atlantic make similar eddy-spots in various regions of the Indian and Pacific Oceans, though much smaller. The Chinese, always ready to utilize whatever is at hand, use the sargasum weed as a food, and as such it is both palatable and nutritious. — Pathfinder.
A Cuban girl's life is very restricted, and she is never allowed to go out alone nor receive callers of the other sex except in the presence of her chaperon or some member of her family. If during her childhood she attends a day school, a maid or some family servant takes her there every day, and she cannot go as short a distance as across the street unaccompanied.
In some instances Spanish customs are absurd and incongruous. Every well-fitted establishment in Cuba is provided with a concierge, to guard the entrance and admit callers. This man, usually an ignorant peasant, sometimes escorts the young ladies of the family he is serving, and that is considered perfectly proper, whereas it would not be proper for them to go out attended by a gentleman, even if he were old enough to be their father, and an old friend of the family as well.
Of late years, however, the frequent intercourse between Cuba and the United States has somewhat modified the customs. For instance, two ladies can now go out alone in Havana in the day time, which would have been considered an unheard of and almost shocking proceeding a few years ago.
The social pastimes a girls enjoys in Cuba consists of balls, parties, concerts, receptions, the theatre and opera, and picnic, for Cubans have adopted this American division, although in a modified form, to suit the requirements of Cuban etiquette.
Whatever love undertakes to do, it does well.
A sunbeam in the heart is bound to light the face.
Some people might as well be crazy; they have no sense.
Labor is drudgery only when we do not put heart in our work.
A pessimist is not blind, yet he can not see even a bright prospect.
It is to live twice when we enjoy the recollections of our former life.
Some people prepare their excuses before they make their failures.
Everyone believes in friends until he has had occasions to try them.
Nothing succeeds like success. It can convert a traitor into a patriot in five seconds.
When we come close to a giant, he often turns out to be only a common man on stilts.
A little lovers' quarrel or two is a good thing by which to take each other's measure.
It is a question with many bright young men whether they will practice law, medicine or deception.
Never lie in bed thinking that the cat that is howling in the back yard will grow weary and go away.
A single man has nobody but himself to blame if things go wrong. A married man can blame it all to his wife.
It is not in the power of a good man to refuse making another happy, where he has both ability and opportunity. — The South-West.
Honduras seems a paradise for pets. Parrots of every size, from that of a sparrow to the great green macaw, three feet long or more, can clamber all over and about the house and never know a cage. Chachalacas trot through the patios or courts of the houses in the towns, and bitterns stalk disconsolate about. Fawns and children play together in many a yard, and coons and sometimes an armadillo are playmates for little ones who have few dolls. In the Sambo hamlet of Ulun, a tame anteater was offered to me, and while we talked of it, a woman came in leading a gibeonite which took occasion to nibble its owner's bare heels while she bargained.
As I lay in a hammock in a Waikna hut one day, a peccary came within my reach. With a convenient stick I ventured to scratch his brown and bristly back. Down he flopped on his side and grunted in sweet content as long as the tickling went on. From that moment he was my ardent, much too ardent friend and faithful follower. I could not go ten steps without finding him at my heels, and his jealousy was as instant as it was fierce. Woe to the dog that dared come near me. A sudden rush, a quick upward thrust of those gleaming tusks and there was a bleeding gash in that dog's quarters, if he was not agile beyond the average of dogs. And the snapping of those tusks had a sound that was most suggestive, particularly to a white man groping in the dark for the olla that holds the drink. Peccaries are not really the nicest of pets for people whose visitors are nervous. — Outing.
Upon the wall of cell No. 7, in the County Jail at Mauch Chunk, Pennsylvania, is the imprint of a man's hand, which would not attract attention were it not for the strange story connected with it — a story which can be vouched for by many of the town's citizens.
Alexander Campbell, of Lansford, was an occupant of the cell in June, 1877. The Mollie Maguires were holding their reign of terror throughout the coal regions at that time and he was arrested and sentenced to be hanged in connection with the murder of John P. Jones. He stoutly asserted his innocence, and it was only through the confessions of his comrades in crime that he was convicted. The night before he was hanged he stood on his cot, and, it is said, placing his hand upon the wall, he declared that in proof of his innocence the imprint would remain upon the wall forever. The impression of the hand can be as plainly seen now as if placed there yesterday, though the walls have been whitewashed often.
The phenomenon has been viewed by many, but none of them has been able to suggest a plausible solution of the mystery.
The cell is regarded with awe by the prisoners in the jail, and if any of them become unruly the warden has only to threaten them with a night in cell No. 7. — New York Herald.
A glass tombstone; that is certainly something unique. Such a grave marker stands in but one place in the United States, and that is the cemetery overlooking the city of Kittanning, Pennsylvania. It has but recently been set up there, over the grave of Mrs. Elizabeth Pepper, of Ford City, by her son, Matthias Pepper.
Not one of the piles of marble and granite attracts so much attention as the piece of polished glass, with clear inscription, which stands on a gentle slope falling slowly from the hilltop.
Matthias Pepper, who had the glass set up, is assistant superintendent at the Ford City factory. The piece used as a grave memorial is a part of a large plate which was made of unusual thickness for the construction of circular panes to cover the portholes of ocean steamships. The practical indestructibility of glass was its quality which suggested to Mr. Pepper its use in the cemetery.
Marble and granite seem to many to be almost eternal in their hardness, but they are far from it, and not at all to be compared with glass. Wind and rain, heat and cold have their effects on stone of any kind, and finally wear away the hardest granite and cause it to crumble. Go into any old graveyard, where stones were erected more than one hundred years ago, and it will be found to be the exception where all the lettering on the monuments can be made out. The stone has crumbled and the outline has been obliterated. No such effect is produced by the weather on glass.
The Pepper monument is of plate glass one inch thick, a foot and a half wide and four feet high. It stands in a mortise cut into a cube of sandstone. The top of the glass is arched. The lettering on it is made by the "sand blast" process, and is distinct. The monument bears this inscription:
In memory of Elizabeth Pepper, of Ford City. Died February 4, 1892. Aged seventy-seven years.
Also William Pepper, husband of the above. Died ——. Aged ——.
From this inscription it may be inferred truly that William Pepper is still living.
This new use for plate glass is likely to become extended, for it has many things to recommend it. The transparency and purity of the material are suggestive and appropriate. It is easily and quickly etched, its cost is not great, and in durability it surpasses any other available material. — Pittsburg Dispatch.
Half a dozen men were relating experiences of college days when a young physician said that in cases where students were obliged to eke out their expenses in a professional career by every possible means there often occurred pitiful examples of their courage.
"Suppose, for example," said he, "a case of skin grafting comes to the clinic, any student who will give up his skin is paid five dollars for each bit. I remember one instance in particular, that of a hard working young man who gave ten bits of flesh to graft a new face on a badly burned baby. As the flesh must be healthy and fresh nothing can be used to deaden the pain and it is cut from the inside of the upper arm, the most sensitive part. Slices the size of a silver dime are taken and laid quivering on the wounded part where a new skin is to be grown. This fellow stood there several days and allowed the surgeon to slice off pieces from both arms, each piece bringing the amount stipulate, which paid for extra books, clothing or food, and the poor fellow minded neither the pain at the time of the operation nor the lameness with which he was afflicted for weeks after, neither did he fear the risk of blood poisoning or other difficulties which might ensue.
"He had the satisfaction, however, of seeing a baby face resume its healthy form and his examinations were passed with brilliancy. He is to-day a man well known and honored in the profession." — New York Herald.
Dogwood wands make excellent whipstocks, and are used in some of the best whips. They are cut sometimes by coachmen in the suburbs and sent to town to be dressed and made up into whips. The stocks made of this wood are notable for their ornamental knobs at regular intervals, being the truncated and rounded branches. These are imitated in some other whipstocks, but the imitation is a cause of weakness. The dogwood stocks are extremely tough and elastic, being comparable in elasticity with whalebone.
The wood is used also for butchers' skewers, and some philologists conjecture that the first syllable of the name is a corruption of "dag," meaning a spine or dagger. Dogwood, as being peculiarly free from silex, is used by watchmakers and opticians in cleaning watches and lenses. The bitter bark of the dogwood is used also as a substitute for the Peruvian quinine tree.
Dogwood is notably of slow growth, and in all thickly populated regions the tree is recklessly despoiled for the sake of its blossoms, so that the supply of the wood for commercial purposes is not large. — New York Sun.
Get your experience firsthand.
A burnt child dreads a whipping.
It is easy to make a failure of success.
Women make friends; men keep them.
Every man has enemies of whom he is justly proud.
If there were no wise men there would be no fools.
There is an old saw to cover every species of deviltry.
There are many days when the road seems to be all uphill.
Believe only half that you hear, and tell only half that you believe.
With a good many women interest is only another name for curiosity.
Some men reach a turning point in life every time a pretty woman passes.
Economy follows the acquisition of wealth about as often as it precedes it.
The average popular song attains its greatest popularity when it is forgotten.
Don't try to do right. The right is done without trying. — New York Press.
About every third woman is convinced that she is some kind of a martyr.
The man who marries only to "get a home" shouldn't kick if he doesn't get one.
Women will do much to please the men but more from fear of what other women will say about them.
Whenever a man does anything especially mean he is prone to lay the blame on poor, weak human nature.
All that remains above earth of the irresponsible crank who fired the shot which ended the life of President James A. Garfield is the skeleton, brain and stuffed head, which are now preserved among other ghastly relics in the Army Medical Museum at the city of Washington.
The skeleton was cleaned by the museum workmen immediately after the execution, and has since been kept in a glass case in an out-of-the-way corner of the great National repository of ghastly curios. Each bone is carefully lettered with indelible ink, probably as a means of identification should the skeleton or a portion of it be stolen.
The brain is kept in a large glass jar of alcohol, and, like the skeleton, its presence in the building is known to but few outside of the employes.
The most grewsome memento of the great tragedy of 1881 kept by the museum authorities is the mounted head of Guiteau. Before putting the body in the boiler for the purpose of removing the flesh from the the bones, the head was cut off and the skull denuded of its skin and flesh. After this had been done, the skin was sewed up and stuffed, so that it would look as lifelike as possible, and then pickled in alcohol.
After this ghoulish work had all been completed the flesh was cremated by those having the work in charge, this last act taking place on the night of November 27, 1882. — New York Advertiser.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
The little leaks in the household expenses, says the Jenness-Miller Monthly, are the most mischievous. The big ones are prominent enough to compel attention. Do you not, for example, trust all your tradespeople implicitly? You can't afford to do so.
The head servants in the Vanderbilt and Astor, and other wealthy families have among their chief duties that of weighing the household supplies. Dry goods measurements in the large shops are generally very accurate because the employes are under strict orders to be exact. But grocers and butchers will bear watching. Get for yourself or your kitchen priestess a set of measures and some scales, and after you and she have learned to use them, you will be amazed to see how much you have been paying for that you haven't had.
Even in the most reliable shops — so called — the weighing is very lax. Butchers claim that the deficiencies in their weights are all due to the waste in trimming. Very well, order the meat sent untrimmed. You will get fresher meat, and what you trim off will often give you nice bits for the stock pot, suet, etc. Try it and be convinced.
A quick-witted housekeeper says she has earned many a dollar in plumbers' bills by buying a force cup and learning to handle a wrench. Despite washing soda and potash, now and then something unmeltable slips through the sink strainer and clogs the pipe. All the more modern plumbing has a nut at the bottom of the "goose-neck," just below the sink. By setting a pan beneath this, and with a wrench loosening and then removing the cap, the obstruction will generally be found right there. Sometimes the force-cap applied over the strainer in the sink will be sufficient to clear the pipe without taking the cap off the gooseneck. If both fail, no harm will have been done, but one or the other, or both, succeeds often enough to make it worth while to exercise one's ingenuity a bit.
According to the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court husbands can no longer rule their wives. The Court says, in rendering a recent decision:
"By virtue of this legislation a married woman becomes, in the view of the law, a distinct and independent person from her husband, not only in respect to her right to own property, but also in respect to her right to use her time for the purpose of earning money on her sole and separate account. She may perform labor, and is entitled to her wages and earnings. If she complies with the statutory requirement as to recording a certificate she may carry on any trade or business on her sole and separate account, and take the profits, if profits there are, as her separate property."
Her husband can appropriate neither her earnings nor her time, but he is obliged to support her as in the old regime. He has few rights left, though, for, "to a certain limited extent, as for example, in fixing the domicile and in being responsible under ordinary circumstances for its orderly management, the husband is still the head of the family." — New York Press.
Fancy being able to purchase a wealthy nobleman's residence for $75. Yet that is the sum which was paid the other day for the house in which the late Lord Donington passed the greater part of last winter.
His Lordship — he died a few months back — possessed a seat called Farleigh-Hungerford Castle, in Somerset, England, but he had been induced, as he had several other residences, to let the castle for a term of years. When he got ill last year he fancied that the air on his Farleigh estate would benefit his health, but he scarcely liked to intrude himself on his tenant, and so, in one of the fields near the castle, not included in the tenant's lease, he had a wooden hut built, twenty-seven feet by twenty-five feet and some twelve feet in height. This he had divided into four cabin-like rooms, and in that little place, accompanied by a couple of servants, he passed several months last winter.
He was the husband of the late Lady Maud Hastings, who, on the death of her brother, the last Marquis of Hastings, became Countess of Loudoun in her own right. — New York Mail and Express.
Canon J. D. Good, of British Columbia, tells a San Francisco Call reporter that his long residence among the Columbian Indians warrants him in saying that the latter are of Syrian origin, and are, in fact, Syrians now, having the customs and language. "I was astonished at the richness of this language." he said, "and its wonderful capacity for accurate expression.
"I found many pure Syrian words in it, as, for instance, Eneas and Solomon-Chute, among proper names. The words of the language are historical and traditional, and observe the same laws as those of the Syrian language. I think the language of the Thompson River Indians is one of the Toranian tongues. There are direct Syrian words in it.
"Then there are other evidences that these Indians are the Syrian descendants. Their medicine man is the same as the Syrian seer. The burial customs are to this day the same. Besides this there is the character of the people, who are Syrians in thought, habits of life, and general customs.
"When I first went among the Indians they had their war chiefs as well as their civil chiefs — the same as the Greeks. All I saw in every way convinced me, and I have during the ensuing years been very fully confirmed in my conviction that these Indians are Syrians."
Every day we drink out of a tumbler. Why is the large glass that holds our milk and water so called? Years ago Professor Max Muller was giving a luncheon at All Souls' College, Oxford, to the Princess Alice, the wife of the Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt and the second daughter of Queen Victoria. There were not a dozen guests besides the Princess and her husband, and a very agreeable luncheon we had, with talk on all kinds of interesting subjects.
But what excited the curiosity of all strangers present was a set of little round bowls of silver, about the size of a large orange. They were brought round filled to the brim. Those, we are told, were tumblers, and we were speedily shown how they came by their names — a fitting lesson for the guests of a philologist. When one of these little bowls was empty it was placed upon the table mouth downward. Instantly, so perfect was its balance, it flew back to its proper position as if asking to be filled again. No matter how it was treated — trundled along the floors, balanced carefully on its side, dropped suddenly upon the soft, thick carpet, up it rolled again and settled itself with a few gentle shakings and swayings into its place, like one of those India rubber tumbling dolls babies delight in.
This, then, was the origin of our word tumbler, at first made of silver, as are all these All Souls' tumblers. Then, when glass became common, the round glasses that stood on a flat base superseded the exquisitely balanced silver spheres and stole their names so successfully that you have to go to All Souls' to see the real thing. — Jeweler's Circular.
The grape seed, having been relieved of the charge of causing appendicitis, seems to have taken a new tack and is trying to do its mischievous work in another fashion.
An official of a New Jersey county is in a critical condition from the effects, it is said, of a grape seed. He ate some grapes and took great care not to swallow the seeds, but by some accident managed to inhale one, which lodged in the upper portion of his lungs. Himself a physician, he realized the necessity for care and rest, and supposed he had given the seed ample time to become encysted, which however was not the case.
There are a number of cases on record where small articles of various sorts have been drawn into the lungs with the breath. In several instances irritation had begun that ended in death. Sometimes, though, the article becomes coated with exudations from the surrounding surface and is gradually covered up, forming a lump that one may carry through the remainder of life without serious injury. Postmortem examinations have disclosed several of these cysts which had nothing to do with the death of the subject. — New York Ledger.
From Vienna comes the news of a wonderful discovery in photographic science. It is no less than a means of photographing the interior of solid, opaque bodies.
By the new system the bones of a man's hand were perfectly photographed, the flesh being invisible in the picture. Broken limbs and bullets in human bodies were also successfully revealed, as well as objects placed in a wooden box.
Professor Rontgen, of the University of Wurzburg, is the inventor. The light he uses to photograph by is produced by what is known as a Crooke's pipe, viz: a vacuum glass tube with an induction electric current passing through it. The result is a light that appears to penetrate organic substances just as ordinary light passes through glass. The inventor throws open a wide field for the deduction of new truths in electricity and optics.
Priceless Bones From the Historic Waters of Bitter Creek
Men who once become interested in queer bugs and animals with which nature has peopled every part of the earth become so devoted to study of animal and plant life and so deeply interested in the bones of the man, woman or monkeys that lived and loved and died so many hundred thousand years ago that no personal sacrifice is too great for them to make in pursuit of their calling.
Prof. J. S. Worthman has just returned from the mountains of southern Wyoming, bringing with him the priceless treasure. It is the skeleton of a supposed human being dead some millions of years more or less, and may lead to the establishment of the missing link. The bones were found in the historic waters of Bitter Creek from which the fiery tempered cowboy is supposed to rise before spilling the blood of the towns-people in general. "The skeleton," says Prof. Worthman, "of a human body estimated to be a million and a half years old has interested scientists keenly. The Professor says the priceless skeleton was found near the head of Bitter Creek in Southern Wyoming, about ten miles from the Colorado line. The region was once the bed of a fresh water lake. Sediment gradually accumulated through unknown centuries until it formed a deposit two thousand to four thousand feet thick. The sage inhabitant whose remains are now disclosed to the eye of man was apparently drowned in the lake. His body was preserved as in an Egyptian mummy cave. By and by the water receded, new forces began to operate, mountain streams rippled across the dry lake bottoms, great chasms were out through the soft earth and the skeleton was exposed on the surface of a vast cliff.
The bones were broken in pieces and portions fell to the base of the cliff. Professor Worthman came along in the nick of time. His practiced eye detected the presence of an unusual specimen, but who can describe his joy as he stopped and picked up the tooth of a monkey? "The fragments of bones," said the Professor, "were many of them almost as small as a pin head and it required many hours of time and great patience to gather the pieces together until we could make one perfect whole. We gathered all the surface dirt over an area of twenty-five or thirty feet square and washed it out as the miner washes out the gravel for gold. Then we located the original resting place of the skeleton in the side of the cliff and dug out the remaining bones."
Length of the Skeleton
The Professor says he did not attempt to take complete measurements, but he estimates the skeleton to be two and a half feet long, forming an animal about the size and with the general make-up of a species of monkey, known as the white-faced capuchin. The Professor says some of the bones are missing, but the skull is complete, and it would be a simple thing for any paleontologist to draw a complete picture of the representative of the human race as he appeared long years ago.
Soon after his return to New York Professor Worthman will issue a pamphlet, giving a full scientific description of the skeleton and deductions to be drawn from the discovery. In this work he will be assisted by Prof. Osborne, curator of the museum and professor of biology in the college. Professor Worthman is a modest man and spoke guardedly of the conquest he has made over old Father Time, in grasping from the aged gentleman's hand one of the most sacredly guarded mysteries. In fact, the Professor talked just as enthusiastically about other finds that were made as about the skeleton of the monkey.
"Our object in coming to the west last summer," said he, "was to look for fossils which were deposited at the close of the cretaceous epoch, a period when the sea receded, the Rocky Mountain plateau arose and the fresh water lakes of the mountain region came gradually into existence. It was one of the greatest changes known in the geological history of the American continent.
"Another find," said the Professor, "and one in which the general public may be interested, was the skeleton of what is known as the little horse. This horse was the ancestor of the present species. It may perhaps surprise you if I say that this animal was no larger than a shepherd dog. Instead of a single toe, he had no less than four toes on each of his fore feet and three on his hind feet. The story of the evolution of the horse is one of the most convincing proofs of the doctrine of evolution. We now have materials to demonstrate to the most casual observer the evolution of this remarkable animal from his primitive beginning, away back in the commencement of the eocene period, at least 1,500,000 years ago, up to the present moment."
Betty asked if it was far to the gallery; and, finding that it was quite near the part of the house where they were, she went out with Pagot along the corridors with their long rows of doors, and into the musicians' gallery, where they found themselves at a delightful point of view. Danesly Castle had been built at different times; the banquet-hall itself was very old and stately, with a high, arched roof. There were beautiful old hangings and banners where the walls and roof met, and lower down were spread great tapestries. There was a huge fire blazing in the deep fireplace at the end, and screens before it; the long table twinkled with candle-light, and the gay company sat about it.
Betty looked first for papa, and saw him sitting beside Lady Dimdale, who was a great friend of his; then she looked for Lady Mary, who was at the end between the two gentlemen of whom Pagot had spoken. She was still dressed in black lace, but with many diamonds sparkling at her throat, and she looked as sweet and spirited and self-possessed as if there were no great entertainment after all. The men servants in their handsome livery moved quickly to and fro, as if they were actors in a play. The people at the table were talking and laughing, and the whole scene was so pleasant, so gay and friendly, that Betty wished, for almost the first time, that she were grown up and dining late, to hear all the delightful talk. She and Pagot were like swallows high under the eaves of the great room.
Papa looked really boyish, so many of the men were older than he. There were twenty at table; and Pagot said, as Betty counted, that many others were expected the next day. You could imagine the great festivals of an older time as you looked down from the gallery. In the gallery itself there were quaint little heavy wooden stools for the musicians; the harpers and fiddlers and pipers who had played for so many generations of gay dancers, for whom the same lights had flickered, and over whose heads the old hangings had waved. You felt as if you were looking down at the past. — St. Nicholas.
Robert Perry, a Chicago contractor, who has been spending two months in Johannesburg, South Africa, says:
"I want to warn Americans to keep away from that part of the world. There is nothing to go there for. The climate is unhealthful, living is exorbitantly high, and the people who are there are almost in a starving condition.
"Africans do all the work in the mines, which are all owned by Barnato and Rhodes. The place is a desert where scarcely anything grows, and there is a water famine most of the time. Every imaginable thing is taxed heavily. Even Pretoria's own paper has printed a warning to the world to keep away from the place. The people who have lived there ten, or fifteen years are away behind the times. When I told them about the motorcycle and the kinetoscope, they thought I was telling fairy tales, and would not believe me." — Detroit Free Press.
There was an old factotum in our family who used to sew for us, and who occasionally spent several weeks at a time at the house. She was somewhat of a character, had been married three times, and to distinguish her second dear departed was in the habit of calling him "my middle husband;" old maids she naturally did not approve of, remarking that they were the only things not prayed for in the Litany. The old woman was very deaf, and much shouting was needed to make her hear. One day many vain efforts were made to induce her to do a piece of work in a particular way, but she could not or would not see what was wanted, and at last, in despair, the lady of the house remarked to the nurse, "Oh, never mind; when she is gone, it must be altered." "Ah," remarked the parrot, in a loud, clear voice, "there's no fool like an old fool."
The parrot had on one morning been given a bath, or in other words, the garden watering can had been turned upon him, and he was placed in front of the fire to dry. There were two small kittens who also liked the warmth of the fire, and who were sitting one on each side of the cage. The bird walked first to one side, and looking down out of the corner of his eye, inquired, "Are you a good boy?" Then he sidled across to the other end of his perch and said to the other kitten, "And are you a good boy?"
One day two children of our family visited the house, and when alone amused themselves by mischievously pulling up some tulips, which grew in a pot in the room, by the roots, afterwards carefully replacing them. A little later Polly's master, to whom the plants belonged, came into the room, and immediately exclaimed, "Oh, look at my tulips; see how they are growing." Polly at once uttered two words, and only two; they were, "You ass!" I need hardly say that some time elapsed before the owner of the tulips was made acquainted with all the particulars of what had happened. — Chambers's Journal.
In "A Glimpse of Longfellow," published in one of the magazines, Rev. Minot J. Savage calls him "the most widely read poet of the English-speaking world." This is approximately true, observes the New York World, and the cause for it is found in the poet's universal sympathy with the literature of all times and countries.
He is the most widely read poet of America because of all American poets he read most widely. The extent of his studies is astonishing. In his youth he went deep into the early literature of England, and added to the usual college acquaintance with the classics a knowledge of the Anglo-Saxon language and literature which did much to insure his success. He went from Saxon to the Scandinavian languages and to old Norse; then to old High German and from that to Italian, making a translation of Dante, which if lacking in the high poetic art of the original verse will always be respectable.
As a result of wide literary sympathies, he was able to appeal to the universal human nature. If he had something of natural provincialism in his youth, his maturity knew no boundary of section or country. His works have been translated into all the principal languages of Europe because by long labor he learned to understand the common humanity that underlies all differences of Nationality.
The central fact of his career was his great capacity for work. It made him the greatest of New England poets and one of the most useful men of his century.
The accident to the water scoop on the New York Central's locomotive which prevented the Empire State express from making a record, says the New York Mail and Express, recalls the first experience of the officials of that road with that device.
General Manager Toucey and Superintendent of Motive Power Buchanan undertook to try the method, and the latter agreed to run the locomotive on the occasion of the test, while the former was to stand at a point where the water trough began, so as to enable the fireman to drop the scoop at the right time. Mr. Buchanan moved his engine along, and when that point of the track was reached abreast of Mr. Toucey the scoop was lowered. Instead of scooping up water the device tore up the ground and created a small-sized sensation among the onlooking officials. It was afterward discovered, on investigation, that the scoop worked all right, but that Mr. Toucey had inadvertently moved down the track and forgot to return to his assigned point. Mr. Buchanan subsequently tried the scoop again, but he took pains that it was dropped at the right time.
Another instance of a similar nature is recalled of an inquisitive yardmaster of an Eastern line who wanted to see how a water scoop worked and got on the blind end of a baggage car next the tender to make his observations. The train struck the scoop going at full speed, the engineer not slowing down because he was behind time, but more especially because he was aware of the yardmaster's presence on the platform behind him. For two hundred yards a perfect avalanche of water plowed up between the tender and car, half drowning the enthusiast on water scoops.
Have you ever watched your cows on a bitter cold day sneak slowly up to the water trough where you have broken the ice and stick her tongue in the cold water several times until she got used to it, then take a little sip and a little more until she could stand no more of it. Then she will walk slowly over the frozen ground until she gets in the shelter of an old wagon, and there with her back humped up she will stand for two or three hours shivering until what feed she has eaten has had time to warm that water up to a living temperature?
How long ought it to take a sensible man to find out where all of his feed is going, no matter whether it is a milk cow or a dry one. Nearly every pound she eats is needed to warm that water, and little is left to repair the body, much less to make milk or fat of. The simplest kind of a heating apparatus will cost not over ten cents a day to heat the water for a small herd twice a day. It will pay for itself twice over during the winter in food it will save and the milk it will allow the cows to make, and it will do the same in adding flesh to the other cattle, especially the young ones.
Then go a step further and buy some boards to build a shed that the poor things may have a dry place to stand and lie down under with a wind break against the cold piercing storms. These are not only acts of humanity, but they appeal directly to the pocketbook. They make the stacks of hay, the corn fodder and the meal bin go nearly twice as far, to say nothing of increasing the profits of the milch cows.
If a liberal allowance of straw, leaves or other trash is scattered under the shed the amount of manure saved will far more than repay the cost and trouble of collecting it, while it greatly adds to the comfort of the animals. If you are not too tired by this time, then get you a sharp butcher's saw and take the horns off dent from the boss cow and steers, and then the younger ones. This is the best time of year to do it, when there are no flies to bother. — Home and Farm.
Frenzy is the safety-valve of folly.
How fast we learn in a day of sorrow.
If thou desire rest unto thy soul; be just.
Nothing multiplies so much as kindness.
The fire of hate usually flashes in the pan.
Humility is the truest abstinence in the world.
Discretion of speech is more than eloquence.
A sunbeam in the heart is bound to light the face.
Sometimes a man doesn't like justice when he gets it.
A man without mirth is like a wagon without springs.
It never does any good to talk religion with a snap like that of a steel trap.
It is easy to discharge a man who realizes that he is not entitled to anything.
The woman who marries a man to reform him is a noble example of wasted effort.
When you call a fellow a gentleman and he gets his back up it's a sign that you are lying.
The dignity of the law is interesting to contemplate. The men made the laws and then they represented justice by a woman with a bandage around her eyes. They have hoisted this travesty around on monuments and court-houses too much. Justice has been "going it blind" long enough.
The Menominee, in Wisconsin, was named from a tribe of the same name. The word means "wild rice."
Massachusetts Bay was named from two Indian words, Mais Tchusaeg, meaning "this side the hills."
The Catawissa River, in Pennsylvania, was named from an Indian word that means "getting fat."
The Cattaraugus, in New York, has its name from an Indian expression signifying "bad smelling banks."
The Platte River was originally named the Nebraska, from an Indian word meaning "shallow water."
The Housatonic, in Connecticut, was called by the Indians Wussiadenex, the "stream beyond the mountains."
The Delaware Bay gave its name to the State. The bay was named from Thomas West, Lord De La War.
The Chickahominy had its designation from an Indian word, Chik-a-maw-hony, "the place of turkeys."
Appalachie Bay, Florida, was variously termed Apahlachie, Abolachie, Apeolatel, Palaxy, Palatachy, and so on.
The Neversink was not named because its waters do not get low, but from the Indian Na-wa-sink, "ma-river."
The Pascagoula, in Mississippi, was named from the Indians called the Pascagoulas, or "the bread-making Nation."
Lake Champlain was named in honor of its discoverer. The Indians called it Canaderi-Guarunte, "the door of the country."
Cape Fear River, in North Carolina, was originally Charles River, afterward Cape Fair River, corrupted to Cape Fear.
Albemarle Sound was named after George Monk, Duke of Albemarle, one of the members of the original charter company. — Boston Journal.
Now Charged With Theft of $500
Arrest Reveals Career of Poor Texas Youth Who Made Fortune in New York
NEW YORK, N. Y., March 25. — Abraham White, known variously as the "Speculator King," the "Postage Stamp Bidder," the "Wireless Chief" and the "Texas Grocer," was held in $1,000 bail by Magistrate Charles N. Haris in the Yorkville court on a charge of grand larceny.
While acting as a plain "financier" at his offices, White is charged with accepting $500 from Julius Reibert, a builder, of Hartford, Conn., last Oct. 15, for investment in stock of the Freezproof Corporation.
Reibert, in his complaint against White, who fifteen years ago made a fortune on a "shoestring" in Wall street, says the stock was to have been delivered to him on Dec. 1. Neither was the stock delivered up to the time of White's arrest in the Hotel Pennsylvania, nor the $500 returned to Reibert, after repeated demands, it was stated.
Made $100,000 From 44 Cents
White started life in Corsicana, Texas, under the name of Abraham Schwartz, fifty-five years ago, the son of the owner of a chain of small grocery stores thruout the Lone Star State. In 1896 the future bond wizard went to St. Louis and changed his name to White.
Later in the year White came to New York and conceived the idea of making $100,000 by investing 44 cents in stamps, plus native shrewdness. At that time President Cleveland and Congress authorized a Government bond issue, and the Secretary of the Treasury forgot to ask for checks to cover the amounts of the bid. White saw his chance. He sent in bids aggregating $1,500,000, at a cost of 44 cents in stamps. He told the late Russell Sage what a smart thing he had pulled off, and the financier was so pleased that he advanced the large sum necessary to tide White over. The former Texas grocer cleaned up $100,000 and that started him on a meteoric career.
Formed Securities Company
While president of a wireless company, White formed the Greater New York Securities Company, a bank located in his office. In September, 1907, he outbid J. P. Morgan & Co. and a syndicate for $18,000,000 worth of city bonds and deposited with his bid a certified check for $800,000. Comptroller Metz tried to collect on the check, but as there were no funds, White's bid was thrown out.
Later, in the name of a Massachusetts corporation, White got $4,000,000 of another issue of city bonds and made $500,000 on the transaction.
While at the height of his career, White bought Shadow Lawn, the palatial residence of the late John A. McCall, at Long Branch, against the bidding of several millionaires. After occupying the house for the summer of 1906, and entertaining lavishly, White disappeared for a few months, leaving a trail of unpaid bills.
—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, March 27, 1950, p. 5.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The habitual teller of "yarns" is bound to get himself into all manner of difficulties sooner or later, and to become a laughing-stock among his fellows. In the old Massachusetts town of Wrentham many amusing reminiscences of a celebrated "town liar" of a previous generation, Carlos Ware by name, are still related.
One day, in a company where Carlos was present, mention was made of the time when General Jackson travelled through the town on the stagecoach, on his way to Boston, and put up at the tavern for dinner. Carlos was at once reminded of his own experience on that occasion.
"I remember him," said he. "I see him git down out o' the coach and go into the tavern. You see, I was down to the Four Corners mowin'. It was a pretty hot day, and my team was standin' under a tree. I had just finished whettin' my scythe, when I heard the horn blow on the stagecoach. I knew General Jackson was comin' into the town.
"So I hung my scythe up on a tree, hitched up my team, and drove down here to the Centre in just two minutes. I —"
"Drove down here in two minutes!" exclaimed somebody. "You couldn't do it in two minutes. It's a good mile and a half to the Four Corners, and everybody knows it."
Carlos Ware was bothered for an instant, but he would not give up his two minutes.
"Well, you see," said he, "'twas awful good sleighin'!"
There is no personage quite so imposing as a well-developed specimen of the British butler. The Wellesley Magazine relates an anecdote of one butler whose taste for the impressive was too much for the family whose service he had entered.
He was a newcomer, and almost his first duty was to announce the arrivals at his employer's first "at home" of the season. The earliest guests to appear were Mr. and Mrs. Penny and their daughter, old and familiar friends of the family. The new butler announced them in measured tones and with majestic mien:
"Mr. Edwin Algernon Pembroke Penny, Mrs. Edwin Algernon Pembroke Penny, and Miss Maud Victoria Penny."
Other arrivals were announced at equal length and with equal solemnity. Before the next "at home," the master of the house suggested that so much repetition and elaboration was unnecessary; that he would prefer to have his guests announced more briefly. The magnificent being bowed grave assent and said nothing. But his feelings had been wounded; and he was, unlike most of his kind, as clever as he was majestic.
As before, the first to arrive were Mr. and Mrs. Penny and Miss Penny. When they had ascended the stairs, they paused an instant at the drawing-room door; the next, the butler flung it abruptly open, and they heard themselves briskly announced to their dismayed hosts in the comprehensive formula:
Bombonnel, the panther-slayer, was a name at one time known all over France; later, the mighty huntsman's fame in the chase was overshadowed by that which he acquired in the Franco-Prussian War as a leader of sharpshooters. Miss Betham-Edwards, who knew him well, gives, in her recent "Anglo-French Reminiscences," many entertaining glimpses of this remarkable man.
It is as a mighty hunter that the world outside of France finds him chiefly interesting; and the more so as it was he who suggested the "Tartarin of Tarascon" of Alphonse Daudet, and figured in many respects as the model of that delightfully comic hero, who has brightened the study of French to so many aspiring students.
It is only fair to add, that if Tartarin was a talker, first and foremost, and a man of adventures with scarcely more than a peg to hang his narratives upon, Monsieur Bombonnel was a great talker, indeed, but had great things to tell.
Bombonnel's panther-hunting took place in Algeria. He had slain more than fifty of these beasts. One nearly slew him, for he met it in a hand-to-claw encounter, and emerged from the conflict victorious, but frightfully mangled.
He had received five wounds on the left hand, eight in the left arm, four in the head, ten in the face, four in the mouth, and besides these his nose was broken, he had lost several teeth, and one cheek was clawed to shreds. It was at first supposed that he would die; then that he would be disfigured to monstrosity. But fortunately, although in a remote place, without anaesthetics or proper nursing available, Doctor Bodichon, a famous surgeon, was at hand to patch him up.
"I can in great measure restore your physiognomy; at any rate, I can give you features that will be human," said the physician, after examining his hurts. "But I warn you beforehand, the suffering will be horrible."
"Doctor," was the reply, "do your best. I can answer for myself. My heart is sound."
So was his courage. He endured like an Indian, and emerged from the ordeal a battered and ugly man, it is true, but of a countenance not monstrous nor repulsive. Such disfigurement as did not disgust his friends did not trouble him at all.
He was walking one day with Monsieur B., a man of unfortunately harsh features, when the pair were startled to hear a street boy sing out:
"There go Bombonnel and Monsieur B., the two ugliest men in Dijon!"
"Not so loud, my little friend. Let folks find it out for themselves," said the amiable Monsieur B., while Bombonnel burst out laughing, and was always delighted afterward to relate the incident.
Ugly or not, Bombonnel became very popular, and was much feted by fine ladies and distinguished people.
"Whenever I am now in Algeria," he related, quite in the "Tartarin" manner, "a cover is always laid for me at the governor's table. But I invariably come away hungry as when I took my place! Great folks invite me not to feast, but to tell stories. It is, 'Now, Monsieur Bombonnel, for the lion of the Corso,' or, 'Now, Monsieur Bombonnel, for the lion of Batna,' and so on, and so on, all the while. What would you have? Fame is not to be had for nothing." — Youth's Companion.
In one of the statistical divisions of the Department of Agriculture in Washington may be seen a machine resembling a typewriter, which multiplies and divides with unerring accuracy and with great rapidity.
Give its operator a multiplicand of six figures and a multiplier as large, and he will write them out as upon a typewriter; then he turns a handle a few times, and before the onlooker knows what is going on, the product is written out before him. The machine performs examples in division with equal ease.
Does any one of our young readers fancy that he sees in this invention an emancipation of boys of the twentieth century from the vexation of the multiplication table? Alas! that is too much for him to hope. Nobody seems to have devised a machine for adding common fractions of different denominators, although many a young schoolboy has concluded that this is one of the "long-felt wants" of the day.
Intemperance in France
Those who assert that wine-growing countries are largely exempt from the evils of intemperance need not point to France in proof of their assertion. The habitual use of wine often creates the craving which seeks for such stronger stimulants as absinthe or vermouth.
Of about three thousand prisoners in the department of the Seine, in which Paris is situated, it is officially stated, more than two thousand were drunkards. The number of suicides induced by habits of intemperance is said to have more than doubled in recent years. Alcoholism is also largely responsible for the fact that thirty-four per cent of the young men conscripted for the army are sent back as unfit; and in the cities of Normandy, where hard cider is the common beverage, the proportion rejected is much larger. It rises in Caen to fifty per cent; and in Havre three-fourths of the conscripts are rejected.
Vested Interest in Getting It Right
Senator Vest recently sent a newspaper item to be read to the House. The secretary had the wrong side of the clipping, and instead of an editorial on the money question, began: "Ridiculous! We are giving away these goods at half price!" "The other side!" cried Mr. Vest.
That the much vaunted common sense of the American people has another side is forcibly illustrated by recent sales of a good-luck box. This precious humbug is a little wooden case, containing a worthless three-starred ring, worth in all about five cents. But within the past three months many thousands of persons have paid ninety-nine cents apiece for it, expecting it to bring good luck. In this and similar instances the notice might appropriately made: "Ridiculous! We are giving ourselves away for nothing!"