Newspaper of The Democratic Advocate, May 6, 1876, Page 1

Newspaper of The Democratic Advocate dated May 6, 1876 Page 1
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PER ANNUM. wet |)oftrg. ■ r abiSET, ' 1 to tbu kha<lf of tile leaf J mm-urely all lu> KHtl. mo*.n mi ■! tli< M.uv |-r* tts m> 0. uiiiKH while you may . iMiip may be fay, w..rM that look j.n tl) ta moth, in (ho World Iri;litan4 lair and aa gay. the nweel faaoinatimi of eyea, by night and by day ; of delight may hayc daaxled it dangurou9 play MU world that look bright preltv t > / | r £torg. ■ BEST BED. Of f.HKORM. ■l school iii the village of taught by M iss Kva Stan- around" among tile ■ was considered the paragon B. k previous to the holiday had been hoarding with a Hit who was making gigantic Hiiir guests she expected from met my brothers, Kva," Sam. and Ucorgie, Bttlio youngest; and auoh times they get out hero and call it. Hut, dear me, rest or peace, for they boys let out of school. ■Bine they visited me logcth- actually cut a pane of window, and pelted (icorge with snow I there is always a regular room, fur the bed and they say they don't in the city. But they time, that's certain, for I BKymi that room, and so end soon occupy some other and do not wish to Bn|r brothers." Urn," |>eremptorily home vacation week ? BMerc Just as well as not, and BHon my machine." BHbas dropped, and the on- BB retired early, for on the HBpothoni, young, ardent and tJHk* to be there. Hut wilh og any word of their intention, to take the train Bpflnnd them in Ilollythorn MBle. George and John did BKSnatcd in the cars began to opoAthe absence of Bam. iH| in the world why he should BsKn there," said Ueorge. "I BB out unless he has taken the Ml by mistake.'’ ■Hof it," laughed John, who the entire program- Bjnist likely he look that train ■Kin get into Hannah's parlor Cluj make us take up with straw BBers." Hpgink of that, but [ reckon We must contrive to get put their heads together over aoioo scheme and, accordingly, when * the home of very stealthy manner, fence in the rear, they window and obtained where they demol- pie and a quuntity of sßii-ii with appetites appeas- their hoots and prepared “host room,” stole along was dimly lighted by the the stairs and reached the rays of the moon dis- up will, elotliicg, and BBnctly truce the outlines of the bed clothes. A few rijis were exchanged, and then shod with down they drew whispered George. aßbught they seized upon the |BBleep>T, bed-clothes and all. Bwiljwii the stairs and out iu- IBBil were about to deposit it when a shrill scream broke night, and, oh. horror! bI a woman ! And in their dropped their burden middle of the drift. exclaimed George, some woman, us T am a has fainted! Kun and presence of mind, he form of Kva Stanley, and the housg, Hut they had and the inmates value hall just ns he appeared. John ! for goodness sake B mean, and who have you Bp) Mrs, I’arpenter, in n breath. 1 know," began George: Sam, so we concluded to in the snow for getting and trying to euchre us. she has fainted." scolded Hannah, as |H depositing Kva once more |Buni which she had been so taken, "beginning your other before you are Clear out now!" had finished her tirade |B|d betaken ihem-clvv. dnwo went into over of fish !" said George, the floor, mid letting off |Hof hspghlef. /( ,, it wan,’ replied John, “Oh, mvT But what is to bo done about It; and who do jou suppose she is, George ?” “ Some guest of Hannah's, of course, and young and pretty at that. I don’t know how il is with you, hut I feci par ticularly small and cheap—would sell myself at a very low price.” "Cheap,” roared John, “cheap! I would actually give myself away this r blessed minute, and throw something in to boot. What are we to do? I can’t say. I believe 1 shall dig out of this place and get hack to the city before morning. I haven't got the courage to face the mu i sic.” He began hastily putting on his hoots, and would have carried his threat into execution, but for the appearance of Han nah, who at once asserted her authority. “ Vou arc not going a single step, John. F don't wonder you feel ashamed of yotir- Mclves. What on earth possessed you is more than I can tell.” “That's right, Han; pitch in, scold away; I'll take any amount of talking just now. lam ns meek as a lamb. But [• who is it we’ve played so shabby a trick . on ?" replied George. . “Trick! 1 should think it was. Why \ it is Kva Stanley, our school teacher, and this is her week to hoard here. 1 don't • believe the poor girl will ever get over , her fright. It is too bad; I shouldn't i wonder if she had taken her death, being i drugged out of a warm bed this time of night and dropped into a snow drill io ’ that fashion. No wonder she cried, poor thing." t “Cried, did she?” repeated George, 1 with a groan. “ I should think she did. I just took her in my arms and let her have her cry out, while I explained to her how she . happened to bo mistaken for Sam and he i* came the victim of your mad pranks.” • “ That was neat in you, Han,” said George. “I am glad you hugged the poor i • little thing. Wish you had given her j 1 a brotherly squeeze for mo—“pon my ' ; honor I do.” “ And ho.w on earth do you expect us to stay and take the consequences ?” asked [ John, beginning to look serious. “I am for taking myself off instantcr. I had • rather faco a masked battery than this , pretty teacher, after making such fools of ourselves.” “ I don't care if you had.” answered > his sister, indignantly. “The only way to ' do is to stay and brave it out, both oftyou, 1 and apologise for your rudeness.” “ But Sam, how the deuce are we to get along with him? You know well i enough, Han, we shall never hear the cud of it from him.” “If you two can keep the secret, I'll find u way to silence Bridget, and it is a subject Kvu will not care to have discuss- 1 i ed, and fortunately my husband is away from home. So go to bed and rest con- j , tented.” She showed them to the bed she had j [ intended them to occupy, and soon the house was once more hushed io slumber. !' Meanwhile their brother Sam had reach ed the depot a few minutes too late. He i found the train he was to have taken al . ready gone, but on consulting a timetable i he found that another train started two • hours later. He figured to himself, as he impatiently crowded into an empty seat, and was being whirled along at a rapid i rate, how snugly his brothers had enscon ; ccd themselves iu the best bed, which by right belonged to him, ho being the eldest, • and consummated a plan to get even with • them. i Sometime after midnight he was depos ited in Ilollythorn, and reaching his sis r ter's liuuse ho scouted around till ho found j away of entrance into the kitchen, whore r he deposited his luggage and removed his I bools. Then ho quickly stole up stairs ■ and opened the door of the best room, r “Sure enough,” thought he, "my fine chaps - you are in clover I" For there were not I to be mistaken signs of the room being > occupied. 1 To think of coping with their united . strength by dragging them forth was not . practicable, but there stood the pitcher of | water, and he knew that a good dousing ' with the ioy fluid would bring them out quick enough, i He lifted the pitcher, approached the r bed, raised it and suddenly dashed the contents upon the sleepers. Such a torrent of screams as be had . never before heard rang through the house, and before Sain could collect his scattered . senses the door opened, and Hannah, ; George and John rushed in, clothed iu i scanty apparel—Hannah with a frightened look upon her face, and u lamp in her - hand that revealed the entire scene. i There, silting iu bed, with hair dripping like a mermaid, her night-dress deluged, was the young school mistress; and there i was Sam, with the empty pitcher in his | hand, the very picture of imbecility, star ing around like an idiot at the havoo he i had made. Hannah, George and John I instantly understood the situation; and the latter, at the command of their sister, dragged Sam away, while she assisted the drenched and terrified girl to dry clothing, i and then look her to her own room and bed, explaining for a second time the inis , hups of the dght. “ I'll keep yon with me now, my poor > child,” said aho, though with difficulty ; keeping back her laughter. “The boys , are nicely come up with at any rale, ant) if it were not for your being so terribly l frightened, and the way my best bed baa i been need, I wonldn’t care. But you are i safe now." Hannah kissed her chorge, and went i down to sec the boys, who, os soon aa they were finally shut in the regions below, ) began In appreciate the joke; and now that i Sam was as deep in the thud as they were f his brothkit, who Were rolling and (kicking in convulsions of [ “Means!" ssid George, holding his t sides. "It means that you have stolen Dnnncratic %hboc<xtt WESTMINSTER, MD. SATURDAY, MAY 6, 1876 like a thief into Mias Kva Stanley's bed-' chamber, who Is a young lady teacher boarding hero; and thinking it was your humble servant and Johnny snug iu bed, you attempted to drown us out, and made a grand mistake. How do you like il, Sam ?" 11 1 confess I see the jioint, but I can't see tlie joke. It is a most outrageous shame." At this juncture Hannah came ip, and began rating them soundly, thereby let ting out the whole story. It was now Sam's turn to langh. Mias Eva was not visible the next morn ing, and Hannah announced tlmt site was sick with a severe cold. Hannah bad her unruly crew under her thumb for once in her life, and had the satisfaction of seeing them behave with some dignity. They appeared never to- forget that there was an invalid in the house, and went on tip toe about. Sam, who seemed to take the entire responsibility on his own shoulders, and sent off slyly to the city for choice fruits and flowers, which he induced his | sister to convoy to the young lady with i the must abject apologies and regret. In a couplo of days Kva was able ta . conic down stairs. She was looking quite pale, but lovely, and of course divinely, when presented by Mrs. Carpenter to the three brothers, who behaved quite well considering the unpleasantness of their situation. But Sam, who had broken the ice by means of his presents, was most at ease, and by virtue of his age and experience, constituted himself the propitiator, and was constantly on hand to offer Misa Kva a thousand nameless attentions; and before the week was out John declared that Sam was “done for!” “ Gone under completely I" said George with one of his dismal groans. Hannah, singing Kva's praises commen- I ded Sam's choioc, and recommended mar- I riage to all of them ts the only sobering process she was acquainted with, It was a piece of advice, however, that they did not appear inclined to follow, notwith standing Sam's happy lot with tlie school mistress of Hollytborn. She often reminds her brothers-in-law of her unceremonious introduction to u snow-drift at the dead of night, and they retaliate with the shower-bath given her by Sam. A Horror of the Springtide. The annual ceremony of taking up, whipping and putting down carpets is upon us. It ia one of the ills which fiesh is heir to and cannot be avoided. You go home Home pleasant spring day at peace with the world, and find the baby with a clean face, and get your favorite pudding fur dinner. Then your wife tells you how much younger you are looking, and says the really hopes the can turn that walking I dress she were last fall and save the ex | pernio of a new suit, and then she asks you | if you can't just help her lake up the | carpet. Then she gets a saucer for the tacks and stands and holds it, and you get the claw and get down on your knees and begin to help her. You feel quite economical about the firat three tacks, and take them out carefully and put them in the eauccr, your wife iu the meantime be guiling you with an interesting story about neighbor's little boy. When you come to the tack with a crooked head, and you get the claw under it, and the head and leather comes off. as it won't do to leave the tack in the floor, because it will tear the carpet when it is again put down, you go ta work and skin your knuckle, and then you tell your wife to stop talking about the neighbor’s boy, and make up your mind that it does not make any dif ference about that taek. So you begin on the corner where the carpet ia doubled two or three times, and has been nailed down with a single nail. You don’t care to save the nail, because you find that it is not a good time for the practice of econ omy; but you do feel a little hurt when both claws break off from the hammer, aud the nail does not move. Then your man hood asserts itself, and you arise in your might, and throw the carpet claw at the dog. You thou get hold of the car pet with both hands, the air is full of dust and flying tacks, there is a fringe of car pet yarn all along by the mopboard, the baby cries, and then your wife says you ought to be ashamed of yourself; bat that carpet comes up. Then you lift one side of the stove aud your wife tries to get the carpet from under it, but fails, because you are standing on it. So you try a new hold, and just after your back breaks the carpet is clear. You are not through yet. Your wife don't tell any more little stories, but intimates that the carpet needs whipping. When you bang the tormenting thing on the line the wrong way and have it slide off into the mud and get half a pint of dust and three Imken tacks snapped out of the northwest corner into your mouth by the wind, you make an observation which you failed to mention while in the house. Then you hunt up a stick and go for that carpet. The first blow hides the sun sud all the fair face of nature bebiu d a cloud of dust, and right in the centre of that cloud, with the wind fair la your face, bo matter how you stand, you wield that eudgel until both handa are blistered, and the milk of human kindness curdles in year bosom. You can whip the carpet a longer or shorter period according to the site of your mad, as It don't make any difference to the carpet, for it ia jaat as dusty and fussy after you have whipped it two hotra aa it was when you com menced. Then you bundle it up, with one corner dragging, sod stumble into the bouse and have more trouble with the stove, and fkil to Ind nny wny of using the carpet-stretcher while you stand un the carpet, and fail to find any place to stand off from the carpet, aud you get on your knees again, while your wife holds tho saucer and, with blind confidence, bands ytm broken tasks—tacks with no points—crooked lacks—lacks with no heads—lacks with no leathers—tacks with the largest ends at the points. Finally tho carpet b down, your wife smiles *ye she is glad the job is off ®ui[ ®lio. Wooden Clocks. The place where wooden clocks bewail, at least as an article of any considerable trade value, was in the farm houses in the Black Forest, in Baden aud Wurlemburg. There is hardly a hamlet in the civilised world where the Black Forest clock, or one made upon the suggestion of that orig inal, may not be found. And though va rious improvements have been introduced, perhaps it is safe tossy that these improvo , mcnls ore rather in the mechanical facility of construction and iu consequent cheap ness of manufacture, than in the quality > of the article. The modest wages of the Black Foresters, however, still keep down the prices of their work, and for accuracy of timekeeping the best German wood clocks arc unexcelled by any other of the material. The “compensating pendulum" in clocks of metalworks, made of different i | metals, is not the only application of that j principle. Different sorts of wood, in the case and iu the works, are employed in the i better classes of the (lerman wooden clocks in order to counteract the influence of the weather. In 1842 it was estimated that . two hundred thousand wooden clocks were | annually made in the Black Forest region, - and thence found their way over Kuropc . and America. At the present time the annual product is about seven hundred ; thousand. The beginning of Black Forest clock | making was near the close of the seven , tconth century —about two hundred years . ago. A family named Kreutz made a , rude clock of wood, with a weight, which they gave or sold to the parish priest. A , profitable epidemic broke out among the peasantry, and the farm-houses of the dis- { . trict soon had each its wooden clock, the * . foresters and mountaineers of Germany j r and Switzerland having been ingenious j i carvers from time immemorial. Soon the | “domestic manufacture” became an arti- j . cle of trade. Hawkers of clocks went forth j to vend the new invention, and Schwarz | wnid, the Black Forest, became a housc i hold word through Germany. Its clocks , were the last things consulted at night i and the first in the morning. Our Van- i . kec friends must surrender the claim to | the invention of clock peddlers ns well as wooden clocks. The first cuckoo-clock sounded between j the years 1730 and 1740, the inventor be ing one Franz Ketterer, of Schonwald. The cuckoo made enough music for forty years, and then came the notes of a flute clock. About the same time the Black Foresters introduced the pendulum into their clocks. Inventions did not find imi tators so rapidly a hundred years ago as they do now. For the question as to who first practically applied the pendulum, had been disputed between the countrymen of Uichard Hooke an Knglish mathematician, and Christian Huygens, a Hollander, for a hundred years before the German wooll en clock makers adopted the invention. The cuckoo and flute clocks were the first specimens of what the Germans called ipieluhren, or “clocks of amusement.” The trumpet clock came next. A recent visitor to the Black Forest towns, to whom we are indebted for many of the facts j noted here, mentions several specimens of the “clocks of amusement.” Bands play ing or seeming to play, helmcted trumpe ters, cuckoos and thrushes, venerable monks who pull the bell and ring the hour, and all sorts of automata, fitted to all purses and all tastes, arc shown in the trades halls. Clocks of straw illustrate the delicacy of manipulation,but are not war ranted. Moat of our readers have seen fine specimens of every variety, the home bringing of travellers, or importations of fancy dealers. It is proper to say that the work is not now all done by band, as in the peasants’ cots in the beginning. Machinery is now employed, and the work is transferred from the households of the workers to shops, where they work as journeymen, still the finer caning must be done by hand, and is more than a mere mechanical occupation. The first noteworthy thing in this subject is the humble beginning of the business in the occupation of the leis ure hours of a family. The next is the great extent to which the trade has grown. And, best of all, is the present condition of these thrifty and stilt not jealous work ers. A “clock-makers’ school, ” origina ting with the trade, and encouraged by the Government, was opened at Furtwau gen in 1850—the first probably of all “technical” schools in the world. The instruction is free, the conditions of ad mission being only that the pupil must be fourteen years of age, and have passed through the public elementary free course. The cloek-makers’ school has two main j objects. The first is the instruction of the | pupils by theoretical teaching in the ele ments an which the art of clock-making is based. These include drawing, free hand, ornamental, lineal and constructive; arithmetic, geometry, mechanics, natural science, and the leading subjects of Ger man industry and mercantile business. Such is the education for working me chanics thought necessary by practical men. To this course of “book-learning” is added a practical school. This is a workshop where the details of the trade are carried on. For admission to this each pupil must bring bis own tools. Certainly such an institution, supported by the trade, is a trade union of excep tionally generous character, aud the course of study in the school proper may remind all men of all trades that there is a “litera ture" attached to their callings with which it a of vast advantage to be familiar.— j miuiltlpkia Ledger. Never mind, girls, what envious people say. No nutter if you dent help mother. No matter if you can't wash up the dishes, dust the parlor, make a good loaf of bread or a good pound of butter ; you can bang your hair and wear a tic-back. Suspicion. There is scarcely a more deadly foe to human welfare than the suspicion which creeps so Insidiously into the mind, infus ing u slow poison into every relation of life. It cuts at the root of business trans actions, ss|>B faith in commercial integrity, and divorces interests that can only thrive by union, sows seeds of discord in fami lies, destroys friendships and kills affec tion. It is the great disintegrator of society, sundering all the cords which bind men together, and driving them into for lorn and wretched isolation. Yet it comes to us in no such repulsive garb, but rath er hides its real character under a show of dignity and truth, bidding us beware how we become dupes and victims, warning us against soft credulity and an unreasoning confidence that must sooner or later suffer shipwreck. Every error has its germ of truth, and in attacking suspicion wc must be careful not to crush out that wise dis crimination and prudent caution which are needful guides in the affairs of life. These, however, are quite different from the malicious or reckless disparagement of others which scatters doubt and distrust on every side. A certain shrewd sagacity may characterize the suspicious mind, but it is, after all, shallow, aud will overreach itself. There is so much more good than evil in human nature that ho who trusts everybody will, in the long run, make fewer mistakes than ho who suspects every body. The former may lay himself opeu to occasional thrusts from u foe, but the latter, with the shield of suspicion, bars out from himself the embraces of many friends. When we hear of lamentable cases of public aud private corruption, of broken trusts, ruined characters and deso lated homes, we are apt to lose faith in j human integrity, aud .bury our trustful ness in an untimely grave. But surely j this is an error of the judgment, if not of the heart. Wc smile at those who are afraid to trust themselves in the car or steamer, because there have been collisions and explosions ; but are wc nut guilty of lat least equal folly if wc deem all men ' I rogues because some have cheated ? It is j not sound judgment, or a superior know- I j ledge of mankind, that produces the sneer- | I ing slur upon human virtue, or the carp ing suspicion of motives and purposes, but rather a shallow and conceited assumption | that has its root in ignorance. Nothing saps the principle of virtue more effectually than suspicion. The child who is always watched, and never trusted, will surely learn to be deceitful; the work man who is always blamed and depreciated . will never do his best; the affection that , is continually doubted will inevitably cool. J Encouragement, faith and confidence are i inspirere of excellence; they keep up the ■ courage, give strength for effort, and power to overcome obstacles; but the dark and | unwholesome atmosphere of suspicion and distrust chokes all the germs of goodness and dries up the springs of well-doing. Much of the way in which men and women develop depends upon the opinion held of them by others. It is easier and more natural to strive to fulfill hopeful expectations than to overcome detraction and live down criticism. The cheering word, the cordial grasp, the hearty assur | ance of respect and confidence, and pro mise of help, have rescued many a waver ing soul trembling on the verge of a mural precipice, when the pointed finger of sus picion and incredulity would have sufficed to push them over. Besides its direct influence upon char acter, suspicion is a most contagious dis order. It is wonderful with what rapidity a bad report will spread, gathering some thing now from every tongue that carries it. A reputation ouce soiled by the breath of calumny, quickly becomes defaced and ruined by a hundred stains. Suspicion, however feeble at first, grows bold and strong by being cherished, and soon de velops into scandal and gossip, which rush in a resistless torrent, desolating many a happy hearthstone, and quenching many a tiny spark of love and goodness. He who is constantly imagining and predict ing evil, becomes closely connected with ' it. Our thoughts are ever forming our characters, and whatever they are most absorbed in will tinge our lives. He who meditates on tho failings of others, who dwells upon their follies, and contemplates 1 their woist side, rather than their best, 1 cannot fail to retrograde himself. Beside 1 this, if he has conjectured and foretold ' evil, ho is somewhat committed to it, and can hardly avoid feeling pleasure when 1 his surmises prove correct, and disappoint- ’ ment when they are mistaken. Thus he ' | P ut * himself on the side of evil, as it were ' j forming a sort of compact with it, and in- ' sensibly absorbing it into his very nature. 1 On the other hand, the frank, candid, J i unsuspecting man, whose thoughts love to | dwell in the pure air of virtue, who marks | with pleasure the good points of his fellow- ! men. and prefers rather io cherish their ; excellencies than to deplore their faults, is I constantly improving himself and blessing ! others. He separates himself from the . evil and allies himself with the good; he ' fans every spark of virtue into a living flame, and quenches sin and wrong, by dooming them to silenee and darkness. He loves his friends, without doubting . them, or demanding continual proofs of ' their affection; he educates the young by J exhibiting the beauty of goodness, rather , than the deformity of evil; he encourages ( the feeble and desponding by his hearty 1 confidence, he infuses courage and hope 1 by his very presence. Who would not rather breathe such an influence through , life, and leave such a memory behind, ! even though ho be sometimes deceived and disappointed, than to purchase a fancied security against all mankind, by building up around him a wall of suspicion and distrust ? There is an old German proverb to the effect that a great war leaves the country with three armies—an army of cripples, an army of mourners, and an army of thieves. A Scandalous Practice. “Suppose,” laid an lowa attorney to a 1 witness whom ho was cross-examining, I “Suppose, sir, I should tell you that I could bring a doaen of your own neighbors who would swear they would nut believe you under oath! What would you say to that?" And the witness replied eery pleasantly, ‘ I should say yon lied." It is not often that the tables are thus turned on a brow beating and insolent at torney, for unfortunately the latter always has the advantage, and too often is dispos ed to press it unfairly. There are instances of this almost every day in our courts. A modest, quiet business msu, unused to standing before a great and ience, is placed in the witness-box. He unluckily knows some important facts about a case on trial before an intelligent jury. He stales these facta truthfully and without malice. They are, though not with any connivance on his part, fatal to the other side. The only remedy, therefore, is to destroy his evi dence. Consequently an important little fellow, with bristling hair and pompous tone, prepares to extinguish him. lean ing hack in his chair and glaring at the modest man, the attorney opens : “Now,sir, what is your name?'' Of course he knows it, the Jury knows it, tbs court knows it, but the attorney asks it again, as if it were of the greatest importance, and the witness might deny his name on second thought. So he says, “Now, sir, what is your name ?’’ “Thomas Brown," responds the modest man. “What?" screams the lawyer. “Speak up, can't you? Ton are not ashamed of your name, arc you ? “No, sir," replies Brown. | “Very well I Then speak up, so the i jury can hear you. Now, sir, what is your interest in this esse ?" with a significant | look at the jury. “I have no interest in it," replies the witness. The attorney looks horrified at the total depravity of the witness. He glances at the jury again; as much as to say; “Gen- I tlemen, did yon ever behold such turpi tude ?” and then goes on speaking deliber ately, and emphasising every word with a beck of his fore finger, “Do you swear, sir, before this jury, and in the pi sense of this court, and on your solemn oath, that you have no interest in this case?” “Yes, sir,"says Brown, blushing. “Yes, you have, or yes yon hare not?” “I have not.” “Haven't you confessed within the past week to three different parties that you have an interest ?" “No, sir;" replies Brown, trembling, and trying to think if he has uttered a i word that could be tortured into such an I admission. j “You swear before this jury," says the j attorney, “that you never talked about 1 this matter ?” i “I did not nay I had not talked,” repli ! cd the witness. j “Ah, ha I Then you have talked 1” ex claims the attorney. “I thought I could refresh your recollection.” “I only said"—continues the witness, desiring to explain; but he is stopped ab | ruptly. “Never mind what you said, air. When I want to know what you said I will in quire of you. I understand you now to admit that you have talked about the matter. Is that right ?" “I simply talked"— “Will you please answer my question ?” thunders the attorney. “Have you talked, or have you not ? Yes or no ?" “Yes, but”— “That will do; you need not go on, sir. That is ample. At last you admit that you, a witness, an important witness, in this case, have been around the town dis cussing the matter! Do you think that is the proper thing, sir, for a witness to do?" The witness, abashed and humiliated, remains silent. “Will you answer, sir?” continues the lawyer, threateningly. “Do you come be fore this jury, expecting to be believed, while admitting that you have made this case the subject of hope and fear, and dis cussed it on the street ?" The witness tries to explain, but is told to “stand down,” and leaves the box, feel ing that in some way he has been made to appear like a rascally peijurer, whan he is as absolutely free from bias or prejudice as the most disinterested spectator in the room. Any one who is at all familiar with our courts will see that the above is a very faint picture of the “badgering” to which witnesses are subjected. Indeed, a man giving his testimony might think he had escaped very easily if he met with nothing worse than this, and yet the im putations contained in the above would be resented with a blow in any other plaee than the courts. Such attacks ate cow ardly and disgraceful, and still they are permitted and winked at by our judges. We call upon the latter to begin the cor rection of this scandalous imposition. It is as much their duty to protect witnesses from gratuitous insult as it is to protect innocent men from unmerited punishment. The Month of May. May, the fifth month in the Gregorian Calendar, consists of 31 days. The name is of uncertain origin. Ovid suggests its derivation either from majatai, majortt, or Mata, die mother of Mercury j and others think it a Teutonic word. Among the Romans it was sacred to Apollo, and almost every day of the month was a fes tival. On the 9th, 11th and 13th days was celebrated the festival of the lamria in memory of the dead, and consequently it was believed that marriages contracted in this month would soon result fatally. Traces of the same superstition still exist in some portions of Europe. Prom the ancient FloraUa, or festival in honor of Flora, celebrated from April 28th to May 2d, is perhaps the medieval and modern custom of observing May 1 (May-day) with festive and floral rites. The Druids also wore accustomed to light large fires upon the summits of bills on the eve of May. From Urn time of Chanoor safitrsn ms to May-day festivities are common in English poetry. m\ and ||umor. Bob. Whitlow's Tint Patient. How, u a general thing, young doctors end lawyer* get their Brat patients ami clients, is one of the unsolved mysteries. I know how it was in Bob Whitlow's case. Bob, after graduating with honor at a first-class medical college, went oat West and, picking out a populous and sickly neighboihood, pitched his professional tent, hung out his shingle, and boldly offered himself as a healer of the people. His moderate patrimony was barely sufficient to meet the expenses of his col legiate and medical course, leaving his sole dependence for the future on success in the walk of life be had cboeen. A few months convinced him that the immediate prospect was not very promising. I)r. Chiucongb had reigned there for so many years with undisputed sway, that the offer of a young and inexperienced practitioner to compete with him was gen erally looked upon as a piece of imperti nence. True, the neighboring graveyard dis closed a mortality out of all proportion to the population ; but nobody attributed it to “Old Chin,” as some of the less respect ful called him. I have already said it was a sickly region, and Old Chin had a happy knack, moreover when bis patients died, of laying the btSme on Providence, and when they didn’t of ascribing to him self the glory. As for my friend, Bob Whitlow, Old Chin simply ignored his existence. Things began to look blue for Bob. His board bill fell behind, his office rent got in arrears, and unless affairs took a speedy turn an unpleasant crisis must be reached soon. One day a well dressed young traveler fell sick at the village inn. The landlord —with whom Bob boarded—would fain have gotten the latter into the case, for the stranger had the appearance of a man able to pay, and if Bob got a good fee the prospects of bis board bill being settled would be decidedly improved. Accordingly, when the sick gentleman spoke of calling in a physician, the land lord would have recommended Bob on the spot; but the stranger going on to say that he wished to consult a physician of age and experience, his landlord had no alter native but to name Dr. Cbinoough. “Call him immediately,” said the sick man. Old Chin found the stranger danger ously ill. He invariably found his patients so. Catch him underrating the difficulty of a case. He gave the assurance of his ability, however, to bring the gentleman round in time, though the prooesa might be slower than could be wished. Strong medicines, and plenty of them was Old Chin’s rule of faith and practice, and on it he set to work in the present case. The result was singularly unsuccessful. Every symptom combatted seemed to be aggravated by the remedy wherewith it was thought to allay it, whilst the patient was constantly complaining of fresh pains in parts of his body not assailed before. Old Chin was at his wit's end, he bad never in his whole professional life met with a case so obstinate. Meanwhile the patient grew rapidly wone, and at last to all appearance lay at death's door. Old Chin gave it up. His skill was fairly baffled. “I feel it my duty to warn you,” be said, addressing the sinking patient, “that your case is beyond the reach of medical aid. If you have any wordly matters to attend to there is no time to be lost." “Is—there no other—physician in the place ?" feebly gasped the stranger. Old Chin shook his head. “Beg pardon,” the landlord ventures to hint—“there's Dr. Whitlow." “Oh, I didn’t think of him," said Old Chin with a snuff. “Send for him,” said the stranger. “Yea, send for him,” said Old Chin," with evident disgust. A messenger was dispatched, and Bob lost no time in obeying the summons. Old Chin, with a supercilious air, gave Bob a brief summary of the case and as outline of the treatment hitherto pursued. “I trust it to meet your approbation,” he added, with a curl of the lip. I only wonder the man isn't dead I" ejaculated Bob. “What do you mean, Mr. Witless?” “Whitlow,” corrected Bob. “Whitlow or Felon," bellowed Old Chin, in a fury. “I only mean," said Bob quietly, “that the remedies you have administered were enough to have killed a horse.” “Perhaps you can prescribe better,” sneered Old Chin. “If I couldn't I wouldn’t try,” said Bob. “Suppose yon do try,” retorted Old Chin contemptuously. There’s my prescription," answered Bob, (having written it off hastily.) “What I” replied the other with deep surprise, "stimulants for a man In his con dition ?" “I should think so,” said Bob, “after the prostrating treatment that he has gone through." * I will try the now prescription," whis pered the sick man with effort. Bob prepared it, and the patient swal lowed it. The effect was instantaneous. The stranger declared himself relieved, and but for being cautioned by Bob against such rashness, would have gotten up at once. Old Chin was astonished but not convinced. “It is the lomponiy effect of the stim ulant; when that passes off there will he a relapse.” But then was no relapse, and mask to Old Chin's chagrin, the stranger was up and able to travel next day. Bob’S reputation was established from that time on, and Old Chin's bogan to VOL. XI.-NO. 26. r~ - ha had already made, tearing the Reid clear to Bob. It wa not till year* afterward that it leaked out that Bob’a find patient wan an old college rhum of bin own, with plenty of money on hands, whose journey through Bob’s town and sodden illness there, and wonderful cure, were all parte of a concer ted scheme between the two to give Bob a lift, and that the famous prescription, leaving out a few unimportant ingredients was nothing more than a stiff “brandy eook-tail." “It must have been a severe trial of your friend s devotion," I remarked to Bob when he told me the story, “to swal low Old Chin’s dosea." “The worst of them he didn't swallow," said Bob; “but only let on to—after hold ing them in his mouth awhile he would •purt them out, pretending that, like Mickey Free's emetics, “they wouldn’t lie on his stomach." The InoidantMrf One Day's Training with the Eagloville Oomet Baud. In the boarding house last night, after Mr. Magoffin bad told a particularly long winded story, Magruder yawned : “Ma guffin, I should think you would be a val uable man in a brass band." “Mr. Magruder," said Maguffin sternly, “you little realise the unpleasant memory revived by your Rippant remark. I did belong to a brass band once, but my stay in the organisation was characterised chief ly by brevity and violence. That was be fore I came toNew York—when I lived in Eagleville. Some of the boys formed a band, the Kaglevillc North American Cornet Band, and they asked me to join, but I had other business, and they went on without me." “In the course of time a member of the Eagleville Blues died, and the band re solved to attend the funeral. It so hap pened that the baas drummer fell sick on the day prior to the obsequies, and the leader sent for me to take bis place. Of course I couldn't refuse, and I went to the headquarters, had the big drum strap ped on me, and marched with the band down to the house. There we executed a little preliminary dirge, whose good points I emphasised strongly on the drum. The leader took his E Rat from his lips and stared at mo indignantly, as I supposed, because I didn't get in heavy enough. 1 said a myself, “Patience, my friend, I'll be on deck when the procession moves and I was. “I have since learned that the entire subsequent misunderstanding arose from my misapprehension of the bass-drum part at a funeral celebration. It seems that on such occasions the drum should not be pounded vigorously, but subjected to a soft and continuous irritation, which pro duces a soft of rumbling, muffled monotone that is supposed to represent grief of a strictly prime A 1 brand. Now as I had seen the science of bass drumming illus trated on festal occasions only, when it seemed to be merely a personal question between the drummer and the drum-head, I governed myself accordingly; and I flung myself with a vehemence that I believe has no parallel in the annals of that noble but bulky instrument. I rose right up on it and let myself loose, resolved that what ever my sacrifice of personal comfort might be, there should be no just ground of complaint against my part of the music. “We hadn’t gone ton blocks before the perspiration began to slop over the tops of my boots but I never let up, and two or three times, when the leader shook his cornet at me, I answered with a aeries of doable efforts that attracted very general attention. The crowds on the sidewalk seemed dumbfounded, and the people in the carriages stuck their heads out of the windows and stored at me. There was one curious feature of the general atten tion that I didn't understand at the time, and that was the behavior of the hearse driver. In front of the house I had thought him the most solemn-faced man I ever saw, but now he laughed and shook until I thought he would fall on the box. “Well, we got to the cemetery, and the laat sad rites were over. Then the band began a final dirge, and I gathered myself together for one grand finishing effort. The leader was blowing his wildest wail on the cornet, and the ham-born man was decorating all the corners and angles of music with enormous patches of sound. Then I shifted the strap down from where it had crawled up around my neck, and •pit on my bands. I braced up and flour ished the drumstick in the air fur one great, terrific, eclipeiog boom, and at the same time the sexton raised his shovel sa I at that moment supposed involuntarily, from an infeotuous enthusiasm caught from my drumming. “Drumstick and shovel descending to gether, and I realised in an instant that the sexton bad mistaken his exiling. As a bass drummer he would have been the unchallenged obampion of the world. I waa so impressed by bis power that 1 stopped drumming at once and lay down, and I didn't come too until some time after they bad carried me home. I never over me snail an overpowering narcotizing efcet aa that and firmly be P P 8 8* i nto acj in-

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