The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, January 27, 1893, Image 3
of merrily jingling bells from behind a piece of rising ground. On they came, filling the air with the mnsic of scores of l>ells of different tones, till 1 counted 12 great teams roll iug down the descending ground. As soon as I had made known to the teamsters the condition of the emigrant ■'pmill there was a regular strife about going ;o their relief. All were going back to California with empty wagons, and nil declared they could as well as not take the little emigrant craft in tow V-their teams would never know it had been hooked on behind them. Only a single team was needed. A fine, strapping young fellow, about 25 years of age, was driving the leading team of the train. All the other team sters were much older and had about them the subjugated look of married men. So 1 said: “Gentlemen, as there is u confound edly good looking girl over there, and as most of you appear to be married men, suppose wo say that this young buck goes?” pointing to my young chap. With shouts of laughter and many sly jokes, this was agreed to at once, and 1 mounted to a seat on the wagon of my young fellow to act as guide. My man had u team of 10 huge and splendid mules, all carefully selected and matched—a team worth a small fortune. Each mule wore housings of bearskin, and above the hames of each rose a steel bow filled with bells of va rious sizes and tones. His vehicle was a great “prairie schooner,” as the im mense freight wagons used in crossing the Sierras are called, and everything about both team and wagon was in per fect order. un one side or tno wagon—tue Huge •lull of the craft—was painted in red a large wing, like the wing of some sea bird. In explanation of this hieroglyph my young fellow said, ‘‘You see, sir, I call her tho Red Wing.” I told him the folks out on the desert would most assuredly look upon him ■»s an angel, notwithstanding he had but one wing. When we reached the forlorn family and our huge craft rolled up alongside their diminutive vehicle, we looked like a 74 gun ship bearing down upon a canoe. The family had evidently never dream ed of such a wagon or such an array of animals for a team. Thomas rose from his seat on the rock, rubbed his eyea .rnd gazed upon the whole rig in utter ■astonishment. The old grandmother pushed back her immense sunbonnet and giggled aloud, while the two boys dood and stared in open mouthed and speechless amazement. Sticking his blacksnake whip under the housings of his saddle mule, my teamster, John Henderson by name, jumped to the ground, and teamsterlike first of all went to look at the old bald faced horse. As young Henderson walked around the old horse and surveyed his many unusual "points,” his face wore a cu rious expression—half sneer, half pity. Going to where the dead mare lay, he gave her a careless kick, which in stantly brought a beseeching "Don’t, mister!" from the younger of the boys. Smiling good humoredly, Henderson turned away from the mare, and now for the first time deigned to notice the human beings present. "Well,” said he, turning to Thomas, "I s’pose you folks don’t care how soon you get out of here. Ugh! with all these dead cattle about, this is no good camp ing place. ” Said Thomas: “I must tell you plain ly, mister, that we hain’t got any mon ey. We are” “Oh, Mumford! Oh, Mumford!” cried the old grandmother, and squatting •upon the ground she began rocking her self to and fro. Henderson wheeled about and sur veyed the rocking figure in amazement. Then he began to look about in wild eyed fright. Seeing no one rush to the old woman's assistance, he stepped to my side and asked: “Is she sick? Does the old lady have fits?” “Oh, no,” whispered I. "A little pe culiar, that is all. She enjoys these lit tle tantrums. ” "Enjoys them?” "I suppose so. Mumford was her husband. They buried the old man at Green river.” "Ah! Yes, yes, I see!” said Hender son. “Poor old lady! It sets her about crazy!” ilarv ami her mother baa both been watching our movements from the wag on front, the mother in her anxiety hav ing left her couch and crawled forward on her knees. Evidently mother and daughter thought, on seeing Henderson turn away from Thomas and seeing the old lady again agitating herself upon the ground, that some hitch had occur red and that the teamster was, after all, about to drive away and leave them on the desert. I heard Mary say: ”1 can stand it no longer, mother! I must speak to him! He must help us!” Then, leaving the sick child beside her mother, she came rushing to Henderson with flying hair and streaming eyes. “Oh, sir, do take us! Don’t, for God’s sake, leaVfe us here! If you will take us, 1 will do anything! I will work for you—1 mean for your father and mother, sir. Oh, don’t leave us because we have no money!” “I have neither father nor mother in this country, miss. Why do you talk about work and money? I am not go ing to leave you—money would not hire me to leave you! For $10,000 I would not turn away and leave you here in sickness and distress to die on the des \ urt. I would want to blow my brains out the next minute! Just tell me where you want to go.” “Oh, sir,” said Mary, "we want to go to California!” ' “But to what part of California? California is a broad state.” Mary hesitated, looked confused and finally answered, “I don’t know, sir— we only started to go to California. ” Thomas was appealed to and said: “Don’t know, mister, of any pertic’ ier part—we only jist started to go to Caleforny." “Oh, Mumford! Oh. Mumford!” groaned the old lady. Henderson started at this second out break, gazed curiously at the Mumford relict for a moment, then gave me a look that said more plainly than any words, "Rum old gal, ain’t she?” “Well,” said Henderson, gazing from face to face and addressing the family collectively, "as you don't seem bound for any particular port, by the heard of Baulam! I'll just bundle you all up, take you in tow of the Red Wing and land you al! on my ranch in Sacramen to valley. It's ub good luck as any." Nobody offered any objection. The short and emphatic sjieoch made by Henderson seemed to have settled the whole matter. The kind hearted teamster was now all bustle. He stirred Thomas up. tell ing him to do this and do that, and even found something for the small boys to da All the valuable contents She name rushing to Henderson. of the small craft were soon stowed away in the capacious hold of the Red Wing, as were the extra harness and other traps. The water cask was un slung under the small wagon, and giv ing it a kick that sent it rolling Hen derson said, “We shan’t need that!" At this the old lady, of whom nobody was thinking, cried: “Yes, we shall. Take it along. It’ll come mighty ha- .y to keep soap in!” “Never you mind, granuy, ” said Henderson, smiling at the idea. "We shall find soap barrels enough over the mountains.” Next he turned to Thomas, who was poking away at some box he was mov ing, crying: “Come, hustle up, un friend! We’ve got to get to Carson City as quick as the Lord will let us! 1 tell you, we've got to get some chickens, some fresh butter and milk, tea. fresh vegetables and a whole lot of things for these sick folks. It's a wonder you ain’t all down with scurvy, such salt hoss rations as you’ve been livin on!” At this speech I saw Mary’s face light up. “Oh. Kitty," 1 overheard her say, “hear that! Chicken broth to make Kitty and mamma well!' Henderson spread his own mattress and part of his bedding in the small wagon for the sick woman and child, after it had been cleared of all the boxes and baggage it contained, making both quite comfortable. All hands of us then hauled the small craft into posi tion, and it was securely lashed lie hind the big prairie schooner and taken in tow by the gallant Red Wing. Thomas and the boys mounted into the large wagon, while all the women and little ones were placed in the small one. As 1 assisted the tottering old lady into the vehicle, she paused when half way in, nodded her head toward Hen derson and said to me in a triumphant whisper, “He's jist like Mnmfurd!’ “Ooodby” was soon said all round, a crack like the report of a rifle rang out from Henderson's blacksnake whip, a shower of merry music was shaken out of the hundred bells as the 10 huge an imals threw their weight into their col lars and set the tal I steel bows arched above to quivering. Then the two ve hicles moved slowly away in the direc tion of the main road to Carson City. At the distance of a hundred yards the old bald faced horse, as he went limping behind the smaller craft, seemed tosud denly become aware of the fact that he was leaving behind the mare, the old companion that for days, weeks and months had faithfully toiled by his side over huge mountains and across broad desert plains. Two or three times he turned and looked hack with eyes that stared wildly from their sunken sockets. He whinnied uneasily and strove to wheel about, but his strong rope halter each time brought him up with a jerk that must have made his teeth rattle in his skull and which nearly threw him off his trembling legs. So he gave it up, and they all moved on across the desert in the red light of the declining sun. “Poor old devil!” said 1 as 1 stood there in the desert Golgotha. “He feels as did the relict when she left Mum ford behind under the trees on the hanks of the Green river. “Goodby. Red Wing and kind young captain!” cried 1. wiping a tear away as I saw the two craft drop out of view behind a distant desert billow. “Good by and farewell. Mary, Kitty and all of you! May you find a home and hap piness in the bright land of flowers on the summer side of the Sierras!" CHAPTER IV. THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYS HAPPENS. * One night in the fall of 1807, either in September or October, 1 was at Chamberlain’s Station in the Sierra Ne vada mountains on the Donner Lake wagon road waiting for a coach of Roberts S. Company's lino to take me noithward the next day to the then newly discovered mines of Meadow Lake. Alas, poor Meadow Lake! Meadow Lake, the glory of whose promise of greatness once tinged in roseate hues the high Sisrras! Let there be raised a ■‘lamentation” for Meadow Lake, the beautiful, foe in the days of her youth. even while tl o Iww of promise stood bright above her, she withered as did the gourd of Jonah. Alas, the gold in her myriad of mines failed! She is now the ‘‘deserted village” of the mountains. Where once busy thousands had their homes now dwells solitary Hermit Hartley. His ear alone hears the moan of the pines—a moan that seems a wail raised over the dead and buried hopes of the former dwellers. At the station at which I was await ing transportation to the then bright and bustling town of Meadow Lake many teamsters tiad gathered in. Cham berlain’s was the most popular station on the road. The men freighting over the mountains always strove to reach that halting place. Until long after dark the sound of bells was heard on the pine bordered road, and the huge prairie schooners came rolling iu. Aft er supper I found the immense barroom almost filled with the teamsters, and more were still arriving, for a full moon was lighting up all the mountains. The men were all talking “horse” and “mule,” and my head being filled with thoughts of mines and gold, I paid but a dreamy sort of attention to the con versation. Presently, however, one ol the teamsters said, with a good deal of emphasis, “I tell you what, Johnny, it you hadn’t ’a’ hitched onto ine and helped me up that air last hill. I’d 'a' bin at the foot of it yit!” “That’s all right. Bill. You know 1 never pass by aud leave a man in trouble. No, sir, by the beard of Balaam, the son of Beor! I have my opinion of a man that will do a trick like that.” Instantly 1 was all attention. Al though it had been seven years since I had heard that strange, mild oath— thongh 1 heard it then for the first time and Had never heard it since—I at once recollected where and under what cir cumstances 1 had before heard it. 1 soon had the man who had sworn by the beard of Balaam safely cornered at some distance from the main throng of guests. I then asked him if he remem bered having assisted a poor, wrecked emigrant family out of a desert over in Nevada seven years before. “Do I remember that? Well, sir, 1 rather guess I do! Yes, sir, and mighty little chance now of my ever forgetting it. But, stranger, how do you happen to know about that? You ain’t the— well, by the beard of Balaam! Yes, you are! You are the very fellow that came out on the road and got me to go down into the desert after the family! Give me your hand!” Having recovered my hand from John Henderson’s fearful grasp and straight ened out my benumbed fingers, 1 said: “I did not remember your face. Mr. Henderson, for now you are bearded like the pard, but I recollected your peculiar style of oath. You used it once that day down in the desert. The moment I heard it here tonight there flashed be “dive me your hand:" fore me a picture of the little wagon anil the forlorn family, or the dead ani mals scattered about and of your huge Red Wing. I saw everything. ” “Oh, you mean my saying‘by the beard of Balaam. ’ I don’t count that swearin. If it is swearin, it must pass as the family oath. My father—and he was a pious soul—always said, ‘By the heard of Balaam, the son of Beor,’ but I don’t often find time for the whole. Back in the States they are not so hur ried in their swearin as we are out here.” “What became of that poor fami ly?” I asked. “Where did they finally bring up? Did you get them over the mountains all right?” “Did I get them over the mountains all right? Well, I rayther think I did, and I’ve got ’em all right till now.” “Till now? Then you know where they are at present aud how they are getting along?” “Yes, sir. I may safely say I do. Did yon notice that oldest girl Mary? Look ed a bit tanned and dusty there and used up like. Oh, you did notice her? Well, when she got rested and fixed up, amfiuci^uu Cri wearriage. They will be at home in this livty after February first. The Tribune an>tends its congratulations to the happy ^ac’uple. May their married life be one of ** bsperitv and contentment, mo r ' _ jj'^They are figuring on voting bonds for gr(new school house out in the Houlihan siclstrict, but we understand that a deed goril! have to be secured for the land on “Youseem to have made quite a care ful diagnosis of yonr case.” Henderson laughed and said: “That is just the way in which her kind words and her patient, helpful ways to all took hold of me. Then, when I after ward saw her slicked up—well, bet yer life I wasn’t going to lose her! “Well,” he continued, “as I was about to tell you, I took the whole lot' right down to my ranch in Sacramento Talley. Having on the ranch a great barn of a house that had been built for a wayside tavern, I put the family into it, set ’em up and told ’em to go to< livin. •“They did as I told ’em. Then I went to conrtin Molly in dead airnest—ac tually neglected some of my teamin business, I got so detarmined. “Tn cut it short, in six months we were married—bless the dayl It wa. the makin of me. The 'trip’ to church with Molly was the best I ever made, except that one yon know of. Lord, it seems like au old story now. Why, bless you, wo now have two bouucin lads and a rornpin little girl.” “And Thomas?" I asked. “Thomas? Oh, you mean Anderson, my father-in-law. Well, he’ll never set the world afire. He’s a good sort of an old man though. He’s got a little ranch of his own that I gave him off part of my big one. He’s as contented as a lamb, he is. He jist jiutters and potters about and is happy. “But Grandmother Mumford—the old lady, you know. Well, it was per fectly astonishin how she come out when she struck the California climate —her and that old bald faced boss. Why, the old critter—the old gal, I mean—she got jist as spry on ’er legs as a quail. I often used to tell her, when I see her chasin the young turkeys. “Grandmother Mumford, you will be a-kickin up your heels pretty soon, the same ns your old Baldy out in the pasture!’ That tickled her. She jist swears by me!” “Doessheever do the ‘Oh, Mumford!' act nowadays?” “Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Henderson. “How do you know about that? Oh, I recollect now. She gave us a small specimen of that dodge out on the des ert. Yes, she brings Mumford up oc casionally when Father Anderson don’t fly round to suit her—when she’s pnt out with him, you know. Then she sets down and humps herself like, or comes over to my house and stays a month at a time.” “That must l>e agreeable!” “Yes, sir, I like to have her about. I can tell you, sir, that sbe’s a mighty bright, sharp old lady, and when she sees business goin on right she’s jolly and full of life and fun. Make you laugh tears to hear her tell her old Kentucky yarns, actin out the charac ters. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, she’s rich now! Some of her big, high toned rel atives back in Kentucky—the Mum fords and Sylvesters, and among ’em— have died and left her, or it fell to her in some way, $75,000 in clean coin! We’ve named two of our children after her—I mean the girl after her and the boy after Mumford, the one out on Green river. His name, it seems, was Isaac—not a name I would have select ed, but—well, she somehow got round Molly in the fixin up of her will. But this is too much like talkin business, and I’m rich enough already—that is, almost.” “Do you know, Henderson, that I’m delighted to hear all this? I’ve a thou sand times thought of you and of all in that family. When I saw your tall Bed Wing pass over the ridge out of sight with the little ciaftin tow, it somehow left a sort of void in my heart that has never been filled till now.” “Ah, and we, too, have often and of ten talked of you, sir. All came about through you. I wish to God you’d let your mining business go and come down and spend a month or two with us. I can tell you we'd have a royal time. What a surprise and delight it would be to Molly! .She often and often talks about you, wonderin bow you are gettin along in the world and hopin all has gone well with you.” "Bless her kind heart! Now, Hen derson, you may tell her that you’ve seen me, and that I am happy and rich. Tell her that I have a half a million in one mine in Meadow Lake, with from $100,000 to $250,000 in two or three others. Also tell her that next year I shall make the tour of Europe— shall spend at least six months in Eu rope. I’ve got my route all mapped out. I wish to God, Henderson, that things were so with you that you could go along. ’ ’ I may as well say right here that things did not turn out with me as well as I then anticipated. My mines ‘ * pe tered,” the “bottom” fell out of the whole district and left some thousands of us ‘flat broke.” But to this day I am glad to feel that Mary always thinks of me as rich, traveling in Europe, din ing with Queen Victoria and hobnob bing it with the czar of all the Bus si as. A stout, handsome young man about 17 years of age then approached and was introduced by Henderson as “Rob ert Anderson, my brother-in-law. He’s one of the boys you saw on the desert. ” After some talk about the “great trouble” out on the desert, Henderson told me that Bob was driving one of his big teams. “I had only one wing when yon first met me, but now I have three—a Red Wing, a White Wing, and a Blue Wing. Whenever I get a new wagon 1 spread another wing. I want just one more wing, then I shall sail on evenly through world.” ly’Have you (lie same old RedWing tiiit I saw'r” 1 asked. fd’Yes, ” said Henderson, “ but like the in’s jackknife so many new feathers ye been put in here and there at va ius times that it is now hard to say a,w much of the original is left. I feel t-;reat liking for the old craft, and I ill always consider that one particu ll trip to the Comstock with the old d Wing the lucky cruise of my life— it brought me Molly. ’' THE END. Tardy Lord Palmerston. A political friend, who knew Lord Palmerston intimately, relates that he was not always to be depended on in keeping appointments. He once fixed 7 o’clock to dine with the officials of a provincial towu, but failed to turn up. When 10 o’clock struck and he still was alrsent, the company in sheer despera tion sat down and had reached only the second course when the great man ap peared. All expected an apology for the delay that had spoiled their dinner, but Palmerston, with the blandest of smiles and an assumption of the mo&r cordial and forgiving aspect, quietly said, *' I am so glad you did not wait.'' —Exchange. HOCUS POCUS IN ART. HOW SOME PERSONS WHO THINK THEY KNOW ARE SWINDLED Queer Trick* Practiced by Men Who Muk« a Living With Pencil and limn!:—Car toonists With More Than One Name- One Who Made His Ghost Famous. Artists who sign their names to pic tures that other men paint are quito plentiful in this town. In a little store on Fourth aveniie, jnst aronnd the cor ner from the An erican Academy of De sign, there are tome very pretty exam ples of water coloring for sale. The signature in the corner of each canvas is that of a woman. The dealer was in a communicative mood the other day, and as he was talking with a reporter he picked up one of the paintings and held it to the light for observation and discussion. "That woman brings some very good work in here for me to sell, ’' said be. "There is one peculiarity about her, though. She always writes her signa ture in my shop. ” The dealer paused as though to be questioned. "Why does she do that?” was asked. “Well, 1 suppose she doesn’t like to put it on at the studios where the pic tures are painted.” “She doesn’t paint her own pictures, then?” “Not all of them. It’seasier to pick them up here and there and bring them to mo to sell I don’t know how much she pays the artists who paint them, and 1 don’t care. It’s none of my business. All I know is that the work is very good and that 1 can get good prices for it. 1 suppose she is building up a reputation on the strength of these canvases. Well, why shouldn’t she? She gives work to a lot of people who would probably starve otherwise. You see, scores of persons can paint pictures and very few have the knack of getting them sold.” Sometimes an artist signs more than one name to his own work. This hap pens ever}’ day on some of the illustrat ed weeklies published for Broadway circulation. The publisher doesn’t like to see one man’s namo signed to every cartoon or fall page picture. He does not want it known that his staff of art ists is so small. Not long ago one of the cleverest of the illustrators used to sign his own name to the big two page picture in the middle of th6 periodical and a noin de plume to the first page drawing every week. In a little while he began to receive letters addressed to the assumed name, giving orders for work and full of compliments. He had built up a reputation for the mythical artist which he could not get for him self. His pride was hurt, but he swal lowed the humiliation and proceeded to increase the fame and the revenue of his ghost. A New York artist who draws for the pictorial weeklies tells a story of his experience in England at a time when all the publishers were demanding French illustrators and had no use for native talent. This particular artist knew that he could cut corsages as low 1 and skirts as high as any Frenchman that ever lived. He had spent several vacations and lots of hard earned mon ey in seeing the particular side of Pa risian life that the publishers were howl - ing for at that particular time. Ho assumed a very Frenchy name, wrote in that language altogether and submitted his sketches, which already out-Frenched the Frenchmen in their naughtiness. He made a big bit, his mail orders were numerous, and for many months he enjoyed a lucrative in come under his title of Do Boulanger or whatever it was, while all the other English illustrators were drawing for the religious weeklies, which cannot afford to pay half as big prices to their artists as their more wicked and per haps more interesting contemporaries. In the window of a picture store in Harlem there were exposed for sale not long ago two small canvases with the magic name of Corot in the corner. The price of each was $250. Now, a genu ine Corot is worth anywhere from |1, 000 up. Was it a mistake or an at tempt at swindling? The pictures were in Corot’s style, and only an expert could tell whether they were genuine or not. The dealer would give no written guarantee. He said he believed the two canvases were genuine, and he explain ed the low price by saying that he bought tile pictures from a man in hard luck who was ignorant of their value. The purchaser took all the risk, If the pictures were not genuine Corots, their real value was anywhere from $5 to $50. That is one of the queer things :c the art business. There are pawnbrokers in this town who have been known to go into a pic ture swindling scheme, as mora that, one credulous buyer lias learned to hi.-j cost. It is not an infrequent occur rence tor an amateur in art to be ap proached with a request to buy a pawn ticket calling for a lot of pictures pledg ed for, say, $100. The pictures, the stranger says, are worth at least $250. He will sell the ticket for $25. [f the amateur buys it, he pays not only the $25 for the ticket, but the $100 and ir. terest to the pawnbroker. It is a perfectly safe and easy meth od of swindling. Neither tho pawn broker nor the ticket seller is likely to be caught. The pictures may only be worth $10. It cannot be proved that the pawnbroker knew this or that the other man knew it, for that matter. The victim has scarcely any inode of redraft .. Swindles like this would not bo possible but for the fact that very many men believe they know all there is to raj known about art, when, as ;i matter of fact, they know nothing at all. Or, in other words, "the crop of suckers never fails, ” to quote the old maxim of the green goods dealer.—New York W-trld. I l»eg Pardon. Solemn Stranger—All flesh is gram. Deaf Man—Hey? Solemn Stranger—No, gra«H —Now York Press. GENIUS IS INDIFFERENT. Surround In gn I lave Nauglit to I)o Will: tlir Thread of Thought. It might be conjectured perhaps that Scott’s and Byron’s genius was favored by the circumstances of their birth, that the wild scenes in which Scott’* infancy was passed, and the local leg ends with which his head was filled d<> terminod him to ballad writing, and that tho ballad writing led naturally in its turn to romance, and that I lie high station and undisciplined lv*,.rty of Byron’s childhood fostered that passion ate self will and brooding imagination which showed themselves in his fierce, scornful and moody verse. This, wo say, might perhaps be conjectured with some probability, and tho like might bn said of Wordsworth’s infancy. But how shall we maintain that the conditions of Keats’ cockney birth in a livery stable or his education in a dis secting room favored the growth of that most delicate and ricli type or almost Hellenic clearness and beauty of imag ination? And how shall we maintain that Dickens' menial task in the cork ing of blacking bottles fostered the growth of that wonderful humor and that microscopic accuracy of vision which filled the world with laughter and with inimitable caricature such as no comedy, not even Moliere’s. had an ticipated? Again, who would have ventured to predict that a wild, despotic, Irish evan gelical spirit like Patrick Bronte, ban ished to the bleakest of Yorkshire inoors, would have been the father of children so eager, original and vivid in their rev eries as those who eventually produced the unique passion of Ellis and Currer Bell’s genius? So far as we know any thing of the origin of genius, that ori gin is usually a surprise. It is the rare exception, and not the rule, when we find Chatham succeeding in producing such a hothouse flower as William Pitt, or James Mill succeeding in elaborating a specimen more perfect than himself of a thinker of his own type, in the studious, diligent, diffuse, lucid and rather dreary logician and economist who left liis mark on the English philosophy of the third quarter of this century. Nor do we ever find in rare instances of this sort the higher kinds of original genius. Pitt and John Stuart Mill were considerable triumphs of training for a purpose, but that pur pose was a very limited cue and had none of the largeness and freshness of vitality which attaches to original gen ius.—London Spectator. Negro Superstitions. Among the superstitions of southern negroes are those which make it a most unfavorable thing to see a black cat crossing one’s path, or to turn back without making a “cross” in the street, road or path. The belief in witches is perhaps more general than any other, and an ex-congressman tells of a case in this section within the past 30 years in which a witch was killed in a very strange fashion. A negro called on a witch doctor, a very old woman, and was told that the cause of the trouble was a witch and that she must be kill ed; that the only way possible to thua put her out of the way was to go into the woods and cut the figure of a per son on the bark of a big pine tree, mark a cross on the body and shoot this with a silver bullet, the cross representing the witch’s iieart. The shooting was duly done in th« presence of quite a number of persons. This occurred in the northern part of this county. Ce dar balls are carried in the pockets an a protection against witches. The no gro belief in these is certainly fully matched by that of white men who car ry in their pockets buckeyes and Irish potatoes, or who wear thick iron rings on their fingers as a preventive of rheu roatism.—Cor. Washington Star. EX'Empresri Eugenie. The ex-Empress Eugenie lias settled down into the solitude which best ena bles her to endure her memorable and cumulative sorrows. Her tall, sad fig ure goes in and out among us with only the recognition of eilent sympathy. The empress likes to have communication with as few people as possible. For instance, when she shops—she does her own shopping—she likes to be waited on by the same salesman always. 1 was witness of an incident of this sort the other day. The empress walked into a well known west end shop and asked for Mr.-, naming one of the head men. She wa3 told he was out, whereupon she remarked that she would call again and want away. I was told that she certainly would come again ; that Mr.-- always waited on her, and that sho would not be served by any one else.—London Western Mail. A €:»»« of Contempt. The prisoner was a bold faced va grant, and the judge had it in h r him from tho start. “How many tit. • - have y- u h-'eri here?” ho asked. “Really, your honor. 1 nev : Kept count after the twentieth time-.' “I’ll give you months." -rid the judge sternly. “All right, your honor.’ ‘ But it isn’t all right. It is all wrong, and yon ought ‘ ■ be ashamed of your self. " “Well, \ uir honor," was the impu dent response, “you oughtn't to com plain. Tho itato gets my services for nothing, and you make it pay you for yours,' ’ and the judge gave him 80 days more for contempt. — Detroit Free Presrs Sweet, or Solitmle. Sheep and geese become restless when separated from the flock; the eagle and iion seek isolation. From quiet and solitude spring trie greatest thoughts, inventions and formation. Onr most valuable acquisition in the time of onr development through nature, art and circumstance is *!:•• fruit of hours spent 1 in quietude, desirable for onr growing - youth and absolutely essential for our ! future philosopher, p i t and artist.— George Fibers in the Forum.