Denison Daily News. (Denison, Tex.), Vol. 6, No. 27, Ed. 1 Sunday, March 24, 1878 Page: 2 of 8
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T
The Old School Book.
■On the old sohool book, In Its dusty nook,
With tear/ul eyes I (faze; ,
> Ooine down, old friend, lor an hour we'll lronl
upend
In talk of the bygone duyu.
I gaze once more, as in days of yore,
un the task tliut vexed the brain;
The losaon done, and victory won,
And f feel I'm a child again;
• You are chilly. Let me open the atua, was a wretched substitute for the
register; or shall I tell John to put some stationary wash-stand with Its abundant I
coal In the furnace?" I asked, rising supply
And seera to stand, with the youthful band,
In the old school house on the green:
il fmr the fun ere the school begun,
Aud Join in the gladsome scene;
I take my place, with a sober face;
O'or the well carved desk I bend,
And hourly pore o'er the learned lore
Of thy wondrous page, old friend.
Then our cares were fow and our friends were
true,
And our griefs woro rare and light;
The world was nought (so wo fondly thought) | that I made this remark
But a region of pure delight.
But time has sped, and our path has led
Through the dark and tearful scene;
And patiwed away are the good and gay,
Like the old house on the green.
But we'll sing no more of the days of yore,
For the teardrop dims the eye;
Sleep on, old book, in thy dusty nook,
As in years that have glided by;
Ko guilt we traoe In thy honest lace,
But a mine of gold within
Knriohed the youth, as they sought for truth,
In the old house on the green.
MY AUNT KEItAMMIK.
It is perhaps a year ago since I drop-
ped in to call upon Mrs. K. one even-
ing, and found her poring over that
fatal volume, " First Steps in Household
Art." I say fatal advisedly, for, inno-
cent as the book seemed, it was destined
to poison my peace of mind, and to
cost my poor aunt much pain and mis-
ery in the days to come.
But, happily unconscious as yet of
the trouble in store, my aunt looked up
from her book on my entrance, and ex-
claimed :
" Oh, Fredcric, I'm so glad you have
come! I want you to read this charm-
ing book, and then to tell me what you
think of it. What stupid mistakes I
have been making all these years—why,
I see now that I did not comprehend the
first principles of Art, not even its alpha-
bet. But I will begin at once. I will
refurnish this house in accordance with
my new ideas, and then, Frederic my
dear, you shall see—what you shall
see."
Somewhat puzzled, I began to ques
tion, but for all answer my aunt thrust
the "First Steps in Household Art"
into my hand, and bade me read and be
convinced.
Dutifully I turned over a page or two,
but I found their contents decidedly
mystifying. Meanwhile my aunt was
running on glibly, in what seemed to
me an unknown tongue. I tried my
best to turn the conversation into more
familiar channels, but in vain.
ri
my seat at once. Hut Mrs. K.
stopped me, with another shiver as she
I did so.
"Nonsense!" she replied, shortly;
" I am quite warm onough; Besides, I
! have had the furnace taken out. It is
I the greatest of modern abominations,
and I could not permit it to remain in a
dwelling devoted to artistic furnishing,
i Is not this charming wood-lire a de-
lightful substitute?" and so saying, she
I sneezed.
" How I miss your pictures!" I ven-
I tured to say next. I felt so disconcert-
j ed by the strangeness of all about me
with real tini-
I idity. My aunt was more reproachful
than before, its she said:
" Have you noticed the dado and the
fr eze, Frederic P That cove over the lire-
place is a marvel of Art, and then my
china plates are perfectly in keeping
with the tone of the apartment, while
my pictures were not?"
" But you had some lovely pictures,
aunt; those two, especially, by Greuze
and Bouguereau were real gems.
Couldn't you have given them a place?"
" No; for the highest Art demands
that each room be treated as a whole,
and that a certain 4 tone,' once adopted,
shall never be sacrificed to any lesser
considerations; and it was in accord-
ance with this maxim that I took down
my pictures," said my aunt, with a lof-
ty smile at my weakness.
I was discomfited, but I tried onco
more: "I think, though, that you
might have kept your carpets. These
waxed floors are so treacherous, and
then the comfort of walking on your
superb Axminsters—"
But now my aunt was thoroughly out
of patience, and she interrupted me
sharply: " You astonish me, Frederic;
you have so little appreciation of or feel-
ing for the best Art. Carpets, indeed!
utterly inadmissible in a properly treat-
ed apartment. Now these rugs—"
But it was my turn to interrupt:
" Do you call that dingy square a rug,
auntP Why, I thought it was a bit of
carpet out of John's pantry, left there
by mistake."
" Then let me tell you that' that din-
gy square of carpet' is a relic of price-
less value, sir. It was once the prayer-
rug of an Arab chief, and it cost me
over one .thousand dollars," answered
my aunt, looking really displeased.
"One—thousand—dollars!" I echo-]
ed, in dismay. "Oh, what a—" But I
stopped in time to reflect, and the last
word remained unuttered. After all,
llenais- i my aunt was enough to throw away
sance, bric-a-brac, dados, potieres.j|a few thou*and when she chose, and
Queen Anne mirrors, coves, Eastlake,
mirrors
Morris wall-papers, decorative Art—
the latter pronounced with a capital A
—these succeeded each other with start-
ling rapidity, until at last I rose to take
leave, feeling almost anxious about my
aunt's sanity.
It so happened that I was obliged to
leave town early the next day on urgent
business, so I did not see her again for
nearly a week. But what a surprise
awaited me ! I stared in helpless
amazement when the door was opened
in answer to my ring, and should have
apologized for getting into the wrong
bouse, had not John's smiling visage
re-assured me. He alone was unchanged.
But what meant all this transformation?
The elegant carpets and curtains had
disappeared; so had the luxurious chairs;
and lounges; so had the superb mir-
rors, the valuable pictures—in short, all
the furniture and ornaments of which
my aunt had been so proud. In their
places I beheld ugly old Dutch clocks,
clumsy carved furniture, ponderous and
grim of aspect, sconces holding candles
whose dim light only made one regret
the gas, and tiny mirrors in queer
frames. Old china plates were'suspend-
ed all over the walls, Japanese cabinets j
stood here and there, and in place of
the polished grate with its cannel-coal
what a fool should I be if I angered her
by ill-timed or unwelcome criticisms on
her acts!
So I hastened to retrieve my error,
and, by dint of judicious admiration of
the famous rug, and many appreciative
comments on the plates, clocks, cabi-
nets, etc., I installed myself once more
in my aunt's good graces, so that the re-
mainder of the evening passed pleas-
antly enough.
Nevertheless, I was conscious of a
good deal of perplexity and annoyance
when I thought over the whole inter-
view next day, and the result of my
thinking was a determination to watch
over my aunt as closely as possible with-
out becoming obtrusive or exciting her
suspicions.
Well, in accordance with my resolu-
tion, I went up there the next day, in
time for dinner, if she urged me to stay,
as I knew she would. I found Mrs.
Kerammik terribly hoarse, but refusing
to believe that the barn-like atmosphere
of her house had any thing to do with
her severe cold. Several workmen were
busily engaged taking out the plate-
glass windows, and replacing them with
sashes set with tiny diamond-shaped
panes of very poor glass. Wide leaden
settings connected these miniature
panes, which were, to my thinking,
lire, an enormous fire-place now yawned} exceedingly ugly. I hinted as
before me, its sides ornamented with much when she asked me
tiles, the tall brass andirons and fender' to admire them, and was sorry for it the
framing in a couple of blazing logs.! next moment. For my aunt quoted so
The floor was dark and shining, and largely from the "First Steps," etc.,
terribly slipplery, as I found out in a
moment, so I stepped gladly on a dingy
rug as an island of refuge. At one side
of the fire, on a tall carved oaken " set-
tle," sat my aunt, looking blissfully con-
tent with her new surroundings.
"Isn't it charming, Frederic?" was
her first question. Then: " I found it
all in that delightful book—the one I
was reading when you left me last week,
you know, Fred. Did you ever See such
a transformation P"
" Never," I replied, with considera-
ble emphasis; " but are you quite sure,
my dear Aunt, that you rind yourself
as comfortable as formerly? This ar-
that I was overwhelmed, and actually
pretended to be convinced, to avert the
gathering storm. I went home that
night with a copy of the horrid book in
my pocket, and an earnest injunction to
study it carefully. " For your percep-
tion of true Household Art is very dull,
my dear Frederic," said my aunt, pity-
ingly, as we parted.
From that time each visit I paid my
aunt made me more and more melan-
choly, while I found the house more and
more uncomfortable. Mrs. K.'s art
studies were always necessitating some
change, which she called improvement,
but which to those about her was always
tide of furniture, for instance"—touch- a little worse than the last fancy. It
ing the back of the wooden settle—" is would be impossible as well as useless to
n't it a little, just a little, hard and un- describe her progressive steps—if that
accommodating? Don't you miss your maybe called progressive which was
delightful easy chairs, now?" always retrogressive, for it was ever to
"Frederic," said my aunt, with a remoter ages, to more obsolete and
mingling of reproof and surprise in her i comfortless styles of living, that my poor
aunt inclined.
One room in her house had always
been placed at my disposal, but the first
tones—" Frederic, can you be so insen-
sible to the value of true household Art
as to regret the furniture I have discard-
ed ? Ah, my dear boy, your words only | time I occupied it after this art fever had
prove to me your lamentable want of j seized upon her I was fairly confounded
culture—tho dullness of your aisthetic The furniture had disappeared com-
perceptions, in fact—and I shall do my pletely. A great clumsy carved chest
best to educate you to a higher plane In did duty for the very handsome dressing-
• rt ,, bureau; a tiny plate of polished steel
My aunt shivered perceptibly as she replaced tho cheval-glass; an attenu-
finished; and no wonder, for the room ated stand holding a basin, and remind-
s rcft||v w](j 1 ing one irresistibly of a dentist's appar-
of Crotim; while some three-!
legged stools passed for chairs.
Although I had long been persuaded
of the folly of unwise opposition, I!
could not help remonstrating with my j
aunt this time.
" At least you might have left me the
Croton, aunt," I declared, after vain
representations of my discomfort. But
she only replied, sweetly:
" I couldn't, my dear nephew, I
couldn't. That was so horridly out. of
keeping with tho rest of the appoint-
ments! You can't mix the centuries in
that inartistic way."
So things went on,from bad to worse,
until at last the very rugs disappeared,
and tho floors were all strewn with what
my aunt called rushes, but which I ig-
norantly and unbelievingly termed hay.
Then I congratulated myself that we
had reached a climax, and could faro no
worse; but I was mistaken.
One day, on entering the parlor,I was
conscious of a very disagreeable odor—
just such a perfume, in fact, as one
might expect to obtain by distilling half
a dozen teuement-houses and as many
emigrant ships, and bottling the result.
I soon found that this fragrance was due
to some fearfully dirty and tattered
hangings, evidently a new acquisition,
which draped the walls, and made the
apartment look like a veritable rag-
shop.
When my aunt came down I ventured,
in the most delicate manner, to call her
attention to this unpleasant peculiarity
of her new possession, and to ask if a
little fumigation might not be advisable.
Such a look as she gave me! Then she
said, severely:
"Frederic, those hangings are inval-
uable. They are so old that their age is
involyed in the mists of antiquity. It
is, however, probable that they were at
one time in the possession of William
the Conqueror, for here in this corner
you can see the remains of his mono-
gram. Look, here is part of the W and
one curve of the C;" and my aunt lifted
one end of the worn and faded fabric,
with the tenderest care imaginable, and
held it up for my inspection.
" Yes, yes, I see. Remarkably dis-
tinct,'"! answered, shrinking from near-
er contact. " Of course they are a great
prize, an uncommon treasure; but—as
they are so very old—don't you think,
my dear aunt, you might better have
them washed, just to dissipate the dust
of the centuries, you know?"
"No, indeed," she replied, with an
admiring glance at her hangings. "Not
for the world would I allow such an out-
rage. You don't seem to comprehend,
Frederic, that this very odor of which
you so unreasonably complain is the
truest evidence of their age, and to lose
it would be to lose half the proof of their
genuineness."
I said no more. I inhaled that per-
vasive odor in silence, but I made up
my mind to see the family physician at
once, and give him a hint of my aunt's
mental condition.
However, before long the obnoxious
hangings came down in accordance
with a new whim. On paying my usual
visit, I found Mrs. Kerammik seated on
a pile of skins at one side of the room.
Similar piles of skins occupied every
corner, some of them heaped high as
couches. In the center stood a rude
chest, evidently doing duty as a table.
Here and there, on the now bare walls,
hung stuffed birds, horns, and huge
shells. It took me some time to see all
this, for the only illumination proceed-
ed from some torches scattered about
the apartment, and producing as much
smoke as light. Having made out to
reach the pile of skins upon which my
aunt was sitting, I sat down beside her,
and ventured to ask the meaning of this
last transformation.
"Because," she said, decidedly, "I
have found out that in a return to prim-
itive forms and usages alone the high-
est Art consists. Depend upon it,
Frederic, our chairs and couches,
our tables and buffets, are but
the unnatural outgrowth of too
much civilization. Life free, untram-
meled, artistic, will have none of these
absurd and cumbrous appliances—these
commonplace, comfortable surround-
ings. We must go back, back of these
arbitrary forms, and make ourselves
independent of them, if we would reach
the best, the only true, artistic culture."
My aunt's enthusiasm did not affect
me. I only asked if I might dino with
her the next day, which request had a
purpose hidden beneath it, and, receiv-
ing her permission, I left.
This purpose of mine was merely to
persuade my aunt to go abroad for a
time. I had great faith in change of air
and scene, and I hoped that, if she con-
sented to take the voyage, her cure
might be effected without the aid of a
physician.—From a Story by Mrs. E.
T. Cobbett, in Harper's Magazine for
April.
A San Francisco paper says that
Col. Bee, tho lawyer of the Six Com-
panies, has concluded a contract with
a Missouri coal company for 500 Chi-
nese to work in their mines, and is col-
lecting a gang of 200 coolies to ship to
Arkansas. Quite a large number of
similar orders are being received from
the East.
The aborigines of Viotoria, Australia,
who, when the colony was formed, some
46 years since, numbered 5,000, have
dwindled down to 1,000, and are de-
creasing at the rate of 35 per cent, a
year. *
STRANGER THAN FICTION.
The Adventurous Career of Una I.IvInn-
atone—A Kant. Young Man In New York,
a lteeluse in a Capuchin Monastery, and
a Xiove-Maker and Fighter in Italy, Spain
and Turkey, Be Knds Bis Career at Plev-
na.
[From the Cincinnati Enquirer.]
London, Feb. 22.—In the fashionable
world of New York some 20 odd years
ago the name of a tall, fair young man
of very pleasing manners was constantly
heard, in favor among the belles, and in
jealousy among the beaux. He passed
as Gustavus Mortimor Livingstone, and
claimed the hospitality of the well
known family of both the " tall" and
the "short" Livingstones, as they vied
in their receptions to him. After a few
seasons of social yet refined dissipation
in Gotham, this personage disappeared,
and though the inquiries after him and
his whereabouts have been numerous,
yet not until this week has a cluo to him
been obtained. This cluo I'give herein
and hereafter. Gus Livingstone, as he
was usually called, was a polished gen-
tleman, of lively imaginations and warm
passions, and though essentially a man
of the world, he had feelings not wholly
worldly. About tho time I allude to the
once famous Tabcrnacle stood on
Broadway, and was frequently thronged
by eager listeners to the impassioned
words of Dr. Chapin, who had just
come up from Norfolk, Virginia, to
startle and captivatc the children of
Gotham. One of the sermons preached
then and there was like many of these
to-day. It was on the torments
of hell in the mind. Gus Livingstone
was a listener, and became suddenly
seized with the terror of eternal damna-
tion, present and prospective. He re-
solved to fly from the gay world, to
mortify his unruly passions, and become
a recluse. He quietly left America and
sought on the Continent of Europe a
Monastery of Capuchins. Here he re-
mained about two months, but wearied
of its relaxations and desired a more
rigid ordeal of life. He entered the or-
der of the Carthusians, and the life he
passed for two years in their midst is
described to me as edifying in a high
degreo.
However, his imaginative, worldly na-
ture broke out once more, and he said:
" Why should I not live in the world,
and yet gain eternal salvation?" From
that hour his mind was fixed in a de-
termination to escape from the Carthu-
sians. An effort in this direction was
discovered by the Prior, and the gay
deserter was caught scaling the walls
and recaptured. In the scuiflc he drew
his hidden knife and dealt the Prior a
fearful blow, laying him at his feet, sup-
posed to be dead. Terror added to de-
termination greater strength, and Liv-
ingstone once more scaled and over-
leaped the wall into "the wicked world."
He sought refuge at an inn that night,
attired in the plain civic garb he arrang-
ed to escape in.
Before retiring to his bed a young
French officer, also a guest of the inn,
with whom he had got into conversa-
tion, twitted him on his peculiar accent
and distracted manner. This led to a
challenge. They went out in an adjoin-
ing field and fought with sabers, the
officer receiving a severe wound, and
Gus Livingstone flying for his liberty.
He enlisted in the command under
Garibaldi, and served with credit before
Rome, and his friends seemed proud of
him. One in particular was Robideaux
Benoni Wheat, of Virginia, better kn< wn
as "Bob" Wheat, who was killed in the
Confederate service during the " seven
days' fights around Richmond." Both
these men were enamored of a pretty
Italian girl, and Livingstone was the
successful competitor. When the Ital-
ian campaign closed "Bob " Wheat re-
turned to America, and Gus Livingstone
to his «ffair da cceur. He came; he saw;
he conquered, and the maiden blush
passed, and she became a mother. Her
mother, whose guest ho was, prayed
him to marry her darling daughter. He
promised—but never performed. He
finds Madrid a place of rest. Passing
through one of its streets he was accost-
ed by a Cavalier of quality, who mistook
him for another. Hot words quickly
passed; they draw their stilettos and
fight beneath the light of the moon.
The Cavalier's body was found the next
morning cold in death. Being the son
of a Grandee, vigorous efforts were
made to find the guilty one. But he had
flown and sought a convent where he
implored the protection of the Mother
Abbess, to whom he forged letters of
introduction. He told his story and
begged protection by hiding him. This
was reluctantly granted, and lodging
given him in an adjoining farm
house, but his strange stories won
the ear of a novice nun, who lis-
tened from within the gate. • She in
turn told them to one who had not
yet sealed the vows—one a reluctant re-
cluse. An eager ear soon indicated a
willing heart in the land of romance and
chivalry, and plans for elopement were
concocted between the two worldly
ones. But the intrigue was discovered,
and the good Mother Superior severely
reproached the turbulent seeker of shel-
ter within her peaceful walls. He
wept and protested his sorrow, but laid
his error at tho door of love. No one
can forego a pardon on such a plea; so
the good Mother gave money and means
to him, and bade him instantly depart
from the country. He assented, but
managed to convey a note to the fair
so-called prisoner, avowing his love, his
life for her, if she would but jtfln and
wed him.
Intrigue, as well as love, laughs at
locksmiths. She fled and joined him,
journeying to Lisbon. Here they rest-
ed in retirement for some days. Want
of monetary means perplexed Liviug-
stone, and he sought the aid of an En-
glishman named Gronfell, who was
himself a type of a singular adventurer.
Many of your Enquirer readers will re-
call this Grenfell. He was a tall, wiry,
toughened soldier of about 62 years old,
when he joined Morgan's Confederate
raiders as " chief of cavalry." Ho was
as active and lithe as a lad of twenty
years, and loved horses, as well as dar-
ing adventure. He had served as an
ollicor in the Crimea; fought with the
Algerines against tho French; was tak-
en prisoner and escaped; borrowed the
steam yacht of an English friend and
nobleman then at Tangiers; turned her
into a pirate craft and indulged
in much havoo on the Morocco
seas. Then he appears in tho Confed-
erate service and plays a brave soldier-
ly part. He joins a party to rescue the
prisoners at Johnson's Island; is caught
and sentenced to the Dry Tortugas—
whence he is aided to escape by some
of his relatives, now in the British
Parliament, but the boat carrying
him and others from that barren
island is capsized, and all are
lost in an unmarked grave.
Such a man as Col. Grenfell was likely
to aid such a man as Gus Livingstone,
and he did. A Captain of a vessel was
met and negotiated with to take Living-
stone and his fair follower to Smyrna.
This Captain became enamored with
Livingstone, and on his arrival at Smyr-
na introduced him to his friends. Then
the loving pair lived in peace for some
time. But a greater conqueror than
love appeared upon the scene. Death
carried off the fair one of the nunnery to
a closer cell.
The surroundings of Smyrna possess-
ed but brief charms for men of the
stamp of Gus Livingstone. He went to
Constantinople, the hot-bed then, as
now, of intrigue of all kinds. He
sought a commission in the army of the
Sultan, and after much delay and fruit-
less inquiries about his antecedents he
was admitted to serve the Grand Seig-
nor if he would pray to the great Mo-
hammed. Ho became a Mohammedan
at once, and an officer immediately af-
ter. In Turkey, as the patron goes so
goes his proteges. Gus Livingstone's
patron was disgraced and his aid dis-
missed.
Bereft of his power, his female slaves
and liis luxurious surroundings, he be-
gan to reflect. At the best of times
there are few cities like Constantinople
to bring a man to a knowledge of him-
self. New York comes next. Living-
stone in despair addressed a letter to the
late Cardinal Antonelli and implored
pardon and aid. He also wrote to Don
Carlos, and he sought position. The
dead Cardinal replied not. The living
King answered. Livingstone became an
officer once more. He served with Don
Carlos and won his spurs. In a duel he
had lost some blood with a Castilian,
and was left at a hospital, when he was
taken prisoner. He sought the aid of
the American Minister at Madrid to ob-
tain his release and succeoded. When
the present war between Turkey and
Russia commenced, a tall, thin and
worn-looking prematurely old man
sought a military position at St. Peters-
burg. He was refused. Stories passed
and repassed in high quarters about the
knowledge this applicant had of the
Turks, and in time he was tendered the
position of "scout independent." He
accepted. . . . "To enter Plevna
is but the work of a bold man with dar-
ing and dash. I have just come out of
it," said Livingstone to the Command-
er-in-Chief of the Russian forces. "Go
into it again, and with these men to
follow," said the General; and in he
went with the conquering army, and
there found at least a resting place and
a grave. Gus Livingstone was shot, and
one of his New York companions, Ed-
mund Phoenix, just from Russia, tells
me this story in all the details, of which
the above is merely a summary of the
main facts, minus the aliases Living-
stone employed to cover his exploits and
gain his objects.
Perpetual Motion Accomplished.
A magnetic clock, invented by Daniel
Drawbaugh, of Milltown, Cumberland
County, Pa., is sufficiently remarkable
to be worth description. The magnet-
ism of the eartb, an inexhaustible source
of power, is made to oscillate tho pen-
dulum; and the simplicity of all the
works gives an assurance of the least
possible friction. At a certain point the
movement of the pendulum itself shuts
off magnetic connection with the earth,
and at another point restores the con-
nection, thus securing the conditions
necessary to produce its oscillations.
The works are so ingenious and simple
that it is no wild assertion to make that,
were it not for the unavoidable wearing
out caused by even tho smallest amount
of friction, the clock would run as long
as the solid earth endures. This clock
is hung against a board partition, with
all tho works exposed, subject to the
jarrings of machinery and obstructions
from dust setting upon it, yet since
March 1, 1877, it has been running con-
tinuously and uniformly, with only
slight reported variations, as tested by
transit observations at noon.—Harris-
burg (Pa.) Telegraph.
A consumptive in Nicholas Coun'y,
Ky., is said to have lived the last two
years solely on milk and ice-cream.
A Senator's Wife.
Most of tho biographical sketches of
the late Mr. Wade mention that ho mar-
ried Miss Rosencranz, and that he was
41 years old, almost an old bachelor,
and she 37, almost an old maid, when
the nuptial knot was tiod. She lived
with him for 37 years—that fact, too, is
stated in tho "sketches;" but how use-
ful a helpmeet and helpmate she was is
not more than very generally narrated.
It is rather an important fact that Mrs.
Wade was her husband's secretary, ac-
countant, reader, and it may almost be
said right hand. Senator Wade had an
almost invincible antipathy to putting
pen to paper. He had an almost equal
disinclination to search books. This
drudgery Mrs. Wade cheerfully assumed.
When her husband had a great speech
in hand, it was his wife who furnished
him with the materials, which he after-
w*rds arranged, assimilated and sys-
tematized. Great things are told of her
skill in this respect—of her tact, indus-
try, patience.
There is nothing discreditable to the
late Senator in the statement, for his
share of the work was undoubtedly the
greater, and his mind it was which
utilized Mrs. Wade's industry. But it
must have been every thing to him that
she felt such a lively interest in matters
which were the business of his life, that
she could be intelligently consulted up-
on points about which not many women
know any thing,and that, while she was
proud of his success, she knew just how
he had succeeded, and why he was de-
servedly famous. There are other dis-
tinguished Senators whose wives are
proud of their distinction, but who do
not exactly comprehend how it was at-
tained. They are not without valuable
influence on their husbands, and do
much by social talents to promote their
success; but it is not always that these
estimable ladies read their husband's
speeches, or would comprehend them
if they did. Tho politics of these wives
are, of course, the politics of their lords;
but they are entertained in the female
bosom in rather an indefinite way, and
are taken pretty much upon trust. Mr.
Wade was fortunate in a wife who sym-
pathized with him entirely in the opin-
ions which, all his life, lie so stoutly
lentertained.
Wo have said that wives who have
been the valuable assistants of public
men have not been many, but perhaps
they have been more numerous than is
generally suspected. At any rate, it is
a matter worth looking into by the care-
ful student of biography. The investi-
gation would probably disclose many
another instance like that which we
have mentioned of a community of
tastes and of toil. Sometimes it is the
wife who devotes her time and strength
in this way; sometimes it is the daugh-
ter. In the case of Ilerschel, the as-
tronomer, it was a sister. More than
one great man has probably admitted
that he would have been nobody but for
the help and encouragement which he
found at home.—New York Tribune.
Double Murder in Texas.
A recent special from San Antonio,
Texas, to the St. Louis Globe-Democrat,
is as follows: A few days since a trav-
eler came across the bodies of two men
near Rage Pass, on the Rio Grande. The
discovery was reported to the authori-
ties of Maverick County, who investi-
gated it, when it was developed the men
were R. W. Berry, a New York gentle-
man, who had recently established a
sheep-ranch on the border, and a
trusted Mexican employee. It was also
ascertained that two well known Mexi-
cans had left Eagle Pass with Berry and
his herd. Deputy-Sheriff McCabe went
in pursuit of the suspicious parties, rid-
ing night and day, and following them
to Santa Rosa, about 100 miles in the in-
terior of Mexico, where he found them.
Their arrest accomplished, the pair
were rushed to this side of the river
without regard to the extradition treaty,
and lodged in Maverick County Jail.
This was done last Friday. The mur-
derers, after shooting deceased, built a
fire over their legs, which were burned
to a crisp. The murder is considered
tho foulest and most brutal, and only
equaled by the San Elizario massacre,
near El Paso, when the victims of
Greaser rage were sliced with knives,
back-bones broken, bodies forced into
corn-sacks and thrown into a well. In-
formation comes that the Mexicans just
arrested confess the crime.
— '
Running .Amuck in Malacca.
Physiologists have argued that the
well known habit of running amuck is
simply a homicidal monomania, a form
of disease, in fact. But our English au-
thorities in Perak have taken a different
view, and since they have insisted on
formally executing offenders, they seem
to have put a decided check to the prac-
tice. The police are provided with a
huge pitchfork, meant to take the mad-
man alive when he turns to bay. A
Malay, Major McNair tells us, will say,
"My eyes got dark, and I ran in."
Whon the terrible cry, " Amuck,
amuck! "is suddenly raised in the streets,
there is a general scramblo to get out
of the way. The homicide makes his
headlong rush, striking to the right and
left; the bystanders who can not escape
draw their own firearms and knives, and
shoot or stab at him till at lavt he drops
under his wounds or is hemmed into a
corner.—Pall Mall Gazette,
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Denison Daily News. (Denison, Tex.), Vol. 6, No. 27, Ed. 1 Sunday, March 24, 1878, newspaper, March 24, 1878; (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth326876/m1/2/: accessed April 18, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Grayson County Frontier Village.