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Volume VI.
"INDEPENDENT IN ALL THINGS.”
CONYERS, MAY 1883.
DEATH IN THE FIT.
Amy Glover was the prettiest lass in the
viilage, and 1 loved her, but, as for that, all
the young chaps in the village were of the
same mind, hut she never looked at one
more than the another. One day there was
no work in the pit for my gang, and so I
made up my mind that I would go and have
it out with Amy. 1 set out with a brave
enough heart, but just as.I reacehd the cot¬
tage, who should come out but Amy herself
looking prettier than ever ; but appearing
so suddenly she dashed my spirit, and I
hadn’t a wt rd to say to her.
“Why, Charley, what is the matter?'’ she
cried, in a frigntened sort of way.
“Well, it is just this,” I said. /And there
I came to a full stop.
“Is anything wrong with Jack?” she
iasked, eagerly.
“Jack!"
“Yes; he is down in the pit, and they say
it is foul, which makes mother aud me un¬
easy. You’ve not heard anything ?”
"No,” I answered, steadier now that I
could comfort her, “He is all right. Y’ou
w usn’t mind what the old women say, or
you'll be looking for a blowup every day in
the year, when there is nothing more than
common. I haven’t come about Jack; it is
about myt.elf.”
Site looked at me; then her cheeks flushed,
and she turned away.
“I want to tell you how I love yon; I can”
say all I want to, but here I am, and I
wouldn’t change for a king if you will take
me as I am.”
“Ah, you dout’t know how you pain me,”
she answered.
“Don’t say that, Amy; but if you have
pity in your heart show it to me, and I’ll
cherish you to the day of my death ”
“It is no use. I can never marry a pit¬
man. I gave the promise to mother and
Jack over the graves of my father and
three brothers, all killed at the same time.”
She looked at me through a mist of tears,
and I turned and left her without another
word.
I felt as if the sun would never shine for
me any more; I thought f might as well be
in my grave as to try to live there. Why
shouldn’t I go to Yorkshire or Derbyshire,
or even to the diggings in Australia, for that
matter ? The notion of it gave me a little
spirit. It turned my thoughts, and I stept
ped out more briskly, going strait home. IJ
hadn't much to settle there, only to bid
good-by to the people I lived with, and I
soon came out, pack on back, aud begau
my tramp.
‘‘I was walking on, when suddenly the air
rang with a crash which shook the ground.
I knew what it signified ; such sounds de¬
note but one result in the black country,
and, throwing down my pack, I darted off
to the pit.
It didn’t seem a minute before I came to
the dust heaps round the pit’s mouth, but
some were there before me, and people were
rushing from the village in a stream. Tne
smell from the pit almost threw me down as
I came up, and I had to.get my breath a
little when three or four of us crept on to
the mouth aud looked down. The explo¬
sion had destroyed the cage, but it hadn’t
injured the signal-rope ; hence a means of
communication remained for any one im
mediately below. As soon as I saw this I
proceeded to rig a cross-bar, and presently
had it ready.
“Just lower me gently; I may ptek up
one or two, if there s any near, lsmdtotwo
banksmen
“Yon can’t go down yet," said the v. e wer
“How many are there in the pit T
“Half an hour ago there were fifty; bu
I’m thankful to say they all came up but
ten ’ re P bed tbe time-keeper.
“ A,ld they are l03t ’ IT W ! ! e
another exposition presently, said the
viewer.
“ rM g0 d0WD ’ a^ow.Isa.d doggedly;
and if nobody lower me Til jump down,
A good manywere cn the heaps now and
two or three called out, “Good*by, God ble38
y0Ui dear lad .. The banksmen lowered
me diWn ’ and * 8ank * rou " 1 ® plts>
month. A Davy Tamp was tied round my
wai8t and 1 held a rope in my hand so
,
that I might signal to be hoisted up, if the
air became foul. But I had no intention ot
going back until I had searched the pit and
seen if there were any alive. One thing, 1
didn’t care about my life and another I
would have been ashamed to face the folks
above without doing something, so I felt
impatient that they lowered me at such a
snail s pace, and I kept looking up an
down to measure the distance yet to be
traversed. But my progress was notified
by the increasing density of the air which
began to affect my breathing ; and as I
went on I bad to shift my face from side to
gide tomake a ii tt i e curr ent. At last my
! feet touched ground.
I looked around as I jumped ofi the
straddle, and'saw the furnace was out, which
put a stop to the ventilation of the mine,
aud no air entered but by the shaft. The
stench was overpowering, and from tbit; and
| sde])ce j guessed the worst. It was
evident that the explosion had killed the
! borg es, for no sound came from the stables,
j wb i cb were close ‘to the shift; and what
hope could there be for human beings In a
i distant part of the pit? I did not stand to
make these reflections; 1 was working for
ward as .bey went through my mind. 1
knew the old pit blindfold, but what with
the gloom and my shortness of breath, I
was was some some minutes m scrambling * for the in
! chne. e fi „ J j
pushed trap , wen
open t e an
steps, but my amp was utto an
the atmosphere was so head
j As I stumbled along it came into my
what Amy had said about Jack being in the
pit. I rushed lorward like mad; my foot
struck something; I bent over what ap
P eared t0 be a cor P se ’ a,ld the « lfca,u of
' am P U' 1 hpon its face. It was Jack. I
cau « b ‘ him in in J arma - and with the
length of a giant and the sp ed of a deer
hardly conscious, hardly breathing I
made a das h for the shaft,
It was easier work going back, when you
were in the main or horse road, and I found
that Jack was breathing when I reached
the shaft. The discovery kept all my senses
at work without my seeming to notice it, I
only felt that there would be another ex¬
plosion. I placed Jack on the straddle and
tied him hand and foot; then pulled the
signal rope, and as the people above hauled
the tackle, I hung on by ray arms,
It wasn’t till we had reached twenty feet
up that I felt the strain of standing on
nothing ; but from that moment it became
terrible. My hands seemed ready to snap
and my head spun round in an agony. 1
watched the mouth of the pit until my eyes
swam, and I thought I must drop before I
reached the top. Then they began to hoist,
faster; I could see the walls of the shaft ;
I could feel the purer air ; I heard voices
oLd presently strong arms caught me, and
I was landed on the bank.
They had Jack off the straddle before you
could look round, and he was carried away,
while they raised my head and poured a
little brandy into m> mouth. I called out
for the viewer.
“What is it, Charley Baston ?" he asked,
bending over me.
“Everybody away from the month of ths
pit, sir,” I said.
“You are right; it will come in a minute
or two,” he answered.
They got me to the top of the bank, when
I heard a scream, and there was Amy trying
to throw herself on her brother, but kept
back by the other women. She never
glanced at me. I wished then that I had
stayed in the pit, or let myself drop from the
bar as 1 came up, and so escaped seeing
her again. But l made up my mind that I
had looked on her for the Ust time. I told
my helpers that 1 could walk now and when
they let go my arms I turned toward the
moor intended to pick up pack and drag on
to the next village But I could no more
walk five miles than I could fly. When I
came to my pack I sank dowu by it and
felt that I must give up. I was so beat
that though the second explosion at the pit
shook the ground under me, I didn’t lift my
head. All I thought of was lying quiet.
By degrees I recovered a little strength, and
my thoughts took me to my old lodging,
where 1 decided to rest before 1 set out on
wanderings.
The day passed, and the night, aud the
next day, and I was still in bed, the good
folks of the houee attending me like a
child. My limbs, which had been racked
with pain, now felt easy, and I was ready
for a start again. But 1 thought there
be opposition, so I got up very quiet,
and was putting on my things, when the
door opened, and in came Jack Glpver.
“Hilloa, Charley, here we are!’ he cried,
my hand and giving it a hearty
squeeze, “Who would have thought of us
being alive to day ?”
“Well, Jack, I am glad for you, but 1
have cared for myself.”
“How’s that ?”
“I have something on my mind.
“You !’ he sa.d, laughing and giving me
a little push. “Here, sitdown and have a
pipe aud it will all go off like the smoke.
“I don’t care ,f I never smoke a p.pe
again, 1 said savagely.
"Now, 111 tell you what,Us; you ve been
having a tiff with our Amy.
I haven t.
" We!1, y °", kn0W ; 3 ! ab0Ut, M: ba, r U
we re seen talking;w.th her and she had a
crying fit direct y a ter n w en s e
heard from me that .t was you who brought
me up from the pit. she fell fainting in my
a ,a£V “Didn t she know that until you tola
her?” I asked.
"Then 111 just tell you all .. about , her , aud ,
me, I said.
I was a long time telling it, , , but Jack T , sat ,
u p as if he was listening to a play or a ser
mon at chapel. I told him of the feelings
A my had raised in my heart, told him how
I ba d watched for her; thought of her,
dreamed of her; and, firstly ^counted our
latest colloqj. Jack never moved a muscle, j
an d not til! I stopped for breath did he put
in a word.
“Don’t you think you have been a little
fast, old boy ? ’ he then said.
“How do you mean ?”
“Why, in giving up so. Suppose when
Amy said she couldn’t have you, you had
put your arm around her waist and said she
must ?’ . •
The view had never struck me, and rather
took me aback.
“But there was her promise to you and j
her mother never to marry a pitman.”
“So there was. But did you ntver hear
that promises were made to be broken ?"
“I can’t say bat I have,” I muttered,
clapping on my bat.
“Where are yeu going ?"
“You wait here a minute."
With that I took two strides down tbe
stairs into the road into Mrs. Glover’s
cottage. I stood outride a minute, then I
opened the door, and the first thing I saw
was Amy sitting by her mother looking like
a ghost-only ghost- never look pretty
sbe 7e me oce l ook then started up and
,
• nto mV arms. My h« art was so
fail I couldn’t speak at first slipped but I thought
I must do something, so I mj arm
around her waist as Jack recommended,
Now I felt sure of her, and of all the hap¬
piness the world could give, and as my
breast swelled proudly I began to bear a
little malice.
“Ah, Amy, if you had only loved me,” 1
said.
She tightened her arms around mJ neck.
"How happy we might have been 1” I
continued.
“Then we can be, Charley," she said.
“How ? We can never marry, you
know.”
The little fingers unlocked, and I felt
Amy falling away, but I remembered Jack’s
counsel and held on by her waist.
“There’s your promise to your mother
and Jack; how are we to get over that ?" I
conti nued. •
"I forgot that,” faltered Amy, as white as
a sheet.
“And what do your say to it, mother ?"
I cried to the old lady,
Mrs. Glover got up and took Amy’s hand
and put it in mine.
“That’s what I say to it,” she said hear¬
tily, “and Jack is ot the same mind.”
"And this is what 1 say to it,” I cried,
giving the girl a kiss.
l r ou won’t be surprised to hear that we
were married the next week. And now I
am the viewer of the colliery; and as for
Amy, she will tell you that, though she has
married a pitman, and has her ups and
downs like other peop'e, there is no happier
woman in the kingdom.
Life in Russia.
No one is allowed to enter Russia without
a passport duly issued, or to leave the coun¬
try without permission from the authorities.
These passports are. however, ot little use
for detective purposes, as they simply con¬
tain the name but give no description of the
traveler. The hotel keepers at St Peters¬
burg are obliged, under heavy penalties, to
report to the police twice a day the nam, s
of all travelers who enter or leave their
hotels. Each householder in the city is
compelled by the government to have a
“dvornick" to watch his premises. These
dvornicks are men of the peasant class who
sit day and night wrapped in their sheep
skins at the entrance of bouses, their office
being apparently that of half watchman,
half spy. An order was issued a short time
ago that no one should walk the streets of
St. Petersburg without a passport, but the
absurdity and annoyance of proceedings
such as to compel the withdrawal of
the order. Newspapermen are only allowed
give on cer’ain subjects such views as
meet with the approval of the government
some questions they are prohibited
Foreign newspapers are stopped
the postoffice, often held altogether, and
delivered at all have any objectionable
or paragraphs stamped out and made
The London Times frequently
with paragraphs or portions of the
blocked out in this manner. A
received his paper a short lime
with the whole of it cut away with the
i f the advertisements. It would
too long to enumerate the many petty
other annoyances which official zeal
on the ordinary life of the lltissiau
aud which have to be accepted
public remonstrance or criticism
The Ruins of the Tuileries.
The areft witMll ^" about the ruing of
Tuileries has not been entirely cleared
the maS3 o( fallen debria with which it
encaiIjberedt and the demolition of
o9e parts of the buildings that still stand
^ c0[nmfcuced durin)? , he pa8twe , tk
work can proceed but slowly, J owing J to
precau(ions tfaftt haye tQ tak t0
from injury , bo8e tragmenta pos .
any artistic or historical value.
operations, which occupy sixty skilled
, IBTe beeD gtaKed ou the rivw
rQnt The central pavilion will be attaek
in a day Qr (w<) Acco , diug t0 the
. . . .
demolition,'“ 1 "“ palace mV marvel of
C . o7 . rr . “LIl . ,
theMacing
fillings only, an 1 the interior, so generally
, fouu(] be on)
g w cotnmon
moulding affixed to the rough stones, in
,
’
^ g Qne gu d j ig ^ ,,
Ang )o.American company has purchas
the Pavilic)n d’Honneur as it stands,
^ ^ ^ M ^ ^
u the Crystal Palace grounds at
SjdenhatDi whi]e the torcherea (figures
hoWiug Jampg) of the SalJe des jfarechaux
k ave cer t a { n ]y b een bought by the Russian
^rument for the St. Petersburg museum,
—The Architect,
A Dinner that will be Served for Seventeen
Until Sixteen Die.
n0? ”’ u ^ a6t * ook at th f F i
Bei evue. It was the third annual dinner ,
of the Last Man’s Club, formed three years
a £° It has seventeen members. Each
member tr ust attend the dinner annually.
Death, serious illness or separation by great
distance alone excuses. At every dinner a
place is kept for each ab33nt member,
whether living or d**ad, and dishes and wine
are served opposite their empty chairs, the
same as if they were present. A curious
and elegant tankard of beaten silver, filled
with wine, ia passed around ihe table and
quaffed by each one present until emptied,
As each member d'eshm name will be en
graved on the tankard until finally the last
man surrounded by the overflow,ng plato
the full glasses and the empty chairs, will :
drink to their memory alone. Then tbe
dinners will cease and the tankard will be- :
man’s propwrty.-Pbiladel- '
come tbe last
phia Times.
A Reminiscence oi Niagara.
I remember when I was a boy that a man
got into the rapids here, having been carried
down in a boat, which was broken to pieces.
He had the good fortune to be dashed on a
rock, to which he clung. It was at the
height of the season—August, if I recollect
—and he clung there for fully thirty-six
hours. Everybody streamed out of the
hotels and the village; the batiks of the
river, particularly on the side, were thronged
with people anxious to do something to
save him. Dozens of plans were suggested;
some attempted, but they all tailed. Thous¬
ands of dollars were offered to anybody
who would rescue him. The desperate sit¬
uation of the mau was telegraphed over the
country, and every train brought crowds of
passengers hither to witness it with their
own eyes. He was encouraged by shouts
from the banks, but whether he could un¬
derstand anything that was said is doubt
ful. It
The world is said to be sympathetic.
is, or appears to be, unsympathetic, because
the object for which sympathy is asked is
abstract. When it is tangible, visible, all is
changed, There was an cmnplificalion.
This poor wretch could be seen. He was
an ordinary, uneducated man; but he was a
man, and the brotherhood sisterhood of the
race went out to him in pity and intense
eagerness to rescue him.
Many persons sat up all night looking
across the seething, roaring waters at the
small dark figure still clinging to the rock.
The morning came ; renewed efforts were
made, but they all miscarried. The crowd
had increased; it was immense. Every¬
body was excited. Tears wero in the wo¬
men's eyes. Can’t something be done ?
Must the poor fellbw perish before our
faces? Is there no way to rescue him?
Such questions were instantly asked; but
alas! rio reply could be given:
The man had good courage and great
strength. He clung to the rock with the
desperation of a dying soul. To lose bis
hold was to be dashed over the cataract,
Apparatus and contrivances arrived from
Buffalo. New experiment and new failures.
Hoarse shouts still raug across the rapids
to hold on, be of good heart. The stoutest
heart that ever throbbed could not grip that
rock forever. It was wonderlul how he had
endured. A fresh idea had come to the
minds of half a dozen mechanics. They
were laboring to throw out a hawsers; every
muscle was strained; every eye was bent
upon their work.
Suddenly the man slipped away. He
was exhausted; he threw up his arms ; he
dashed toward the cataract. A low groan
as from one brt ast went through the throng;
the thousands shivered with- terror. A
black object appeared for a moment in the
hell of the waters, and then disappeared for¬
ever. There was an agony of relief. No
one moved, no one spoke for a whi'e. All
looked in the direction where the figure had
been swallowed up. It was the enchant¬
ment of terror; It was the chill of tragedy
distinctly wrought which froze every one
for the moment to the spot.
Setting Hens .
This is the season when hens run mad
and will not be comforted unlesB they can
hide away somewhere and sit day and night
on a wooden nest egg or an old door knob.
Several men were discussing thisquestion
in a grocery store one evening recently. A
man who owns a large flock of Dorkings
remarke d, “Not even an act of Congress can
break up a Bettin’ hen.”
“Ever tried jaramin' ’em under a barrel
an’ pourin' water on ’em'/" demanded the
man on the sugar barrel.
“Yes,” said- the Dorking man, “I've
poured wafer on 'em till they grew web
footed, like a blamed duck, and afterwards
found ’em in an old coal hod settin’ away
on lumps o’ coal.”
“Tie a r rag on one wing," said a man
who w eating cheese and crackers.
‘Tha .ifik ’em.”
Might’s well offer ’em a chromo,” said
he Dorking man. "I tied a whole red
woolen shirt to one last spring, and dog my
cats if she didn’t make a nest in it and set
three weeks on the buttons.”
Then the grocer said it was time to shut
up, and each man girded up his loins and
slowly filed oat.
An Answer That Every One Wishes.
People often wonder what becomes of the
old tomato cans. Wagons can be seen on
the Btreets almost every day, filled with old
tin cans of every description, picked from
vacant lots or streets. They are taken to
to Newark and sold for fifteen cents a hun¬
dred. The price is small, but cans are
numerous, and the gathering of them pays
handsomely, if our informants tell the truth.
The Newark purchaser sorts them out, and
puts them into a furnace, which softens
them so that they can be rolled by machi¬
nery into plates. These plates are artistical¬
ly blackened and present a smooth, polished
surface. The trunk makers buy them to
bind tbe edges and bottoms of trunks, and
often to cover up defects of woodwork. In
this manner old tomato caus become a
most useful as well as ornamental material
The process of heating the cans also has
its profitable result, for tbe solder, running
hrough a grate into a receptacle, is sold for
twelve cents a pound, it almost paying, it is
claimed, all tbe price originally paid for tne
cans.
“Ella ia better looking,” remirxed Mrs
Brown with a smirk, ‘ but Lucy will get
married first.” “Yes,” chimed in her
husband “gimme Luci-for matches every
-Springfield (0.) Repunlican.
C. W. WHITE, Publisher.
Number
fte Mongers UtoMg.
CITY AND COUNTY ORGAN,
THH LARGEST CIRCULATION,
FINEST ADVERTISING MEDIUM.
Advertising Rate*.
One column, one va»r - JUt*
One column, stx months. . _____ MW
One oolnmn, three month* MW
Small advertUemenU, U eenu a n» T l
Special Rates to General AdveiHsere.
ALL SORTS,
Financiering vowels—I. 0. U.—Life.
Out on a fly—The insect’s wings.—Har¬
lem Times.
The greatest composer—sleep.—Burling¬
ton Free Press.
The garment of a ghost must be a spirit
’rapper.—Harlem Times.
The Jersey mosquito, like charity, begins
to hum.—New York Advertiser.
Cbeckerss is looked upon as a square
game.—New Orleans Picayune.
Ladies, a piece of advice—never send
your letters by male.—Burlington Free
Press.
A trade paper, called The Corset, is
talked of. It will no doubt, “come tostay."
New York News.
Assafcetida is now on the free list, there
being no American cheese to compete with
it.—N. Y. Herald.
Money is the great enigma of the age.
Everybody is compelled to give it up —
New York Advertiser.
When a dumb photographer wants to say
“yes to a customer, he merilly displays
two negatives—N. Y. Advertiser.
Many a man who thinks himself a person
of note is not so far out of the way. He
may be a natural or a fiat.—Boston Tran¬
script,
Carpenters who refashion o'd dry goods
boxes should be called “circumstances,”
because they alter cases.—New York Ad¬
vertiser.
When a perXn writes a poem to kill
time, he may be pretty sure that time will
have its revenge aud kill the poem.—Bos¬
ton Transcript.
To those who invest in real estate and
buy lots on long payments, it seemes yearly
more plain that Martgage is Lot's wife.
—Pittsburg Telegraph.
An exchange says it is fashionahie to in¬
troduce some element of the antique into
every dress. Whatl are old maids becom¬
ing the rage ?—Boston Star.
“Is that your dog, Mr. Trigg?” “Yes, sir,
that's my dog." "Is he a setter?" “Hess
of that type, yes, sir.” “Oh ! then he's a
type setter.”—N. Y. Sentinel.
"You said, Mr. Jones, your umbrella had
a straight handle?” “I thought it did, but
since it vanished I am quite certain it en¬
ded with n hook.”—Boston Traveler.
There is no difference between a well
limbed tramp and a well trimmed lamp
when a cyclone makes its appearanae, for
they both light out.—New York Advertiser.
“I get an inkling of your thought,” said
the retreating agent, and he neatly dodged
the Hying bottle of writing fluid as he made
for the door.—Boston Traveller.
He rang the door bell of a banker. The
servant tells him “Mansieur does not re¬
ceive to day.” That makes nothing to me.
My racket is to know if he will give any¬
thing.”—French.
“Can you tell me," asked Twistem, "the
difference between my cook this morning
and a passenger on a new railroad? One
was bakin' shad and the other was shaken
bad.”—Pittsburgh Telegraph.
“I'm sorry to keep you waiting for your
money,” said the bank teller to Snithers
“but here’s the money all in yellow boys.”
“Never mind," said Smithers, “1 see 'tis
worth the weight in gold.”—Boston Star.
A Milton man who a few weeks ago kind,
ly offered to share his bed and board with
an impecunous acquaintance somewhat
addicted to intemperance, says he is suffer¬
ing from an attack of room mate-ism.—
Milton News.
B. lives in.the country near Paris, winter
and summer, but always after the 1st of
May they meet him on Sunday on the
boulevard. He explains: “The country is
too crowded. Everybody is there on
Sunday; so 1 come to get the air of Paris
—French.
“How is your brother ?” askel Mr.
Grumper of a friend.
“Oh, so-so. His health is not any too
good, and he has been bothered a great deal
of late with spina) meningitis."
“Spinal who ?”
“Meningitis.”
“VY'e.'l, why don’t he shoot the Italian
son of a gun ?”—Williamsport Breakfast
Table.
Truthful Sentimennts.
Peter Cooper, a short time previous to
his death, sent the following letter to a
friend. The first publication of the fines of
truth were made in the New York Sun:
“Mankind will improve and better their
condition just in proportion as they come to
see, know, and understand that what a
man, acommunity, a State, or nation soweth
that must they also reap somewhere, some¬
how, and at sometime, and that by the oper¬
ation of a reign of beneficent laws, design¬
ed in infinite wisdom for tha use and the ele¬
vation of mankind. Man without knowledge
is a soulless body; without science he is a
straying wanderer. Science is knowledge
demonstrated by the actual experiences of
mankind. Dewitt Clinton in a moment of
inspiration uttered this sentiment: ‘Pleas
ure is a shadow, wealth is vanity, power is
pageant; but knowledge is ecstatic enjoy¬
ment, perennial, unlimited in space and in¬
finite in duration.”
