A curious case of swindling has just been tried before the Correctional Tribunal of Paris, with the result that an adventuress, who passed herself off as the Princess of Reuss, has, in spite of the able advocacy of M. Lachaud, been sentenced to two years’ imprisonment. A few weeks ago, a “lady of distinguished appearance, very elegantly attired,” fell down, apparently in a fainting fit, at the St. Lazare Railway Terminus, and among the persons who hurried to her assistance was a retired servant, who had already been struck by the grace of her demeanor. When she came to, he asked permission to assist her to a hotel in the neighborhood, and sent for a doctor, being assured, in return, that he would have no reason to regret his kindness; “for,” added the lady, “I am the Princess of Reuss and shall not forget your goodness.” The Princess went on to explain that she had immense possessions in Germany, which, unfortunately, had been seized by Prince Bismarck, and that the worry to which she was subjected by the suit going on for their recovery, had so affected her that she was often overtaken by fainting-fits. “But,” she added, with touching condescension, “can I regret all this, since it has procured me the opportunity of meeting with such disinterested attention?” The retired servant was so completely won by this last phrase, that he begged the Princess to accept the loan of any money which she might require for temporary purposes; and it was not very long before the £400 which he had saved during long years of service, had been borrowed from him. After these had gone, and when the Princess still failed to receive the remittances she was expecting, he awoke to the possibility of his having been defrauded; and the inquiries which were instituted by the Police showed that the Princess of Reuss and a well-known swindler by the name of Perin were one and the same person. Justice has been satisfied by the sentence of two years’ imprisonment; but the retired servant will not, it is to be apprehended, recover his £400.–Pall Mall Gazette.

A curiosity which astonishes scientists and puzzles them to account for is now on exhibition in Gould’s cabinet at Mill City. It is a perfectly formed hand, which apparently belonged to a boy about fourteen years of age. The hand is open, the fingers being slightly bent toward the palm, on which the thumb rests. The back of the hand seems to have been crushed or decomposed before it was petrified, but the palm, thumb and fingers are perfect. We were informed it was found at the sulphur beds near Rabbit Hole, by one of the men employed in shoveling crude sulphur into the refining retort, and is supposed to have been imbedded in the sulphur bank for ages. The fingers are comparatively short, a fact which indicates that it did not belong to an Indian, as the red men’s fingers are generally longer than those of whites; but the thumb is rather longer than the average. To what race the owner of the hand belongs, and how and when it was imbedded in the sulphur, will probably ever remain unknown, unless some eminent scientists should investigate the hand and the sulphur bank where it was found and explain these mysteries.–Winnemucca (Nev.) Silver State.

Manitoba Lake, which lies northwest of Fort Garry, has given a title to the Province formed out of the Red River region, derives its name from a small island, from which, in the stillness of night, issues a mysterious noise. On no account will the Ojibways approach or land on this island, supposing it to be the home of the Manitoba, the “Speaking God.” The cause of this curious sound is the beating of the waves on the “shingle,” or large pebbles lining the shores. Along the northern coast of the island there is a long, low cliff of fine-grained, compact lime stone, which, under the stroke of the hammer, clinks like steel. The waves beating on the shore at the foot of the cliff cause the falling fragments to rub against each other and to give out a sound resembling the chimes of distant church bells. The phenomenon occurs when the gales blow from the north, and then, as the winds subside, low, waiting sounds like whispering voices are heard in the air. Travelers assert that the effect is impressive, and that they have been awakened at night under the impression that they were listening to church bells.–Helena (Mont.) Independent.

In consequence of the increasing number of grave-yard desecrations, the genius of the inventor has been incited to devise means for their defeat. Among the most recent patents is one for a coffin torpedo, which consists of a canister containing powder, balls and a firing trigger, so arranged that, on placing the torpedo within the coffin, and finally closing the lid, should any attempt be made to open the coffin the torpedo will be instantly exploded, a noise like thunder ensue, and deadly balls will fly in all directions. Had the remains of the late millionaire, Mr. Steward, been protected by means of this invention, the neighborhood in that part of the city where his body rested would have been alarmed while the robbers themselves would doubtless have suffered sudden death as the penalty of the sacrilegious attempt.–Scientific American

A correspondent of the New York Evening Post, writing from Winnipeg, Manitoba, describes an old manuscript written in 1618 by one of the mutineers who sent Hendrick Hudson and eight of his crew adrift in an open boat. They were never heard of more, and for more than 200 years there has been much speculation as to their fate. The manuscript, written in a large, firm hand, consisted of ten slips of paper, apparently torn from a book and tied together for better preservation. It has been forwarded, together with other relics, to the office of the Hudson’s Bay Company in London. The writer, Louis Marin, thus tells the story of the mutiny:

“One night, when we were in great misery, stars fell from Heaven in countless numbers and we rejoiced to think for a time that the end of the word [sic] had come. Our Captain was gloomy all the time, and the men often cursed him in his hearing for bringing them to such a pass. Spring was very tardy in coming, but when the ice field broke up we thrush Hudson and the five blind sailors into the pinnace and told them to go ashore. We headed the ship out that night, and in the morning the pinnace had disappeared. I became afraid of the crew and of the ship, for every night at midnight the ghosts of the Captain and the five blind sailors came aboard and troubled us sorely. While I was at my prayers one night one of the ghosts told me to leave the ship, and when we touched the coast for water I ran away from it.”

The Mining Journal says that Indiana resurrectionists pack cadavers in barrels of potatoes, and send to Ann Arbor, where the bodies are taken to the college and the potatoes sold to the grocers. This is true, except the potatoes are shipped to Marquette where they bring high prices, owing to their rich gamey flavor.

The walking mania is at feverish height in this country to-day, and a very pretty dissertation might be written about the effects of legs upon the brain. As a psychological study we recommend it to the students in the university, and to all others who are fond of metaphysics. The effect of legs upon the American people at this time is marvelous. Play-houses all over the country are nightly filled with a motley crowd, who applaud and encore until the welkin rings the disgusting “acting” of the actress who lavishly displays her shapely limbs; and who would be hissed from the state if it were not for these substantial auxiliaries. So, too, in the legitimate drama, the occasional display of a pretty ankle enhances the attraction, and has more than once been the salvation of a piece. But it is not alone upon the stage that “legs draw.” Thousands of persons daily rush to see some phenomenal feat of walking, paying as much for the privilege of witnessing a pair of legs traveling a saw-dust path, as they would have to pay to see forty pairs of legs upon the stage, while at the same time enjoying the comfortable seats of the modern theatre. We do not mean to put O’Leary and Harriman and Mrs. Anderson upon a level with ballet dancers, nor to class walking with the can-can, for the latter is immeasurably more degrading. We simply ask what is there in legs that attracts thousands to the comique and Gilmore’s garden, while lecture halls, libraries and churches are deserted? Legs and not brains command attention to-day, and while the possessor of the former received a pittance for years of severe, menial labor, the owner of the latter earns a fortune in a few days. Why is it thus? Can Prof. Cocker tell us?

The song to which the little creature gave utterance again and again in our full view was as sweet and varied as the warbling of any bird. It most resembled that of the canary, but the melody of the nightingale was occasionally introduced. Every note was as clear and distinct, but withal so soft, so gentle, tender and pianissimo, that I can only compare it to the voice of a bird muffled by being heard through a down pillow. In the room was a canary, whose cage was suspended in one of the windows. He had settled himself to roost, and his head was under his wing, but at the sound of “Nicodemus’” serenade he awoke, and, listening attentively, and fantastically leaning alternately to right and left, peeped curiously down to the floor. I learned that the mouse and bird were intimately acquainted with each other, and that the former frequently visited his feather friend and stayed to supper. Accordingly, while we looked on with pleasure, “Nicodemus” climbed up the drawn curtains, entered the bird’s cage, and partook of the seed–the canary showing no symptom of disapprobation or disturbance, but merely from his perch peeping down on his visitor in a ludicrously quaint and odd manner. During his supper time, “Nicodemus” obliged us from the cage with several repetitions from his song, “The Chirper,” down below on the carpet, occasionally coming in with a monotonous contralto accompaniment, and sometimes emitting a sound like the squeaking of a corkscrew through a cork. The two little songsters, having done their best to please us, were rewarded with all that mice could wish for as components of a feast, and after selecting the portions they severally preferred, gracefully retired.–Popular Science Monthly.