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ZTHE .CROCODILE GIVES A BIN-
? -: ' -
i A "wily crocodile
i ' "Who dwelt upon tbc Xilo
forethought himself one day to trivc a dinner.
I "Economy." said he,
Ia "Is chief of all with me,
-&na shall considered be as I'm a sinner?"
"With paper, pen and ink.
He sat him down to think;
-And first of all, Sir Lion he invited:
The Northern Wolf who dwells
In rocky Arctic dells;
The Leopard and the Lynx, by blood united.
Then Mr. Fox, the shrewd
No lover, he of pood
-and Madame Duck with sober step and stately;
And Mr. Frog serene
In jnirb of bottle green,
rVvho warbled bass, and bore himself sedately.
Sir Crocodile, content,
The Invitations sent,
"he day was come his guests were all assem
bled; They fancied that some guile
Lurked in his ample smile:
-Each on the other looked, and somewhat trem
bled. A lengthy time they wait.
Their hunger wa.os great;
-And still the host in conversation dallies.
At last the table's laid.
With covered dishes spread,
And out in haste the hungry part' sallies.
1 " But when the covers raised
On empty plates they gazed.
Each on the othor looked with dire intention;
Ma'am Duck sat hist ot all,
And Mr. Frog was t-nmil
She softly swallowed him and made no men
tion! This Mr. Fox perceives.
And saying: By your leaves,
iSome punishment is due lor this transgres
sion." He gobbled her in hate.
Then, much to his distaste,
Jly Mr. Lynx was taken in possession 1
The Wolf, without a paue,
In spite of toetli and flaws,
"Xeft nothing of the Lynv to tell the story;
The Leopard, all irate
At his lciation's. late,
I!Made mince meat of that wolfish monster
The Lion raided h! head:
"Since I am king." he said,
""It ill befits the king to lack his dinner!"
Then on the Leopard sprang,
With uii'-'ht of claw and fang,
-And made a meal upon that spotted sinner
Then saw in sudden fear
Sir Crocodile draw near,
.And heard him speak with feelings of distrac
tion; "Since all of you have dined
Well suited to your mind,
"You surely can not grudge me satisfaction!"
And sooth, a deal of guile
Lurked in his ample smile,
As down his thi oat the roaring lion hasted;
" Economy, with me.
Is chief ot all," said he.
' And lam glad to see there's nothing wasted."
"TILL DEATH US DO PART."
"Till death us do part," rang out the
How, cleai voice of the officiating minis
ter throughout the quiet church. And
"Till death us do part" spoke the man
-who knelt beloro him; and "Till death
lis do part'' in her turn repeated the
Thus they plighted their troth in the
"face of the world and before Heaven,
"that man and, woman, Humphrey Car-
bonel and Emma Crane. They had
"promised to love and cherish and honor
each other, and he to comfort her and
-she to obey him in sickness and in
health, for better for worse, for ridicr
ior poorer, until death did them part !
May breezes stole softly in through
'the open porch; May violets tilled the
air with perfume: Ma- birds were sing
ing; May dews yet sparkled on the
jeweled grass. It was a true bridal
"morning; and, amid the almost Sabbath
stillness and the spring-tide loveliness,
the vows were exchanged that made
Until death! The lover-husband
.glanced down upon the timid girl
whose hand lay in his, feeling suddenly
how terrible was thit word death!
Why should the thought have come to
him? He clasped the trembling hand
-closer, as if he felt already the chilling
-of those warm pulses. Even in the
midst of the solemn service, his imagin
ation traveled forward to a day when
those solemn promises would have been
"fulfilled, and death had ended all her
death. It did not occur to Captain
Carbonel to think that it might be his
The young girl, happy and smiling in
.her bridal robes, never once thought of
-death at all How should she? And
how still less, how could either of
them call up a picture of something
"worse than death to break the marriage
A young couple they, supremely
"happy on that May morning. Sun
shine, and glistening dew, And opening
flowers, and the joyous song of birds
then do not put forth notions of winter-
-ehill and gloom. No, nor portend it.
" What God hath joined together, let
-not man put asunder!"
The tremulous voice of
man, for he was agitated,
those words very solemnly,
"upon the bridegroom's lip
pronounced The smile
"that of his heart. Wlio should have
power to put asunder two who loved so
"well? And Emma? She thought only
-of the strong, manly form by her side.
It was the old, old story of the oak and
the vine. The present happiness was
perfect, and the future would be like
-unto it; nay. much more abundant.
So reason we in our blindness, in the
"inexperienced youth of our early morn
ing, when the glamour of hope is upon
ns, and all looks radiant. Later, stand
ing before the calm-faced teacher.
whose name is iaic, we learn mat no
that the '
-earthlv existence is perfect;
sunniest life hath shadows, and that
"the sweet spring-time, the brightest
-summer, must give place to faded
llowers, to dying leaves.
"Ton cannot have Emma unless you
"retire altogether from the army, or get
"put upon half-pa," had said Emma
Crane's stern old guardian to Captain
'Carbonel; for she had neither father
jotor mother, brother nor sister. And
-Humphrey Carbonel. tired perhaps of
-a soldier's idle life, for all the world
sseemed to have been at peace for ages
and likely to remain so, got put upon
Sure never did a couple begin life un
der more -promising auspices! They
had a pretty homestead of their own
itwas.Emma's, notjiis amid a small
colony of'other pretty homesteads, and
thay had between them a handsome
competency, and there was pleasant so-
ciety around; and life was as delightful
as. a morning dream.
A child was born to them, but it
died. That brought sorrow. No other
child came, and time went on. And
here some lines that I met with in a pe
riodical in youthful days occur to me.
1 don't know whose they are. If I
knew then I have fo-gotten:
"Alas, that early love should fly.
That friendship's self should fade and die;
And glad hearts pine with cankering fears,
And starry eyes grow dim with tears!
For years are sad and withered things,
And sorrow lingers, and joy has wings;
And falsehood steals into sunny bowers.
And Time's dull footstep treads on flowers.
And the waters of life flow deep and fast.
And they bear to the sorrowful gravo at last.".
Why should the lines be put in here?
Because they just express the altered
condition of things that fell upon
Humphrey and Emma Carbonel. They
grew estranged from one another, hard
ly knowing now, or why. He said she
no longer cared to please him, her hus
band; she said he liked other wives bet
ter than her that he gave them all his
attention and gave her none. And
again time went on.
Seven times had the May violets
opened their blue eyes in the mossy
dells since that lovely day when he and
she had vowed to love and cherish each
other until death did them part: seven
times the May dew-drops had made the
green meadows all aglow with sparkles;
and seven times the sweet spring llow
ers had faded beneath the scorching
heat of summer. Ah, if violets hail
been the only things that had died out
in those seven years!
It was May again now. But it brought
no cherished bridal flowers to Humphrey
Carbonel and his wife, no clasping of
hands, no fulfillment of love's glorious
prophecy. Estrangement had but deep
ened, and they were parting in pride and
anger. Tired" with tiie state of affairs
at home the unbending coldness, the
resentful tones, the cruel bickerings in
which both indulged Captain Carbonel
had got placed on full service again.
He was going out to be shot at, if fate
so willed; for we were at war now.
The day of departure dawned, and
they parted with bitter words. Heaven
and their own hearts knew how much
or how little they suffered: there wa?
no outward sign of it. People, who
had ceased to wonder at the suspected
estrangement between Captain and
Mrs. Carbonel, said to one another that
it was brave of him to go out volun
tarily to the wars. " Marlbrouck
" Sn ho wnnt. nil
with an indilfcrent countenance
jaunty air; and she stayed behind
equally jaunty, equally indifferent.
One year parsed on. Emma Car
bonel began to feel lonely, to sicken of
her unsatisfactory life. Bit by bit she
had grown to see that she and
Humphrey had been but foolish, both
of them, the one as much as the other.
Did he feel the same? It might be.
Yet their letters continued to be of the
scantiest and coldest.
Another year dragged itself on, and
then she made no pretense of keeping
up the farce" of resentment to
her own heart. Time, generally
speaking, shows up our past
mistakes in their true colors.
Emma Carbonel longed for her husband
to come home, she grew feverishly im
patient to be reconciled. Mariana in
the Moated Grange was a favorite read
ing of hers just now
"She said: 'I am a weary, weary,
He cometh not,' she said:
4 He cometh not, and all is dreary
I would that I v. ere dead!" "
i Humphrey Carbonel came not.
Nothing came but the details of the
fighting; wars, and rumors of wars.
May was in again; another May.
Mrs. Carbonel sat at her window in the
twilight of a chilly, drizzling day. The
gloom without "harmonized with the
gloom within. And yet, hardly so. The
rain might be cold, dreary, dispiriting,
but it was nothing as compared with
the desolation of her heart. Childless,
and worse than widowed! She had
hoped, ah! for a year or two now, that
Humphrey's old love for her might
overrule his pride and bitterness, and
prompt him to write to her a word of
tender regret for their conduct to one
another. But he did not. She was
feeling it all to her heart's core this miser
able evening; unavailing remorse lay
heavily upon her; she wished she could,
die anil end it. No sign of reconcilia
tion had passed since they parted in
pride and anger; not a word of repent
ance on either side had crossed the
dreary gulf that flowed between them.
Words of another poet, dead and gone,
floated through her mind as she sar.
Night and day lately they had seemed
to haunt it.
' Alas! they had been friends in youth
But whispering tongues can poison truth,
And constancy lives in realms above.
And life is thorny, and youth is vain:
And to be wrath with one we love.
Doth work like madness in the brain."
Should she go mad? There came mo
ments when she feared she should if
this state of things continued. A week
ago there had been some talk in the pa
pers that the war would, in all proba
bility, soon be over. Then Humphrey
would come home again.
Her thoughts turned to this phase;
she began to dwell upon it, and what it
would involve to him and to her. Pres
ently she lost herself in fond anticipa
tions, realizing it all as in a picture.
Somehow she felt a strange nearness to
him, as if he were coming then, were
almost there. She heard the rain beat
ing against the windows, and she glanced
to see that the fire in the grate was
bright when he came in. She gazed be
yond the house gates down the road in
the gathering gloom, almost, almost ex
pecting to see him approach, as she
used to see him in the days gone by.
"ie "iai ljecn wretcnedly lonely so long
now: anu sue wauieu to near ms iooc-
step in the hall, to feel his caressing
hand on her sunny hair, and to hear his
bright words, " Good evening, Emma,
my dear!" It did not seem strange to
her that this should happen, or that she
was expecting it, though she had never
once had this feeling through all these
separated years. It did not seem mar
velous that he should come thus from
beyond seas without notice. Had he
opened the door and stood there "by her
side she would not have felt startled or
surprised, or at all wondered at it. The
bewilderment wrought by long-continued
sorrow has stolen over her senses.
But Humphrey did not come. Only,
instead, the postman came in at the
gate, and knocked at the door. Me
chanically she wondered why he was so
late this evening. She heard the ser
vant who answered the knock say the
same to the man.
"Yes, it's late," he answered. "A
mail from the war is in, you see; and it
brought a good many letters."
The woman came m with a thick let
ter and the lights. Her mistress took
it with nervous haste. A thick letter,
and from her husband! until now his
letters had. been of the thinnest and
slightest. The writing was it Hum
phrey's? Why, yes, it was his; but
what could make it look so shaky? She
opened it carefully, and some inclosures
fell out. A fond letter or two of hers
written to him after their marriage, dur
ing a temporary separation; a curl ol
her sunny hair; a plain gold ring which
he had worn ever since his wedding
day; and a little folded note with a few
trembling lines in it.
"I am dying, Emma. Fell to-day in
battle. God forgh-6 us our folly, my
precious wife! I believe we loved one
another all the while. There is another
Life, my dear one. I shall be waiting
for you there. Humphrey."
Emma Carbonel did not cry, did not
faint. She lay back in a low, large
chair, her meek hands clasped in sup
plication, praying to be pardoned for
all her hard wickedness to her dead
husband, feebly beseeching God, in His
mercy, to take her to that better life.
The next day the paperc published
a list of the fallen. Fifteen soldiers
and two officers, one of the latter being
Captain' Humphrey Carbonel.
So it was all over. Death had parted
) them, They had taken their marriage
.vows to love anu to cherish one another
until death did them part and lo!
now it had stepped in to do its work.
Ah! but something else had stepped
in previously: angry passions indulged
in, malice not suppressed. But foi
that. Humphrey Carbonel had never
gone out to the fatal plain where death
was indiscriminately putting in his
sickle. Emma Carbonel would have
given now her own life to recall the
Experience must bo bought; some
times all too dearly. She saw how
worse than foolish it is, taking it at the
bc-st, to render our short existence here
one of marring anger. Evil temper
bears us up at the moment, but time
must bring the reaction, and the re
pentance. A little forbearance on both
sides, especially on hers, a few sooth
ing words, instead of spiteful retorts,
and this bitter retribution had not been
hers; or his, in dying. "A soft answer
turneth away wrath." If they had but
obeyed the words of holy writ!
And now what was left to them?
Death Wad claimed him, and all was
over. To her, a life-long time ol
anguished remorse, a vain longing to
undo what could never be undone in
this world. Could not some of us, hot
and hasty in our dealings, learn a
lesson from it?
But something better was in store foi
Emma Carbonel. Humphrey did not
die. Within a week the news came to
her that the injuries, which had in
duced a death-like swoon, mistaken at
the time for death, had not yet been
fatal, He was removed to the hospital,
was being treated there by skilful sur
geons, and the issue was as yet un
certain. The issue was not for death, but life.
Some months later he came home, a
maimed soldier, bearing about him
marks which time would never efface.
Just at the dusk of evening, as she
had pictured it in her fond dream, he
came. When the fly drove up to the
door with liim, she was surprised, for
he was not expected until the next day.
He came in slowly, limping. The bustle
over, the servants shaken hands with,
he lay back, fatigued, in the easy chair,
Emma kneeling before him, clinging to
him in passionate emotion, tears
streaming irom her eyes, whispering
to him in deprecating terms to forgive
"Upon condition that you forgive
me, Emma," he answered, agitated as
herself. "It has been a sharp experi
ence for us both. My darling wife, 1
do not think we shall ever quarrel with
one another again."
"Never again; never a single mis
word again, Humphrey, so long as life
shall last." Argosy
A Slam-Bang Doctor Dead.
Death has just carried off old Doctor
Newton, whose sensational "cures' oi
all sorts of ailments, from lumbago
down to a sore toe, made him a promi
nent figure among the humbugs ol
Gotham several years ago. When the
doctor was in his glory he had an of
fice in St. Mark's Place, near Cooper
Institute. The lame, the halt and the
blind gathered there in crowds every
day. They sometimes blocked the
sidewalk so much that policemen had
trouble clearing a way for pedestrians.
The fame of Doctor Newton spread all
over the city and through the surround
ing country. There was nothing that
he could not cure. And he gave no
medicine. He cured everything by
touch. The touch was often a jiretty
rough one, such as giving a rheumatic
sufferer a thump between the shoulders
and a drive forward, and telling him to
step out. The thump and the drive
generally made the sufferer step out
in some way. In one corner of his o-f
lice the doctor had a collection of old
walking-sticks and crutches. These
relics of decrepitude testified to his
skill. They had been left behind by
people he had cured, who had no fur
ther use for them. Men and women
crawled into his office by the aid of
sticks and crutches, and came out as
spry as if nothing had ever been the
matter with them. So, at least, ran the !
reports that were circulated every day.
And a great many believed them. They
reached the newspapers, and reporters '
were sent to witness the doctor's opera- J
tions and write them up. The report- '
ers seemed to be skeptical, and their
reports of what they had seen were not
calculated to make the general public
believe very firmly in Dr. Newton. He ',
was finally complained of as a nuisance
in the neighborhood on account of the
motley crowds he drew, and after a
while he moved away. That was some
twelve or fifteen years ago. He gradu
ally passed out of notice, and many to
whom his name was once familiar had
forgotten him altogether when the an- I
nouncement of his death was made a
couple of days ago. His. age was seventy-three.
Newton called himself a
"healer." His whole method was slam
bang. Any one who got a thump from
him between the shoulders was sure to
remember it a month any way. N. Y.
Cor. Detroit Free Press.
"A Burnt Child Dreads the Fire."
Republican journals, we observe,
have discovered that Mahone is a very
poor Republican after all, and that his
otter and final defeat will be no
very serious misfortune to the party.
This change of tune has a sweet sug
yestiveness which can not be over
looked. Mahone is now just as good a
Republican as he ever was, and he was
considered so goo I a one even by the
lamented Garheld that the Federal
patronage in Virginia was placed in
his hands unconditionally, to be disposed
Df as he saw fit. It is rather late in tha
iay for Republicans to find fault wifi
:heir purchase. Mahone, elected to the
Senate as a Democrat by Democratic
rotes, offered himself for sale and
aamed his price. The Republicans
bought him and paid the pricewithout
defalcation or discount. They knew ex
actly what they were getting and were
lad to get it. Such highly moral or
gans as the New York Tribune rejoiced
greatly over the infamous transaction,
"dahone was a prodigal son returning to
bis father's house, and a dozen fatted
salves were none too many for the cele
bration of the family reunion. He could
have and should have as many "rings
on his lingers and bells on his toes,"
m the shape of offices, as he wanted,
for was he not the predestined leader of
i new Southern departure? the advance
guard of a mighty host of Southern Dem
ocrats who were to desert Democracy
and join the Republicans? Who does
not remember the storm of congratula
tion over what was facetiously called
" the conversion of Mahone?" Who
does not remember the Republican pre
dictions in regard lo the tremendous ef
fect this "conversion" would have up
on the solid Democrafc South? Ma
hone's example so said these prophets
would be imitated in every Southern
State, and in a few years a prominent
and influential Southern Democrat
could not be found without a search
warrant. There has been a fearful dis
appointment, of course, but is Mahone
to blame for it? He has faithfully ful
filled the terms of his contract, and
what more could be asked of him? If
i Southern Democrats saw the treason
and despised and damned the traitor,
was it his fault? Republicans are not
particularly popular in the South, even
the best of them; and a Republican,
made such by open and unblushing
bribery, is naturally and. inevitably an
object of deepest detestation. The Re
publican party paid Mahone for his
treachery, and Southern Democrats
paid him again, in a different way, and
will continue to pay him as long as he
lives and afterwards.
The fact is and this 'is what galls
and digusts the Republican purchasers
Mahone has done the party far more
harm than good. It was odious enough
in the South before, but he has man
aged to make it still more odious. Not
only this, but his methods in Virginia
have not merely demoralized and disor
ganized the Republicans in that State,
but sickened the better class in the
North. At the very time this class
were trying to get rid of the curse of
"bossism" in New York and Pennsyl
vania, the 'spectacle of the meanest
"bosses" in Virginia, supported by a
Republican Administration, was not
pleasant to look upon. Conkling and
Cameron were angels of light compared
with Mahone. They had some decency
and dignity even in their worst acts; he
had none, and did not pretend to any.
From first to last he has been
"on the make," and the fraud,
corruption and rascality which North
ern Republican "bosses" tried to
conceal, this Southern Republican
"boss" flaunted in the face of the
world. To "assume a virtue if you
have it not" was foreign to his nature,
for virtue was not in his line of busi
ness, and the semblance of it might em
barrass him. So he has gone on in his
own way, and a very pretty way it is
when studied from the stand-point of
human depravity and impudence. The
Republicans have got Mahone; now let
us see them get rid of him. He is, for
them, a veritable "Old Man of the
Sea," firmly seated on the shoulders of
the party, and resolved to ride as long
as legs and lungs hold out. The party
has made itself responsible for him and
his, and that responsibility is an uncom
monly heavy burden, as liepiolicans
are now ascertaining to their sorrow and
shame. It is safe to say that the next
Mahone in the market will not be
snapped up as quickly as was the pres
ent one. "A burnt child dreads the
fire." St. Louis Republican.
The Dorsey Exposures.
The reception of the late expose of
the secrets of the Republican campaign
of 1880 is just about what we supposed
it would be on the part of the Repub
lican journals. They are violently an
gry and declare the whole thing a tissue
of falsehoods, fabricated byDorsey's
well-known ingenuity in a spirit of re
venge and desperate malice. That is
one wing of their defense, or rather
apology for defense. The other is an
assumption of grief and indignation that
any such charge or charges should now
be"brought,when the man against whom
they are mainly directed is no longer
alive to defend himself. We are sorry
that they are so shocked by the bad
taste of those who give these charges to
the public, and if only the individual
was concerned we should join them in
their desire to throw the mantle of
charitable silence over the memory of
the dead. But that is not the point.
History never admits a noljpros. What
ever the candidate of the Republican
party may have done in 1880 he did to
a considerable extent in the name of
that party and with the knowledge and
consent, if not approval, of many of the
leading men in it. We will admit that
so far as Dorsey's statements stand
alone, they must be accepted with the
greatest caution, if not suspicion. But,
bn the other hand, it will not do to say
lhat they are falsehoods simply because
Df a general impression that Dorsey is
entirely capable of falsehood. Jf it is
falsehood, it is remarkably ingenious
and workmanlike. What Dorsey has
jaid merely supplies the connection to
certain detached facts with which the
public is acquainted independently of
;he recent Secretary of the Republican
Committee. It is a fact that Dorsey
mew more about the whole arrange
ment of ways and means in the cam
paign of 1880 than any other man. It
j a fact that Garfield and his friends
vere very much demoralized and panic
stricken when Dorsey was invited to as
sume the whole responsibility and al
most absolute powers in the conduct of
that remarkable campaign. It is a fact
that after the Fifth Avenue conference
there was a sudden revival of confidence
on the part of leading Republicans with
out any apparent reason for it, and that
immediately after, with as little appar
ent reason, there was a sudden change
in the political complexion of Indiana.
It is a fact that Garfield wrote to his
"dear Hubbell" that he hoped Brady
was doing well in the departments, and
looked to his unusual resources for
assistance in his embarrassment. It is
a fact that a dinner was given to Dor
sey in New York, after the election, to
acknowledge his skill as a dispenser of
"soap," to admit that he saved Indiana
with money, and leading Republicans,
Garfield among the number, were either
present or sent their profound acknowl
edgments of the worth and value of
Mr. Dorsey in the campaign. When
we refresh our minds with all these
facts we hardly need the testimony of
Dorsey or any one else to fill out the
story. Instead of there being any im
probability about the latter's state
ment, it fits the established truth like iti
complement. It is the missing half of
a torn leaf. The Jay Gould and Stan
ley Matthews incident is not dependent
upon Dorse for substantiation. Way
has not the Tribune something to say
about that part of it? Its editor knows
considerable about it, or is said to. at
least. We believe now as we believed
at the time that the Republican cam
paign of 18S0 was one of the blackest,
most corrupt and most desperate con
spiracies of the century. If new light
can be thrown upon the details history
demands the revelation, and the testi
mony of the man who has turned peo
ple's evidence becomes valuable, like
all evidence of that kind, only as it
harmonizes with and strengthens facts
already known. Boston Post.
A Blighting Sirocco.
The address of the National Union
League to the faithful Republicans of
the United States is a soul-stirring doc
ument. In its own eloquent language,
it will sweep over "this beautiful coun
try with all these splendid institutions"
and save it from "the blighting sirocco
of Democratic rapacity."
But the address is not disposed to rely
upon trenchant phrases alone in the
approaching struggle. It desires to
impress on the citizens of the United
States the many virtues of the grand old
party which some inconsiderate and
selfish persons are proposing to drive
"The Republican party stands to-day
the champion and protector of a free
ballot and pure elections, and demands
the security by law of the right of
every man to vote in accordance with
his own convictions" says the address.
Yes; and in proof of the proud and
patriotic boast comes a competent wit
ness, in the person of the late Secretary
of the Republican National Committee,
and says: "We expended $400,000 in
the October election in Indiana. Five
thousand reliable Republicans scattered
among the townships reported how
much it would take to influence people
to a change of thought. We paid
twenty dollars to some and as high as
seventy-five dollars to others. But
then this wasn't a patch to New York,
where our chief implements were hot
work, sharp trades, quiet bargains and a
golden stream from Stevenson's Bank. '
In corroboration of which comes
another witness, Brady by name, the
Republican Second Assistant Postmaster-General
appointed by Grant,
protected by Hayes, screened by Gar
field and acquitted under Arthur. The
witness admits that he raised $40,000
out of the Star-route contractors for the
Indiana campa;gn in 18S0, and says:
" Dorsey went to General Arthur and
he was willing to give written authority
for the collection of the money, but the
authority should come from Garfield.
This was communicated to Garfield,
who thereupon wrote the Jay Hubbell
letter. I didn't think I needed any bet
ter authority, and I raised the money at
once. As a" matter of personal pride 1
spent $5,000 out of my own pocket."
After this Republican testimony, who
can question that the Republican party
stands to-day the champion and pro
tector of a free ballot, a pure election
and the right of every man to vote in
accordance with his own convictions?
But is the vindication of the purity of
the ballot-box all the grand old party
has done to entitle it to be saved from
"the blighting sirocco of Democratic
rapacity?" Oh, no! "The history of
the Republican party is all brilliantly
studded with the gems of righteous gov
ernment; it has punished misconduct in
its own ranks; it has demanded faithful
ness to the country," says the address.
Dazzling record! And in proof of tho
punishment of misconduct in the ranks
of the G. O. P. stands forth
Orville E. Babcock, private secretary
to President Grant. Indicted by a
Grand Jury for participation in the
whisky ring conspiracy by which the
Government was defrauded of many
millions of dollars. Saved by the
President's influence and the improper
charge of a Judge who afterwards re
signed the dignity of-a judgeship for
lite to become the attorney or an odious
W. W. Belknap, Republican Secretary
of War under "President Grant.- Im
peached for receiving bribes from post
traders. Saved by a technical plea and
Tom Brady, Republican Assistant
Postmaster-General. Indicted with
others for conspiracy to rob the Gov
ernment through the Star-route frauds.
Acquitted by virtue of the imbecility ol
Ottman and his associates, indicted
for stealing $45,000 from the Treasury
Department. Instead of being convict
ed, received back the stolen money
which had been recovered by the Gov
ernment and made a "divide."
A host of internal revenue officers
and others who have robbed the Gov
ernment and are now living on the
The G. O. P., which can show such a
splendid record of the punishment of
its own rascals, may well claim to be
continued in power and saved from
" the blighting sirocco of Democratic
rapacity." N. Y. World.
A little girl in Isew York State has
collected nine hundred newspapei
Bartlioldi's Great Statue.
The immense scaffolding that can be
seen in the direction of the Rue de
Chaselles, reaching over the highest
houses in the neighborhood, on close
examination displays the lines of a hu
man form, and the gigantic folds of-the
robo that drapes it. It is in truth a statue,
the greatest that was ever constructed
up to the present time the statue of
Liberty which the sculptor Bart'holdi
conceived, and which is destined to
serve-as a beacon at the entrance to the
port of New York. From eighty to
ninety artisans are kept constantly em
ployed upon the work. The statue is
already completed up to the chest.
Perhaps in its present condition it can
be seen to the best advantage. Its ex
traordinary proportions can be viewed,
and, as it is not completed, it is "possi
ble to take in all the details of the con
struction of this gigantic work, which
will probably remain unequaled among
the works of bronze. The plaster molds
of the enormous limbs thrown across
the yard, and the busy workmen cov
ering them with innumerable pieces ol
wood that reproduce all-the- contours
and lines remind one of the well-known
scene of Gulliver at Liliput. The men
look like tiny dwarfs endeavoring to
bind a giant. And if by a miracle that
great hand could become alive and
simply open its closed fingers, all that
solid wood-work would fly in splinters,
and the immense scaffolding itself would
come down like a castle of cards.
The first model was enlarged four
times. Then it was cut into slices, and
these slices are taken one after the oth
er and again enlarged to four times
their original size, and thus the dimen
sions of the colossal statue are obtained.
At present the workmen are engaged
upon the portion that forms the chest.
The model of it can be seen in the shed.
It looks like a little hill, over which the
men are constantly crossing. When
the draught or model of a portion is
made, impressions are taken of it. In
order to do this it is necessaryto gathei
together hundreds of little planks, cut
precisely upon the outlines of the model,
and in this way a woman mold is ob
tained, and is divided into as many
fragments as are necessary. Upon
these fragments the copper is cut and
hammered until it copies the precise
forms. Then Chinese gongs would nol
make a greater noise than is made all
day long in the corner of the shed
where the copper is hammered, and this
continuous and deafening noise contrib
utes not a little to the strange impres
sion that one gets from the visit.
When the shaping of a piece of the
copper is completed it becomes a part
of the statue, and there is nothing fur
ther to do with it except to put it in its
place. Just now they are engaged Id
the work of finishing the left hand.
The nail on the first finger would make
a good-sized shield. The top of the
finger would make a helmet for the
largest head, and, in default of a better
cuirass, William the Conqueror, who
passed for the biggest man of his time,
might easily get into one of the
In six months the whole work will
be finished. There remain only the
chest and left arm to complete. The
head, which is large enough to contain
forty people, has already teen exhibit
ed, in 1876, and the right hand has
just come back from America, where it
was sent to give some little idea of the
great size of the statue. After the
Parisians have had ample time to ad
mire the work it will be taken down
and sent to New YorK in more thar
three hundred pieces. PaiHs Temps.
A. Thief as a Witness.
"Yes," said the old prosecuting law
yer, "we have some pretty sharp wit
nesses to handle sometimes. These
thieves get so they can dodge a question
very successfully if they don't wish tc
answer it. I remember once I had a
well-known thief on the stand as wit
ness against another thief. I was pret
ty sure he wouldn't testify to the truth,
but I determined that if ho did not!
would convict him of perjury. I wanted
to prove that there were less than a
dozen persons in a certain room at the
time the theft was committed, and that
the defendant was one of them. It was
my purpose to show to the jury that the
defendant and this witness were the
only persons not of excellent repute in
the room at the time, and thus heighten
the probability of defendant's guilt.
"How many persons were in the
room when vou and defendant were
in?" I asked."
" 'Between three and four hundred,'
"I knew I could prove by every other
witness that there were only ten or
eleven, and it struck me I would do the
public a service by giving this witness
full opportunity to perjure himself. 1
asked the stenographer to read the
question and answer, and asked the
witness if that was his answer. He
said it was.. 'Now, sir,' said I, 'on
your oath you say there were between
three and four hundred persons in that
" 'Yes, sir."
" 'Do you know the law relating to
perjury?" I asked.
" 'Yes, sir.'
" 'Do you know that I intend to send
you to the penitentiary if you persist in
swearing thus falsely?'
"You can't do it; I am telling you
truth," said he, as cool as a yellow dog
under an ice-wagon. "I piled the
thing up on him mountain high; asked
him all the questions I coula think of
that would tie him tight. As soon as
possible after that I had him indicted
for perjury, and on trial he beat me
"How on earth did he do that?"
"Why, he simply swore that he meant
there were between three persons and
four hundred in the room. And that
let him out. He was a quick one at
repartee, too. I asked him a question,
and, as he wanted to gain time to think
it over, he pretended he didn1 hear me.
Perhaps,' said I, sarcastically, 'I'd bet
ter write the question; may beyou can't
hear. 'No,' said he, in the same tone,
perhaps I'd better hear it; maybe you
can't write.' " Chicago Eerald.
Do not allow the plants to beroDbed
of both food and moisture by worthless
weeds, and more of them can be de
stroyed in one day, when they are small,
than in ten after they are well-rooted
and cover the ground. Exchange.