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1 t] THE LONG STRAD. ®twa8 an unlucky day for me- -^Mbpugh I was not born till ten years Hterward-when that big cellar door slammed to, and nipped off the end of Margaret's little finger at the early age of seven. Margaret was passionately fond of .^^nusic, but she could not sing, and her encounter with the door prevented her from being a first-rate performer on the piano- She would not content herself with auything short of perfec tion and so for years long and many music within her found no utter ance. At last, alter a few gray hairs began to show themselves among her thick brown braids, Prof. Mohr ad vised her to learn the violin. We were spending some happy years together in Germany, Margaret play ing the role of guardian grimalkin to my kittenish innocence. We were not related, but as inseparable as the ladies of Langollen. I took drawing lessons, and we were both deep in lan guages. In our free hours we were care less and happy as lambs in clover,un til Prof. Mohr's unlucky suggestion started us on the road to despair. We wese staying in Munich when this misfortune overtook us. Margar et was fired with enthusiasm at the thought of possibly being a good mu sician at last. She was past 30, and for awhile tortured herself with fears that this was too old to begin to learn anything so difficult as the violin. But they raked up for her benefit many instances of musical prodigies turned out late in life, to the aston ishment of the world and themselves Perserverance, aptitude and health would do wonders. Convinced at last of the wisdom of her undertaking, and radiant with hope, Margaret engaged a master at more marks an hour than would have paid for half a week of operas in the Gallerie Noble. She next commis sioned some old virtuoso and dealers in musical instruments to ferret out for her a good violin from beneath the dust and rubbish of ages. No easy matter this, for Margaret had read deeply on the subject, and would be content with nothing of a later date than the seventeenth century and the graining of the cunningly mosaiced scyamore must undulate under its golden varnish "like the setting sum. mer sun on cloud and wave." At the expiration of a week Herr Bratwurst wrote from the Tyrol, de scribing with flowery extravagance the jewel oi an instrument he had un earthed at Brixen, among the goods and chattels of an Israelitish gentle man in the old clothes business. When found, this prize was a wreck, gone to ^pieces under billows of flimsy satin gowns and theatrical coats of "cotton velvet but carefully set together again by the magic hand of a Bratwurst, it was worthy of Tarisio himself. A fragment at the back bore the precious inscription, "Antonius Stradivarius, Cremonensis Faciebat, Anno 1654-." And a portion of the instrument at least might be regarded as the work of this master. It was in shape a "Long Strad," and was a marvellous com bination of sycamore, Swiss pine and lemon tree. The varnish was a de light to the eye and the tone—but hera words failed for description. The su P^preme moment arrived when, Margar et was to see this wonder, and decide whether or not she might call it her own. It seemed like opening a long buried coffin, they were so serious about undoing its box, which looked so worn and shabby. Margaret was speechles with delight when Professor Mohr played upon it, went into technical raptures, and eventually paid for it, smillingly, the price of two good pianos. Connois seurs, even those not interested, said it closely resembled an authentic I* Stradivarius, and as such was a bar gain so I kept my surprise locked in my ignorant bosom. Margaret bought for her jewels a beautiful polished and inlaid mahog any case, lined with blue velvet. I, in a burst of enthusiasm, embroidered a fiddle blanket of fine blue cloth, on which I executed in gold thread the treble clef, and Margaret's initials, M. A. C., in beautiful silks. A spray of flowers was depicted beneath, and I thought the whole thing a masterpiece of originality and skill. It was lined With satin, quilted, wadded and per fumed and the case, with its blank ets, would have made a nice bed for one of the rolypoly Bavarian princel ings we saw in the street with their muadron of nursemaids. Strange, uncouth sounds began now to issue from our little dwelling. It was a musical atmosphere where we lived, and people were prepared for the spasmodic wailing and sharp spiteful yells produced by a beginner on the violin. Otherwise I should have been ashamed. Margaret worked with a feverish en ergy, and I must confess that she made rapid progress. From early morning till as late at night as the police regulations allowed she fiddled as i. for her life. She sawed the emp ty air with her bow to exercise cer tain elbow mucles played before the mirror to break herself of making hideous faces, which caused me great delight racked her brains over har mony, and split her own ears and mine with studies ahead of her capacities. Her energy drove me to greater activity in my drawing, which, however, did not bring increas ed pleasure. There must have been something wrong in my character that I was not happier for this furious emulatiou of the busy bee. Margaret often said, with a shake of the head: Jadwere I eighteen like you, Kate, in of twice that age, I would make something of myself." Then, asham ed of neglecting my opportunities, I would go up on the roof and sketch ctduds, while the other girls went off fwr a ramble in the solitude. We gave up going to drink coffee of ai^ afhwoon in the Hof Garten. Th^VB ttiere was all brass, and MargAfSt was mad after strings. We trailed to symphony concerts till I was bored to death, and Margaret looked victimized in the picture gal leries where formerly we had spent such happy hours together. I began to rue the day that she decided to be come famous, and a jealous hatred of the fiddle arose within me. It bad al ready spoiled half my pleasure in Sfh y»C 11'i Margaret's society, and she grew daily more absorbed in the senseless thing. If relief did not come from some quarter soon our friendship of years Was likely to go to pieces. These superhuman labors began to tell on Margaret after a while, and her teacher advised her to take a few weeks' rest in the Tyrol. I gladly agreed to accompany her, and our preparations for the trip were quickly made. I was se cretly in raptures at the thouchtfof getting rid of my enemy, thefiddle, or a while but, alas! I was doomed to disappointment. While arranging our hand-luggage in as compact a form as possible I learned that the violin was to accompany us. "But, Margaret, you need rest. Who not leave the violin here in safe hands, and return to it refreshed?" I said hypocritically. "I should lose in a week all I have toiled for through months," she said, with a reproach* ful glance apd I demurred no longer. Margaret then began to solemnly roll the instrument of torture in a yard of flannel, cover it further with my blanket and an old silk handker chief of generous dimensions, draw a green baize bag over the resplendent mahogany case, and fastening a shawl strap round the whole, declared it ready for its travels. My fears that the fiddle would be a marplot throughout our journey were not without foundation, and I soon realized that as a trip for rest and recreation ours was turning out a failure. From the start Margaret, bewilded and overwhelmed with ad monitions every porter and railway official who laid hold of the baize bag with its precious contents, watching them with lynx eyes, and trotting along beside any in whose glance gleamed the unlawful fire of covetous ness. At Rosenau there was a collision be tween the baize bag and a brass-nailed trunk, and a hole was stove in the side of the former. When Margaret found a big scratch on the mahogany case she sat down on a truck and wept openly. As we were to tarry a few days at Rosenau I begged my compan ion to have a stout box of common wood made for the fiddle to continue its journey in, and send the too mag nificent Receptacle back to Munich. To this she consented, and when we again set forth, the precious instru ment reposed in a black pine box of gruesome shape. It was heavily and and clumsily made, with a key as big as Mrs. Bluebeard's it looked verv like a small coffin but it was cheap and strong enough to resist any amount of ill-usage. We stopped a fortnight or more at Haidenfield, in the Southern Tyrol a pretty, restful nook, with a deep lake walled in by cloud-high mountains, a half-ruined monastery, about which a few spectral monks still hovered, and an enticing maze of walks through heather fragrant pine. A place for people not fiddle-ridden to enjoy every moment. Margaret was not in a mood to en joy the beauties of nature. Evening after evening I sat alone in our little balcony, watching the icy crest of the Adlerberg flush an exquisite pink in the setting sun, and pale again to sil very white. I longed for my friend's ear into which to pour my extrava gant delight in this scene but she was in the back room wrestling with a flagelot tone or some other intricacy she feared might escape her. I saw clearly that Margaret's vaca tion was doing her no good,and I was uneasy for her health. The study of the violin is a great strain upon the strongest nerves and Margaret had always been rather delicate. We had both fallen under a baleful, unoanny influence, and I devoutly wished that Professor Mohr and Herr Bratwurst might have played golden harps in heaven before lashing Margaret into this fiddle frenzy. While my rival absorbed the great er part of Margaret's time, I was forced to shift for myself and make the most of whatever amusement fell in my way. A good-looking young fellow, with curly black hair standing straight up from his forehead,and the merriest blue eyes I ever saw, seemed to understand my hard lot, and did his best to ameliorate it. Our acquaintance began by my in advertently stepping on him as he lay half asleep in the shadow of some hawthorn bushes. His name was Herbert Stacy. He was studying sculp ture, and he, too, was taking a holi day rest in the Tyrol. We happened to have some friends in common, so our acquaintance was quite proper, and I must confess that after it began I felt a little less preyed upon by the violin. Margaret smiled benignly enough on our incipient flirtation, but her thoughts soared above us, and she let let us take frequent rambles alone. I knew that the lladiensee was a beautiful, intense blue, and that the rhododendron covered the hard cheeks of the mountains with a rich, lovely blu?h, but I did not seem half to ap preciate these glories till Mr. Stacy pointed them out to me. One day he told me. with evident regret, that he was obliged to set out far Venice the next day, Queen Mar gherita's birthday was approaching. There was to be a fete of unusual magnificence on the Grand canal, and Mr. Stajy had promised some rela tives of his to be with them during this celebration. It was an odd fancy, going to Venice in the summer, but the journey was not very long, and their stay would be of brief duration. So our little idyl was to end abrupt ly, and I should be left alone again. We had quite an affecting parting Mr. Stacy kissed my hand very ten derly, in continental fashion which I liked very much. We exchanged souve nirs. I gave him a coin from my bangle, and he presented me with a hollywood bear supporting a ther mometer. The mercury in this was defective, pointing always to sixty five degrees, whatever the changes of temperature, but I prized it far above my other treasured.' My uncle Robert was to be in Ven ice for this same fete, I had heard, and so I gave his address to Mr. Stacy, thinking they might like to meet. The latter seemed pleased, and said he would look up my relative without fail. How I wished Margaret and I might go too! But my slender purse would "not permit so expensive a jour ney. Margaret could go but she, out of kindly consideration forme, always cut her coat according to my meager supply of cloth, instead of indulging in the ample garment her means al lowed. After Herbert Stacy went, Haiden berg seemed unbearably dull, and at my request Margaret and I wandered to fresh pastures a little farther South. Here I received a letter wnich sent me soaring into the seventh heaven of de light. Uncle Robert sent me a gener ous check, and begged Margaret and me to join at Venice for the fete. His wife's niece Miss Laurie, was with him, and we should doubtless enjoy each other's society. I remembered Madge Laurie as an unconscionably flirt, about three years older than I. I didn't like her at all then, but now I was willing to consort with any one for the sake of a glimpse at Venice and allitsgayeties at that season. And best of all, Her bert Stacy was to be there, and we should meet again! How lucky that I was going otherwise there would be no one to prevent Madge Laurie from getting him into her toils. I felt my self a match for her now. a Uncle Robert gave us minute direc tions about our route over the mount ains by diligence and by train from Belluno we muBt be very exact in our arrangements or we should all miss each other. He was obliged to be in Verona at a certain date, and could not tarry in Venice a day after the fete. We must notify him at once whether he might expect us or not, and if we could not arrive surely by the 17th, we had better remain quiet ly where we were. A diligence left that very hour which would take our answer, and the next morning we could start, arriving at noon of the 17th if all went well. This most promising of journeys be gan very auspiciously on a cool, de licious morning. We mounted to the coupe places in the diligence the driv er, a saucy-eyed fellow, with a bunch of rhododendron in his hat, bared his head, mumbled a prayer and crossed himself belore he took the reins. We started off at a fine pace over a road like a marble floor. Even to us wayfarers, who had grown quite tamiliar with' the grand plunge and roar of an avalanche, the giddy fall of glacier torrents, the plumy pines, jauntily worn cloud-veils and other mountain millinery, this drive would be for all time a memor able one. Italy lapped over into the Tyro! and gave the people dark, lus trous eyes, lithe figures, a graceful port and picturesque costume long before we left Austrian territory. Near Croce Blanca a pathetic inci dent occurred. A wan-looking woman came out from a cottage and walked slowiy toward us, bearing a small black box on her head. Shesaidafew sentences in Italian to our guard, who reverently pushed the rough little cof fin in among the luggage at the back of the diligence. He afterwards told us that it contained the body of a baby who bad died the previous day. Its mother, fatally ill at the cottage, had begged that it might be buried at Pieve di Cadore, her birthplace, where she had friends who would receive it. It was quite out of the ordinary custom to make the diligence a funer al car for a peasant baby but regu lations were elastic in that part of the world, and our guard seemed ready to risk reproof in order to gratify a dying woman's wish. Pieve di Cadore, the birthplace of Titian. as well as of the pocr woman who had lost her baby, was a mile or more distant from the diligence road. For passengers wishing to visit this place an omnibus was sent to the crossroads those more prosaically inclined remaining at an inn for din ner and repose. We were among the latter, and, aft er taking refreshment, watched at our ease from afar the bustle of changing horses and men and escorting travel ers and luggage from one conveyance to the other. At nightfall we watched Marina, where we were provided with supper and a room decorated with pictures of saints in smiling torture. The next morning, as we had some hours to spare before resuming our journey, Margaret astonished me by sending for her violin. "You don't mean to say you have brought the fiddle on this expedition of all others!" I exclaimed, blankly. "Of course I brought it. It would not have been safe otherwise, and I was not sure we should return by this route- I bade the waiter put it in the diligence without your knowledge, as I sometimes fancied it annoyed you." "Very well," I returned, resignedly. "I will go out for a walk while you practice." And I suited the action to the word without further delay. My thoughts were cheerful compan ions. The next afternoon would find us in Venice the day following would be a red-letter one for all the year the birthday fete, the wonders of the ma rine city, meeting again Herbert Stacy. All was like a delicious dream, short and sweet as dreams are, but amply worth any fatigue and discom fort which the journey might cause. When I returned from my walk I found Margaret in floods of tears, pac ing the room distractedly and wring ing her hands in undisguised distress. When she could control her voice she told me a woeful tale. When I went out she had sent for the violin. After some unaccountable delay, a man appeared, bringing a black box, which was like—and yet strangely unlike—the fiddle case. "A creepy feeling ran down my back as I looked at it," she said: "I sent the man to look again, but he declared there was no other black box among the luggage, except a hat case. He grew quite violent about it, and I sup pose he was excited, too, for the truth was beginning to dawn upon me. Final ly he ran away and got a screwdriver, opened the box, and started back with an exclamation which confirmed my worst fears. It contained that poor little baby, looking as beautiful and peaceful as anything you can imagine." "How dreadful! But you must have recovered from the shock now, Margaret, dear?" "Shock? You don't seem to realize that they have buried my violin." I dropped limply into a chair. "There is not a moment to lose," Margaret continued. "I must take the first conveyance back to Pieve. It breaks my heart to have you go on alone to Venice, and I shall feel un easy about you every moment. But what can I do? Oh! dear was ever anything so distressing!" "Couldn't we leave the fiddle till after our trip?" "How can you make such a wild suggestion, Kate? It would be ruined by lying so long in the damp earth. Prompt action may possibly save it from being buried at all. No, I must go at once to the rescue." I saw that remonstrance would be perfectly useless Margaret would be frantic if restrained. She could not go back to Pieve alone, because to ex plain her mission there, Italian would be necessary, and Margaret had not learned the language which I spoke well. She had befriended me to her own inconvenience in a thousand in stances already, and it was plainly my cfhty to stand by her now. She did not know how great the sacrifice would be for me, for I had nbt told her of my hope of meeting Herbert Stacy. After a brief, bitter conflict with myself I said: "I will go back to Pieve with you." And as 1 uttered thesd words I felt mentally all the toiture which the wriggling saints on the wall expressed in their Bodies. "But, dear child, you will miss the fete there is not time for both." "Never mind that. I didn't feel much interest in it, anyway. It was the—the scenery I liked, and we have had the best of it already." I was determined to play my part of mar tyr gracefully, even at the expense of truth. "How good of you, Kate! I hated more than words can express to go alone among all those queer people. I couldn't explaih my mission, and they would probably think me a. murderess. Never mind! I will take you to Venice next year, if I have to go in rags to accomplish it." "Alas! next year there will be no Herbert," I thought, regretfully. An ill-assorted pair of steeds at tached to an antiquated vehicle took us and the poor baby back to Pieve at an irritating jog-trot. I didn't care whether Titian was born there, or born at all, for that matter, and I vouchsafed hardly a glance at his house as we passed. I was too downcast and disappointed (though I strove to conccal my feel ings from Margaret) even to feel amusement at the ridiculous errand upon which we had come. It was as Margaret feared the black box containing the violin had been taken by mistake from the diligence received and wept over as holding the defunct baby, and as such had been buried, with an accompaniment of wax tapers and dyed immortelles, the previous afternoon. Our story collected about us what seemed to be the whole village, open eyed, opened-mouthed, and these feat ures, when Italian, can accomplish wondrous flashing and chattering un der excitement. The veritable baby was followed to the churchyard by a procession which would have delighted the soul of its mother, could the poor woman have seen it. After Margaret and I had undergone, from judicial authority, afire of cross questioning, beginning with the maid en name of our respective mothers, and ending with our opinion of Tyrol ean scenery, the men we had engazed were allowed to raze the little mound which covered Margaret's treasure. As the grave was opened a great many blue linen aprons were pressed to fine dark eyes, sobs broke from linen-covered bosoms hung with chains of more or less claims to ster ling worth, and heads wreathed in black braids thrust through with sil ver pins, bobbed to and fro with emo tion. This exhibition of sentiment seemed out of place over the remains of a fiddle, but it was easier for the peasant women to weep over a grave, as was their wont, than to discrimi nate. The box was taken out, and even Margaret admitted that the violin appeared to be uninjured. We waited while they buried the poor little baby, and I think our offering of a big bunch of garden roses raired us to the rank of royalty in the estimation of the simple folk of Pieve. Three months later, when our Tyrol ean trip was of the past and lessons had begun again in Munich, Uncle Robert wrote me bitter new3. Madge Laurie was engaged to Mr. Herbert Stacy, a very agreeable fellow, whom they had met in Venice. I thereupon gave the mendacious hollywood bear to Gretchen, our cham bermaid, and told Leonard he might walk home with me from the lectures on perspective. He need never know that I use him as a salve to patch my broken heart.—The Argosy. A Quest tor a Domestic. Boston Gazette. I had an experience the other day which may have fallen to the lot of some men, but never before to me. My wife asked me if I would be willing to step into a certain employment office and send her some promising looking maid for a parlor girl. I found the place, approached the manageress, hat in hand, and briefly stated my errand. Did I prefer Protestant or Catholic? I was tempt ed to reply "an agnostic," but wisely refrained. Shortly was requested to step into a room near by and in terview a candidate. I was embar rassed, for I had not thought of how I should open the conversation. Mademoiselle, however, was firm as a rock, with every faculty awake, and I soon found myself passive instead of active in the matter. I grew nervous, I know, and found myself making promises that the good lady at home would have been astounded at, being possessed of but one desire, and that to get away. I have a faint remem brance of saying that every evening was to be subject to the maiden's own pleasure that $8 a week was nothing more than fair compensation that I knew she had a soul above the laun dry (she was a comely lass) that if she would condescend to visit the sea shore with us next season, she should be conveyed by carriage every Sunday to church that while Jthoughta mus lin cap would well become her classic profile, it would be entirely optional with her as to wearing that badge of domestic service that I could readily send the porter from the store to pol ish all brass ornaments cf the house, and that it gave joy to the heart of every inmate of my home to have the door-bell ring thrqjj times at least whenever it rung at all and. finally, that if next autumn she found herself depressed with the fatigue and heat of the summer, a vacation of two weeks could readily be granted, pay, of course, to be continued meanwhile. She consented to call upon my wife, but it is needless to say that ho en gagement resulted, and my wife and I had some serious conversation that night after the children had said their prayers. As Charles Lever used to make his heroes observe, when they were upon the eve of some wild ex ploit, "I don't know what possessed me!" When it was discovered recently that Michael Davitt had outwitted the authori se* and was holding a meeting at Feaklc, Ireland, a force of police was sent from Bodyke to disperse it. It did not reach Feakle, however, until Mr. Davitt had finished speaking and left the place. A severe fracas occurred between the police and the crowd which had attended ths. meeting, and several persons were injured. There was serious rioting at Athlone, Ire land. between soldiers and civilians. The soldiers wrecked a number ot houses, and many citizens were injured with stones. Ml. .v. V:* Sow Thar ui Xararflsd fey th« Mas a*. UaAtkiBn, The bartender of a popular rendez vous leaned gracefully over the bar dur ing the slack hours of business the oth er day and discussed his customers with a reporter. "I notice that men nowadays order exactly what they want," he said, toy ing gently with his blonde mustache, while the reporter transferred a elove from the glass to his mouth. "Three or four years ago a man looked more or less ashamed of himself when he or dered lemonade or seltzer. His com panions usually remonstrated with or made fun of him, and he generally of fered some sort of an apology to the bartender for ordering a non-intoxicat ing drink. This was particularly so with young business men, clerks and poli ticians. They ordered brandy smash es, plain brandy, whisky punches, plain whisky or some other heavy drink. Of course, one-half of them didn't want it. You can't stand behind a bar long before you find out that a large percent age of the men who are led up to the bar to drink would rather have nothing at all than liquor of any sort. Very many men have scruples against drink ing hard liquor, and others find that it goes against them to drink brandy or whisky before dinner. Still the major ity of them used to drink their whisky straight ard say nothing. When I first went into the business, fifteen years ago, we used to pass out the whisky bottle and glasses without asking a question. If the man wanted anything else, he would push the bottle back and give his order. In those days, if a party of young men went into a barroom and ordered lemonade, the barkeeper felt aggrieved and the bystanders made fun of him. Nowadays, however, everything is changed. No one thinks anything when two or three of a group of men order lemonade, seltzer or apollinarif at the bar. "The simon pure American barroom, too, is rapidly going out of fashion. Men no longer enjoy rushing into a room and takfng a drink standing. They have more time now than they had ten years ago and like to sit down and chat with their friends over 'sherry chickens,' 'bees' wings,' &c. A place with com fortable chairs and tables catches the customers now, and the modern restau rants and cafes, where they can peace fully sit out of sight of the general pub lic, do the most business. Their rooms are always filled. "In my opinion drinkers are not so numerous as they used to be. The man who came in for his cocktail every morn ing before breakfast or luncheon, and the man who took four or five good drinks of whiskey every day no longer exists to the extent they did ten years ago. The fact is, habitual drinking over the bar is not fashionable nowadays. Men drink more at dinner than they used to, and only drink away from home for the fun of the thing. The whole sale absorption of liquor has gone out of style. Now and then a party of stu dents or clerks go to a place and drink until they can hold no more, but this is very seldom. Of course there are oth ers among the laboring classes who de liberately make up their minds to get "full,' and go about it in a business like way and drink to excess, but they are now comparatively few."—Troy Tele' gram. Barefooted. Cincinnatus received the notice of his election to the Roman Dictatorship when he was ploughing—as Elisha did his commission to be a prophet. In each case the choice was a worthy one, and the position in which the news sur prised these great men' was nothing against their dignity. The same can ba said of the Hon."George M. Dallas who was caught in bed by the proffer of the second highest office in the na tion—though for a man so dignified as was the distinguished Senator and For eign Minister, the situation was a bit ludicrous. Gov. Fairfield, of Maine, on his re turn from Philadelphia on the 1st of June, 1884, as the chairman of a Com mittee of the National Democratic Con vention to inform Mr. Dallas of his nomination as Vice-President, gave an amusing account of the scene. The committee reached Philadelphia about three o'clock in the morning, and were taken to Mr. Dallas's house by his friend, Senator Walker. Loud knocks at the door brought Mr. Dallas to his chamber window and on recognizing Mr. Walker, lie feared that his daugh ter, who was then in Washington, was ill he hastened down stairs half-dress ed and bare-footed to hear from her. To his v.tter amazement, in walked sixty or more gentlemen, two by two, with the tread of soldiers, passing by him and entering his front parlor, as though to make him captive. Mr. Dallas had not the slightest conception of their object, and stood thunderstruck at the scene. Mr. Walker led him into the back par lor. "My dear Walker," said Mr. Dallas, in amazement, "what is the matter "Wait one moment, if you please, Dallas wait one moment, if you please." The folding doors were then thrown open, and the whole delegation stepped forward and gave three deafening cheers for "Polk and Dallas!" Mr. Dallas stood paralyzed. Gov. Fair field of Maine, then stepped forward and announced his nomination. Astronomy in the Lime Kiln Club. From the Detroit Free Press. The chairman of the committed on astronomy submitted his quarterly re port, from which it was learned: 1. The committee have come to the Unanimous conclusion that the moon is inhabited, but have thus far failed to open up social or commercial inter course. 2. The sun moves, and don't yon forget it! If the sun doesn't move, how does it get from east to west Be sides, why should the earth fool away its valuable time by moving around the sun? 3. The next eclipse will be arranged fo come off on the Fourth of July, in order to add zest and euthusiasm to the occasion. 4. The Rochester Observer, having offered $200 apeice for all the new com ets discovered during the year 1885, the committee has purchased a $2 tele scope and arranged three red chairs on the roof of Paradise Hall, and will put in some heavy squinting at the heavens as soon as the thermometor takes a climb. In case 500 comets are dis covered the committee will donate 17,000 toward building anew Paradise HalL ft# wr WHAT SOYALTT COSTS. Jgf 1 Th« SalarlM «f ths Laadl&ff ""--t-Tii of Sorepe. "Carp" in Cleveland Leader. Y' "Huck, how much do a king git?" The question is asked by others than the ignorant negro who propounded it to Huckleberry Finn, as the two float on a raft, down the Mississippi rfver. I will try to answer it, translating the amounts of the allowances of the chief sovereigns of Europe into American dollars, giving the result in round numbers and gen erally less than the actual amount re dived. It will be seen that royalty is an expensive luxury, and that the $50, 000 we give onr president is a bagatelle beside it. The Emperor of Russia has an in come of between $7,000,000 and $8,000, 000 a year, derived chiefly from im mense estates belonging to the crown, and besides this he levies a heavy tax on the peasants to support his rela tives of the imperial family. The Sultan of Turkey, with a bankrupt country, is allowed five and one-half inillions annually. He has in addi tion a private treasury and inherit ances of great value. He pays, how ever, all the expenses of the conrt himself. In Austria the nobles are wealthy, and the court expenses of the Emperor are very small. Still he is allowed a civil list of about $3,000, 000, has $800,000 set aside for his pri vate expense account, and about $250, 000 for unforBeen expenses. Kaiser Wllhelm has no allowance for a person al expense account, as Emperor of Ger many, and his income as King of Prus sia comes chiefly from the estates of the crown. He gets, nevertheless, $4,000, 000 a year and his house rent costs him nothing. The Crown Prince of Ger many has a small allowance. It is said to not exceed $75,000, but his father gives him two palaces rent free, and he has the right to charge a certain num ber of dinners every year to the old King Humbert, of Italy, is only forty one years old, and he enjojs the*$2,000, 000 which makes np his annual allow ance. He has twenty palaces scattered all over Italy, and when he travels over his dominions he always sleeps under his own roof. King' Leopold, of Bel gium, has about 1,600,000 more sub jects under him than there are people in the State of New York. His kingdom is the most thickly populated in Europe, and it has a debt of about $300 to each man, woman and child in it, but this does not cause Leopold to economize. He takes $600,000 a year from his people, for his private expenses, and they give an additional annuity of $80, 000 to his brother. Spain, poor as she is, pays between one and two million dollars annually for the expenses of royalty. Portugal al lows about $600,000, and Dom Pedro,of Brazil, has an allowance of about $240, 000, while his civil list foots up over $600,000. In addition to this Dom Pedro's wife gets $50,000 a year for pin money. Switzerland is the most eco nomical government in the world. Its total expenses are only about $8,000,000 a year, and it gives much smaller sal aries to its officers than the United States. The royal family of England costs that country more than $2, 600,000 yearly, and this does not include the private income of the queen and the Prince of Wales from the immense estate under their control. Victoria herself is allowed £385,000 annually, and she can do as she pleases with at least £60,000 of this. This allowance of more than $1,900,000 is outside of the sum devo ted to the expenses of the royal house hold, consisting of about 1,000 persons, receiving salaries from $10,000 a year, as in the case oi the Lord Chamberlain, down to the royal rat catcher, who gets less than $75 a year. The waiters at the dinner table of the Queen get $2,000 a year. The chief steward gets $10,000 a year, and poor Tennyson, the poet laureate, receives less than $500 an nually. This £60,000 which the Qtieen re ceives she has, it is said, saved very re ligiously every year, and it has been carefully invested. In England you will hear a great deal of grumbling about her economy and stinginess. She is always willing to say good things, to go to charitable affairs and dispense cheap honors, but when it comes to giving out money her mouth is closed as are also her purse strings. She nev er pays anything for traveling on the railroads. The companies furnish her with passes. She has no right to pay, and she receives lots of presents. She has also the revenues of the Duchy of Lancaster amounting to more than $300,000 every year, the estate of Os borne, which, has lately grown in value, and the revenues of Claremont, and es tate worth considerable over $500,000. The Prince of Wales receives nearly $200,000 a year out of the British Treas ury in addition to his income from tho Dueliy of Cornwall, worth about $300, 000 more. The Princess of Wales re ceives an annuity ot nearly $50,000, the Duke of Edinburgh nearly $100,000, and the Dukes of Connaught and Albany the same. The Duchess of Cambridge gets about $30,000 per year, the Duke of^ Cambridge about $60,000, and the other members of the royal family sums ranging from a little over $14,000 to about $30,000. So you see that royalty will materially increase the taxes of the United States if in the far future it should ever come upon us. The aggregate national debt of En rope is seventy billion francs, or in round numbers between nine and ten billion dollars. Its interest amounts annually to nearly six millions of dol lars, and the payment of this consumes more than one-fourth of the Go Ver mont revenues. Of this debt more than two-thirds is owed by the Netherlands, Great Britain, France and Austria, and of all the European goverments Swit zerland is the only one that is without any material debt. Volunteers Helped Tlieni Out. A good story is told upon two old retired officers of the regular army. These two officers were well advanced in years when the rebelli onbegan, and although in active service during the war, were not specially distinguised They have been members of the army, colony at Washington for many years, and before retirement managed to continue on duty at and about that city as members of boards and the like. At one of the monthly meetings and dinners of the loyal legion last winter these two old "Coburgers"—as army officers living in the capital are irreverently called—were present. In deed, the Coburg family is always well represented at gatherings that are to be served with eatables and drink ables, and particularly drinkables. Upon the occasion alluded to, during the progress of the speeches and songs, "The Volunteers" was proposed by a gentleman vh* had achieved distinc- iiiife) fluff tlon In the volunteer army, **Wha# is proposed?'.' inquired ohr of the old regulars of the other. "We are asked to drink to the volunteers," vastbir response. "Well," replied this ftpffc speaker, "we of the regular army 'am drink that. The volunteers helpediM out a good dqpl." THIS POET WiflTTXESIE* Autobiographical Beatfnteeances. The poet Whittier says of himsdfe "I was unlike any of the rest, think, for I never had any methods. When I felt liko it I wrote, and I nei ther had the health nor the patience to work over it afterwards. It usual ly went as it was originally completed. Emerson wrote with great care, and would not only revise his manuscript carefully, but 1 have often heard him say that he would frequently rewrite the article upon the proof-sheets. Longfellow, too, was a very careful writer. He wrote and rewrote, and would lay his work by and then revise it. He often would consult with his friends about his productions before they were given to the world. He therefore sent his work out as perfect as great care and a brilliant intellect could make it. I was not so fortunate. I have lived mostly a secluded lifoj with little patience to draw upon, ana *. I only a few friends for associates. What writing I have done has been for the love of it. I have ever been timid! of what I have penned. It is really & 4 marvel to me that I have gathered any literary reputation from my produor I tions. 's "Much that I have written. I wish 4A was as deep in the Red Sea as Pharaoh's chariot wheels. Much of the bread cast on the waters 1 wish had never been returned. It is not fair to revive writings composed in the shadow of conditions that make even acceptable work impossible. In my early life I was not favored with good opportunities. Limited chances of ed ucation and a lack of books always stood in my way. When I began to write I had seen nothing and virtually knew nothing of the world. Of course, things written then could not have been worth much. "In my father's house there was not a dozen books, and they were of a se vere type. The only one that ap proached poetry was a rhymed his tory of David, written by a contem porary of George Fox, the Quaker. There was one poor novel in the family. It belonged to an aunt. This I secured one day when I had read it half through I was discovered, and it was taken from me. My first glimpse of poetry was when my old schoolmaster brought a copy of Burns' poems and read from it at our house. My first real work was done when George D. Prentice was editing the Hartford Review, although I had written considerably before. I wrote and sent him a few things, and he encouraged me. When he recom mended me to take his place the publishers wrote me and I went down. 1 had then seen practically nothing of the world, and for the two years I re mained with the Review my greatest effort was to keep people from know ing how little I really knew. "I wrote continually, but there was no market for the work. My anti slavery convictions made my name valueless to any of the magazines but, strange as it may appear, the Demo cratic Review was always anxious for my writings." "Was there no market at all? No price set upon your work?" "None. 1 just wrote for any paper that would publish my matter, and if Longfellow, Emerson, Hawthorne or myself had been forced to rely upon the products of our pens for our liv ing, we would have wanted bread in those days when most, of our best work was done. To me this is a queer phase of literary life, to find that the greatest geniuses that America has ev er given to literature should have toiled without recompense, and been foiccd to wait until they were old be fore reaping the fruits of their labor. Truly, it is hard work for a writer to uet a foothold." Hard to Kill. Tiiere is a man in Wall street who is a cause of anxiety to his friends, but not for the reason that he is an ordinary dealer in stocks and a scalper of straddles. His name is C. K. Eastlan, and he is interesting be cause he is likely to fall dead at any moment. He has died three times so far, and he doesn't look as thouah he had done his best in that direction. He is fully aware of his pleasant little peculiarity, and is unable to explain It to anybody. The first time he died waB when he was 30 years old, and that was about sixteen years ago. He was living in Norwich, Con necticut. He had suffered with chronic indigestion and was weak and feeble. One evening he was walking cut after an unusually hearty supper, consisting of a crack er and a cup of tea, when he sudden ly fell on the -sidewalk. The people who came to his assistance found him, to all appearances, dead. The doctors declared he had died ot heart disease, and preparations for the fu neral were bes,'tin the next day. His friends came and looked at his corpse, and remarked what a sad case it was, and the local papers published full obituaries. On the second night be astonished the watchers by sitting up in his coffin and asking for a drink. When he saw how close he had come to premature burial he came near dy ing in earnest. He lived on regularly enough for four years after that. He was down &i New Mexico looking after a mine in the summer of 1875, and it was then that he next suspended animation. The New Mexicans never had an idea that he was alive, and as the weath er is very warm there he would infallibly have been buried if he hadn't been somewhat expeditious about coming to life. Nobody knew him down there and he was laid out in an undertaker's shop in Santa Fe that served as a morgue. When he came to and wanted to know what he was doing there, hescared the undertaker's assistant into fits. His third exploit occurred in Philadelphia, one hot day two years ago last summer. He was supposed then to have been sun struck. He carries in his pocket now a carefully written note containing his address and requesting that he be taken there in case of accident All his relatives and friends have been notified not to let him be buried without having a good chance to come to life again if he can. But with all his precautions he is haunted by a foreboding that somebody will bury him alive yet. The doctors don't know exactly what is the matter with V! him, but he has made arrangements -"y: with one of them to find out if pos« sible when he really 2oes die. .ft-',:. J" -v 3 '3 $ 1 I 4 J$r•'