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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, January 27, 1867, Image 7

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Sunday Edition. Jan. 27.
• SNOW-FLAKES.
gee those snow-flakes how they flutter—
Flutter through the quiet air,
hither, floating thither,
Slowly sailing everywhere.
Park the cloud from which they quiver,
Drear the spot on which they fall,
City, forest, frozen river,
Whiten 'neaih their spotless pa3L
deep wind the stillness rendelh.
Moaning 'mid the braixhes bare;
2'wig and tree-top slowly bendeth
’Neath the snow-flakes falling there,
A« they shiver, as they quiver
1 Through the cold and quiet air.
Thus is Life’s each moment measured
By some blessing from above,
And with each descends its treasured
Tokens of our Father’s love.
Though its skies bo dark and dreary,
<_ Rough the paths our foot must tread,
And lifo’s work be hard and weary.
Lightly be its labors sped.
Clouds of sorrow, o’or us bending,
’ Darkling Bhadoe around may spread j
jffopos, with silent flight descending,
Rest on every toil-bent head;
tJleesinga whiten, blessings brighten
Every path our feet must tread.
THE TmTWeNGE.

A Hair-Breadth Escape.
' A’
"i The position of a laboring man in some Eng
lish counties is anything but enviable. Houses
fere bad, wages low, and work heavy.
(I Tom Golby had not very much to complain
cf. His trade was that of a bricklayer, and
when his cottage fell into decay, he repaired
It himself.
<V His wages wore half-a-crown a day; and his
Es, Margery, augmented the slender stipend
occasional washing and needlework. It was
le she could do, though : her continually in
creasing family took up the greater part of her
time.
V Her father, an elderly man, was an addition
al drag upon them. He had once Been well
tiff, but misfortunes overtook him. The great
est calamity was the loss of an old stocking,
Containing five hundred pounds in notes and
gold.
This was what Daddy Bnrbidge had all
Along reckoned he could live upon till the end
tof his days.
f some one had robbed him of it, or
Jshother he had buried or hidden it somewhere,
(afterward forgetting its exact locality, no one
Could tell.
!- His memory was bad, there was no denying
that. ' He would sometimes pnt his snuff-box
(>n the chimney-piece, and hunt the whole
louse through for it.
Margery Colby lived in hope that the stook
ngful of gold would some day turn up. In
he meantime. Daddy was sheltered and fed
lyhis daughter and her husband. He was
egplarly supplied with snuff, he had beer at
plated intervals, and when Tom smoked his
he, he sometimes joined him in the luxury.
, o long as there was plenty of work, and
pay on Saturday afternoon, at two
o’clock, Tom Golby did not care about the ad
fjitipnal burden.
S But he often wondered what he should do
itli the old man if a hard winter came, and
sould not get a stroke of work for a month
six weeks.
M the time our story opens, Tom had a job
Castle Bayard, the seat of Lord Thellusson.
s lordship wanted a large tank built in the
titre of a lawn, as a receptacle for a foun
h, and innumerable gold and silver fish.
fhis Was designed as an amusement for his
rdsbip’s only son, Wilton, who had the un
speakable misfortune to be an idiot. The poor
(fellow's mind was so weak, that ha was seldom
allowed to go about without an attendant.
T Sometimes he contrived to escape the vigi
lance of those about him, and wander a long
distance from home. Once he was missing for
(three days, and when discovered, had en
sconced himself in the trunk of a hollow tree in
* wppd. To satisfy the cravings of his hunger,
tie had chased and killed a sheep, which he was
.flavouring raw. ■■
ft Torn Golby had often heard of this young
jman-frhe was more than one-and-twenty—but
(had never seen him.
t V?h|le hard at work one morning, he was
father surprised at feeling half a brick come in
Violent contact with the side of his head. When
She dizzy feeling produced by the blow wore
pff, he looked up, and saw a young man pre
'fi'arijig to repeat the assault.
j* Without hesitating a moment, Tom sprang
and catching the assailant by the
arm, began to trounce him soundly.
£ Ths lad’s cries were loud and unceasing ; but
a’om did not let him go until he had thrashed
.aim in away he would not forget in a hurry.
my fine fellow,” exclaimed Tom,
tabbing his ear, “ that will teach you not to
peave bricks at people’s heads again I”
'j A tall form emerged from a thicket. Tom
looked at it, and recognized his noble ein
j’. “ What have you been doing to my son ?” he
jsked, in a stern voice.
V “ your son, my lord ?”.repeated Tom.
is. “This is my afflicted child,” continued Lord
Thellusson.
!>■/ “Very sorry, my lord, I ”
sij “ Listen to me, said his lordship. “ I linvo
Reason to believe that you have .committed a
S’ory cowardly assault upon this poor boy,
Mhom it has pleased Heaven to visit very heav-
«■ Wilton crept up to his father, and leaning his
head on his arm, sobbed as if his heart would
[break.
»,t ‘ I didn’t know ” began Tom.
?S “That is no palliation of your offense.”
/is" He heaved a brick at me, without saving a
word; and I thought it best to stop that sort
of fun before any serious mischief came of it.
As it was, he made me see stars.”
' $ “He is not responsible for his actions,” re
adied Lord Thellusson.
fr J‘ Then he shouldn’t be allowed to run loose,”
said Toih, who was a tolerably independent
Yellow when he liked.
04* Please don’t favor me with any of your in
solence,” interrupted Lord Thellusson.
p“I don’t see that I’ve done wrong,” Tom
»aij. “If I’d known he was an idiot, I shouldn’t
jbaVe leathered him; but I didn’t. I’m sorry
for that, my lord.”
l(i “Your regret comes too late. You have
Committed an assault, and I don’t know yet
(whether I shall prosecute you or not.”
if “Ain’t he done nothing?” asked Tom, in
surprise.
“As I said before, ho is irresponsible, not
(being a free agent.”
S “/hep if he were to go and kill somebody,
it wouldn’t matter, I suppose ?”
L !' I am not going to bandy words with yon,”
Maid Lord Thellusson, angrily. “Instantly
quit my premises I My steward will pay what
Is due to you.”
Having said this, he walked away, leading'
Wilton by the hand.
I The idiot turned round before he quitted the
sppj, ond shaking his fiet at Tom Golby,
fpjihned and chattered like a monkey, his
ade the while assuming a demoniacal express
ion. , - yp
(•“This is a nice start,” muttered Tom, when
alone—“ a very nice start I I wonder what the
missus will say to it when she hears of it 1
That’s a nice child, for his age. How he did
look afore he went. He’d kill me, if ho could.
I must keep my weather eye open.”
1 Going to the steward, ha stated what had
occurred. The steward, being a man of the
world, said nothing. If ho had commented on
the affair at all, he would have sided with his
master, though, in his heart, he thought Tom
Very ill-used.
r Jingling his money in his pocket, Tom re-
Iturned home at about two in the dav. His
wife opened her eyes with astonishment.
“ What I back already, Tom ?” she ox
biaimed.
U “Yes, Margery.”
y “Whatever has happened?”
“ I’ve got the sack I” he said, laconically.
Which exclamation he related what had
occurred, received his wife’s hearty sympathy
’and commiseration, ate his dinner, and went
out to spend the afternoon, not«in a pot-house,
as most men in his position would have done,
but to look for work.
'? He did not look far either before he found it.
Squire Bateman’s bailiff was standing at the
tjdpor of the “ Three Stags,” and seeing Tom go
iw, beckoned him.
Very busy, Golby?” he asked.
Not very, sir : ain’t up to my eyes quite,”
MpliedTom. j ■> h ,
V? Would yon like to be put on at a pound a
S; “Will a duck swim, sir?”replied Tom.de-
Ihted at the idea of such excellent wages.
* Come up to my house, then, to-morrow
rning,” said the bailiff, “and I’ll see what
i be done for you.”
Com Went no further that day. He returned
it-hapte to his wife to give her the good
W.
Che bailiff kept his word, Dora month en
tiling w6pt on gaily.
T happened, after that time, that
rd Thellusson called upon his old and es-
Xried friend, Mr. Bateman, who was anxious
show his aristocratic visitor the famous pro
iss that had been made in his new farm
ildings. ?.er *-■
Com Golby was hard at work upon a wall
ich was rapidly rising from the ground un
i his fostering care.
-ord Thollusson’s eye fell upon Tom. and his
e darkened.
B " r P riß ed that you employ that fel
low,” ne exclaimed.
■J “What’s amiss with him?” asked Mr. Bate
inari. ,■ •
f 11‘ He’s both violent and impudent. I had oc
caSlon to dismiss him at a moment’s notice ”
tf “ Ob! what did he do ?”
L?! Grossly assulted my poor, unhappy boy. I
Was in hopes that the character I industriously
circulated respecting him would have driven
aim away from here.
L !*J know nothing about my men personally,’
&oplicd Mr. Bateman. “All that I leave to my
if 1 should, if I were you, certainly get rid of
Wat man. I have no wish to prejudice you
he ia anything but a safe ner
ri h^ vo about you.”
BMeman b ° d * schar G ed to-night,” said Mr.
Thellusson dja not think that by this
gratification of his petty spite ho was bringing
misery and want on an entire family.
But so it was.
Tom could not get work again anywhere.
People shook i heir heads when he applied to
them, and wondered why he had left nis two
last places so abruptly.
It was pretty well known that he had been
“on” at Mr. Bateman’s, and when the bailiff
was asked why ho was discharged he shook Ins
head giving no reasons, lor the best of all pos
sible reasons, he had none to. give,
Tom had some reason to regret his fit of ill
temper at Castle Bayard, and resolved in future
to be careful to ascertain the rank and position
of an offender before he attempted to punish
him.
Margery had in prosperous days laid by a
little store, but that gradually dwindled and
dwindled till the little womMu was reduced to
the last shilling.
Then she threw herself into her husband’s
arms, and sobbed violently.
Tom placed her in a chair, and sitting by her
side, laid down his pine, which he had taken
up out of habit, and not because there was any
thing to smoke.
“ I can’t stand this, Margery,” he said, “ I
must go and do something, if it’s only highway
robbery!”
She stopped her tears at hearing this re
mark.
“I’m very foolish, Tom, but I can’t help it
when the children ask me lor bread, ana I
haven’t it to give them 1” she exclaimed.
They both looked at Daddy Burbidge, who
was fast asleep an in arm-chair. Daddy was tak
ing his afternoon nap, as was his custom.
The state of the money-market did not make
any difference to him.
As they looked they both divined one anoth
er’s thoughts.
“It’s too hard on you, Tom,” she said.
“We’ve had him as long as we could, and now
he must go.” _
She did not say where, for Tom knew as well
as she did that she meant the workhouse.
“ If it is to be so, I can’t do it I” ho replied.
“We can’t afford it, Tom,” contiued Margery.
“ If things don’t mend, and circumstances are
not altered,we must all goto the ‘ house.’”
“ Wait a bit,”said Tom, gallantly. “Don’t
decide on any thing t ill to-morrow. I’ll go out
and have another spell at work-hunting, and if
nothing turns up, why, I suppose, poof old
Daddy must go where his bettors have gone
before him.”
“It is very kind of yon, Tom, to do all you
can for him because lie’s my father,” replied
Margery; “but we must be just to ourselves
before we are land to others. If things mend,
wo can have him back again in the Spring.” 1
Tom did not reply to tiiis. The conversation
was painful, and iie did not wish to prolong it.
He had a long, weary walk that afternoon,
going from farmhouse to farmhouse, and from
one place to another.
Nobody seemed to bo building, or stand in
want of bricklayers. At last lie heard of a lit
tle hedging and ditching. It was only two
shillings a-day, but it was to last for a month,
and that was bettor than nothing, so Tom
jumped at it, striking the bargain there and
then, and receiving an order to come the next
day, with a shilling on account.
This reprieved Daddy Bnrbidge for a time,
and no one was more pleased at the fact than
the Golbys themselves. ■ - ;
The hedging and ditching was over in time,
and Tom Was again thrown on his own re
sources, which were miserably inadequate.
Tom’s case became known throughout the
parish as one of real and deserving distress.
“Some charitable ladies called upon Margery,
and made her presents of various articles of
domestic use, together with small sums of
mouey. ,
It galled Tom’s pride to bo obliged to accept
this charity while he was a strong, able-bodied
man; had he been an invalid, it would have
been different. • -
He sometimes cried when alone, from very
anguish and bitterness of spirit, reviling the
land of hie birth, and thinking longingly of
America. •- t- -•:»
Many a time and oft he shook his fist in the
direction of Castle Bayard, arid muttered
threats of vengeance against its noble proprie
tor and his idiot son. s
The parson of the parish called upon Tom,
and treated him very kindly, i -i i i
“ You’re a bricklayer by trade, I think ?” he
exclaimed. ■* -
“I am so, sir 1” replied Tom.
“Are you a Dissenter? I auk the question
because I have never noticed you among my
congregation. Not that the fact would have
the slightest influence with me one way or the
ether,” said Mr. Wedge’oury.
“I believe I’m a Ppotestant, sir; but I’ve
never been much of a church-goer,” replied
Tom, hanging down hjs head.
“ Well, you are not bad-hearted, or you would
not have maintained your wife’s father, as you
have done for so many years. I cannot help
having a respect for. a man who honors his
father and mother, and keeps the fifth com
mandment. But to come to what I was going
to say.” ,5 .
“ Yes, sir,” said Tom, flushing with pleasure
at the parson’s praise.
“ I am about to repair the belfry of the
church. It is essentially a bricklayer’s work,
and I will give you the job, which will prove
both long and lucrative, on one condition.”
“Name it, sirl” cried Tom Golby, eagerly.
“ It is, that you shall attend, at’least, once a
Sunday, with, if practicable, vonr wife and fam
ily, or such of them as are old enough to listen
instructively to hiy ministration, the services
in the parish church. My terms are not very
hard, I think 1” he added, with a smile.
J* I accept them, sir, most cheerfully,” replied
Tom, "and very many thanks for your kind
ness.” i
“ That is settled, then,” exclaimed the par
son. “ Now with regard to the belfry. I have
noticed that the bricks are out of repair ; the
birds do damage, and the rain and wind do
more. It i* a job that will occupy some time if
undertaken-feingle-handed.”
“Let me do it, sirl” csied Tom. “I don’t
want any one to help.”
“ I suppose not I” returned Mr. Wedgeburv,
significantly. “If it were a question of time,‘l
should be compelled to put on extra hands.
But, as I am not impatient, you shall be exclu
sively engaged, and take your own time.”
Soon afterward, a threepenny church-rate
was proposed in the vestry and carried. The
funds being forthcoming, Tom was put on at
once.
He received five-and-twenty shilling a week,
which was a small fortune to him after his late
privations.
The color came back to Margery’s cheeks,
and the children did not present the half
staYved, pallid appearance that formerly excited
the commiseration of the charitable.
Old Daddy was well supplied with snuff, and
allowed an extra glass of beer, whereat he was
much pleased, and blessed his daughter and
her husband for their kindness.
He was very fond of talking to himself when
he fancied himself alone.
Once or twice lately Margery had fancied she
heard him talking about the missing stocking,
and trying to tax his memory as to what haa
become of it.
But, as Daddy Bnrbidge was traveling toward
his dotage, she did not attach much importance
to this eccentricity, though it made her sigh to
think of the loss of this Eldorado which would
have placed them on such a pinnacle of happi
ness and content. <-
Ths parish church was a very old edifice; its
style of architecture was early Norman, though
it had been patched and repaired at various
times, till it was difficult to tell that it had any
distinctive feature.
Its yard was celebrated for many miles round
for its beautiful yew-trees, which were said to
be coeval with the sacred edifice itself.
Tom Golby mounted to the belfry in the usual
manner by means ofricketty, wooden steps, and
disturbed a colony of magpies and other birds,
who had made the belfry their home, as their
ancestors had before them.
He found that the clergyman had not exag
gerated the state of decay into which the spire
was falling.
Thinking it the easiest way, he erected a
scaffolding outside the narrow inlet, which ad
mitted air and light to the belfry.
This saved him the trouble and expense of
making a scaffolding from the bottom.
The latter would undoubtedly have been
safer, but it would have cost more money and
necessitated the employment of additional
workmen.
The main poles were secured to the beams in
the belfry, and the minor ones secured to the
others by means of ropes.
Having once got the substratum of his scaf
folding firmly placed, Tom waa able to lower
the stage on which he worked as he pleased.
He hired a boy to assist him, and when he
wanted bricks or mortar, he was in the habit of
pulling up the basket from below, by means of
a rope which ran through a block.
For many days Tom might have been ob
served high up on his scaffolding.
The villagers who passed through the
churchyard paused to look up and wonder,
tremblingly, what would happen if the frail
structure gave way, and Tom were precipitated
down, down into the yard below.
Tom, however, was totally unconscious of
their solicitude for his welfare.
He worked with a will, singing as he worked;
thinking that every brick he placed, every hole
he stopped with mot tar, represented money, if
only the fraction of a farthing, and that the
money so earned would please Margery and
make old Daddy and the children happy by
satisfying their hunger.
“ How the wind mows, Tom,” said his wife,
one morning, as he was leaving for work.
“ Bather stiffish,” he replied, looking at tha
sky, and holding on his cap.
“Be careful,” continued Margery. “ I had a
bad dream last night.”
“I’ll be careful enough. No harm, please
Heaven, will come to me,” answered Tom Gol
by, stoutly.
“You are sure, Tom, there is no danger?”
Margery persisted.
“ Of course there isn’t.”
“I’m a goose to aak,” said Margery. “If
there was ever so much, you wouldn’t tell me,
and you’d go to work all the same, rather than
lose a day’s pay.”
Tom kissed his wife; but she waa not re
assured by the osculatory process.
A severe gust blew clown a bough from a
neighboring tree. It fell with a crash on the
“It’s lucky I wasn’t under that,” said Tom
“ Qb I" cried bursting into tears’
“ I know something will happen : I am sure of
it.”
“ Very well, my dear,,if you’re that nervous,”
said Tom, “ I’ll stop at home. It’s no good my
going, if you’re to worry and make yourself
So Tom re-entered the house, followed by
Margery.
For a time they were silent. Tom lighted
his pipe, and eat, moodily, in the chimney
corner.
“We shall be a matter of four shillings short
on Saturday,” grumbled Tom.
Margery went to the door.
“ I don’t think it blows so hard now, Tom,”
she said.
He joined her, and looked at the weather for
a few moments.
“ No,” ho replied. “ Blowing off the branch
from that ellum has satisfied it for a bit, I
think.”
“In truth, the gale had lulled a little ; but. It
was only stepping back so as to leap better, as
the French say.
“ You may go, tom dearest,” said Margery;
but you. will promise not to risk your precious
life ?”
“Is it precious,Margery?” he asked, smiling
with pleasure. >
“Vnutterobly precious to me,” she an
wered.
“Bleos you, my darling,” he murmured, as
ho kissed her forehead.
The next moment, he slung his basket over
bis shoulder, and set off' at a respectable pace
for the church.
Margery went in-doors, and sank on her
knees at the foot of the bed, and prayed. The
weekly visit to Mr. Wodgebury’s church—stip
ulated for, and carried out with scrupulous ex
actions—had not been barren of results.
The wind was, certainly, very high that
morning, dangerously high, as Tom thought.
Although he had done a large quantity of
work in his time, he had never been on so lolty
a scaffolding as the one he was working on at
present.
When he crept through the narrow aperture
in the belfry, he had some difficulty in getting
his foot on it, the wind blew it about in such a
boisterous manner.
His weight steadied it.
The ropes creaked and the poles bent, and
Tom found himself performing a sort of see
saw, which made him hold on very tightly, so
as to avoid being pitched into the churchyard,
headforemost.
What was really very remarkable was, that
the sexton had just dug a deep grave exactly
underneath Tom.
So that if ho had fallen, he would have found
a grave made, as if on purpose for his recep
tion. .
He shuddered when he made this discovery.
All things considered, it was a marvel that
Tom was so quiet and composed as he waa.
His wife’s warning and alarm—the newly-made
grave—the high wind, were enough to have
shaken the nerves of a stouter man.
Hark I what is that mournful sound ?
It is the dismal knell which announces the
decease of a human being.
There is no mistaking th© harch echo of a
funeral bell.
They were tolling for the man who was to be
buried, in the yawning grave which gaped be
neath the scaffolding. ...
Tom ceased whistling.
It was no time for merriment. He almost
wished that he had followed hie wife’s advice,
and stayed at home; but having commenced
work, he continued at it with a dogged resolu
tion deserving of the highest praise.
In order that the reader may fully compre
hend what follows, we must state that Tom was
working about eight feet below the level of the
window, or aperture, giving admittance to the
belfry.
He contrived to get into that position'iu this
way.—
When he stood upon his stage first of all, it
was, of course, on a level with the eyelet-hole,
or window. <
Ho then untied a rope which passed over one
of the supporting poles placed horizontally, one
end being in the air, the other securely fasten
ed ip the belfry, . ..' •• «-
By gradually lowering this rope, he despend
ed to the part of the Wall he was desirous of
repairing; having gained the wished-for posi
tion, he made the rope fast. S> ■.
When ho wanted to ascend, he unfastened
the rope and hauled himself up.
Every few seconds, the dull boom of the bell
reverberated through the belfry, and half deaf
ened him. ’•
The wind seemed to be pt its hight ? and raged
with groat fury, making Tom’s position one of
groat insecurity.
Suddenly Tom heard a noise resembling the
sawing of a piece of wood or rope with a knife.
What could it be? > - .....
In vain he conjectured.
Did it come from above or below?
Not from below. Casting his eyes upward,
he saw that which caused the blood to curdle
in his veins, the pulsation of his heart to cease
its former vigor as if by magic, and a deathly
chill to take possession of him. ..-c
Ho was by no means a coward, and would
soon have proved the falsehood of such an ac
cusation ; but he trembled now like an aspen at
what he saw.
At about three feet above his head, leaning
out of the aperture, was the idiot son of Lord
Thellusson.
In his hand he held a gleaming knife.
His face wore an expression of triumph—of
gratified malignity; and when his eyes met
those of Tom Golby, he uttered a terrible cry
of satisfaction.
His object was as plain as the sun at noon
day.
He was sawing away at tho ropes which hold
the scaffolding to the poles, sawing as if his
life depended upon his exertions.
He meant io cause Tom to drop into the
churchyard below!
How ho get into the belfry was a mystery to
Tom. Probably the sexton, while tolling the
bell, had left the door open, and thinking the
idiot harmless enough, had allowed him to go
up to look for birds’ nests.
That the idiot had not forgotten the thrash
ing Tom Golby had given him was evident.
Tom could now appreciate tho full meaning
of the malignant scowl with which the idiot
had favored him when he was discharged by
Lord Thellusson.
“What are you doing?” Tom tried to say;
but his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth.
When he could articulate, the wind caught
up his words and ran away with them.
Wilton knew that he was speaking, because
his lips moved; and he laughed wildly, gesticu
lating defiantly, and pointing below with terri
ble meaning.
Tom had unloosed the rope, and endeavored
to draw himself up ; but as he did so, the rope
fave way, and it was only by rapidly catching
old of the one that remained intact that ho
saved himself from being dashed to pieces.
A cold perspiration broke out all over him, as
he thus hung suspended high up the spire of
the belfry.
Ho was incapable of further action for the
moment, and looked up at the idiot like one
fascinated by a snake.
Wilton was renewing his work with great en
ergy, smiling sardonically, and talking all the
while to himself.
Tom Qolby thought of Margery; and as he
did so, a new life seemed to spring into his
veins.
He would make one effort for life, for her
sake.
If he.did not bestir himself quickly, it would
be too late. There would be a rush through
the air, a dull thud on the ground, a crowd
gathered round something indescribable, a
mangled mass, four men carrying tho some
thing on a shutter, the darkness of a dead
house, the coroner’s jury, and—the grave!
He struggled to reach the rope which de
pended from the block. The basket was up at
the top, and if he could grasp the rope, the
basket would Keep it from running through tho
block, and he could descend safely hand over
hand. ■
But the cruel wind, as if in league with the
idiot, swung it backward and forward, and it
eluded every effort of Tom’s to grasp it.
With beads of perspiration starting from
every pore, and standing on his forehead as
largo as peas, Tom tried his last chance.
He climbed up the rope the idiot was attack
ing.
It could not last half a minute longer.
When the idiot saw him nearing him, he re
doubled his exertions.
Nevertheless, Tom’s right hand touched the
polo.
Belentlessly tho idiot slashed at it, cutting
the knuckles, and causing a stream of blood to
trickle down.
Gnashing bis teeth with rage, Tom saw that
to attempt to achieve his safety in this way was
futile.
Consequently, he again turned his attention
to the rope which every now and then swung
perilously close to him.
He was incapable of reasoning in that mo
ment of supreme terror; but, acting upon an
irresistible impulse, he began to agitate the
rope by which he was hanging.
His arms seemed to be torn from their sock
ets, so great was the strain upon them.
The wind was determined to thwart him.
As his rope swung him toward the other, it
went in an opposite direction.
“Hal ha! ha!”
That shout denotes that the idiot is coming
to the last coils of the rope.
Steadying himself for a moment, Tom again
agitated the rope.
This time, a gust of wind sent the one he
wished to clutch within an inch of him.
Next time he will grasp it.
Oh, for a few seconds more I
Never had time been of such incomparable
value to him.
“ Ha I ha 1 ha 1”
Again tho idiot gives way to his diabolical
glee.
Tom felt tho scaffolding yielding.
With a frantic effort, of which he did not
think himself capable, ho leapt forward, caught
the rope in both hands, clung to it as if for
grim death, and was saved.
For a time.
The idiot no sooner saw that his victim had
escaped him than he uttered a fiendish yell.
Creeping, crawling, on hands and knees, ho
went aiong the pole, intending to cut the rope
which Tom looked upon as his salvation.
The scaffolding, failing with a crash below,
had arrested the notice of some passers-by.
They, comprehending the state of affairs in
an iusunt, ran, some to the belfry, to arrijat
NEW YORK DISPATCH.
trie progress of the vengeful idiot, and save
Tom Golby.
While others, having no nerve, remained as
if paralyzed, intently watching the romantic
drama which was being enacted in mid-air, as
if for their especial edification.
Tom, meanwhile, was straining every nerve
to roach the ground before the idiot should
have time to dash him to the bottom.
Wilton, only son of Lord Thellusson, how
ever, did not seem desirous of allowing Tom
Golby to do any such thing. Ho was extended
on his stomach, and had commenced cutting
tho rope as before.
A spectator, having a gun in his hand, and
seeing that if something were not done it
would bo impossible to eave Tom, raised his
gun, saying, “It is only loaded with small
shot, and can’t kill the scoundrel, who
ever he is. So it will bo better to wound him,
and make him leave off his treacherous work,
than that the poor bricklayer should break his
nock. Here goes 1"
As he spoke, he fired.
The shot darted upward.
The idiot uttered a sharp cry of pain, though
not much hurt; ond evincing the Strongest
evidences of trepidation, crept back to the
belfry, whore he was instantly seized by strong
arms, and hold in in custody, effectually pre
vented from doing more mischief that day.
Tom, swinging in mid-air, heard a shout of
joy, and he wondered what it meant.
On reaching tho ground, which ho did in
safety, his overwrought nerves gave way.
Many a night after that, Tom Golby woke
up m the small hours, and shrieked in his
agony.
He fancied himself swinging over a newly
made grave, with the idiot grinning and gibing
at him from above.
He was reacting his hairbreadth escape.
Lord Thellusson was so shocked at this last
escapade of hie son’s, that he had him placed
in close confinement.
A few days afterward, when Tom was sitting
at home—he was not able to work for a day or
two, you see—Daddy Bnrbidge began to
laugh.
“Hullo, Daddy!” cried Tom. “'What’s
wrong with you ?”
“It’s very funny 1” cried Daddy. “But I’ve
remembered it all at once.”
“ Bememberod what ?”
“ Why, where I put the money.”
“In the stocking, I suppose!” eaid Tom,
with an incredulous laugh.
“You may laugh I” said old Daddy Bur
bidge, instantly; “ but I know where I put
the stocking 1 Yes that Ido I”
Holding up her finger for Tom not to excite
the old man, and so disturb his memory, Mar
gery glided up to him, and said, “ That’s very
clover of you, father I”
“Eh, my dear? Don’t talk—you’ll put it
out of my head I” replied Daddy.
“You’ll toll me, father, won’t you?” she
said, coaxingly.
“But you mustn’t tell any one else—not
even Tom 1” exclaimed the old man, in a whis
per.
“Oh, no!”
“Well, it's—it’s—-You’re listening, ain’t
you, Margery?” f.
“ Yes, father.” . b
“It’s dropped down the hollow trunk of ths
old apple-tree in tho garden, Margery. I call
to mind, now, I did it when I thought thieves
were in the house.” . .. .
Margery waited to hear no more.
Tom rushed out into the garden with her,
taking with him an ax.
The apple tree was quickly attacked; and
there, sure enough, in the hollow, «»•
stocking full of gold and notes, oil as dry as a
chip, and as good as the Bank of England.
So neither John nor his wife lost anything
by keeping the nftii commandment. They
were so carried away with their joy that they
didn’t know Daddy Burbidge had followed them
into the garden. * , i
“ Here’s the money, father I” said Margery,
when she saw him.
“ Oh, you’ve got it, eh?” he replied. “ Well,
Margery, you may keep it, for you’ve been a
good girl, and very kind to your poor old
father?’
Margery threw her arms round the old man’s
neck, and shed a torrent of tears.
And, for the life of him, Tom Golby could not
help crying out of sympathy.
KB&SB3ESBEBD3&&2SSESSBK&SSZ3IEaQ
descenTwollead-bine.
I happened to be staying at a friend’s house
in one of the northern counties of England one
Summer, when it was suggested by our host
that I should ride over to Authorpe, and see
the splendid hydraulic engine which had been
recently erected for the purpose of draining
the lead-mines. My ardor was but slightly
damped when I was told that an inspection of
the engine was not to be accomplished with
out the hazard of a tiring and comparatively
dangerous descent of the “climbing-way.”
There were at the time I speak of but few
hydraulic engines of tho kind we proposed to
visit, so the resolve to make the inspection
was, in spite of its comparative danger to a
novice, quickly formed. On arriving at the
mine, we sent’for tho captain” of the works,
and under his directions, divested ourselves of
ell our clothes, and substituted the com
mon wojking-dress of tho miners; and
each of iis waS f urnished with a lump of clay
about the size of an orange, into which (a hole
being made with your thumb) a half-penny
candle was inserted. Our party consiatoa or
the captain, one of the miners, my cousm, and
myselt
A few yards distant from the “coo” (or hut
in which we had made our toilets) was a trap
door about a yard Square, and this being
opened, disclosed a nasty black-looking hole,
that might have been “ any depth,” but which
was, it seems, only sixty feet. On two of the
opposite sides of the mine, and resting on lit
tle ledges in the angles, were long pieces of
wood about three inches wide by about an inch
and a half thick, and eighteen inches one
above another. The captain (whom we will
call Mr. Darnton) first descended, after him
tho miner, then my cousin, and last of all your
humble servant. The mods of progression
consisted in digging the outside edge of the
soles of your boots into the side of the shaft,
so as to get all the hold you could of the nar
row ledges of the “ etemples,” as they are
called; and as to your hands, you were cau
tioned not to lay hold of the nearest stempie
to your shoulder, but rather to stoop and rest
on the lowest one practicable ; so that, in ease
of a foot slipping, the muscles of the arms
might not be suddenly called upon when in
comparatively relaxed position of a bent elbow.
Sixty foot of this sort of work brought us to
a gallery about five yards in length, and at tho
ond of this was another sixty feet of olimbing
way, and then another gallery, and so on, un
til wo reached the “ level,” into which, at quar
ter-minute intervals, a tremendous body of
water rushed through a cast-iron pipe about
twenty inches in diameter. This intermittent
little river—for it really was one in miniature
—was the water lifted by the engine at every
stroke—and she was making at hat time four
strokes a minute.
Our difficulties now had their commencement.
“ The engine, gentlemen,” said our very in
telligent guide, “is at the other end of that
pipe, and the pipe is fifteen feet long. We
must crawl through it, one at a time; and I
can tell you it is rather an awkward journey.
I will go first, and you can form an idea of the
way of crawling by seeing what I do. Be care
ful to raise yourselves as high as you can when
you hear the valve of the engine clap to, for
that is a sign she is beginning her stroke, and
the waler will bo through like a shot; so mind
and let it run under you, and take care it does
notput your candle out,”
We promised to observe all his ooutfons, and
he at once crept into the pipe. There was
something frightful about the whole affair, and
the danger seemed magnified by the tremen
dous noise of the valve every time it went to on
the return stroke. It was, even at our end of
the pipe, like a clap of thunder, and seemed to
shake the solid limestone rock against which
we stood.
After about a minute’s interval, we heard
Darnton shout to us to come on, but to be care
ful, and not enter more than one at a time, and
for each to wait till the other had got well
through.
My cousin now essayed the journey, and be
ing, as he was, a sixteen-stono man, and forty
four inches round the chest, I felt exceedingly
nervous on the score of his safe arrival at the
other side. Having waited for the next lift of
water to run off, he instantly entered the pipe ;
but on getting halfway through, he turned his
shoulders too square, and was m a few moments
quite fast, and before he could right himself
again, the engine made another stroke; the
consequence being that tho water was instantly
dammed up to his face, and the candle put out..
A violent struggle and an involuntary raising
of the body allowed the water to get away; and
ho had, fortunately, just time to get his breath
and be ready for the next rush of water, which
came with its usual tremendous force; but he
was able to allow it to pass under him. By
dint of great exertion, he emerged on the other
side quite safe, but a good deal frightened.
I would now most willingly haver retraced my
steps, but did not like being “chaffed,” so took
my turn, and, being of a thin habit of body,
got safe through between the strokes of the
engine; and now we were in the presence of
the monster I
I could not accurately describe this splendid
piece of machinery without the aid of diagrams.
Suffice it to say, that she is driven by an upright
column of water about two hundred and eighty
feet high, and takes tho pressure just as a
steam-engine would—namely, by the opening
of a side-valve. She can work readily up to
five hundred horse-power, and would then
make seven strokes a minute. When I saw
her, she was at about haif her power. To give
some idea of her size, I may mentirin that the
joints alone of the upright piston-rod were at
least the size of a farming-wagon body ! The
operation of taking in the water for each stroke,
accompanied as it was by the inward opening
of the valve, and the sound of the water, was
awful enough; but, as I said previously, the
closing of tne same valve by the sudden pres
sure of a column of water equal to live hundred
horse-power, was “ a thing to remember.”
The shaft in which we now stood was about a
hundred and thirty yards m depth, and fifteen
feet diameter, and in this awful place was the
stupendous engine constantly going night and
day, in a darkness made almost more jniisible
by ’-'’.Mr et-n'Hes, .
And now came a serious question—shall we
return through that horrible pipe, or shall we
ascend by the ladders in the engine-shaft?
The alternative was as follows: It we went
through the pipe, there was the danger of
sticking fast; and if by the main shaft, there
was no sort of protection in'ease of a slip off a
ladder; and these ladders were ranged one
above another in lengths of about thirty feet,
and as nearly ns possible perpendicularly, with
no sort of fence or guard. At the top of each
length was a small platform ot wood about a
yard square; and these were the only resting
places. Darnton told us that if we decided to
go up the main shaft we must, when once
started, go forward ; that no retracing of one’s
steps could -be allowed, and that We must not
attempt to look down.
After a few minutes’ deliberation, we resolved
to go up by the ladders. I went last; and
what with the darkness, the tremendous noise
of the engine when she took thq stroke, and
last, not least, an incident that I nope never to
experience again, I never was more uncomfort
able in iny life. We had arrived within about
twenty yards of the top, and I felt very much
fatigued, and the tallow from the candle I held
had run all over my right hand, which circum
stances rendered a hold of the ladder-staves
less secure. To rCst my aching arms, I hap
pened to lean back with all my weight, when
about the top of the last ladder but two, and
this caused the nail fastening that side of tire
ladder nearest to the wall to draw out, and the
ladder itself to twist round f It is now thirty
years ago, but I can almost at the present day feel
my hair stand on end, as it most assuredly did
at that instant. Thank God, the other side
held, and I got safely to the top; but I re
solved that for the future my proceedings
should be best described by the words compos
ing the beading of this article.
FRENCH WIVES.
WHY TRENCH WOMEN MARRY, AND HOW
THEY ACT WHEN MARRIED.
What wretched wives French women make 1
They certainly are less fitted for matrimony
than any women the sun shines on. . Fond of
excitement, devoted to pleasure, loving dress,
delighting in company, home and its duties
are confinement in jail and irksome drudgery
to them. The best of them wear the breeches,
haggle—as only women can haggle—about
centimes and sous, reduce their husbands to
hardship, drive off their friends, reduce his
expenditures, diminish his pleasures, place
money over and above everything else, make
their will, their wishes, their whims, their
caprices, the law of the household, and think
they ought to be adored as angels because
they keep buttons and shirts from parting
company.
These are the jewels of married women in
France. But even these think' lightly of fidel
ity to marriage vows. In this nation of social
life, whore society is everything and all else is
nothing, nobody thinks of refusing anything
which may add to the entertainment of com
pany. As husbands are zeros in the best
houses, any complaint they may make of inva
sion of their rights is commonly disregarded,
or, if insisted upon, is answered by suit for di
vorce. These “ animals” have no rights except
so far as his union of buttons and shirt is con
cerned. v
There are nd women in ths world more agfoe
able to strangers in a drawing-room than French
WOT" 0 ”- auU UULU SIC IBUlgol 111(111-
ferent to them; Consequently, euch a thing as
principle never chocks their desire to be agree
able. Their natural maliciousness and their
natural sprightliness whose quickness and
sharpness have been increased by the con
tinual attrition of Company, make their Con
versation entertainment. Their satisfaction in
finding themselves ip what they may not un
justly consider their proper sphere, dimpled
their cheeks with smiles, and kindles -light in
their eyes. Their vanity, which continually
goads them to struggle for applause, stimu
lates them to exert ail their powers of plead
ing. They, consequently, are the most agree
able drawing-room companions to strangers in
the world, o - -j
It is almost impossible to avoid falling in
love with them. Fancy pursues them beyond
the drawing-room, and uses her warmest colors
to draw pictures of the happiness of the mon
who constantly possess such bright, vivacious,
amiable, and fashionable creatures. Fancy—
that will-o’-the-wisp of life—deceives us here as
is her wont, and, were we to follow her glitter
ing, airy flame, would surely lead us into a most
painful morass.
The rocket, which lies in the artificer’s labor
atory, black, sullen, unattractive, in its vulgar
pasteboard case, resting on an unadorned, un
polished, rough stick, does not more differ from
the fiery bolt which makes mobs stare, as it
seems, to scale the highest heavens than the
French cynosure of the drawing-rooms differs
from the wife in her husband’s or her family’s
company.
The restraints of domestic life oppress them
to an inconceivable degree. The iueal happi
ness of all of them is to enjoy a motherless
widow’s freedom. To have no account to give
of their - time or their purse, or of their body.
To have no conscience save only to keep Un
known deed! unreproved, by public opinion.
Too cold to be licentious”they are never im
moral except to gratify an agreeable compan
ion ; and, w ere Jove to listen to their prayer,
men’s desires would be of the sanie tew>T>»r«-
ture all t.hron s i» ine as they are at threescore
and ton.
It is neither wonderful men and women marry
hero, nor wonderful they separate. Marriages
are contracted solely for money, or for social
position, or for both. Women marry for these
advantages and to be free. ;
A woman is a ward, an infant, until she mar
ries. She must not be seen at plays, where the
dialogue is as thinly and sparsely draped as the
leading actresses, who keep its shuttlecock of
conversation flying. She must not go on the
street or into public gardens alone. Rhe must
not dip her nose into books which are only fit
for the shelves of married Coventry. She has
the worst eeat at the table, church, theatre,
and in carriage. She must bo silent, modest,
and respectful.
AR changes when she marries. She was a
girl—she is a woman. She may go where she
pleases, when she pleases, as she pleases. The
elave is tyrant in turn; the husband (so free
while unmarried) wears the discarded mana
cles ; the ball and chain are for his ankles. She
reads what she pleases, hoars and plays, sees
any sight. Her father may have had no mat
ter what title, she was nobody. Her husband’s
title becomes feminine, and is her property as
much as it is hie. The opera-box, the carriage,
the town and the country house are hers. She
engages and dismisses the servants. The table
is laid to suit her taste. She has all the keys.
Therefore, women marry. ;
If matrimony does not suit them, despite
husband, father and mother, she sues a divorce.
Her husband is obliged to give her an income
in keeping with their rank in society. She is
free as air. ........
[From the San Francisco Polioe Gazette, Dec. 221.)
A LECHEROUS SCOUNDREL.
ATTEMPTED RAPE—ARREST OF THE BUF
FIAN-HE ONLY WANTED TO “KISS THE
LITTLE GIRLS."
James Murphy was arrested and brought to
Sacramento last Friday and lodged in the sta
tion house, charged with a most atrocious
crime—attempt to commit rape upon the per
son of a little girl aged eleven years, daughter
of Mr. John G. Allmond, of Franklin township.
From the evidence adduced on trial in the Po
lice Court, this scdupdrel Murphy appears to
be one of those soulless, despicable, lecherous
villains, who for the momentary gratification of
their carnal desires, would ruin and destroy a
young and innocent girl and leave her an object
of unmerited reproach for the remainder of her
existence. Allmond is a farmer, and with his
family of two daughters, aged respectively
eleven and thirteen years, resides on a ranch
near Freeport. On Thursday, of last weak,
James Murphy applied to him'for work, stating
that he was a discharged soldier in distressed
circumstances. With truly charitable feelings
he was given his supper and a bed for the
night. In return for his kindness the follow
got up in the middle of the night and went to
the room occupied by the daughters of Mr.
Allmond, He proceeded stealthily to consum
mate his hellish work ; but, fortunately, as
Mary, the youngest daughter, testified," she
was awakened by feeling the bed clothes raised
up and some one’s hand placed upon her pedal
extremities. Fortunate, indeed, it was that the
poor little girl was awake and aware of the
fiend’s presence, else we shudder to contem
plate what might have been her fate. The vil
lain soon became aware that his game was
blocked, for the girl shrieked frantically for
help and alarmed her parents, who hastened to
ascertain the cause of her alarm. The man in
the meantime rushed back to his room, and,
getting into bed, covered himself with the
clothes and feigned sleep. The father noted
that the door of the man’s room was open and
that of the girls, and could arrive at no other
conclusion than that he was the intruder, but
said nothing to him till morning, but took the
precaution to load his rifle and bo ready in case
of a repetition of the offence. In the morning
Murphy professed at first to be unconscious of
having visited the room of the girls, but subse
quently admitted having done so, stating that
his object was only “to kiss one of the girls.”
He told several others that he went to the room
with criminal intent. Allmond went to consult
a neighbor as to ths propriety of arresting the
man, in,the meantime telling his wife to give
the alarm in case the man attempted to escape.
Murphy did try to escape, and was met by All
mond as ho was returning. Murphy, on seeing
Allmond, jumped a ditch and started to run.
Allmond threatened to shoot if he did not stop.
As he did not heed him he fired, a portion of
the charge taking effect in Murphy’s head, face
and back, but did not injure him sufficiently to
impede his flight. He was soon overtaken, |
however, and brought to Freeport. Justice
Norvall entered into an examination of the
case, but after hearing one or two witnesses,'
decided to send the case to Sacramento. Mur
phy is a young man, apparently about twohty
two years of age, and appears to be both knave
and fool. After an examination by tho Police
I Magistrate, ho was he I ' l te <"W botorti ibe
next Grand Jury.
©uv My dwip*
A correspondent, who has bean-to see the
Black Crook, accompanied by a very powerful
pair of opera glasses, comes home with his
brain in something of a whirl, and gets off for
the edification of the gossipers the subjqwcij
stanzas ■ ' •
TO THE BALLET. ‘
There Is grace in all their movements,
And their forms are passing fair;
Their stops are soft as snowflakeSg
Their thoughts devoid of qwre,
A little shore ot dresses.
But nowise put about.
Thoir hair is parti-colored, ’
But paid for, without doubt.
All grades of grace and beauty,
AU shades of form and face;
Angello looking dancers, .
Eevolving in the race. ,< 5
A crash of music startles, j :■
Like statues they repose, ' \ .
And each is anxious, tor the fiohea,
Lest she hare spoiled her clothei.
Another crash, and off again
In eircle'and pirouette,
They seem a joyous, merry, light
And cay. etherial set.
S’d fall in love with one, no doubt,
Perhaps do something rash,
Blit, at the hotel t’other night, •
I saw them eating—hash. ■
Wo clip from one of our New ex
changes the following, said to have occurred in
that poetic city, which proves that gentlemen
sometimes provide for the wants of other wo
men than their wives. If true it is
THE BEST JOKE OF THE SEASON.
A lady, anxious to purchase a camel's hair shawl,
could iind but ono which suited her. After asking
the price, which was §1,500, she tried to pursuade
the clerk tp let her have it for SI,OOO.
“Madam," replied he, “your husband, a few
hours since, mad?) me the same Oder for this very ar
ticle, and was refused.”
At this stage, pleasure took the place of disap
pointment, for, of course, Mr. S. wanted it for his
wife. In order to assist him in his kind design, she
paid sub rosa SSOO toward the purchase, after which
the clerk was to write a noto to Mr. S., saying he
might have the shawl for the SI,OOO. Mrs. 8. wont
home, delighted with iho prospect of bo valuable an
addition to her wardrobe.
Evening came, but the pacing® didn't; so, highly
indignant, the lady went to the store to demand an
explanation of the neglect. Thereupon the clerk
assured her Mr. S. had carried the bundle away
himself. Mrs. 6. went away much my a tided, but
smelling a large mice, Bhe started round Canal
street to the vicinity of the Custom-hou&s to inquii’o
into matters, when she met her husband in company
with a fair but frail ono who was sporting the iden
tical shawl. Curtain drops I
Ladies who read the foregoing will take wani
ng, and never aid their husbands in public
charitieq—of that kind. Speaking of husbands,
another fellow has gotten himself into trouble*
He gets off a good-natured growl, which he in
troduces under the title of
. U MY WIFE’S PIANO.
The deed is accomplished. My wife hfij got a
piano. It camp on a dray, bix men carried it into
ths parlor, and it grunted awfully. It weighs a ton,
and shines like a mirror, and has carved cupids
climbing up on its limbs. And sfich lungs—whew I
My wife has commenced to practice, and the first
time she touched the machine I thought we were in
cfierj2o£eEt* n Tae'c - at, with tail erect,
took a bee-line for a particular friend on the back
fence. The paby awoke, and the little fallow tried his
best to beat the instrument, but ho couldn’t do it. It
beaihim. - ■& > <£-7^-..- .. . .•
A teacher has been introduced into the house. He
says he is the last of Napoleon’s grand army. He
wears a huge mustache, looks at <ne fiercely, snqella
of garlic, and goes by the name of Count Runaway
uevercomebackagainby. He played an extract de
opera, th6 other night. He ran his fingers through
his hair twic6, then grinned, then cooked hie eye up
at the oeiling, like a monkey looking for flies, and
then down came one ot his fingers, and then I heard
a delightful sound, similar to that produced by a
cockroach dicing on the tenor string of a fiddle.
Down came another finger, and I was reminded of the
wind whistling through tjie knot-hole of aShen-coop.
He touched his thumb, and I thought I was in an
orchard, listening to the distant braying of a jackass.
Now he ran his fingers along the keys, and I thought
of a boy rattling a stick upon a store box oi* a picket
fence. AU of a sudden he stopped, and I thought
something had happened, Then he came down with
both fists, and, oh I Lord I such a noise was never
heard before. I thought that a hurricane had struck
the house, and the waUs were caving in, I imagined
I was in the cellar, and a ton of coal waa falling about
my head.
That fellow evidently has no music in his
soul. We wonder what ho would do if he had
to suffer such an infliction as the following
which comes to us from a far distant city, in
the familiar handwriting of a friend who never
did like r' ''
• '■ ■ ' TALKATIVE CHILDREN.
The other da;-, in an unguarded moment, I accept
ed the charge and custody of a young gentleman who
wore half gaiters and a Charles 11. hat and feather.
His sponsors in baptism had given him one name—
circumstances another. His latter application is
“Buster.” His age, as he informed me, was “going
on seven.” When he mode up his mind that we
were to bo left together, he eyed me malevolently a
moment, and immediately commenced the following
system of torture:
What was my name, and my brother’s, and my
father’s name, and why ? Did I have any little boys ?
Any little girls? All tufe put as one Question with no
Was them buttons goid in my sleeve, and why ?
How much did they cost? Did they cost $155? 'if
they didn’t cost $155, what would be the price of a
gold house with gold furniture and gold staircase ?
Did I ever see a house with the auriferous peculiari
ties? v .‘.
No. .
What, then, would bo the cost of 3 silver carriage
and. a gold harness ? What, then, would be the cost
of a leaden carriage with iron harness ? And why ?
Did I know why the files walked on the ceiling?
Could I walk on the ceiling ? Not if I hod ono man
to hold my head and another my legs ? Why couldn’t
I ? Couldn’t lif I was a giant ? Was I ever person
ally acquainted with any ? Did I ever see them eat ?
How far was it to New York ? Waa it a million
miles? Fifty billion miles? If he (Buster) had a
balloon, and should start off, would he get there to
night? Nor next night,.nor another night, nor next
week—and why ?
I soon found out that this why was a simple form
of closing all questiona, llko the usual note of interro
gation. -A-
What was my business, and did I know any stories ?
and why ? .
Thia afforded a plan of relief. I instantly started
into a history of my previous life and adventures. 1
invested all my relatives aud friends with supernatu
ral attributes, and made myself a creation something
between a genii and Robinson Crusoe. I made the
most astonishing voyages and saw most remarkable
occurrences. I drew liberally from the Arabian
Nights and Baron Munchausen. U : .>•!
Whenever I saw the open mouth “address itself to
motion, as though 'twould speak,” I brought in a
roc, or a genii, or & casket of diamonds, and took
away the unhappy child’s breath! In an animated
description of the Hoarhound Islands and adventures
in the damp caves, where the candy hung in long
stalactites, tfre parents happily returned. I hurried
ly received their thanks and left But I have the se
cret satisfaction of knowing that all that pent-up tor
rent of questions burst on the happy father; and that
geographical inquiries regarding the locality of “Float
ing Island,” the “Plane Mange Archipelago,” and the
“Valley of Oream Oakes,’* will henceforth bo fris
dreadful lot to meet and answer, .
Soldiers have been charged with all sorts 6f
misdemeanors in the way of deviltry, but the
last thing we heard is about
■ •••••“ rW <W : MY ÜBEN..'
During the war, while a train laden with soldiers
was stopping to wood and water at a certain station
in Georgia, a gentleman entered into conversation
with the “ boys in gray,” when the whistle and
the train moved opi One of th© rebs op another car
called to him: _• .* ’/■ <*
“ I say, my friend, please run here and pick up my
oven and throw it on—it just fell off, and I wouldn’t
lose it for forty dollars.”
Nq sooner Bsid than the minister ran, picked up
the oven, but was unable to catch up with the car oh
which the soldier was perched,
“Never mind, friend, just throw it on that car,
please, I’ll get it.” \
’Twas thrown as directed, the clergyman turned
thinking he had done one poor soldier an act of kind
ness that day, but was immediately accosted by an
old negro thusly: £ 8
“ Massa, what you tro dat üben on dar for—dat was
myuben.”
It is unnecossaay to add that the preacher now be
Hevea to a certain extent in total depravity.
Am eminent story-teller was very
fond of relating the following touching anecdote: An
Englishman and a Frenchman fought a duel in a
darkened room. The Englishman, unwilling to take
his antagonist’s life, generously fired upifhc chimney
and brought down the Frenchman. “ When I tell
this story in France,” pleasantly adds the narrator,
“ I make the Englishman go up the chimney.”
An urchin of ten Summers was
gent to school for the first time. The teacher, to test
his acquirements asked him, “Who made you?” The
boy couldn’t answer. The teacher tola him the
proper answer, and desired the boy to remember it.
Some hours afterward the teacher repeated the ques
tion. The boy, rubbing his head for a moment, in a
kind of brown study, replied:.“l avow, I’ve forgotten
the gentleinan’B name. rr . .
A correspondent of the Portland
Star tells a story of an old lady who lives somewhere
west of Norway, who sent her husband to the bam to
search for eggs; he went, succeeded in finding a few,
and when returning fell and. broke his neck. A little
girl, in passing by, saw the mishap, and ran to tell
the forlorn widow the news. *f O, Lordy,” said she,
“I wonder if the darned old fool saved the eggs ?’*
—At a church collection for mis
sions the preacher said: “My Christian brethren, let
us caution those who put in buttons not to break off
the eyes; it spoils them for use, and they will not
pass among the heathen for coins.”
Hans—Ven dey jokes in his
neck till he’s plack in his face, vy do dev call garrot
inghim? Heinrich—Dey calls it garroting pecaush
dey stopsh do plood from running in his garroted ar
tery. .
“ I’ve got no hoops on this
morning,” observed Clara. “How is it you don’t
sing, then ?” asked Cousin John. “ What do you
moan stupid?” “Why, if there are no hoops, the
staves aie liable to come out, you know,” .
A. fair devotee lamented to her
confessor her lovo for gaining. “ Ah!
replied the reverend gentleman, “it is a grlovou?
ein; in the first place, consider the loss of time.”
“ That’s what I do,” said she; “I always begrudge
tlie time that is lost in siiuifiing and dealing.” .., - v
' A paper asks very innnocently
if it is any harm to sit in Vo.3'lapse of ages. It de- z
pendH on the kind of ages solectad. Those from
k enteeu to ara ii.azai‘dous a ■
—Jonathan presents himself ftisd
hlfl intended to ths minister for th© purpose of b&MI
married. Being asked if they had been publitshel
he replied, “Oh, I guess so, for I told it to mbit
> Ben, and ho told bis wife of it a week ago.
L A wife who often stormo«J at
1 husband was Jilting «ith him at tho braakiMl tMjIS
■ wacn suddenly, amid coughs, she exclaimed, “ Deal '
I 0 of P e PP Or bas got into my windpipa 1%
rn w jg.
I pressed her gentle fom tA
me, and whispered in her car if, when I was ftur, faf
away, she’d drop for me a tear ? I paused .for aoma
cheering words, my throbbing heart to cool, a»a
her rosy lipa abe said, “Qh, Ike,
Clough, in one of hiij recently
published letter., toils a eapital etoff Ot “an asra
Calvautet woman who, being asked abdut th. Viiw
veiKalist, said, “Yes, they expect that e/eryb'jd,
win be saved, but we look felt better tl»liigt/’ j
—An Indiana editor throatoM tij ,
with “a good dressing.” Thank yon, sir. Letitb*’
black broadcloth, if you please. Our taUor wHI eefid
- you our measure.— Louisville Journal, '
A person asked Patrick RftiV
gutea Uha knew Mr. Tim Duffy. “Know him Ifl
JU, wily, he a a very near roiatnm ot mW6,
Ho once propoaed.to mairy my etetor.” .
“How does that look?,” said
Mr. Cramp, holding out his brawny hand. “ iChal
looks as though you were out of soap,” replied AxhdS.
Laugh at no man for his pug
nose; you con novor tell what may turn up, -
THE PRINCE 0E WALES.
If the following, told by a London loltefc
writer, is tone, tho future King of England
promises to make a very interesting and iiighl
toned ruler: -j \ JI)
“A matter which greatly disturbs the goal
and loyal subjects of England is the intimaojt
between the Duke of St. Albans and the I’rinoi
of Wales. Thd Duke of St. Albaas is a young;
man about the age of tho prince; and he has su&
ceeded, in the course of his short but eveptfiu
life, in getting up one of tha most notorious
reputatnons in Europe. His character is
bad that, with very .high rink and great wealth!
he is not tolerated m the respectable arlstfS
cratio society of London. He began his careef
by getting into-all sorts of scrapes at Oxford, in
which city ho used to appear with greatsjf
regularity in the police court than at the co®
lege chapel, and from which University ho wa»
finally expelled in disgrace. Since then ho has
been the hero of innumerable adventures Qi
the Continent, scandalous and otherwise, li
well-known in every gambling house,
and police court of Fans, and is as aoomplishe
a villain for a young man as you can find i:
many a day. At Oxford, one day, While yet h
was in his teens, three different young wome:
appeared in Court against him, with charges o
seduction. Since then he has matured in ever
species of dissipation, and is as well-known t
tho London police as any long fingered Jaei ‘
from Billingsgate. And this is tho most inti 1
mate friend, companion, and confidant of th
heir to the British throne. They are ooasUntl i
seen together—often go arm-in-arm togethe
alone o’mghts (and where there go to is bard! '
a mysmry.i ou Aipkn. stay, by the week a ;
Marlboro’ House, and the Prince of Wale
as regularly reciprocates br visiting tho DuU<
at his house—and they 4re, in every ware
“ hand and g,love.” Not only this, the £>uke M
St. Albans is tho intimate fr iend of the Prinqesj ‘
as well as the Prince of Wales, and id often ss®
riding alone with her in the parks. It £
naturally a matter of uneasiness to the Euguafi 1
that so graceless a reprobate should bi
miliar with their future Queen, who Is quit '
too giddy now to suit their staid tastes, .C®
who is vastly imprudent in her association
with this noble Duke. Thus wa See tho Pr|no
oi Wales and his fair wife going ip the '
path that George the Fourth, of dlsgraoepi
memory, trod, and wa may look forward to i ’
not very promising reign, when anothai W
and dissolute king ascends the British thrOue.'L
•H
A PARISIAN CAT STOW)
The story of a cat in one of the convents
the Rue do Sevres is the Paris town talk juSt'
now. Cats, you know, are ecclesiastical amj)‘ :
mats. They aro reserved. They show frierj
the proper face to wear—demure, discreet!!
sanctimonious and astute, though silent. Thenf
thoir paws are tho true paws occlesiastje—veil
vet, with poisonous claws beneath,
they attain a rotundity of form which the dog
never gets, and nothing becomes a friar mofs ;
than ample paunch. The cat in the ionvonj '
of the Hue de Sevres is worthy of the oburohj
Y’on would take it for a cardinal wore it dyoa
rod, because its obesity is pricely. It has bw
come terribly gluttonous of Ute—anotliM
weakness of tho church—and not satisfied wita
the rations given it by tho friars, it has turned
thief. The friar charged with tho kitchen had
noticed for some time past that a dish always
disappeared at dinner time, just after he had
divided dinner into as many dishes as iherS
ware brethren. He scarcely knows how to aaj’
opnnt, for it. In those days friars are as skept
tical about the intervention or oia Nick in
affaire of men as Bishop Colenso Or your Raj - .'
Mr. Alger. Thick as convent walls aro, thh
light of science has penetrated thoui. So Friaß
Cook sot to work to discover tho cause of thia
wonderful effect, because whatever froaki
cheese at certain stages maybe, guilty of, raeil
never walks off from the table. Tho friar rbS
inaincd in the kitchen ono day until the brethi
ran came for tneir dishes, and upon the dCca - *'
sion not a dish disappeared. He determined
to make this rule, as it was evident his presj
ence kept tha thief at a distance. But the Folej
lowing day, while ho was keeping watch gild
ward over dinner, the door boll rang, and a'Sif
was his duty to open it, he hastened thitheK
Nobody I but, on the other hand, hiie dish bad
disappeared from the table. The friar Wk'S
greatly annoyed; who would not be ? A dotib;S
trick had boon played on him—a dish had bee®
stolen, his resolution to keep Watch had been
discovered and broken. Next day the domS
bell was heard at tho same time, but the friar;'
instead of answering it, bid in a latfte prSjJt
whose door he left ajar that ha might seo every!
thing which occurred in the kitchen. A fnoi
ment after the boll rang, the oat of the oOiivent
bounced through the window, leaped bn ih»
table, seized the contents of a dish, and made
out of the window before tfie friar could ejacu
late devil of a cat or anything like Jabk Robins
son. The thief was known, but the friar wisiw!
ed to discover the impertinent bell-ringer, who
sent him on a sleeveless errand tq the floor.
At flintier time the following day he pbstei.
himself at a window which comnjatjded a vlet !
of the door-bell. At the proper tjnje the eg ■
ran to the boll-rope, leaped up tq it, let it g< ’
almost as soon as it clutched it, and eoatuper
ed off to secure the unguarded dish. The fria
did not fail to report tho proceeding qf th
cat to the Father, and it was at once noisei
about among tho brethren. They ataqaei
themselves with the cat’s dexterity ahfl quh .
ning, and now invito their to witness it
The friar’s cook takqs care to prepare at) Mdl
tional di.ali for tho oat’s benefit. . w
(From the Elmir* Advertiser, Jan. 18.1
A SEDUCER SHOT.
fl'k
A BpRAL TRAGEDY—A BOASTING g&
U . v' lIUCEB SHOT BY HIS VICTIM. i
,, -. «ff
The little villages of Millport and Pine
ley were thrown into a fever of excitement, pn
Wednesday evening, by the shooting of Nelsos
Bogers by Mary Falls, a young lady, daughter
of a farmer and boat builder, residing abotil
half-way between Millport and Pine Valley,'
About a year ago, Nelson Rogers, who was a
mechanic and molder by trade, camo to resifla
at Millport. At this time ho made the acs
quaintance of Miss Falls. He was successful
in gaining her affection, until, under protest**
lions of fidelity and marriage, her ruin was ao
oomplished. Thon the character of her lovqt
was unmasked, and he shamefully abused the
one whom ho had injured. Submissively ebb
bore her shame, until warned that , tho law re
quired atonement on the pari of her seducer.
At her instigation he was arrested in August
last, confessed his crime, talking glibly and
lightly about his victim to the officers of jus
tice, and was held to answer under SI,OOO baiE
at a Court of Oyer and Terminer. He thou left
the place. > ?.
A few days since, Rogers returned to Mill
port. He was tho same boastful creature aS
before, and renswed his defamation of the
woman he had ruined. Of course rumors of
his conduct did not fail to roach the ears of
Miss Falls, who bore his defamation for a time,
but at length became exasperated. Procuring:
a revolver, she left her father’s house on Weas
nesdav evening, and bent on her purpose, id'*
quirod out hie boarding-place. At the gate qh#
saw him through a window completing somb
arrangements of his dross, and resolved tq
wait until he came out of the bouse. When th®
door opened, she fired, the ball passing through
his right eide, about mid-way. It was after-,
ward removed by a. surgeon, near the lowes
edge of the shoulder-blade, at the back of tha
chest.. She returned home and entered tho
house as if nothing had-happened, saying not a
word about the tragedy. Alter the lapse of aq
hour or so, her mother learned from soma .
passing neighbor that Nelson Rogers had been
shot. She sought out the daughter and tola
her, but was met with tho reply, “ I know it,
mother ;. I did it 1” i
Tho wounded man was immediately assigned
into the house, and medical aid summoned.
It was at first thought that he could possibljt
live only a short time, but last night ho waa
comfortable, and surgeons expressed a possi
bility of his ultimate recovery. No arrest watt
made—in fact, uo complaint was ehtqred yeSt
t'arda'V agajust Miss Falls—but We a'fo intormbef
I that there Will be an exainiriatiau held to-day,
' i The parties moved in rospaotable oiroios, an®
tike reputation of Miss Falls, until she met
• Bogers, was unsullied for purity and vii'tiie.
i She was a young, attractive aud admired girl,
; I arid is now bfily oighteen. Her family arqj
»[ iiiaonf the uiojt reputgbiq ta Wxuh Vi6lniW»,v
7

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