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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, February 24, 1867, Image 7

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Sunday EditifUo Feb. 24.
F.R A C L ET .
By/Wm. F. T. Chapraan.
*Tis when. th© day Is dying,
' Fair Sol gone down;
The gentle zephyr, sighing,
Night closing round:
Steals o’er our frame sweet sadness.
Lulled by flown days of gladness,
Days of love, of youthful madness,
Days alone.
Wo think of bygone pleasures,
. When we were young,
And fancied endless treasures.
The world among;
But Time, thou art a teacher.
Altered in every feature.
Hardly are we the creature.
Wo were young.
i Too hot to exist. That was the generally ex
pressed opinion. Perspiration streamed from
every pore. Paper collars wilted; shirt bo
bbins rumpled in an unprecedentedly short
time ; wristbands, glossy and imaculate in the
morning, looked as if the laundress had forgot
ten to starch and indigo. Friend met friend,
and olnitted the usual hand-shaking. In short,
every thing was hot, dusty and almost suffocat
,r I’be Sheldons, of aristocratic upper tendom,
syere making extensive preparations for their
pummer campaign at Newport; and Addie the
qldest daughter pucked-and-flustered, scolded
and ordered, until fairly worn out with neat and
111-temper, she threw herself on a chair, and
jpijyst into tears.
(r .A little figure, clad in delicate muslin, look-.
Eng as refreshingly cool, and fairy-like as
Could well be imagined, hair, light brown and
Wavy, complexion fair, and a pleasant smile
ItQvering about the rosebud mouth, walked
gracefully into the room where disorder and
confusion reigned supreme.
“Why—what’s the matter, Addie? Cry
1 “Yes, crying, you selfish girl. I am tired
almost to death, and you have not offered to
pack a tiunk for me or perform the slightest
service,” and the haughty beauty again burst
Into tears.
■ i “ But, Addie, you know that I have been tak
ing my music lesson, and the Professor re
tnainod longer than usual practising those
‘oubts ; but I will assist you now if you will tell
me what to do.”
•'/“If youhavn’t got eyes to see what is ne
cessary to be done, why, it is of no conse
quence. It seems very "strange to me, Nora,
that you do not accompany us to Newport this
Bummer. The idea of staying in the city, with
410 one at home, but servants; and, it is equal
ly klJMlge that mother allows it.”
4- “ I rather imagine, my dear sister,that 1 shall
never be forced into spending a season at a
Fashionable watering-place. You well know
how I detest it, and there isn’t money enough
In Now York city to tempt me to sacrifice my
comfort in such a ridiculous manner.”
L.VOb, as you please; but I expect we shall
IjaVe glorious times ;” and Addie’s dark eyes
. sparkled with anticipation, and for a moment
the tedious process of packing was forgotten.
“ I was so delighted to hear last night that
Percy Traverse was to make one of our party
at the hotel. You ought to become acquainted
frith him, Nora 1 Both theDunlops are going ;
. and they are crazy,, after him ; but I am deter
mined to throw them both into the shade. Ho
Is extremely fond of music, and quite a critic
to understand; so I can bowitch him that
way, ami Miss Addie laughingly carolled an
opera air, and nq one would have dreamed it
possible that tears could ever dim the beauti
ful eyes.
Nora lent all the assistance in her power,
arid had the supreme satisfaction of seeing the
Whole family depart that afternoon, and happy
as a bird she flew from room to room, arrang
ing and regulating—and finally order came out
hf chaos, and the little maiden folded her pretty
hands, and communed with herself.
,< 11 Now, let me see—two months and a half
of solitude. Isn’t it splendid 1 loan read, study,
and practice without being disturbed: and
the jollicst part is, I shall have no one to scold
at med How Ido hate to be eternally found
fault with. I hope this Percy Traverse wul be at
tracted to Addie, perhaps it might improve her
I wonder wliat he looks like ?” But
these speculations did not trouble her pretty
head long, for she had laid out her plans for
study ami improvements, and she went into"
the tedious details with a zest and enthusiasm
Which argued well for her mental improvement.
Nora Sheldon was a student, and although she
had graduated with honor at one of our first
class seminaries, she had by no means satis
fied herself, and she was now deep m the
mysteries of German philosophy and a course
Of reading winch ehe had marked out for her
aelf— also music, and drawing.
“Nora was an excellent pianist; very far in ad
vance of her sister in the accomplishment—as
in every other; but Addie was sparkling and
fascinating, and made the greatist show in
Society, and as Nora had been out but a few
limos; Addie had scarcely began to look upon
her as a rival.
The season at Newport was at its height,
(ill went merry as a marriage bell. Diamonds
and precious stones sparkled under the bril
liant chandeliers. Beautiful women floated
through the waltz with fine looking men I and
Jove took possession of many a heart—all
Unused to the tender passion. Among the
most beautiful, and aristocratic, was Addie
Sheldon. She queened it over the circle with
£n air of high bred ease and native dignity
Which became her well; lovers were plenty, but
io nO one did Addie listen with so much pleas
ure as to Percy Traverse. He had money,
social position, unexceptionable character, was
handsome and distingue looking enough to suit
ahortnost fastidious. A brillia it polka rodowa
had just drawn to a close, and Percy and Addie
sired and heated, walked away from the gay
'tjhrong, on to the moonlet piazza. The in
vigorating ocean breeze played with Addie’s
hair, and Percy thought he had never seen a
lovelier faco and expression. Burning words
Sjemblod on his tongue, but for some unac
countable reason the young gentleman did not
jpiake the declaration that the beauty evidently
‘ (expected I but Percy’s face expressed all the
admiration he felt; and Addie contented her
self with ■: linking that it was only postponed
on account of a natural timidity to which sho
know Percy was subject.
i “How very attentive Mr. Traverse is, dear?’
Baid Mrs. Sheldon, as late that night Addie en
tered her room to detail her success.
I, “A day or two more, and the work is done,
pother. How envious those horrid Dunlops
are I” And with a smile of exultation, Addie
. faid her head, on her pillow, to dream sweet
dreams, in which an elegant establishment, a
barouche and coupe, and scintillating jewels
extensively figured.
’ Percy 1 raverse was called unexpectedly to
- the city on business the very next day, and Ad
die, thinking to insure a more prompt return,
commissioned him to call at their house and
leave an order with her sister Nora, for the
purchase of several little articles which she con
sidered indispensable.
i “You need not be at all surprised, Mr. Trav
erse, if you find my sister with calico dress and
sleeves pinned up, scrubbing, for she is dread
fully domestic; or fingers daubed with paint,
for she is qn artist also.” And Addie’s laugh
had a little satire in it, which did not please
the sensitive Percy Traverse.
i| j Wondering what sort of a specimen of femi
ninity Addie’s sister could be, Percy as speed
jHy as convenient presented himself at the ele
gant brown stone mansion of Mrs. Sheldon,
with Addie's orders for jewelry and dry goods
securely stowed away in his vest pocket. He
jjtfas shown into the elegantly furnished draw
ing-room, and requested to wait a few mo
ments, until Miss Nora should have finished
her music lesson. So he sat quietly and drank
in the bird-like tones of an exquisitely modu
lated voice, and concluded that if Miss Nora
could sing like that, she could excel her sister;
and when the little figure glided in and grace
fully and blushingly accosted him, ho was
pretty nearly dumb with astonishment.
f-“Is this Miss Nora Sheldon?” And the
glance that the young gentleman threw her
was appreciation, delight, and almost love.
Yes, sir, that is my name.” And so the in
troduction was over, and they glided easily
Into a pleasant conversation, and Percy forgot
the note, and everything but the sweet girl sit
ting opposite, who seemed to look down into
She very depths of his soul, until Nora inno
cently inquired:
T.“ Did my mother or sister send any word ?”
Percy’s face flushed scarlet.
w “ I beg pardon for having to be reminded of
■the object of my visit, Miss Sheldon; but I
shall be under the necessity of pleading as an
-excuse for my forgetfulness the very agreeable
fnannor in which I have been entertained.”
■ip Nora promised to do the required shopping
the next day, and Percy the day after called for
the little parcel, and again ah hour or two sped
swiftly by, and Percy looked forward to New
port and its attractions with considerable less
enthusiasm. Nora played and sang for him,
■Showed him her drawings, and in every topic
Which he introduced, he found her well inform
ed and at home. He endeavored to persuade
her to return with him to Newport, but argu
ments wore useless ; and so, bidding her a cor
dial good-bye, he went out, leaving his heart
behind him.
1 Addie wondered what had come over Percy,
His manner was not near so lover-lice, and the
declaration seemed indefinitely postponed.
After anot ler short week, Percy made another
business e reuse, and started again for Gotham.
The weath t was delightful; just cool enough
ifor pleasa it excursions in boat or carriage, and
Percy det Trained to finish his fun in the city—
if ho cou d only prevail upon Nora to accom
pany him occasionally. It did not seem a diffi
cult task; for, one afternoon, soon after, saw
them on th < road behind Percy’s fast horses—
Nora lovol and witching, Percy proud as an
emperor .is he looked into the brown eyes and
Wondere I i they would ever become his prop
erty. So ‘.reek after week passed, and almost
every day found Percy a visitor at Nora’s.
Many were the comments made at Newport in
regard to the young gentleman’s continued
absence; aid Addie, after a slight disappoint-
ment, turned her attention to other game ; but
she by no means gave up the idea ofeventually
bringing the reticent, bashful Percy to her
It lacked only a day oi two of their return,
and Percy had not yet declared himself. This
he determined to do immediately. He thought
he knew by the eager eye and blushing cheek,
thal he was not an object of indifference to her;
but wishing to receive his sentence from her
own sweet Tips, he accordingly presented him
self, with wildly palpitating heart, at the»door
oi her mansion. The servants had become fa
miliar with his appearance, and so he was
shown into the parlor with very little formality.
It was just twilight, and his eager eye caught
a glimpse of a figure pensively sitting by the
window. Thinking this an excellent opportu
nity for his avowal, he walked quietly to her
side, and laying his hand gently on hers, said,
with a voice low and harmonious as love could
make it:
“My dear Miss Sheldon.”
And the figure replied in a whisper:
“Oh I Mr. Traverse, how you frightened
“Did I, dear? I did not intend to. I
have called this evening, dear, to put an end to
this terrible suspense by confessing my deep
and ardent love for one whom I desire to make
my wife Miss Sheldon, do you love me ?”
A little, low murmur was the only response.
“Nora, darling, why don’t you speak to me ?”
“ Nora, indeed responded the drooping
figure, now raising itself up erect. “Noral
I’m not Nora!” and Miss Addie swept haughti
ly out of the room.
Ah! here was a dilemma! But Percy deter
mined not to be put off now ho had got so far,
and ringing the bell, he requested a servant to
summon Miss Nora.
Percy Traverse, what have you been doing ?”
was Nora’s blushing question, as she hastily
entered the room. “Addie is in a white heat
—she is so angry.”
“ A,h 1 then you have hoard all about fit ?
Nora, can you love me ?” and he led her to the
“ Then you are sure you are not in love with
my sister, Percy ?”
“ Perfectly so, dear.”
It is dreadfully stupid to detail the thousand
and one little affectionate passages which in
variably abound in all love-making ; so we will
withdraw, merely remarking that this was no
exception to the warmest and most earnest
Addie never became reconciled, and has not
as yet received a second offer.
No. Mulberry street was an old three-story
brick tenement, occupied, of course, by poor
people, the poorest of whom was a solitary but
pleasant young man, calling himself Harold
Bikard, who hired a room on the third story
for one dollar a week. It was solemnly whis
pered about among his neighbors that’ho was
an author, who wrote for magazines, news
papers, almanacs, and sometimes translated
French and Gorman.
“ And yet him living in such style as this!”
was often wonderingly remarked by the washer
woman on the floor below. “ Why, there was
my husband’s cousin, who was a ‘ compositor,’
just the same as him, and he bought him a
house and got married, and had a family of
eight children, which he supported ‘ comforta
ble’ when he was of that Rickard’s age 1”
Rikard had more simplicity of character than
is usual with young men living in great cities.
He was easily amused and delightea. Tho pot
of flowers on his window sill, the peep of blue
sky through a broken pane, and a few pictures
of country scenes, ranged about his wall in
panes that were sadly out of repair, were to
him sources of exquisite pleasure.
Out of his wages, small as they were, he
might have saved enough to furnish him with
better lodgings than those at No. Mulberry
street, but for his kind disposition, which
prompted him to give to every sufferer that
crossed hie path. The little ragged street
sweeper was never empty handed after this
young man had passed him, aud the poor
neighbor, who came to him to borrow a few
cents to buy a candle or a loaf of bread, was
sure to obtain what he or she asked for.
Of course, the neighbors were much given to
praising such an obliging youth. “He was a
nftee, civil, quiet young fellow,” they said,
“ never meddling with other peoples’ business,
and not much with his own. It was a pity he
was so lazy, sitting for hours in that room of
his, doing nothing.”
It was a clear, bright morning in June, 18—,
when Rikard, who seemed to be doing nothing,
but who, in reality, was trying to think of an
idea, suddenly remembered that this morning
commenced his twenty-third birthday.
He resolved to make it a holiday and take a
walk out in the country.
His toilet was soon completed. He had only
to put on a clean collar, a dark vest, a brown
coat and a felt hat. He was not a handsome
man, but he was strong and active, and prided
himself on being an excellent walker.
Soon he was out in the country, crossing a
wide field of waving grass, not far from the
Fourth avenue railroad- About fifty yards
ahead of him ho saw a young girl precipitated
into a deep stream of water by the rolling of a
loose stone upon which she had stepned. He
sprang forward aud assisted her to rise. She
was very pretty, and being as modest and shy
as a gazelle, pleased Bikard at once.
Ho had barely time to answer hor, after she
thanked him, when there was a loud rustling
in the shrubbery, and a rough-looking, middle
aged man, with inflamed countenance and
bloodshot eyes, sprang before the young peo
ple, flourishing a thick stick.
“Ah! Miss Virginia, so this is why you are
so anxious to visit your friends,” he cried, cast
ing an angry glance upon the girl—“to bill and
coo with a young man. I thought I’d just track
you for once, to find out. O, you deceitful
Then he turned toward Rikard. i ■'
“ Begone, you beggarly dog—begone I”
He threw himself upon the young man as he
spoke, collared him, and struck him a blow
upon the head that almost stunned him. Be
fore he could repeat it, however, Rikard had
him by the throat, which he squeezed most
Soon this throat was so vigorously pressed
by Bikard’s fingers nothing louder than a gasp
came from it. Then the young man heard the
girl’s beseeching voice :
“Itis my papa! pray forgive him! He has
been drinking. He knows not what he is about
at t such times. 0, cruel, cruel papa, to hurt
your head so I” she added, as Bikard instantly
released her parent.
She meant Rikard’s head, from which a
stream of blood was now trickling. Her face
betrayed mingled shame and pity, and her eyes
were full of tears.
“ Ah, yes, you only think of him,” cried the
man, savagely. “ You only think of your cursed
Ho ground his teeth, and up went his stick
for another blow.
Tho two men having changed their position,
there was a high flat stone between them, upon
which Virginia now sprung, eager to ward off
the club. It was wielded with such force, how
ever, that it beat down the feeble guard, and
struck the girl on the head. She uttered one
faint cry, and would have fallen had not Rikard
caught her in his arms.
“ Murdered! killsd I” cried the man, with an
oath. “It is aii your rauit, sir. You shall suf
fer for it if I’m arrested. As it is, I’m off for
distant parts.” So saying, he staggered off.
Soon after, the young man brought the girl
to her senses by dashing cold water in her face.
She looked bewildered at first, then tossed her
arms m the air, laughing wildly.
The blow had deprived her of reason.
“What shall I do?” thought Rikard. “It
will not answer to place her in the power of her
brute of a father again ; for I’m confident that
his bad treatment "will make her worse; neither
would it be proper for me to take her to my
The girl herself relieved him of his perplex
“I love you I” she cried, plaintively, fixing
her wild eyes upon him. “ 0 yes! and I will
be your bride! Come—come, let us get mar
ried!” .
What a change from the shy, modest de
meanor before her brain was injured!
Nevertheless, Rikard was not at all shocked.
He pitied the girl, and concluded to take her
advice—to marry hor—so as to insure her being
kindly treated. He had loved her at first sight,
and could not bear the idea of her being shut
up in a lunatic asylum.
And so before night the eccentric young man
married Virginia. An old clergyman united
them, after which Rikard hired humble lodg
ings in a small wooden building near Seventy
first street.
From that moment he worked with a zeal
greater than that of most of your indolent
dreamers, who care nothing for fame, and was
soon earning excellent wages—for an author.
Virginia’s wild, rambling talk often gave him
good ideas ; and whenever he told her now use
ful she was to him, a ray of intelligence would
light her countenance, and inspire him with a
hope that he might yet bring her back to rea
son. He treated her tenderly, lovingly—as
man should always treat woman—and in the
course of a year his hope was realized. She
recovered her full senses, and the twain were a
happy couple.
The visitors to Likely Wells, says the Leeds
(Eng.) Times, have been much amused of late
by the freaks of a tame jackdaw. Not a con
veyance travels to the village, but “Jack” is
sure to bo there to receive the visitors, acting,
in fact, as if he was the master of the ceremo
nies for the place. “Jack” is a frequent visit
or at the parish church ; but his vagaries in
that sacred edifice were so extraordinary as to
lead to an edict being promulgated bv the au
thorities that he was to be excluded in future. ■
The next Sunday, “Jack” again apnearod <t
Divine service, to tho disgust of several of the
congregation. Intimation was given to Moses, |
the village bellman, and Blue, tile rural police
man, on duty in tho township, and they were
instructed to remove the bird. But “Jack’
was too sharp for them, for he actually took
possession of tho pulpit, and amused himself
with taking an inventory of the contents.
When the vicar went to the altar, “Jack”
alighted on the reading desk, and appeared to
be busily engaged in studying the morning
lessons, until the sermon was nearly over, when
his quick eye observed an elderly lady in an
adjoining pew deposit her gold spectacles on
hor prayer-book. In a moment “Jack” was
down on tho prize, and flew off with his booty
to tho altar-table, where ho remained during
the rest of the service. Previous to-the com
munion, Moses and the solitary Bobby again
attempted to eject the sable intruder, but the
daw was not to be done, for he took refuge on
the top of the organ, and waited there until
the sacrament was over. The church wardens
have since given very strict orders that “Jack”
is to be caged during church hours, or elso his
life is to be sacrificed; but tho villagers, on the
other hand, declare that they could better
spare old Moses or the policeman.
[From the Chicago Republican.!
One of the elect has fallen; the prophet of
the church of the new-born has gone un the
spout. His trunk went up, too. He did not
walk in the war path, or drain the flowing
bowl. Bar-keepers would not trust him. Yet,
he has been before the Police Court. He has
Slept in the armory cell. He has known the
armory fleas.
Here-is the sad history of Charles Pinkham,
prophet of the new-born, and tho ruler of the
world after the year 1870.
The prophet came before tho Police Court
charged with having stolen a valise and con
tents from Charity. Charity is his wife. He
asked if he could conduct his case, and when
told he could, he spoke as follows :
“I am the prophet Pinkham. In 1870 I shall
rule the whole world. At present I don’t.
Twenty-five other mediums will be associated
with me. You won’t be one of them. Some of
us are to be martyrized. That’s me. It has
begun now. lam a persecuted lamb. It is
partly the result of being married.
“In 1870, wonderful things will happen. Tho
present species of animal and vegetable will
die, and improved ones take their places. Fruit
will be the only food of man. It is an easy
thing to steal. The air will then be navigable
for us earthly saints. We will use flanged
■ boats, from twenty to thirty feet in length.
The earth will shrink, and two new rings will
be added to it.
“Every true medium has a diploma signed
by Benjamin Franklin. It’s his business, now.
I will ask you who the greatest medium is ? I
will answer I am.
“In January, 1864,1 was carried through the
air from San Francisco to New York. I know I
was, for I didn’t pay any passage.
“My mission in this city is to buildup the
church of the new-born, to tell fortunes, cure
diseases, and make mediums when I am paid
enough for it. I have my wife’s valise. I did
not steal it. It camo to me.”
This speech was listened to with marked at
tention. The Justice told tho prophet he would
continue tho case until tho following day. If
tho valise was returned to Charity by that time
he would discharge him. He required him to
give bail in the sum of two hundred dollars.
Sweetly smiling, the prophet said: “John
Jay and Benjamin Franklin have just directed
me to sign their name to the bond. They go
bail for me.”
The real and personal property now owned
by these gentlemen not being considered suffi
cient, their security was refused. Mr. Pinkham
not being able to procure any other, returned
to his cell. Bui he ™ not idle there. He
tried to convert policemen.
When the case came up again, part of his
faith had evidently departed. Ho had employed
a lawyer to conduct his case. In return for his
services he makes him a first class medium,
and admits him as a disciple. He also gives
him the power of flying through the air on a
broomstick—also in a wicker basket.
The valise was produced and handed to Char
ity. She opened and emptied it. Carefully she
examined each article. All things were there
except one night dress, two towels, and three
pairs of stockings. These had been taken for
the uso of tho church. Some valuable prophe
sies were also missing. She felt the loss of the
clothes the most. They would be harder to
replace than the prophesies.
The prophet was then discharged. He then
wished Charity arrested for having stolen and
pawned a trunk belonging to him. His wife
confessed that she had stolen and pawned it.
With the money thus.obtained she had paid her
board bill. As her husband would not support
her, she had to support herself.
So the justice declined to have her arrested
for larceny. She blessed him. The prophet
and his lawyer didn’t. The two departed to
gether, that the grand ceremony of making the
latter a medium might be performed. If he
is truly enabled by the prophet to ride
through the air, he would make a good police
For the last twenty years, Charles Pinkham
alias C. P. G. Washington, has been a noted
lecturing spiritualist. There is not a State or
Territory in the United States in which he has
not lectured. Probably there is none in which
he has not been imprisoned. Blessed by for
tune with a vast intellect, he is by turn spirit
ualist, fortune-teller, phrenologist, and quack.
In California he started in 1859 tho Church of
tho New-born. It still exists, and every now
and then he manages to send on there a man
or woman. Age is no object—money is. In
1864 ho came to this city, and became acquaint
ed with Mrs. Charity Bigelow, whom he mar
ried the same year. When he had spent tho
little money she had, he discovered that sho
was inharmonious. She was not his divine
mate. So he deserted her.
But with true woman’s love she followed him
wherever he went. At each city where she
stopped she had him arrested that he might bo
made to support her. She ran into debt and
had his property attached, that the debt might
bo paid. He got up one system of religion,
and sho another.
When they both got short of money, they
would work together as mediums, fortune-tell
ers, or phrenologists. Then one would depart
suddenly with the money.
They came together again in this city last
week. The result has been given above. She
is to leave for Indiana to-day. He is to leave
soon for that happy California valley where the
elect live, and police courts and policemen are
not known. There the sainted prophet can sit
beneath the shades of his neighbor’s fig-tree,
and gather and eat tho fruit. As head of the
church, none dare molest him there. Here
they don’t mind it at all.
Under his name of Washington, Mr. Pink- .
ham has published here a new Bible, which he
sells to believers for thirty cents, and to unbe
lievers for forty. He has now in press a valua
ble collection of prophesies and teachings.
None will be given away, except one to his law
yer. It is part of his fee.
Miss Florence MaryaMi is contributing some
stories to an English magazine of her remem
brances of Singapore, in which sho tells some
queer yarns. Here is one of them:
There are a great number of tigers about Sin
gapore and the adjacent islands, and some
times they swim across from the mainland and
frighten the residents into fits.
While I stayed in Penang, a large tigress
swam on shore, perfectly exhausted, and had
her brains knocked out as she lay panting on •
the beach. In Singapore, the “man-eating” :
tigers are so numerous that natives are said to
be carried off at the rate of a man a day, and so
used have they become to such accidents, that
when a Chinese cooley sees a tiger trotting
after him, with an evident view to dining, he
quietly sits down and resigns himself to his
But I must find my way back to the Bandy- :
poor jungle.
A very distressing accident had occurred at
the bungalow of that name, situated about five i
and twenty miles from the foot of the Neligher
ry hills, shortly before our arrival, by which ,
the Hon. Captain H , aide-de-camp to tho :
Governor of Madras, lost his life.
It appeared that Captain II , while stay-
ing at the bungalow, on a journey to or from •
the hills, had heard that a largo tiger which :
had done great mischief in the neighborhood, i
was still lurking in the surrounding jungle.
This was grand news for a sportsman, and ;
therefore he lost no time in sallying forth in ’
search of him, and according to the statements ■
of the natives who accompanied him, found ,
himself at no great distance from his place of
starting, face to faco with this monarch of the
Indian forests. The tiger was on one side of a
“nullah,” or small stream, and Captain H ■
on the other, and it was afterward ascertained
that ho had actually fired at the brute thirteen
times before it sprang with amazing strength i
across the area which divided them. Amazing, .
when it is taken into consideration that Cap
tain II was in general a most successful
shot. Seizing upon the unfortunate man be
fore he had time to elude the attack, the brute
crushed him so frightfully about tho vitals, that
he was only carried back to the bungalow to
die. A doctor was procured for him as soofi as
it was possible to do s<f;but nothing could save
his life. The tiger, after having accomplished
his murderous attack, must have fallen back
exhausted and died himself, as he was found on
tho same spot with the thirteen shots in his
The strength of these creatures in their dy
ing spring is supposed to be something fabu
lous. A gentleman, somewhere about this part
of the country, had shot a tiger. The natives,
who had not dared to go within hail of the
brute while living, became extremely cour
ageous now that it was dead, and surrounded
the carcass in their usual manner, beating it
with sticks, and subjecting it to all manner of
indignities, while they danced about it and
sung a song, which, interpreted, meant that
they were the masters, and the tiger was the
servant, and that they were not m the least
’ afraid of him, and he would never rise up again
Ito hurt thorn. But, unfbfrafiately for tho
prophecy, tho gentleman’s personal attendant
■ having venture.!, in liis foarlossness, too near'
the prostrate body, ilfo apparently lifeless ani-
1 mai suddenly raised, himself, aud'having, with
one blow of his massive paws, laid the pre
: sumptuous boaster dead al his feet, sunk down
’ again, and this time expired in real earnest.
i [From the Savannah Republican, Feb. 18.]
One of the most atrocious and bloody spec
tacles that has ever stained the annals of our
city was enacted at Captain Kirlin’s restaurant
on Bay street, known as the “ Our House,” yes
terday (Sunday) forenoon shortly after ten
o’clock, resulting in the .loss of two lives. Upon
learning of the terrible affray wo proceeded at
once to the “Our House,” around which were
assembled crowds of horrified and curious peo
ple, standing together with awe-stricken coun
■ tenancos in little groups, all anxious to ascer
tain the details of the trilling tragedy, the news
of which spread with such great rapidity
throughout our city that in half an hour after
its occurrence Bay lane and Whitaker street
wore thronged with people. It was indeed a
strange and dreadful picture, one deeply tinged
with all the colors of tragedy and romance, that
presented, itself at the hour we reached tho
house. Arriving at the rear entrance on Bay
lane, we found the doors closed and a strong
barrier to all ingress placed there, in the shape
of two fine looking, intelligent policemen, ar
rayed in their neat new uniforms and vigilant
ly guarding the premises from all intrusion by
eager sight-seers. Tho “open sesame” was
our “ Republican” credentials, and we were
soon on our way up stairs to the fatal spot,
which by the passion and madness of one man
had suddenly been invested with absorbing and
tragic interest. Reaching the main dining
saloon we found our most efficient and accom
plished Coroner, Dr. Myers, empanelling a jury
to investigate the tragedy, its origin and de
nouement. Passing into the kitchen, a most
shocking scone was presented, one far too
frightful and revolting ibr the nerves of many
whose duty compelled them to witness it. On the
narrow doorway leading from the dining saloon
te the culinary department, lay the prostrate
form, stiff and gory, of young Judge, his youth
ful aud innocent face pale in death, wearing an
expression of calm resignation—that portrayed
none of the terror so keenly depicted on the
face of the murderer Mouilot. The body lay
sweltering in a large pool of clotted blood,
while the bosom was bare, exposing the fatal
and ghastly wound of the assassin, out of which
the life-blood had silently streamed while the
Sabbath bells were chiming from belfry and
steeple their invitations to God’s holy temples.
Tho head of the unfortunate boy rested upon a
mat placed there by some humane hand, to
keep it in a proper position while the Coroner
was holding his inquest. A few feet from
Judge lay his murderer, cold and inanimate,
literally weltering in the large pools of blood
which had completely saturated his clothing as
it oozed from the seven gaping wounds made
by the treacherous knife which lay upon the
table. The body of the ferocious Mouilot,
whose pangs of remorse after realizing the
enormity of the savage deed he had commit
ed pricked his conscience till frenzied with des
pair he ended his Kfe, and became his own ex
ecutioner—was ghastly in the extreme, and
caused a cold shudder to run through every
spectator. Seven wounds, any one of which
would have proved fatal, had disfigured and
mutilated his breast in a hideous manner. Tho
countenance wore an expression of dismay and
horror, such as the testimony of the witness to
the deadly encounter plainly proves appalled
tho murderer, petrified his soul, and blanched
his cheeks with awe after he had slain In "
nocont victim. There was much in th® sul ?
soundings which recalled vividly to the imagi
nation many of those thrilling tableaux tuat
abound in the French school of melo-dramatic
liloialuro. An nir of silent terror seemoitto
hover over the whole scene, which ’-as uncon
sciously photoc;r<ined on u-i matures of every
one present—the low monotone of the eager
crowds of people outside the building discuss
ing the atrocity, echoed through the deherted
kitehen, the silence inside only broken by the
hissing of the steam kettles that still sent out
their little white puffs of steam from the large
range. There wore tho various dishes roast
ing, stewing and frying, sending up their savo
ry odors in the kitchen of death, while the
clioping knives, tho gory carving knife with
which the murder was perpetrated, the dresser
and the various culinary implements all lay just
as they were dropped when the panic began,
which ended m a revelry of death.
The origin of this fatal affray, as will be seen
from the testimony of Charles Maliphant, was
trivial in the extreme. This witness testified :
About quarter past ten o’clock On the Corning
of the 17th of February, 1867, I was in the
kitchen of “ Our House,” when Philip Judge
came in and asked me how I was. and I replied
very well; the head cook said to Philip that
Cant. Kivlin did not want him here; Philip
Judge then told the chief cook to go to hell:
the chief cook then said, “Igo to hell,” and
took the knife which ho was cutting meat with
and stabbed deceased iu the right side (show
ing the wound). Philip Judge then said:
“ Oh, God! lam killed;” he said that two or
three times. He staggered back and I caught
him ; I staggered with him across tho room,
and he fell. The cook, a Frenchman, then put
his hands to his face and looked as if he was
praying; he then took un the knife and stabbed
himself about seven times, and fell on his back
after putting tho knife on the table. Tho
knife was a carver used in the kitchen for cut
ting meat and everything. About fifteen min
utes before being lulled, 1 gave him his prayer
hook. I did not sec either die ; I rushed out
for the captain—Captain Kirlin, the proprietor
of the “ Our House.”
The last act in the tragedy was the funeral
ceremonies, which were doubly solemn because
of tho absence of all religious ceremonies, the
remains being followed to the grave by a few
persons, friends and acquaintances of the de
ceased, and thus ended one of the most san
guinolent tragedies that has ever shocked our
community, and we trust that, the black cur
tain may descend upon it, veiling forever from
our sight such demoniacal sights where Neme
sis reigns supreme.
[From the Washington Evening Star. Feb. 20.]
Yesterday, Coroner Woodward summoned a
jury and proceeded to the dwelling of Leonard
Reeves, on Buzzard Poiut, to hold an inquest
in view of the body of Mary Ann Reeves, the
little girl whose death on the 18th inst.. sup
posed to have resulted from injuries indicted
by Wm. E. Cleaver, was noticed in the Star.
The dwelling can hardly be called a house,
but rather a covered box some ton or twelve
feet square, constructed of inch planks stand
ing upright, with laths or strips nailed over the
joints to Keep the wind out. It is located upon
the hillside, exposed to the malarial influences
of the river, James’ Creek, and the newly-brok
en ground of the brick manufactories around.
The body had, by the kindness of some ladies,
been neatly clad for burial, and was laid out as
decently as possible in tho little hut, leaving
Dr. 8. A. H. McKim to make a post mortem ex
amination, aided by the foreman of the jury.
It having been completed, the jury proceeded
to take the evidence.
Leonard Reeves and Sarah Reeves, parents of
the deceased, testified substantially, that their
daughter came home on the sth instant, com
plaining of hemorrhage. The mother thought
it was the beginning of her monthly sickness, :
she being about the proper age. Called in a
colored woman to see the child, and the color
ed woman advised her to send for a doctor. Dr.
Walsh camo and prescribed. They testified of
the progress of the sickness, tho disclosure by
the deceased of what had been done to her by
Cleaver, and the death of the child on the 18th
The testimony of other female witnesses
was mainly corroborative of that of the par
Justice W. W. Tucker testified that on Thurs
day last a warrant having been issued for the
arrest of Cleaver; upon a charge of rape, and
it being suggested that the deceased was very
low, he proceeded with Officer Thompson to
the dwelling of the deceased to get her state- ;
ment of the facts under oath ; found her suffer
ing with a chill, and covered with jaundice. '
Drs. Amery and Reilly met there while the
justice was present, and had a consultation, 1
after which the justice swore them relative to
the condition of the girl. Dr. Amery was un
decided as to the chances of recovery, but Dr.
Reilly thought there was no danger of a fatal
result. Witness was not satisfied, and went i
back with Officer Thompson, and sitting by the
bod, conversed a moment with the child, and
finding that she was intelligent, administered
the oath to her. She stated that Cleaver per
suaded her into the house where the affair oc
curred, locked the room door, threw her on the
floor violently, and violated her person without
hor consent; that whon he let her up, and she
was about to go, ho gave hor a dollar before he
let her out. Witness was about to examine her
more in detail, but she appeared to become
drowsy and dull, and witness declined to ques
tion her any further.
Dr. McKim stated the results of the post
mortem examination. He found the parts la
cerated, and evidence of a forcible entry, oozing
of clotted blood, congestion, &c., but in other
respects the parts were in healthy condition.
The entire system was jaundiced. Jaundice is
attributable to various causes; malaria, hemor
rhage, as in this case, or mental causes may
produce jaundice. The doctor was clearly of
opinion that the disease resulting in death was
a consequence of the injuries inflicted.
The jury postponed further examination un
til 7 o’clock, at the Eighth Precinct station,
when Drs. Walsh, Amery, Reilly, and Oroggon,
were examined relative to the case, as it was
presented to their observation, and all coinci
ded that the immediate cause of death was the
poisoning of the blood, and that it resulted
fro;p the injuries received by the deceased, and
before described.
Tho jury then agreed with but' little delay
upon the following verdict: “ That on or about
tho sth of February, 1867, the deceased was
violated by one Wm. E. Cleaver, who had car
nal knowledge of her body without her cOn.
■ sent ; that profuse hemorroage from the vagi
i na ensued, and continued until jaundice was
developed, which resulted in death on the 18th
day of February, at 24 o’clock P. M. And the
jury find that the parents are very poor and
The imaginative New York correspondent of
the Boston Voice relates in his letter of the
16th inst., the following strange and eventful
history, which could only be true when told of
a Frenchman—possibly not even then:
A year ago last Fall, the Duke Caderousky de
Grammont, the most celebrated roue in France,
died in Paris, leaving an immense estate,
which he inherited from his father. Yesterday,
a dark complexioned man, named John Davis,
was sent to Blackwell’s Island for three months,
on a charge of theft. He had recently arrived
in this city from California. A French gentle
man, long a resident here, has informed mo
that this John Davis is no less than an elder
brother of the Duke de Grammont, rightful
heir to the title and estates in France sineo
the decease of his father. When but twelve
years old, he ran away from homo, and shipped
as a cabin boy on board a French trading ves
sel, bound for the Madeiras. As the ship
never arrived at its point of destination, she
was given up as lost. The Grammont family
made numerous inquiries concerning her, but
finally relinquished all hope, and was satisfied
that all on board the trader had perished.
The younger brother, on the death of his
father, had some difficulty in establishing his
claim to the title and estates, owing to the pe
culiar nature of French law, but after a long
time had elapsed, his rights were established,
and ho succeeded to the property on the condi
tion that the estates should remain intact, and
revert to the elder brother in case he should
ever turn up. Ho spent his income in wine
and women, and. became the most notorious
profligate in Paris. At one time the old Count
Persigny caught the young libertine in bed
with Madame la Comtosse, at that time con
sidered the mast angelic and virtuous creature
in the “ modern Sodom.” The old gent swore
he would put a holo in the young man’s car
case “big enough for a rabbit to jump
through,” which caused Cakorousky to leave
Paris for a short time, but he soon returned,
and finally died of his excesses at the early age
of thirty-one. In the meantime, the brother
was not dead. He was picked up near the
Straits of Gibraltar by a Yankee skipper bound
from Smyrna for Boston, and taken to the lat
ter city, where ho arrived in midwinter.
Finding the climate uncongenial to his hot
French blood, ho stowed himself away on a
schooner, and sailed for New Orleans, assum
ing the name of John Davis. In the Cresont
City he was “spotted” by an aristocratic Cre
ole, a disciple of Kate Hastings, and became
her “ pet lover,” although but fourteen years
old. Here he associated with thieves and
blacklegs, and picked up considerable knowl
edge. Two years afterward he sailod for Cali
fornia, and began employing his “knowledge”
to the best advantage. He was soon “nipped,”
and sent to State Prison for four years on a
conviction for grand larceny. At the expira
tion of his term of sentence, he went to San
Rafael, Marin County, and was there detected
in a crime, which caused him to be returned to
prison. This sentence was served out, and he
went to Shasta, Shasta County, where he nar
rowly escaped tho tender mercies of Judge
J— ppi, CVU* tv Otcitu I XI3OII lOT Idlo
ihird time. He was finally released through
the exertions of the French Benevolent Society
of San Francisco, who accidentally discovered
his rank and title, after spending seventeen
years of his life in prison, The Society clothed
him, furnished him with funds, and desired
him to go down tho coast, until his noble rela
tives in France could be notified and send
money for his return to his native country. In
stead of doing this, ho spent the money in rum.
During a fit of intoxication, his “ old mean
nesa” Came back on him, and he stole a pair of
sugar-tongs, and was sent to the calaboose for
three months. Before his term of service ex
pired, he received a draft for 8,000 francs from
friends in France. Ho was released, and camo
to New York on the same steamer with “Mark
Twain.” He stopped at the St. Denis hotel,
“got on a drunk, ’ and during a fit of klepto
mania, stole three pairs of boots, and was yes
terday sentenced to Blackwell’s Island for
three months, under his old name of John
Davis. To-day a telegram by tho Atlantic
cable was sent to his friends in Paris, stating
the facts in the. case, and asking instructions.
It is thought that ho will soon be released, and
sent home under guard. He would certainly
prove a great attraction in tho Paris Exposi
(From the Detroit Tribune Coldwater Correspondence.)
The trial of McLean Ferree, for the seduc
tion of Miss Bennett, wag concluded on tho
12th instant. The evidence elicited during tho
trial set forth the following facts : Some time
in the Autumn of 1865, Ferree, who was a
young man of good character and reputation,
made the acquaintance of Miss Bennett, a
young girl of 16, a daughter of one of outmost
respectable citizens. She was at the time at
tending the Union school, m tms city. Ferree
frequently met her at the school-house and
elsewhere, and, as the acqaintance became
more intimate, paid her special and marked
attentions, visited her frequently at her fath
er’s house, where he came to be considered
and treated as one of tho family, made her
presents,took her to dancing-school and footed
the bills—in short, paid her all those attentions
which gentlemen are "won’t to pay the ladies
they intend to marry. These continued unin
terrupted until the Spring of 1866, when his
visits became less frequent—as it afterward
appeared—in consequence of his paying his
addresses to another young lady, a Miss Gra
ham. His visits to Miss Bennett were con
tinued, until the 22d of July, 1866, at which
time, during the absence of her parents from
homo, ho succeeded m effecting the girl’s ruin,
under a promise of speedy marriage. After this
his visits to her were continued until some
time in November, when ho was married to
Miss Graham. Tho day after his marriage he
was arrested on a charge of bastardy, ana at a
subsequent time a charge of seduction was
preferred against him, on which charge he was
held for trial. On the Bth, Miss Bennott met
Forree on tho street, and, smarting under
wrongs, presented a pistol at his head and at
tempted to shoot him. Fortunately her shawl
caught in the hammer of the pistol and pre
vented the explosion, and she was immediately
secured, she at tho time declaring her inten
tion to avenge her wrongs and then put an end
to her troubles and existence together. Fer
ree’s trial began on Saturday, the 9 th, and was
concluded Tuesday night. The defence set up
was an alibi. This was not deemed to be sat
isfactorily proved, and the jury brought in a
verdict of guilty, at tho same time recommend
ing the prisoner to the mercy of the court.
Sentence was suspended till Saturday.
The Meadsville (Penn.) Republican, publishes
a communication from Sayertown, in which
there is the following account of a talented
youth of that neighborhood :
Jo is a boy of good appetite, ordinary intelli
gence, honest and industrious, and will attend
punctually to all of his duties, unless rats come
in his way. Against those pests he qptertains
a decided antipathy, and has a peculiar faculty
of destroying them.
He invents and constructs queer-looking
traps, wherein he places tempting baits that
lure them on to destruction ; but he catches
them with his hands as quickly and as readily
as can any rat terrier. The rat that escapes
alter Joe gets his eye on it, must be an exceed
ingly active one; for ho darts for them with
astonishing rapidity, and nine times out of ton
will catch them; and, what is still more singu
lar, he will take them in the dark almost as
well as in daylight.
I never know nim to get bitten but once, and
then ho caught two large rats at one time, ono
in each hand, and one of them succeeded in
biting his finger severely. Tho rats had a fair
show. They were on an ppen barn floor, flank
ed on either side with mows full of grain; one
of them was running upon the floor, the other
in the act of ascending the wall, when Jo made
a dive at them and caught and killed both of
thorn at Once.
He has been known to kill a number in quick
succession with such rapidity that an observer
would hardly know what the boy was at until
the rats wore slain. If at all suspicious that
there are any rats about, his senses are on'tho
alert instantly. Ho watches for them, listens
for them, and he smells for them, and will de
tect their presence when all the cats about tho
establishment are unconscious of such tact;
their lightest footfall, most indistinct nibble,
and the slightest wallop of their tails upon tho
floor, are, to him, perfectly audible.
The London Telegraph says : “Lord Ernest
Vane Tempest—there is a curious appropriate
ness in his name—is a very unhappy young
man, who belongs to a very unhappy old fam
ily. He has long been an outlaw, not of the
jolly greenwood tree description, but of a more
prosaic character.. In fact, his only resem
blance to Robin Hood consisted in the fact that
both gentlemen objected to the sheriff, and
especially to his officers. Ten years and a half
ago Lord Ernest—then a minor, but already
expelled from his regiment—met an officer in
the samo gallant corps, who was standing in
St. James street, and affably conversing—it
was after sunset—with a lady of his lordship’s
acquaintance. Fo* reasons best known to him
self Lord Ernest addressed his quondam com
rade as a coward and a blackguard, supple
menting and emphasizing those energetic
words by spitting in his face. The other officer
does seem to have been rather vexed at that
form of address ; though, on the whole, ho
bore his injuries with Christian patience and
nobly abstained from warlike reprisals. Lord
Ernest returned to England from his outlawry;
he expressed his sincere regret for the outrage
he had committed; but he was not to be al
lowed to get off scot free. He was brought
into the Court of Queen’s Bench and Mr. Jus
tice Blackburn, observing that a fine would not
be a real punishment to a man of Lord Ernest’s
position, sentenced him to be imprisoned for
three calendar months. The offence was com
mitted a long time ago, and possibly the cul
prit has repented; but we cannot complain of
the decision. Such a sentence will henceforth
hang in terrorem over the heads of fashionable
young ruffians who would not mind paying a
fine, but who have a strong objection to being
locked up. From this point of view we are
bound to commend Judge Blackburn’s firm
ness. The case is worth notice also from
another point of view. After such a story,
duelling must indeed be considered dead. ‘ Sir,
said an indignant husband to his reckless
friend,’ * you have abused my hospitality, you
have kicked me down stairs, and you have
kissed my wife before my face. Beware, sir!
A few more such outrages, and, by Jove, you’ll
rouse the British lion I’ Lord Ernest called the
other gentleman a coward and a blackguard,
and then spat in his face. A few more outrages
might possibly hav6 roused the British lion ;
but the gentleman deserves our highest admi
ration for the moral courage which he has dis
played in only prosecuting his assailant in the
Court of Queen’s Bench. Decidedly,|the Millen
ium is at hand!”
By Marie de F. Folsom.*
So thou art gone, and left no look or word
To soothe this deep, unending grief,
While my sad heart, to wildest anguish stirred
With the dread thought that passeth all belief.
That thou, my soul’s beat friend, could ever be
False or cold to friendship’s sacred tie,
To her who knelt in holy trust to thee,
Full of the perfect faith that cannot die.
O! in thy changed heart lives there no tone
Of memory, to wake thy love once more ?
01 leave it in its beauty not alone—
Caress it with the warmth thy lips once wore.
Come bock to me, fair truant from my gaze—
Come back, and breathe that one lost word, adieu;
Leave not my soul in dread and dark amaze
That one so worshiped, yet could prove untrue.
* ~ ~ ~ ~ Jr l
People not well posted in biblical lore should
be a little careful how they quote from memory.
Very grave mistakes have occurred before now ;
but the following, told by Mark Twain, shows
conclusively that different commandments refer
to different things, and that the captain unwit
tingly made
“Why, Captain, you appear to have a very bad
“ Yes, madam,” said the captain, who is fond of
working in his garden early in tho morning, in his
shirt sleeves, “ I suppose I deserve it. I caught it
while breaking the Seventh Commandment, last Sun
The party, male and female, started, and looked
blank; and then the lady who uaa brought out the
remark said, as well as a choking fit of laughter would
let her:
“Well, upon my word, Captain, considering the
unusual circumstances of the case, and your present
fOirrOB ndfni* to Oil
or so much into particulars I”
When the innocent captain got home, he found, to
his dismay, that the Seventh Commandment does not
say, “ Thou shalt remember the Sabbath day to keep
it holy!”
Tho funniest thing we have seen lately is the
following on
It was night. Seated round a red-hot stove in one
of the genteel bar-rooms of San Francisco, six immor
tal souls sucked their juleps and listened to the storm
without. On a sudden, Judge McCabe, who had been
sitting in a semi-torpid condition, woke up, and spout
ing a gill of tobacco juice against the flaming stove,
where it hissed like a Pharaoh’s serpent, cried:
“ Boys, this night one year ago, I was run out of
San Leandro.”
“You was!” exclaimed the boys, waking up and
putting down a strawful of “ rum and gum,” “ how
was that? Toll us, Judge.”
“ I will, boys,” said the Judge, nibbling a chip of
“ nigga head” and tossing his glass to the barkeeper,
who caught it just in time to save a new set of grind
ers from exploring his digestive organs, “I will, boys,
but it makes me ead to think on it. Poetry ruined
me. You see, I was editing a paper in San Leandro
—they called it the Bleeder— the boys, I mean, who
owned it. I was only the editor, but still I had a heap
of fighting to do one way and another. Well, wliun I
squatted on tho tripod I was bound to have no poets
around thar, leastways, female, for I believe they’re a
nuisance anyhow. Well, things went along smoothly
for a spell, although considerable poetic slush went
into my editorial swill-tub. I had from ten to a hun
dred poets, male and female, come to cuss me every
da5 r , but as I had a shot-gun near me I felt tolerably
easy. I told ’em it was useless to swear, for I
wouldn’t publish any of their works in my paper. So
they went off, cussing, swearing and raising jacoby.
One day, howsomever, Wentworth, the big Indian
egent, gave me a dead beat. I was drunk—drunk as
thunder—and he hands me a piece of paper with a
writ of habeas corpus on ono side and a piece of poe
try, ‘ Hunks is gone a Maying,’ on tho other. I only
saw the writ. As I have said, I was sick with liquor,
so I gives the paper to the type-sticker. He, the cuss,
was about half crazy after an old and
he sets the poetry up. I staid tight all that week, and
tuv come out there was the darned poetry
square in the first column! Maybe I didn’t swear,
maybe 1 From that moment I was a persecuted man.
Tho whole poetic race just came down on me like a
crowd of tumble-bugs. One woman in particular,
who packed a big pepper-box on her hip, made a raid
on me and swore to lot daylight into me if I didn’t give
her tho use of my columns. I weakened, for she was
just fool enough to shoot. She commenced, and tho
rest followed, so that the whole town was just reeking
with poetry. Then, 1 tell you, boys, I needed prayers.
Everything was just alive with poetry. If a jackass
kicked up his hind legs and cracked his heels to
gether, the chips that would fly off would turn into
poets. If a cat was * leaded’ on a house top, and lay
exposed to the moon, like as not every hair would re
solve itself into a poetess. And if a horse kicked the
bucket and began to undergo a change, dam mo if
every horsefly that sprang from his carcass didn’t
commence to buzz songs of poetry. Well, things
want on in this way for a spell, till a lot of college
cusses from Oakland, kind of jealous of our poetic
fame, came up one night and mobbed my office.
They skeerod the poets and run me, as their publish
er, out of town.”
“What become of the woman who began the
muss?” asked one of the listeners, as the Judge
“ Oh, sfye came to Frisco, married a dish-breaker
at the American Exchange, and went into the busi
ness of child-raising. She has seven children now.”
“Are they poets, Judge ?’’
“The Lora bo praised, no! Gentlemen, let us
Passing through the streets Of a large city,
and peeping into the windows of shops, one
often discovers articles that puzzle not a little.
A chap from the country, who has been doing
Boston, has seen what he considers
When I was down in Boston town,
A month ago or more,
I saw a very singular thing
I never saw before.
*Twas hanging on a window-case —
Upon a string astraddle—
Looked something like au hour-glass,
And something like a saddle.
I asked of several citizens,
Who chanced to be at hand,
“ What was it ?” But their gibberish
I could not understand.
One fellow called it “ a restraint
On certain parties, placed.
Like a degree in chancery,
To stay the tenant’s waste.”
Another (just the queerest chap
Of any in the town)
Said “ ’twan’t the glass of fashion, but
It was the mold of form.”
Another said ’twas a machine
A lady used to rig her—
To bring her form and life into
The very smallest figure.
At last, a little girl came out:
(And think of my amaze !)
She asked me “ if I wouldn’t please
To buy a pair of stays ?”
Of course, I’ve heard of stays before,
But strike me deaf and dumb
If ever I until that hour
Suspected “ them was ’urn !”
Well, isn’t it exceeding strange
That any maid or wife,
Just for a little “ taper.” should
Put out the “ lamp of life ?”,
I know that lunatics must have
Straight jackets put about them,
But women in their wits should make
A shift to do without them.
The Danville, N. Y., Express ia responsible
for the relation of .tho subjoined story. Wo
give it under its original heading,
We have lately heard a capital story connected with
a prominent lawyer of our village, who has dis
tinguished himself in the defense of criminals, as
well as in connection with other trials, having fre
quently, through his skill, aided the most hardened
criminals to escape from justice. Some time ago,
while our friend was attending court in an adjoining
county, he was applied to bj|a singular specimen of
humanity, charged with grand larceny,to defend him.
The lawyer very naturally inquired what crime he
was accused of. The party accused replied that
somebody had been mean enough to charge him with
stealing $l5O in bank-notes, and had got him indicted.
“ Are you guilty ?” asked the lawyer.
“That’s none of your business,” replied the ac
cused. “ They say that makes no difference with
you, whether a man is guilty or not, you will con
trive to dig him out in some way. So don’t talk any
more about guilt till you hear what the jury says.”
“ Well, what about the pay ?” said the lawyer.
“You just hold on till tno trial is over; give K
(the complainant} h—l on the cross-examination, and
that other fellow he has got to back him up, and
you’ll have no trouble about the pay.”
The trial commenced, and proved to boa some
what protracted and exciting one. Tho District At
torney proved that the money in question was com
posed of two SSO bills on a certain Dank, and the re
mainder all in $lO bills, all of which were wrapped up
in a piece of oil-silk. The jury, after listening to the
counsel in the case, and receiving tho charge of the
Judge, retired, and soon returned with a verdict ot
not guilty. The accused, who was greatly elated
with the result of the trial and the effort of his coun
sel, invited the latter into one of the vacant jury
roqms. As soon as theyjwere alone, he slapped his
counsel on the shoulder, and exclaimed;
z “ Free as water, ain’t I ? What’s the use of trying
a man for stealing when you’re around? Now £
s’pose you want your pay.” *
the lawyer aTByOU 80t “ yUxto ß 40 W with?" eal<J
“Lendme your knife and we’ll see about that.”
The lawyer, slightly startled at such a proposition,
rattier reluctantly complied.
The accused immediately commenced ripping and
cutting away at the waistband of his pantaloons, and
eo ® n , produced the roll of bills for the stealing of
which he had just been tried, wrapped up in the iden-
J leal piece of oil-silk described by the witnesses fog
the prosecution, and throwing it down on the tabfe
Lafore the astonished lawyer, exclaimed: ;
your pay out of that; 1 ffuess there is
there to pay you tolerably well.” \
Why, you villain! you stole that money after all?’
ttatmone7r' r " “ Doyou eJpect 1 “n take' any of
. ° e that money! Why, what are you talking!
about 1 Didn't them twelve men up stairs there just
say I didn t steal it? What’s the use ot your trying
to raise a question of conscience, after twelve respoQU
able men have given their opinion Upon the subject I
3; a ~y°u r pay out of that and ask no questions,
Don t be modest in taking; I got it easy enough, and
you ve worked hard enough for it.”
Our informant did not state how much the lawyef
took, but we presume the chap didn’t have much
change left atter our friend had satisfied his “ cou4
science” in the premises. I
An old contributor to the Gossip, who almosf
always has something good to relate, gives of
thia week a taste of
During ths never-to-be-forgotten “ Tippecanoe and
Tyler too” campaign of 1840, the Whigs held & grahd
political convention in the little village of Salem, in
the western part of Jefferson county, Ohio. A large
procession of “true blues” came from the town o(.
Steubenville, who were very hungry and dry by the
time they arrived at tho place of meeting. Among
the crowd was the late Judge Wilson, of “ Qld Jim
my,” as he was generally called, then editor of tho
Steubenville Herald. Leading the crowd, he proceed*
ed to the village tavern, kept by a “bully” Democrat
by the name of Andrew?. »
“ Here, Andrews,” said Old Jimmy, “ is a lot of thO
dryest Whigs you ever saw. I want hard cider for
the crowd, with a gourd to drink it from.”
“Bless your soul, judge!” responded Andrews, “I
haven’t a drop of hard cider in the house. Sorry I
can’t accommodate you.”
“But,” said the judge, “you must get us some
hard cider, or the convention can’t go on.”
“Well,” said Andrews, “I’ll do the best I can,”
and he accordingly retired to another room and set
his “ wits to work’’ to manufacture the much-desired
beverage. Finding some venerable rain water in 4
barrel in the back yard, he took a few gallons of it
and mixed therewith some vinegar and “ forty rod”
whisky. In a short time he returned with a gourd
full of this preparation, and handed it to “ Old Jim?
my,” whose eyas eparkled with delight in anticipa
tion of having a spirited, meeting of the real log cabin
boys. So, taking the gourd in hand, the judge raised
it in full view of the delighted crowd, and gave aS a
“ Cold water may do for the Locos,
Or a little vinegar stew;
But give us hard cider and whisky,
And hurrah for Old Tippecanoe!”
Then, putting the gourd to his lips, he was abotrt
taking a good drink, when the smell was a little tod
strong for his stomach. He smelled and tasted, and
tasted and smelled, and shook his head. Turning to
Boniface, he said:
“ Well, Andrews, this may be very good hard cider,
but I’ll be d—d if it won’t take a more patriotic Whig
than I am to drink it.”
The Buffalo Commercial ig responsible for a
telegraph yarn that is rather though, but
are told that it occurred In Buffalo, and tha(
one of the actors in the scene is dead. True o|
false, it will servo to illustrate tho time-wQri}
The operators in an office chewed tobacco. OnA
had charge of tho eastern and the other of the wesS
ern line. One Summer morning west wanted a chew*
but was too lazy to travel across the rodm to east
ou lie buxii u mooo»ga Avar tho western wire, addresSo<
to his office companion, requesting him to send ovc
a “ chow of tobacco,” quick. The message went t< I
Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, NeW York an(
Albany, and presently came back into east, who r§
ceived it and walked across the room to west, wh
still sat in his chair yawning and longing forth
weed. The message traveled over a thousand miles.
From the prairies of the West cornea au au«
ecdote of a
Going to see the girls Sunday evening is a custom
time-honored, and generally observed even fh thil
city, which generally flings its heels at old custom?
The other Sunday evening, in Peoria, Illinois, two
youths on thoughts of courting bent, called at the
residence of a young lady, found her at home, and
seated themselves to do the agreeable. Pretty soon
there came a ring at the door-bell, and iwb other
youths were admitted. Now, the etiquette is always,
in such cases, for the last comer to smile, bow pos
litely, and bid the fair charmer adieu, and go
hunt up some other girl. But our young me 4
thought differently. “Etiquette bo d d) they
were going to stay until those other fellows left’’
Each sat down flanking the grate, and glared unuttep
able things at each other. While they were in this
blissful state of uncertainty, two other fellows called
to spend the evening, and divining the facts in th?
case, they determined to stay, and see the four out.
Another young man called to see the young lady to
church, whereupon the last two wickedly prevailed
on him to stay with them. When the old
came down stairs next morning, seven hats adorned
the rack, seven sleepy youths sat around the fire, and
seven dull pairs of black eyes wore vainly endeavors
ing to look “ sweetly” at a languid pair of blue oneji
The old gentleman went into the parlor and hold(>
“love feast,” the result of which was none of the
“ galliants” stayed to breakfast.
The sensible and philogophical “ Josh” has
been looking around among the dumb animals,
and thus goes for
Hogs generally are quadripid.
Tho ax.tr«rae length, ov their antiquity has D6Vej
been fully discovered; they existed a long time be
fore the flood, and hev existed a long time since.
There iz a grate deal ov internal reveuew in a hog;
there ain’t much more waste in them than there lx
in an oyster.
Even their tails can be worked into whissels.
Hogs are good, quiet boarders; they alwus eat what
is set before them, and don’t ask eny foolish ques
They never hev eny disease but the meazels, and
they never hev that but once; once seems to satisfy
There is a graate meny breeds among them.
Some are a close corporation breed, and some are
bilt more apart, like a hemlock slab.
They use to hev a breed in New England a few
years ago, which they called the striped hog breed;
this breed was in great repute among the landlords;
almost every tavern keeper had one, which he used
tewsho tew travelers and brag on him..
Some are full in tho face, like a town clock, and
some are as long and lean as a cow-catcher wilh S
steal pinted nose on them. 1
They kan awl rate well; a hog that kant r\ito veil
haz been made in vain.
They are a short-lived animal, and generally die afl
soon as they git fat.
The hog cad be lernt a groat many cunning things,
such as histing the front gate off the hinges, tippintt
over the swill barrels, and finding a hole in the fenc?
tew git into a cornfield; but there ain’t enny length
to their memory; it iz awful hard for them tow find
tho same hole tew git out at, especially if you are m
all anxious they should. . i
Hogs are very contrary, and seldom drive well the
same way yu are going; they drive most tho othef
way. This haz never bln fully explained, but speaks
volumes for tho hog. , . .
A Nashville paper says tha|
lately a well-known lawyer of that city presented, fof
the twentieth time, a small bill that had been left ip
his hands for collection. The party who was re
quested to pay it protested the utter innocence of his
pocket-book of anything that resembled greenbacks,
Vexed at hia repeated failures, the lawyer, just as hb
was about to leave, said: “ I’m tired of thia affair,
and I guess I’ll shut np your shop till it is paid.*’
The remark was received with perfect composure,
and tho man, locking the door, and handing the koy
to the gentleman, said, coolly: “I’ll save you all
trouble about the matter, my agitated friend. Here
is the key to the concern. Take it, and run this busi
ness for mo. I shall be more than satisfied. All I
ask of you is, to let mo loaf around occasionally, and
see if you make anything out of it. I can’t say I can,
and I have a groat curiosity to see you or any other
man make the trial.”
A mountain member of the
Kentucky Legislature, who doted on the Louisville
Journal, and was to be found reading it every morn
ing when the House assembled, was observed to al
ways lay it aside whon a motion was made to dispense
with tho reading of tho “journal ”of the House. Fi
nally, however, feeling that he was imposed on, he
rose and said: “ Mr. Speaker—l’ve sot here in my
seat for mor’n a week and submitted to the tyranny
of this House. Somebody every morning moves to
dispense with the reading of the Journal, and I’ve
lost every paper I’ve bought for a week by it, and the
man has never moved to dispense with the Democrat
or Commercial— and, Mr. Speaker, I won’t stand it
any longer. Mr. Speaker ” The rest of the
speech waa lost in inextinguishable and universal
A Southern correspondent in
one of his letters informs us of a novel and economi
cal mode of courtship in Florida. “As you have
never seen the language of pine I will give it here. A
gentleman wishing to court a lady, and not wishing to
face the music, in person, sends hia lady love a piece
of pine, signifying, ‘ I pine for thee ;’ and she wish
ing to give a favorable answer sends in return a pine
knot, meaning, 4 pine not,’ or if she wishes to aay no,
she sends a burnt pine knot, thereby signifying, ‘ I
make light of your pine.’
Distress, oven when it seems
the greatest, is still but comparative. Such is the
pressure of the times in our town,” said a Birming
ham manufacturer, some years ago, to his agent In
London, “ that we have good workmen who will get
up the inside of a watch for eighteen shillings.’*
“Pooh! that is nothing compared to London,” re
plied his friend; “ we have boys hero who will get up
the inside of a chimney for a sixpence 1”
A female freedman was brought
up the other day at Aberdeen for fighting. “This Is
your first fight, is it not, Peggy ?” asked the Mayoh
“Bress your soul, no, massa,” was her energetic re-*
ply ; when we used to b’long to Dr. W , we fit
constant. Dere wara’t no p’lice bo them fokes bisd
ness in them times. Why, massa, we fit constant (a
dem days.”
An elderly gentleman was trav
eling lately while afflicted with a bad cough, which
greatly annoyed his fellow-travelers, and at last one
of them remarked, in a displeased tone: “ Sir, that is
a very bad cough of yours.” “ True, sir,” replied
tho gentleman. “But you will excuse me; it’s the
best I’ve got.”
An editor thus nudges his delin
quent subscribers : “We don’t want money desper
ately bad ; but our creditors do, and they no doubt
owe you. It you pay iw, we’ll pay them, and they’ll
pay you.” *
The Madison Argus told a newly
married friend that ho would find a difference between
the matrimonial and editorial experience. In ond
case the devil cries for copy, and in the other the copy
cries like the devil.
A teacher said to a little girl at
school: “If a naughty girl should hurt you, like a
good girl you would forgive her, wouldn't you ?”
“Yes, marm,” she replied, “ if I couldn’t catch her.”
“I have not loved lightly,” as
the man said when ho married a widow weighina
three hundred pounds*

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