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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, December 06, 1868, Image 7

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"'Sunday Edition. Dec. 6.
[Original.!
THE WOMEN OF AMERICA.
By Clarence F. Buhler.
JLefc Europe her Florence Nightingale claim,
America boasts of a score;
£pd many a martyr ha s * died in her name,
Who never her uniform wore!
For hearts that are nurtured on patriot milk,
Will beat for the national weal,
As gallantly under a bodice of silk.
As under a hauberk of steel.
And she who shared with us the fortunes of war,
A charm to adversity lent,
As buds that are filled with perfume to the core,
The hand that has bruised them will scent.
For pallet of straw and the fare of the tent,
She bartered the comforts of life;
The angel that over Gethsemane bent,
Embodied in husband and wife.
Her presence was sweet as the odors of May,
Inhaled through the grate of a coll;
And there was a sunshine around her that lay
When none from the sky ever fell.
frith cordial and lint mid the wounded she stood,
And when the dim lantern had given
One glimpse of that being so fair and so good,
'They said, “ We have wakened in Heaven I”
tn hospitals, over the sallow and weak,
She bent with affectionate tone;
{{or cared, if the bloom was restored to their cheek,
How much she had lost from her own.
And none ever thought, as they traversed the plain,
To number our loss in the fray,
How every stroke adding one to the slain
Had broken some heart far away.
And, therefore, but half of the story we know,
I But half of the guerdon we gave;
{To myrtle was trained for the gentle and true,
When laurels were twined for the brave.
jßut what is the wreath of immortelles we give ,
To that which was woven on high,
frhen Xhey who had made it so lovely to live
w made it more lovely to die.
[Original.]
HARRYING A FORTUNE.
BY REBECCA FOKBES.
<{ Yes, I’ll do it, Ralph, even if she is a
worthless, hairless, dried up. yellow,
Vinegar-faced old maid. I’ll marry ner; or,
father, her fortune!” and so saying he leaned
himself .back m his chair, and commenced
puffing away as coolly at his cigar as though
inarrying were the most commonplace, unin
teresting affair ever dreamed of.
ii You speak quite confidently, young man,”
Returned his companion, “ pernaps the lady in
Question won’t have you. Don’t be too con
ceited, if you have been called irresistible.”
“Fiddlesticks! I guess my uncle’s fortune
was the most irresistible part to the New York
belles, and I am certain now that my ‘great
Expectations’ have passed away, there isn’t
®wo of them ever remember associating with
me. I tell you, Ralph, love is all moonshine !
more creature of the fancy—for I never seen
a pretty girl yet that could set my heart a pal
pitating. Money is what a poor briefless law
yer like myself wants, not love ; it’s a great
scal more substantial, too.”
“Don’t doubt it; but I wouldn’t be tied to
Ah old vixen for a consideration,” responded
Jtalph, “and in my opinion, Bart, you are a
[tool if you heave yourself away. There, now,
that advice is free gratis —no fee asked—only
tfo tell me the whole story.”
“ I can do that in few words. About a week
ago I saved a fine looking but gouty old gentle
man from being upset out of his carriage on
fcroadway. He was profuse in his thanks,
learned my name, said he kuew me by reputa
tion, told me he was very wealthy, with but
bne child, a daughter, and if I would run down
Jo Sea View, where he intended to pass a few
Greeks, he would make a match between me
and her. I modestly suggested that the lady
Jn question might object, but he insisted, that
jhe could not; she was devoted to him and
heart-whole. There it is, verbatim. I then
made inquiries of a friend what kind of a girl
Mr. Lafourn’s daughter was, and they told me
she was a scraggy old maid. I have her in my
mind’s eye, but it’s no drawback. I'll marry
for money, and let her afterward take to her
cats, just the same as she does now. That’s
ill. lam too lazy to work.” And he relapsed
Into a proiound silence, wondering secretly
y.hat time on the morrow Mr, Lafourn and
(laughter would arrive.
• * it # # sf. # fe
“ There, pa, you dear old goose, listen to the
descriptions of your Nell;” exclaimed pretty
little Nellie Lafourn, arranging the curtains so
that the old gentleman could overhear the
conversation on the piazza between the two
hroung gentiemen just mentioned.
“Confound his impudence,” growled the old
Juan, in a rage, bringing his cane down lustily;
“I’d like to see him gel my darling, the heart
less wretch, and my money, even if he has got
you mixed up with your aunt Lucille 1”
, “ Slightly mixed up, isn’t it, pa ? But after
all how much the picture is like her ;” and she
burst into a merry little laugh, that caused a
dozen dimples to play hide and seek around
her checks and lips.
• jt ‘ Hb may be blessed 1 I’ll send for him this
moment, ..ndl’ll—l’ll—l’ll cane him!” almost
Shouted the irate old gentleman.
■“No, indeed, you won’t, pa! you let me
manage him, won’t you, pa ? Let him come—
let him imagine Lucille is your daughter and
heiress, and I your niece, with no expectations.
i’VYe’ll see how he willyarry himself.”
On the next day Mr. Alabenin Gower waited
Spoil Mr. Lafourn, and was formally introduced
to Miss Lucille Gower. He inquired after the
Sold gent s health very affectionately, and soon
became quite engrossed, apparently, in the
fconversation that was started; but secretly he
•was eyeing his intended bride, and he confessed
to himself that the enthusiastic descriptions he
had given his friend lialph did not belie her,
jbr scarcely do her justice. But just then the
door opened, and a graceful young lady, with a
great abundance of golden curls and very large
brown eyes, walked in.
1 r“My—my niece, Mr. Gower; Mr. Gower,
•Miss Lee,” observed Mr. Lafourn, and Miss Lee
acknowledged it with a slight but nevertheless
graceful bow.
; -Mr. Gower was enraptured, and the contrast
fonly made his bride-expectant more ridiculous ;
■however, he determined to act his part, and, as
•a chance presented itself, he whispered in
modulated tones to Miss Lucille that “he
hoped to become better acquainted with her,”
though he hated himself for it in three minutes
after, when he saw Miss Lee’s mischief-loving
eyes resting upon him, and realized that she
had hoard him too.
Day alter day he called, and
fee fell in love with laughing Nell, and fell out
(With Miss Lucille, while she became, in appear
ance, desperately enamored of him, and wrote
him poetry by the sheet expressing her “ever
lasting affection,” which he assured his friend
Jialph she meant to mean the oldness of her
love, for he was sure she was invented in
ijioah’s ark.
In vain he tried to make love to Nell. She
•accepted no attentions from “her cousin lover,”
Iso she mockingly assured him, and left him
. jttiore.despairing than before.
At last he could not endure it. any longer,
and accordingly sougnt an interview with Mr.
lafourn.
. “So you come to propose for my daughter,
Mr. Gower ?” queried the gentleman, when he
Was ushered in.
' “No, sir, I have not,” he emphatically re
turned. “I have come to make a confession,
to ask your forgiveness, and crave a. boon.
Aou know how you came to make me the offer
which you did ? Well, having been brought up
to believe myself independent of the world, and
to fonly study a profession more for pleasure
than aught else, after finding myself suddenly
perett ol all hopes, and poor, gladly accepted
®f your proposal. I scorned the idea of love;
J vowed 1 loved my ease better than any woman
on earth, and though I was informed your
daughter was—was ’’
“A scraggy old maid,” slyly interposed Mr.
Lafourn, and Bart blushed at his own remark,
jjut proceeded—
“l determined, provided she would accept
tne, to marry her for your money. There, sir,
is the truth, and I know I cannot but be lower
ed in your estimation. Since then I have met
your niece, and I’ve—l’ve ”
• ■ “Fallen in love with her,” observed the
'father, aiding him along.
, “Yes, sir, exactly so; and I’m willing, if she
.trill have me, to give up all ideas of wealth ob
tained by such a mean practice, and go awav
And work bravely for her. Do you think there
is any hope 1 Will you forgive me ?”
• “Certainly,” ho responded promptly. “I
•should not want my daughter wedded to any
man for such mercenary motives. I’ll call Neil
and see what she says.” And suiting the action
to the word, he summoned Nellie.
“ This gentleman has withdrawn his claims
to your cousin’s hand,” he observed, taking
Nellie by the hand, “ and actually has the au
dacity to ask for yours. Shall I tell him ?”
“And I’m poor, Nellie,” ejaculated Bart,
(“but you shall see I’m no conceited jacka-
Jlapse. I will go away and commence to prac
tice my profession if you will only give me
. hope.”
Nellie .looked jat her father through her
flushes.
“But I would be a penniless bride——”
'•And all the dearer! if you are not worth
Working for, you are not worth having.”
“If, then,” she returned slyly, “you wait a
■year and do not change your mind, if uncle’s
Veiling—
“ Which he will be,” interrupted the gentle
plan, and so it Was settled.
The ruse was still kept up. Mr. Lafourn
pave him letters of introduction to several in
fluential friends, and he went away and set up
Work in earnest. For a while he was unsuc
cessful ; at last his talents began to be appreci
ated, and he was on a fairway to prosperity.
At the end of the year he wrote and told Mr.
Lafourn how he had succeeded, and asked if
he would have any objections to his wed
ping taking place then. The required an
swer was returned, and when he arrived he
found his Wellie prettier than ever. Mr. La
jlourn said nothing, and Bart wondered at him
giving such a costly wedding to his neice ; but
ijyhen he, as the bride’s father, gave her away
pe was more dumb-founded. As soon as the
.Ceremony was over- be rushed to his father-in
law:
“ What does it mean?”
“It means you have married my daughter,
sir,” responded the happv parent, “ and we
have been deceiving you all the while. Lu
cille is my maiden sister 1”
Bart was paralyzed.
“ Your daughter ?”
“And my money, as I promised! Nellie
and I overheard your conversation and deter
mined to test you. We did so, and Neihe still
insisted on you being tried, and ”
“You have made a man of me,” he exclaim
ed abruptly. “You have taken the conceit
out of me.”
But though rich he did not leave his pro
fession and enter into his careless, idle life
again; he steadily pushed his way up, and
now is one of the'most influential men of the
times, which he always avers is more due to
Nellie’s strategem than “ Marrying a Fortune.”
TIE SW OMPAIR Of BOOTS.
BY MAsTTIFt BYFB, BBITTS.
Mr. Hannibal Potts was the happy owner of
a pair of new boots. And having premised that
Mr. Potts was also the happy owner of a pair
of feet the shape and size of which would have
gladdened the heart of many a lady whom
stern necessity compelled to wear number five
gaiters, it is hardly necessary to add that Mr.
Potts bestowed more care and attention upen
his boots than upon any other portion of his
toilet.
And I can not find it in my heart to blame
him for it, either. Almost any other part of a
gentleman’s attire may be overlooked, or over
topped by other excellencies ; but how in the
world can a man stand upright in a pair of
boots with run-down heels, or how, if his un
derstandings are materially impaired, can he
help feeling the weakness of his foundations,
or entertaining such a distrust of the super
structure reared upon them, as to prevent him
from appearing at the best advantage ?
Therefore I consider Mr. Potts deserving of
great credit in that he always looked carefully
after the character and condition of his under
standings, and can heartily sympathize with
him, when, upon a certain Monday morning,
having carefully arrayed himself in a neat
traveling suit, he proceeded to finish the work
by casting aside his slippers, and substituting
in their place a pair of the most immaculate
and imposing boots that ever brought pride
into the heart and money into the pocket of a
lively and enterprising shoe dealer, took a
complacent view of them, and observed them
with a satisfied air.
“ There, now 1 I needn’t be ashamed of that
foot, anywhere?”
Oh, it’s useless for you, dear reader, to shake
your sagacious head over this display of Mr.
Pott’s vanity. I shall only gently refer you to
a faintly-remembered passage to be found in a
very old and very excellent book, which makes
some allusion to searching successfully for a
mote in your brother’s eye, and being unable
to see a beam in your own.
Every one of us has somewhat of the spice of
human vanity, and I doubt not the flavor may
be quite as perceptible in your own composi
tion as it was in my hero’s. Indeed lam very
often reminded of. a-gantonos which I used to
read in tne “ Fifth Reader” at school—“lnno
cence is ever simple and credulous and I be
gin to believe that the very ones who are the
readiest to pick flaws in other people are the
very ones who are most conscious that some
body might pick flaws in them.
But 1 didn’t mean to say disagreeable things
and offend you at the very outset, so I very sin
cerely beg pardon. And lest I might be tempted,
and sin again before I get through, I’ll just do
it once for all, and thus avoid repetition.
Now we will return to Mr. Potts, whom we
left in serene contemplation of his boots.
He was getting ready for the early train,
which was to carry him to the capitol city of
his State to attend the State Fair. Having fin
ished his toilet to his satisfaction, he bent his
steps stationward, and reached the depot just
in time to purchase a ticket and secure a seat
before the pondereus train rolled away upon its
journey.
A few hours’ steaming brought him to the
city of his destination, and a few moments
more saw him established in a corner which he
was lucky enough to secure in a crowded
hotel.
And the middle of the afternoon beheld him,
refreshed in his inner man by a comfortable
dinner and in his outer man by a change of
dress, calmly wending his way through the
thronged streets to the Fair ground.
Of the peregrinations of Mr. Potts and his
boots at the fair it boots not now to tell. There
was the usual collection of fat cattle and pro
digious sheep, big beets and monster pump
kins, marvelous geese who wore feathers and
marvelous geese who were without, wonderful
machines which would do everything you
wanted and wonderful machines which would
do nothing at all, prize bouquets and patch
work bedquilts, home-made carpets and em
broidered collars, milliners’ cases full of bon
nets which made all the women break the tenth
commandment—and, in short, as it is impossi
ble for me to do justice to the subject I may as
well stop right here and leave the rest to your
imagination. 1 never could have the patience
to write out details, and you wouldn’t bore
yourself reading them if I did.
Suffice to say, Mr. Potts saw all the sights,
and having satisfied himself with seeing, at nine
o’clock on Thursday night he appeared at the
depot, homeward bound.
It occurred to him that he might as well pass
the five or six hours which must intervene be
fore his arrival at home in a comfortable snooze.
So he bought a ticket for the sleeping-car,
and having edged his way into it, through the
press, found his berth, and proceeded to stow
himself away upon one of the cupboard shelves
which the railroad companies succeed in de
luding sleepy people to believe to be beds.
He placed his hat in the rack, divested him
self of his coat and laid it on the berth behind
him.
Then he took off the immaculate boots,
looked at them with a satisfied smile, gave
them an affectionate pat of approval, and set
them down in loving companionship beside his
berth. Then he stretched himself comfortably
out upon the bed, gave a long sigh of relief and
satisfaction, closed his eyes and slept the sleep
of the just.
Mr. Pott’s slumbers were long and deep, but
at last he was aroused by a vigorous shaking
of his shoulders and the sound of a voice in his
ears. At first he could not comprehend its
meaning, but a few more shakes roused him
sufficiently to understand that the darkey who
had charge of the sleeping [quarters was en
deavoring to fulfill his promise to wake Mr.
Potts before the train got in.
“ Time’s up, eah! Wake up, sah ! Train in
ten minutes, sah!” yelled the ebony individual
in his ears.
“All right; I’m awake,” mumbled Mr. Potts.
And as ebohy passed on to disturb the dreams
of other slumberers, he proceeded to prove
himself so by reinstating his manly form in its
cast off garments.
First, as it came perfectly natural for a man
to do, he put on his hat, then adjusted his
coat, and reached out his hand to take his
boots. But alas! it Was a bootless attempt!
The triumphs of genius in leatner had disap
peared.
Mr. Potts looked on the berth, he looked un
der the berth, he looked over the berth, he
looked everywhere where search might be
made, without a shadow of success. Then he
appealed for aid.
Here ! you Sambo!” he shouted, “ where’s
my boots?”
Sambo came, leisurely and grinning, from
the other end of the car. “ Boots, sah ?”
“Yes, boots!” cried Pots. “I put ’em right
down there before I went to sleep, and now
they’re gone!”
“ Spect some fellar done stoled ’em,” said
Sambo.
“Stole em!” cried Potts. “From right un
der my nose! Who do you think could do
that?”
“ Dunno, sah,” replied Sambo. “ Spects dey
didn’t go without help. Two 'or free fellows
done got off last station. Reckon dey got yer
boots.”
“Nonsense!” insisted Mr. Potts. “They
must be here somewhere.”
But all search proved in vain, and the train
was fast nearing the station. Mr. Potts was
forced to accept the truth. Some wayfaring
scamp had taken the occasion of Mr. Pott’s
slumbers to strike up a flirtation with his boots,
and finally, unable to overcome his passion,
eloped with them, leaving their unfortunate
owner in the lurch.
Mr. Potts, as this view of the case impressed
itself on his mind, tried to speak, but words
were powerless to do justice "to his emotions
and he was obliged to give vent to his feelings
in expressive pantomime.
When the tram stopped, having no alterna
tive, Mr. Potts was obliged to descend,
satchel in hand, in his stocking-feet. He
looked around for a carriage, but not not a car
riage was in sight. Of course, at this unreason
able hour not a shop was open where a pair of
boots could be procured, and to mhke matters
worse it had been raining and the streets wore
by no means in good condition for a pilgrim
age barefoot.
A porter informed him that carriages would
be there in an hour to meet the eastern train,
and advised him to wait. But Mr. Potts was
tired enough, without another hours’ waiting.
He stood in no great fear of hardships, and
there were much Worse things than a walk in
the mud without boots, so he rolled up his
pantaloons to protect them, and set bravely
forth.
Half way to the ankles in mud and slush, our
hero wearily and wrathfully trudged onward.
Although only three o’clock in the morning, it
was still light enough to see. And as Mr.
Potts turned into Meridan street, the some
what unusual spectacle of a well-dressed and
otherwise respectable looking gentleman pa
rading in his stocking-feet at that hour,
aroused the vigilance of one of the bluecoated
guardians of the night, who was walking his
beat, and he came promptly up and arrested
him.
“ Hands off!” growled Mr. Potts. You carry
duty a little too far. There’s nothing wrong.”
“O,no ; I dare say it’s all right. Just come
along!” said the policeman, reassuringly.
“ I won’t come! Hands off, I say 1” cried Mr.
Potts, excitedly. “ I’m jnst off the cars, where
some devil stole my boots. You don’t know
who you’ro fooling
“O, yes—l know,” said Bluecoat. “Gen
tleman been out all night on a lark.”
“I’ll lark you!” thundered Mr. Potts “ 7’W
lark you, if you don’t keep a civil tongue in
your head. I’m no more drunk than you are.
Hands oil’, or it won’t go well with you I”
“O, see here, now! No use resisting the
law,” said Bluecoat.
“ The law has nothing to do with it, I tell
you!” roared the exasperated Potts. “I’ve
been down to the fair. 1 came up in a sleeping
car, and some scoundrel—l wish Satan bad
him I —stole my boots. I’m a responsible man,
and I live in this city. See here, now ; take
that, and let me go quietly home.
He slipped a five dollar greenback into the
man’s hand, and Bluecoat, seeming to take
that as a convincing argument, released him,
apologizing for his mistake, and allowed him
to pursue the even tenor of his way.
But poor Potts’s course, like the course of
true love, seemed destined never to run smooth.
As if it were not enough that he had lost his
best boots and been arrested once, as he was
passing the Palmer House he was accosted by
another policeman and arrested again.
Language is incapable of doing justice to
Mr. Potts’s feelings on that occasion, nor would
it be exactly the thing to transcribe the lan
guage in which he endeavored to express them.
Sufficient to say that he again succeeded in
explaining himself out of the toils and getting
released. There is a time, however, when for
bearance ceases to become a virtue, and the
unfortunate Potts thought he had endured
enough for one day.
He rushed into "the Palmer House and ex
citedly demanded a room of the sleepy clerk.
Luckily he was well acquainted with the clerk,
or his violence would have been very likely to
procure him another arrest. As it was, his
friend only laughingly asked if he was drunk or
crazy, and having received an explanation;
turned to his book and inquired what sort of a
room he would like.
“ I don’t care ; any kind—only give me some
place where I can be let alone till daylight, and
then send somebody to a shop to get mo a pair
of boots. For of all the darned scrapes a de
cent fellow ever got into, I’ve gone ahead, this
night.”
Mr. Potts’s demands were complied with,
and having reached his room he flung himself
down to rest until a more suitable hour for
rising.
Thon, having further refreshed himself by a
comfortable breakfast with his friend, the clerk
of the Palmer House, the victim of circum
stances wended his way to his own home in a
frame of mind, which, considering the situa
tion, was exceedingly amiable.
Mr. Potts, m general, is a peacebleman. But
if anybody wants a fight out of him, just say
“ Boots.”
[Original.]
BURIED if A CAVE.
BY KE» WYKSB.
About two years ago I was spending the
Summer among the hills of Southern Berk
shire. The beauty of the scenery had drawn
mo thither, and I was loth to leave the pleas
ant hills and quiqt .valleys to mingle once more
in me trestle and confusion of tEo noisj’ - inff
trppolis.
Ohe day, toward the close of August, the
“lady of the house” where I was boarding,
proposed - an excursion to a somewhat noted
cave at a short distance from the farm-house.
All assented willingly, and a party was soon
made up and fully equipped for the proposed
visit. There were seven of us—four ladies and
throe gentlemen—a merry company altogether.
On the way, and just as we were . approaching
the cliff where the entrance to the cave was
situated, wo crossed a small stream, or rather
river, over .which was stretched a wire suspen
sion bridge. The bridge which spanned the
stream, reached from an immense natural
boulder on one side, to another on the opposite
bank, which seemed to have been placed in
position by artificial means. I remarked this,
and inquired of my companion—who was a
native of the county—how it happened that so
much pains had been taken to span the stream
at a comparatively unimportant point when the
highway bridges were generally of but a poor
pattern and construction.
“ Wait a bit,” said he, “ till we get home from
our excursion, and I will tell you the whole
story—for there is a story that has a close con
nection with the building of that bridge.”
We went on, saw tho wonders of the cavern,
and bad a very pleasant time. After our re
turn, when we bad finished supper, and were
enjoying our cigars on the piazza,.! reminded
my friend of his promise. He lighted a fresh
cigar, tipped back his chair to a comfortable
position, and, in an easy, nonchalant sort of
way, related the following story:
“ Some ten years since, 1 graduated at
W-—s College. When I came home, I found
a small party, consisting of three young ladies
and two gentlemen, visiting at my father’s
house. Of course, we had a jolly time, and it
was not long before I found myself in love with
Kate B , one of the ladies of the party. She
did not appear to be unwilling to receive my
attentions, and we were shortly betrothed.
The wedding was fixed for the 17th of Septem
ber, as I wished to start on the 20th for Cali
fornia, where I had to settle the estate of a de
ceased brother. All tho party agreed to stay
to witness the nuptials.
“ Well, the appointed day camo at last—a
beautiful September day, when the forest trees
were jnst beginning to blush under the em
braces of lusty Autumn. Frank It , one of
the party, had for some weeks been proposing
to widen the entrance of the cave we had just
visited, which was then very difficult of access.
He had procured a keg of powder, and that
morning proposed to me to walk up with him
and see what he could do.
“ ‘lt would be well,’ he said, 'to make a lit
tle noise in honor of the occasion.’
“As the ceremony was not to take place till
the afternoon, I consented, and we started off.
“ Tne ladies came to the door and bade us
‘good-by,’ at the same time rallying Frank
most unmercifully on hie ‘ hobby,’ and begging
him not to blow the whole mountain to pieces.
“We reached the mouth of the cavern in a
short time and made a general survey. I had
not much faith in Frank’s engineering skill,
but, at his request, made my way with some
difficulty into the cave to see the ‘ lay of the
land’ in that direction. I had just cleaned out
a crevice m which I thought it possible that a
charge of powder might be fastened, so as to
do some execution, and was looking around
for others, when a sudden jar and a shutting
off of the scanty light by which I had been
working, told me that something extraordinary
had happened. I looked, or rather felt for the
entrance. There was none. The way out was
blockaded up by an enormous boulder that had
been almost ready to fall, and was precipitated
by my digging out the earth and small stones
from the crevice underneath it. A single faint
glimmer of light shone down upon mo through
a small chink which tho rocks had not quite
filled up. I shouted to Frank, who was out
side, and, to my infinite relief, he responded :
‘“Are you alive down there, old fellow?’
was his first question.
“ ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘but how am Ito get out
of this in time for the wedding ?’
“It is rather an unfortunate situation for a
young man that proposes to commit matrimony,
but I suppose we can dig you out in a fe w
days,’ was the consoling answer.
“‘But I must get out at once,’shouted I,
‘ and the ladies must know nothing of this.
They would be half frightened to death.’
“ ‘ Well, old boy, if you are willing to run the
risk, I’ll try to get you out, shall I ?’ come from
above.
“‘Yes! yes! Go ahead, anything,’ was my
only reply, for I was beginning to get despe
rate.
“ There camo a long period of silence, broken
only by an occasional faint sound as of some
one cramming something into the seams of the
rocks over my head. Wnat thoughts flitted
through my brain I can never tell. For a while
I was almost distracted; then 1 fell off into a
kind of dreamy reverie from which I was at
last aroused by hearing Frank’s voice :
“ ‘ Halloa, down there!’
“ ‘Here I am,’ was my response.
“ ‘ Well, get as far back as possible. I’ll give
you five minutes, and then I’ll make away for
you to come out, or else bury you with all the
honors.’
“Without stopping for a moment’s thought,
I scrambled and crawled to the rear of the first
room, where I ensconced myself in a sort of
recess, and awaited with intense anxiety, not
uumixed with fear, for further developments.
They came very soon. First, a flash; thou a
deafening roar, and the rocks shook beneath
and above me, sending down a shower of dirt
and stones, bruising, and almost smothering
me. There was a strong smell of powder, and
the cavern was filled with stifling smoke. I
struggled toward the entrance, but could not
have gone more than a few feet when I fell
down iusens,ble, overcome with excitement
and suffocated by the smoke and foul air.
“I recollect nothing more until I found my
self lying a few steps in front of the mouth of
the cave, the sun shining brightly down upon
me, and Frank dashing water into my face from
his ‘bran new tile,’which he had filled at the
brook, regardless of expense.
“‘All right old fellow!’ said he, as he saw
me open my eyes and gaze inquiringly around.
“ ‘How did I come hero?’ I asked, in a dazed
sort of away, for I had hardly recovered my
senses as yet.
“ ‘ Oh! I found you lying down in there, and
brought you outfor a littlefresh air. And just
look around,’continued he, ‘hasn’t my keg of
powder done good execution ? Guess tho girls
won’t laugh about “Frank’s hobby” any more.’
“ I looked, and sure enough the whole face
of the cliff for a distance of some twenty or
twenty-five feet was blown off, and the debris
lay scattered in every direction. The blast
had removed so much of the superincumbent
rock that there was now a wide,-easy entrance
to the cave, and through this Frank had walked
in and brought me out. An immense boulder
had also been thrown so far out that it rolled
down the hill and stopped just where you saw
it by the side of the stream. We afterward
had it drilled and used it as the abutment of
the bridge which you crossed; and a right
good one it makes.”
“‘But, how about the’wedding,’ said I, as
my friend stopped and relighted his cigar ;
‘ did you reach home in time for that ?’
“ Oh, yes 1” laughed he m reply, “ but in
rather a dilapidated condition, However,
NEW YORK DISPATCH.
plenty of soap and .water, with a change of
clothing, soon put matters to rights, and the
ceremony proceeded as pleasantly as if I had
not just escaped being ‘ buried in a cave.* ”
[Original.]
SI SLOKUM ON ADVICE.
Advice is the cheapest article to be found in
the market. There is always a large stock to
select from. It is lying about loose, every
where. You can get it at all hours of the day
and night, Sundays not excepted, without
money and without price—except from lawyers,
and they charge an outrageous price for a very
poor article, yet many of them do a large busi
ness, notwithstanding. Which only goes to
prove that the fools are not all dead yet. On
the whole, there is nothing so universally
given away as advice. People seek it continu
ally, and follow it invariably, when it accords
with their inclinations. Otherwise they don’t,
as a general thing.
A friend is going to California. He can t
make up his mind whether to go by the isthmus
or overland routes. He leans to the latter,
however. Asks your advice on the matter.
You advise him, by all means, to go by steamer,
for certain and divers reasons, which you give.
He tries to get you committed to the overland
route, but, as you don’t see it, he tries another
and another, until he finds one who advises him
by all manner of means to go oyerland. “See
the country, you know. Exciting. No sea
voyage monotony,” etc., etc. That suits him.
He follows that advice. So in all matters of
life and death, perhaps ; as, should you advise
a man contemplating suicide to drown rather
than hang himself, he would follow your advice
if drowning held out greater inducements to
him than hanging. There is a great deal of
good, bad, and indifferent advice given away.
Unfortunately, a great deal of the good wastes
its fragrance upon the desert air. It goes in
at one ear and out at the other—like smoke
through a funnel, in at one end, out at the
other.
Much of this is given away in a true Christian
spirit, but much is also given away because it
costs nothing, the giver thereof caring nought
whether it be followed or not. “ I have given
good advice.” That is his monument. No one
can tell whether he sincerely wished it to be
followed or not. With the receiver thereof it
makes no difference, of course, good advice
being as valuable coming from one source as
another. But we speak simply of the way in
which much of it is disbursed—because of its
cheapness, and that it must redound, if at all,
to the honor of the giver thereof.
It is cheaper than dirt, every day in the
' week. Dirt, by the quantity, being more or
less costly. Advice, you can get, “free gratis
for nothing,” in quantities to suit. Ask, and
ye shall receive of it in plenty. And oftentimes
it is given unsought, and when you least ex
pect it. There are those who would decline
giving a poor wretch a loaf of bread, who, nev
ertheless, would bestow unlimited advice, and
good, first-class advice, at that. The first is
perishable, they know; the second can be re
tained in the mind for life ; and should they
give that which perishes, when they can be
-fttow that which may endure for all time ?
“Now, take my advice. Now let me advise
you.” This you will hear from the volunteers
who force their goods upon the market at all
and unseasonable times, and get nd of large
stocks, daily, but arc never out of an assort
ment. They keep constantly on hand all styles
of advice to suit the requirements of all sorts
of people. When they haven’t got what you
want, don’t look further. It would be useless.
They advise everybody, from Presidents down
to boot-blacks ; the former, how to conduct the
affairs of the nation, and the latter, when they
ask, “Shine, sir—five cents?” to wash their
faces if they expect to be patronized. Good
advice to keep cleanly, but teetotally lost on
boot-blacks. “ Well, since vou ask my advice,”
“You want my advice, eh?” “If I were to ad
vise you,” &c. This from the other class who
are not in the habit of forcing their merchan
dise on the market, but who, nevertheless,
have unlimited stocks, from which you can se
lect at the regular advice price, and at short
notice. Theae don’t hawk their wares about
and the amount of business they transact is
not as large as that of the first mentioned
class, but they are never found wanting in va
riety or quantity, and as a general thing, we
don’t know but the quality is rather the better
of the two. There is an old saying, that,
“That which is not worth going for, is not
worth having,” or words to the same effect.
To conclude, advice is to be had at all times,
in all places, and from all classes; from old
and young, from grave and gay, from lively and
severe. Don’t be afraid of its ever running
out. The soil that bears it, is fruitful in the
extreme, and will never become exhausted, as
do tobacco lands, in time. ‘When wanted,
tor it if not at the moment offered. If good it
be, take as much as you can get, and you can
get all you want, and act accordingly. Good
advice will harm no one, if it docs no good.
Give it, when you can, to advantage. Bu.t, re
member, there is a time and a place for all
things, and there are times and places when
even good advice may be out of time and out
of place.
CHA N_G E .
In the Summer golden,
When the forests olden
Shook their rich tresses gaily in the morn;
And the lark upflew,
Sprinkling silver dew
Down from the light wing o’er the yellow corn;
When every blessing
Seem’d the earth caressing,
As though ’twere fondled by some love sublime,
Strong in her youthful hope,
Upon the sunny slope
A maid sat, dreaming o’er the happy time—
Dreaming what blissful hights were hers to climb.
m the Winter dreary,
When the willow, weary,
Hung sad and silent o’er the frozen stream.
And the trembling lark
Murmur’d, cold and stark,
In wailful pathos o’er its vanish’d dream;
When the bleak winds linger’d,
And dead flowrets finger’d,
When all earth’s graces, pale and coffin’d slept,
With joys forever flown,
In the wide world alone,
Over a broken faith a maiden wept—
Yet, with unswerving love, true vigil kept.
Literary Matters.
From Messrs. Harper & Brothers we
have Vo], 17 of a Cyclopaedia of Biblical, Theological, and
Ecclesiielical Literature, prepared by the Rev. John
McClintock, D,D., apd James Strong, S.T.D.
This wealth of biblical knowledge ought to be in every
scholastic library, and will also be found a most valuable
accompaniment to Scripture reading in the family, and a
reference book for Sabbath schools. No clergyman or
student of theology should be without a copy.
The Harpers have just issued the
new novel, by Shirley Brnoks, called “ The Gordion Knot,
a Story ci Good and Evil.”
The author of “Sooner or Later” has made a still more
interesting romance in his last production. The charac
ters and incidents are full of animation and variety, and
the style is one that attracts and holds the reader.
The Rightful Heir, by Bulwer Lyt
ton, is reprinted by the Harpers.
This drama, m five acts, which was originally produced
many years ago under the title of the “ Sea Captain,” has
been revised and largely re-written by the author. It
was lately played at the Lyceum Theatre, in London,
and is said to be a success. The author of Riehelieu and
the Lady of Lyons could not fail to interest the closet
reader as well as the theatre-goer in any new dramatic
work from his practised pen.
A useful book, and one that bids fair
to secure popularity, is published simultaneously by
the Harpers, in New York, and Messrs. Sampson, Low,
Son, <S Manston, London. It is entitled “ A Treatise on
Physiology ai d Hygiene; for Schools, Families, and Col
leges,” written by J. C. Dalton, M.D., Professor of
Physiology in the College of Physicians and Surgeons,
of this city.
It is illustrated with figures and engravings, and pre
sents, in a. compact form, the whole science of Physiology
as it should be made familiar in our schools and domestic
circles.
A new novel by Pierce Egan, so
well known by his many powerfully-written romances’
will be welcomed by all lovers of interesting fiction’
“ Clifton Grey; or, the Birthright Restored,” is just issued
by F. A. Brady, New York, and forms a handsome volume
of 160 pages.
Those who feel concerned in the
question of marriage with a deceased wife’s
sister, which is illegal in Bngand, and often a
very great hardship as in the ease of Rev. Mr.
Morley Punshon, will feel interested in the fol
lowing exposition of the law of the Roman
church on the point. It was recently made to the
English royal commission on marriage, by the
Catholic archbishop and bishops of .England :
3. With respect to the much debated ques
tion of marrying a deceased wife’s sister, with
us the. impediment is diriment of marriage;
but urgent cases will arise when tjie ecclesias
tical authority finds it reasonable to remove
the impediment by dispensation. And among
the motives for such dispensations are—the
preventing of greater evils, the protection or
reparation of character, the difficulty of form
ing another marriage, the consideration of
children born, or that may be born, fcc. And
although cases of this kind are comparatively
rare, we could wish to see the civil obstacles
removed which stand in the way of remedying
what may prove to be grave matter: of con
science.
England invented a Jand veloci
pede, which was introduced into France, and
became very popular. The French soon after
furnished a similar vehicle for tht water,
which, we are told, promises a great success.
But it was reserved for American ingenuity to
provide a velocipede that would answei for land
or water. A Yankee in Connecticut has per
fected a steam driving apparatus, which will
fit into and work either the land or wafer velo
cipede—enabling a man to convey himself to
and from business by road or river, with as
much ease as if he had been endowed with the
power of carrying himself about in a carpen
ter’s basket by the handles. Once this inven
tion comes into full play, and the halcyon days
of ferry and city car BJononolies will pe at an
ende
“ SOW3NC USS WiLD OATS.”
*• Sowing his wild oats”—ay, sowing them deep,
In the heart of a mother to blossom in tears,
And shadow with grief the decline of her years.
“ Sowing his -wild oats,” to silver the head
Of the sire who watched his first pulse throb with
joy,
And whose voice wont to Heaven in prayer for “ the
boy.”
“ Sowing his wild oats,” to spring up and choke
The flowers in the garden of a sister, whose love
Is as pure and as bright as the blue sky above.
“ Sowing his wild oats.” Ay, cheeks shall grow
pale,
And sorrow shall wither the heart of the wife.
When manhood, thus squanders the prime of his
life.
“ Sowing his wild oats.” Death only shall reap,
With his keen sharpened scythe; the fruits will be
found
In the graveyard, near by, ’neath that grass covered
mound.
ES33EESEKBESEE3SSSZ2SS2CTI
Wwr Mg
“ Let me play the fool:
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, ’
And let my liver rather heat with wine
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
by being peevish ?”
Again essaying the task of editor to the
Gossip er s’ Club, we turn to the drawer and con
its contents. And what do we find? As
Hamlet says—
“ WOBDS, WORDS.”
They are the children of the mind, and reflect
the manifold richness of men’s faculties and
affections. In words we may find an endless,
tantalizing charm, and the eternal provocations
of personality. They are, as a great writer has
said, “the sanctuary of the intuitions.” To
the illustration of their opulence we invoke the
contents of. the drawer. From its multifarious
riches we strive to catch the wit and the wis
dom,. the puns and the poetries, the philoso
phies, the fancies, and the follies, flashed u£on
us from all directions. To begin with, we
think wo can do no better than to submit the
following pretty parody, not from tho pen of
Poe, but from our new member, Quadoptic,
who sings some new and pleasant changes on
THE BELLS.
Hear the cheerful cow-bells,
Rustic bells;
What pleasant.thoughts of cream and milk
Their melody compels.
How they flatter ruling vanity,
The jingling parasites;
How their unharmonious clatter
Keeps the cows from growing fatter.
By banishing their keenest appetites.
As they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
How the mudspots on them twinkle,
Harshest of discordant sounds, no other noise excels
The tantalizing wrangle of the cells!
• bells!
bells I
The wrangle and the jangle
Of the bells.
Hear the lazy ragman’s bells,
Common bolls;
What heaps of stamps for dirty rags
Their melody foretells.
How they jingle, jingle, jingle,
In a squeaky kind of way;
How they huadle all together
On their dirty thong of leather,
As they jingle on unceasing through the day,
Keeping time, time, time,
To the oft-repeated rhyme,
Rising higher, higaer, higher,
As the owner vainly yells
To drown (as ’twere) the clamor of the bells !
bells!
. bells!
To drown the noisy clamor
Of the bells.
It* is some time since we heard from Bob
O’Gotham—a mad rogue, but a clever fellows
nevertheless. In the screed before us he
quaintly relates
HOty I LOST MY CHARACTER AND—-MY MONEY’
lam the man that reads all the newspapers. From
my early youth I have always had a strong tendency
in that direction. Two or three of my friends, in
fact, are editors; and, looking back upon the past, I
cannot but regret with tears in my eyes, that I had
not aspired to the tripod while the choice was still
left me, rather than dare the perils and temptations
of the political forurru Blessed with an amiable tem
per, good mother wit, a reasonable uroficicncy in the
handling of English, and a happy faculty of pleasing
everybody, I am satisfied that I should have made
an enduring reputation. As it is .
I have said I am fond of looking over the papers.
Having inherited a liberal competency from an in
dulgent relative who would never lend me a penny
during his lifetime, and would not have left me one
now but for his unexpected taking off, I was puzzled
how to dispose of rny time. At last the happy thought
struck me. I had it! I saw how the men who occu
pied the proudest positions before the public were
those who directed the political affairs of the nation.
I saw how they were bowed down to and even wor
shipped by grateful constituencies, and I said to my
self, is it not surely an object worthy ambition to
rise to the condition of a public benefactor ?—to stand
upon the highest pinnacle of fame before the people
as the conservator of their rights and liberties ?—to
be hailed as the benefactor of unknown generations
yet to come? My resolution was formed. Just
round the corner the political club of my Ward was
to hold a grand meeting. Being known to them all,
I found no difficulty in enrolling myself and obtain
ing a seat upon the platform. The hali was crowded,
and I well remember the enthusiasm which prevailed.
Being mostly of my own party (although, to tell the
truth, I was quite undecided which party mine was,)
the spectators indulged in no overt acts, and every
thing .went off “ harmoniously,” (as next morning’s
dailies phrased it), except that the people would keep
moving about, and always would applaud just when
they oughtn’t to. There were some very brilliant
speeches, which were so completely smothered that
ihe speakers seemed to be doing their work in panto
mime; but when it came my turn I was so discon
certed by the noise and tho music outside, and by
the cheers, and. by the intense attention bestowed
upon mo by the reporters, that I broke right down
after my introductory “Ladies and gentlemen,”
(“Friends and fellow-citizens,” whispered the Presi
dent, prompting,) and could only get out an occa
sional “bird of freedom,” “glorious flag of the un
trammeled millions,” “aagis of our liberties,” “the
Constitution, one and indivisible,” “no North, no
South, no East, no West, no anything,” when I in
continently collapsed. But I brought ’em for oil that,
for I had generalship enough to cover my retreat by
waving in the air one of those banners which no
body refuses to acknowledge—a one hundred dol
lar seven-thirty—and slunk off with a round of
applause and a tempest of approval at my back,
which I had never believed equaled. I was a lit
tle surprised the next morning, on taking up my
favorite paper, to read under my own name a polished
oration, which would have covered the great Daniel
Webster with glory, although 1 am sure that the
whole thing was the work of cne of those attentive
reporters, and not my own doing. It read very well,
however, notwithstanding a few typographical errors,
such as the “untied States” for “ United States,” and
the “ scared bird of freedom” for the “ sacred bird of
freedom,” “the doggess of liberty” for the “god
dess,” and a few such small blunders.
From that moment the star of my destiny was
fixed—my horoscope was drawn—and I was a public
man. I got on famously after awhile, entirely con
quered my modesty and all that, and became a great
“card ” at the mass-meetings, and in the clubs and
committees. The papers held me up as a great party
leader, and when money was required for the cause,
they testified |he extent of their confidence by giving
me the preference. We Were to have a “ grand bar
becue” in some small spot near at hand, the expenses
of which I, of course, assisted to defray. The day
was the finest of the season, and numbers of the
leading men of the country were on hand to take
part in the proceedings. Some fifty thousand per
sons must hAve assembled on the ground, including
respectable country folk, who came in wagons and
brought their wives and iamilies and eatables with
them, and also large numbers of camp-followers,
whose rough outside was not calculated to inspire a
feeling of security. I had prepared one of my most
labored efforts tor the occasion, and calculated upon
creating an extraordinary sensation, as you will find
I did, though not exactly of the sort I expected. I
began with the usual spread-eagle allusions, and was
proceeding in a very florid style to eulozize the
American flag, and the principles of equality and
liberty before the law, when a gentleman with fiery
red hair and mustache, and a blue coat and brass
buttons, suddenly arose, and asked in unmistakable
accents—
“ Sir, I ask as an American citizen, is this
a Native American assimblage, or are we to be in
sulted by spaiches in which the green flag oi ould
Erin go Bragh is made to play second fiddle to an
insign which, however honored it may be, has—
(“Sit down!” “put him out!” “order!” and yells.
“ Let me explain,” said I, now beginning to feel
tremulous; “far be it from me to cast a slur upon
that brave and magnanimous people who have done
so much ”
At this moment another gentleman arose and ob
jected—“ We don’t want to hear anything more about
the Irish,” he said rather roughly; “this is not a
Fenian meeting. Give us more about the Constitu
tion !”
“ With amendments!” yelled an excited Radical on
my left.
“The gentleman is silent as to the negro—that
persecuted and ill-used race, who, alter long ages of
oppression, are now rising like the Phenix from its
ashes.”
“ We don’t want anything about the naygers!”
“ The gentleman,” said a weak-eyed old gent in
horn spectacles, “has said noihng about the Chi
nese.”
“Nor the gorillas!” shouted a disorganizing char
acter, through his hands.
Just then, while a second Babel was raging all
round me, a lady, with a peaked nose and exuber
ant ringlets—ditto parasol and roll of manuscript
rose on a chair, and, in a harsh, screaming voice,
cried out:
“My name is Susan B. Anthony—l am the great
Apostle of Woman’s Rights. Tell us about the rights
of Woman! I contend that man is by nature a ty
rant. I contend that woman must vote. I con
tend ”
Just then, some graceless scamp upset her chair,
and instantly she fountLlwrfseli “ contending” with a
crowd of roughs, her out of the way
with great expedition,Thd hardly left her .as much as
a shoestring to go bomb- with; Roast pigs, ducks,
chickens, pasties, fish-balls, cutlets, bread, and
pickles, came hurtling through the air on every side;
and an object, which I am sure, from its smell, wasn’t
a rabbit, took me in the face, and sent me sprawling
into the plate-basket. Finally, a huge plum pudding
hit my Hibernian friend full in the mouth, and kept
him quiet for d second. The tables were overturned,
and I was glad ■ to escape with whole skin from what
had proved to be a riot of the most formidable dimen
sions.
On the next day, I found myself held up to public
execration as an incendiary character, a robber, an
extortionist, and I don’t know what else beside. I
declined the nomination to a clerkship, whichjmy
fortune and perseverance had at length procured for
me, and retired ipto the shades of private life, a bet-
Iter and a wiser, but, alas! a “busted” man.
Our busy little Pert has struck a bee line for
Marcie, and, being far from disposed to accept
the situation, soliloquizes thusly on
OFFENBACH, THE CHAMPAIGNIST.
I cannot do justice, and say all I’d say
Concerning this Offenbach Opera Bouffe,
Inspired by the Devil
To write what was evil,
This wicked old man has brought us to the level.
The immodest level of morals in France,
And the people, like puppets, are taught how to
dance.
Offenbach pulls the strings, and away people go,
Never minding the cost, tho’ they pay for the show.
Oh ! the cost!
*Tis endorsed
On tho souls of the devotees crying out “lost.”
Lost to all sense of shame, the juggernaut crushes
All feelings of modesty, banishing blushes,
And painting instead brazen faces so bold.
In loud imitation of pure yellow gold;
Lost to all modest action, with sinfulness fraught;
Evil in action, and wicked in thought.
To Lethe’s pure waters no longer we stray,
And Virtue sits musing and sad. in its spray.
To keep up with the ago,
Where fashion doth rage,
Is the word as they turn over page af 4 er page,
Each page growing worse, yet the people will look
Spell-bound, as it were, through this immortal book; *
Carelessly pampering to sensual taste.
Going to bad with a headlong haste;
Stopping to think of the consequence never,
Seldom to think of the ties it must sever.
What matters morality, let us enjoy
The life that we live, it is only a toy,
Dress us like puppets without a regard
To delicate taste—we go by the card.
Excuses are rife, indulgence must rule,
Self— all self I Oh, insensate fool,
Is this all that fife’s for and nothing beyond ?
That you pamper to self of wiiica you are fond ?
Look higher than this, to a nobler life
Where goodness and viitue forever are rife.
Think where you are drifting a d pause on the brink,
Consider the cost, look around you and think
What will the end be, the consequence what ?
Then boldly you’ll leave the immortal spot.
Next we have a characteristic screed from
that valuable wag, J. W. 8., who it seems had
A LIVELY THANKSGIVING.
We had one of the liveliest old Thanksgivings over
to my house you ever seed. John William dined
with us. I won a turkey at a raffle; it was raised by
William, the corn-curer; it had hair on its back.
Sally and me pitched up a cent to see whether wo
should have it “ biled,” and its “ stomick” filled
with “oysters,” or roasted, and stuffed with thyme
and bread. I got my got, and so we had it roasted.
1 played William thirty-six inches on my billiard
table; all the “ante meridian” queer smells kept
coming up from the kitchen, kinder like something
was cooking. These smells made my “ stomick” de
sire something, so I went down on the first “jingle” of
the bell; the scene was sublime. Sally, who I took
some years ago among a lot of fruit cake, “ for bet
ter or worse,” sat at the head of the table. She had
all her new things on, and she’d used up half my
billiard chalk, trying to fiU up all the skating ponds
on her sweet face. She had about a pound of lard
mixed in her head; two lovely curls borrowed at the
corner, rested sweetly on her starboard cheek, while
two young hairs were trying to crawl in and nestle
in her larboard ear. She was dressed up because we
had company, and she looked charming, but I know
that under that heaving bosom was a volcano that it
wouldn’t do to erupt—not much. She once gave a
canary bird castor oil until it died for singing on
Sunday, and she tried the same game on me, but I
wasn’t a canary bird, and I got over it. Well, there
she sat, and as she puckered up her mouth to try to
look amiable, it would make a crack in the chalk on
her faco that looked like a river on a map. Sou-Sou-
East other sat my biggest little girl, and ittle to the
Southward was John William. Sally sat facing me;
right in front of her was some sweetpotatoes,” bi led”
onions, mashed turnips and cranberry “ sass,” with
a pile of bread big enough to start a lumber yard.
In the middle of the table was a plated castor I won
at a target excursion; a bunch oi cellcry stood up
by its side shading it like a willow tree does a coun
try olacksmith shop; right in front of me lay the
deceased corpse of a turkey. It laid on its back
like it might be studying astronomy; it was all bust
ed open in the “ stomick,” and tho stuffing was run
ning out, and it had a lot of grass bead-work all over
it. It had rhe best second “jints” I ever saw, and I
seed J. W. looking at ’em. He was smacking his
lips, but all this time I was thinking “no you don’t.”
The hired gal brought in the dam-ask-cuss blade
which she’d been sharpening on the stones in the
yard. I seized the handle ana with the rapidity of
lightning, severed tfie three-cornered end from its
socket; then calm’y as if nothing had happened, I
seized the unfortunate “animile” by its back and
twisting it around quicker than it takes to tell this
tale, its neck fell into the stuffing. I asked J. Wil
liam which he preferred, the ramp orpeck. He said
neither; so I gave him both. Then he said he would
thank me for the second “ jint.” Says I, J. W. won’t
you be kind enough to pass the gravy to my wife,
and as he turned his paper collar to do so, I quietly
buried the second “jint” in the stuffing. Then I
told him this turkey was like the times, it was out of
jints, it hadn’t got any, and as he laughed at my
joke I slapped stuffing enough on his plate to fill him
up and keep him from coming again. Well, I got
’em all helped, and I’d just ressurrected the second
jint for myself when my biggest little girl says pa
give me the “ wish-bone.”
“No, pa. give it to me,” says the little one.
“I asked first,” cried the other.
“She had the last one,” says the other.
I shouted “ Shut up.”
“Ain’t you ashamed, before company ?” says Sally.
“No,” says I, “I ain’t.”
“ Well,” says she “you ought to be.”
“ Well,” says I, “ darn it, I ain’t, and that’s
enough.”
Says she “ you old fool, you, I’m good mind to let
you have this right in your face,” and before I could
say “don’t!” a whole quart of cranberry sauce
struck me plump in the bosom. I gave her a base
ball mark of soft stuffing right in her hair. She
rallied, and sent the contents of the gravy dish all
over me. Here both young ones dove for the “ wish
bone,” and I grabbed the mashed turnip, and spilt it
all over them. I gave each of them a fatherly kick,
and they retreated. Just here J. William mixed in,
and cried “ shame I” I gave him the biled onions all,
over his sweet form; then I pelted him with sweet
potatoes until he left. I was now thoroughly aroused.
I tripped Mrs. B. up, and her angelic form went
down ca-chunk. I grabbed her by her raven locks;
I pried open her sweet mouth with a turkey wing,
and I jammed her throat full of stuffing, and ram
med it down with a turkey leg. Then I took a cigar
and sat down to watch the effect. . Well, the stuffing
began to dry and get hard, and I got scared lest it
might never come out; so I got the poker, and as she
shook her head “yes” when I asked her if she’d be
good, I pried it out She hasn’t quite forgave me yet,
but there is one thing sure, my young uns won’t ask
tor any more “ wish bones” in one while, and when I
had them vanquished I chawed up all the pie.”
An occasional correspondent who travels
some, and always takes notes by the way
sends us the following good story concerning a
SLEEPY BRIDEGROOM.
A young couple residing at Lexington, Ky., deter
mined to elope recently, and accordingly started for
Cincinnati on the afternoon train, and in due time ar
rived at the Spencer House, the paradise of lovers,
The two were young and exceedingly rural, and their
conduct soon convinced the initiated attendants at
the hotel that they Lad been thwarted in their hy
menial inclination by hard-hearted parents and guard
ians opposed to what is satirically called the “de
crees of heaven.”
The emotions be’rayed ’by the fugitives were vari
ous; modest in the extreme, they were unable to con
ceal their fondness from the guests in the drawing
room, mingled with a sort of triupiph at their success
and fear lest they might be overtaken, at once en
listed the sympathies of all who .observed them.
At length the young man.tfent to the office and in
quired for the proprietor,-alleging that he had some
private business which cotlid ‘be transacted with no
other parties. The clerk stated that neither of them
were in, but that he could and would attend to any
thing the ruralist might unfold.
Of this the young man seemed skeptical, and com
menced pacing the floor, exhibiting the greatest rest
lessness, and* finally entered the drawing-room, from
which he again issued alter a short consultation, and
approaching the clerk, said:
“Sir, there’s a lady in the room; she wants to
marry me and I want to marry her bad ; can you do
anything for us ?”
The clerk replied that everything matrimonial
should be arranged in a short time, and in less than
an hour the ceremony had been performed, and the
happy couple united by the firmest ties that the law
recognizes.
Soon after the bridegroom approached the desk of
the office, and commenced looking over the register.
The clerk inquired what he desired, and received tor
reply that he on.y wished to see the arrivals. His
manner betrayed the fact that his mind was not easy,
but what his troubles were no one could conjecture.
After walking around the office for about twenty min
utes, he repaired to the book again, and said to the
clerk, in a low tone:
“Hadn’t you better change the register and give us
one room, now we’re married ?”
“Thai is already changed,” replied the clerk; “you
are marked for the same room.”
“ Well,” replied the gratified Kentuckiati, surprised
at such thoughtfulness, “ well, just show me up, for
I’m awful sleep;..”
It is needless to add that his request was complied
with.
As a rule we arc decidedly not given to puf
fery, but a new medicament has been brought
to our notice, and so highly commended that
we cannot find it in our heart to refuse the pub
lication of the following certificates to the
power of the new
PAIN KILLER.
Sir : The day before yesterday I had eleven of my
false teeth ‘extracted at one sitting. The operation
was unattended by even the slightest pain; this fact I
attribute entirely to my having previous. y read
an advertisement of the Pain Killer in one of the
weekly papers.
By making tins public you will confer a boon on
society and a favor on Your obedient servant,
Curious Denxatus.
Sir: My uncle Roopy, who had but recently re
turned from Calcutta with a large fortune, died sud
denly last week. For three days I remained buried
in the depths of anguish ; but upon taking a copious
dose of the Pain Killer, and learning that the dear
old boy had left me a thousand a year, I instantly be
came so much better tha t my reason is no longer
despaired oi. Yours obediently,
Ben Gall.
Sir : The results of a tight boot frequently take the
shape of corns and -bunions. I assure you on my
honor that either of these fearful visitations may be
rapidly cured by the Pain Killer. Let the sufferer
carefully pour half a pint of it upon the top of his
head and rub it fiercely in with a Baden towel. This
remedy acts on the principle of counter-irritation.
The boots should be taken on beforehana.
Yours, truly, A Cornish Man.
Sir : Allow me to inform the public through your
columns that the Pain Killer is an excellent substi
tute for butter at breakfast. It ignites only on the
box, and will remove superfluous hair. Blackbeetles
and rats die after it. The free list is entirely sus
pended, and none are genuine unless stamped on the
blade. Your obedieet servant, Muddle.
There ia good burlesque, and sharp satire in
the following
PLOT FOR A MELODRAMA.
Don Sebastian, a retired nobleman, falls in love
with Donna Julia—father of Donna Julia becomes
enraged, and threatens “the caitiff” with the In
quisition. The lovers, alarmed, appeal to Heaven,
and seek safety in a schooner bound to Barbadoes.
Third day out, the schooner is wrecked—the lovers
commit themselves to the deep on a dining table.
Oyster boat carries them to India—Don Sebastian
fights four lions at once—Donna Julia, overcome by
the dangers, throws herself into a lotus and floats
down the Ganges. Don Marauder (father of Julia)
charters a ferry-boat, and goes in pursuit. The lov
ers, alarmed by the intelligence, quit India in a
palauq...n and fly to Egypt—where Don Sebastian
hire's one - the s.eps o ths pyramids and opens a
mummy stall. Fa l her-, n-law still pursues—appeals
to the bus:'.aw—bashaw breaks up the stall. Don
Sebastian and Don Julia once more commit them
se;ves to the keeping, of Providence—shortly after
which they And themselves in the Mammoth Cave.
Father-in-law relents—visits Kentucky—pardons tha
“abduction of his daughter”—makes a will giving
Don Sebastian the Castle of Salamanca, and stabs
himself in the hat. Last act —Supernatural lighting
up the cave—voices in the distance exclaiming: “Bo
ware ! ” Mysterious appearance of the American flag.
A thunder-bolt falls at Donna Julia’s feet, and runs
itself into the ground. Blue fire seen in the distance,
from lhe centre of which the spirit oi Donna Julia’s
father rises and goes to Heaven on a phenix. Grand.
Tableau—Julia and her lover tied in a hard knot.
Our Western representative, “Spot”, who has
grown inconsistent of late, has again, we are
glad to say, put in an appearance, and favors ua
with a pathetic story of love triumphal, or
THE NAUGHTY PARENT.
CHAP THE FIRST.
THE LOVERS.
It was a splendifferous n-ight. The sky was clear,
save a great big cloud that loomed up from the east*
ern horizon, and hid about thirty thousand stars
from sight A night owl perched in a tree whistled
most deliciously, and the cry of the fox reverberated
over the hills.
On a stump in the centre of a meadow, sat the hero
and heroine of our narrative, Joshua Mullethead and
Jemima Ratan. They had not uttered a word for
about two minutes, but were listening to the varied
sounds that came from the woods near by. At last
Joshua brone the silence, but did not hurt it much.
“Jemima,” said he, “I was thinking ”
“ So was I Josh.”
“ But I was thinking if that moon was made out of
green cheese as folks say, but
“I don’t think it is,” said the fairy like Jemima,
and she gazed expressively into Josh’s eyes.
“ Nor I either, darling; but I wish I was the moon.”
“ Why, Josh?”
“ Oh, because you would often look at me, and ”
“ Think of you often.”
Josh turned and twisted on the stump. He wanted
to say something, but his heart wouldn’t let him.
More than once he tried co speak, but his tongue was
tied. The silence wa-j unbearable, and our hero re
solved to make a grand attempt. Ho summoned all
his nerve, and turned to his love, but an old nail
which had been driven part'y into the stump caught
his trowsers, and his ears were saluted with rip! rip t
rip!
But Josh didn’t mind his breeches, and he grasped
Jemima’s hand.
“ Oh, Jemima I tho light of my eyes, the'balm of
my heart, I—l—yes, let mo tell you that I—l mean,
I ”
“ Go on, Josh.”
“ Darling, I—have for a long time set my—Jemima,
I mean that I have long ”
He broke down.
The girl was bawling, salty tears as large as littl®
tea-pots were running down her cheeks, and sha
gently pulled her hand away from Josh’s.
“Proceed, Joshua; I have longed for this.”
“ Well, then, Jemima, I—yes, I—consarn it, I lova
you; love you like our old hen loves her chickens;
love you like dad loves tobacco.”
The declaration was made—Josh bad spoken hia
love. One embrace, ten or a dozen kisses, and they
rose to their feet.
“ I don’t think pap will Jet us marry,” said Jemima,
wiping four tears from her cheeks.
“ We’ll see him about it. I’m bound to have you,
for I love you fit to kill. I would drink the ocean dry
for you, or go and bring tho equator pole for you.
Oh ! thief of my heart!”
And they kissed again.
They returned to Jemima’s father’s house a happy
pair.
CHAP THE SECOND.
THE NAUGHTY PARIENT.
A trio sat in a room in Hie Ratan House eating din*
ner. It was the day after Joshua Mullethead had de
clared his love to lovely Jemima. The trio consisted
of old Ratan, his daughter, and Josh.
Old Ratan was a sour-looking personage, about
fifty, more or less. His head was as devoid of hair
as a terrapin’s back, and his nose was as red as a
beet, and looked as if it would fill a quart measure.
It is needless to say that he drank like a fish.
Jemima Lad invited Josh to take dinner with them
that day, and he had promised to ask old Ratan for
his daughter’s hand. Well, things disappeared from
the table like fish do into a shark’s mouth. Josh was
in a bad fix. He could not get his courage to a stick
ing point. Time and again he was about to speak,
but a glance at old Ratan made him change his mind.
At last he concluded to speak his thoughts; so,
looking at a picture on the wall behind Ratan ha
said:
“Mr. Ratan, Jemima and I had a lovely walk last
night.”
“ Well, spos’n you had,” and he put a tremendous
potato in his mouth.
“We sat down on the old stump in the meadow,
and—and—and ”
“And what?” thundered Ratan, his voice sound
ing like a roar from a bull of Bashaw.
“ And I whispered, yes I—l whispered ”
“You whispered what? Speak!” and old Ratan.
jumped up, his eyes looking like fire pans, and his
nose swelled to three times and half its usual size.
“ I whispered that—that— I 1 ”
“What!”
“ Loved her, blast you!” and Josh’s heart played
“ Yankee Doodle” in his throat.
For a minute all was silent. Old Ratan glared at
the lovers, and they at him. Josh held Jemima by
the hand and waited for the lightning to strike. It
struck.
“ You love my daughter ?” he yelled.
“ Yes,” said Josh, becoming bold, “ I do love her.
I loved her the first time I saw her, at Job Slab
fish’s ’tater pealing. She stole my heart, and ”
“ You hadn’t none to steal.”
“ Mr. Ratan, I do not like to call you a liar, but
you are infernally mistaken. But let us lay aside all
ill feeling. I now ask you for your consent to marry
Jemima.”
“Marry Jemima! Never! young man. I’d sooner
see her marry your old dad.dy. Now, the best thing
you can do is to git.”
“ Can’t I have Jemima ?”
“No!”
“ But I will love ”
“No more parleying. And,” to Jemima, “if I
ever catch you with this scape-goat again I’ll whip
you like thunderation. Do you hear ?” '
Jemima busted into three hundred tears.
“ Now, git,” yelled old Ratan to Josh.
Josh got.
CHAP THE THIRD.
THE ELOPEMENT.
The scene changes, so does our fortunes. Tha
stars were shining, but not quite so bright as they
shone the night the lovers were introduced to tha
readers, seated on a stump. Joshua, Mulletaead
stood beneath Jemima’s window. A rope reached
from the window to the ground. Josh presently
gave the rope a jerk, and Jemima poked her neck
about two feet out of the window.
“Are you ready, Joshua?” sho asked, and he»
voice sounded like the croaking of a beautiful frog.
“ Yes, my soul! ” responded Josh.
“Then turn your head while I come down th®
rope.”
Josh did so. Jemima swung her feet out of the
window, grasped the rope with her hands, and dowa
she went, as slick as oysters go down a hungry man’s
throat. Josh clasped her in his arms, and for a white
their hearts communed together. Then they went
hand in hand to the road, where old Ratan’s one
horse wagon stood. Josh had stolen it from tha
stable. •
Josh lifted Jemima in. It was no easy task, fo»
she weighed over three hundred; but love nerved
his arms. Our hero applied the whip, and they wera
soon flying along the road at a terrible rate of speed..
Suddenly they heard the sound of hoofs in their
rear, and a stern voice like muffled thunder reached
their ears:
“ Halt, you villain!”
“ Oh, ’tis father! he has discovered us,” sobbed
Jemima, burying her face in her hands.
“ Git up, Roan!' Git up!” shouted Josh, and tha
old mare put forth her fastest feet.
“ Stop, you thieving rascal 1” yelled the unnatural
parient, and he pressed his spurs into his horse's
sides.
“ Hurry up, Roan, blast you!” And the whip fell
upon Roan’s back like the teacher’s rod did on tha
author’s once.
On they went, Josh gaining a little, but old Ratan
did not think of giving up the pursuit. He knew old.
Roan had a load to pull, and that his horse could tira
her down.
Suddenly, some idea struck him. It must have
struck him hard, for he nearly fell from the saddle.
“Halt!” he screamed. “The bridge over Elk
Creek is gone! It was washed away this morning 1”
But the lovers heard him not, and they were rapid
ly nearing destruction. About eleven miuutes later,
they felt themselves borne through tho air, and then
they—wagon and all—fell into the dark waters. Ra
tan reached the banks of the stream a moment later.
“Gone!” he cried. “ Oh! that I should have been
the cause of this ! Oh! my children! I forgive you;
but it is too late! ”
“No, ’ tain’t neither!” yelled a voice. “Wears
saved! We have lodgedin this here tree. Come to
the place where you hear my voice, and you can sav®
us.”
It was Josh who spoke. Old Ratan went as Josh
directed, and, with his aid, the lovers, wet as drowned
rats, were landed on shore. Old Roan and the wagon
were not to bo seen. Why ? Because it was too ’tar
nal dark.
Ratan embraced the lovers, called them his chil
dren, and returned to the house.
CHAP THE AMEN.
CONCLUSION.
A wedding took place in the Ratan House the nexl
week, and our hero and heroine were married. They
conducted themselves nobly, and received the bless
ings of the best piece of Ratan in the State. Their
wedding tour extended to Niagara Falls, which Josh
declared would be “a good place for a flutter mill.”
We leave Josh and his bride to enjoy married life,
while we lay aside our pen.
I must mention here that old Roan was found tha
next morning after the elopement. She was quite
dead. Poor animal.
THE END.
Note.—l was offered an immense sum for thia
novel, by Mr. Bonner; but I would not sell it to him,
as it was written exjjressly for the Dispatch. Imme
diately after writing it, I was stricken down with tha
hypothesis, from which, thanks to my stubbornness,
I nave recovered. The Auihob.
As a mitigation of Mr. “Spots” pathos, which
in the foregoing story he lays on rather heavy,
we submit, inclosing a few
SCINTILLATIONS.
An intolerable bore, having talked
a friend nearly out of his senses, finally struck out
on “ the oyster,” which he called “ one of the most
remarkable specimens of creative wisdom extant,”
when his friend interrupted him, and “ closed tha
debate,” with the exclamation, “ The oyster! Ah,
yes, the oyster is a glorious fellow: he always knotus
when to shut up!”
Why is a young lady, just left board
ing school, like a building committee? Because sha
is ready to receive proposals.
If a stupid speaker has prodigious
lungs, he will fill with his voice the largest house—
and empty it too.
Many love the music of the “ wind
ing horn.” But a cow has winding 1 horns with no
music in them.
Ladies should never put pins in
their mouths; their lips should be roses without
thorns. ,
If a man has nothing to say, he is
sure to take much time and use many words in say*
ing it.
A piano affords a young lady a
chauca to show box flcgexillg and Soger-riugs.
7

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