OCR Interpretation

New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, February 05, 1871, Image 7

Image and text provided by Library of Congress, Washington, DC

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85026214/1871-02-05/ed-1/seq-7/

What is OCR?

Thumbnail for 7

Sunday Edition. February 5.
BY C. de G.
The reign of terror was at its height; entire
ly unrestrained, tha mob literally ran the
streets with blood. The sufferings of
Louis and Marie Antoinette during the period
of their confinement in the Tuileries, and their
incarceration in the Temple uj> to the hour of
their death, were excruciating in the extreme.
At six different times the mob’broke into the
Tuileries and murdered the attendants of the
unfortunate king. At one incursion, the Swiss
Guard, a magnificent body of men, offering a
steady resistance, were cut to pieces man by
man and tbeir mutilated remains flung about
the state apartments, the mob shouting the
while—“ Thus we serve all friends of the Roy
al Assassin!”
Law was turned about and debased to suit
the hatreds and dislikes of the savage populace,
and daily hundreds of the nobility and gentry
of unhappy France were arrested, underwent
the mockery of a trial, and were dondemned to
death. In many cases the ferocious mob wait
ed outside the court and cut'down the con
demned as they passed out. So bloodthirsty
were the degraded brutes, that they would not
wait the few days that must elapse before the
Victims could be guillotined.
Waxing fiercer each day, this consuming fire
Of lust and bloodthirstiness raged throughout
Paris, and to enumerate one-tenth of the, acts
of atrocious cruelty perpetrated by the mob,
Would fill volumes.
An attempt having been made by the king
and queen to escape from France, the National
Assembly sentenced them to the Temple,
prison fortress of dismal exterior and fearful
discomfort, near the Bastille. Luring their
confinement in this prison, the royal family
were subjected to every conceivable insult.
Scarcely a day passed but tlfeir chamber was
invaded by bodies of lawless men, who, sur
rounding them, threatened them with instant
death if they refused to shout “Long live the
holy Republic !” “ Death to the King I”
Louis was compelled to wear the hideous
hateful cap of liberty to pacify his ferocious
visitors. Once the barbarians brought a rough,
model of the Bastille and guillotine.
“There!” exclaimed a huge brute, snatching
at the dauphine as he stood by his father’s
side. “There, young tyrant, are some pre
sents for you. This,” thrusting the model of
the Bastille into bis hands, “your father can
tell you something about; and this,” pushing
forward the miniature guillotine, “you’ll know
all about yourself before long.”
Shouts of savage laughter followed the brutal
speech, and the mob jeered the shrinking boy,
who flung the hideous toy aside, and sprang to
his mother.
In a tew weeks another order came from the
Convention. The king and queen were to be
separated and confined in different parts of the
Temple, and all their attendants were to be
taken from them, and the turnkeys substi
tuted in their stead.
The hour of parting between Louis and his
devoted Marie was one of most excruciating
anguish, and the loving, sorrowing pair prayed
With agony for a speedy death.
The turnkey allowed to the king, by name
Mackey, by nature a brutal beast, treated Louis
with the greatest insolence and barbarity.
Once, indeed, he had the audacity to strike
the king across the face, and frequently he
rendered the food portioned out for Louis un
fit for eating, by pouring dirty water over it.
To sum up, every conceivable indignity and
insult that can be imagined was heaped
upon the head of the unfortunate monarch,
and the time spent between the separation
from his wife and the decision of the conven
tion, was one of unmitigated suffering and
After wrangling for thirty days like a parcel
of hungry, cowardly curs, the body of men
styled the convention, decided to put the fate
of the king to the vote—exile or death.
There were 721 votes—334 voted for exile,
and 387 for death.
The messenger sent to communicate the de
cision of the council, being a friend of the
king’s, could not speak his evil tidings for the
tears that choked his utterance. He fell at
his feet speechless.
Louis, calm and resigned, himself spoke the
word that he read in the agitation of his
• The last parting between the king and his
family is matter of history ; what need we tell
o’f the tears and groans, the sorrow and de
spair of the royal family. Enough that Louis
torn himself from tbeir trembling, detaining
grasp, and left them to the mercy of the infu
riated mob whose hungry maw he was first to
The dreadful fate that betel tne greater par* l
of the besiegers of Zutani’s palace enraged the
mob to madness. At first, they were stunned
by tho horrible vengeance that had overtaken
them ; then they declared the whole was but a
plot designed by the aristocrats to destroy
them, and, with fearful curses and ferocious
shouts, they seized Victor Delacourt and sev
eral of the officers of the guards, and made
them prisoners.
The Count d’Orne had disappeared. With
frantic shouts, a portion of the mob attempted
to dig out from among tho huge heap of dust
and rubbish the mangled bodies of their fero
cious fellows. It was impossible; the tremen
dous pile had fallen at one blow, and mass
ive marble pillars and iron rafters were min
gled with, and weighed down, the magnificent
For days and weeks, the mob worked with
almost superhuman energy, and at last suc
ceeded m dragging a few* mangled remains,
among which were the bodies of Bacotin and
the tiger. All trace of the sorcerer, as the
mob called Zutani, had disappeared. It was
tho general belief that he had rendered him
self, by the exercise of his black art,’invisible,
and a shudder of horror and awe ran through
the savage crowd whenever his name was men
Almost as marvelous was the disappearance
of the Count d’Orne. As the fearful sound of
the falling mansion rang horribly on tho air,
the count had left Victor Delacourt’s side and
made his way out of the dense crowd. In the
confusion and terror that followed the dread
ful catastrophe, - bis disappearance had not
been noticed, so that he had several hours in
which to make good his escape.
His sudden flight served to confirm the sus
picion of the mob that they had been betrayed
by the aristocrats, and a fiercer fire of hate
burst in their bosoms, and they thirsted with
a greater thirst for the blood of every one
bearing noble name or title.
The king and queen, at that time, were fast
prisoners, and daily the Convention, as the
asssembly of brutal men was styled, fought
over the sentence that was to be dealt out to
the unfortunate monarchs. Many were the
punishments more or less proposed by half
drunken, wholly degraded men, as deserved by
Hie man who was unfortunate enough to be
their king, but the general cry and result, as
we have seen, Was “Death!”
Tho mob had a new plaything, too, a toy
that rendered them everlasting delight—the
guillotine. While the Convention were fight
ing over the fate of the king, the brutal mob
had no scruples in sacrificing the aristocracy.
Daily, aye, hourly, the boards of the dread
instrument were wet with fresh blood, and the
crowds that thronged, shouting and yelling at
its hideous base seemed stationary, so seldom
was the guillotine idle.
About a week after the fall of the “ sor
cerer’s” house, a larger mob than usual yelled
and cursed around its bloody toy, and amid the
roars of ribaldry and insult that issued from
the rabble, an occasional shout of “The Be
trayer !” could be heard.
Evidently some person whom the people
hated with an intense hatred was doomed to
feed the monster that morn, for as the con
demned cart was observed slowly coming
through the narrow lane of human beings, or
brutes, a hoarse yell burpt from the million
throats, and cries of “The betrayer comes!”
from those near the scaffold gave notice to the
jnob at the back of the approach of the victim.
Sbated on the side of the rough cart was a
young man in the prime of life, but with such
a wan, haggard face, that one would have set
him down as an old man with a youthful
figure. He seemed indifferent, indeed, almost
unconscious, of everything around, and never
lifted his eyes for a moment from the bottom
of the vehicle.
Beside, and holding on to the side of the
cart, stood a sister of mercy. Her face was
entirely hidden by the black folds of her hood,
which was drawn closely around her, but her
low voice was offering ghostly comfort, and
ever and anon she raised an ebony crucifix be
fore the eyes of the doomed
With a jerk the cart stopped at the foot of
the scaffold, and an executioner roughly helped
•the man to the ground.
With firm steps the condemned mounted tho
slippery board, and with careless grace al
lowed the executioner to unfasten hia necktie
and remove his coat.
Then, as he turned to the people, a roar
greeted him, and a thousand voices yelled his
Dame with every imaginable insult.
“ Victor Delacourt, betrayer of tho people!
Assassin and murderer!”
Still, with the same unchanged face, he lis
tened to the words of peace and comfort the
sister faltered out. Suddenly, as the execu
toiner came up and roughly commanded him
to lay his head upon the plank, the sister’s
Voice broke into a sob, and with a sudden
movement she threw aside her hood and dis
closed her features.
With a start of surprise, Victor Delacourt ex
I “Merciful God 1 Euphroso Bordeauxl ”
’ “ Victor !** was the only word that broke out
through her sobs ; but what a word that was 1
A word of love, of pity, of mortal anguish.
Victor Delacourt’s face changed, and soften
ed for the first and last time, as he stooped
and kissed her hand.
“ Heaven forgive me!” he murmured, hoarse
ly, “ and reward you.”
The next moment there was a flash of steel
la ths ai tE3 dull, sickly thud Of the fallen
blade, and tho sorrows of Victor Delacourt
wore at an cud.
St. James’s, London. The novelist travois
quicker than steam, and transports ins read
ers from Paris to England in two words.
It. is a dark, foggy night, and the few per
sons that are about the purlieus of the fash
ionable quarter hurry along as if they cared
not how soOn they reached the shelter of their
homes, and the warmth of their firesides.
In one long narrow street at tbq back of tho
mam thoroughfares, the houses are tall and
look mysterious, and there are dim lights ever
flitting behind crimson curtains that hang be
hind the narrow windows.
One house on the right hand side, unlike
the rest, is lit up with unusual brilliancy, and
streams of light flash through the window and
penetrate the fog like the gleam from some
sea-beaten lighthouse.
Sounds of laughter and shrieking, sometimes
of merriment, sometimes of mad pain, ring
from the mysterious house, and so loud do the
various noises become that an old gentleman
hurrying past, stops and gazes at the first floor
window from whence the lights and noises pro
Suddenly, while he still stands regarding
the house, a burst of mad laughter, louder and
fiercer than any before, bursts out upon the
night air, the window is.thrown up with a jerk,
and a something—merciful heaven! a woman—
is thrown out!
She falls with a sickening sound right at the
old gentleman’s feet, and ne, with an exclama
tion of Jiorror, starts with astonishment, then
bends over the fallen heap, and tries to raise
her head.
As he her face up, tho light from a
street lamp falls across it, and the gentleman
steps back, with a muttered “ Mon l)ieu !”
The tone of bis voice soems to rouse the
wretched woman, for she opens her eyes, and
fixes them on her companion.
It was her turn now to express astonishment.
With a coarse oath, and a sign of recognition,
she beckoned her companion closer to her
side. As he bends over her again, she mur
murs :
“You know mo ?”
“ Yes,” was the troubled reply. “The Count
ess Lamotte. Let me call for help.”
“ No, no,” was the reply, while a bitter smile
lit up the wrecked face oi tho onco celebrated
beauty. “No, no. What use? You call for
ho/p, the police will come. To them, a person
lying in the streets must be intoxicated ; they
would take me to prison. You do not know
London as well as I do, Count d’Orne.”
“You know me, too?” says the count, for it
was he.
“ Aye, I know you,” was the faint reply. “ I
never forget a face, never. Leave mo alono,
you cannot give me any ease—this is my death
blow. What house is this, and who flung me
out? This is a gaming house and a brothel,
and they all thrust me out because—because
they fancied I was too sharp with the cards.
Curse them 1 they have killed me at last.”
Lying as she had fallen, the dying countess
breathed out the last words with unblushing
effrontery and rancorous hatred, and the count
shuddered as he listened. .
Could he believe his senses! This shattered
wreck, with painted and hollow cheeks, with
curses and oaths upon her lips and mock jew
elry upon her hands and ears—the famous
Countess of Lamotte, the beauty of France,
and leader of Faris fashion !
With pitying, yet shuddering tones, he in
quired how she had reached England.
“As you did, by my wits,” was the reply,
with a light laugh that came horribly with the
short gasps of breath.
“ Dodged and dodged until I gave the sleepy
keepers the slip. Id was a mercy I left the
cursed France before the mob broke out. They
had a fine time of it, I hear. Ah! let your
‘people,’your ‘ nation,’ get the upper hand,
and they will show very soon that they are
brutes, devils, and not men. And you—you
escaped ?”
“Yes,” replied the count, sadly ; “I and tho
countess fled by night, and crossed in a small
fishing smack—but enough of my affairs, let
me get you some help.”
“No, no,” moaned the dying woman.
“At least,” urged the count, “let me carry
you to the end of the street. My bouse is at
the corner.”.
“ Your house I” exclaimed the countess.
“No, no, the house of the Count d’Orne is not
a fitting place for such as I am. No, let me
die here, here on the streets as I have lived—
here on the pavement where I have earned my
cursed bread! here, where all such women as
the Countess- Lam.otte should die. Leave me
alone, I say!”
“But listen!” she continued, weakly, her
voice growing hoarser and weaker, and her
breath coming in short and painiul gasps.
The count on his knees, bent down nis ear
that he might catch her struggling words.
“That affair of the Diamond Necklace—the
queen was innocent—l swear it! Do you hear,
1 swear it! Oh, God! what a vile wretch 1
have been ! It was planned and carried out—
the whole of it, by Rohan and myself, and—
and he shared the profits. It is the truth, I
call heaven to witness! I—l ”
The voice stopped, the breath died away and
mingled with the fog, and the spirit left tho
shattered body to find its home—where?
Gladly we leave the scene of so many hor
rors, and ask the reader to fly with us to the
land of everlasting beauty and romance—
Amid a clump of green trees, whose leaves
rustle softly in the gentle breeze’, and whose
boughs cast deep shadows on the velvet grass,
is a picturesque cottage. Not over large, not
pretentious, yet possessing abeauty that would
fill the soul of a painter with delight.
Long creeping plants have wrapped its sides
and roof in a garment of bright green leaves
and flashing scarlet blossom, and the birds
have found a home amid its thin branches, and
warble their songs from sunrise to sunset.
The curl of smoke which rises looks white'
against the blue of the Italian sky, and the
sun, as it pours through the trees, lights up
the yellow thatched cottage, and journeys on
until it reaches the surface of a brawling river
that runs within a few yards of the door, touch
ing with a finger of light a white cross that
stands beneath the trees, with this inscription
upon its smooth marble surface :
“ Gerome Paulini. ‘ There the wicked cease
from troubling and the weary are at rest.’ ”
In the distance is the ever-smiling scenery
of the ever-smiling land, forming a fitting
background to the perfectly beautiful spot
where the cottage stands. Who is the owner
of this modern Eden ?
Hush ! Two figures are coming through the
doorway of tho cottage—man and wife. The
woman is lovely with a perfect loveliness—the
loveliness of a happy heart. The man- might
be a king, so majestic is his figure, so noble is
his face, lit up as it is by the smile of gentle
tenderness, as he looks down upon the girl at
his side.
Who are they ? Hush ! again. They speak.
“Is it not beautiful ?” the woman says, shad
ing her bright eyes with a hand white and
small as a child’s.
“Yes, very beautiful, my darling,” replies
the man. “And you love the beautiful, Yio
“Ah, yes,” was the instant reply. “And
you ?” J*
“ Yes, and I, too';' do I not love you ?”
A bright, happy blush was her only re
sponse, but she crept a little closer to his side,
and her hand toyed with his long white fingers.
For a minute or two they stand gazing at
the scene, then Zutani, for it is he, puts his
arm round the beautiful girl’s waist and draws
her tightly to him.. She stays willingly leaning
on his breast, her eyes looking up into his with
•the wrapt look of an infinite love, and her lips
parted slightly to let the breath of happiness
pass freely.
“You are happy, Violeta?” whispers Zutani.
“Happy!” is the reply, while a smile passes
over her face like the gleam of the sun on a
field of fair flowers. “So happy,” she mur
murs, a grave look for a moment coming into
her eyes, “ that I fear to die, for heaven cannot
be more beautiful than this!”
Zutani pends his head and kisses‘her pas
sionately once, twice and thrice.
“ And you, are you happy ?” she asked, in a
low tone, anxiously watching his face.
“Happy, my sweet love,” he replies, “aye,
happier than you, if it were possible, for I have
known much sorrow, seen much sin and mis
ery, and this life that is -like an everlasting
song of fove and joy is Paradise indeed to mo.
But were not all this so beautiful, the singing
of the birds, and the rippling of tne river, the
rustle of the leaves, and light upon the trees
and fields, I should be happy, aye, happier
than all men, did I but hold you to my heart as
I hold you now!”
For a moment there is a silence, Zutani’s
hand playing with the silken mass of hair that
floats over the fair shoulders of the beautiful
Then Violeta speaks again :
“Ah, yes, we should be happy! When I
think of the fearful time when you sent me
away from you, sleeping and unconscious, and
I awoke in the dark, damp vaults under ground,
and, asking for you, was told, with heads
turned aside, and choking voices, that you
would come presently. Oh! how fearful it
was 1 My heart seemed turned to ice within
my breast. I thought you were dead, and—
and I asked more and more, and they answered
me in shaking tones and hesitating voices.
Then 1 thought you had fallen into the hands
of the dreadful men you have told me about
since, and I could not weep—only stand wring
ing my hands, and praying to die and go to
you, for I knew that the merciful God would
not keep me from you after death. And then,
when I thought my heart would surely break,
I heard your step coming along the gloomy
passage, and the next moment you sprang to
ward me, and caught me in your arms, and I
remember that your face was cqvered with
blood, and your hands and your clothes all
smothered in dust and dirt; but I did not care,
I think, so that I felt your kisses on my Tips, if
you were hurt; enough for me that you were
alive, and God had given you into my arms
Hera the girl’s voice trembles and breaks,
and a sob finishes her last words.
“Hush, hush, my darling!” murmurs Zu
tani, smoothing her long hair, and pressing
her head tenderly upon his breast. “Hußh.
my sweet love. Do you not remember you
wore to forgot that ternate night ?”
“Ah! but I cannot forgot. Is it not naugh
ty? Try as I will, it comes upon me, even in
the night, and sometimes I dream you have
sent me away again; but, as I wake with
fright, I leel your arms round mo, and know
that the past has all faded and gone, and that
we are living a life of perfect happiness, in tho
present, and leave the future to ileaven!”
“Dream no dreams.but sweet ones, my dar
ling,” replies Zutani. “ And now, come, for I
hear Rose and Maon announcing supper.”
And tho two— man and wile—pass through
the sunlight, and, entering the cottage, are
gone from our sight for evermore.
I Original. 1
Betrayed and the Betrayer.
It was a pitiless storm. The wind-driven
rain beat fitlully against the windows ot a car
riage that was slowly making its way through
the mud of the almost deserted streets of New
York city. There were two persons in it—one
a woman of perhaps two-and-twenty years, of
rare beauty, hair of raven blackness, drawn
back Irom a sweet brow, and eyes as black as
her hair, that flashed through her tears as she
occasionally looked- anxiously out into the
gloomy night.
The o-tlier was a man. He was seated op
posite to her, ana had maintained a strict si
lence for a long time. But suddenly he
aroused, leaned forward, with ills elbows upon
his knees and Ins chin resting upon bis hands,
and regarded his companion with a derisive
smile, that gave his dark, olive face almost a
diabolidal expression, and said : ’
“Come, come, aren’t you through with your
self-upbraiding and sentimental nonsense?
Are you not about ready to rehearse the pretty
part assigned you, like a dutiful wife ? Brace
up your nerves. You know the role well. It
is not very hard. A repentant daughter seeks
her dear papa and sinks weeping upon her
knees. By Jove, Cassie! you look grand in
tears. You know you are to say how very sor
ry you are that you ran away, and all that sort
of thing. Then, alter you have sued lor for
giveness and been very penitent, you will easi
ly convince him that a small sum of money—
only five thousand dollars—is absolutely nec
essary tor your dear husband. You have not
forgotten tne most telling part, my dear —that
your husband is so kind and loving, and the
very best of men,- oven though only a poor art
ist. And—but here we are at the door, so
please prepare yourself for the little farce.”
As he finissed speaking, the carriage drew
up ami paused in front of a beautiful mansion.
Ine woman leaned toward the window, looked
out for an instant at the home of her child
hood, and then burst into an uncontrollable fit
of weeping, and between her sobs implored
him to nave the carriage driven on.
“In Heaven’s name!” she exclaimed, “do
not step here for another instant! I shall go
mad 1 Drive on—l entreat, I command you 1
I will not go to that good, noble man, my fa
ttier, with a he upon my tongue and deception
in my face. You may crush me, you may de
grade me, you mav kill me, but I will not de
ceive my poor father again!”
In a voice hoarse with passion, he com
manded the coachman to drive around the
block, and lifting her with almost brutal force
from the bottom of the carriage, where she
had fallen in her pleading, and pushing her
rudely back upon the cushions, he'answered,
with an oath that caused her to shudder and
grow pale:
“I have had enough of this, my fine lady.
Mind you, I came all the way from our exile in
Europe to bleed your old governor, and I will
do it by fair means or foul. Have you any rec
ollection of Joe Blodgett ?”
The woman shuddered still more violently at
the mention of the name, but did .not answer,
and he continued:
“He is my man, since you fail me. I camo
across him yesterday in Broadway, and told
him io call at our elegant lodgings to-morrow
night. I hinted at a profitable job. You see,
my beauty, I though t very likely you would
turn sentimental, knowing your wonderful
reverence, year parental devotion. Hark ye,
madam 1 since the farce has failed, I will have
a tragedy. I can readily draw a plan of the
house for my particular friend Blodgett, so
that he can find ms way without trouble to the
old saint’s bed-room, with a barker in his hand
and a kniie in his belt. These arguments will,
I fancy, persuade your father to give a few
thousands to his dear and needy son-in-law, in
case Joe don’t find the cash before he wakens.
It can’t fail, my darling. He will have a trusty
friend to search for him while he guards the
miserly old (gentleman. If he wakes up and
attempts to make a rumpus, you see it will bo
all rigut, as he can be silently and easily qui
eted, and my sweet little wife will come in for
her share ot the spoils, according tojaw, which
would bo better than the few thousands we
should get the other way—don’t you think so,
my love ?”
As he unfolded his diabolical plot to rob, and
perhaps murder, the good old man, the woman
shrank still further away from him. Her little
hands were clasped so tightly together that the
nails became purple, and hen beautiful eyes
were fixed upon the wretch with an expression
.of the most abject fear. She knew Alphonse
Duvernay to be guilty of many crimes, but she
never had dreamed of this. She knew that he
was a gambler of the blackest dye. She had
slowly awakened to the fact, in a foreign land,
and in sackcloth and ashes had repented her
elopement and marriage with the impostor who
came to her as a poor but honest music-teach
er, with a romantic story of being an exile, and
so won the love of her sympathetic and pure
The youngest of a large family, who were all
married, she was the pride and joy of her wid
owed father ; but when he heard of tho adven
turer’s pretensions to the hand of his darling,
sternly forbade him the house. But Cassie
Middleton was naturally of a petulant, self
willed temper, had been spoiled by indulgence,
and despite her parent’s commands, continued
to secretly meet the impostor, and the villian
succeeded, as all villains do who have once
gamed a woman’s ear and h'erpily.
Only convince them that you are a martyr,
and abused, and down-trodden, and they will
go to the world’s end with you—will leave home
and brave an unknown fate. And Cassie Mid
dleton believed her “ dear Alphonsi.e ” to be
the victim of her faoher’s unjust and tyrannic
al prejudice, and easily yielded to his offer to
marry. and take her to his ancestral home,
which he pretended was a beautiful castle in
Erance—an ancient, turreted and moated cas
tle, flanked by grim towers and guarded by
drawbridges, over which armed veterans were
accustomed to sally in the Feudal days and
drive the assailants back.
And believing this, she, poor dupe, married
him, and went in her blindness to the sunny
land of vineyards and song she had often
longed to see—went to find a bitbor awakening
from her roseate dreams.
The castle proved to be one builded in the
air, and before three months of wifehood had
passed, she was doomed to sue for even bis
presence. Confined in the cheapest of lodg
ings, she was lelt alone, while he spent his
days and most of bis nights in the lowest of
gaming houses. All alone she would have
been in strange and sinful Paris had not her
maid, Rosa, with unflinching fidelity, followed
and clung to her .through every privation and
trial, and shielded her from the wrath of her
husband when the letters she had written to
her father wore returned unopened, and the
remittances be had hoped for were not sent.
Nearly a year of such misery rendered her
almost desperate, and in an hour of semi-mad
ness, she had promised to try and win again
her father’s love and forgiveness if be (her
husband) would take her back to her native
land. Harrassed by debts on every side that
there was no possibility of paying, he was only
too glad to comply, and the ocean was re
crossed, and they took lodgings at a second
rate hotel in an obscure part of the city.
Very often had she written to her father
without receiving any reply; but Alphonse
Duvernay, though baffled was not discouraged.
He had almost forced her into a carriage de
termined that she should go home, and trust
ing that her tears and penitence would soften
the heart of the old man—that he would then
liberally supply their wants and furnish him
with means to follow his passion for gaming.
But her horror at acting such a part, when nut
to the test, had again thwarted him, and di
recting the driver to return to the hotel, he
laughed brutally at his poor wife’s terror of
the proposed robbery. Her fine nature could
endure no more. She.fell back upon the cush
ions, her hands relaxed their convulsive grasp
—she had fainted.
The carriage stopped at the hotel, and with
the assistance ot the driver her husband car
ried her up to their room, and gave her into
the charge of the faithful Rosa. But for hours
she remained insensible. Terror and exhaus
tion had completely prostrated her, and Rosa
never left her side for a single instant during
the. long night and when reason and life
again asserted their power, Cassie lay with her
arms tightly locked around her neck, and told
m broken whispers of the terrible ride and her
husband’s desperate plans of robbery, if not
Then, after an hour of calm thought, she
arose and dressed herself with extreme care,
and with the light of a new and fixed purpose
flashing from her eyes.
“ Dear, faithful friend and servant,” she said,
“ did you ever hear of a woman’s betraying her
own husband ? Betraying him to certain pun
ishment, if not execution? Do you think I
would Rave the courage to do what is right, -no
matter what the consequences maybe? You
have been with me, Rosa, through every trial,
and you know of that man’s cruel neglect and
harsh treatment—know of his misrepresenta
tions—of many of his crimes, and you must
acknowledge that though I have ceased to
either respect or love him, I have still endeav
ored to do my wifely duty, hoping to win him
back to honor and virtue.”
“My poor, dear mistress,” was all that the
sobbing girl was able to reply.
“ But last night—it is a terrible thing for. a
wife to say of the husband she once loved
to adoration—last night I found I hated huu
who has ruined all my prospects in life—who
lured me to disooev and leave my father in his
old ago, and who would now diive a knife into
his heart and stain his white hairs with blood.
Horror I 1 muse not—dare not think oi it. He
has made his plans, and so have I. lam ccol
and calm enough now, though I have been
weak and vacilatmg in tho past, and Asphonse
Duvernay will find that the same strength and
courage that took mo away from home will
sustain me now. I shall have to use a little.
deception, Rosa ; but surely the end I have in
view will sanctify as well as’justify the means.
Is ho up ?”
“I think not, madam.”
“I must speak to him. He is a deep and
dangerous man, will guard me closely, espe
cially after tho episode of last night. Go and
see if he is awake.”
“He is sipping his coffee,” replied the girl
-returning, “lying upon the sofa and sipping
his coffee, and looking over the newspaper as
if he was tho grand lurk, or the great Count
he made us believe he was—bad luck to him.”
Tho wronged wife drew herself up, and with
a stately step walked into the little sitting
room where her husband was lying in indolent
ease. He glanced up as she entered, looked at
her for a moment with an impudent stare of
surprise, gave a prolonged wnistle and then,
with a scowling face, asked :
“What’s up now, Cassie? Going to peach
are you, mistress ? Blood is up 1 see. Eyes
like diamonds, and cheeks like damask roses.
By Jove! you are a splendid looking woman at
times. Pity to waste it all upon one man 1 If
I fail in my new undertaking I mean you shall
make our fortune. Perhaps the stage or the
opera would be your forte, who knows ?”
School herself as she would, she could not
hide from her husband the loathing and dis
gust she felt for him, and walking to the win
dow, looked out with a sick and heavy heart.
But after struggling with, and nerving herself
for a few moments, she returned, and bringing
with her a chair, took a seat directly in front
of him, fastened her burning eyes upon his
ever restless ones, and m a voice that fell with
an icy chill upon his ear :
“Alphonse, I am determined to save you
from your premeditated crime—your terrible
and unnatural one. I am going to force my
self into the presence of my father—state our
great, needs and sue upon my knees for par
don and assistance.”
“ Are you sure you will ? Certain that there
will be no turning back ? Or are you playing
me false, and going to turn states evidence
against you, lawful husband? Look ye, my
lady, if you eyer dream of such a thing, I
swear by all that is holy, I will be revenged,
even if I wade in your blood to accomplish it.”
He arose with the words—dashed the cup
from which he had been drinking to the floor,
.ground it to powder under his heel. His an
ger was terrible to witness—his face had all
the malignity of a fiend. Yet she shrank not
from it—did not even tremble at the upraised
hand. She had nerved herself for the fiery or
deal through which she was now passing,* and
would face it boldly to the bitter end.
“ But, no, no,” he continued, lowering both
arm and voice. “No, you are too proud to
have it blazoned to the world that Alphonse
Duvernay—your husband, and the son-in-law
of Charles Middleton—was arrested for bur
glary, or counterfeiting, or contemplated mur
der. Yes, I will trust you ; and this is a grand
day to go. It is just one year since you fled to
these sneltering arms. Yes, go, and may good
luck attend you.”
With a jo*yful heart at having quieted the
suspicions of her husband, she summoned
Rosa, and departed. But when she came
within sight of the house, hallowed by so many
recollections, her courage almost failed, and,
had it not been for the cheering words of her
servant, she would have"Tven then turned
“Go on, my dear lady,” whispered Rosa.
“ Go on ; God will bless and free you frbm the
power of that base man.”
With trembling feet, she passed up the broad
and familiar steps; with trembling, fingers,
she rang the bell and presented the card (with
the name of a client of her father’s upon it)
she had prepared. Ushered into the reception
room, she sank heavily into a chair, and with
groat difficulty could kebp back the tears.
The carpet upon the floor, the books upon the
table, the pictures upon the walls, appeared to
speak to her. The’merry laughter of other
days rang again in her-ears; she could hear
her sisters’ voices and her father’s blessing as
they were gathered at the dinner-table.
Ah ! how memory ran riofc then, and, sinking
back into the cushioned chair, she wondered if
her coming unbidden would not render the
day more bright, and especially for her beloved
father. But, fortunately for her resolution',
she was not kept long in suspense. The strain
would have been far too great upon her nerves
—she could not have endured it, but would
have dashed out of the house and fled like a
guilty thing, had she been left to herself for any
great length of time.
“ Mr. Middleton will seo you, madam.”
They followed the servant through the long
hall; the door was opened noiselessly, and she
stood in the same room with her father. Alas!
how changed he was since the last time she
had seen him. The hair then but slightly
tinged with gray, was now of snowy whiteness,
the proud and erect form bent, and there was
a sad expression in his face, entirely the re
verse of that before she had stung him with
Before he could rise she rushed forward, and
throwing herself upon his breast, twined her
arms around his neck, and m convulsive sobs
begged for his forgiveness. The old man half
arose, and tremblingly endeavored to put her
away. His lips appeared to utter a refusal,
but no sound escaped them.
“ Oh! father—my dear father,” she exclaimed,
with all the energy of agonizing desfair, “ do
not drive your poor prodigal away. Do not
turn from me, but listen to your poor, erring,
but innocent child.”
His eyes rested upon her face for a moment.
There was something in it that reminded him
of his loved and lost wife, and bis heart yearned
toward her. Still, he must be just as well as
generous, and, gently forcing ner to take a
seat, he commanded her, in a husky voice, to
go on.
“Father, I come to yqu for protection—
come to save you That wicked man—oh!
Heaven, that I must call him so—my husband,
meditates robbing you this very night, and
failing in that, to take your life. I have come
to disclose all, and ask you to shield me from
his vengeance.”
For a few moments ne could not reply. He
looked fixedly at her, and she fancied that he
doubted her word, and hurriedly continued :
“ Father, I speak the truth. For the love of
heaven believe me—believe me, and save
He saw that there was no deception, no guile
in her face. Then his old eyes ran over with
tears. He stretched out his thin hands, gath
ered her to his breast, and the glittering drops
fell upon her midnight hair, and quivered like
diamonds. A long and holy communion of
hearts followed. Very much of suffering was
related—all the plans of Alphonse Duvernay
told. Then Rosa was summoned from her long
and anxious watch without, and a messenger
dispatched for a skillful detective.
A short conversation with the father and
daughter placed him m possession of the facts,
and in less than an hour the treacherous Du
vernay was gnashing his teeth within the
strong walls and behind the heavy iron grates
of a prison—from thence to only pass out to
merited punishment.
Ciasped in her sister’s arms, the tears of the
repentant wife were soon changed to some
thing very near akin to smiles; and as the
happy father stretched out his hands, and im
plored the blessing of heaven, every heart
went out in thankfulness.
Within a year Cassie was freed by death
from the man who had betrayed her young
love, and led her a life of untold misery.
Another year, and a bridal veil and orange
flowers were twined amid her raven hair, and
she gave her hand to one in every way worthy
of it. Purified and made strong by trial, she
was fitted to adorn the place she occupied at
the head of her father’s house, to soothe and
bless his declining years, and he never failed
to thankfully speak of the day when his lost
lamb was returned to the fold.
An exciting panther hunt took place in Ken
tucky last week. The appearance of wild ani
mals near the the town of Bushvil’le alarmed
the people of the place, and a party was soon
organized for a hunt. Three miles from town
a huge male panther, measuring eight feet
four inches Irom the end of tiro nose to tho tip
of tho tail, and weighing considerably over two
hundred pounds, was killed. His teeth were
almost white as snow, and his claws strong and
sharp. He was comparatively young, and was
fully competent to master a half grown bullock,
at least.’ The beast was klled near the resi
dence of Mr. Burgher. The country around is
very broken, and tne citizens say they have
frequently heard this panther during the last
three months giving unearthly screams. Two
little sons of Mr. Burgher, bearing the dogs
bark upon the side ot the ridge, supposed a
squirrel had been “ treed,” and taking the gun,
went up to shoot it. In a few minutes they re
turned, much frightened, and declared there
was an elephant up the tree, and begged their
father and Messrs. Morrison and H. B. Harri
son, who happened io be present, to go with
them and see it. Having reached the point,
they found, not an elephant, but a huge
panther, resting quietly in the forks of a tree,
some twenty feet irom the ground. They did
not approach very near, but holding a hurried
consultation, Mr. Morrison started immediate
ly to town for men and guns, while Mr. Harri
son galloped off across the country for a vet
eran hunter, leaving Mr. Burgher, his sons
and tho dogs to keep watch over his panther
ship. During their absence, the panther kept,
occasionally giving utterance io a kind of low
purr; raising himself up, brandishing his tail,
and looking down with a contemptuous eye at
the faithful dogs at tho root of tho tree. In a
short time re-enforcements arrived, and assum
ing positions at various points, four of them
fired at oneo into the left shoulder, reserving
the remaining barrels for an emergency.
Luckily, the shots were effectual, and with a
dull, heavy thud, the panther fell to the
ground, his last expiring effort being to knock
one of the dogs about fifteen feet with his right
An Irate Lover Fndeavors to Collect a
Bill of Damages from the Lady who
Jilted Him.
(From Ute Dubuque Telegraph, Jan. 18.)
Some month ago, a most laughable occur
rence transpired in Fort Dodge. A young lady
. possessing the peculiar attractions of beauty
and considerable wealth, and who resided m
the place mentioned tor a considerable time,,
was receiving the attentions of a gentleman
who, rumor whispered, saw naught else about
her to admire than her money. Though
prompt in his attentions, his manner was not
such as to inspire her with a deep respect, and
she tolerated his company partly because she
was averse to dismissing linn, and- partly be
cause no other young gentieman seemed to be
particularly attracted toward hor. However,
she was not permitted to waste her sweetness
on the desert air. An enterprising mechanic
from Dubuque, who had gone to Fort Dodge
to better his condition, aspired and became en
amored of her.
He secured an introduction, cut lover No. 1
out, proposed-marriage, and was accepted—all
within a couple of weeks’ time.
The first lover, naturally, did not like'this
very much, and vowed vengeance. He viewed
the muscular build of his successful rival, and
came to the conclusion that vengeance, in the
way of ‘‘mauling” the rival, could not be
readily obtained without jeopardizing his own
bodily safety. Sq, he wisely adopted another
plan. He seized a pen, procured a piece of
paper, and made out a bill of damages. There
were so many dollars for a ring, so much for a
sleigh ride, so much for the loss of a d-ay’s
work in taking the girl to a county fair, so
much for a “ duck” of a fashionable bonnet,
so much for candy and peanuts—amounting, in
all, to the neat sum of $33 15. This bill was
presented to the lady, but she indignantly re
fused to pay it. Noe discomfited, however,
lover No. 1 bided his time, and when the day
arrived on which the marriage was to take
place, he handed the bill to the officiating
clergyman, with the request that he would see
that it was paid before the ceremony was per
formed. When the couple advanced to the
altar, the bill was handed out, when the lady
gave twenty dollars to her old lover, request
ing that he should consider the matter settled.
He took the proffered lucre, but the soon-to
fye-husband asked to be allowed to look at the
bill. With a wonderful degree of verdancy,
lover No. 1 returned the bill, when the success
ful rival pocketed it, and then, in a tantalizing
manner, told him if he would “onlv whistle
till he got back, he would have a pneker on his
lips for all eternity.” The ceremony was con
cluded, and the parties went home.
Three weeks after, the down-hearted swain
summoned together a couple of friends, and
attacked his rival. The latter, not relishing
the idea of being whipped, picked up a large
club and routed his enemies.
To this day some of them bear the marks of
thftt encounter. It is but just to add that the
Dubuque mechanic has never been interfered
with since, and that he is growing rich and
A. Jealous Female Attempts tlie Life of
Her False Love.
(From the San Francisco Call, Jan. 20.)
Last night, about seven o’clock, a young
woman, named Theresa Young, was arrested
on Washington street, for having fired three
shots from a revolver at John J. Taylor. The
prisoner made a statement of the affair, shortly
after her arrest, which in substance is as fol
lows :
She said that she was employed in a family
to nurse children, and that some time ago she
made the acquaintance of Taylor, and, by ap
pointment, she was in the habit of meeting
him in a room, he had rented on Dupont street:
that about two weeks since she wrote him a
note telling him that she would meet him in
the evening. He failed to come, and she wrote
him several other notes, to which he had failed
to make answer. She began to suspect that
he was untrue to her, and, making inquiries,
ascertained that he was paying his devotions
to another young lady, residing on Powell
street. This made her jealous, and she deter
mined to seek him out for the purpose of hav
ing an explanation. Yesterday afternoon she
saw him on Kearny street, and asked him why
he had not answered her notes, to which be
replied that he did not desire to do so.' She
told him he would have to answer them, and
not run after other women. They separated,
after which she armed herself with a revolver,
and went on Battery street, near Washington,
where she knew he would be at a certain hour,
and waited for him. She saw him, as be en
tered the old Mercants’ Exchange building,
and fired at him as he was going up stairs. As
soon as the first shot was fired, Taylor rushed
upon and disarmed her, and she struggled with
him for the possession of the weapon. She
managed to get it away from him, and dis
charged two more shots at him before she was
a second time disarmed. Neither of the shots
took effect. The prisoner stated that when she
was released, “if he did not stop running with
that other girl, he and her might both receive
what’they would not like.”
The story which went the rounds of the
papers a few days ago, has been slightly modi
fied in its outraged aspect, and the Altoona
(Pa.) Tribune gives a different account from
that which was first published. Mrs. Starr, it
was then alleged, was first drugged and then
outraged by a married man named Feay. The
’ correct version, however, seems to be as fol
lows : She is a lady in humble circumstances,
and was in the habit of frequenting the bouse
of a friend, that she might have the use of a
sewing At this house, among other
characters of doubtful reputation, she met
Feay, and like a certain other married ladies of
whom many have read, the prudes of the
period excepted,, she yielded to the amorous
promptings of nature, forgot her marriage
ties, and “vowing she would ne’er consent,”
consented. After indulging in this course of
shame for some time, that “ conscience which
makes cowards of us all” began to act visibly
on the frail feeling of Mrs. Starr, and she
made candid confession of the whole matter to
her husband, whose devotion knew no bomlds,
and who frankly forgave her, she promising to
reform and never more repeat her acts of
disgrace. It seems sue kept this virtuous re
solution and was intended to preserve in it, till
one day her seducer met her, rated her on her
omission to continue the carousals at the house
of her friend, and threatened to shoot her
if she refused to comply with his libidinous
desires. She went home, and, bursting into
tears, told her husband, who, in a rage, went
and borrowed a pistol, proceeded to the pl>ce
where Feay was at work, and shot at him
several times, wounding him severely. Five of
the bullets took effect, two in the neck (one
which passed out at the mouth), two in the
shoulder, and one in the arm. It is thought,
however, that Feay will recover.
Star subsequently gave himself up, and has
been committed to the prison at Hollidays
burg, until it be seen whether Feay will recover
or not.
Master John Frost has such a firm hold of
everything just now, that it becomes a ques
tion of general interest, when he will, or is
likely to, let go. We will, therefore, begin our
gossip this week with an article from “ Spot,”
which may possibly enlighten us as to the
probable date of the departure of Jack Frost,
as well as on sundry other subjects, which will
naturally come under the head of
During the current year, the following remarka
ble phenomena will occur:
Febbuaby.—lst week. War between Alaska and U.
S. Another worm medicine invented. New York
Police make several arrests. 2d week. Great biz in
Paris. Somebody’s birthday occurs in this week.
3d week. Great conflagration somewhere; ditto no
where. Cows milked on Boston Common. 4th week.
This week being so short, nothing will have time to
transpire therein.
March.—lst week. Treaty of pieces between U. S.
and Alaska, at Dublin. Death of Smith. 2d week.
Moon will rise after dark. Birth of Jones.. 3d week.
Grant vetos the sorosis bid. Specie pavements
resumed. 4th week. End of a long march. Six
Esquimaux frozen to death in New Orleans.
April.—lst week. Brown commits suicide. Smith
elected justice of the peace. Perpetual motion ac
complished. 2d week. Scarcity of hen fruit. Hen
teeth discovered by A. Rooster. 3d week. Changes
in the cabinet. This is supposed to have reference
to undergarments. 4th* week. Deaths from want of
breath. Ben Butler impeached, which causes a rise
in the spoon market. April kicked the bucket.
May.—lst week. People die in Boston. San
Domingo purchased by congressmen for speculating
purposes. 2d week. A double moon visible from
any tavern after 11 P. M. Robison writes an ode
($2 65) to his washerwoman. Grant advises the pur
chase of Tartary. 3d week. Revival of religion in
Ch.cago—by far the strongest phenomenon of the
year. Capital punishment abolished in Congress.
4th week. Congress wisely removes the tax irom
whisky, and puts it on breadstuff’s. Russia cedes
England and Turkey to other European powers.
This eventful mouth closes with a great blessing
upon the Esquimaux—kerosene is introduced among
June. —Ist week. Hall climbs the North Pole. An
improvement in pop-guns. Tweed flourishes in New
York. The Fenians kill Canada. 2d week. Jones
writes the history of the family in four million vol
umes. Congress orders the massacre qf every Chi
nee in the United States; great rejoicing among the
rats. 3d week. Juggernaut commits suicide. lowa
obliterated from the map by grasshoppers. Change
in railroad time tables and stands. Jones dies. 4th
week. Great congregating of painted butterflies at
Long Branch. Niagara falls. Rise in the balloon
July.—lst week. Celebration of the Independence
of Declaration by the civil rights bill. Children
born young in Salt Lake. Suspension of the Squash
vilie Democrat. 2d week. Candia licked by an army
of juveniles. Terra Alba mercilessly butchered. 3d
week. General strike of the washerwomen. St. An
thony’s fall—ankle sprained. 4th week. George
Washington bitten by mad dogs. Three men con-
verted in Cincinnati—this willmot re-occur until the
year 2097.
August.—l?t week, A crazy Turk pumps the Black
Sea dry after night. A reporter pumps Grant; noth
ing obtained. Greeley buys a new hat. after donat
ing the old one to the Paris Antediluvian Society,
2d week. The sun refuses to shine for all- H. G.'s
supp'y of premium turnips exhausted. 3d week.
War begins between the United States aud New Jer
sey, Franklin’s privilege abolished by Congress,
4th week.' Turnip seed sold by the yard. Unprece
dented fluctuations in the price of shoe pegs.
Hames pegs out,
September.—lst week. Brigham Young marries a
virgin gorilla. Steel musquito traps invented. 2d
v.eek- Sewing machines go out of use. Capt. Jinks
dies. 3d week. Nothing worthy of record transpires
this week. 4th week. The Prussians capture Berlin.
Hall presents Grant with the North Pole.
October.—lst week.- John Brown’s soul ceases to
march on.- New Jersey annexed to the United
States. Jones’ favorite cow dry. 2d wees. Justice
discovered in New York city. Great flea hunt on
Mount Washington. Great rise in cowhide boots.
3d week. News of the death of Columbus reaches
this country.- Organigr.nders play dead marches in
consequence thereof. Brigham offers to populate
the country at extortionate rates. 4th week. Brown
drunk; Jones ditto; Smith sober. The moon discov
ered to be a frozen cake of limburgher.
November.— Ist week. Fisk resumes his old occu
pation, and stirs the animals—not for Van Amburgh,
but on Wall street. Sylvan us Cobb’s novel mill gets
out of order. 2d week. Congress raises the tax on
breadstuff's. Miss Evans swallows a Chaldaic vo
cabu.ary. Office of whitewasher of the Rocky
Mountains abolished. 4th week. The Spanish Cor
tes on a big drunk. Snow discovered in Nova
December.—lst week. Tiliy Burton marries.
Weather too cold for nankeen trowsers. Eggs is
eggs., 2d week. O’Neddy drunk; Spot ditto.- Hang
ing abolished in common schools. 3d week. Canned
missionary irom the Feejee Islands sold in Fulton
k serect market.- 4 h week. Christmas will come this
weex, it not xpostponed. Congress adjourns to Wil
lard’s bar. Everybody drunk. Spot.
The above “ guide” has evidently been com
piled by “ Spot” with the greatest care, and
his meterological knowledge is well known to
be so profound that there can be little doubt
his hints about the weather will be of great
value, and particularly to those who, like the
gentleman whom “ Spivins” writes the follow
ing letter about, is very much under the
weather. “ Spivins” entitles it
There are, as everybody must be aware, an infinite
numoer of ways of getting wives. Perhaps it’s tor
the want of an ordinance regulating the matter; per
haps it’s because no two women are exactly alike,
and what pleases one isn’t calculated to please an
other. Anyway, the fact is there, and no man can
expect to turn out a success with the fair who
does not recognize its existence, and square his
course accordingly. The nervous young man that
swoons and staggers to a sofa, on entering a ball
room, or, in attempting to kiss a pretty girl at “ for
feits,” biles off a piece of her nose, may consider his
goose cooked within a week of being magnetized by
her churnjs. The “ agreeable” man, who is so oblig
ing as to carry her shawl, or her smelling salts, or
her reticuie, will finish by throwing himself at her
feet, in the shape.of a door-mat, for which alone she
will use him. The acrid old bachelor, who seems to
have been brought up on lemons, aud has a sneer or
a snarl as the wind-up for every remark, stands no*
better chance. It is your fellow of dash and spirit,
with the face of a polished brass door-knob, that
shines by reflecting tae graces and caprices of others,
while seeming to rejoice in its own—your pale,
dark-browed hero, with something piratical about
him, that carries off the prize.
If you want to make a girl kitten up closer to a fel
low, and marry him off-hand, even ii she has to run
away to do it, just go pour into her ear a few spicy
stones aboift hie gallantries and his outrageous con
duct among the women.
There’s little Skeezicks—he’s a specimen brick.
He told me, the other aay, the whole story of his
troubles. At least twenty times ho had attempted
to pop the question, to as many different objects,
but could never get any farther than “ the weather.”
He was getting on with life—or, rather, life was get
ting on with Him; something must be done imme
diately. .He tried the •* personals” in the Herald,
and after submitting six times to being blackmailed
by as many sharp females on the lay for “softies,”
went to a matrimonial agency. It was up three
pair, back, in a dingy street, the houses in which had
the appearance of having been huddled together as
closely as possible to prevent an examination of
their extremely shabby appearance. The paper
was peeling off the wails, and the farther end of tne
room was screened by a quilt, irom the other side of
which the smell of smoked herrings issued. Several
ladies were present, closely vailed. A measly-iook
ing boy, wnose trowsers refused to fraternize with
his stockings, took his card to the professor, who in
vited him into a small closet over tne hallway, where
he was asked to append written answers to the fol
lowing questions:
Have you ever been married ?
If so, how numerously ? /
Do you belong to a club ?
Do you strengthen your coffee with tobacco
quids ?
Can yon turn a mangle, or manage a patent
washer ?
Are you good on the nurse ?
Have you a mother or sister ?
Have you aay handsome brothers ?
Have you ever had the measles or the.rhinder
pest ?
Was you ever up for bigamy ?
Do you ever go to bed with your boots on ?
How are you off for soap ? And
What’s your circumstances ?
Noto, Bene.—.A commission of twenty per cent,
on amount of transaction, and ten dollars exacted
from each patron, to be divided among the foundling
hospitals and the various charitable institutions.
Payments invariably in advance.
Having subscribed these articles, Mr. Skeezicks
launched out a ten-dollar greenback, and, being fur
nished with a photograph-album, was asxed to indi
cate his preference. He glances through the book,
in which every portrait was a beauty, and, finally
selecting one whose queenly brow and redundant
locks hud struck his iancy, he pointed to it, and
“Introduce me to her. She’s my Ideal!”
The professor stepped out, and brought in a gaunt
six-footer, whose head and shoulders were almost
smothered in jute.
“ Woman of high birth and fortune; moves in first
circles,” whispered the professor. “ Money no ob
ject, but a pecuniary guarantee indispensable.”
Her breath smelt of onions, and the interview was
a short one. Beside, she didn’t at all resemble the
portrait. So didn’t some half-dozen others, who
passed in rotation before him. One was skinny,
with eyes that squinted; another was fat, and short,'
and puffy; one had a turn-up nose; a fourth hadn’t
any; a fifth had a nose like a prize parsnip, aud car
ried an ear-horn. Mr. Skeezicks was about to de
mand his money back when the outer door opened,
a gush of perfume filled the room, and a young lady
entered so redundant in personal charms tnat the
wife-hunter surrendered at once, and, signing a
check for one hundred dollars and a bond to the
professor, contingent upon settlements, carried off
nis prize.
Poor Skeezicks 1 I saw him a few days afterward,
and it he bad been a policy player, and I an insur
ance drummer, I don’t think I’d have taken a chance
m him—not if he had promised to go shares. His
eyes were black and blue, his nose had been knocked
to one side, his upper teeth were massing, making
him talk as if his palate was missing, too, and he
walked with a limp and had his left arm in a sling.
His wife had turned out a regular snorter; kicked
him out of bed on their wedding-night, got drunk as
Chloe six nights in succession on Heidsick, and, be
ing locked in her bed-room to sober, got drunker
than ever on a bottle of cologne. Sixteen brothers
and cousins called to congratulate her, and kept on
calling until she had borrowed money for all of
them, when they disappeared mysteriously. Finally,
he came home one evening and found that she had
disappeared, too, carrying With her the contents of
his private safe, the jewelry and plate, tho carpets
and furniture; and, doubtless, if she could have ear
ned the house, she’d have taken that, also.
Skeezicks is married sin ?e in earnes,L His wife is
a widow with six children, belongs to Woman’s Suf
frage society, and keeps the latch-key.
We should think that Mr. “ Skeezicks” was
pretty well tired of his bargain, and will soon
be on the lookout tor “How Skeezicks can get
a divorce.” We should have consulted our
friend and occasional correspondent, “ J. G., M
and tested his lady love in the manner ho pre
scribes in the following
Deab Boss.—l do not know whether you have ever
enjoyed many opportunities of observing the habits
and customs of female womeiH or, if you have had
such opportunities, whether you have availed your
self of them. If you have the misfortune, I mean
the good fortune, to baa married man, you, of
course, have had opportunities of observation which
it is not granted to us bachelors to enjoy, but never
theless and notwithstanding, even* we occasionally
obtain a glimpse of the domestic arcana of female
women’s existence. I have had pretty considerable
experience myself among them, and have often been
surprised to see what a metamophorsis has taken
place in the character of a young woman by her
going through the very simple process of matri
mony. I have observed a charming young creature,
who, when single, appeared the very quintescence of
good nature and affability, whom it was apparently
impossible to irritate or put into a state of bad.
humor, become, when married, a perfect virago.
This wonderful transformation has so worked upon
my nervous system, that I have never dared to enter
the bonds of holy wedlock, for fear I might “ catch
a Tartar.’ I have puzzled my brain for years, until
my very hair is becoming white from excessive
thought, to find out a test by which I could form an
opinion, whether the honey-like disposition of the
unmarried female, was likely to last after the fatal
noose had been tied, and it is only within the last
week I have succeeded in discovering what I consider
an infallible touchstone by which it may be tested.
In letting tho unmarried lords of the creation into
this great secret, I consider I am acting the part of a
public benefactor, and, like your friend “ Observer,”
if any testimonials should be forwarded to you upon
my account (and I have no doubt there will be
many), I shall be obliged by your taking the greatest
care of them, and I will call for them at an early
date. Well, then, if any young men who have a
“ sneaking affection” for some one of Eve’s fair
daughters are anxious to know what is the real
disposition and temper of the aforesaid Miss Eve, let
them contrive to see her over the wash-tub I A
woman who can pass through the-ordeal of “ washing
day” without being as cantankerous as an elephant
with the gout, may be safely regarded as a person
whose sweet disposition will not undergo any change
by the process of matrimony, and considered a safe
investment. Like, most great discoveries, this was
made by accident
Happening to go home the other day to an early
lunch, I was saluted upon my entrance with the
grateful and peculiar odor which invariably per
vades a house when washing is being carried on.
Had 1 entertained the idea that I would find washing
going on, it is quj* e possible, sharp set although I
generally am about noon, that I might have directed
my attention to one of those public institutions
where free chowder is dispensed, but being on the
spot, I determined to dare the lions or lionesses in
their den, and see if the “ young ladies” of the house
were as amiable and as agreeable over the tub, as I
had found them over the dinner table. I must pre
mise (but I hope your fellow gossipprs will not con
sider me conceited for saying so) that I am rather a
little bit of a faverite with the fair inmates of 1,472
Elizabeth street, where I reside, and I am, therefore,
occasionally permitted to penetrate as far as the
kitchen. Well,’ then, on the present occasion I
availed myself of myp-r-r-roud p-r-r-rivilege, and
found four of the fair creechures as busy as flies
round a sugar cask. Although there were only two
of them engaged in the process of washing, a gen
eral feeling of irritation pervaded the quartette; in
fucU tha steamy, soap-juddv fttmo>Dhere was Udeu
with it. I am naturally ot a timid*, retiring dispo,
si tpon, bn: when in the pursuit of a physiological oi
scientific truth, I feel as if I bad the courage and
daring of Phil Sheridan himself; and I required ail
my courage on this occasion, I felt as if I was
walking on a mine which might at any instant ex
plode and send me flying. I could not resist, how
ever, an occasional smile as I watched with what
vigor, I might almost say venom, some of the articles
were rubbed up and down the washboard, as if they
lei t they wore putting the marks of their- “ teu com
mandments >r on some body's face; then again with a
serk they would wring out some of the articles as if
they were twi&ting the neck of some one who had
offended them, and upon whom they determined to
wreak summary vengeance. J§o far for the two-ladies-'
who were engaged in washing. But the irritation
was just as apparent in the other two who wore
superintending (he culinary operations. Vegetables
were laid on the table, and sliced and cut as if they
had been practicing for the situation of headsman to
the Emperor of China. Suffice it to say, that alter I
had watched them all carefully, had (figuratively)
trodden on their toes to see how much they coud
endure,. I came to the conclusion I had found the
great secret of how to choose a wife, and that if a
young man wanted to find out the real disposition of
his lady love, ho should see her over the washing
tub. Let her pass through that ordeal triumphantly,,
and he may consider her a paragon. Perhaps soma
of your iady correspondents would throw a li tie
light upon this subject, and state how it is washing,
exercises such an. effect upon the female mind.
J. G.
We do not know what to think of “J. G.’s’ r
great discovery, as it is a subject upon which
we have had but little experience. We do not
know why ladies should get irritated qn such
occabions, nor do we know, except from what
J. G. says, that they do do so, but we do know
that men become perfect tigers under the in
fluence of the perfume alone which pervades
the house on washing-day.. Of one thing wo
are certain, the ladies spoken of by J. G. must
be sensible, good housewives,-as not only can
they make themselves agreeable at table and
play the fine lady, but they can turn to and
practically display their usefulness at the tub.
They must also have been good-natured to an
unusual degree to have allowed J. G.. to- bfr
around at all at such a time.. J. G. had better
keep out of sueh risks in future, however, or.
we may have to publish.his epitaph, and that,
too, not in such favorable terms as the follow
Joe Brown he was a baker man,
A baker man was Joe;
He ne’er was known to want tor aught,.
And yet he kneaded dough.
And he was rugged, hearty, too,
And had a long lite leased.
And all because he rose up widi
His early rising yeast.
To never cheat his customers,.
Tnis man was early taught,
And yet his loaves w«re always light,,
His pie-crust rather short.
And fie was generous-hearted,.too.
And kind unto the neeuy,
And neat and tasty in his dress,
Although his.cak.es were seedy.
With him none dared to bandy jokes
Whene’er he sought tne marts,
For well they knew his repartees
Were sharper tliau his tarts..
And when I say his skill was great *
In getting up a muffin,
His pastry filled the mouths of all,
/Ind needs no lurther puffin*.
’Tis said he was a temperance man,
If so I can’t tell why
He mixed with wheat and cornmeal, too,,
A trifle of the rye.
When age at last o’ertook the man.
His form grew bent and sore,
And, like tbo case he used to bake.
His head was frosted o’er.
And when he died all mourned his loss
With no sectarian bias,
For he had been a iriend to all,
A good man and a pie-ous.
Beneath this crust of upheaved earth
A well-bred baker lies,
And, like the rolls he used to mould,
We hope at last he’ll rise.
Having how supplied our members with
“ pabulum” enough in the shape of gossip, wa
will give them, in conclusion, a few
A notorious scamp was oneo
brought before an Onondaga justice of the peace. He
was accused of having “ come the .strap-game” over
a native. The portly justice, wishing to decide un
derstandingly, asked to see a sample of hie skill.
“The party” instantly produced a leather strap,
gave it a scientific whisk across the bench, and re-r
marked: “You see judge, the quarter under the
strap?” “What!” interrupted the dignified func
tionary, “ do you mean to'say there is a quarter un
der there ?” “Sartin 1” was the reply. “No such
a thing ?” said the justice. “I’ll go you a dollar on
it I” exclaimed the prisoner. “ Agreed!” said the
justice. With accustomed. adroitness the strap was
withdrawn, when lo! there was the quarter. “Well,’’
said the astonished Shallow, “I wouldn’t have be
lieved it, if I had not seen it with my own eyes.
Here is your dollar; and you are fined five dollars
for gambling, contrary to the statue in such case
made and provided.” The elongated countenance
of the gambler required no additional evidence to
testify his appreciation oi “the sell.”
A prince once said to Rabbi Gama
liel, “ Your God is a thief ; He surprised ?.da*n in
his sleep, and stole a rib from him.” The rabbi’s
daughter overheard this speech, aud whispered a
word or two in her father’s ear, asking his permis
sion to answer this singular opinion herself. Ha
gave his consent. The girl stepped forward, and,
feigning terror and dismay, threw her arms aloft in
supplication, and cried out, “My liege, my liegel
Justice I Revenge 1” “ What has happened ?” asxed
the prince. “ A wicked theft has token place,” she
replied. “A robber has crept secretly into our
house, carried away a silver goblet, and lett a gold
one in its stead.” “What an upright thief!” ex
claimed the prince. “Would that such robberies
were of more frequen t occurrence 1 ” “ Behold, th'en,
sire, t?ie kind of thief that our Creator was; He stole
a rib from Adam, and gave a beautiful wife jnstead.”
“Well said !” avowed the prince.
John Wagner, the oldest man in
Buffalo (104 years old) recently walked a mile and a
halt in two weeks. He is as cheerful aud bright as
any of these old men that charge around so in the
newspapers, and in every way as remarkable.. Last
November, he walxed five blocks in a rain storm,
without any shelter but an umbrella, and cast his
vote for Grant, remarking that he had voted for for
ty-seven Presidents, which was a lie.. His “second
crop of rich brown hair” arrived irom New York
yesterday, and he has a new set of teeth coming—
irom Puiladelphia. He is to be married next week
to a girl 102 years old, who still takes in washing.
They have been engaged eighty years, but their par
ents persistently refused their consent until three
days ago. John Wagner is two years older than the
Rhode Island veteran, and yet he has never t sted a
drop of liquor in his life, unless you count whisky.
A gentleman residing some miles
from the city according to an exchange, has been in
the habit of frequently Bonding his waiting-boy with
the buggy back home with the following message:
“ Tell my wife I’m caught on that d—d jury again.”
The boy well knew, however, that the “jury” was
nothing but a myth, intended to cover up in
tended sprees. One day Joe was sent to tha
city after some necessary articles. The boy fell
in with his friends, got elevated and top
heavy, and pitched out of the buggy. Tiie horse
and buggy arrived home all right, but the boy
did not make his appearance until next day. With
stern countenance our juryman called the boy up,
and demanded why he did not come up at the proper
time “ Fore God, massa I was cotched on de d~d
Old Dr. Stearns, of New London,
in his latter years, kept a drug store. A gentleman,
one day purchased a cigar of the doctor, and, light
ing, it, began to smoke. “Please do not smoke in
tiie store,” said Dr. S., politely, “it is against our
rule.” “ But you sell cigars,” rejpined the gentle
man, “sell ’em to smoke, don’t you?” “Yes, sir,
we sell cigars,” replied the doctor, a little sharply;
“and we sell physic; but we don’t allow it to oper
ate in the store.”
“Pompey, did you take the billet
to Mr-Jones ?” “Es, massa.” “Did you see him?”
“Es, sir, me just did.” “How was he?” “ Woy,
massa, he looked pooty well, ’sidering he so blind.”
“Blind! What do you mean by that?” “Woy,
massa, when I was in de room, a gib bing him de
paper, he axed me whar was my hat; anl, massa.
perhaps you won’t believe me, he wur on de top of
my head de hull time.”
On New Year’s day, as a merchant
entered his house, he was met by his wife, who
threw around his neck a gold chain. “ There, hub
by,” exclaimed the wife, “is a New Year’s gift for
you.” . “ Oh, yes,” rejoined the husband, with great
coolness, “ I paid the bill for it about an hour ago.”
“You did!” exclaimed the wife, with equal indiffer
ence; “why, I told the jeweler to let it go on the
July bill!”
Said an American to an Irishman,
“ My ancestors came from Ireland, my name is Bry
antdid you ever know any people oi that name in
Ireland?” “O, yes, a great many of them ” “Well,
what sort of people were they ? Pretty high strung,
were they not?” “O, I’ve seen a great many of
them strung so high that' their feet aid not touch,
the ground.”
A Frenchman attended a concert.
When the performance, which had been execrable,
was finished, he, along with a few more, applauded.
“Why do you applaud such detestable stuff?” said
his companion. “It is not worthy of it,” “Mon
Dieu 1” said the polite monsieur, “ I applaud because
it ets of er.
An exchange tells us that “in
Columbus city, lowa, there is a young lady who
boasts that her iover’s collar a.rnosi goes around her
waist.” The Courief-Journal says there is a young
lady in Louisville whose lover’s arm goes quita
around her waist, but she is too modest a girl to
boast of it. f
A maiden lady, alluding to her
youthful accomplishments, Said that at six month* .
of age she went alone. A malicious individual pres
ent remarked, “ Yes, and you have been going alone
ever since.”
“ Strange that the prisoner on trial
for his life, should appear in conrt with such a
smooth countenance,” exclaimed Jones. ‘*o, ha
was ironed just before he came in,” explained Jinks.
Mark Twain says: “I have seen
slower people than I am—and more deliberate peo
ple than I am—and even quieter and more listless,
and lazier people than I am. But they were dead.” (
' Why is a drunkard hesitating to
sign the temperance pledge like a skeptical Hindoo I
Because he is in doubt whether to give up the wor«
ship of the Jug-or-noL
The young lady who fell dead— in
love with a young gentleman— immediately rovivod
ou beimt asked to nauxa the day.

xml | txt