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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, March 05, 1871, Image 6

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SIDE BY SIDE.
Bide by Bide they grow,
My lily and my rose—
Ono bendeth low her modest head,
The other, dressed in modest red,
With conscious beauty glows.
Together, side by side,
They drink the self-same dew,
And woo the self-same sun’s caress,
And yet each wears a different dress
In texture and in hue 1
My kindly rose saith not
Unto the lilv meek,
•• Because you have a fairer face
Than I, yours be a humble place,
The lot of all the weak.**
My lordly flower, although
His tree is strong and high,
Disdaineth not to shield from harm
My lily, with his branching arm,
Lest she should fade and die I
Side by side they bloom,
My lily and my rose,
Beauty and strength, and love and grace
Combined, content, each in its place
In perfect union grows I
RMI n. W- | LlniJ- |g WWWl>> awywaMa
[Original.]
n Bffl’S LAST MESSAGE.
BY BERNARD WAYDE.
CHAPTER I.
KASTIB AND MAN.
There was a knocking at the door.
’• Comel” thundered Marcus Beresford, and
the clock struck seven.
Softly the door opened, and the bulky form
Cf the agent was visible.
“Don’t stand there all night. The gout and
lumbago isn’t enough, but you must bring
come other disease with your infernal open
door.”
“But you know I’m so very humble, Mr.
Beresford, so very humble, dear sir,” and with
many pauses and rubs of bis brogans on the
tnat.the agent closed the door.
41 When you are through with your scrap
ings tell me,” roared Mr. Beresford, and the
very words seemed to come from his gouty leg,.
. as he gave an extra “oh I oh I”
“ Dear sir, I’m only an humble individual, lit-
Je used to joking with his betters,” the short,
bulky man answered.
“ Stop your cant. Come this way. Sit and
be quiet till you give me the proceedings gf the
morning. How about Ryan, eh ?”
“Ryan—ahi yes. After my devotions, 101
me 1 to be sure, we evicted him.”
“ You are a long time spinning it out,” the
gouty leg said, with an oath. “As to your de
votions, I have as much belief in them as the
devil has in holy water ; but go on—a few ex
amples more of your good work.”
“Yes, honored sir; the poor sinner Ryan
went his way, though, I must say, not at my
kind request; but, then, I’m only a humble
person,” and the agent rubbed his bauds meek-
at whose? you old fool.”
“The village constabulary, honored sir,
Which I sent for at the eleventh hour.”
“So, so, you had to use force. The devil
take half my tenantry for an ungrateful set;
just as it a man had no right to his own. The
wretches, Anderson, are not fit to bold an acre
of my lands.”
“ Then, * cast them out,’ saith the Scrip
ture.”
“ If you don’t cease your infernal quotations
I'll mallet them out of your ungodly head 1”
which gentle threat had a speedy effect, as the
agent related how he had driven poor Will Ry
an and his hapless family out in the cold March
Winds, witb other incidents of the eviction.
“And Morgan you promptly discharged for
his cursed interference. You did well.”
“As my humble efforts meet favor in the
eyes of my master, I am amply rewarded,”
was the resigned response.
“ Don’t be too quick. Listen a moment. I
wish you to rid the neighborhood of those men.
Get them into the clutches of the law, and
you and your confederate shall be paid in
hard cash. Do you hear.? in hard cash. Now
leave me.”
“ Good night, and pleasant dreams to you,
dear sir and kind master,” the agent said, bow
ing low as he left the library.
CHAPTER 11.
BBANBI, WATEB, AND KTBGATOHY.
When the agent left, the man with the gouty
leg was all joy for a few minutes ; then he broke
out in a senes of curses, of a new and volumi
nous nature ; for their rapidity and terseness,
quite bewildering.
The tasseled bell rope hung over his head,
and he pulled vigorously.
The door opened and a shock of red hair
came to view, and a squeaking voice, unmis
takably the result of chronic catarrh, said—
“Me, sir?”
“You, sir 1 What the devil kept you? Where’s
my brandy-and-water ? Come into the room
and don’t be squinting there, like a pig in a
“Bad cess to it for the compliment! I
thought yer honor tuck tbe pledge ; an’ where’s
the use of brandy-an’-wather, an’ braking it.”
“ Will you hold your tongue, you bog-trot
ting scampi” and the gouty leg ended with a
curse, invented on the spur of a sudden twinge.
“ Wiria Sthrue 1 how can I hould me tbngdd,
when me masther is sinkin', deeper an’deeper
into the botthomless pit.”
The servant came forward with a limping
gait, into the light of the warm room. He was
horribly ugly. To see him once was to im
press you tor life. Indeed, it was difficult to
tell whether he was going one way or the other :
as his head had a tendency for the door, and
his eye for the gouty leg.
“Now you vagabond be alive. Here give my
leg a change ; this rest is too high—lower still.
Oh, murder 1 Ob 1 you clumsy, lazy, squint
ing wretch, bend your back to it; you’ll be the
death of me yet,” Beresford said, with a fa
miliar expletive, which covered his case ex
actly.
“Yer sowl to glory, for a masther, to be
Bindin’ your sarvint to perdition, wid the sins
of yer gammy leg I Bad luck to it for a leg;
the devil couldn’t plase it 1” bo saying this sin
gular valet loft the room, and the gouty leg
twisted and squirmed till he returned;
“ Brandy-an’-wather—hot’ or cowld, sir?”
asked the man with the retreating head and
Bqumting eye.
“Hot! and be hanged to you!” growled
Beresford.
“ Cowld, I say! for whin I takes it cowld, it
makes me hot, and vhin I takes it hot it makes
me cowld;” and the valet, suiting the
action to the word, filled a glass for himself,
ond drank it without saying “ by your lave 1” a
piece of politeness he was never known to fail
in. ■ v
1 “ Perdition to you for a clown; why did you
do that ?” came from the gouty leg.
“An’it’s aignorant as a black naygur ye’d
be, masther, to bo axin’ me that quistion.
Bure, ye know, I wouldn’t consign yer sowl to
purgathory for all the brandies-an’-wather in
ould Ireland. But divil a harm it will do ye
now, for I’ve taken tbe pisin out of the dirty
Stuff. Tim McCannybpyapj,tae3 jt’s a Bin to be
5 , m ‘ ,le Pledge widout invitin’ yer frinds,
aquaulJ Bellin’ yef Sowl ti> Harry the Eighth.
Bad luck to him for a prqseltyzin’vagjbqnc’,’’
iße Saying, he passed the liqudr to the land
ord, who, after many squirms, twists, and in
numerable curses, tOSSed It off.
“ Ould Skinflint called to-day, sir."
■■Who?”
. “ Mr. Pebbles, air; and I towld him ye
“You did well, Roger.”
“ But he’s cornin’ tO-flaorrow, sir.”
“ Tell him I’m out when he comes.”
“ But how can I tell him yer out, when yer
tn?”
“ Confound you for a fool I do the eame as
you did to-day.”
“ Two lies in a week is too much, sir. It’s
not my relaygion no more than brandy-an’-
wather can get you out of purgathory. I must
tell ould Skinflint the naked truth,” answered
the man with the squinting eye and retreating
head.
“ Roger I”
“ Sir.”
“Go and drink my health immediately.
Here is a half-crown for you. When Mr. Peb
bles comes to-morrow I am out. Do you
hear ?”
"Is it ould Skinflint to catch you In? Aise
yer mind on that score, masther dear, for you
shall be out ivery Sunday for a month —ay, for
a year, if it’ll bo any consolation to you. An’
if the blaggard makes one remark, in or out
of mo bearin’ derogathory to yer characther,
I’ll pounu the life in him; I will be the toe
nails of Moses!”
And the valet, registering his vow with a
glass of brandy, retired under the fierce fusil
ade of the man with the gouty leg, who, to as
suage his pain somewhat, cursed Roger up
hill and down dale, and continued cursing till
be got relief.
CHAPTER HI.
HUMOH, SANCTITY, AND GOUT.
Two days after, Roger was bending under a
heavy load for the agent; a present from his
master.
- “ It’a a nail foi his coffin he ought to be
Bindin’ him,” said Roger, “ an’not tbe good
things of the kitchen and wine cellar, till we’re
fairly robbed by him. It’s thremengeous
heavy, air what’s killin’ me intlrely sorra taste
I’ll get of it. If this ie a valla’s life, to be run
nln’round the country wid a load as big as a
mountain, I’ll go back to me own little cabin
•gin and be me own masther. Halt, Roger!
pitch yer load and take a look at tbe.morßln’
and a breath of fresh air.’’
Roger threw hie burden 6y the hedgeside,
and sitting contentedly on top 0 it, lit his
pipe.
. “ It'i Iff aisy in’ yartnona life, smokin’, lit-
> »n doin’ npthing,” Roger said, as he
watched the clouds of s®oke rolling under hie
ppse,
“He was a great man who invlnted smokin’
mudfi greater n)an than the fellow that
•aught time by the forelock,” said tbe valet,
{•we have no such min in these times; that
stakes me think they mutt have all gone off in
the Deluge, or, like Lot’s wife, turned into-pil-
Mlt m » kind 0 prsstfvc for aftuei.
ginerations. But the man who invinted sitin’
an’ doin’ nothing, was a greater man yet. I
wonder where he went to; perhaps the mas
ther could tell me ”
“ God eave you, Roger 1” said a voice.
The man with the retreating head and
squinting eye looked up.
It was a woman.
“Save you kindly, Mrs. Mulrooney,” he said,
standing and extending bis hand. “Excuse
my bad manners, I’m takin’ a little comfort
out of the pipe. Won’t you take a Bate,
ma’am ?”
“ Ochl Roger, yer a purty man to bo askin’
me to take a Bate on the cowld, wet grass.
Now, don’t disturb yerself, I was only jokin’.
I can’t delay a minit, for there is the little red
heifer—l’m driving her to the fair. Poor cray
ture 1 she knows too well where I am takin’
her. See 1 she’s almost cryln’; but the rent
must be ped, an’ that’s the whole of it. Did
you hear how they served poor Will Ryan,
Roger ?”
“ I hard Mr. Beresford tniption it.”
“The curses of the widows an’orphans on
that same Beresford, for a mane, dirty land
lord 1” said Mrs. Mulrooney. “ But the blag
gard is givin’ you an aisy life, Roger; an’ it’s
not likely you’ll run him down "
“ Mother of marcies 1 Mrs. Mulrooney, you
don’t call runnin’ around the counthry wid
such a bundle as that an aisy life, do you ?
Feel the hefth of that, an’ tell me if it wouldn’t
be betther to be ah asa to an oysther man,
than valley to ould, naygardly Beresford ?”
“ Well, it is heavy,” Mrs. Mulrooney said.
“ Heavy I The divil would hardly lift it.
Botheration to it, for a load; an’, by the same
token, it’s for that ould naygur of an agent—
the curse of Crummell on him an’ his whole
breen an’ gineration.”
“Amin! wid all me heart to that prayer,”
and the woman was gone.
Roger watched her drive the little heifer
down the road.
“ It’s aisy known where the good blood lies,
an’ how it runs. That woman is no more fit to
be runnin' afther that red heifer, than I to be
a-carryin’ this bundle, like a baste of burthen.
But, sure, if we don’t get our rights in this
world, we’ll get thim in tbe next; so what’s
the difference when we shall be righted some
day."
The man with the retreating head and
squinting eye, after consoling remarks of a like
nature, knocked the ashes out of bis pipe, took
up his bundle, and walked briskly for the
agent’s, ruminating as he went on the joint
qualities of “valle” and “baste” of bur
then.
And the agent, in turn, looking through the
window, after his morning devotions—viz., a
breakfast of ham and eggs—saw Boger pass
through the wicket, tottering under his load,
and went out to meet him.
“A good morning to you, Mr. Power,” said
the humble man. “ I suppose this small par
cel is for me, from our kind friend and master,
Mr. Beresford.
The man with the retreating head and
squinting eye threw down the bundle with a
sudden bang.
“Hould, Misther Agent!” cried the incensed
valet. “Blur an’ ouns! where’s your eye
sight, to be callin’ that mountain of a bundle a
parcil?”
“And is it not a parcel, friend?” Anderson
asked, mildly.
“Parcil the divil! Heft it, an’ see. It’ud
worry the patience of St. Pether himself to
have a man of your lamin’ call a bundle as big
as a haystack a parcil.”
“ Well, well, friend Power, carry it into the
house. The grass is wet, you observe.”
“Wetordhry,” said the man, with there
treating head and squinting eye, “sorra an
inch further will I carry it. Let it remane
there.”
And, with that, he lit his pipe, and smoked
on unconcernedly, nor could the mild remon
strances of the agent move him a peg.
That humble man, not wishing to debase his
saintly body by taking on himself the responsi
bility of a drudge-horse, bethought him of a
plan to bring the valet to terms.
“Friend Power,” he said, in his oily way, "I
would not have you think me undmindful of
your recent exertions in bearing hither what I
deariy prize—a humble present from our kind
benefactor.”
“Ay—just so; a dozen of wine, an’ various
other little articles of altin’ an’ drinkin’,” said
the man witb the retreating head and squint
ing eye, pulling spasmodically at his pipe,
which, by some untoward accident, got stopped
up.
“Then accept from me a slight reward for a
task so creditably performed.”
The agent passed into the hand of Mr. Roger
Power a bright two-shilling piece.
“Thim chaps spake more iloquintly than
words, Misther Anderson,” said the valet.
“But you’ll not abuse it, my friend, I
hope ?”
And the agent looked very seriously at him.
“ Sure ye must be jokin, Misther Anderson.
Is it me to abuse a friend’s ginero'sity—ye have
a very mane opinion of one mtirely.”
“You are wrong friend Powers,” returned
the agent; “I was merely thinking of your
soul—your immortal soul, friend, which the
evils Of intemperance might possibly destroy
for ever.”
“ Hould 1 there, Misther Agent. It shall niver
be sed that Roger Power sould his soul for a
dirty two-shillin’ piece; and this is the way I
trate you an’ yer filthy pnsent,” and the man
with retreating head and squinting eye, sent
the coin flying through the air.
“ I’ve played me last card for ould Beresford,
an’ it’s the last dirty message he’ll iver Bind
me on.” - - • ■
Before the.agent could make a fitting reply,
the valet was through the wicket into the road.
Byway of consolation ho refilled and lit his
pipe, ruminating as he went, on his sudden
resolve to leave the house of his master, and
retire to the seclusion of bis humble cot.
“It’s a long time I’ve been makin’up me
mind to tljis,” said the man with the retreating
head and squinting eye; “but a long threaten
ing comes at last they say, an’ ‘it’s better late
than niver.’ The first girl that comes along
now, is Welcome to share the comforts of me
cabin, an' be her own miseries to the fore,
which is more thin ivery married woman can
say, if she spakes the truth. But sure Roger
Power was always a lady’s man, an’ it’s not
goin’ to be turnin’ his back on his ould taychins
he’d be, whin he’s on the pint of ladin’ a
steady life, an’ so on through-the chapter.
Ould Beresford will be as mad as a March hare
when he hears of my determination to settle
down for mesejf; but it’s all owin’ to that
cantin’ blaggard of an agent, who must prache
a sarmon over a dirty two-shillin’ piece, an’ I
trated him as he deserves, for a black thief as
he is!”
In this way the valet reached the home of
his master, whose gouty leg was a sore trouble
to him, as his frequent and fluent curses
would indicate. But the man with the re
treating head and squinting eye, nothing
daunted, announced bimself.
“The devil take you for a slow coach!” the
gouty leg thought fit to say.
“ An’ is the gout so very bad, masther dear ?
Ochl it’s a painful complaint—a murtberin’
disease for any daicont gintieman to have.”
“ Stop that babbling tongue of yours, for a
rascal,” was all he got for his sympathy; but
the man wouldn’t stop.
“ Misther geresford, I’m goin’ to lave you,”
_.'’ i ’
“Ay; ioin’ t-C Bikie down."
1’ Sottle down 1”
“An’ take a wife to comfort me declinin’
ye “Whatthp 4 use put that in your head, for a
fool ? Going to leave your old master, eb ?”.
“Exactly, sir. I’ve' been nlastfihred long
enough, and want to be the own masther for a
time, till I get a Wife at laste, whin, if she
plaices, she can be both masther and miß
thress,” ended the man with the retreating
head and squinting eje, ■ '
The gout was a trifle worse that night.
Roger went home with his money in search of
a partner to share his joys and sorrows. And
let us in justice say that he found one who, if
not handsome, was at least faithful. Thus the
valet ran his last message, which brought
somewhat more than the “dirty two shillin'
piece of the naygurdly agint.”
A MAN OF COMMON SENSE.
BY FELIX. EMERSON.
Here I am, a respectable man, and folks say
that I haven’t common sense; all I know is
nonsense. I think I have got as much sense as
anybody. Self-praise don’t go a great way;
but when I tell of the hair-breadth scrapes I
have been through, the plaguey critters will
say that Duffey Duerdadle is a knowing man.
I always had an uncommon thinking mind ;
I was generally in deep meditation when but a
boy; and was always looking into the nature
of things. Once I was on a bridge looking in
to the water, meditating upon hornpouts, pol
lywogs end little shiners, when I lost my bal
ance and fell cosplosh into the river.
The water was two feet deep, and I flounced
like a whale. I said, “Duffey, this will never
do ; it is of no use to kick.”' So I just lay still
and thought bow I could get out. I tried to
swim, but couldn’t; I began to crawl—l could
always crawl. I reached dry land in two hours
and was not drowned. I suppose it was the
uncommon quick thinking tnat saved me. I
haven’t been near the river since; for my
mother told me I must never touch water
again,, and, like a sensible boy, I never have.
I was a stirring lad, and never could keep
still. I thought I would have some sport with
daddy’s old gray horse. I went up to him, and
gave his tail a tremendous jerk ; the creature
was too quick for me; he liked the fun as well
as I did. No sooner did he feel the strain than
I felt a blow .which knocked my brains in every
direction, There I was, flat on my back, dead
as a door nail. I said to myself, “Duffey, what
Good luck favored mi oneh again. A ped
dler passing along saw ffie, and thinking I was
a bundle or rage, picked me up and Carried
me home to thy mother. Tbe doctor came and
filled up my head with fish’s oil, and in a little
time 1 was as well as ever. There are a few
little pin-feathers growing on the top of my
head, and I at times fuel an irresistible desire
to crow; which is owing to that hen’s oil, I
suppose. I think I am uncommonly bright.
- Naw £9JM» th« most trying pwiasl 0 ua
NEW YORK DISPATCH.
I felt that my time had come—that I must give
up the ghost. I, Duffey Duerdadle, was twen
ty-one years old when I was smitten with a
disease entirely different from anything I had
known before ; it was something like an epilep
tic fit. My heart beat like a kettle drum, and
I lost my appetite. My mother told mo to soak
my feet in warm soapsuds. I soaked ’em, but
it didn’t do any good. Tho cause of this sud
den shock was a view of the most beautiful
damsel I ever saw. I shall not attempt to de
scribe her; it would be in vain; for I was en
tirely paralyzed. Her name was Sally Silly
water.
The first time I saw her she was in a hay
field, tending a horserake; I watched her
graceful motions, and I never saw anything
half so charming before. The first thing I
did was to consult my mother; she was a pres
ent help in every time of need. I told her my
symptoms ; I said I was afraid of the measles.
She said I had lost my heart, and advised me
to take Sally for my wife.
This was the most trying time I ever passed
through, but, like a sensible man, I was on my
way in short order. I got down on my hands
and knees, but couldn’t say a word. My teeth
chattered, my limbs shook, my bones rattled,
and I must have died on the spot had not Sally
relieved me. She said :
“Dear Mr. Duerdadle, what, makes you
tremble so ? You will shake all to pieces.”
That speech recalled me to life, and I bel
lowed out:
“ Sally, Sally, I love you awfully 1”
She blushed red and blue, and said she was
tremendous glad, for I was a sensible man,
and she would take me for better or worse,
and make no fuss about it.
That finished my courtship, and I shall al
ways bless the day that tied me head and foot
to Sally Sillywater.
After I had taken a woman I must start in
business. I tried various kinds of work, and
at last took up the sausage trade. I bought
shanks and pieces of cat and dog meat,
chopped it all up, put in pepper and salt, and
found it a paying business.
The sausage that I did not sell readily I sent
home to Sally. She was a sensible woman,
and had saved several pounds against a time
of need.
One morning she called me early; she was in
a terrible fright.
“Duffey I Duffey!” said she, “the sausage is
alive 1 it is moving.”
I looked to learn the trouble, and, sure
enough, there was a quart of living animals
squirming in the sausage.
The creatures lost their lives in no time. I
chopped that sausage up, animals and all. I
put m cinnamon, salt, cloves, pepper, nut
meg, and saleratus, and then sold it very
readily.
If I have not said enough to convince the
public tnat I am a man of sense, then I will
treat all who read my story to a glass of—
water.
lOrlalnal.l
A WOMAN’S VENGEANCE.
BY . REBECCA. FORBES STCRGIS.
There was a email party gathered at Fred
erick Gernette’s house. Everything within
and without was bright, pretty, tasty, even to
the trim little hostess. She flitted hither and
thither, chatting first with one and then
another, making all feel equally at home, and
under no restraint.
Presently her quick ear caught the sound of
her husband’s approaching footsteps, and she
met him at the door.
“A strange lady has come here with the
Aubyns, Fred,” she said, in a low tone. “I
am quite charmed with her, and I am sure you
will be. lam glad you look so nice to-night,
for I want to present you.”
She looked up into his eyes with a fond
smile. When did he not look “nice” to her ?
He greeted tho guests cordially, and was
then led by his wife to whore the' “strange
lady” was busily engaged in turning over the
loaves of a portfolio. Whether she had ob
served Mr. Gernette’s entrance or not was un
certain, but any way, she appeared perfectly
unconscious of bis existence.
“Mrs. Rossyn,” she said, “allow me to pre
sent to you my husband, Mr. Gernette.”
“ I am pleased to make your acquaintance,
Mr. Gernette,” she said, in a voice that was
low, rich and musical, extending her soft,
white band, on one finger of which glittered an
opal ring.
Frederick Gernette seemed changed to a
statue. His face became colorless, his lips
quivered, and, strong man that he was, a mist
seemed to envelop him.
“Lucille 1” Tho word fell from his lips with
out an effort of his will.
“Yes,” she responded, “Lucille 1”
She raised her eyes to his face, filled with a
passionate, fascinating light.
“For God’s sake, what brought you here?”
be asked.
“To see you, Frederick Gernette I”
At that instant Mrs. Aubyn appeared, and
Gernette turned away, bewildered, suffering—
almost crazed.
Fortunately, his wife had left them the in
stant she gave the introduction, without wait
ing to see the extraordinary effect it produced
upon him.
He tried not to go near the strange woman
again. But, during the latter part of the even
ing, some one insisted upon her singing. For
some time she hesitated about complying.
“ Mr. Gernette,” cried Mrs. Aubyn, “ come
here.”
Ha obeyed her reluctantly.
“ Mrs. Rossyn will not sing,” she continued,
"and we wish you to exert your persuasive
talents.”
He flushed beneath Mrs. Rossyn’s eye,which
said plainly, “ If you wish it, Frederick, yes I"
“ I am not vain enough to think I can in
duce tho lady to comply with your request,”
he said, coldly, “ but we would be pleased to
hear you.”
She arose and put jjer hand on bis arm. Her
very touch thrilled him. '
“ 1 shall give you a very old song,” she said,
merrily, turning to her lady friend.
Gernette led her to the piano. She ran her
fingers over the keys, then played a low, wail
ing prelude; from that her voice struck in with
“ The last link is broken that binds me to thee.
The words thou bast spoken render me free."
Never, perhaps, had that song been sung
with so much expression, and to those who as
sociated it with the memory of Josephine’s
farewell to Napoleon, it was particularly af
fecting. The songstress kept her eyes fas
tened on Gernette’s face until great bead-like
drops of sweat buret from his forehead and
trickled down over his cheek.
She would not be prevailed upon to sing any
more.
“lean only sing when the 'spirit moves,"’
she said, lightly, “ and the spirit has left me
now.”
• •••••
“How did you like Mrs. Rossyn?” Jessie
Gernette queried of her husband, after their
guests bad departed. “I think she is the
most fascinating woman I ever met with ; and
what a voice 1 Her singing was more than
beautiful 1”
Gernette made no response, and Jessie, look
ing at his haggard face, grew sober.
“Dear Fred, what is the matter?" she ques
tioned, putting her arms around his neck and
pressing her soft cheek against his in a caress
ing manlier.' “ You look tired aud blue. What
is it, Fred ?” ■il.A-SriiK. itSß'--
"Nothing, little simpleton," he returned,
clasping hef tightly in hie arms, as if fearful
she would be wrested from him. “Nothing
but a stupid fiefdache,”
From that time forth Mrs. Rossyn came fre
quently to visit Mrs. Gernette. She was not
like other women. She never seemed to have
“study dajs,” for at all times she teas bril
liant. ' - —» ■.
“ I envy you, Mrs. Gernette. I am actually
pining to have a ride behind your husband’s
span of grays. I wish you would say that I
might.”
Jessie laughed.
“ How could I deny you such a trifle ? Fred,”
(to her husband, who was impatiently chewing
the end of his mustoebe) “can’t you take Mrs.
Rossyn to ride this afternoon ?”
“There! there!” laughed the widow, “you
cannot refuse me, Mr. Gernette ?”
Jessie watched them away without a sigh,
thinking:
“How much thatcharming woman will en
joy it *”
From that date rides were of common occur
rence—so common, that the little wife’s cheeks
grew pale, and dark circles gathered around
her eyes. A stranger had gained admittance
in the portals of her heart—jealousy.
Frederick took her on his knee one night,
and scanned her face earnestly. Ho made no
comment; but, nevertheless, he saw, and was
pained.
“ I will be guilty of murder,” he whispered
to himself, “if this continues. Thank God
that He has opened my eyes; I believe I was
becoming infatuated and—witb her I”
The next day he drove round after Mrs. Ros
syn, as of yore. As soon as they were outside
of tbe village, lie turned to her :
“ You must leave hero immediately, Lucille,”
he exclaimed; “I cannot endure tnis longer..
It will kill Jessie.”
“If I go, you must go, too,” was the re
sponse. “You cannot live without me, Fred.”
“lean,” ho replied, coldly. “My eyes are
opened. You wrecked my life once, Lucille,
and again I have near fallen into your trap ;
but this time lam saved. Jessie is pure, true,
uncomplaining, and, God bear mo witness, I
mean to be a faithful husband to her.”
“•Jessie good, pure, and true,’” she fe
peated, passionately. "You meant that as a
stab to mo; but I tel) yOu, Frederick Gernette,
I will not be foiled. She shall learn what a
woman’s vengeance means. If you do not go,
I will go tell ner eKe is not——” ,
“Hush 1 bush I" he cried, frantically, “you
Shall not
-•• I will! Obey flio, cr— b
There Was a great crash, a scream, and then
a silence. They had not noticed that they
were crossing the car-track, end the train had
rushed dowi) upoq them like » creature of
vengeance.
The train ffafi Mopped, and tho passengers
rushed to see what had occurred. The car
riage was broken into fragments, and amid its
ruins laid Mrs. Rossyn, mangled, disfigured,
dead J A gtjQJt flistaw fewai W?,a Hr. Gei-
“Not dead,” said one. “He must be taken
home. Probably he is fatally injured.”
Some one ran and told Jessie what had hap
pened. Tho whistle blowed, tbe passengers
hurried on board, and the train moved on.
Mrs. Rossyn was carried to Mrs. Aubyn’s
home, and two days later buried.
Mr. Gernette lingered unconscious for weeks.
He continually raved about “Lucille,” not “Jes
sie,” and a sharp pain gnarled at tho patient
wife’s heart.
“ It was her he loved, not me,” she sighed ;
but yet that knowledge did not make her the
less tender or true.
At last, he awoke to consciousness one morn
ing, as if awaking from a dream. He looked
into Jessie’s face eagerly.
“ Mrs. Bossyn ?” he asked, in a questioning
voice.
She hesitated. Dared she tell him she was
killed ? He read the truth in her eyes.
“ She is dead !’’ he said, and she bowed her
head. For an instant she had not the courage
to look into his face, and see the sorrow which
she expected he felt for the “Lucille” he must
love, within there.
“Jessie.”
She looked up. His face was radiant.
“You have cared for me all this time?”
“My darling, ves,” was her response. “You
must talk no more.”
Sleep came to him. as it comes to a tired
child. From that time he began to convalesce,
and at length became as strong as of yore.
Never had he been so tender and kind to Jessie
as since his illness, and she wondered what
“Lucille” had been to him, and if it was all
put on now to hide his grief.
“Fred,” she said, softly, one night, as she
saton his knee, in the twilight, “I wish you
would tell me something honest and true.”
“ What is it ?” he asked.
“ What was Lucille Gernette to you ?”
A grave look swept over his face, and he
pressed her closer to bls heart.
“My wife, it is your right to know, and yet I
fear you will love me less.”
“No,” she responded ; “but this uncertainty
is worse than the truth.”
“ Then listen. When I was a boy of eight
een, I met Lucille at a theatre. We flirted,
and at last ran away, and got married. I was
under age, and my father was fearfully angry ;
but, nevertheless, he took us home, and de
termined to make the best of it. Three months
later, I was sent away on business. While ab
sent, Lucille became a mother; but the child—
it was not mine.
“Word was sent me. A divorce was applied
for and got. My father gave her a sum of
money and sent her away. I did not go home
again, I was ashamed. My infatuation had
died out for the woman I had called wife for so
few weeks, and nothing but disgust was left. I
went to Australia; I became wealthy. I
chanced to meet you, and the first love which
my heart ever knew was laid at your feet. We
were married. I kept my past from you out of
kindness. I did not wish to chill your love or
faith for one moment.
“I believed Lucille dead, dead for years.
Judge of my surprise when I met her in this
very house. I tried to avoid her, but it was
impossible. She threw herself in my Way.
She said she had been married since, was a
widow, and had come here purposely to see
me. She tried to make me elope with her.
She threatened to expose me to the world, to
toll you that you were not my wife.
“ I was bewildered. I knew not which way
to turn. At last I saw that you were failing,
that you thought she was winning me away
from you, and I resolved to end it all.
“I had just told her that leave she must,
and she had vowed that she would wreak her
vengeance on you, when a merciful Providence
interposed to save you. Wife of my soul, can
you still love me ?”
She laid her bead on his breast, and shod
happy tears.
“ Never has my love wavered for an instant,”
she murmured, “ and now I am happy. The
mistake of your youth is not so bitter as if you
had been won away to be untrue to me. A
woman’s vengeance has failed.”
“ Thank God, that burden is off my heart
forever. The secret was hard to keep, Jessie,
and heavy to bear.”
A BURNING OUTRAGE.
A. Bartender Burns the Sign of the
Cross Upon the Foreheads or Four Boot
blacks.
The Philadelphia Inquirer of last Saturday
says:
There have been many contemptible tricks
perpetrated by scoundrels, which have mot
with merited punishment, but the one we are
about to record is equal to the worst of them.
As every one knows, Wednesday was Ash
Wednesday, or the beginning of Lent—the day
being a fine one for the bootblack business.
William Christopher, a little fellow, who fol
lowed this trade for a living, was on hand, and
during the morning raked in the stamps quite
lively. William’s headquarters were located at
Tenth and Chestnut streets. Business being
a little dull in the afternoon, he called at a res
taurant, situated at No. 1021 Chestnut street,
kept by a party named Riley, and applied for a
job. The barkeeper—a fellow named H. J.
Riley—stopped tbe boy, as he was going out,
and said :
“ Are you a Catholic ?”
“ Yes,” said the boy. “ What of it ?”
“Have you been to church to-day, like a
good Catholic?” said Rjley.
“ Yes, sir,” answered the boy.
“Do you know that this is Ash Wednes
day?” .
“ Of course I do,” replied the youth.
“Well,” continued Riley, “as this is Ash-
Wednesdav, and as you are such a good Catho
lic, you should have the sign of the cross
placed upon your forehead. I have some
ashes, which I have received direct from the
Pope, by the last steamer, and if a cross
is made on you, you will be all right for
Heaven.”
“ Father Sheridan, of St. Paul’s, has already
put them on mo,” responded the boy, “ and it’s
no use doing it again.”
“ Oh, yes, it is, returned Riley. “ This is a
better article than Father Sheridan used. You
will go straight through if you have these ash
es on your lovely brow.”
The boy still hesitated. The contemptible
wretch, however, was not to bo cheated of his
prey ; so, without further ado, he, with a per
son who frequents the establishment, seized
the struggling youth. His friend held his
head, and the vicious barkeeper marked a cross
on his forehead. While he did so, he uttered
a lot of gibberish, pretending it to be Latin.
After this operation had been performed, Wm.
Christopher was allowed to depart. After he
reached the street, he put his hand up to his
head for the purpose of rubbing off the mark,
but it wouldn’t be rußbod. He tried again, but
it would not vanish. He began to think it was
a joke. He laughed about it. ’ After a while,
he came across some of his friends In the same
trade, and they, falling in love with the mark
of the cross on William Christopher's forehead,
asked him whore the job was so neatly done.
They were told, aud desiring the same opera
tion performed on them, entered the saloon,
and were each accommodated. Their names
are John Connoway, residing at No. 911 Lo
cust street; Michael Mulholland, residing in
Alexander street, between Sixth and Seventh ;
and John Clements, of No. 726 Bedford street.
After the operations had been performed,
they felt quite a burning sensation. The
marks were noticed by several parties, and,
upon investigation, they were found to have
been inflicted with lunar caustic. Of course
quite a sensatioh wa.s produced when it was
found that such fiendish acts had been com
mitted by this man, liiley. '
The father 0 the boy first mentioned, made
complaint at the Central Station, and a war
rant was issued for'the arrest of Riley. He
had a hearing before Aiderman Kerr, at tbe
Central Station, when the above facts were tes
tified to. • - ■ -
Riley stated that ho had placed tbe marks of
the cross upon the boys’ foreheads, but did not
know what tho article was, or the effect it
would produce. He said he had tried it upon
his own forehead, but it would not take, it
was not wet. It was W6t when he put it upon
the hoys’ foreheads.
The aiderman held the accused in the sum
of $2,000 bail, to answer these serious charges
in court. Bail was promptly entered by the
proprietor of the place in which these acts
were perpetrated.
THE ARMY pF hE-WOMEN,
We do not believe there is a true man in all
England who would deny a woman her honor
able right. It is the general instinct of men,
for mere courtesy’s sake, to yield more than is
demanded of them. When a woman proves
herself more intelligent, intellectual, and capa
ble than the generality of her sex, men, as a
rule, are always ready to acknowledge and en
courage her talent, while they unite to do her
honor. There certainly may be one in a thou
sand who would act as intellectual snuffers,
and “put out her light;” but the breath of
thousands would combine to rekindle that
which one would ungenerously extinguish.
There is such a wide field open to the work! of
women, wherein they may excel, if they have
the talent, and choose to devote time, thought,
and labor to the task, that we are surprised
women should wish to extend it. No road that
a woman of tender and noble nature should de
sire to tread is closed against her. As a poet,
a piainter, a sculptor, an author, or even as an
astronomer, she may march into the field side
by side with men, and lead, too, if she can ;
she may distance them in the race, and win
tbe success they have missed, and men will
give het tbe meed of "praise ungrudinglj ; but
when an army of British matrons or maids
(who have been long “in waiting”) throw aside
their own privileges and storm tbe rights of
men, they must not be surprised if they ooca-
Biouklly meet with a repulse. If they will
throw down 4nd trample on tho feminine flag
(which has waved honorably over thefr
mothers and grandmothers for generations),
and hoist the masculine colors, they cannot
expect to march unassailed beneath the illegiti
mate banner. When men are attacked they
will naturally stand on the defensive, not only
from the impulse of their pugnacious, manly na
ture, bqt from the respect they feel for their
invaders. Most. men have mothers, wives,
daughters, perhaps sisters, whom they hold in
high esteem, or affectionate regard, and they
WidlJlhtf WWtS OB Ito high
level; but when the gentle sex ceases to be
gentle, and rushes forth into the highways and
byways, like a' modern Bellona, fighting her
road and elbowing her way into the haunts of
men, menacing them with her tongue, or lash
ing them with a goosequill, she loses the re
spect of the one sex, and earns the censure of
tno other. We are, however, thankful to find
that the army of he-women is languishing for
want of recruits ; many have deserted from its
ranks; others, whose lives are empty for lack
of employment, which they have not the energy
to seek in their own sphere, are half inclined
to enrol themselves, but they are afraid, and
draw back to watch and wait to see how the
movement works.— London Society.
A PERILOUS POSITION.
A. Man Closed Up for Six Honrs In a Well
—His Feelings While In this Dangerous
Position—Wonderful Kseape.
We are indebted to the pen of a lady—says
the Boston Sunday Times—well-known for her
devotion to the care of the wounded during the
lata war, for the following particulars of the
accident to Mr. Henry Dunster, at Duxbury,
who was buried in his well for some six hours :
“ Mr. Dunster was drawing water from his
well, about eight o’clock on Monday morning
last. Seeing a log at the bottom, ho went
down to remove it. Finding the walls falling,
he caught the rope attached to the bucket,
and had nearly made his ascent by it, when he
was
HEMMED IN AND CABBIED BACK
among the debris. His lower limbs and left
arm were completely wedged in, but leaving
him some use of his right hand. Two large
rocks fell from above, struck each other a little
above his head, and lodged, forming an arch.
For a time there remained some little space
above his head, as well as a crevice through
which he could speak to those above, who let
down a flask of brandy. But soon the whole
mass began to settle upon him, and when
rescued it had
BENT HIS HEAD NEARLY TO HIS KiJEES,
and pressed very hard upon his limbs. He
•could make limited movements with one hand,
and when fainting used the brandy flask ; also
to pack away the sand that was gradually fill
ing around his head. A small aperture gave
him a little light and air. This, as the hours
wore on, he watched, slowly lessening till it
closed, when he lost consciousness.
After that came the struggle that started
the rocks, which opened an air-hole, reviving
him, and showing the men exactly where to
work. His first recollection at this point is of
hearing Mr. Standish say that at a certain
stone should be lifted at all hazards, and of
thinking that he would hug that man as soon
as he was out. This Mr. Standish (a regular
descendant of Miles) is said to have been the
most efficient person there, combining wisdom,
courage, and strength.
After he was taken out Mr. Dunster fainted,
but was soon restored. Dr. Pratt, the surgeon
in attendance, gave him very judicious care.
Although none of his limbs were actually
broken, he was severely bruised, and one of
his legs required splintering, the bone being
somewhat injured, probably cracked, and he
may have to suffer some time from this.
As it was half-past two when he was rescued,
he bad spent about
SIX HOUBS IN THAT DBEADFUL POSITION,
without faltering or losing spirit, speaking
to the men above with undiminished courage
and cheerfulness, yet distinctly understanding
his position, hearing the plans suggested for
his relief, and the often disheartening com
ments of the crowd around. He literally
saved himself by his perfect self-control,
showing a splendidly balanced brain, as well
as fine physique, for one weak moment would
have been fatal to life. I sat at his bedside
the day after the accident, glad to divert his
mind from its recollection by hearing.
THE SIMPLE STOBT OF HIS LIFE.
He was born in Boston. His father was
a printer, and intended to send him to Har
vard, but died when he was a boy of ten ; so
he drifted out into the world, lived with a
farmer, went to sea, married early, and has
now four children, the eldest, a son, Henry,
and he is trying hard to educate him, feeling
keenly his own want of learning. One won
ders what a Harvard training would have done
for him that day, but I believe the custom
involves
A MATTEB OF BRAIN MOBE THAN NERVE,
and becomes only one of diamond, rough or
cut. Fino souls imprisoned by adverse fate
cannot often scintillate. Mischance developed
him to us, known before as only one of the
workmen on the shore.
A Ghostly Hunting Ground.
A writer of sketches from an Irish moorland,
in the London Pall Malt Gazette, finishes with
the following :
Greenland consists of a brown ridge of moor
—a strip from the main bog running into the
sea, which is gradually eating away the deso
late marsh. It seems always as bleak and
abandoned as the region of polar ice. All at
tempts to drain Greenland have failed utterly;
it can only boast of two dwelling-houses, and
these are unoccupied in severe stormy weather
by the miserable creatures who squat in them
during the Summer months. It has the repu
tation of a haunted district; unhallowed lights
are seen there at unhallowed hours; dismal
cries are heard out of the dark from Green
land on the anniversaries of shipwreck disas
ters which have occurred at its uttermost
point.
The fiery ghosts might be explained by the
fact that the locality is favorable for the ec
centric illuminations of Will-o’-the-Wisp ; and
when the equinoctial gales do blow, the per
turbed shrieking and clanging of the gullsand
gannets might pass for the mournful and su
pernatural chorus to which the peasantry
refer.
Cauthleenna Keenthehaun (Kate of the
Keening, Kate the Keener), who lives with an
idiot sou within sight- of Greenland, holds
firmly to the weird faiths. Cauthleen is a pic
turesque hag who sends her bird-wittod lad
begging over the parish, where he is known as
a sort of institution. Poor Cuck is a boy-man,
with light blue eyes, great shambling limbs,
and is the happiest creature in the world. He
whoops and runs over the sands, prances and
chatters to the waves, gallops or trots like an
unbroken colt to the neighboring town, and is
invaluable to a wild-fowl shooter as a retriever.
Cuck is looked on by the people as saered from
harm or it is thought lucky to be
a favorite of his;.it is dangerous to vex him,
for he has who knows what influence with un
canny beings who have power over the pros
pects of butter, of harvest, of health.
Cauthleen’s profession is to cry over the
dead. She is one of the last of a curious race.
Her keening is thought to be unusually elo
quent and touching. She is regularly employed
for a “wake” ou the decease of a peasant
whose friends can afford to pay for her accom
plished services. A fortnight ago the writer oi
this sketch visited Cauthleen ja order to engage
Cuck as a guide to GreenlandfOr the evening.
The old woman was smoking, and appar
ently also rehearsing a performance or her
duties, for she was muttering and rocking on
a stool before her hearth. Paudeen Morissoy’s
son had just gone off of a decline, and Paudeen
wished him to be buried as those belonging te
him were buried before him. The keener was
conning over her task. -
“The wake rtas fo be that evening in Arvane
beyant; had his honor a drop o’ whisky wid
him to warm the ould woman, who knew the
stock he came from ? &c. Och, God help us 1
is it on Greenland you’re goin’ towlin’, an’ the
cold night coming on already 1 ’Tis a saying
—did your honor ever hear it?—that where
somever the divil (God between us and all
harm) spends the day, ’tis on Greenland he
spends the night 1 Well, sir, Cuck can go wid
ye if vou’re bint on it. ” -
An 3 the withered beldame—as the old novel
ist would write—calls for her son, who is draw
ing figures with his bare big toe on the mud
before the cabin door.
THE BLACK DIAMOND.
.VHCKET-OT-LEAVE MANIS THICK.
Coal was recently reported to hays been
found in great quantity and oi first class
quality at Midnapore, in Bengal, says the
Bombay Gazette. The story, for there is a
story, will interest more than merchants and
mineralogists. We commend it to the notice
of any sensational novelist of the period who
may be in want of a subject. The bare plot of
“The Ticket-of-Leave Man, or the Black Dia
monds of Midnapore” runs thus:—An Austra
lian convict, named Henderson, who was serv
ing out a High Court sentence in the Presi
dency Jail, was sent to Midnapore to aid in
sinking a well tor the Central Prison there.
Shortly after bis arrival he reported that he
had come upon coal—lumps of which were cer
tainly produced by him from the shaft and
identified in Calcutta as “fully equal to the
best English steam.” The Geological Depart
ment, which at first had denied that coal could
be found there, began to stammer out doubts
as to the accuracy of its maps. Borings were
made all round the site of the Central Jail—
and the boring tubs under Henderson’s aus
pices generally and judiciously brought up
traces of coal. Great was the excitement of
Dr. Mouat, great the credulity of the D. P. W.
Already, in the vivid imagination of the in
spector-general, furnaces flamed and chimneys
smoked, and an Eastern Birmingham covered
the bare slopes of the jail plateau. Mr. Hen
derson, now out of his timo, was appointed on
a salary of Rs 150 per mensem, to aid in the
borings—the Damooda Canal project got an
extra Knock on the head—Midnapore was to
extinguish morally and finally all BaneegunJ.
It is now reported from Calcutta, and we fear
with truth, that Mr. Henderson, the beneficent
ticket-of-leave man, has disappeared, having
spoiled the confiding traders of Midnapore of
jewels and much raiment. With him, alas 1
has also disappeared the coal seam, and the
trembling native well-diggers are confessing
that, bribed or bullied by the “sahib,” they
had procured a few lumps of coal to dropdown
the well shaft, while a handful of coal dust
shoved into the borer, when opportunity of
fered, seemed Jto make the “ sahib” so' glad,
tiult It WOuHJiiaye been quite a pity not.to gr»t-
him. No wonder the Midnapore coal was
“ equal to the best English steam," seeing that
it was indeed that precious article.
Gigantic Crab.—A correspondent
of the London Field draws attention to a crab
fxpm Japan, named Macrochira Krampferi, by
Dettaan, which is ten feet between the tips of
the claws. This Japanese fellow is a spider
crab, with a comparatively small body and
enormously disproportioned limbs, especially
in the male. The body is somewhat triangu
lar, and about a foot long, rather convex, and
suggested the idea of a triangular Christmas
pudding. From this body stretch great tbin
claws, which, in small specimens, are about
the thickness of a man’s thigh bone, and un
der four feet in length ; but in the specimen
described the length was upward of four and a
half feet each, and what we would call the hu
merus and radius were each cylindrical tubes,
nearly two inches in diameter and two feet in
length. This creature was described, and fig
ured upward of a hundred years ago, by
Ktempfer, and lately three specimens of un
usual dimensions have found their way to
London. Two of these were secured by the
British Museum, and the third by Professor
Archer, for the Edinburgh Museum, of which
he is the director. Notwithstanding the dis
proportion between the body and the length of
the claws, there, must be a vast amount of
meat in this crab. A single joint of the legs,
two feet long, and nearly as thick as a lady’s
would make no bad dinner for a hungry man.
It is brought to market at Japan, and it is not
said to be rare there. Nor, if it is really good
eating and worth the trouble, is there any rea
son why it should not be introduced alive, and
added to the foreign delicacies that we are
gradually accumulating at our own doors.
An Exquisite’s Dilemma.—An amus
ing incident is related by a Birmingham, Eng.,
paper. At a well-known hostelry in that locali
ty, a company of choice spirits had assembled.
Among them were an exquisite native of France,
and an appropriating native of Germany. The
conversation turning on dress, the Frenchman
was asked what he would sell his handsome
unmentionables for. A bargain was struck ;
but the purchaser suggested a difficulty. How
was he to know that the garments would fit
him ? Easy enough was the reply, try them
on there! It was agreed. The breeches were
removed. No sooner was this part of the per
formance completed than the said breeches,
after a preliminary flourish about the room,
disappeared altogether. The company disap
peared also. Here was a fix for an exquisite 1
He rang the bell. The waiting-maid was ter
rified. Then the landlady arrived on Ihu scone.
She, too, was alarmed. Barolegs had to ap
peal to the landlord. He could scarely appear
on the street in the unfinished garb of a High
land chief. Boniface, a rather stout party,
succeeded in finding a pair of old articles of
his own. They were, however, a world too
wide for the shrunk shanks of the delicate
gentleman who needed them. But the adroit
use of nearly all the pins and skewers in the
establishment, enabled the unhappy victim to
make himseli sufficiently decent to re-appear
in public. It is understood that the indispen
sable property of the poor French dandy was
“requisitioned" by a patriotic German.
Making Sure of a Tenor.—A French
impressario was taking ont to New Orleans an
opera company, which, by special agreement,
was only to include one tenor. Foreigners are
usually bad sailors, and the first few days all
the members of the company were sea-sick,
one of the effects of which malady is, that it
weakens the voice so much that people are fre
quently hoarse for several days after their re
covery. Accordingly, as soon as the singers
could crawl on deck, they commenced to try
their voices, and among them the tenor, who,
always anxious to occupy a distinguished posi
tion, went on the bridge of the steamer for the
purpose. What was his surprise on hearing
an echo of his own voice—another tenor. His
amazement became disgust when he heard the
third tenor running up the scale, a fourth, a
fifth. He looked forward, and saw two men
eyeing him and each other with intense hatred ;
he looked aft, and saw two others similarly oc
cupied. The five tenors simultaneously made
a rush below to the manager’s cabin, and de
manded whether he had not expressly stipu
lated to each of them that he was to be his
only tenor.
“I know, I know,” replied the manager,
“and I will keep my word. You see, none of
you have beqn to New Orleans before, or you
would understand. When we arrive there, the
yellow fever is sure to be raging, and, as you
are fresh from Europe, two of you will proba
bly be carried off before you land, and two
more during the rehearsal. One will proba
bly survive ; he will be my first and only
tenor.”
A Cruel Scene.—A little girl about
twelve years of age appeared before Judge
Sawyer, says the San Francisco Bulletin, on
the complaint of her father and two other men.
The purpose was to have her committed to the
Industrial School. She looked intelligent, but
was thinly and poorly clad. The father could
not say anything worse than that she was dis
obedient. The little girl was asked why she
did not obey him, and replied tbafhe neglected
to take care of her and clothe her, and that she
would have been in court without stockings
and shoes, but for the kindness of a lady at
whose house she had been fed and sheltered.
The judge evidently thought injustice was be
ing dope, for the lather’s face bore the traces
of intemperance ; but he declared himself to be
a poor, hard-working man. He was asked why
he wanted to disgrace his daughter, at that
tender age, by sending her off to the Industrial
School, and only replied that she refused to
obey his commands. The other men testified
to the same purpose, and there was nothing
left for the court to do but order her commit
ment. When she learned the fact, the poor
child wept bitterly, crying: “Papa, I will go.
home to my little sister. Don’t send me away. ”
and, as the officer was about leading her out of
the room. “Papa, come to me, come here.”
The man stood laughing and shaking his head
as if her cries were pleasant music to his ears,
till the judge called out in a tone not to be un
heeded ; “ Go to your child, sir, go to that girl,”
and he went pursued by the muttered execra
tions of every father in the court room.
King James and the Philosopher’s
Stone. —The celebrated Thomas Hamilton,
Earl of Haddington, President of the Court of
Sessions, and Secretary of State for Scotland,
was nicknamed by his sovereign, from the
place of bis residence, “ Tam o’ the Cowgate,”
under which title be is said to be now better
remembered than by any other. Him James I.
visited, when in Scotland, in 1617; and very
rich the king found the old statesman, whom,
on that account, popular rumor accredited
with the actual possession of the philosopher’s
stone, there being “ no other feasible mode of
accounting for his immense wealth, which ra
ther seemed the effect of supernatural agency
than of worldly prudence or talent.” It seems
that King James was vastly tickled with the
idea of the philosopher’s ston” and of so en
viable a talisman having fallen into the hands
of a Scottisn judge ; so his majesty took care
to let his trusty old friend and gossip know of
the rumors afloat. The Lord President, we
are told, immediately invited the king and the
rest of the company present to come and dine
with him next day, when he would lay open to
them the mystery of the talisman in question.
Next day saw his Cowgate palazzo thronged
with the invited guests, all of whom his lord
ship gratified with a dainty repast. That
over, James reminded Tam of his philoso
pher’s stone, and declared himself to be on the
tenterhooks of expectation till the mystery
should be solved. The president then ad
dressed king and courtiers in a pithy speech,
whereof the peroration explained that his
whole secret lay in two simple and familiar
maxims: “Never put off till to-morrow what
can be done to-day,” and “Never trust to an
other’s hand what your own can execute.”
Remarkable Rescue.—ln the year
1628, Landamman Kasper, of Brandenberg,
the newly chosen Governor of Bollenz, was
riding over the St. Gothard from Zug, accom
panied by a servant and a faithful dog. At the
top of the pass he and his servant were buried
by an avalanche, which descended from the
Lucendro. The dog alone shook himself free.
His first care was to extricate his master. But
when he saw he could not succeed in doing
this, he hastened back to the hospice, and
there, by pitilul howling and whining, an
nounced that an accident had happened. The
landlord and his servants set out immediately
with shovels and pickaxes, and followed the
dog, which ran quickly before them. They
soon reached the place where the avalanche
had fallen. Here the faithful dog stopped sud
denly, plunged his face into the snow, and be
gan to scratch it up, barking and whining.
The men set to work at once, and after a long
and difficult labor, succeeded in extricating the
Landamman, and soon afterward his servant.
They were beth alive, after spending thirtv-six
fearful hours beneath the snow, oppressed by
the most painful thoughts. They had beard
the howling and barking of the dog quite
plainly, and had noticed his sudden departure,
and the arrival of their deliverers; they had
heard them talking and working, without
being able to move or utter a sound. The
Landamman’s will ordained that an image of
the faithful dog should be sculptured at his
feet on his tomb. This monument was qccd
till lately in Qt. Oswald’s Church, at Zug,
-A Daring Feat.*— The Janesville
Gazette, of Friday, says : " A couple of young
men were crossing the lower railroad bridge,
and as they reached a spot where an opening
had been made for the purpose of lowering
timber and stone, a train of cars camo out
of tfie cut and advanced toward them at the
usual rate of speed maintained at such points.
It was too late to retreat and they aid not
relish the idea of being thrown into the swift
current of the river, sbmo thirty feet below.
Standing firmly on the ties, they held their
position until the locomotive had nearly
reached them, when both sprang forward upon
the pilot ana were carried safely from the
scene of danger amid the cbee s of the work
men below, who had witnessed the daring
feat,”
Sunday Edition. March 5»,
Queer Catechizing.—A correspond
ent gives the following account of a catechiz
ing in a Gorman school upon the raising of
Lazarus:
“ Do you regard this chapter as narrating AS
actual fact ?”
“No, no; truly not.”
“What, then, is it?”
“ A parable, or myth, shadowing out great
truth.”
“ Very good. Now, what, in a word or two,
is the thing shadowed out in this beautiful
myth?”
“The restoration of learning in the four,
toenth century.”
“ Good, again; but how do you suppose that
a chapter written long before that event could
have any reference to it?”
“It is a fable of humanity, true for al)
times. It sets forth tho inevitable law of rft*
action.” -
“ Is it true of this age ?”
“Yes; once again has the In-our-father’s
time dead Lazarus come forth! rom the
grave.”
“ And what is figured under the name of
Jesus ?’•*
“ The spirit of philosophical inquiry which
energizes the dead public heart.”
“ And of what are the grave-clothes emblem,
atic ?”
“ Of cllnging-closely-but-to-be-got-rid-of-BU.
porstitlons."
The Gem in the Head of a Toad.—
A.writer in the English Gardener’s Chronicle,
gives this curious bit of information: •• Last
Summer I came upon a very fine specimen of
the toad in a rich locality in slugs, flies and
other insects. From its largeness I considered
it a female, which, in this class, much exceeds
the size of the male. Seeing me, she stopped
her march in a rather awkward position, with
a fore leg or arm up in the air, as if to take a
step forward, and was seized with catalepsy.
The sun had been for some time up, and I ob
served a fine, shining diamond upon the centra
of her broad forehead, about the size of a pea.
I had often heard of a beautiful gem existing
in the head of the toad, but accounted for the
poetic idea by supposing it had arisen from the
brilliant eyes, more remarkable from their
coarse, uncouth surrounding. Here was the
brilliant gem we bad so often heard of. Upon
examining the back of the creature I found a
number of small, shining specks or gems of
the same nature as the large one on the fore
head. Upon touching tho large one on the
brow, I found it to consist of a gelatine, soft
and shining, and I considered it and all the
smaller gems on the back to be an exuded
poison, given out by special pores and glands,
supplied by nature as a means of defense, the
ppor creature being otherwise defenseless.
A Clever Rogue.—'the Paris Droit
writes that a Paris butcher went to tho market
one day during the seige, and found a driver
offering a fine fat horse and a lean dog for sale..
“ What do you ask for tho horse ?” he said.
“With the dog, a thousand francs,”
“And without the dog ?”
“I will only sell them together.”
“But what shall I do with that lean beast?
The dog has hardly two pounds of flesh on his
body.”
"I will sell you the dog for nine hundred and
ninety-five francs.”
“Are you mad?”
“And throw in the horse for five francs
more.”
The butcher looked at him, but finally bough!
both of the beasts at the stated price. But
this singular sale had aroused the suspicions
of a policeman, and the driver was arrested.
Arriving at the Maine, he gave lhe following
explanation: His master had died and com*
missioned him to sell the horse for the benefit
of his heirs, while be had bequeathed to him
his dog. For this reason he had refused to
sell the beasts separately. He was discharged,
but tbo heirs of his master have sued him, as
he gave them only five francs for tbo horse,
while he kept nine Hundred and ninety-five
francs for the dog.
Gipsy Cookery.—A correspondent
of the London Notes and Quenes, says: “ Dur
ing the past Summer I paid frequent visits to
a Gipsy encampment in my neighborhood, and
upon one occasion observing a senseless lump
of clay baking upon an open fire-grate, I
learned upon inquiry, that it contained a fowl
in process of cooking. After a while, one of
the girls removed it from the fire ; and on
breaking it open, I found it to contain a veri
table fowl with the feathers still on it. These,
however, came off with the baked clay, and left
the flesh beautifully white and streaming with
rich gravy from countless pores. I was pressed
to partake, but the untrussed head and legs
looked so like those of a fowl which had died a
‘natural death,’that I civilly declined the invi
tation, although I am a firm believer in tho
adage which says that ‘Whatever doos not
poison fattens.’” Frank Forrester (H. W.
Herbert), in his “Wild Sports of the West,”
describes the Indians as cooking fowl and fish
in the same way. He says that he never ato
either cooked in any other way equal in flavor
when cooked in Indian way.
Insensibility. When a man i»
asleep, his pulse beats and his lungs play, but
he is without sense, and you can easily wake
him up. In sleep the face is natural. If a
man is asleep, let him alone—nature will wake
him up as soon as ho has got sleep enough. If
a person “faints.” he, too, is without sense,
but he has no pulse, and does not breathe. In
a fainting fit, he has the pallor of death. When
a person faints, all that is needed is to lay him
down flat on the floor, and he will “come to”
in double-quick time. He fainted because the
heart missed a beat—failed for an instant—*
failed for only once to send the proper amount
of blood to the brain. Apoplexy is between the
two; the heart beats, the lungs play as in
sleep, and there is no sense as in fainting, but
you can’t shake a man back to life. In apo
plexy, it is swollen, turgid, and fairly livid. In
apoplexy, as there is too much blood in tho
head, every one can see the beet position is to
set a man up, and the blood naturally tends
downward, as much so as water will come out
of a bottle when turned upside down, if tba
cork is out.
Convincing Argument .—There is
something very infectious in a row, and Irish
men suffer from an especial predisposition
thereto, says an Australian paper. They find
it catching always. Their constitutions won’t
resist a difficulty if it be anywhere within hail.
When a little trouble occurred the other day.
between a gentleman’s coachman and a hotel
keeper oi sporting proclivities, some one on
the stand ventured to express rather loudly his
approbation of one of the combatants. But a
champion was at once forthcoming on tha
sward. “Whoever says that bad better coma
down here and say it again in front of me!"
and the invitation was accepted by a stalwart
insurance broker, who bpldly reiterated his
“bravo.” No sooner were tho words uttered
than he received a suggestion, direct from the
shoulder of the gentleman whose invitation to
come down he had accepted, of so desisive a
character that he promptly lay down backward
on the grass about twenty yards off. “ Now,”
said the vanquisher, “is there anybody elsa
will say • bravo ?’ ” Strange to say nobody did,
A Newsboy’s Trick.—A crusty old
gentleman in Boston decided to invest in a two
cent paper, and handed the boy a twenty-five
cent piece of currency. Boy couldn’t ohanga
it, but offered to go out of the car and change
it. Crusty man objected, and broke out with
“Hold on, you little ragged rascal, do you sup
pose I’m going to trust the likes of you with
such a large sum of money ? Lay down you.
papers for security, you little rascal.” And
the “little rascal” did make crusty the custo
dian of his papers, and bounded out of tho cat
“for to change” the twenty-five cent scrip. But
the boy forgot to return, and crusty found him
self in possession of four copies of a two cent
paper.
A Mother’s Loving Selfishness.-
A Portland paper is publishing what purports
to be extracts from a diary kept by Hawthorne,
when a boy of ton years, while he was spend
ing some time in Maine. This is a paragraph ;.
“ This morning the bucket got off the chain,
and dropped back into the well. I wanted to
go down on the stones and get it. Mother
would not consent, for fear the well might cava
in, but hired Samuel Shane to go down. In
the goodness of her heart she thought the son
of old Mrs. Silane not quite so valuable as tha
son of the Widow Hawthorne. God bless her
for all her love for me, though it may bo soma?
what selfish." f
Make a Note of It.-—The Chines®
have some notions that might be advantage
ously adopted by Christians. Tho way they
celebrate their holidays is one of them. Tha
first thing they do is to pay off old debts and
square accounts to a fraction. Money matters
having been thus adjusted, they next make up
old quarrels, and shake hands all round.
Having thus got square pecuniarily and sot
cially, they eat, drink, and are merry, finally
winding up with a sparkling discharge or
Chinese fire-crackers. This paying off old
debts and tho making up of quarrels is Cer
tainly a good way to begin the celebration of
holidays.
Laying out a Phrenologist. —Profi
Fowler recently visited the Charlestown State
Prison “in the interest of phrenology,” and
asked to see some of the prisoners. Tha
Warden sent for a olear-eyod, smiling fellows
with a well-shaped head, and soon Fowler had
his hands on him. “Well, Mr. Haynes,” hfl
said, with his what-I-don’t-know-ain’t-worth|
knowing air, *• you’ve got this fellow hero once*’
but you won’t catch him again.” “ Perhapg
ho will learn wisdom by long experience,” ths
Warden answered j “he is in here for tho
enth time.”,- ,
Sponge Paper.— For the fabrica
tion of an article called sponge paper, lateli
patented in France, evenly and finely dividea
sponge is added to ordinary paper pulp, and
this is worked os in the common paper-mak
ing apparatus, into sheets of different thick
nesses. It is said to have all the peculiarities
of sponge, absorbing water readily, and re
maining moist a long time. It has been used,
as a dressing for wounds with considerable ad,
vantage, and is capable of MT.IW import*
lichßwai »pplifiiti9»fj

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