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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, September 15, 1872, Image 6

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OH I SAY THAT WE MUST PART.
BONG.
Mary E. Kerrigan.
Ob I would that I might dare to love there,
Or ever hope to call thee mine;
For, by the glittering stars above me, ♦
My heart, my soul is thine !
Thou would’st but bring me sorrow,
Thou would’st but break my heart;
Then tell me not to love thee—
Oh I say that we must part.
Thon £o, nor let my sorrow stay thee,
It is but meet that we should part;
Oh I heed not thou the low, sad wailing
Of a bruised and broken heart.
Thou would’st but bring me sorrow*
Thou would’st but break my heart;
Then tell me not to love thee,
Oh! say that we must part.
DOCTOR DORRIMER.
BA FAtKNIE a. lockwood.
John Dorrimer had not a cent in the world,
and nothing but his profession upon which to
oepend. He had studied medicine with his
father who had a practice barely sufficient to
keep him above actual want; but upon the
death of the latter, the young man was left to
earn his own living. How difficult that is, for
a man without friends or a start, few who have
not been compelled to try the experiment can
realize.
Handsome in form and feature, intelligent
and educated, willing to work, no matter how
hard, for a competence, John Dorrimer found
himself, one cold Winter night, actually with
out the means to buy a crust of bread. He sat
in his miserably furnished office in one of the
east side streets of New York, discouraged,
hungry and, desperate. He had not tasted a
morsel of food during the entire day ; his fire
and stock of coal were out; hunger and cold
were making him desperate.
“I mustn’t sit here and freeze,” he exclaimed
at length. “A walk will keep me warm, if it
don’t feed me.”
Sick and dispirited, he left the shabby room
which sheltered him. It was a cold, pitiless
night, a night that sought out every corner
and nook, and filled them with a biting cold.
The wind went roaring and sweeping through
the streets, and through the thin garments of
John Dorrimer it sported with wild glee. It
aent sharp throbs of pain through his form,
and as it raged about wilder and more gleeful,
it filled bis half crazed mind with a vague de
sire for rest of some kind, even if it had to be
the rest of death, and then he started off in a
bewildered and frenzied search for it.
At that moment a man darted suddenly from
an obscure alley, and passed him at full speed.
Then came a cry and a shout, and the rapid
trampling of feet, and in another moment the
solitude of the street grew instinct and massed
with life.
“ Where is he ?” cried a dozen voices to Dor
rimer, “ which street did the robber take?”
But he could not answer; his nerves wore
unstrung, and his dizzy brain swam and
reeled, and the faces which peered upon him,
and the voices which yelled in his ears, were
to him as the forms and sounds of a ghastly
world. His head drooped upon his bbsom—he
clung to a railing for support. The crowd
passed on—they wore in pursuit of guilt; what
to thorn was the virtue they could have sup
ported, or the family they could have relieved?
But they knew not his distress nor the extent
of his weakness, or some one would have tar
ried and aided, for there is, after all, as much
kindness as cruelty in our nature. Perhaps
they thought it was only some intoxicated and
maudlin idler; or perhaps, in the heat of their
pursuit, they thought not at all.
“ The fellow, whoever he is or whatever he
has done, seems likely to escape,” mused Dr.
Dorrimer. “There is vice prospering and
here is virtue starving. No, I’ll not starve 1
I’ll do as he has done. The street is dark
here and deserted now. The next man or wo
man who passes shall furnish money for a
meal 1”
Stopping back into the shadow of a building,
he wanly waited for his prey.
Just then the sound of furiously driven
wheels caught his ear, and a moment later two
horses attached to a carriage dashed around
the corner, and the carriage was thrown heavi
ly over. Dr. Dorrimer ran to the wreck,where
he found the two occupants of the carriage—a
man and a woman—lying amid the debris.
The former staggered to his feet, but little, if
any, injured, wmie the lady lay as still as if
dead.
Dr. Dorrimer and the msn lifted her slight
form gently and bore it, at the doctor’s sug
gestion, into a drug store near at hand. There
he soon succeeded in recalling her to con
sciousness, but it was evident that she was
very severely injured. An arm was broken,
and there were many cruel bruises. When she
had so far revived as to render her removal
feasible, a carriage was ordered to take her
home.
“And if yon will accompany us,” said the
man to Dr. Dorrimer, “you will add to the al
ready great favor you have done us. My name
is Lancaster—Herbert Lancaster—and this is
my wife.”
The young doctor now looked at his patient’s
face closely for the first time, for before he had
been too busy in attending to her hurts to ob
serve critically. He now saw a rather dark but
strikingly handsome face, its perfection of con
tour and feature being strongly set forth by
the pallor that overspread it.
“ Certainly ; I shall be pleased to attend her.
ff you desire it,” said Dr. Dorrimer, who had
previously told Mr. Lancaster that he was a
physician. “ The lady’s iniuries, although not
dangerous, require immediate attention.”
a wife—to the carnage, and all three were driv
en to the Lancaster mansion, which held its
own in point of elegance among blocks of
brownstone structure in a fashionable up-town
street. Then she was put to bed. and her in
juries more carefully oresseu by nr. Dorrimer,
whose evident skill seemed to please the anx
ious husband. She was somewhat feverish,
required careful attention.
Will you stay with her to-night?” asked ihe
husband.
“ Her condition requires it,” was the reply.
It was past midnight when Airs. Lancaster
fell asleep, and the two watchers withdrew.
The husband ordered a lunch, over the eating
of which he expressed his thanks to the young
doctor ; but he did not know how much bis
guest needed the food that was set before him,
nor how refreshed he felt after it.
In the morning Mrs. Lancaster was in a
fever, and Dr. Dorrimer, at the husband’s
urgent solicitation, took professional charge of
the case, devoting nearly his whole time to it,
and taking his meals in the house.
When two weeks had passed, and the patient
was beyond all danger, the young doctor found
that the accident bad put him upon the road
to an extensive practice. The Lancasters
were fashionable, rich and widely known in
society. Their patronage of Dr. Dorrimer was
a sufficient guarantee, and he found calls for
his services pouring in at a highly remunera
tive rate. Within six months he became es- :
tablished in elegant quarters, and was not only 1
professionally but socially known in fashionable 1
circles. Good looks and attractive social qual
ities won him many friends ; and with it ail he
could not but look back upon the night of the
accident as the turning point in his life.
But from that event also dated the growth of
another important and less fortunate element
in his life—love for Jessie Lancaster. From
their first meeting, when she lay maimed and
suffering, her face had never been out of his
mind. During her illness she had uncon
sciously revealed to him a nature so fine and I
womanly, yet so strong and passionate, that he
soon found himself setting her up as an idol in
his heart. And how secretly and devotedly be
worshiped it, until the possession of her love
became a suppressed ambition, a never
expected goal, which he only reached in his
dreams.
The husband suspected nothing of this, for
Dr. Dorrimer guarded every avenue that could 1
lead to suspicion; but not so with Jessie. Her
eyes were those of a woman, and she read the
unspoken love from its incipienoy until it be
came an overpowering passion. In her own
passionate breast she reciprocated the senti
ment, but she proved more adept, for a time at
least, in hiding it. Her marriage had been
arranged with less reference to hearts than to
purses, and her husband held no stronger sen
timents toward her than respect and admira
tion.
But Dr. Dorrimer and Jessie were too much
together, and their mutual passion too rapid
and strong of growth, to bo long kept smolder
ing. So long as Dr. Dorrimer did not know
his love to be returned, self-respect and re
spect for her sealed bis lips ; but when be saw i
at last the truth, impetuosity overcame dis
cretion.
“Jessie,” he said, when left alone with her
one day, “ what is to come of all this?”
“Of what?” she asked, haif guessing his 1
meaning.
“Of our love, Jessie. It is true that your
lips have never spoken it, but your eyes, your <
manner, a hundred things, have told me‘that 1
you love mo—love ms as I do you, Jessie. 1
What is to come of it ?”
Jessie did not reply. Her face flushed and I
her eyes drooped, but she made no denial. >
Her lover came to her, drew her to his breast 1
and her head sank on his shoulder. ’ i
“ What is to come of it, Jessie ?” ho repeated. ■
•'We can’t go on in this way. Either I must I
leave the city and never see you again, or you <
must be wholly mine.” 1
No reply came from the red lips, between
which the hot breath camo excitedly; but the
Blight form nestled closer in the arms that so
closely held it. i
“It is useless for us to close our eyes to the 1
truth,” continued Dr. Dorrimer; “we love I
each other so well that there must boa final i
parting, or no parting at all. Which shall it j
This time the heart of the girl spoke the an- <
Bwer. i
“ I cannot live without you. Take me away t
frith you ; I cannot give you up 1” E
Their lips mot in their first kiss, and their i
happiness shut out all thought of the husband e
Whose confidence they were abusing. Both e
were young and impulsive, and to them it was v
natural.that prompt action should follow a res- I
olotiou. Caivied away by her frank avowal of a
her passion, Dr. Dorrimer had now no thought t
Di relinauishing ths fruition of his wildest o
a drcams. He proposed an immediate elope
ment, and it needed no pictures of a happy
life in other lands to win the consent of the in
fatuated wife. Details wore speedily settled.
On the following day Mr. Lancaster would start
on a week’s business trip. They would take
advantage 'of that fact, and embark in the
same day’s outward-bound steamer for Europe.
Their heastily matured plan bad barely been
completed when the husband’s step was heard
in the hall, followed by his entrance into tho
drawing room. Soon afterward Dr. Dorrimer
took his leave.
On the following morning Mr. Lancaster
went away, as expected, and Jessie, her brain
in a whirl of excitement, went about the pre
parations for the elopement. Her lover was to
call with a close carnage in time to catch the
steamer, in which he was to engage passages
under assumed names.
The hours passed until the appointed time
arrived, and still Dr. Dorrimer did not come.
Jessie went to the window several times, but
no carriage came. Finally there was a ring at
the door-bell, and then a servant brought her
a note. It was in the well known handwriting
of her lover, and she nervously tore it open.
“My dear Jessie,” she read, “ the delirum is
’> passed, and in my returning senses, and away
0 from you, I can think a little more calmly. I
s can remember how, but a few months ago,
0 your patronage and influence saved me from
® actual want—-perhaps from crime—for hunger
0 had impelled me.to decide upon robbery on the
r night of the accident. Now I have tho oppor
e tunity to repay the debt by saving you from
Q the crime and shame of elopement. Yester
day, my love for you made me forget all this ;
• but now lam resolved, for your sake, to level
’ all the bright castles I had built. It is best
1 that we should only meet hereafter in the
■ presence of others. This is a heavy blow for
t me to infllot upon you and myself, my own
3 darling, but love for you counsels it.”
> Indignation was the first sentiment excited
1 by this note in Jessie ; then came grief at the
3 rude crushing of her fondest hopes, and finally
1 gratitude for having been saved from a rash
. and wicked act.
1 ***** »
1 Three years later, Jessie Lancaster stood by
tho coffin of her dead husband. During the
' interval, she had seldom seen Dr. Dorrimer,
s and then only in the society of others. She
r had tried hard to banish from her heart the
• forbidden love, and had so far succeeded as to
J remain loyal to her husband, for whom, if she
[ had borne no deep love, she could at least
mourn the loss of a dear friend.
> After a fitting lapse of time, Dr. Dorrimer
• resumed their broken friendship, and each
■ found the love for tho other a smoldering fire,
1 that only needed renewed companionship to be
• fanned into a blaze again. But this time there
was no bar to their union, and their marriage
1 was the prelude to an honorable and happy
■ married life.
spITTiE
BY MAX ADEL ER.
UNDREAMED OF FACTS.
In conducting a political campaign it is of
course necessary to prove that the candidates
of the opposition are the most abandoned vil
lains in illimitable space, and to show that they
have perpetrated the most frightful crimes on
record. In Mrs. Woodbull’s behalf, therefore,
we have taken the trouble to hunt up some
facts, hitherto concealed, concerning events in
the career both of Grant and Greeley. It is
now ascertained that Horace Greeley attempt
ed to scuttle tho shipin which Columbus sailed
to America. He was caught while swimming
in the Atlantic ocean upon a life preserver, try
ing to bore through the hull with a -two-inch
auger. He was eventually sold as a slave to
the aborigines. It was Grant who, disguised
as an Indian, attempted to knock out John
Smith’s brains with a club at the time of the
interposition of Pocahontas. This dastardly
effort to commit assassination is supposed to
have been inspired by hie desire to kill off the
Smiths in order to purge the directory and to
reduce the Democratic majority prior to the
November election. Horace Greeley is known
to have bribed Benedict Arnold, to have killed
General Braddock, to have approached Santa
Anna with offers of a wooden leg so that the
Mexican could tread down our liberties, and to
have struck the match which started the Chi
cago fire. Grant is suspected of complicity in
the destruction of the shad fisheries in the
Susquehanna, with having introduced the
small-pox into the United States, with having
stirred up the Lisbon earthquake, and with
having ordered Joan of Are to be burned at
the stake. Greeley paid tho Hessians who
served in the American lievolution out of his ;
own pocket; he invented cholera morbus; he
introduced baggage-smashing and the use of
mixed liquors; and he started the practice of
writing poetry for the newspapers. For any
one of these crimes death is hardly a sufficient
penalty. Grant tried to assassinate William
Penn by shooting at him with a revolver from
the branches of the treaty tree; he made tight
boots fashionable, organized the present sys
tem of hired girls, and introduced the disgust
ing habit of paying back money that had been
borrowed. Can the American people consent ,
to vote for men with such records? While
Woodhull is in the field there can be but one ,
answer to such a question.
THE LIMITED PARTY.
The Woodhull movement has seemed to lan- ;
gnish lately. Converts have not been made as i
frequently" as we could wish, and Mrs. Wood- (
bull has been compelled to roost out on her ,
roof several times recently, for the purpose of
asking the spirit of Deraostbanoa, j
ms campaign m such a i
manner. But wo have succeeded in winning ;
over one eloquent person to tho cause. Her
name is Mrs. Smith, and she lives in Cincm- (
nati. She is principally valuable as a slinger ;
of italicized adjectives and emphasized pro- j
nouns, and she always speakji in a scream. .
We h- irom Airs. Smith already. She E
wishes to express her indignation against the c
mon who regard Mrs. Woodhull with ridicule, c
and this is the way Smith does it: t
“HI was a man, and in power, I would pass £
a law that every Slanderer should be Branded e
on the Forehead with the letter S, which should ;
imply to either sex, Slandbkek, Scamp, Scoun- t
duel, Sycophant, Snake, Sneak, Bnobl Buch ,
Scurrilous, Snarling, Scrubby, Scurvy Scor- c
pions should suffer Scalding, Scalping, Scourg- I
ing, Scraping, Skinning, and, for life, undergo ,
the doom of Sisyphus, who was compelled to ;
roll a large stone up a mountain, in hell, which
continually rolled back, as a punishment Tor ;
his perfidy and numerous robberies.” v
As there are only three of us in our party— j
Woodhull, Smith,.and us—wo did intend to run j
Smith for the Vice Presidency; but we are now -
convinced that it would be dangerous. For it *
is evident that if Mrs. Smith does get into B
power, and does undertake to carry her threat t
into execution, about half the population would
carry part of the alphabet on their foreheads, r
and devote their time, after being scalded, f
scalped, scraped, and skinned, to rolling stones ;
up hill. We are unable to perceive that this j
would be a profitable acquisition to American t
Industry, and we are certain that after our fras- f
ciblo old Smith had got done running around t
among the people with a scalping-knife and a
tea-kettle, the standard of American beauty f
would be lowered. Smith must be restrained, j
We must hold Smith in. We shall have a t
skating-rink chained to her ankle, so that she
can expend her energies in harmless soream- 1
ing-
A SUFFICIENT CAUSE FOR
HATRED. *
The inextinguishable hatred with which the ]
people of Arizona regard the Apache Indians
was excited by a somewhat singular circum- B
stance’ Many years ago, a friend of ours, c
named Higgins, who was an enthusiast upon
the subject of music, conceived an idea that
the surest way of civilizing the red man would
be to bring him under the soothing influences j
of the divine art. Higgins concluded that this
could best be done by teaching each individual t
Indian to play upon some instrument. So ho B
bought about sixteen hundred flutes, and t
started off for Arizona. He settled down j
among the Apaches, who were much pleased =
with Higgins f scheme. So Higgins began to
give music lessons, and in a few weeks he bad p
all those flutes employed, and the silence of g
the plains was broken by a perfect cyclone of c
B-flats and C-natural». The Indians went into jj
the thing with enthusiasm; but tho white poo- t
pie in the neighborhood regarded the horrible 0
uproar with disgust. And that melodious old
ass of a Higgins used to rush out bis sixteen p
hundred braves upon calm Summer evenings, p
and make them roost along on a fence and j,
practice their scales in unison until the bair of a
every white man in ths neighborhood was t
screeched up on end. After a while, Higgins
educated them up to try to play “ Auld Lang p
Syne,” and the way these aboriginal performers 0
would slide around among the notes, and tear p
up and down the bars, and improvise extra- p
ordinary and appalling variations, would have p
made even an Italian organ-grinder commit u
suicide. But Higgins said he felt encouraged,
and so he marched his orchestra into town, p
one evening, for tho purpose of serenading the a
mayor. And when those performers had <j
wrestled with that tune for about a quarter of B
an hour, the citizens formed a vigilance com- c
niittee aud hung Higgins, while they shot the
orchestra all to atoms, and made a bonfire of p
the flutes. Since that time the Apaches and t
Arizonians have not been on speaking terms ; B
but they hate each other fiercely. The cause
or musical science has not received any atten- p
tion, since then, the Apaches.
ENTITLED TO A PENSION. °
We have received from a claim agent in a
Washington a circular with the heading, in h
bold letters, “You are entitled to a pension 1” a
and requesting us to forward information as to s
when we were wounded, tho nature of our in- a
juries, together with date of enlistment, &c., i>
&o. Wo are deeply gratified to learn that we a
are entitled to a pension, and we assure our p
Washington friend that wo will accept it with e
the readiness ever characteristic of the true o
soldier in performing an act of duty, and that
wo will spend it with a promptness which no It
soldier, not even the Duke of Wellington him- n
self, could hope to surpass. At the same time,
we are free to confess that wo are not wounded, pl
It is a disgraceful confession, and we are gi
ashamed to make it. We know that wa ought ai
to be hobbling along now with one leg or with- a l
out any ribs or jawbone. But the fault is not di
NEW
o- ours. When we went out with the militia to
>y suppress the rebellion, it always happened,
n- somehow, that we advanced just after tho
d. rebels fell back, and that we fell back just as
rt the rebels advanced. Our forte seemed to be
te maneuvering. We were tacticians. We were
:e bent on conducting hostilities without blood-
e. shed. At the time, there seemed to us to be
m something inexpressibly grand about this
•d method of warfare. Whenever we heard that
io the rebels had retreated, wild exultation filled
ir our soul, and we dashed eagerly to the front.
Whenever we learned that the foe was advane
ir ing, the militia faced about, and our soul was
n filled with though** of home as we dashed
3- again to the front. But now we can see that
o these tactics, superior and interesting as
io they undoubtedly were, did not conduce to tho
is enlargement of the list of the wounded. We
couldn’t get ourself wounded, no matter how
e much we wished it. Those rebels always
i. seemed to keep so far away from us. But wo
it are willing to accept that pension, anyhow.
,t If we could not shed our blood for our country,
r we can spend money lor her. No man in tho
j whole army of the Potomac shall surpass us in
that kind of valor.
a
y SISERO OR KICKEROP
I Out in Chillicothe, Ohio, they are having a
’> terrible war over the pronunciation of the name
a of our old friend and playmate, Cicero. Toe
r Principal of one of the public schools has been
e teaching the boys to call it “ Kickero,” and the
- parents all insist that it ought to be called
a “Sisero,” and the controversy has waxed so
- warm that the parents waylay the teacher, after
; dark, and seize him by the hair, and pound his
1 head against fire-plugs, to make him abandon
t the “Kickero” theory, and he says be will die
a first. We have a prejudice in favor of “Sis
r ero” ourselves, because we never heard Cicero
i pronounce his name in any other manner;
but, if it makes any man happier to call him
1 “ Kickero,” wo do not see why anybody should
a object. We can answer for Cicero that he will
r not take offense at it, and that he will not
i pound anybody’s head against a fire-plug for
the purpose of showing the erring one that he
is wrong. Perhaps, however, the question
f might be settled amicably by a compromise.
3 Why not call him “ Sickero,” or “Kisero,” or
, “Kisickero,” or "Sickisero?” Or why not
s designate him as “Mare,” or as “Tully—the
3 names given him in baptism ? Far better that
i either of these should be adopted than that
> the fire-plugs of Chillicothe should be battered
t to pieces by collision with the head of that
infatuated teacher, while iron is so scarce and
; high.
‘ WH Y BR I CHAM IS SO MUCH
MARRIED.
i A correspondent writes to us to ask us how
i it is that a child in Alabama, of whom he has
’ read in the papers, can have living four grand
fathers and four great-grandfathers, five grand,
mothers, and live great-grandmothers. We
confess that we are not familiar with the facts
of this particular case, but still we are not sur
prised at the statement itself. Brigham Young’s
smallest child has forty-nine mothers, one
hundred grandmothers, two hundred great
grandmothers, four hundred great-great
grandmothers, aud about six brigades of
’ grandfathers and great-grandfathers. The
further you go back, the more grandmothers
and grandfathers the child has, and no doubt,
if we reached clear into the middle ages, we
would find that one-half the entire human race
were grandmothers of that boy, and the other
half grandfathers. Brigham 'himself is an
noyed and bewildered at the figures, and one
reason for his marrying so much is that he
wanted to straighten the thing out a little for
his posterity, and begin fresh again by making
himself the solitary grandfather of the chil
dren of all his offspring.
A PERSEVERING POLITICIAN.
We have a respect for that man of whom the
Danbury News tells, who went to a funeral, '
and, while waiting for the procession to start, '
thought he would lighten the gloom of the as
semblage by ascertaining the political sent!- 1
ments of the mourners. We respect him be
cause he seemed to carry so much earnestness
into his politics. The vote stood: Greeley, |
18; Grant, 11; Woodhull, 0. The corpse did
not vote, but it was known to have a leaning
toward Woodhull. This man must have had
some of the characteristics of that other man I
who attended an execution in Indiana. When
the sheriff got the condemned person upon the I
scaffold, he asked if there was any one present :
who had anything to say to tho accused. This
man stepped out, and said that if the sheriff i
had no objections be would like to improve the i
opportunity to address tho crowd upon the
necessity for the removal of the duty upon pig
iron. His remarks were postponed.— Philadel
phia Sunday Dispatch.
i DESPERATE EHCOUNTER. i
BY XV. C. R. ,
Three years after the opening of a certain !
well-known line of railway in the southwest ol
Ireland, there occurred upon it one of the most ,
tragical incidents the annals of crime have to
offer.
A young gentleman of independent means, ,
about twer,:y-Bix years old, took it into hie ,
bead to make a tour through that portion of ,
Ireland in which our story lies. There was
nothing very remarkable in his appearance. t
He was gentlemanly-iooking, with brown hair ,
and whisKers, an aquiline nose, bright, intelli- j
gent eyes, and stood about five feet ten. His
name was Gerald Fairfax. _____
Alter .Rnma— wealto about, our ,
young friend reached the town ot D , in-
tending to take the train the next day for Dub
lin. ,
The scenery about D te the most glori- ;
ous in that part of Ireland. Fairfax was de
lighted with it. In all his excursions he had ,
found nothing to approach its beauties. Ha :
XX lo UUU.J Uli 111 D 6 c
should grow tired of the scene ; and day after j
day wandered among the mountains, or re- j
clmed, pipe in mouth, watching the wild glo
ries that nature on all sides unfolded to his t
gaze. t
One morning he tai at the open window of
his hotel, shortly after breaklast, pondering e
the-direction he should take that day for a j
walk. The street he looked Into was a quiet ,
one. Some mean-looking houses confronted r
him; a little way up some squalid children ;
were playing; further yet a priest was sunning c
himself In the genial morning light.
Presently a man came down the street, a fel- t
low dressed in the garb of the Irish peasant,
with very broad shoulders and brawny arms, t
His face was pale, a pallor almost corpse-like. ;
His lips were thin, and being tightly com- j
pressed, made a mere line of his mouth. His t
eyes were small, black, and brilliant, illumin
ated by a ray singularly sinister and malig- e
nant.
Fairfax could hardly help taking particular c
notice of him ; for, as he passed, with a slow,
furtive gait, the hotel, ho eyed the young fel- j
low so closely that the gaze became embarrass- j
ing, and Fairfax dropped his eyes. Ho walked v
to the end of the street and then same back, t
fixing as he passed, the same sinister look upon g
the young follow, and presently disappeared.
“Some beggar, I supppose,” thought Fair- q
fax, “ examining me with cunning to remark if j
I look ignorant and benevolent enough for him e
to practice his eloquence on.” t
He left the hotel, struck off to the left, and v
began to explore for now bits of scenery in a
Sortion of the country he had not yet traversed, t
n returning leisurely at about half-past one, j
he entered a narrow defile that led through f,
some frowning rocks to the shores of the 7
lake. n
He was whistling pretty merrily, when he
suddenly paused, for, turning the angle of a r
cliff, ho came right upon a young man and a f
girl, seated In a very lover-like attitude on a
fragment of roek. The girl’s head was upon j
tho young man’s shoulder, his arm was around v
her waist. j,
He was good-natured enough to understand 0
the wickedness ot spoiling this kind of sport. p
and strode on, after stealing a brief glance at 0
the young couple, who, on seeing him, instant- n
ly abandoned their amorous posture, and sat g
stiffly upright.
The young girl was singularly beautiful; he j
hardly wanted to inspect her long to see that, q
She was a pure type of the Irish woman, with
great black eyes, pale cheeks, red lips, and u
masses of black hair, which she wore piled f (
upon her bead in a beautiful though artistic a
confusion.
But what had struck Fairfax more than the j
beauty of the girl, and which would certainly n
have caused him to linger a moment or two j (
longer but for the embarrassment so rude an a
act would have entailed, was the appearance of ti
the young man.
With his brown hair and whiskers, his aqni
line nose, and bright eyes, he was the very p
counterpart of Fairfax himself. The girl must u
have seen the likeness, lor hardly were they ft
hidden from sight, when he heard her awaken 0
the musical echoes of tae cliffs with a sweet,
melodious laugh.
Fairfax strode forward, marveling mueb to
himself at the singularity of the coincidence,
and having circled the beach that fringed the
dark waters of the lake, proceeded to scale the
steep incline of the m rrow path that led up the
cliffs toward the town. o
If the adventure on the one side of the lake 8
had surprised him, he was doomed to be more e:
than surprised by an adventure on the other b:
side of the lake. n
He was pausing for a moment to take ”
breath, for tho ascent was very steep and la- rl
bonous, when the sharp report of a gun rang tl
out, and bis hat fell to the ground. o
Fearfully startled, he looked hurriedly si
around him. About sixty or seventy paces off P
ho saw a small white cloud of smoke rising T
above a rock, that stood like a giant boulder tl
stone against the hill. He picked up his hat, w
which he saw pierced through with a hole into T
into which he might have stuck his little finger, tl
and clapping it on his head, pushed up the si
pathway with the utmost rapidity, fearful a;
every second of hearing a second report, and >1
of feeling himself shot. ti
He gained his hotel, out of breath, and vio- u;
lently agitated. He rang the boll, and sum- ai
moned the landlord. ol
“Ifind,”he said, “that a train leaves this
place for Dublin to-morrow morning. I re- w
gret to tell you it is my intention to take it. I ti
am sorry, for I like this place, and would prob- w
ably have continued Hera another fortnight— st
perhaps longer.’’*
YORK DISPATCH.
to “ I have dune my best to plaze you, sir,” an
il, swered the landlord. “I hope you’re not
io laving for tho want of being comfortable.”
is “I am leaving,” said Fairfax, taking up his
ie hat, “ because I have no wish to die. Do you
re see that hole? 1 was shot at half an hour ago
1- by some dastardly ruffian, who, had he taken
>e aim two inches lower, would have killed me.
is 1 had heard of this sort of thing being prac
it ticod in this country; but I have been always
id unwilling to believe that you have among you
t. such cowardly scoundrels as you are repre
-- sented to have. I have no doubt now. I came
,s here to enjoy myself, not to be buried. My
d enjoyment now is at an end. It is absurd to
d suppose I should ever trust myself again
s among your mountains. So, Mr. Landlord,
o let mo have your bill.”
e Fairfax did not leave the hotel again, but
v amused himself with reading the papers in
s tho coffee-room. Once during the evening, in
e casting his eyes toward the window, he saw
the man who had inspected him so narrowly
’, that morning in earnest conversation with the
o boots of the hotel.
a He rather wondered who this fellow could
be, but foreboro to make any inquiries.
The train for Dublin left D at twenty
minutes past ton. While eaiing his breakfast
1 ho again saw the man of the preceding day on
3 the pavement opposite, watching him. He
a asked tbo waiter who he was, and was told that
i his name was. Daniel Terry, generally sup
-3 posed to have been concerned in the murder
1 of the agent of Lord Ormadown ; but that he
a had been acquitted.
r The man bad walked away on meeting Fair
-3 fax’s eye, and the time having now arrived to
i go to the station, tbe young fellow busied
3 himself with packing bis portmanteau, think
. ing to himself that if4his Terry had any de-
> sign to do him a mischief, the opportunity
; would very soon be gone.
i Having paid his bill, Fairfax, followed by the
1 boots, who carried his portmanteau, walked
I leisurely to the station, and procuring a first
| class ticket, was shown into a carriage.
: The platform was singularly vacant of pas
i songers. He was not sure, indeed, that be
i was not the only traveler. He mentioned this
to the guard, who told him that the tram
• stopped at W——, where they would probably
: pick up a full cargo. To W tbe train was
> express.
; He pulled a paper from his pocket and be
; gan to read. Presently ha heard the guard
I calling to know if they were all ready forward.
There was a shrill whistle, the engine gave a
snort, but suddenly rose a cry:
“ Hould a minute 1 Hould a minute 1”
A man’s face peered into Fairfax’s carriage,
the handle of the door was turned, and a pas
senger bounded in.
“ Bight now 1” cried the guard.
The engine whistled, and away they went.
Fairfax had uttered an exclamation on see
ing who his fellow-paseenger was. Though
his face was almost crimson with running, and
the tbin lips parted with the violence ot breath
ing, the malignant, glittering eyes, the animal
liko mouth, aud the desperate, menacing ex
pression of the face, were not to be mistaken
as belonging to the peasant who had been
watching him with so strange and sinister an
inspection.
He had made no change in hie attire. His
clothes were of the coarsest, bis hair was
rough and wild. He screwed himself into tbe
corner of the compartment opposite the cor
ner occupied by Fairfax, and with frowning
brow looked sullenly out of the window.
What was this man’s object?
Fairfax could not tel). If it was a murder
ous one, be had him in his power now, for the
young fellow was unarmed; nor did ho feel
himself a match for those broad shoulders and
great muscular arms, and bands of granite,
which he saw by the man’s eyes could be di
rected by a spirit as lawless and terrible as
that of the tiger’s.
Fairfax pretended to read, taking oare, how
ever, constantly to watch the man over the top
of the paper. The man himself did not stir,
but sat like a statue of stone, rigid, silent,
deadly.
On rushed the train, thundering through
rocks and cliffs. It Boon entered a mountain
ous district, and suddenly the engine blew a
long whistle, which leaped from orag to 4tag,
and with the noise of a thunderbolt falling
among the Alpine mountains, the train rushed
iuto a tunnel.
The abrupt change from broad daylight to a
gloom deeper than night made it impossible
for Fairfax to use his eyes. He tried to pierce
tho darkness, and, while doing so, felt the
man’s hands upon his throat, while a voice
shouted some words which it was impossible
to catoh.
The dread of death, the love of life, the un- 1
utterable horror of the situation were strong 1
in Fairfax. He struggled with tho fury of a
madman, but the iron arms of his assailant
were too powerful; and step by step he felt 1
hlmeelf dragged to the door, through whiob, '
it was plain, the man intended to hurl him on
on to the rails.
Ho believed death to be certain; but in that
extreme hour of mortal anguish grew the fiery
resolution that, if he was to die, the oowardiy
wretch be struggled with should die too. 1
Amid tho thunders awakened by the passage
of tbe train through the tunnel, the two men
wrestled. The door was dashed open ; the man i
had his hand on Fairfax’s throat, Fairfax his i
band entwined in the handkerchief around tbe 1
other’s neck. Tbe train, taking a sharp curve,
heeled over, and the two men fell out.
The man was underneath ; this probably
saved Fairfax’s life. The fall had either stun- •
ned or killed him, for he lay quiet—Uiß band 1
had relinquished Fairfax’s throat. J
The young man staggered to his feet. ,
«dLah dark. Afar >■ • roar
of the retreating, i-_<u , men came a silence as 1
deep as the grave. 1
He stumbled across the rails until his hands
touched the damp, cold walls of the tunnel, I
He began to walk rapidly through. On I ou I i
Suddenly be stopped. A faint, low murmur 1
grew upon tbe air. It rapidly increased, like
- «r thunder, gathering strength each
second. The nerojafrution started on his fore
head ; he fell upon hie lcn«oo. tijui sound ne ,
knew io be a train coming through the tunnel.
Which side was be on ? In tbe profound dark
ness he could not tell to which end of the tun- r
nel he was making bis way. j
The train neared. Ho saw the lights of the (
engine, like the eyes of a fiend, growing upon (
the darkness. They approached—they passed .
with deafening roar and a mighty wind, the ,
red furnace in the engine throwing a crimson (
light upon the reeking walls of tbe artificial
cavern. Then the lights on the hindmost oar- i
riago died, the noise fainted away, and rising i
to his feet, Fairfax pushed forward onoe more, t
After walking half an hour, sometimes stum- ;
bling over tbe sleepers, sometimes pausing to ;
listen—for the fear of his assailant pursuing t
him was always strong—sometimes stopping ,
to lean agiinst the side of the tunnel to take E
breath, the welcome daylight at length stream- >
ed upon him. He strode forward vigorously ,
now, and gaining the extremity of the tunnel, <
clambered up the bank and looked around him.
About half a mile onward was a small sta- »
tion. A few houses clustered together exhib- >
itod a little village. He walked languidly to
ward them, and having reached the platform, r
told the open-mouthed station-master his e
story. f
He presented, indeed, a piteous spectacle.
The blood flowed from a large scalp wound ; *
his clothes were torn; his face was was black
ened, and two of his fingers were broken. He t
had barely concluded his astounding narrative,
when he fainted dead away. ,
He lay for ten days unconscious. At one
time his life was despaired of ; but those who j
tended him, from certain letters they had
found on him, had been able to communicate i,
with his friends, and through their instru- i
mentality his life was spared.
When he awakened from his delirium, the i,
police had investigated the affair, and the fol
lowing narrative was communicated to him : I
It seems’that his assailant, Terry, had been
betrothed to a girl whom ho loved with tho
vengeful and jealous passion that is peculiar >,
to his race. But one day he had found her in
company with a young man. He did not re- °
proach her—he pretended, indeed, not to
oare ; but in reality he took a solemn oath to
murder his rival. That rival and that young
girl Fairfax had come upon during the walk he I
had taken on the last morning of his stay at
D . Terry had mistaken him 1 It was
Terry who had fired tbe shot.
The jealous man, finding his shot Ineffeot- V
ual, hung about the hotel, with tbe design of w
following Fairfax and murdering him when he h
should again take one of his lonely walks ; but p
hearing from the boots that it was tho young "
Englishman's intention to leave D the c
next morning, he conceived tho extraordinary g
idea of entering the railway carriage with him, t
and of throwing him out in the middle of the tl
tunnel. t
The tunnel was searched that afternoon, and
in the place where the murderous struggle had o
taken place they found the remains of Terry, n
literally cut to fragments by the train which a
had passed Fairfax as he was making his way a
out. e—
jj
MALFORMATION. i<
A NOVEL CASE IN WASEBSOTON. 0
The Washington Chronicle says : At six ”
o’clock last Friday evening a child was born in n
Souta Washington which presents most inter- j (
estiug features of study for the medical proles- „
sion. Tbe head and trunk are well formed and K
in perfect proportion, and the face is unusually u
well developed in all its features. From the .
right shoulder projects a stump about one- »i
third ot the natural length of the hu.nerus, <.
over the end of which the flesh aud skin close c
so as to give it the appearance of a skilfully
performed and successfully healed amputation.
The left arm, especially the forearm, is longer r
than Usual, but otherwise well shaped to the
wrist. At that point deformity again appears.
Tho wrist bends inward, and, instead of a hand,
the palm is split into two crooked and mis
shapen fingers of equal length, which have tbe r;
appearance of tbe claw of a crab, and this sim
ilarity is increased when the member is in mo
tion, for the fingers, instead of bending in c,
upon the palm, with tbe natural movement of p
an infant, simply open and close upon each
other like claws. y
Malformatiou again appears in tho legs,
which incline outward from the thighs. At
tne knees they incline inward, and about mid- el
way toward, the ankles is a second aud more fc
sudden inward inclination. T
Oil the lower third of the tibia Of th? left leg p
i- is a tumified spot about a half an inch in diam
)t eter at the base, and projecting about an inch
outward and downward to a point perhaps a
is fifth the size of the base.
u Club feet from the extremities of these mis
o shapen limbs. The left ankle turns sharply
n outward, and the foot is turned back upon the
?. under side. The toes are bent and twisted out
of shape and place. The left foot is more
s strangely contorted than the right. It twists
u inward, aud is over so that the ball is upward*
i- There are but two toes on this foot, corrospond
e ing to the claw on the arm, but shorter, and
7 having the appearance of simply misshapen
3 toes.
i This is a most remarkable case, and will be
, of much interest to the medical profession,
where it has already attracted cousiderabie at
t tention,
‘ RAILWAY* ETIQUETTE.
r HINTS ON THE CONDUCT OF ?AS-
* SENSERS BY RAIL.
' (By the Fat Contributor.')
Always attend to checking yourself. If you
' feel like swearing at the baggage-master,
■ check yourself. 11 you haven’t a trunk full of
1 clean clothes to check, you, at least, should bo
1 adequate to a check shirt.
' When you vacate your seat for a moment,
• leave a plug hat in your seat. Some one will
oome along and sit on it, thereby preventing
1 your hat from being stolen.
Passengers cannot lay over for another train
without making arrangements with the con
‘ ductor. If a man has been on a “ train” for a
■ week or so, no conductor should KHow him to
lay over for another on any account.
Ladies without escort in traveling should be
very particular with whom they become ac
quainted. They needn’t be so particular with
' those with whom they are unacquainted.
1 Keep your head and arms inside the car
windows, if you would keep your head and
“carry arms.”
Never talk on politics ; it encourages some
' ’• nimshl” to take a vote of the passengers.
No gentleman will occupy more than one
seat at a time, unless he be twins.
A gentleman should not spit tobacco juice in
the cars where there are ladies. He can let
drive out of the car window while the train is
at a station, if the platform is crowded.
Always show your ticket whenever the con
ductor asks for it. If you get out of humor
about it, don’t show it.
Nover smoke in a car where there are ladies.
Get the conductor to turn the ladies out before
lighting your cigars.
Never use profane language in the car. Go
out on the platform. Profanity is never
thrown away upon a brakeman.
If you cannot sleep yourself, do not disturb
the “sleepers.”
Look out for pickpockets. Pickpockets are
never in the car, you know, as you have to took
out for them.
Provide yourself with sleeping-berths before
starting. No careful man will start out on a
journey without a good supply of sleeping
.berths. [N. B Those put up in flat bottles
are the best, as they are easily carried in the
pbcket. ]
Always be at the railroad station in good time
to take the train. Better be an hour too early
than a minute too late, unless you are on your
way to be hanged.
A RAM ON THE RAMPAGE.
A FlocK of Sheep Jump Through a Plate
Glass Window.
(From the St. Louis Journal.)
“ G’lang there, you dog-goned sheep 1” bawl
ed a dusty, Pike-county-looking fellow this af
ternoon on Walnut street, as he whirled a long
whip around his head with a vicious crack.
The P.ke was a rusty fellow, all covered with
dust and consumed with anxiety in safely con
ducting his flock of thirty sheep through the
city. Two little blue jeaned boys, tow-headed
and dirty, danced on ahead to look out for cor
ners.
In front of the flock walked a trim-looking
ram, whose head looked as if built lor business,
and his countenance betrayed a look of injured
dignity, as if it were spoiling for a fight. He
lookod carefully to the right and left, as if he
were seeking out some one to give him the
faintest show for a quarrel.
The Pike county man watched the leader
with concern. He said:
“Ireckon that yer dog-goned ram is going
to raise Ned et lie only gets a chance, but oust
me et I give ’im that yer chance. Shoo I
G’lang there. Look out, boys, around them
yer corners.”
The procession of sheep went along all right
until they reached ths front of Milo G. Dodds
& Co.’s big safe institution, and here the ram
caught sight of his reflection in the large plate
glass window of tha store. The ram now saw
his victim ; he described a circle to the side
walk on the opposite side, jumped up, then
lowered his head, and charged.
" Oh, that dog-goned ram, he will raise Nod
now I” moaned the Pike, who was too far away
to stop the charge.
The ram went like a flash to the sidewalk,
and then bounded some eight feet in the air,
and went crash through the plate glass, shiv
ering the window into a thousand pieces. ' Af
ter him came every one of the flock.
The inmates of the elegant store sudaenly
found their quarters turned into a stock-yard.
A belligerent ram, followed by thirty sheep, to
come bolting through a plate glass window is
sheep were :
driven out and given over to the possession of
the Pike county man. If he sells all the sheep
possibly he may be able to pay for the window.
The Pike county man says, “ I’ll be dog
goned if I behoved the blamed beast could get
a chance to raise Ned, but he did. Dog-gone
him, any way.”
“ SHE LOOK ZOIWEET.”
PROB ABLA WONIT DO IT AGAIN.
The Salt Lake News telle the following : :
There was somewhat of a scene in the police
court yesterday. It appears that a foreign i
doctor of rather diminutive stature has Bev- :
eral times lately endeavored to take liberties I
with the chambermaid who attended to his 1
room. It happened yesterday that the wife of 1
one of the male employees of the hotel was en
gaged to assist in the housework. When it '
was time to arrange the little doctor’s room,
the chambermaid requested the married lady
to attend to it, giving as an excuse for not do
ing so herself that she did not wish to, as the 1
inmate of the room was a mean man. When ’
the lady entered the room the little doctor im- ;
mediately commenced to tell her how “ sveet” f
she looked, and took hold of her and kissed <
her. At this time somebody came to the door 1
of the room and asked the doctor if he was gc- 1
ing out, to which he replied that he was not '
ready. He then took hold of the lady again, ‘
but she got away from him and ran to her ’
husband |and told him. The latter immedi- J
ately got an officer and had the doctor ar- i
rested, and the above was brought out tn the i
evidence. During the trial the doctor con- i
fessed that ho kissed the woman, and that he t
did so “ because she vas zo vary sveet,” when 5
the husband said: c
“Do you mean to say, sir, that you kissed f
my wife ?’• ■
“Vy, yes, Ikoesed her because I dink she i
look so sveet.” c
“Do you mean to tell me', repeated the in- r
dignant husband, “ that you kissed my wife ?” v
“Vy, yes, I keesed her because I dink she
look zo’’—but here he suddenly stopped short
before he got to the “ sveet” part, for the now 3
infuriated husband started to his feet, and i
brought his clenched fist in such sudden and 1
violent contact with the unhappy doctor’s nose t
and mouth that the blood issued therefrom in 4
a miniature stream. Further demonstrations 8
of this kind were prevented by the husband f
being seized by an officer and forced into bis '
seat. The doctor was fined SSO, which he paid. ‘
c
INDIANS AT TABLE.
HOW A BILL OF FARE PUZZLED ,
THE INDIANS. r
b
The St. Louis Democrat says :At dinner, h
Whitewash-m-bis-Eye called to him a waiter, a
who said “Ugh” as a delicate compliment, and b
handed him a bill of fare. The chieftain ?
pointed to the first item and said “Ugh.” The £
waiter eaid “Ugh,” and returned with a cup of
coffee. Now, even though a cup of coffee is a
good thing, it is hardly a meal for a man. So
the brave Baid “ Ugh” again, and pointed to "
the second item. The waiter said “ Ugh,” re- “
tired, and returned with a cup of green tea. p
A third interchange of “Ugbs” resulted in a a
cup of black tea, and a fourth in,a cup of ii
mixed tea. In despair the brave uttered an h
angry “ Ugh,” that made the waiter turn pale, H
and pointed to the last item on the bill of iare, w
evidently being anxious to get as far away
irom the teas as possible. The waiter faltered J
“ Ugh,” and hurried back with a tumbler of
iced tea.
The others, warned by the example and fate
of their comrade, attacked the bid of fare in
medias res. One struck “pay eat” under the h
head of “ broiled,” and had an abundance if
not varied meal of mutton chops, veal cut
lets, broiled chicken, pork chops, sirloin steak, ?
porterhouse steak, Boston steak, &e. Com- n
bining their information, the remaining mem
bers of the party wandered over the bill of lare,
taking every division by starts, and none of
them long. The result was eminently satis- ,
factory to the aboriginal stomach, which is
capacious and has no prejudices as to the sue
cession and relative proportions of soup, fish, a:
game, entrees, boiled, roast, game and dessert, fl
One erratic bravo owed his matutinal disten- b
sion to a judicious compound of—l, coffee ; 2.
cantelope; 3, ice cream ; 4, Irish stew; 5, n
steak ; G, Worcester sauce; 7, mustard ; 8,
melon; 9, fried potatoes ; 10, mackerel; 11, f-
Graham bread; 12, iced tea; 13, fried eggs; w
14, sliced tomatoes; and 15, buttered toast, n
and his bosom was rent with emotion when he h
found that the waiter shook his head when the B
line, “Guests having friends to dinner will c;
please give notice at the office,” was indicated. d
P
A Minnesota landlord executed po
etic justice upon a boarder who failed to pay
for his hash by removing three of his teeth. y ,
The boarder doesn’t like dentistry when it is a
performed with a decanter/ n
i- THE SP 5 ER .
h
ft TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF VOSS.
I. I sat and spun before my door,
y A you h along the road came straying;
• Hie hazel eyes a dee# smile wore,
, And blushes on his cheek were playing.
My glance was from the dis tail won;
0 I sat abashed, and spun and spun.
s.
• In friendly tones, “Good day 1” ho
With timid grace approaching nigher;
.1 Startled was I, the thread it broke,
My foolish heart Leapt high and higher.
a The thread once more I fastenedfcon,
And sat abashed, and spun aud spun.
He clasped with tender touch my hand,
’ And vowed none could with it compare—
The very loveliest in the land,
8o swan-like, plump, and dainty fair.
As wit'i i.is praise my heart be won,
I sat abashed, and spun and spun.
Upon my chair he laid his arm,
Aud praised the finely wroughten thread.
So near Bis mouth, so red and warm,
Bow gently “sweetest maid” it said I
The while he gazed my face upon,
l I sat abashed, and spun and spun.
<. His handsome face towari my own
[ Meantime he bent, wuh g’ances winning,
It touched, by some odd chance unknown,
My head that nodded in the spinning.
, He kissed me, this audacious one I
I I sat abashed, and spun and spun.
I turned, reproof in earnest tone
Upon his forwardness bestowing;
He clasped me close, and, bolder grown,
He kissed my face with blushes glowing.
, O, tell me, sisters—every one—
i Is’t strange that now no more I spun ?

pdlww patto.
Queer way to Mend a Broken
Leg.— This morning, writes a correspondent from
Rome, Italy, on the 10th of August, an English gen
tleman with a florid iace and white wniskers was re
turning to Rome on his horse, after taking a ride in
the neighborhood of the Porta Pia. In crossing the
via Felice, tae horse unfortunately stumbled aud
fell. The animal rose unhurt, but tae gentleman
, had dislocated his knee by the fall. Several persons
ran to his assistance and carried him to a house.
The faces of the bystanders were fail of alarm and
pity, while that of the brave Englishman remained
unmoved; his cheeks were as fresh and his face as
oalm as before the accident. As soon as they had
seated him in an arm-chair, he began to feel his
knee carefully.
“Shall we send for a doctor?” they asked.
•* Oh! no, is there a carpenter near here ?” he in
quired.
“Yes, there is one close by.”
“Be so kind as to help me to go him.”
Half laughing, half inclined to think he was in
sane, two young men took him to the joiner’s. Once
more seated, he asked for a sheet and rolled it round
his leg. Then, after once more feeling the knee
joint he put it into the screw-vice and told the joiner
to tighten it prudently. At first, with some hesita
tion, and afterward encouraged by the composure
and the authoritative manner of the foreigner, the
man did as he was told aud tightened, the screw
slowly, while the patient made the most singular
grimace, till at last he ca‘l?d out; “Enough I “and
tossing a crown to the carpenter got on his horse
and galloped away, leaving the bystanders convulsed
with laugnter at this singular chirurgical operation.
A Lothario in Trouble.— A young
man of Liege recently contracted marriage at the
town house of Herstal. Everything appeared auspi
cious. The bride was smiling, parents and guests
seemed lull of jollity, and the party went In joyous
style to the Church of St. Lambert to demand the
nuptial benediction. There the scene changed. A
young woman stood before the married couple. Al
ready the mother of three children, and there being
a fourth in prospective, she attributed the paternity
to her new husband, the son of her former master.
Exasperated, she had desired to oppose the mar
riage, and, not having been able to reach the place
early enough, she now came to the church, followed
by many hundreds of workmen, impelled by her,
and excited themselves at what was going on. The
resu’t was that they violently opposed the religious
celebration of the marriage. They maltreated the
priest and tore his sacerdotal vestments. The hus
band was not more fortunate. He was struck, his
clothes were torn to bits, and he escaped worse
treatment only by flight. Every one followed him—
his witnesses, his relatives, his guests, his assailants
—and it was in the midst of a terrible tumult that
he reached his home at Liege. The police inter
vened, but the workmen held their ground, con
stantly threatening and uttering most unpleasant
exclamations. This lasted up to ten o’clock at
night. ♦
Whipping a Rival— A Lesson to be
Remembered —Young gentlemen should never. In
the presence of the young ladies they adore, attempt
to whip a rival, unless they are pretty confident they
can do it. At Northampton, Mass., the other even
ing, a young couple bordering upon the verge of af
fectional idiocy, were billing and cooing in the hotel
parlor after the most approved fashion, when the
village barber appeared unbidden upon the scene.
The first thing he did was to light the gas, which the
lovers had, for®some reason or other, turned off a
few minutes before, and the second wm to settle
himself down to read the newspaper. The lovers
didn’t like the intrusion at all, and Romeo begain to
hint as much tolerably unmistakably. The barber
stood it lor some time, and then inquired if it was
him “ which was meant.” Juliet, with considerable
spirit, responded that it undouotedly was, and re
quested Romeo to “go for him.” Romeo, as in du
ty bound, went, as directed, but sad to relate, the
tonsorial upstart proved one too many for him, and
in a few moments landed him in the middle of the
street in a shockingly dilapidated condition. And
what is worse than all, Juliet is naw listening to that
wretched barber’s sweet coo Ings, and is. assuring
bim in the most unmistakable manner imaginable
that “she never loved that other fellow no how.”
iraccical jokes arealways unpleasant things, but an
ingenious humorist has been exercising a species
of aggravating cruelty upon the cripples of Paris.
Upon the shutter of a cafe at the corner of the Bou
levard Haussmann and the Faubourg Salnt-Honore
he posted a placard, announcing that M. X , pas-
try-cook, of the Faubourg Saint-Hon ore, required
“un invalids” to eat up veal pies. The trick suc
ceeded. and for eight days the shop of the unfortun
ate pastry-cook has been besieged by an Innumer
ble host of hungry, wooden-legged, and one-armed
individuals, anxious to offer their services, and in
quit.ng seriously at what time the work has to be
done. The poor pie-maker is in despair, and talks
of becoming a monk, in order to get rid of this vo
racious army of applicants. It is dangerous to trifle
with the gastronomic affections of a man, even
though he be a disabled soldier, and it is to be hoped
that the unhappy paiissier will escape the fate of the
British tavern-keeper, who once inveigled customers
by offering a good dinner, “roast or boiled,” for
threepence. The ungentle treatment he received
from a party of infuriated travelers, who discovered
that the tempting meal consisted of potatoes, served
each way, let him Into a secret on this point not
easily to be forgotten.
A Converted Chinaman Fooled by
his Heathen Papa.— Don Gong is a Chinaman of
more than ordinary intelligence, and having acquired
a fair knowledge of the English language, he con
cluded to go a step further; and renouncing the wor
ship of idols, professed the Christian faith, and be
came a member of the First Baptist Church of San
Francisco. Then he wrote home to his parents and
friends, informing them of the fact. His father
wrote in reply, and expressed great pleasure at his
son’s conversion. He told the young man that if he
would return, he would place him m an institution
where he might finish his Christian education. Don
Gong returned to China, and sought the home of his
father. Greatly to his astonishment, his father and
assembled friends and relatives received him as a
recreant. The old gentleman caused him to be
bound with cords and stripped halt naked. Then,
with his own hand, he lashed bim furiously. Weary
of that exertion, the old veteran of idolatry finally
dragged him to the bank of a river, and exclaiming
that he would send him bleeding into the presence
of the gods whom he had forsaken, hurled him head
long into the water. Gong would have expiated his
offense with his life but for the interference of his
relatives. Some of the women held the old man,
while the men fished the son out of the water.
The Natural Bridge— A New Fea
tube. —The Virginia State Journal has the following
facts from a gentleman who recently visited the
Natural Bridge. On passing into the gorge below
the bridge, by the usual bridge, he was surprised to
find the oed of the stream (Cedar Creek) dry and un
sightly. The keeper of the hotel stated that about
two weeks before the creek disappeared from under
the bridge: and our informant, on following up the
gorge, found the stream pouring down into the
earth, and seeking some unknown channel beneath.
On a careful examination, three leaks were found—
the largest being through a fissure or “fault” in the
limestone bed of the stream. These the visitor par
tially stopped up in a few minutes, and sent a scanty
stream on its way to the bridge. Similar facts were
revealed by a further examination, and the conclu
sion is inevitable, that the rocky substratum of these
limestone hills is thoroughly honeycombed by the
action ox water. This conclusion is further sustained
by the fresh discovery 6f caves, some of them of con
siderable extent, in the immediate vicinity of the
bridge. Some fine stalactites from one of these
oaves are exhibited at the hotel.
Strictly Honest. —A ease of rather
troublesome exactness on the part of a Massachusetts
lady is reported in the Salem Register. A woman
called at a grocery store on Thursday and made some
purchases, paying cash therefor. An hour or two
afterward sne returned in some agitation, inquiring
if a pocketbook had been seen; she had lost hers and
hoped they had found it. Nothing had been seen of
it, and a search was instituted, when the lost article
was found behind a barrel in front of the counter.
Another half hour passed, arid again she appeared. .
this time asking if anyone had tampered with her
pocketbook while it was at the store, as the money
was not all there.
• “How much is missing?’* Inquired the trader.
“ One cent,” was the reply.
“Here, John,” said the storekeeper, “give this
lady one cent from the drawer.’’
Blie took it and went on her way rejoicing. Later:
Next day, we understand, the woman brought back
the money, saying she had bought a cent’s worth of
hairpins the day before, and forgot it when she 1
missed the pocketbook. .
Dying for the Price of a Pair of
Boots. —lnNeubyds-chow, in Austria, a young mau
employed at the railway in course of construction, i
lately poisoned himself from a cane, which, trivial as
it may appear, was yet an endless source of worry i
and annoyance to him. He owed a shoemaker 10 <
florins tor a pair of boots, and was so hard pressed 1
by this unmerciful creditor that even in the public ]
streets he had no rest from his pursuit. The shoe- 1
maker would often run after him and endeavor to 1
take the boots, which were not yet paid for, off his ]
feet. On the last occasion his creditor had annoyed
the poor fellow in the presence of his superior,
which caused the latter to make some unpleasant re
marks to him. This so prayed upon his mind that ■
he went to a retired place, aud poisoned himself.
Before the breath was out of his body his relentless ;
creditor is said to have taken the spectacles from the
dying man as a security for his debt. l ltis so han- 1
ponod that immediately alter the occurrence a letter
from his father arrived bringing him 60 florins.
A Life Sadly Wrecked.— Tn the
year 1829, says the London Athenosum, a beautiful
and high y endowed young girl, ju.->t out of her teens,
a tihumuhant debut at the CXHv’i. La«fis. as Isa-
Sunday Edition. Sept. 15
be le de France, in “Lancastre.” Her name was
Mile. Cbarton. At the very bight of her triumph
the jealous hand of a man flung into her face soma
aquafortis, whereby she nearly lost her sight, and
her beauty waa destroyed forever. Mlle. Charton
pardoned the coward and withdrew from the stages
She sank into penury and oblivion; but two or thre<
inends lightened the brat and showed she was not
altogether forgotten, ihe poor lady, who came on
the dramatic world with such brilliant promise, waj
last week carried to her grave—the foss Commune—
the pauper’s grave One actor followed her thither
out of respect, viz.: M. Delafosse, of the Belvilli
Theatre.
Nothing Like Leather —The scien
tific explanations one hears in the street are some
times worthy of being recorded—not for their sci
entific value, but for their origina ity. Chancing to
be in the Walworth Road a few evenings ago, I no
ticed an itinerant professor of electricity who had
evidently got hold oi a tough customer. The latter
was a stolid-looking individual, who grasped the
handles of the machine with the determination to
have, as he expressed it, his “full ha’porth.” Whe
ther there was a “ screw loose” in the apparatus, or
whetner the man possessed nerves of more than or
dinary power, I know not; but somehow or other tha
electricity had no effect upon him. The orofessoff
ke- ? t on piling up the agony, but with no effect.
“Don’t you feel it yet?” said he, when nearly th©
full power had beou put on.
“No; I don't feel nothing,” was the placid re*
sponse.
Another turn.
“ Now don’t you feel it ?”
“No,” was sail the reply.
The professor looked bewildered. He had put on
all the power the machine was capable of, and with
no result. Such a thing bad never happened before Q
What was to be done? He had stood at the cornet
of the street lor two years, and his credit was aS
slake. At last his countenance brightened. A hap
py thought.
“Let’s look at your feet,” said ho.
The patient complied by holding up one foot.
“Ah, I thought so!” said the professor, triumph*
antly. “You might stand there till you were blue
in the face and not feel nothing. Leather’s a non
, conductor, don’t you know?—but you’ve got such a
i great hole in your shoe that as fast as the electricity
i comes in at your hands it goes out at your, feet !
. You go and get your shoes mended and come again.”
- South Lqp,don, Eng., Press.
i
j A German Black Bess.— The fol
( lowing interesting anecdote is told in a recent vol
umo of travels: A German cavalry soldier and his
horse were captured in the fight at Le Bourget, and
taken off with other prisoners. “Three days after
the fight, they halted tor the night in a village. Th©
poor fellow was sitting in the evening near the win
dow, thinking how he might escape, while his noisy
’ captors round the fireplace were fuddling themselves
with wine. Suddenly he hears in ibe streets the
neigh.ng of a horse. His very soul is trembling, and
bis olood stops for a moment. No doubt it is his
brave steed, which had broken loose from a shed
where it had been placed, and is in search of her
master. One of the panes of the window was re--
p aced by paper. Boring with bis finger a hole in it,
’ he lays his mouth to the opening, calling cautiously
, and coaxingly, ‘Lizzy. L’zzy.’ A joyous neighing is
J the reply, and Lizzy is close to the window. In a
moment the whole frame of,the casement is smashed,
and before the tipplers know what is the matter, he
’ is outside and on tho bare back of his faithful mare.
( It is as if the sagacious animal knew that the life of
her master was at stake, for she runs off like a whirl
wind, and yet she is not urged on by spur s or bridle,
for the franc-tireurs have taken the boots off the
■ rxder, and the bridie Is hanging with the saddle in
the shed. Slots are fired after them, and bullets
whiz past their ears without stopping the horse.
The hussar does not know the way, but Lizzy re
members it, and after Ihirty-two hours, loth arrive
at the outposts of Le Bourget dead beat, but happy
to be again with their comrades.”
A Glacier Disaster. —A Swiss
pancr gives a thrilling narrative of an accident to an
exoed.tion parry trom the fall of an avalanche on
the Jungfrau. One of the party, who miraculously
survives, writes: “Our journey to the Kothnal was
prosperous. We resolved to prolong it to the Roth
thaisattel. We had a.ready a considerable distance
below us, and were in the cou oir which has been
described by Processors Obi and 2Ebi (who made the
passage in 1871) us i-o difficult, when suddenly an
avalanche from above fell straight mon us. I found
myself, when I returned to consciousness, on a rock,
whither I had been hurled by the avaianche, tha
mass of which had carried away my companions.
The rope we were fastened with must have bean rent
asunder, otherwise I should have been hurled to
sudden destruction as well as the others. A loud
cry from the mouths of all of us, then silence—and
of my unfortunate companions I saw and heard no
more. A second avalanche passed by me without
injury. Two were killed; both have left families.”
Curious Matrimonial Transaction.
—A lady named S , married in Prussia, has, nev-
ertheless, a young Frenchman seven or eight years
younger than herself lor a lover, who, at the age of
twenty-five, possessed a fortune of two millions. For
this reason, the charming Prussian, who is a woman
of experience, declared herself willing to sacrifice to
her young lover both her husband and her nationali
ty. ‘‘ln his gratitude, the young gentleman made her
a present of a splendid hotel m the avenue Mon
taigne. The Prussian husband—for at that time
Mme. 8. had not yet obtained her divorce —author-
ized his wife to accept this present. He also con
sented to the divorce, which was pronounced in Ger
many, and by which she is at liberty to marry the
Frenchman, who still possesses about a million. His
family became alarmed, and addressed a petition to
the Tribunal of the Seine, asking that a judiciary
council should be appointed for the young man. Th®
Tribunal has granted tho request.
Strange Attempt at Assassination.
—A strange occurrence has just taken place at Ant
werp. As the chaplain o£ tho prison, M. Van Arsen,
was leaving the Church of of St. Carlo Borromeo. a
man can came up and asked him if he would buy a
poignard, which he held out. The priest, greatly
surprised, replied that he could not find any use for
the weapon, on which the other said:
“Thenl will give it to you for nothing,” and, in
tha calmest manner imaginable, and without any ex
citement, plunged the blade deep into tne clergy*
m.n’a LTr> rtAvf- zli-aur out tlxo implement,
and took to flight into the church; bur, on the
wounded man uttering a loud cry, some passer-by
pursued the fugitive, and took him Imo custody. Ha
turned out to Le a man of dissolute character, named
Kama, aged forty-two, and could not assign any mo
tive for this extraordinary aggression. Hopes are
entertained of M. Van Arsen’s recovery.
Computing Interest. Here is a
new rule for computing interest. It is so simple and
so true that every banker, merchant, or clerk should
post it for reference. By no other arithmetical pro
cess can the desired information be obtained by so
few figures:
Six per cent—Multiply any given number of dol
lars by the number of days of interest desired, sepa
rate the right hand figures and divide by six; the re
sult is the true interest on such number of days at
six per cent.
Eight per cent.—Multiply any given amount by the
number of days upon which it is desired to ascertain
the interest, and divide by 45, and the result will be
the true interest for the time required.
Ten per cent.—Multiply the same as above and di
vide by 36, and the result will show the interest at
ten per cent.
A True Wife. —A Troy firm has
had experience in times past with three or four dis
honest book-keepers, and, the other day, another
young man in its employ, was discovered to be a de
faulter to the extent of five or six hundred dollars.
He was a member of the church, and was consid
ered to be in every way a pious and exemplary young
man. The Times says: When the news was broken
to the young wife of the dishonest book-keeper she
was nearly crushed to the earth by the overwhelm
ing intelligence, l?ut finally bore up with true
Christian fortitude, and clung even closer if possible
to her husband in his guilt and misfortune. The
firm were so deeply impressed with the nobility of
her conduct in surrendering all her treasures to
make good the defalcations of her husband, that
they sent her a nice sum of money an evidence of
their sympathy and respect.
A Mysterious Being. —Twenty-two
years ago the people of Deering had their oowa
milked over night, corn and soap greese and other
articles stolen. One morning, a woman going to
milk, discovered a repulsive human being in the hay
mow, with hair grown over his eyes and both feet
frozen. He was taken to the almshouse, and for
twenty years has only spoken in monosyllables. He
was extremely filthy in his habits, and nothing has
ever been known of his history. The other day, to
the surprise of all, he pronounced the word “En
gland,” and on being asked if he came from there
and would like to go back again, he said “Yes.”
Then he refused to speak, refused food, and died on
Sunday. He has died and preserved his life’s secret,
and the doctors cannot tell what ailed him, or if he
was insane.
A New Way to Fish. —The Ujpugh
keepsie News says: “An individual on Main street
dock, yesterday, was exhibiting a new and novel de--
vice for bringing fish to the surface of the water in a
stunned and bewildered state, when they were easily
captured. Upon the end of a short piece of fuse,
which was well wrapped in some waterproof material,
was placed a copper cap or tube, which was filled
with some combustible compound. The fuse was
lighted and thrown into the water, and, sinking by
its own weight below the surface, disappeared- A.
moment later an explosion took place, and up cama
the fish, which remained on the surface for a few
seconds as though they were dead, but would soon
regain their accustomed activity and disappear from
view.” •
A Hard Swearer. —Not long sines,
at a private entertainment, Bret Harte told the fol
lowing story: “ A teamster went cour ting a girl who
was a good church member, and while in her com
pany, being on his very best behavior, he was care
ful not to use any language which wou d shock the
exceeding proper ears of his sweetheart. But on®
day, driving up a hil’, he burst forth in the most ob
jurgative address to his animals, never dreaming
that the object of his affection was standing by tho
roadside listening to his profanity. But when ah©
opened upon him the batteries of reproof, he knew
sue was there. But he held his ground. ‘Do you
call that swearing?’ said he. ‘lf you do, I don’t
know what you’d say if you heaid that fellow jist
behind me exhort an impenitent mule.’ ”
Wonderful Strong Box. —A new
strong box has been taken to the immense vaults of
tho new Ministre dos Finances at the Louvre. It ha®
the appearance of a small house in iron, being twen
ty one ieet in length, nine in width, and six in hight.
'ihe inside is divided into compartments, also io
iron. This colossal coffer is to be enclosed in mass
ive masonry of firepioof bricks. The safe is provided
with a very thick door about one yard square,pro
tected by a most complicated lock, of which th®
cashier-payer and the Minister will alone have the
keys. The vans of the bank and of the Treasury will
penetrate into the cellars, where they will be able to
load and unload shejtered from the eyes of the pro
fane. The access is rendered easy by an inclined
plane descending from the Rue de Rivoli.
A Peruvian Legal Form.— A St
Lousian at Yaucac, Peru, writes: “I witnessed a
very interesting ceremony last Monday. It was a
man giving a deed to a pioco of property to a woman.
They first read a paper in the Indian language, and
alter going through a lot of murmuring, the Gov*
ernor took her by tho hand and led her out into the
field. She then lay down on the ground. All the
natives gathered around and cried, ‘ Possession,*
•Possession.’ They then took her into the yard and
every room in tho house, where they went through
the same process. Fiuaily, she got down on her
kn- os, hugged ascii eno around the legs, kissed their,
iviuds o&d ihe parforxaanca waa over,”

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