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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, October 20, 1872, Image 7

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Sunday Edition. Oct. 20
THE
By Albert Bryce.
We wandered on through the waving field
Decked with blossoms—Kato and I
Down by the brook, whet.*-, had oncoalod,
The silvery water flowed gently by.
Her eyes were sparkling with mirth and fun
As on we walked, and site gaily sang:,,
•‘Faint heart has never fair lady worn,
While her notes through the echoing woodland
rang.
One moment my arm encircled her weist,
And I held, her captive by magic tnrau;
And gazing down In her blushing face*
I longed io kiss her —but that was a.A.
J gathered a garland of flowerets gay
'lo twlno in her tresses of goiden hair,
J3ut she laughingly sung and tripped away,
<• (j t none but the brave deserve the lair.
Again on my shoulder her head did rest,
While her heart boat wi’d In a bosom of snow;
And pressing her passionately to my breast,
I kiesed her lips and—let her go.
y,'e gaz’d in the pearly waters deep
. That mirrored back the smiling skies;
J saw the crimson flood her cheek,
•I And iove beamed bright in flor azure eyes,
F*Darling,” I whispered, and drew her nearr~
“ Who wouldn’t be brave for a love like taino ?°
Her low, sweet answer I could not hear,
But kissed her fondly, and called her mine.
THE "cOQUETTeFfATE:
08, THE
WAY OF THE WORLD.
BY PAUL FLVME.
» I do remember it, ’iwas such toco
As Guido would aava loved to dwell upon;
But oh I the touches ot bis pencil never
Could paint her perfect ’beauty.”
“Turn on the light and poke the grate, so
that the fire may burn cheerily. There is so
much gloom in my heart to-night, that I wish
nt least my study to appear cheerful. That
jvill do, Thomae.”
And my man shuts the door hastily, and hur
ries to the servants’ ball, where the fellow will
doubtless be happy enough among his compan
ions, little heeding or caring about his master’s
mood.
I. I attended two funerals to day. A very unn
jsual thing for me, as I habitually abstain from
such gatherings, save when a relative or very
dear friend claims the last sad attention.
The first was a gorgeous affair, too much so,
f thought, for the circumstance which called
the concourse together. Too much pomp, a
fiaarth of genuine sorrow. Too many gilded
turnouts and liveried coach and footmen. Too
tnuon obsequiousness on the pari of some, too
much haughtiness in others. Nothing but hol
lowness and unreality, nothing but mockery in
that palace of death, though it did roar its ele
gant proportions on Madison avenue, with its
possessor with millions at his command.
Bhoda Burt was dead—at the age of twenty-
Bight years; but it was difficult to realize it
when gazing at her body as it lay robed in its
costly trappings. She looked as if she were
scarcely sixteen. The old smile—naif haughty,
half relenting—was still upon her lips. That
perfect beauty which had sent dozens of noble
fellows reeling to destruction, lingered over
the face, as if death hesitated to mar so be
witching a creation. All the old fascination
seemed to be present, and were it not the lus
trous eyes were closed, and the low tones of
her voice were stilled forevermore, one might
have thought her dreaming.
' Mr next sad visit was to a short, narrow
Street down town, within a atom throw of the
bustle and turmoil of the bm isoss portion of
the city. ’Twas a mean-looking edifice, inhab
ited by needy literary drudges, and weary, dis
appointed women, who are destined to labor
unrecompensed until the icy finger of death is
laid upon the hearts who have planned and
hoped—and failed.
Clark Burford’s body lay awaiting interment.
Seven friends stood ready to follow it to the
grave. There was no pomp here. Just enough
respectability to make one sensible that he was
mingling with men of culture, who had to bat
tle bard for the bare privilege of living. I could
pot avoid the reflection whether life was worth
the struggle.
As I looued upon the wan face of the dead
man my thoughts leaped backward a dozen
years to the time when Clark Burford was
wealthy and courted. In those days he fol
lowed Bhoda Burt half over Europe, at times
reveling in bliss, at others plunged in sorrow,
according to the moods in which he found the
girl he adored.
I had been roaming the plains of Lombardy,
When chance threw John Burt, wife and daugh
ter, and Clark Burford m my way.
Burt was a New York man, well known to the
Wall street fraternity. He wtfs immensely
wealthy and very popular, for he lavished his
money with a freedom that bordered upon
rashness.
Bhoda was his only child. She might have
made a loving and sympathizing woman, for
her heart was not vicious after all. I think
her parents will one day have a fearful reckon
ing. When they threw her into the vortex of
pride and fashion she was pure and good.
When she died there was scarcely a man who
would have, cared to call her wife.
Her life was a giddy whirl. Vanity and heart
lessness she early knew. Day and night she
was permitted to dash forward into fashiona
ble follies, while no warning finger was raised
to arrest her mad career.
She could have murrieil a score of times.
Men with titles, men'with the Bun, of kouoxl.-
tions clinging to their names, wished to wed
her. Statesmen and warriors had done horn-"
age at her feet, and a crowned king had pro
nounced her beauty unsurpassed, deigning at a
no-art reception to make her an object of spe
cial attention.
And Clark Burford, what of him ? Generous,
wealthy and full of hope, ho seemed to promise
a worthy future. His family were good—hot
ter than John Burt’s, if pedigree is worth any
thing. Burford was singularly free from
vices when he met Bhoda Burt, but when he
parted from her—well, let the curtain fall
there.
It was one of those jovous days when one
feels as if he had taken a lease of life that the
Burts, Burford and myself started from Pied
mont to ascend the Pennine Alps, intending to
visit St. Bernard. The road thither lias been
bo often described that it has been a thread
bare description, and I therefore spare tLe
reader. Behold us, then, at the hospice in the
month of June. The weather was pleasant
when one. considers that wo were more than
eight thousand feet above the sea level, lit
was the day following our arrival that, in-coni
with Bhoda Burt ana Bur.ord, we were looking
about the building when wo met a young monk
Df the Saint Augustine order, who had lately
arrived there to replace one of his brethren
prematurely worn out in his woik of humani
ty. Ho was scarcely more than nineteen years
old, and was remarkably handsome.’ When I
glanced at Rhoda Burt’s face I read the
thoughts that were passing through her heart
as if they had been contained in a printed page
before my gaze.
Slowly and wearily she raised her eyes until
they met the young monk’s, when, as quick as
lightning, one of those electric flashes she knew
so well how to discharge halt voluptuous, halt
pitying, caused him to pause. I could discern
the shudder that passed over his frame, as bis
cheek grew a shade paler, and liis eyes fell to
the stone floor, as ho passed on his way.
Bhoda Burt smiled as she caught my eye, but
she know I had her secret.
Later in the day, when the sun was setting,
I was standing in the room usually devoted to
postillions, watching Francois, our driver, re
pair a portion of his harness, when I felt a fin
ger laid upon my shoulder, and, on turning
about, confronted Brother Adolphe.
“I would speak a word with you,” ho said,
“ if you would excuse the interruption.”
I bowed, and stepped after him into the cor
ridor.
“Would yon have any objection of rotiring to
my apartment?” he asked ; "I will scarcely de
tain you a moment.”
“ Certainly not,” I replied.
“ Then follow me,” he rejoined.
A few steps, and I was ushered into the
monk’s room. It was a very contracted affair,
with walls of stone, and the light that strug
gled through the small window barely enabled
one to read when seated at the fir-table that
stood beneath it. A narrow bedstead, with a.
blue earthen jug, stood beside it. Add a short
bench, and you have the entire furniture ol the
apartment.
“I am about to make a request of you,” lie
began, exhibiting some confusion, “ and need
scarcely say to you thatl would like you to con
sider it confidential.”
I bowed again, and ho proceeded :
“The party to whom yon belong contains
a lady tlfc-.t awakens a singular interest in my
mind.”
He might have said “ heart,” but that would
not have been proper, considering the garb he
wore.
“Would yon do me the favor to write her
address distinctly ?”
Here ho produced a card, on which I inscribed
Rhoda Buri’s address. Ho gazed at itinteniiy,
and then added:
“Mademoiselle is very like one I have fre
quently seen in my dreams.”
I smiled, as I replied :
“ I perceive a monk’s habit cannot bar his
heart against beauty."
He colored to the very ears.
“You mistake me,” ho answered; “’lisuot
mademoiselle’s loveliness that awakens my in
terest—it is simply her resemblance to a face
that for ten years has haunted my dreams. I
never saw the original until yesterday.”
Poor Brother Adolphe! Better had ho
Breamed on than met his vision in earthly
guise.
The next day wo left the hospice, and 1 have
a distinct recollection of getting a glimpse of a
purple dress glide past a door of the corridor
as I happened to pass by.
Two weeks more and wo wore enjoying our
selves in Turin. Clark Burford had learned
his fate. He bore up better than I expected he
would, but with all he was suffering great men
tal anxiety. He came to me and unburthened
his heart. It distressed me to see his anguish.
By this time I knew the woman who had given
him so much misery. When I undertook to
•eason with him and try and persuade him that
Bhoda Bart was a heartless flirt, ba would not
listen to mo.
“Not a word against her,” ho replied; “it
maybe as you suspect, but to mo sbo must
ever be sacred. I cannot bear to hear her as
sociated with anything that is not good and
true.”
A little later and Clark Burford went to his
own country. After bis departure I would
have followed linn, but. John Burt made me
promise to continue the tour.with them, stat
ing that it would be but a few weeks longer. L
often have wished that I l ad declined.
We were ready to leave Turin, when I one
day passed a man upon the street whose face I
had seen before. 1 puzzled myself trying to
call it to mind, but it was not until I went’to
bed, and between my waking and sleeping mo
ments the fact that I had seen Brother Adolphe
flashed on my mind. He must have deserted
his post. Hie thought brought painful reflec
tions, for if such were the ease, he would prob
ably be arrested and punished. Of course he
could have but one motive, and that was not
difficult to comprehend. I kept my eyes on
Bhoda Burt, and saw her steal out alone in a
very suspicious manner ; but I never spied her
ways, and she quickly returned to the hotel. 1
In the meantime Clark Burford bad sailed for
New York. Once landed there, the poor fel
low took the downward course very fast. It
took him nearly a dozen years (thanks to a
powerlul constitution) to kill himself, but ho
accomplished it, nevertheless.
It was a couple of years after our return from
Europe, when I was one evening passing by the
residence of John Burt, that I observed a serv
ant forcibly ejecting a man from the door steps.
I stood stiff to observe what occurred, when
the man caught sight of me. He remained
irresolute for a moment, and thou accosted me.
“Surely I am not mistaken! "he exclaimed,
holding out his hand.
“ Is it possible that I see Brother Adolphe ?”
‘i Ab, bah!” he cried, “Adolphe Yitry, that
is all; never mind the brother. I suppose you
saw that villain remove me from that door?
Well, I shall have revenge, but not on him.
You see a rumod man before you, monsieur.”
“ Coms with me,” I said, “I would fain
speak with you,” and I took him to my house.
When we were seated I brought out a bottle of
wine, and waited until he had half emptied it,
when I said, “ Why did you leave the hospice ?
And why did you not speak to mo when I met
you in Turin ?”
“ Monsieur,’’ he replied, “I am the most un
happy man on earth, and I ought to be accursed,
for I violated my vows and ran away from a
self imposed duty to follow that which I should
not have dared even meditate. Do you know
she laughed at mo when I pleaded my vows ;
for I did plead, as Heaven is my judge, I did.
Well, I suppose she found me willing enough
to listen to her words and fool enough to wor
ship her beauty. It will not, therefore, bo won
derful to you if I state, in answer to your in
terrogatories, that I left the hospice because I
was wicked and a fool, and I did not address
you when we met at Turin because I was then
a disgraced man, and secrecy was very neces
sary in all my movements. Let me see,” he
continued, reflecting, “ Mademoselle has ad
mitted mo several times to her father’s house.
On the last occasion she bld me depart—me,
me," he cried, “ who have dishonored myself
tor her sake. Yes, she absolutely ordered her
menials to put me from the house. Ah I we
shall have revenge.”
“ I am very much pained to see and hear ali
this,” I answered. He shrugged his shoulders.
“ You will not be offended,” I continued, “ if
I inquire whether you have need of anything ?
Where are you stopping ? Are you well sup
plied with funds ?”
Adolphe Yitry laughed. “Monks do not ac
cumulate much money,” he replied. “I scarce
ly know what it is to handle money.”
I put my hand in my pocket and drew out a
roll of notes, which I thrust into his hand.
“Thanks, monsieur,” he replied ; “perhaps I
may repay you some day.”
A few days after I got a note from Monsieur
Yitry, informing me that he was going to leave
the country.
Twelve years had passed away and Clark
Burford was breathing bis last, when a man
was observed hovermg near the carriage that
stood in front of John Burt’s residence. By
and by the daughter of the millionaire came
tripping down the steps. The footman botfbd
as he opened the carriage door. Just as she
was in the act of stepping into the barouche
there came the sharp whip-like report of a
pistol, and Bhoda Burt fell forward on her face
with a bullet in her heart. Fleet as a deer
bounded away Adolphe Vitry. He did not oare
to escape, but he desired to gain a shelter ere
he concluded the act he meditated.
The populace screamed as they dashed after
the murderer, but he at length gained a public
house. Leaping through the doorway be seat
ed himself at a table, and before his hand
could be arrested, he had applied a pistol to
his temple and shot himself through the brain.
His death must have been instantaneous, for he
never moved after ho fell.
l"l K E -FIN K,
The King of the Flatboatmen.
A TALE OF EARLY TIMES ON THE MIS
SISSIPPI.
The goodness of the ancient race of river
men was Only fully manifested when they slept.
A more reckless, nervy set of men never exist
ed. The old keelboatmen, the oarsmen on the
ancient battoaux and pirouges, were not the
men to flinch in the hour of danger or shirk
any duty imposed upon them. They were a
strange race of beings, presenting striking po
culiaxxtico uaU dUvuq
own, but long since, become extinct—faded
from the earth.
The lapse of time, however, seems to justify
an attempt to rescue from oblivion the mem
ory of some of the more prominent of the an
cient stock of river men. We have selected
one name that might form a picture in many
sketches of the lite led by the semi-civilized
men who conquered the West.
Mike Fink flourished toward the close of the
last century. He was a famous backwoods
man and Indian fighter before he camo to be
a keelboatman. The West was then a wilder
ness. The Indians roamed through the wil
derness of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. Ken
tucky was still dark and bloody ground; the
lurking place of wild beasts and still wilder
men. It was the custom in those days for the
Government to employ skilled backwoodsmen
to hang about the border for the purpose of
observing the movements among the savages.
The mon usually selected for this dangerous
service were themselves almost savages. Dis
carding ali-the insignia of civilization, dressed
in skins of animals, sometimes mounted,
sometimes on foot, these men went about
through the wilderness singly, subsisting on
the raw flesh of the game they killed. Some
times they had fierce encounters with savages,
and were not uufroquently wounded; but so
tough and hardy had they become that these
wounds seemed to heal without trouble, and
they were ready again to plunge into the wil
derness beyond the border. Prominent among
the border rangers of 1790 was Mike Fink, an
athletic desperado, destitute of tear, destitute
of principle, and destitute ef mercy. Cool,
daring, revengeful and treacherous, there
seems to have been few traces of the noble
traits often ascribed to his class left to Mike
Fink.
On one occasion Mike was lurking around an
Indian camp in Indiana. The forest was dark
and still in the clouded day. A fine buck sud
denly appeared before him, and stood gazing
at the intruder into the forest solitude, bis
native haunt. Mike raised his gun, he knew
the peril to which the report of his rifie would
expose him, but he cared nothing for that.
Jnst as he was in the act of puffing the trig
ger, he saw a robust savage taking a position
to fire at this buck. He recognized the Indian
as the one ho had before encountered, and his
savage nature exulted in the prospect of taking
vengeance on bis foe. Instantly and instinct
ively he shrank behind a tree and watched the
movements of the Indian.
The son of the forest brought his rifle to a
poise. He took aim. Mike did the same. The
Indian fired. The deer fell and so did the In
dian. The report of Mike’s rifle was mingled
with that of the Indian, and the ball from his
gun sped with unerring aim to crush the brain
of his foe. The ranger then quietly lorded bis
rifle and lurked about the place. No one ap
pearing, ha stole from his covert, cut from the
dead buck as much of the choice portions as
he could carry, visited the fallen savage, took
his gun and amunition, and stalked away
through the dim aisles of the forest in tri
umph.
But Mike’s days of border warfare drew to a
close. Ho abandoned the woods and became a
noted waterman. He was the same reckless,
untamed desperado m his new calling. Dead
mon tell no tales, and more than one mon who
had trusted himself to the tender mercies of
Mike descended to the oozy bed of the river,
there to rest until the resurrection morn.
The death ot this noted river character had
a spice of the dramatic.
On the banks of the Ohio lived a shantyman
who had a buxom daughter, and Mike looked
upon this girl with admiring eyes. Jle was
thus much human, and the bright girlish
glance of the backwoods maiden found a soft
place in Mike’s bosom. Ro looked, and learn
ed to love. But she was a star afar. He feared
not man, but in the presence of this weak wo
man be was timid. Mike had a comrade, be
tween whom and himself there existed as much
friendship as he was capable of feeling for any
one. His name was Joe Stevens. He had
taken Joe under his oare, taught him how to
use the rifle, and “ backed him up ” in many a
“scrape.” In fact, Joe was his special pet,
and he had confided in him more than in any
mortal man. Joe saw the maiden who was the
object of Mike’s idolatry. If lesa courageous
than his mentor in the presence of man, he
had less modesty in the presence of women.
The maiden who had looked with favor on
Mike, looked with a tenderer regard on Joe.
Morality and forms of law were alike disre
garded m the wilderness. The girl yielded to
the persuasions of Joe and became' his mis
tress.
This state of the case in time became known
to Mike. Joe had enjoyed the bliss he only
dreamed of. The soul of Mike was filled with
a deep and intense hatred for his former
friend. Thoughts of revenge haunted his mid
night couch. But he said nothing. The occa
sion came at last when he could take a savage
vengeance on the man wild had plucked the
flower ho fain hoped bloomed for him alone. It
was on the o.oasion of a grand target practice
among the boatmen. There was a largo num
ber ot the backwoodsmen and early navigators
assembled. The spot selected was not far
from whore tiu city of Portsmouth, Ohio, now
stands, and m ar die residence, or shauiy, of
the object of Joe’s love and .Mike’s devotion—
the cause of Mike’s hatred toward his former
friend. It was a grand occasion among the
i ougli pioneers ; there were some visitors from
beyond the mountains, and each rifleman was
particularly anxious to display his on - accom
plishment before the strangers. Mike was
among them—the very prince of marksmen —
but on this occasion he was unusually quiet
ami reticent.
After exhibiting their skill by “ cutting the
centre,” to tiie satisfaction of the visitors, it
came io Fink’s turn to perform the grand linale
feat of the occasion. This consisted in sitting
a rm cup ou the bead of one of the party, and
placing him at a distance ot fifty paces, shoot
ing the cup off the head of the norson sup
porting it. Mike, as usual, selected Joe as
cup-bearer. Ad knew liis skiff, and no one.
would have hesitated to have performed tue
service. Joo accepted the honor with alacrity,
especially gratified at Mike’s commendatory
remarks, as be requested him to perform that
service. Fink expressed himself confident that
h? could “piug the foremost side of that cup,
provided Joe would ’hold it up, for he alius
hild kind o’ stidy like.” The distance was
measured—the cup-bearer took bis station ;
the shining helmet was placed upon his head.
Mike took his “peg,” pricked his flint, primed
his firelock, poised his rifle, took aim and fired.
The ball crushed through the brain of his for
mer friend and comrade, and Joe Stevens fell
prone to the earth and expired without a groan.
Mike’s vengeance was satiated. But Joe had
a brother there that day. lie, as well as the
other persons present, knew that “ Mike Fink
had played foul.” Scarcely had the light
smoke-wreath from Mike’s fatal rifle vanished
into thin air, when Dick Stevens, the brother
of the murdered Joe, brought his unerring
rifle to bear upon the murderer, and in an in
stant a ball went crashing through the skull ef
Miko Fink, and be fell dead in his place at the
peg from whence he had sent the messenger of
death to a follow-being only a few seconds
before.
A deep and wide pit was dug, and into it the
rude backwoodsmen lowered the lifeless forms
of murdered and murderer, and there, though
long ages forgotten, they two silently moldered
to oust.
TWICE WEDDED, '
BUT NO HUSBAND.
BY WILLIAM COMSTOCK..
The ocean breeze crept murmuring through
the long Indian grass, and gently agitated the
broad leaves of the cocoanuts as Wyohee, the
young Sandwich Island lass, moved slowly over
the plain, at mv side, toward the unassuming
abode of Mr. Bingham, the missionary at Oahu.
A small, unpainted, but neat wooden house
of two stories, stood in the midst of the flat
open country, without garden, yard, or enclos
ure of ai y description.
As thio was the only house on the island,
with the exception of a small building at the
landing-place occupied by a person acting as
consul, it was not difficult to recognize it as the
tation.
As the weather was always warm in that
latitude, the door stood open ; and. as we as
cended the little stoop, we could not help ob
serving the white-sanded floor, and. at the
same time, we caught sight of a very delicate
looking blue-eyed girl, who was crossing the
hail at the moment.
She paused mechanically upon seeing us at
the door, and listlessly said :
“ Want a Bible ?”
“No, miss,” returned I; “not this time.
We wished to see Mr. Bingham.”
The young lady turned slowly and hesitat
ingly upon her heel, and re-entered the apart
ment which she had just left.
The silence of death followed, and continued
for several minutes. No person could be seen
or heard about the premises.
At length the door of the apartment opened,
and a little man in the usual garb of a clergy
man stepped briskly out and demanded cur
pleasure.
“ This girl and myself wish to be married,
sir,” was my reply.
“Have you considered it well?” asked the
missionary, evidently pleased that, for once, a
seaman was about to consecrate his union with
a native girl by lawlul marriage. “ Have you
friends, relatives at home, who would sanction
such a step—and are you under no engage
ments elsewhere ?”
A satisfactory reply was given to these ques
tions ; and by this time ne were standing in
the centre of the principal room. The young
missionary girl really began to brighten up
and to show some interest in the proceed
ings, as soon as she perceived that a marriage
was contemplated. But she spoke not a word,
and although she remained in the room till
the o< remony was completed, her lips were not
even parted by a smile.
We were married. The ceremony was per
formed in the simplest manner, and Wyohee
was my wife.
We left immediately and returned to our
homestead, a little domain which I had pur
chased for a trifle, but which in a few years I
contrived greatly to improve. I kept three
cows, and by furnishing visitors with mush and
milk, rice and milk, and other rarities, we
made out to live very comfortably.
Our establishment was about three miles
u.- ........... . i.bo snn.men soon found
us out, and they came in droves—when
on liberty—to get a taste of food, which re
minded them of their far away homes.
But there were other men who kept houses
on the island, and who dealt principally in
liquors and tobacco. These were wandering
stars, who had no notion of remaining in Oahu,
and during their temporary stay they were not
careful to preserve or to establish reputations
for fair dealing’ Some of them would secrete
runaway sailors on their premises if they were
paid well for it.
This sort of trade at length became so brisk
that the captains of the various ships and brigs
in the harbor applied to the principal chief,
who consented to meet them all in a formal
manner and listen to their complaints.
The meeting was held in a large Building
made of poles and thatched all over, which
stood near the water, Mr. Bingham acting as
interpreter.
After a long consultation with the salt water
dignitaries, the chief gave his consent to ban
ish all these foreign residents from the island.
As soon as I heard of this decision on the
part of the chief, I hastened to Mr. Bingham,
and after reminding him that I was legally
married to a native woman, that I was settled
respectably on the island, and that I had three
small children dependent on me for support, I
begged him to intercede for me with the chief,
and to induce him, if possible, to reconsider
hie harsh decree.
Mr. Bingham spoke a few words on my be
half, to which the chief replied that we for
eigners secreted deserters from the whaloships,
and that we must all leave.
The missionary then told me to leave the
matter to him—that nothing could be done at
present, but he would take another opportuni
ty to soften the rigor of the garmentless ex
ecutive.
On my way home, strange thoughts obtruded
themselves. The prospect of being forced to
leave the island brought vividly to my remem
brance an aged and affectionate mother and
three loving sisters whom I had left behind
me in the land of my fathers when seven years
previously I had commenced the career of a
sailor. The more I thought of that mother
and the witching sister band who wept at ray
departure the less regret I felt at the decision
of the chief, and it was certainly an ominous
circumstance that on reaching the “farm,” as
we half ironically termed it, I said not a word
to Wyohee about the confabulation of the
reigning chief with the sea captains.
Mr. Bingham bad told mo that he would at
tend to my affair. As day followed day, I found
myself actually dreading to hear from'him, un
til at length I took the liberty to conclude that
be had been unsuccessful, while carefully shut
ting my eyes against the kindred fact that
while the other foreigners had left I had not
yet received notice to quit.
All this time I was becoming more and more
anxious to revisit my native land, and once
more to enjoy the society of the loved onus at
home.
'Hie mate of a ship who came to the farm for
refreshments, and who held a long conversa
tion with me about affairs in the United States,
at length, determined mo to leave my estab
lishment in the hands of my wife and go
home. Ho stated that two hands were wanted
and his ship was nearly ready to sail for New
Bedford.
Collecting about a hundred dollars together,
that I might not go home quite penniless, I
stepped on board the Henry Clay just as she
was getting up her anchor, and shipped ns a
common sailor.
Nothing material occurred during the eight
months that I was on board of her, and I
landed at New Bedford early in the Spring of
1828.
My mother and sisters lived, when I left
home, on a small farm scarcely twenty miles
from Now Bedford. Thither I repaired to learn
that my mother had long been dead, that one
of my sisters had married and gone to England
with her husband, while the other two had
turned our little estate into money, and had
commenced a course oi life which I shudder to
mention. >
I could not think of pursuing two sisters
through the streets and dark labyrinths of a
large city, who, when found, would probably
refuse to recognize a brother who had known
them only in the days of their innocence.
I should have sat down in sullen despair,
but that the young lady—a girl whom I had
known before going abroad—who gave me this
disheartening account of my relatives mani
fested the liveliest sympathy with my disap
pointment, as she had, at first, welcomed me
home with unequivocal demonstrations of joy.
The goodness of heart shown by Adeline—
for that was her name—added to her developed
charms, gradually won me from the brink of
despondency. Our friendship quickly ripened
into love, and we were married.
For a whole year I lived happily with that
splendid creature, my attachment increasing
NEW YORK DISPATCH.
with the dawn of each succeeding day; but,
then, going to town and seeing a couple of
Sandwich Islanders on the wharf, a link of the
chain was bb ctrioaiiy struck which, in a. latent
manner, bound me to the distant Wyohee;
and, now camo fresh to my memory those lit
tle ones that used to climb my knee and lisp
the name of father.
As Adelino and I had had no children, the
claims of the far-off ones seemed to bo para
mount.
I struggled long against this revival of old
associations, but in vam. I seemed to hoar my
little ones balling to me from beyond ths tum
bling waves of ocean; I seemed to see poor
Owyhee watching for me from the summit of
Punch Eowl Hill, and finally returning heart
broken to our cot to mingle her griefs with ths
artless tears of our children, woeping aloud
because their father came no more.
1 went to Now Bedford and shipped on board
a whaleman, ostensibly for the voyage, but
with the intent, of making my escape from the
ship when wo reached Oahu.
1 could not quit these shores without feel
ings of bitter regret at separating myself for
ever from the truly loving and sympathizing
Adelino; but. alas! could I permit poor Wy
ohoe and our three children to die of grief?
In short, we reached Oahu without accident,
and I deserted from the ship on the first night
of our arrival. It was necessary to go back
among the mountains in order to avoid cap
ture, as I knew that the runners would be out
in pursuit of mo.
But I took care to pass by the “ farm” as I
ran, and, giving one hasty glance in at the
window of the house, I saw the children play
ing together, and looking quite comfortable.
Two years and a half had made some difference
in their size, however.
I longed to apprize them of my presence,
but I feared it would create a sei ne,'and that
my wife would insist upon my hiding on the
premises.
Therefore, I tore myself away. I remained
secreted among the bills for weeks, by which
time our ship had gone to sea, and I was a free
man. How can I describe my transports when,
from my hiding-place, I saw her spread her
white sails and depart!
I was almost starved to death ; and now I
could hasten to the farm, and sit down nt my
ease, in the miijat of plenty, with my rejoicing
family around me.
It was about three o’clock in the afternoon
when I reached the door of the farm-house.
Everything looked so natural and homo-like,
that I wondered how I could ever have had the
heart to leave the place.
My youngest child wasplaying on the thresh
old. It looked up at mo, and, with a cry of
terror, ran in to its mother.
Wyohee camo to the door, looked at me, at
tempted to smile, but immediately changed her
mind, and asked :
“ What do you want?”
“Can it be that you don’t know mo? My
wifo I”
“ Where is your other wife?” demanded she,
coldly.
“ Oh! she is nothing to me,” returned I, at
tempting to enter the house ; “ you are my real
wifo. you know.”
“No, no; Wyoheo take new husband when
old one run away to another woman,” re
turned she.
She spoke this in a tone which assured me
that my presence caused her not the slightest
emotion, and at the same time a tall native
planted himself m the doorway, as if to dispute
my passage over the sill.
“But my children are here. Let them speak
to their father.”
The children appeared soon enough, and
gazed at mo with looks of fear and repulsion.
It was evident that their mother had given
them a very bad account of me. They would
not answer me when I spoke to them, but when
their mother spoke to them, they said, one and
all, that they would not have anything to do
with me, ana ran back into the house.
All this was so different from what I had an
ticipated that I turned away, stunned and be
wildered.
I wont to the wigwam of an old kenacker,
whom I had known m bettor days, who gave
me some poi, bananas, and the leg of a roast
ed dog, with which I made a hearty meal. A
horn of aguadente still more revived me.
My only alternative now was to return to my
true and loving Adeline, whom I began to feel
that I had treated veiy ill.
I went on board the old whaleship Samuel,
Captain Inott. After being In her two years,
she sank off the coast of Brazil, on her passage
home.
I remained in Bio Janeiro several months,
when I took leave of Sugar Loaf Mountain in
an English brig bound to Liverpool. From
theuce, panting with eagerness to embrace my
dear Adeline once more, I worked my passage
to the United States.
I sot out on foot from Boston in the morn
ing, and reached the peaceful abode which I
had left two years before at nine in the even
ing.
I rapped, and. a strange man camo to the
door.
“Beg pardon,” said I; “Mrs. C has
moved away, it appears ?”
The men hesitated a moment, and then
said >
“You mean my wife. She was Mrs.-C ;
but she has been married six months.”
“ What, Adeline 1 My Adeline 1”
That young lady camo out into the lighted
hall, on hearing her name mentioned.
I called to her, but she turned with a fright
ened look, and went back into the room.
“You must bo Mr. C ,” said the husband
of Adeline.
“ Well—yes—but ”
“A moment, sir,” interrupted he. “As you
wore already married when you espoused Ade
line, she was never your wife. Do you see the
point ?”
■tEu 1 ’ she loved me ”
br.o may nave n>o Ufr ht B ; 10 loved you ; but,
as you bad a wife and chilaren elsewhere it
was her duty to forget you ; and thus, you per
ceive, she has married another.” F
“But, how does she know that I was ever
married before ?” ’ . ‘
“ I told her, sir I”
“ You ?”
“Yes, Mr. Charles C- ; I was acting con-
sul in Oahu at the time you married Wyohee,
and I knew ali about the circumstances, and
talked to Mr. Bingham about you.”
I now saw that all was lost. Two wives, two
homes, and yet a vagrant, without a friend or
relative on the earth, I sought a cave in the
wilderness, where I dwelt till my locks were
white with age.
Adeline and Owyhee have long since gone
down to the grave, and, I have reason to be
lieve, without bestowing one parting thought
upon me; 1 don’t care bow soon I descend
into mine.
A MINE ROMANCE.
A DISCOVERY A”il> LOSS OF THE
PLACE OF A MINE.
The Castroville Argus relates a story of a
mining discovery made in the mountains of
Monterey which reads like romance :
Fifty years ago, a Mexican was recommended
by the Indians to repair to a certain hoc
spring, located as above, whose waters were
efficacious in the cure of rheumatism, with
which his wiie, Maria Bomero, was afflicted.
Having had experience as a miner, he found a
silver lodge, specimens of the rock from which
assayed as high as $3,000. He then started for
Lower California, to induce some of his coun
trymen to engage with him in working the
vein. While on the journey he was taken sick
and died. His widow gathered her children
about her, worked the mine crudely for some
time in secret, realizing handsome gains, when
she went also to Lower California and died.
Years rolled away, and the circumstances were
all forgotten. A Mexican lad, who was en
gaged as a game packer to a party of hunters,
stumbled across the ledge and worked it for
sometime, using his skill as a practiced jewel
er in manufacturing from the silver belt
buckles, rosettes, etc. Ho finally consented to
lead a party of Americans to the spot, but be
fore he could accomplish his purpose he also
died. Dr. Aiderman set to work to discover
the surviving Bomero children, who were scat
tered, and in the meantime bad grown to be
men. He was successful, and, gaining a clue
to the lost mine, started out, accompanied by
bis brother and a few others, and found it. He
returned to Monterey a few days ago with
specimens of the ore, which were estimated to
assay as high as /$1,300 to the ton. The vein
is considered exceedingly rich, and the ore
found to be easily reducablo. The finder con
siders his fortune made, as the mine is only
between thirty and forty miles from Monterey,
in an accessible locality.
a love'scrape.
A BROTMER SHOOTS A BROTHER.
(From the Kansas City Times, Oct. 11.)
Last night, about midnight, the city was
thrown into that peculiar state of excitement
resulting from the announcement of any start
ling event. The first indication of something
unusual was the arrival of a party of armed
and mounted strangers in the city, and their
instantaneous attendance upon the chief of po
lice and county marshal. Their stealthy con
duct aroused the suspicions of a Times' report
er, and, though they kept as quiet and myste
rious as possible, it was not long ere the follow
ing facts were learned by our reporter :
A young man, residing in Washington town
ship, near Hickman’s Mills, was shot and killed
by his brother, last evening, and then fled to
this city, where it is supposed he is now con
cealed. It was with a view to hiding and pre
venting his escape that pursuit was made
stealthily, but with what success remains to be
seen to-day.
The facts in the case, as near as could be as
certained, are briefly these:
The sister of the two brothers was waited
upon by a young man who was obnoxious to
one of the brothers, but who it is stated, was
favored by the other brother and the father.
Yesterday the two brothers got into a bitter
quarrel over the affair, when one of them drew
a shot-gun, and fired into bis brother’s face,
killing him instantly, four buckshot entering
his face. The fratricide at once mounted a
horse, and fled, and was trailed to near this
oily.
The county and city were intensely excited
all last night. The county marshal, with
mounted assistants, scoured the city suburbs.
while the whole of the police force was put
upon the search. It is not likely that Young
will be found in this city, be having most likely
made good his escape into Kansas. This is one
of the most terrible affairs ever known to Jack
son county.
MILES oFsiLVER.
TJE KRTAJL BURSTING FKOH A
UOIAmADO MOUNTAIN.
A letter from Caribou, Colorado, has this
mining gossip:
‘‘The grandest enterprise of this gold and
silver region is the f Caribou mine,’ located
about eight hundred yards west of the town,
at an altitude of ten thousand feet above ride
water. It is universally conceded by experi
enced miners to be the richest and best paying
silver mine, in proportion to its development,
of which we have any record. On the surface
it extends one thousand four hundred feet, for
which a government title Las been obtained.
There are eleven shafts, aggregating over one
thousand feet, the deepest of which is one hun
dred and ninety feet from the surface. The
mine contains ton levels, aggregating not far
from one thousand three hundred icet, width
of crevice from seven to nine feet, with smooth
and well-defined wails.
This extraordinary silver ledge is imbedded
in a mountain of syenite, but the vein is so
perfect that mining operations are carried on
at a rapid rate, and as the ores contain a large
per cent, of sulphurets and galena, carrying
tons of silver glance and brittle silver, with a
very little zinc-blende, and no antimony or ar
senic of any consequence, they are rendered
exceedingly easy ol reduction, while their rich
ness is almost fabulous. Parties offer to wager
that a ton of ore can bo obtained from this
mine that will yield SIO,OOO, coin value.
On the head of one of the forks of Middle
Boulder, six miles west of Caribou, a wonder
ful lode has recently been discovered. It ap
pears to be tbo outcroppings of an enormous
silver lodge, or system of lodes, so linked and
woven together as to give them the appear
ance of one vast lode, literally bursting from
the mountain. By actual measurement it is
sixty-three feet in width, carrying ore the en
tire distance that shows an assay varying from
seventy-five to one thousand dollars silver per
tun.
On the Fourth of July it was discovered, and
thus it is called the “Fourth of July” lode.
The fabulous tales of Golconda are not more
wonderful than the reality of this great freak
of Nature. It can be distinctly traced over the
snowy range, and into the Middle Park, a dis
tance of five miles. One piece of ore taken
from the discovery shaft, at a depth of fifteen
feet, and assayed by Prof. Dawley, gave over
$2,000 silver per-tun. The main shaft is locat
ed at the timber line, but the ledge extends up
the mountain into perpetual snow banks, and
over the range and down the western slope to
the Pacific waters.
The surrounding formation is primary gran
ite, and the ore carries galena, black and gray
sulphurets, green and blue carbonate of cop
per, with here and there traces of zinc, arsen
ic, and antimony. A large body of beautiful
timber is near the mine, and six hundred and
forty acres are already claimed by one com
pany. Good hay lands and grazing range are
in the vallev below, and the vein will afford
room and material—judging from the surface
indications—for a hundred thousand men to
mine for generations to come.
STRANGE-WAfIERS.
A COLIfiECriOK OF CURIOUS BETS.
When the Earl of March undertook for a
wager of a thousand guineas to provide a four
wheeled carriage, drawn by four horses, and
driven by a man, to travel
NINETEEN MILES WITHIN AN HOUR,
he did not hesitate at spending seven hundred
pounds in the preliminary experiments, and
was rewarded for bis perseverance by an easy
triumph. The earl’s carriage was a sort of
skeleton one, resembling in appearance a gun
carriage, but constructed in the lightest possi
ble manner. The slender pole was lapped with
fine wire; the driver’s seat was of leather
straps covered with velvet; the breechings
were of whalebone, the bars of thin wood
strengthened with steel springs; the harness
was of thin leather covered with silk, and the
brass boxes of the wheels had oil tins attached
to them to drop oil slowly for one hour exactly.
The whole affair could be
EASILY CARRIED BY A MAN.
The driver was only a driver in name, for each
horse carried a jockey, and between them they
managed to do the nineteen miles in fifty-three
minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Barnard
Calvert, in 1619, setting out from St. George's
Church, Southwark, at three in the morning,
rode to Dover, left his horse there, and crossed
over to Calais in a small vessel; then returning
the same way. he took horse again at Dover,
and reached St. George’s before eight in the
evening, the journey being accomplished in
seventeen hours and ten minutes.
FAST WALKING.
In 1773, a lawyer’s clerk, named Powell,
walked from London to York, rested one night
there, and walked back again all in the space
of six days. In 1750, a man over forty years
old, ran from Shoreditch to the eight mile stone
beyond Edmonton m fifty minutes. In 1763,
a shepherd ran fifteen miles on Moulsey Hurst
m one hour and twenty-eight minutes, and a
militia man walked from London in nineteen
hours and thirty-four minutes. In 1806, the
bells of Newmarket rang in celebration of Cap
tain Barclay completing bis task of walking a
thousand miles in a thousand hours.
MURDER AT CHICAGO
in 1866. Two horses named Butler and Corney
were matched at trotting, the former being
driven by one M’Keever. Darkness set in be
fore the horses started for the decisive heat,
which there was every probability of Butler
Wimililg. tEAwy hud uob guuo 20. k vu thou
journey when a crash was heard, and Butler
now rushed by the judge driverless. By-and
by came Corney, whose jockey quietly ob
served, as he pulled up at the winning-post,
“You’ll find M’Keever on the track below.” He
was found there with his skull mashed in. A
board bad been wrenched from the track fence,
and firmly planted near the course m such a
way that as Butler came up at his best pace,
his driver s head was dashed against the end
of the plank and the match won and a life lost.
Wagers have sometimes proved fatal to the
unconscious subjects of them.
A PLUCKY WIFE.
About sixty years ago, a French nobleman
wagered twenty thousand francs that he would
ride a horse, so vicious, that for several months
it had been fed by pushing its provender
through a bole m an adjoining stall. The
count’s wife, hearing of her husband’s mad
bet, went one morning into the horse’s stable,
placed a pistQl at its head, fired, and the ani
mal fell dead at her feet, as she exclaimed:
“Thank God! I have done my duty!” Sir
Thomas Hoste, of Aston, was concerned in a
more
TRAGICAL AFFAIR.
Riding homo from the hunting field with
some friend-*, the baronet extoled his cook’s
punctuality in such extravagant fashion, that
he was badgered into risking a considerable
sum upon it. Unluckily, for the first time, the
cook was behind with the dinner. Enraged at
the jeers of his visitors, the irate Sir Thomas
made for the kitchon, took up the cleaver lying
too readily, and with one blow killed his un
happy servant.
FLASHES OF FUN.
(From the Danbury News.)
A Division street lady camo out of spasms
Friday, to see a neighbor's new bonnet.
A committee appointed to canvas lihode Isl
and has sent for tbo tent of the Danbury Agri
cultural Society.
Danbury was yesterday treated with the
nearest approach of an earthquake ever seen
hero. It was a gipsy with tho chills.
A Danbury lady, who has been a boarder for
several years, has a set of hair jowelry as the
result of careful research into tho pie and. soup
dealt out to her.
Mr. Edgar Bascom was taken to the insane
asylum at Hartford, this morning—just three
months from the day hie son Joseph purchased
a fiddle.
We hoar of mon confessing on their death
bed to the crime of murder, abduction, and in
cendiarism, but whoever heard of a dying man
confessing to stealing papers ? Nobody I. Death
cannot scare that man.
A man was arrested last night for persisting
in crying “Ephraim Barnum” through Main
street. On being arrested, it transpired that
what he meant to imply was, “ E Pluribns
Unum,” which, being an eminently proper sen
timent, the unfortunate man was discharged.
A Danbury sportsman has contributed to the
personal improvement of our farming friends
by planting a charge of flah-sbot into the back
of what was presumably a scarecrow, but
which, unfortunately, proved to be a Brookfield
agriculturist contemplating bis fields in fatigue
dress.
A chap who came to Danbury on the cars,
Thursday, to take part in the Fair as a vender
of pop-corn, finding that he would have to pay
a carman fifty cents for transportation to the
grounds, started off on foot, carrying a barrel
of the delicious fruit by the chimes, with a half
barrel on the top of that, and a large basket
full hung to one arm. When he grows old and
feeble, he will take great pride in rehearsing
that incident to the children who may be visit
ing the poor-house.
“A HEAD OF HAR.”
A. GOOD JOKE ON A. SURGEON.
Here is a passage from an epistle that will
make the reader laugh “ somodele,” or we are
greatly mistaken:
Some ten years ago, having received my di-
Floma from the Philadelphia Medical School,
had started off, and in a few weeks had set
up, in the northern part o! Georgia, a shingle,
whereby I tendered my services as a physician
and surgeon.
A few days after, as I was engaged in the
preparation of divers medicines, me deor ci
my office was opened, and a tall brawny speci
men of tbo genus homo entered.
Apparently quite at ease, he pulled off his
battered castor, and, stepping up to a small
mirror, passed his hand over an enormous
mass oi fiery hair, and complacently remarked :
“There’s a head o’hair for you; what do
yon think of that ?”
Having expressed my admiration thereof, he
removed his coat, and ensconcing himself m
my arm-chair, he said :
“ Well, stranger, you can jist go to work and
mow off a couple o’ pounds 1 It’s comm’ on
hot now, and the swamps is a mighty pesky
place for breedin’ the critters 1”
I blaudiy [replied that I was exceedingly
sorry, but that really I could hardly enumer
ate hair-cutting among my accomplishments.
“What!” said he, regarding mo with a Took
of huge contempt; “ what! let on to boa sur
gin, and can’t cut a har 1 Hell 1”
And so, resuming his hat and coat, he strode
disdainfully away. Now, long after, just as I
was congratulating myself on being so well rid
of him, the door opened again, and my custom
er reappeared with a visage highly inflamed
with alcoholic beverages.
“Look here, stranger!” said he, fiercely,
“mavbe you hold yoursolf too good to cut my
har!”
I immediately and eagerly disclaimed any
such feeling, and he soon departed, alter hav
ing remarked, while gently tapping the horn
handle of his bowio :
“I’m cussed if it ain’t well you don’t, or per
haps I might have done a little outtin’ my
self!”
If he had come again, I should have out his
hair gratis.
QUEEN OF THE HOO-DOOS.
(From the Louisville Courier-Journal.').
The bands of the law have been laid upon
Miss Lucy Woodland, the Queen of the Hoo-
Doos. This remarkable woman, vested with a
power to make her enemies shrivel up with
premature old age and blow away on the wind,
was found in her den, on Second street, en
gaged in a series of howling incantations over
a seething cauldron that was supposed to bo
boiled by tbo blue blazes of the internal re
gions.
Mrs. Mary Mack wouldn’t let Lucy shove the
baby across her porch floor in a soap-box, and
the result of it was, Miss Lucy took a terrible
oath to “fix her,” and there is little doubt
that, had the officers arrived at her domicile
five minutes later than they did, Mrs. Mack
would nave been turned into stone, or a sack
of salt, or, maybe, a tank of soap-grease.
The door was close shut, but through the
cracks could be seen the form of tho Hoo-Doo
Queen, bending over her cauldron, and chant
ing m a horrid voice :
“ Open de gate for de black man, dare;
He am a comm’, a coinin’,
Wid fire in his mouf and horns in his hair,
Don’t you soe him cornin’ ?”
“Hello, Aunty! Open your door!” called
the Doiiceman.
“ Look yar, white man, jes go right ’way fro’
dat door. Do debbil’s in here, sure,” came
back in response.
But the weird Lucy, being informed that Mrs.
Mack was sailing through the air on a broom
stick, protruded her biack visage outside, and
was done for in a twinkling.
In a little bag around her queenly nock were
found a dried toad’s foot, the wing of a bat, an
owl’s eye, a snake’s tongue, and half a dozen
cockroaches—all of which bore to her a charm
of protection from the devil and bis imps, and
gave her a special power to do very much as
she pleased.
Mrs. Mack having proved that the Hoodoo
queen was a constant annoyance to her, the
reptile bag made a sad failure, and left her
quite in default. She might appeal to it m her
wildest strains, but it couldn’t conjure up a
SIOO bond of twelve months of good behavior,
and the woman of wonders went back into tho
narrow way that leads to BCargrass.
We will open our budget of “shreds and
patches” this week with a contribution of the
serio-comic order, from the pen of our friend
“ Horace Karr.” It is entitled
DOWN BY THE RIVER.
It is morning, ana for want of something bailer to
do, I stroil down to the river’s side to get a breath of
fresh air and knock up an appetite for breakfast.
An odd, rheumatic bill poster, with a riexetty,
worm-eaten step-ladder for a companion, is busy
slicking bills high up on one of the numerous tele
graph poles which stand opposite the Jersey City
lerry at the foot of Courtland street.
It is early—say six o’clock—and the venerable
slinger of paste, mounted upon the topmost round
of his ladder, and intent only on his work, notes not
tho presence of a fresh clad youth of the b-hoy
school, who stands directly beneath him, leaning
against the identical pole that the old man is cover
ing.
Deep down in the pail of paste goes the old man’s
brush, and slap, swash! it echoes against the side
of the pole, covering the glossy new tile and spick
span new suit of the youth beneath, with a perfect
shower of paste.
The blioy feels the concussion, and looks stealth
ily around. Back to the pail goes the brush for an
other load of the slippery fluid, the old man pucker
ing his aged lips around a bar of some uneasy tune
he had learned when a boy, in the meanwhile, and
whirr, birr! patters the shower of sticky flour and
water, this time directly on the paper collar and
shlnin j shirt bosom of the b-hoy beneath.
With a terrible look of vengeance, the paste-be
spattered youth creeps out from tho shadow of ti e
pole and glides toward the step-ladder; but the old
man does not see him—he is putting tho finishing
touches on, “Fare to Troy, ten cents !”
As the victim of paste reaches the foot of tho step
ladder he stops, puts his hand in his bosom,
as if to draw forth a deadly weapon, then pauses,
looks cautiously around to note whether he is
observed, and finally, as the result of his deliber
ations, steps suddenly to the side of the pole, there
apparently to await the old man’s coining to the
ground.
cuwiy CiA ftffoa hLii-sHeker begins his descent, his
swollen, rheumatic joints bringing forth - an exclama
tion of pain at every step.
It is only five or six steps, yet—the man lurking
in wait with deadly purpose in bis heart, could have
walked a block before his victim reaches terra
firma.
Aud he doos not do it. In fact, he hardly moves,
breathes—he stands so still.
On his face, through the blotches of fast desiccat
ing paste, is siill that old, terrible look of hatred; a
look which means something, nothing; or—who can
tell ?—murder, perhaps.
Down, down, down, crawls, rather than steps, the
poor, unsuspicious old man. At last, he reaches the
sidewalk.
Carefully he deposits |the pail (now nearly one
third empty) of paste on the walk, and turns to re
move the ladder.
All this while the man in the shadow remains mo
tionless. No doubt he has given up all those deadly
thoughts which had crept into his heart but a few
minutes ago. The sight of the old man’s white hair
has probably softened his anger.
Yes, it must be so; for see, he has lifted the heavy
pail, and is going to carry it for him to the next
post.
Now he steps briskly to the old man’s side, and
Heavenly Father 1 what is that I see ?
He whispers something in the old man’s ear. I
observe the old man halt, and with the ladder on his
shoulder turn half way round.
The poor, aged head is bent, and the napless hat is
removed the better to catch the nice young man’s
words.
Somehow he seems to bend lower and lower. What
can it be ? Perhaps he is going to allow the old man
to carry it after all. But, no; ho lifts the pail with
both his hands, and—great heavens! he turns the
pail bottom side up right on tho bare, unprotected
head of the old billsticker.
I see a whole cataract of paste, as it were, stream
ing down that aged paste-slingers frontispiece. I see
tliQ ancient curbstone artist place both his trembling
hands upon his hoarv, slime-saturated locks, and
give Vent to a series of yells that would discount any
ordinary tribe of North American savages that ever
attempted to sound the melodious war-whoop.
I see that well-dressed young villain walking in an
opposite direction with a diabolical smile wreathing
his cynically cut lip, and I see a car and dodge into it
and ride up town till I reach my own modest little
room, where I sit down to a emoaing breakfast oi hot
□uttered rolls and coffee.
The following communication speaks for it
self, and we are sure the encomiums passed
upon the hotel mentioned, will create a won- ;
derfnl amount of extra business, as Van K, is a ■
“ coot shudgo” of creature comforts:
VAN KEPPELHOSEN IN SEARCH OF A HOTEL.
Mr. Editur: Lasdt Venstay afrentout mine gum
town from Hoxensax 2 seen me, und as mi vife she
vos xnakin up dod house kleanin pizress, unci varm :
vater vos 2 bienty nuft aroundt de house, I tort I
v.ood dake mi I rent 2 dot Faderland Hottel üb. Ve
godt in 2 a carpet sax factory, und in 2 de barber
shob, beA ve godtali rite, Dera vos a young mans
ad de tesk ven ve vend in, und he hold us dod ve
musdt regester our names oi a pig pook dod he godt
dere, pefore ve cood godt sum sleepin und eadin, und ;
I do.d him, “ Vot 41 pud mi name pi dod pook? I
gess he vondt sum subscribshuns 4 Brandings.” He
sez, “No, sare; id vos de gustom ouf de house.”
Veil, ash dod vos de gustoms, Fritz und me pud
town our names town, und den Mr, Obenreiser, de
glerk, called a yung man mid a stofe bolish gomblex
ion 2 shous bi our rooms in. Ven ve godt bi de
rooms in, I tort maybe id vos a mistook—de room
vos shored like a palaces vod I zeen bi de old kund
try, und I sez, 2 de yung mans, “ Ish dis do b’aces ?”
und he sez, “Yas, boss.”
Dod rooms vos fitted uh mid all de indelicacies ouf
de season, und dere vos nize placx valnud booros,
vash stand ups, ped steds und zhairs. Bi de floor
vos sum nize nu 2d handt prussels garpets, und de
lite vos made bi some nize kerosene gas zhandeleors.
Fritz sez, “ Hans, led us put nuze babers on de floor,
so ve dond led us spoil de garpeds.” Veil, ve un
tressed und plowed oud de lite und gumped in 2 ped.
Ob, dod vos a nize ped I dold yu. Id vos bo soft und
nize like ice gream, und Fritz eed it vos “ pully.”
Booty soon, I schmelled Branding dod mosdt dook
oud ml preath, und Fritz und me xauffed like ve al
mosdt make our outsides in. Fritz sez, “godt ub
und make a lite, I dink Branding has gone toad in de
room.” I sez, 4 <no, Bare, I dond godt ub pooause
sumding mite kotch me bi de feats.” Zhuad den
Cabtain Schmidt knocked py de outside ouf de toor,
und sez, “Shentlemans, godt ub quick, or you vos a
tead mans,” und Fritz und me gumped ub like vo
vos Bthruck bl a fife tollar pill, und Fritz opend de
toor.
De Captain gum in und sez “ Ouf yu etade in dis
room 24 hours longer enuff, yu vos poth gone died.”
“Vots de madder” ve eez, poth in each udder
preath. Do Captain, sez, “Yu done a rong ding ven
yu plowed out dot gas, yu ort 2 dura de scru.” Ve
dhanked de Captain und den ve poth vend to ped
und didn’t no sumding more tilde mornin out.
Fritz und me godt ub und tressed, und vend town
py de preaKfasdt table, und ve vos suctonished bl
vod ve dond zeen. Dare vos nize stove gom
blex'on shentiemans 2 vaid on de table oud, und de
pill or fare vos sumndingjilod I dont zoon, forgodt.
Dere vos nize fishei, und stakes und und kor
fea, und dings 3 noomerus nod 2 ’kjensdun. Alder
, dod piflak aadt ve vend py dePWrQom. 2. gQdtflW
abb’e zhaok und sling gin?. Mr., Mackalaughalin
vos de par geeper, und ash ve vos oldt freudts he
opend a pottle of green seal sodas vater mid us, und
ve trink each udder ones health. Hods a nize par
room, und dots a nize j ar geeper 2; vy .vos freuds
in do oit kundtree. Fritz und me blayed a game of
billiards mid. each udder und vo poth voni.l.
Almost pefore ve nu apoud id, do tinner vos reddy,
und Fritz und me vend in. Ven ve godt py de room
jn vo hardtiy nu id; eferyding vos ash nize as 2 peer
suoons. Dere vos a nizo red, gold* und green pill
ouf faro, pud de tinner vos de nizest ouf
Fritz und mo vondt troo de hole pill ouf do readb
tings I nefer zeen, und von vo godt ub 2 vork, vo
halt 2 aid town. Ve vondt tawn stares, ini seddled
de pill, upd den Fritz uud me vendtp»::i. 2de Louzo,
und mi vife sho sez I vos grazy, dot I fork.apoud dob
Faderland Hottel mmi sleeb al de dimes. Nuarkorb
2 po broud ouf dod nu Hottel,und geop id üb—id
vos a pully good ding. Dero vos only 1 ding v;mtin.
bi dod Hottol, und dod vos de effis ort 2 pe bi dod
corner ouf do streed, und den heebies dond peon
geddin in 2do parber shob pi mistook. Idu horeny
uxtend 2 Captain Schmidt und the gierk, Mr. Obon
reiser, mi obligashuns 4 de kindtness ouf manner in
vich I vos dhrcaied vile ad dere Hottel.
Vry Drhuly, Hans Von Keppelhosen.
P. S.—Dod kabbages vod de Captain goof me, oud
ouf his nize garten, pehind de Hottel, vos now al*
mosdt. sour krout. H. V. K.
Some persons have a wonderful mania for
purchasing all sorts of knick-knacks, provided
they are told they have belonged to some “ big
bug,’* fancying that some of the importance
and reputation of tho said big bug will attach
to them from the possession of them. In this
way numbers of persons are taken in—their
ignorance being played upon, by more astute
members of the community, who take advan
tage of this weakness to possess something
that has belonged to some of the “ great ones”
of this earth, and palm off upon this class ol
noodles all sorts of trash. In the purchase of
antiquarian relics, even the cleverest judges
are occasionally taken in. Witness Jonathan
Oldbuck, with his “long ladle,” in tbo “Anti
quary,” and more recently the members of the
learned Pickwick Club, as mentioned by Dick
ens. Our friend “Spivins,” therefore, must
not take it tco much to heart that he has been
the victim of some of the clover ones. His
fate is that of many others.
MR SPIVINS ENACTS THE ROLE OF TOODLES,
AND 16 KNOCKED DOWN BY THE HIGHEST
BIDDER.
I was always a great admirer of auctions. So is
my wife. Her little weakness is tbo cheap jcwoir.v
line. I go it strong on antiquities, relics, old pic
tures, china, and curiosities in" general. I couiesa I
’ftm not a success in the matter of sharp bargains.
Not long since I dropped in at a furniture sale. The
old dodge—closing cut io go into liquidation—goods
to be had for a song.
Confound that auction sale! it nearly broke ma.
The way of it was this: I warned some chairs, and
here was just the chance—light, convenient and
durable—ail that sort of thing.
I plunged into’the crowd, and, seeing my oppor
tunity, went in for a bargain.
I meant to bid off a dozen, but the.auctioneer, who
was one of those comical cusses, knocked off the en
tire lot to me at ton dollars apiece, and I have been
using the balance for firewood ever since. Good for
nothing else, boa judge of ’em told me. I came
back by offering some prime cigars at five dollars a
thousand, but sent him only tho samp e lot at Chat
price, and the rest at full prices. Ho took'em —oh,
yes, he look ’em—but he knocked r.ie down when I
wont to insist on the pay, and ail I know is, I never
got it.
That’s mi’d, however. Our house, you must
know, is a regular museum. One diy I t >Oa it into
my head to give a grand sale, intending to make the
tour of Europe on tbo proceeds. I invited a well
known virtuoso friend *o go over the list with me.
Of course I possessed the koy of the Basti e and the
sword oi Napo’eon. Those remorkab'e curiosities ha
merely laughed at, pleasantly informing me, as ha
smoked one of my genuine regalias, teat he knew of
least a hundred of these vestiges in different quar
ters oi the globe.
I came to tho uniform of General Washington,
which he at once put down as u genuine origiua
sell.
“ Well, at least,” said I, “here’s the rone that hung
Gibbs, the pirate; you’d not deny that.”
“Pooh !" said he, with a shrug, “ that was a stoul
hempen cor.l; this is a clumsy contrivance of jute.
Beside, the original is in the Bureau of Police.”
I began to feel uncomfortable. Were all my pr.'zed
curiosities a take-in? I turned triumphantly to the
raz.iT with which John C. Colt committed filicide.
“That must stagger you. It’e regularly vouched
for; here’s the paper—seel’’
And I showed him an apparently authentic docu
ment. sold me by the last proprietor.
“Colt, my dear boy, committed suicide with a
penknife. But, b.ess your innocence! he isn’t dead.
I myself met him m India, disguised as a Parsee.”
“ I’m getting bewildered,” said 1. “ Why, I have
still greater treasures, and I’m afraid to show them.
Here’s the head of Joaquin, the great California ban
dit; and I s’pose next thing jou’U toil me it’s a
pumpkin.”
“Weil,” replied he, inspecting it through his eye
glass with the utmost nonchalance, while I fairly shiv
ered with anguish, “it is strange to what an extent
human cradu ity can be carried. This is nothing
more than a common bead from. Potter’s fie d,
stained with walnut juice to givn it tae color—
pickled, of course, to give it vraisemblanco.”
“But, this, this ccl ectiou oi cioiuing oi tho Mid
dle Ages ?” I ventured, timidly.
“ Ha! ha! ha 1” and he laughed right out. “ Well,
you are green. That pack or trash I recognize as a
worn-out stock wardrobe of the Old Bowery Theatre.
I fancy I can see the legs of the supers shuffling about
in those yellow leather boots, that wou.d be naua
tho worse ior a little pipe clay.’’
I was rapidly becoming disgusted.
“What’s this?” he continued, handling more of
my measures as though tnoy had Leon old jumi;
“stove-pipe, tureens, cits oi old boiler. Be tier and
better!”
“Stove-pipe I old boilers!” I retorted, indignantly.
“Why, you precious old lunatio, that’s auc.ent ar
mor. worn by the Black Prince and ths Tudors; c me
from the Tower of London; armorer’s name ou it.”
“Tudoi* fiddlesticks! - I’ll warrant It the worb o?
some respectable ironmonger in the slums.”
Next came my wife’s jewe ry. He pronounced it
all paste. I felt my gorge rapidly rising. 1 turned
to my wife, and that resnectab.e aud otherwise irre
proachable woman turned to me.
“ That’s just like you addle.-pated women,” said I,
“always wasting your husbands’ money on tiash
and tinsel.”
“ Addie-yated yoursolf,” sho rejoined, with asper
ity, “not "to know a man’s head from a picxled
pumnkiu.”
“Fiend!” I howled, as I grasped my practical
by the neckcloth until ais iiead was as pur
ple as”lEat'bf joaqulu, ••you b&yo awakened me
from the most blissful dream.of my life. Out! va
mose! git!”
“ I hava awakened you from a nightmare,” said he,
“and saved, you from further delusion. You threat
en to pitch this stuff into the Eireet as old junk—
don’t, I’ll buy it of you at that valuation, aua tparo
you additional mortification.”
Ana he did.
Tho worst of it was, I afterward fpundout that my
treasures were genuine, even to the mermaid, wbica
he had said was the head oi a mousey stuck on io
the tail of a fish.
Our correspondent, “Odeveuq,” this week
sends us a few lines upon a very important
subject. Wo sincerely trust he does not write
from personal experience, as it must be a life
long source of grief to a man to think he hat?
been
JILTED.
I knew a maid, a fairy maid.
With eyes of deepest blue;
She said sho thought the world of me,
She’d say the same to you.
Ah! welLdo I remember har,
But orft among the few;
How she would fly into my arms;
She’d do the.same to you.
Her lips looked like two cherries ripo.
Her hair of golden hue,
She’d throw her .arms around my neck,
She’d do the same to you.
Once when I dared declare my love,
With heart both light aud true;
She swore she ne’er would leave me, bat
She’d swear the same to you.
Oh! how I loved that little maid;
And taking up my cue,
She loved me in return, but then
She’d do .the same to you.
The other eve I asked this maid,
'.ihe old love to renew;
Sb. told me “it had never waned,” -
She’d lie the same to you.
An 1 now ahe’s.left me all alone;
The heartless little shrew;
She ran off. w/ah another fool,
She’d do the- same with you. Odeveuq.
We Will now. conclude with tbo following
SCINTILLATIONS.
An- Irish justice of the peace in
Treasure Oity, Nevada, issued a subpena to another
Irishman to attend as a witness in a case where J.
B. was plaintiff, and G. E. et. al., defendants. Mika
•appeared in court before the trial commenced, and
askedn “Judge,, who is •et.aale(. e (’ >3 To which hia
honor condescended to respond: “I am surprised
that an Amerikin citiztn of ordinary intelligenoa
should not, know the meaning oi et. all.; and. for tha
benefit of the witness and tho gintlemin prinint in
the court,. I win explain. It is dirivatid from tho
two Latin words, contracted, ana manes, in its
litherary sirnse, at all I at all!”
A Lowell man has sealed proposals
of marriage sent him by a Canadian to be given to
any lady whom tbo former may select. He is a
widower forty-five years old, with no children, and
forty-seven acres of land, and he wants a Christian
lady between twenty five and thirty-five for a wife.
As there are no unmarried ladies in Lowell who aro
more than twenty years old, the Canadian will prob
ably go down the vale of years wifeless and sorrow
ing.
Some naughty boys in New Haven
went chestnuting on Sunday. We kno* of a boy
who once went after chestnuts on Sunday, and three
months afterward had typhoid fever so severe y that
for a number of days he couldn’t eat any thing but
grapes, pears, cannedj-peaches and wine jelly. Boys,
bo warned.
In Arkansas, a man was sentenced
to be hanged, but ail the carpenters in the neighbor
hood refused to build the scaffold. As the con
demned man was himself a carpenter by trade, tho
sheriff tried to induce him to put up the gallows, but
h© steadfastly declarod he’d bo hanged if he did.
A man got up at night at lowa
Clly and trashed his wife till ho woke up the wholo
house, and then made her and everybody e'se be
lieve he had been asleep all the time and didn’S
know what he had been about.
The latest verbal abomination is
“nuptiated” for “ married.” After all, it isn’t hi’,<
so good as “ hymenaalized.” Nor is that so good as
“conjugated.”
It may sound like a paradox, yet
th® breaking of both wings of an army is a pretty
sure way to make it fly.
’•‘Let the toast be, dear woman,”
as the man said to his wife, when he wanted to eat il
all himself.
When is the book of nature stud
ied, ffltwD Autumn turns the jearei. aul th«r ar«
7

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