New York dispatch. [volume], February 23, 1879, Page 6, Image 6

About New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899

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6
THE END.
IS« UMBie of the weariest river,
Znds in the great gray sea;
The acorn, for ever and ever,
Strives upward to the tree,
The rainbow, the sky adorning,
Shines promise through the storm
The glimmer of coming morning
Through midnight gloom will form;
By time all knots are riven,
Complex although they be,
And peace will at last be given,
Dear, both to you and to me,
Then, though the path may be dreary,
Look onward to the goal;
Though the heart and the head be weary,
Let faith inspire the soul.
Seek the right though the wrong be tempting,
Speak truth at any cost;
Vain is all weak exempting
When once the gem is lost.
Let strong hand and keen eye be ready
For plain and ambush foes;
Thought earnest and fancy steady
Boar best unto the close.
The heavy clouds may be raining.
But with evening comes the light;
Through the dark are low winds complaining,
Yet the sunrise gilds the bight;
And love has his hidden treasure
For the patient and the pure;
And Time gives his fullest measure
To the workers who endure;
And the Word that no law has shaken
Has the future pledge supplied;
For we know that when we “awaken
We shall be “satisfied.**
ROSE CLAVERIKG;
08, A LEAP FOB LIFE.
AN ADVENTURE IN THE BLACK HILLS.
BY LIEUT. H. D. SMITH, U. S. R. M.
•‘And whore does this fair lily of the Black
Hills reside, Dick ?”
“ About an hour’s gallop from our camp hero,
leftinint. She is with her father—a queer old
stick by the name of Clavering. He keeps by
himself, and I am afeerd he will yet come to
harm. The cursed Sioux are about, and Rose
would be a fine prize for some daring brave. It
is said that the old man has dug piles of gold.
He may have made his pile, tir may not, but his
darter—thunder 1 she’s purtior than a prairie
flower bending afore the mornin’ breeze when
sparklin’ with dew.”
“ Bravo, my old scout 1 Yon have poetry and
the love of the beautiful in your soul if you have
never seen the inside of a school-house.”
•• It’s leetle book lamin’ I have picked up, lef
tinint. But the works of nature and the handi
work of God 1 love,” and the old man removed
his slouch hat for a moment, exposing his gray
locks, as he allowed the light breeze to tan his
broad brow.
“Dick, what do you say if wo gallop down to
the camping-spot of your friend. You have ex
cited my curiosity regarding this mysterious
beauty. I will tell the sergeant to look out dur
ing my absence, and he is fully competent to
manage fifty men. We have been stationed
here in the bills for over six weeks. lam tired,
and must have a little recreation.”
“You may git more than you bargain for.
There’s Injun signs about, and there’s no tollin’
what moment you may run into a Sioux camp
among these internal hills.”
“Well, we’ll take our chances. We are both
well armed.”
A sharp gallop of an hour brought the army
officer and his companion to the banks of a
small stream, and riding to a group of stately
trees, the scout reined up with a sharp cry oi
astonishment and alarm.
The tent of the solitary miner had disap
peared. Nought remained but smoking ruins,
and the unmistakable evidences of a desperate
struggle having taken place.
Dismounting, the scout carefully went over
the ground, while the officer watched him with
a face expressive ot sternness and a desire for
vengeance.
“There's only nine of ’em. But hark, there
was a groan. If it should be Rose ?” and rush
ing toward a clump of grass, the scout beheld
the tall, gaunt form of a miner, from whose
gaping wounds the life-blood was rapidly ooz
ing. “ Clavering, poor fellow! has it come to
this ? I was ateered of it, and my words have
come true.” ‘
“My time is short. I would speak of my
daughter. The Sioux have captured her. The
young chief of a war party tore her from my
arms and dealt mo my death blow. But who is
that with you?—my eyes are growing dim?”
“It is Lieutenant Paul Welch, of the cav
alry.
“Your hand, sir. Men of your profession are
gentlemen. I once occupied the position of
one mvself. I have a package in my breast
pocket‘that will explain all. If you recover my
daughter give it to her, otherwise burn it as it
is. It can interest no third party.”
He was rapidly growing weaker, the eye was
fixed, and the hoarse voice faltered:
“ Chase the Sioux, recover poor Rose. She
is a lady,” he muttered, then with an effort he
roused himself. “I have gold for her—look
great rock, cross, full moon, shadow—dig ”
and with a rattle, a terrible gasp, and the stout
heart ceased to beat.
Possessing himself of the package, the officer
briefly penciled the vague and unsatisfactory
words ot the dying man on the back. It might
have been the wanderings of a mind unsettled
by the near approach of death, but he was de
termined to investigate the matter whenever
an opportunity should occur.
“ Now for work, Dick. We’ll bury poor Clav
ering, then follow on the trail of these red dev
ils, and Rose shall either be rescued or aveng
ed.” ••
Mounting their horses the two sadly turned
away, sallying forth upon the dark and silent
prairie.
Suddenly the scout halted, and his hand
pressed the arm ot his superior with a nervous
clutch.
“Look there, Lieutenant. Do you know what
that means?”
Just under the horizon a faint glow of light
was perceptible, above which hung a black
threatening cloud, which' rapidly spread over
the heavens. Gradually the stars disappeared,
while herds of wild mustangs, buffaloes and
deer swept furiously by.
Then it was the lieutenant realized the dan
ger he was in. The Sioux had fired the dry
grass from three different points, and with gi
gantic leaps the billowy flames were rolling,
hissing and roaring toward them.
But old Dick had not been idle. He was too
old and experienced an Indian fighter to be
outdone in the peculiar warfare of the fron
tier.
Leaping from bis horse, he struck a light and
set fire to the prairie in his turn. Rapidly the
flames spread, darting onward, sweeping every
thing in its path. Leading their .horses for
ward, the two men followed close upon the
track of the counter fire, while every moment
the number ot half frantic animals increased.
Stretching far away in front and behind them,
the terrible crescent.rapidly, closed in upon the
men. The glowing billows of writhing flame
roared and thundered in their ears, smothering
the cries of the poor animals, who perished by
hundreds.
The air became fiery hot, and the eddying
volumes of smoke made it all but impossible
for the two to breath.
Their horses became almost unmanageable;
they were obliged to cover their own heads as
well as their boasts’ with blankets. It was an
awful moment of agonizing darkness, with the
terrible heat blistering the exposed portions of
.their skins.
The earth shook neath the mighty tramp of
an immense herd of buffalo, as they burst sud
denly forth from the surrounding smoke. A
muffled, indistinct cry of warning from Dick,
echoed for a moment in the ears of Paul Welch,
and then he felt himself borne furiously along,
his horse hemmed in on all sides by the frantic
animals.
Hours elapsed before he succeeded in extri
cating his gallant animal from the ranks of the
buffaloes, and as he stood half suffocated, his eyes
all but powerloss, the officer realized that ho
was alone m the midst of the smoking waste,
hopelessly lost, surrounded by gloom and sti
fling odors, which rose incessantly from the
blackened earth.
It was agony to remain stationary, and in
hopes to gain a position where the smoke would
be less blinding, he slowly urged his horse over
the prairie, waiting and hoping for daylight to
appear.
Gradually the atmosphere became clear, the
stars peeped timidly forth above his head, while
a long gray streak along the distant horizon
gave token that daylight would soon dawn.
As objects became more and more distinct,
the young officer was finally enabled to make
out the rugged outlines, deep gullies, thick un
derbrush, and peculiar formation of the Black
Hills into the lower portion of which his horse
had wandered. Carefully ho looked about him
on all sides, but failed to recognize a single ob
ject. Everything was strange; but the fact
occasioned no disquietude to the officer. He
had every faith in the judgment of his scout,
and it would not be many hours before the old
veteran would be on his trail followed by his
faithful companions-in-arms.
He bad allowed his horse to browse on the
fresh green verdure which had escaped the
track of the fire, while he plunged into a pro
found reverie over the events of the last few
hours, and was oblivious to what was passing
around him.
The rumble of horses’ feet, a ferocious yell,
aroused the army officer to a full sense of the
peril into which his absence of mind had par
tially betrayed him.
Piessing his regimental hat well down upon
his forehead, loosening the sword in its scab
bord, and feeling for his trusty revolvers, ho
dashed the spurs into bis horse’s sides, while
in his rear followed half a dozen half-naked
warriors, yelling like so many fiends.
It would have been madness to have turned
back and galloped on to the burnt prairie,
where no cover was to be found, but by pene
trating deeper into the hiils a chance was
barely possible of escaping the painted fiends.
The animal which Paul Welch bestrode had
the reputation of both speed and endurance,
qualities that were now likely to stand him in
good need. The turf was soft and springy, the
ascent gentle, and, having every faith in the
well-tried animal, Paul allowed the howling ras
cals to gain upon him. He had emerged on to
A small but level plateau that enabled him to
take a survey of the surrounding country, in
terspersed here and there with scattering
shrubs and trees.
Cantering leisurely toward him, from oppo
site directions, were two bodies of Sioux, and
with the band clattering in bis rear, but one
pathway remained open to the officer, who be~
gan to feel decidedly uncomfortable as he found
his chances rapidly narrowing down.
Dashing the spurs into his steed, he for the
first time urged him to his speed. Boundingover
a broad and level space of ground, which led to a
small valley lined on either side by rough,
jagged rocks, the gallant animal struck sparks
of fire as his hoofs spurned the light gravelly
bottom of the gulch.
A shout of triumph, a ferocious cry of joy
burst from the throats of the warriors as they
somewhat leisurely followed the broad trail.
Paul Welch did not understand the_ meaning
of that hoarse indication of satisfaction which
was wafted to his ears by the light, cool breath
of the morning.
Ho thought it strange that no attempt was
made to pick him off with their rifles, with
which the Indians were all armed, and turning
the matter over in his mind as ho plunged
deeper and deeper into a country to which he
was an utter stranger, he asked himself the
question how it was all to end.
Thu path grew steeper with every bound of
his panting steed, the aspect of the country
had undergone a decided change, and in place
of verdure and shrubbery, rocks, gravel and
overhanging boulders had taken their places.
The rush and sullen muttering of a deep
mountain stream fell suddenly upon his ear,
mingling with the yells of triumph which now
burst incessantly from the warriors as they
urged their ponies forward, rapidly narrowing
the circle.
Halting for a moment on a smooth level ledge
of limestone, Paul took a rapid survey of the
dangers which surrounded him on all sides.
His stout heart all but failed him as he realized
the trap into which he had run.;
On three sides of him, the painted Sioux
were rapidly advancing, while _ before him
yawned a precipice full sixty feet in height, at
the bottom of which flowed the dark waters of
the stream whose muttering he had heard.
Now ho understood the meaning of those
yells of triumph, realized why they bad forebore
from using their rifles. They anticipated an
easy capture, and a victim was wanted to tor
ture, whose ashes might be offered up as a sac
rifice to the spirits who wore supposed to re
side amid the hills.
This was to die a thousand deaths, in prefer
ence to which he determined to run the risk of
being dashed to pieces.
On camo the warriors, eager to pluck the
fruits of their triumph, while the officer with a
hasty prayer plunged his spurs into the smok
ing flanks of his charger, guiding him to the
edge of the precipice.
The warriors paused in wonder and amaze
ment as they saw the act. They had calculated
upon the precipice proving an insurmountable
obstacle to theescape of their intended victim,
and they could not believe it to be the Intention
of the white man to attempt the awful leap,
which to all appearance was certain death.
With his long hair streaming over his shoul
ders, feet firmly pressed in the stirrups, his left
hand waving defiance to his foe, Raul urged
the noble animal forward, encouraging him by
his voice, until they reached the edge of the
bank, when again applying the spur, they made
the fearful leap.
Down, down they went with terrible velocity,
without resistance or impediment. A plunge,
a shiver, and meeting the full force of the tor
rent, the steed was swept away, while Raul de
spite his efforts was carried down the stream as
If he had been a feather.
His horse had disappeared amid the foaming
rapids, the steep precipitons sides of the roeky
cliff debarred him from all bops or effecting a
landing, and floating on his back Paul held his
strength in reserve.
The Indians had disappeared, the rough
sides ot the rocky gorge and a strip of the blue
heavens above was all that he could discern as
the current bore him he knew not wnither. Ho
thought ot his distant home, his parents, the
many friends of his youth, his brother officers,
the soldiers under his command, the old scout,
and the murdered miner’s daughter in the pow
er of the savages. Long forgotten facts and
reminiscences of the past crowded through his
brain, and he could not believe that ho was to
perish in the unknown depths ot the Black
Hiils, his fate enveloped in mystery.
A sudden sharp shock recalled him to him
self. A whirling eddy bad thrown him roughly
against the sharp projecting side ot the cliff,
and catching at a crevice, he succeeded in gam
ing a foothold. Slowly and cautiously he drew
himself up from point to point, scaling the
smooth sides of the gorge, until his head was
on a level with the edge of the bank.
Cautiously he reconnoitered before drawing
himself over the brink, but he saw nothing that
gave evidence of an enemy, and once more he
found himself in an unknown region of the
Black Hills, minus his horse, with only his sa
bre and one revolver upon which to rely.
The high ground where Paul found himself
gradually sloped toward the broad and rolling
prairie, forming a succession of ridges skirting
the stoop Bides of a hill. A confused bum, a
low hoarse cry reached his ears, and with fa
culties sharpened by the danger through which
he had passed, the army officer reconnoitered
the depths below, of which he had an unob
structed view.
An Indian encampment with a number ot
warriors departing upon some expedition was
revealed to his impatient gaze, and as they dis
appeared, brandishing their long lances in the
air, Paul determmed to have a nearer look at
the lodges.
Bringing into requisition his somewhat lim
ited knowledge of woodcraft, Paul cautiously
wormed his way through the tall grass until he
reached a spring on the outskirts of the camp.
It was surrounded by a thick growth of bushes,
from the midst of which he could observe
everything that transpired before him.
A number of warriors left to guard the camp,
lounged carelessly about, and Paul was on the
point of withdrawing to the bights above,when
he perceived a figure, evidently that of a wo
man, approaching in bis direction.
She carried a calabash in her hand, walking
slowly and deliberately, the heart of the army
officer beating with increased rapidityand ex
citement as he perceived that her costume was
not that ot a Sioux squaw.
Looking over her shoulder, the woman quick
ened her movements as she perceived that a
number ot warriors were watching her. A
shout, a yell of rage, and the bravos started in
pursuit. •
The fugitive, for such she undoubtedly was,
immediately dropped the calabash, and sprang
away with the swiftness ot an antelope.
Paul noted the pale golden hair, beautiful
features, and rounded form of the fugitive,
whom be made up his mind could be no less
than Rose, the far-famed daughter of the
slaughtered miner.
There was little time to think, as the fair
fugitive sped rapidly along, her long hair
streaming in the wind, and the warriors in
close pursuit.
Swift though she was, the foremost warrior
had all but overtaken her as she reached the
opposite side of the spring, and be was in the
act of burling bis lance as Paul levelled his re
volver and fired.
The bravo passed to the happy hunting
grounds of his people without a cry; but the
shot had alarmed the camp, and for a few mo
ments all was contusion.
Rose had uttered a faint cry as she caught a
glimpse of Paul, but never relaxed her speed,
while the army officer, as he beheld the Indians
mounting and preparing for a fight, rapidly re
treated in hopes to find a more advantageous
position where a stand could be made.
He had but littls hopes of saving his life ; the
odds were far too great; but if he could cover
the retreat of the girl, who evidently know the
country better than he did, and enable her to
reach a place of safety, ho would die satisfied.
His sabre flashed in bis right hand, securely
fastened to bis wrist by a leather strap, upon
which he should depend after exhausting the
contents of the revolver.
He had reached one of the ridges along which
ran a fringe of bushes, when a low, familiar
voice reached his ear.
“Keep on, Leftinint; don’t turn your head.
We are here, sargeant and all. The gal is safe.
So—here they come.”
On swooped the Sioux in all the glory of their
war paint and feathers. With lances in rest,
uttering shrill cries, they rapidly closed in on
Paul, when a sharp word ot command, the flash
of rifles, followed by the riderless horses gal
loping wildly to and fro, and ail was over.
Charging upon the lodges, the soldiers en
countered the body of braves who had turned
back alarmed by the noise that they had heard.
A short, but sharp engagement followed; the
baud was completely broken up, lodges burned,
after which the troops prepared to .bivouac
themselves, and rest awhile on their laurels.
Dick assumed full charge of Rose, who
mourned the loss of her father, and to whose
ease Paul delivered the sealed packet contain
ing the secret of the old miner.
By the fitful blaze of the camp fire, amid the
solitude of the frowning Black Hills, Roger
Clavering’s true history was at last revealed.
He bad once been a wealthy and respected
; merchant of Chicago, but a younger brother
i forged large amounts in his name and fled,
leaving him to face the storm alone. The
i younger brother had been his mother’s pet,
i and on her death-bed Roger had promised to
protect and shield him. Nobly he redeemed
i the word he had given. The brother came
i out of the trial broken in fortune and reputa
tion, his wife dead, with naught left him but
• the little waif of a daughter.
With her he removed to the far West, be
yond the pale of civilization, pursuing the oc
cupation of a hunter and Indian trader, peace-
J fully gliding down the stream of life, watching
. his daughter blooming into a handsome, and
by no means uncultivated woman. Then the ex
l citement of the Black Hills spread far and wide,
. ho followed in the track of others, and the sad
, finale had already been told.
, Dick then related how he had been separated
I from the lieutenant, and knowing the danger
he incurred by scouting over the prairie alone,
I he rejoined the soldiers, starting on the trail
of his superior.
' Everything was plain up to the very verge of
; the precipice, when it was evident Paul had
made the desperate leap. Then Dick was in
1 doubt whether his superior was alive or not.
, But following the course of the river as a for
i lorn hope, they had fortunately reached the
i ambush in time to save both Rose and Paul’s
> life.
Nothing now remained but to find the treas-
> uro which Clavering had obtained at such a
> sacrifice, and many an hour of anxious thought
. had Paul expended on the subject. There was
; but little to guide him—a vague hint that
might mean nothing—still for the sake of the
NEW YORK DISPATCH, FEBRUARY 23, 1879.
- I orphan he persevered. “Great rock—cross—■
1 ; full mqon—shadow—dig.”
3 Rose was consulted, but she knew nothing of
» the haunts of her father, and absolutely noth
-1 ing of a great rock or cross.
Accompanied by the entire force of cavalry
-3 men, under the direction of Dick, a thorough
r search was instituted m the vicinity of the old
i miner’s last resting-place.
, In a small gully running into the side ot a
s precipitous hill, a huge rock was finally found
y surmounted by a rude representation of a cross.
At the full ot the moon Paul and Dick se
-1 cretly repaired to the spot prepared to unearth
f the buried gold, and noting the extremity of
the shadow cast by the rough cross, the two
; men commenced their labors.
i They were crowned with success, and four
i large canvas bags of gold dust and nuggets
were dragged forth.
I It was the fortune of Rose Clavering, and
i Paul, with his escort, conveyed her to the near
r est military post, whore she was to remain until
1 he could obtain leave of absence, and trivel
a with her to the East in hopes of finding some
3 of her relatives.
Months elapsed before ho was enabled to car
f ry out all his plans; but when he reached Chi
t cago no trace of the name of Clavering remain
-3 ed. The machinery of the police and law was
1 put in motion, but with no satisfactory result.
Every moment ot his leave was expended in
> the search, and when he sought Rose, at her
, hotel, his heart heavy and sad at the prospect
r of parting with her, she listened in silence to
r Paul’s regrets at his failure to find her friends,
; but started impetuously' to her feet when ho
added that, with the dawn of another day, he
1 must return to his post and duty.
> Her face flushed and paled as she strove in
. vain to speak, her bosom rose and fell convuls
l ively, and but for the strong arm of the officer
Rose would have fallen to the floor.
: His visit was prolonged. What passed be
i tween them is known only to themselves, but
t soon after the war department received First
f Lieutenant Paul Welch’s resignation, and in
place of returning to bis post amid the savage
Sioux, he engaged double passage for the more
i congenial climate of Europe with Rose as bis
i young, blushing bride.
■ THE OLD STORY.
f BY MARTHA LAFITTE JOHNSON.
>
CHAPTER I.
“While our regiment, the Fourteenth Infan
' try, was stationed in Wales, we officers, as I
have already told you, passed our time in visit-
• ing each other and in card-playing. Of a strictly
1 military character were these little meetings,
! and, with one exception, only uniforms regaled
' the sight. There was one, however, who was
constantly with us whose dress was that of a
> civilian. He was a man of about thirty-five or
forty years of age. Most of us were his junior,
' and, consequently, his experience, coupled with
' his grave, thoughtful nature, gave him, in our
1 eyes, considerable importance. Moreover, bis
taciturn and sarcastic disposition also im
-1 pressed deeply. Wo all knew that his life must
have known some history, for an atmosphere
of mystery seemed to surround his destiny,
and no one dared to penetrate the sileuee bo
preserved.
“Philip Fancourt, for such was his name,
' looked like a Russian. He had once served in a
1 regiment of hussars and with distinction. Sud
denly he bad resigned, and no one knew the
reason. On leaving the army, he had located
himself in the village of C , where we were
• stationed.
“His drees was old-fashioned and sombre in
hue. From the force of old habits he sought
the members of the regiment, and, indeed, kept
open house for the officers, his table being their
daily privilege. Champagne always flowed
freely, and dainty were his repasts. We were
all ignorant of the past, and no one dare ques
tion. At his house Fancourt had quite an ex
tensive library, comprising solid as well as light
’ literature ; books on military tactics, however,
abounded.
1 “He lent bis books willingly, and it was left
' to our own option to return them when read.
Ho himself never restored those he borrowed
of us.
“ His constant occupation was that of shoot
ing at a mark with a pistol. The walls of his
library were riddled by shots, and looked not
unlike a great honeycomb. His books and a
superb collection of pistols were the only
1 luxuries to be seen in the barracks he called
home.
« “ Sometmes we would speak of dueling, but
on such occasions he never took part in the con
versation. One day I summoned courage to ask
him if he had ever fought a duel.
“ ‘ Yes,’ he responded, but the frown which
accompanied the answer mutely declined fur
ther remark upon the subject.
“Although no details were given us, we were
well assured the matter must have been seri
ous. No one that knew Philip could have sus
. posted him of cowardice, therefore an unex
. pected circumstance greatly surprised us.
“One day, about a dozen of our mess were
dining at Fancourt’s. As usual, we had all
drank more than our proper quantum. Dinner
over, one of the officers, Harry Scratton—you
know him—asked our host to make us a faro
bank.
“ For some time he refused, but being pressed,
. at length reluctantly consented, and the cards
wore brought. Philip rarely played, and I was
somewhat surprised to see him seat himself in
. our midst, placing a large sum of money upon
the table.
■‘ ‘ You will play ?’ I inquired.
“ ‘Yes, to-night,’ he responded, shuffling the
o&rds
“A circle was formed around him, and the
game began in good earnest. When at play
Fancourt always remained profoundly silent—
never a word or sound escaped his compressed
lips. The game had proceeded some time,
when suddenly one of the players observed
that our host had made an error in marking.
; His listener did not reply, but silently continued
■ to deal.
“‘I tell you that you have made a mistake,’
i exclaimed the young man, impatiently, and see
ing ho was not heeded, he seized the sponge
. and erased the number.
( “Without a word of reply, Fancourt again
. marked the figure, upon which tho officer, who
i was heated witti wine and excited by the laugh
ter and jeers of his companions, deemed him
self insulted, and seizing a bronze candelabra,
■ threw it at bls host, who dexterously avoided
the blow.
1 “Of course there was a general commotion,
while with concentrated rage Philip arose, his
i eyes sparkling and his white teeth gleaming
i through Ins parted lips.
“ ‘ Sir,’he exclaimed, in a voice of passion,
• ‘leave this house instantly, and thank God that
; this occurred beneath my roof.’
i “The result of such a quarrel we deemed
could only be a duel, and looked upon our com
; rade as a doomed man.
i “Ofcourse he retired, having said he was
> ready to offer any satisfaction Fancourt might
. desire to demand.
“Tho game was continued for a brief space,
. but we all perceived that the mind of the mas-
■ ter of the house was no longer upon the cards,
. and so one after another we took our departure
and returned to the barracks.
I “ The following day at drill we inquired whe
, ther the lieutenant was dead or alive, and, to
I the surprise of all, he suddenly appeared in
. propria persomue.
I “ ‘What of Fancourt?’ I inquired.
“ ‘I have not heard from him,’ he responded;
3 ‘not a line, not a word.’
r “As soon as I could absent myself I went to
> see my friend, and found him at his favorite
> pastime—shooting at a mark, which was an ace
of hearts nailed against the door. He received
f me as usual, but made no allusion to tho scene
i that had transpired on the previous evening.
j “Three days more elapsed, the lieutenant
was still alive, and Philip had not challenged
i him, but accepted what would have been to
c most men a very unsatisfactory explanation of
a rudeness without excuse.
“At first we all felt annoyed at his conduct,
’ but little by little the affair was forgotten, and
he resumed his old influence over us.
p “ I alone retained a certain coldness ot de
meanor.' I had made a sort of hero of him in
i infancy, and could not at once grow reconciled
i to my "disappointment, and then I was also sin
. cerely attacned to him, which rendered it ail
the more vexatious.
. “To mo, as to the rest, Fancourt was ari
1 enigma, but the very mystery was to a degree
attractive. I knew he loved, and he had once
j or twice been inclined to be confidential, but 1
, had offered no encouragement, and so he was
3 silent.
“One dav, while at the barracks, a letter
3 was brought. Ho broke the seal quickly, la
3 reading tho contents 1 saw a strange, fierce ex-
- prossion creep over his pale face, and his dark,
lustrous eyes shone with brilliancy and excite-
3 ment. The officers being occupied with their
r own correspondence, failed to remark his man
ner.
1 “‘Gentlemen,’he said, suddenly,‘business
r of great importance compels mo to leave C .
, immediately—in tact, this very night—and as
B my return is uncertain, I trust you will not re
fuse to dine with mo ior the last time. Above
j all,’ he said, turning to me— ‘ above all, 1 count
1 upon you.’
3 “The invitation was accepted. At the ap-
- pointed hour I arrived, and found the officers of
t the regiment already assembled. Dinner was
served, and our host entertained all with an un
. usual and brilliant flow of spirits. The corks
. flew rapidly, and our glasses were filled again
- and again, and many gay toasts were drank.
r It was late when we left the table, and with
1 good wishes he hade all good-by. My hand,
. however, he retained, and I saw that I was not
i, to take my leave with the rest.
j “‘lmust speak to you,’ ho said in a low
whisper, ‘remain.’
1 “ When all had left us he drew a chair for
r me, and placed sogars upon* the table. His
~ recent animation had departed. Not a trace
1 remained, but.instead a weary, careworn look.
At length tho long silence was broken by him
f self.
1 “ ‘We may never meet again, old fellow,’ ho
i said ; ‘ but before parting, I must know that
you understand me.’
- " ‘ You ?' I replied, somewhat surprised.
a “‘Yes, imyself,’ ho continued. ‘Ordinarily
s I care little for tho opinion of others, out you I
love, and I cannot leave m your mind an im-
- pression unfavorable to me. It appears no
a doubt singular to you,’ he continued, dashing
t the ashes from his segar, ‘that I did not de
s mand satisfaction from that drunkard, Scrat
t ton, particularly as I had the choice of arms,
a and had little risk to run.’
"‘You are right,’l said,'l was much aston
ished.’
*“I might call my moderation generosity,’ :
he replied ; ‘but I will not lie {to you. Unlor
tunately, I nave not the right to expose my own
■ life. Six years ago I received a blow, and tho
man who struck that blow still lives.’
“‘Did you not fight him?’ I inquired
quickly.
1 “‘Yes, and here is a souvenir of our meet-
ing.’ As he said these words, Fancourt handed
me a red cloth cap, with a gold tassel; just
1 above the head-band there was a bullet hole.
‘You know,’ continued my friend, ‘that I i
: served in the Huzzars of .' Every day
some duel occurred in our regiment. Every 1
day I played the role of principal or second, i
My comrades seemed to have an absolute veu- i
eration for me, but as to the officers, they re- 1
garded me as a curse, from which they could 1
not be delivered. Ono day a young man joined
■ our regiment. I will not mention his name, i
Everything was in his favor ; he had money, 1
intelligence and good looks. At first he sought
my friendship. I received his advances coldly, i
for he did not attract mo. Reading my dislike, 1
and without evincing any mortification,ffie then 1
■ avoided me. His success in tho regiment and <
among the fair sex was great. Timo passed.
Gradually I saw that our dislike had. become 1
almost hate. I sought to quarrel with him. To
my epigrams be gave me back word for word, '
and each stung the other.
“One evening at a ball given by ths regi- 1
ment, I saw him in close conversation with a t
lady, one for whom I entertained a strong, pas- i
sionate love. This he knew, and still more, for 1
he knew that she had professed deep love for i
me. I approached them, and distinctly heard
him utter words of love to her, and she smiled <
a response, yielding her hand to the firm clasp 1
of bis own. Not master of myself, I spoke
rudely in reply. He throw his glove in my 1
face. I drew my sword, and together we left 1
the room. e
“A scene of general confusion ensued, and t
we wore separated by mutual friends, but not <
until I had received a promise from him to meet 1
me onthe following morning. E
“With my three seconds 1 reached the ren
dezvous first, and waited with indescribable i
impatience. At last I saw him approach in his
shirtsleeves, his coat thrown over his arm. One
second alone accompanied him. In his hand
he held bis cap, which, as I approached. I saw <
was filled with plums. We drew for the priyi- t
lege of tiring first. As usual, the fellow was in i
luck, but the ball only pierced my cap. It was
then my turn. His life was in my hands. 1 <
looked to see if he displayed any emotion; but 1
ho, he was busily occupied in choosing the 1
ripest fruit, and as he ate the plums, threw the
stones at my feet with a sangfroid that enraged '
me. 1
“‘When you have sufficiently admired mo I 1
am ready for you,’ he said, coolly.
“‘As you appear to enjoy your breakfast I 1
will not disturb you,’ 1 replied, too much dis- 3
gusted to think the life he valued so lightly as e
worth taking. i
“‘My breakfast concerns mvself,’ ho re- I
sponded, ‘ and does not interest you. There, I '
have finished, now fire.’ <
“ Seeing 1 refused to obey, he continued; i
“‘Well just as you choose. I shall over re- <
main at your service, as you owe me a pistol- I
shot; but before wo part, let me tell you, Lieu- t
tenant Fancourt, that Maud Ormsby will never <
smile upon you again. She has pleased me,
and I will kindly relievo you of your lady
love.'
“ Why I did not fire then and there. I cannot
explain. I left him with a smile upon his lips, i
but determined that the future should answer
for all.
“I at once resigned, and retired to the seclu
sion ot C ■. Once only I beard from the wo-
man I had loved but who had deceived me; I t
did not reply, save by the return of her own x
unopened letter. Day has followed day,bringing .
but one hope, and that tor revenge. At length ,
my hour has come. f
“ • What do you mean ?’ I inquired.
“ ‘ That I leave for Moscow to-night.’ ,
’• ‘ Moscow ?’ I responded. j
‘“Yes, Moscow 1” he added. ‘lnthis letter t
lam told that' the person of whom I have spo- (
ken is about to marry a young and beautiful f
girl. I will see if he will now face death as r
coolly as ho once did, or as freely utter the j
taunting words of old.’
“At this instant a servant entered, and an- j
nounced that the carriage was waiting. .
“‘Fancourt,’ I said, ‘renounce this mad |
scheme. Why should tho folly of one woman ,
tempt you from the path ot reason?’
“‘I loved her!’ he replied, and in the deter
mined look that met my gaze I read the hope- ,
lessness of all persuasion. My hand lingered (
in his own, and returned its firm, warm pres- (
sure. Suddenly ho drew me to his breast, but
before I could urge him further his adieu was (
spoken, and he was gone. j
t
CHAPTER 11. i
“Some years passed, and business compelled i
me to visit York, and my evenings were given j
to reading, while during the day I devoted my
self to my workmen and overseeing the new (
constructions. ;
“A few miles off was situated the estate of (
the Lady Willoughby. When I arrived at York t
her agent alone was at the castle, she having f
been absent since the first year of her married >■
life. One day, it was during the second year of i
my hermit’s life, I learned that Lord and Lady j
Willoughby were to pass the Summer mouths j
upon their estates. June arrived with its roses, t
and when they reached Willoughby I was all c
impatience to see the lady oi' whom I had heard 0
so much, and tho Sunday after their return j
made my appearance at the castle, having a e
letter of'introduction to the host. I was re- t
ceived in the library, a gem of luxury and com- t
fort. Lord Willoughby greeted me cordially. c
My den in the village was so comfortless and a
primitive, that the transition to this elegance
made it seem like a view of Paradise. Lord €
Willoughby was young and very handsome, and c
I was at once attracted by bis genial manner. £
We were engaged in an animated conversation, ;
when his wife entered. She was an actual vis- j
ion of loveliness. My host introduced me, and
as to myself I was really embarrassed, for it [
had been so long since I mingled with actual ;
civilization that I felt almost like a vandal. To (
gain some confidence I examined the books and f
pictures. Ono in particular attracted mo. It r
wss a view of the Alps. Tho canvas had evi- j
dently been pierced by two balls, one just above ;
the other. ,
“‘That attracts you, does it not?’said the j
Lord Willoughby. ‘Tell mo, are you a good
shot?’ ;
“‘Tolerably,’ I said, 'but by no means clever (
enough for such neat work, although lam a (
fair shot with a pistol. An old friend of mine ;
taught me,’ I added ; ‘ and I have often heard ,
Lieutenant Fancourt say •’
“■Fancourt?’ he inquired. ‘Do you know (
Fancourt ?’ (
“‘We were the best of friends,’! replied. ,
‘He was my constant companion during a stay j
at C ; in fact, a friend of the regiment; but j
I have not heard from him since be left for ,
Moscow. Do you know him, my lord ?’
“‘Yes, I knew him well,’was the firm re- '
sponse. ‘Tell me,’he added, ‘ did ho ever re
late to you an adventure in which an officer of ,
huzzars took a prominent part?’ ,
“‘He did,’l replied. .
‘“He told you of a blow given ?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘And an insult dealt him through a woman
to whom he was most ardently attached ?’ .
“‘AU,’ I responded, somewhat surprised; J
‘but he did not mention the name of- the man.;
“‘But I will,’he resumed, ‘it was myself,
and that picture *as a souvenir of our last in
terview. I see you are surprised,’ he contin- 1
nod, reading tho expression of my face. ‘ But 1
the only excuse I offer for my conduct is the 1
recklessness and inexperience of youth. I did
not weigh the consequence of my act or its 1
wretched results upon ths life and happiness of
Philip Fancourt; now I see my error and have 1
long since heartily repented.’
“ ‘ Oh 1 do not speak of the past—it chills
me with horror,’ responded Lady Willoughby,
trembling violently.
‘•‘l must,’ continued Willoughby. ‘This
gentleman is the friend, of Fancourt, and I ,
owe him the recital of the sequel,’ saying
these words, he led her gently from the apart
ment. |
“As you have heard a part of the story, it is
just that you should know all,” resumed my
host, when we were alone.
“It is five years since I married. Thehoney
: moon I passed at this castle, and in this oid
pile are centered my most cherished and most
sad souvenirs. I was married at Moscow, aud
left immediately for England, and from what I
have since learned I presume I passed Lieuten
ant Fancourt on his way to Moscow.
i “I had Deen married about three months,
• when one evening my wife and myself wore re- ,
turning from a ride. Tho horse ridden by Lady
Willoughby shied at a dark object in tho road,
’ and she became alarmed and insisted upon dis
-1 mounting, telling me she would, return on foot.
On reaching the castle I found a traveling car- '
riage stationed before the door, aud the servant
■ informed me that a gentleman awaited mo in
the library. I entered the room, and m the
twilight perceived a man. He was tall, his face
' shaded by a long beard, moreover his clotlies
i were covered with dust. 1 did not recognize
him.
‘•‘You do not recall my face,’ he said, in a
r clear voice.
“ ‘ Philip Fancourt!’ I exclaimed.
“‘Yes,’ he continued. ’I have come. Are
I you ready?’
i “I saw the butt-end of a pistol in his pocket,
and without uttering one word I deliberately
walked twelve paces and placed myself in that
, angle, simply saying, ‘bo quick, as my wife is
; coming.’
“He refused to act upon the instant, and de
’ mandod lights, and they were brought. I must :
acknowledge that a chili of horror passed ;
' through mo. I closed the door, giving orders
i that no one should enter, and again I hade Fan- 1
i court fire. He raised his pistol and pointed it '
at me. I counted tho seconds. I thought of l
my wife, but at length he lowered the weapon,
saying:
i “ • I regret. Lord Willoughby, that my pistol
. is pot loaded with plum-stones. A ball is very
hard, but I have thought the matter over. This
does not resemble a duel, and even a crushed
• life does not sanction murder. I will not fire
: upon an unarmed man. Let us begin all over.
■ Lot us draw lots for the first fire.’
i “I drew number one.
“‘You are devilish lucky, my lord,’he said,
■ with a strange smile that I will never forget. I
‘•lfired, and my ball entered tnat picture.
Thank God. I missed him. Then Fancourt \
again raised his pistol and pointed it toward ! :
me—his face was livid. At this instant I heard
a wild cry, and Helen, my wife, entered the
room, and rushing to me, turew her arms wild
ly about my neck. Her presence gave me
strength.
“ ‘My darling,’! said, ‘do you not see that
we are amusing• ourselves by a trial of skill?
Why are you alarmed ? Go,’ I continued, ‘and
bring me a.glass of water, and then return, as
I wish to present you to a friend and comrade.’
“For a moment she hesitated to believe me.
‘“Tell me,’she said, addressing Fancourt,
‘ has my husband spoken the truth ? Are you
only amusing yourselves ?’
“ ‘ Certainly,’ he responded. ‘ls such not <
the habit of the Lord Willoughby? Once to
amuse himself he gave me a blow, at another
time ho pierced my cap with a bullet, and a
moment ago he fired at that landscape, only,
however, to amuse himself. Now, it is my turn.’
“Again Philip Fancourt pointed the pistol :
at me. Lady Willoughby, overcome with '
horror, had fallen upon her knees. <
“ ‘Helen,’ I said, commandingly, ‘rise. You i
are my wife. Do not display even a shade of 'i
fear before this man. I owe him a debt which
I am willing to pay. Fire, sir,’ I added, ad- ;
dressing Faneourt.
“For a moment tho stillness of tho room re
mained unbroken, but at length he spoke.
“Once more I give you your life,’ he said.
‘I am satisfied to have made the woman you
love suffer. Tho confidence that she once
placedin you will never more return, for the .
thought that you wrecked my life through a ■
frivolous love of another woman will never die.
You will never forget me, aud I abandon you .
to your own conscience.’ ,
“ With these words he advanced toward the ,
door, and with a low cry my wife sank at my i
feet insensible. '
“As Philip Fancourt reached the-threshold
he turned, and with a steady gaze at that pic
ture, tired the pistol ho still retained. As you 1
see, tho ball entered tho spot at which he had (
aimed. Then, with one long look of intense, '
deadly hate, he left me, and a moment after I
heard the grating ot the carriage wheels on the
stones of the avenue.”
“ ‘And Fancourt,’ I inquired quickly, ‘ where
is he now ?’
“ ‘ln his grave,’ responded Willoughby.
“‘Deadl’l exclaimed.
“‘Yes,’ he resumed. ‘Shortly after he re
entered the army, and, when duty called our
army to the Crimean service, he was one of the
first to go.’
“‘I was ill at the time and relieved from
duty,’ I replied, thoughtfully; ■ but it is strange
I did not hear of this. Did he return from
the campaign ?’
“‘No,’ continued Lord Willoughby, sadly.
‘Faneourt died tho death of a brave soldier.
He was one of those who fell on the slopes of
the Great Redan. Tho Russian muskets swept
the ranks ot his regiment, and the men fell
like leaves before a fierce wind. To tho last
Fancourt held his ground, but the tide was too
strong, and he at length sank to rise no more.
As 1 look back into tho past a feeling of keen re
gret steals over me,’ added Arthur Willoughby.
‘ln my folly I wronged that man; his was no
ordinary nature, and ho hud truly loved. With
many men and women love is the toy of their
ephemeral existence. With some men it em
braces a nobler end and aim. To tho strange
nature of Philip Faneourt it was life, and with
out it there was only darkness.’ ”
THE CONVICT’S TALE.
A Modern Wandering Jew—A Long
Travel in Search of Rest.
(From the Fes Moines Register.)
A year or so since a well-dressed, well-bred
man came to Des Moines and sought employ
ment as a tpacher of music or organist. He
was a skillful performer on this instrument as
well as a competent instructor. ' He secured a
few scholars and had about concluded an en
gagement to play the big organ at the Presby
tsrtan church when, suddenly, and without giv
ing any warning or reason therefor, he removed
to Council Bluffs. There his career was about
the same that it had been here, and after a brief
stay he left the place and went to Atlantic.
There, too, he remained but a short' time, and 1
then departed for St. Jo.
The spirit of unrest appeared to possess him. ;
He had paid his bills promptly and was a man
ot excellent habits. No scandals attached to
him aud to those that learned of his frequent
migrations the cause of them remained a pro- 1
found mystery.
A few weeks or months since—it matters not 1
which—a citizen of Des Moines happened to be
called by business to the town in which is lo
cated one of the lowa penitentiaries, and while
strolling along the street, killing time until the
departure of a railroad train to boar him home, j
be chanced to meet the mysterious musician. .
The gentleman is himsolf gifted with no small ,
share of musical culture, had frequently ad- ,
mired the skill of the organist as displayed in >
this citv, and was personally acquainted with :
him. He also knew something of his wander- •
ings.
A conversation took place between them, and '
during it the organist unraveled the mystery'of ‘
his .frequent change of base. He had been !
convicted on doubtful, if not entirely false tes- '
timony, and sentenced to the penitentiary in ,
the town where this conversation took place, i
There he had served a term of imprisonment.
The warden was kind to him and gave him all
the liberties consistent with his situation.
Learning of bis musical skill, that officer de- ‘
tailed him to play tho organ in the prison ’
church. His execution was so excellent that it ,
attracted tho attention of the other musicians )
in the town ; and when bis term of service had i
expired they offered to procure him a situation '
there and a class. He, however, remembering •
the convict life, could not endure the thought '
of remaining in sight of tho penitentiary walls *
and declined the proposal.
Bv the aid of some friends ho procured
enough money to supply himself with suitable (
clothing, and came to Des Moines, where he (
engaged in teaching, as before related, and was
in a fairway to thrive and prosper in his pro
fession when one day he mot on the streets a i
discharged guard from the prison where he had
been confined, and learned that the latter bad
become a resident of this city. Then the dread
of exposure oppressed the organist, and hastily ‘
settling up his affairs he fled to Council Bluffs. '
There he was again recognized, and at every .
place some former acquaintance that had known
him during his dark days would appear, and he ,
would abandon all and attempt to escape
bevoiid tho sphere of recognition. <
In no place did there appear to he any un
kindness shown him by any one of the discov
erers, or any indication of revealing the mys
tery of his past life, but ever before him rose
the spectre of that past, and he feared expos
ure. At length he abandoned the vain wander
ings in search of a place where acquaintance
could not reach him, and determined, since he
could not escape exposure, to return to the
penitentiary town where his history was so well
known that he would be free from suspicion.
He did so, established himself as a teacher of
music, was engaged as organist of the princi
pal church there, and is contented and happy.
All that ever was bad about him is fully known
where he is, and his life since be became a free
man is a substantial proof among the citizens
where he resides that his reformation is com
plete.
HUMOR OF~THE HOUR.
BY THE DETROIT FREE PRESS FIEND.
SHE DIDN’T.
In one of the Detroit schools, the other day,
a class in English history were being question
ed by the teacher about Henry the VIIL, and
she finally asked:
“ Did Anne of Cleves, Henry’s fourth wife,
die a natural death ?”
There was an awful silence for half a minute,
and then one miss stammered out:
“No, ma’am—she was divorced 1”
NO USE TO HIM.
An old-fashioned citizen of Detroit, who has
been having a fire-place put in his bouse, yes
ter ,'V called on a dealer in wire-goods and
sai—
“My wife has been teasing me for a whole
week past to call and look at what she calls a
spark-arrester for our new fire-nlace. What is
the durned thing, and what good is it ?”
The dealer brought out one, showed how it
fitted around the grate, and asserted that no
fire could reach the carpet through it.
“ Don’t want one—wouldn’t taiie it as a gift I”
was the decided reply.
“ Why, what’s the matter ?”
"Matter enough. If I’m sitting on the
lounge and want to throw a quid of tobacco in
to the fire-place, I’ve got to get up and move
that blamed thing away, or else let down awin
dow from the top. Spark-arresting bo hanged!
I put that fire-place in ior solid comfort I”
CHEAP ELOCUTION.
Yesterday forenoon, while a Detroit Justice
of tho Peace sat wanning nis feet by the stove,
and his nose by a cigar, a stranger entered and
presently inquired:
“Judge, how much will you charge me to
read over about fifteen lines of printed matter
from a book I have ?”
■ “ Why, can’t you read them ?” replied his
Honor.
“I can, but I want to hear how the lines
sound when read aloud. I’ll give you a quar
ter to read them to me.”
“All right,” replied the Justice—“l can’t
earn two shillings any quicker.”
A woman opened the door at that moment,
and the stranger put down the book on the
desk clasped her hands and said:
“Begin at the pencil-mark there, and read
slowly.”
His Honor’s chin dropped exactly eighteen
inches by dry measure as he saw that tho read
ing matter was the usual form of marriage, but
he didn’t back down from his word. It was tho
cheapest marriage he ever attended, and he
didn’t half enjoy the chuckles of the bride and
groom as they went out.
HYPOCRISY REBUKED.
A Saloon Keeper that Looks After the
Morals of His Customers.
(From the Virginia, Nev., Chronicle, Feb. 13.)
Last evening a man came into Charley Le
gato’s restaurant and called for a rum omelet.
Legato walked back into the kitchen with the
solemnity oi a circus elephant, and presently a
waiter came out with a beefsteak. The cus
tomer looked at the steak a moment and re
marked :
“Look a-horo, I ordered a ram omelet.”
“I know you did, my boy, but you can’t havo
I it,” said Legato coming up. “You know last
New Year’s you swore off and tied a blue ribbon
to your vest. It's there yet. Now, you con
temptible hypociite, do you ’spose you are gojn”
round this town flauntin’the ensignia of sobrie
ty in the face of the public and imagine you
can come here, stuff yourself with rum omelets,
and make me parliceps criminis to the decep
tion? Haven’t you got anymore self-respect
than to observe the letter of the law and bust
the stuffin’ out of the spirit of it? That sort of
a lay don’t go down here, my friend. It may
do at some second-class hash-houses, where
they take neither the digestion nor the morals
of a man into consideration. I’m lookin’ after
both. I won’t have sneakin’ hypocrasy in my
house. I despise'tbe crawlin’ wretch who ”
“Oh 1 Legate, speak no more. Thou turnest
mine eyes into my very soul,” yelled the dis
tracted patron, and he called for some more
eggs, and the irrepressible caterer went back
into the kitchen with the air of a man who had
’served his country well as he remarked:
“I had to bluff him or acknowledge I was
just out of rum.”
*• »* **
How Some Abt Students were
Fleeced. — Certain enthusiastic young painters
threw away their money, and much or their time,
too, through not knowing what they were buying.
They had heard that the secrets of a great artist's
coloring might bo learned by carefully peeling one
bi his pictures coat by coat, and resolved to try the
experiment. Clubbing together all their available
cash, they became the owners ot a Madonna, by
Titian, and went to work with a will. Mr. Leland—
our authority for the story—relates bow the eager
seekers after knowledge laid the precious picture
on a table, and removed the outer varnish by means
of friction with the fingers, until they raised a
cloud of white dust that set them all sneezing, and
made them look like so many millers. They thus
arrived at the naked colors, which had by this time
assumed a very crude form, owing to the fact that
a certain amount pf liquorish tincture, as of Turkey
rhubarb, had become incorporated somehow with
the varnish, and to which the colors had been in
debted for their golden warmth. This brought
them to the glazing proper, which had been de
prived of the evidence of age by the removal of the
little cups which had formed in the canvas between
the web and the woof. The next process was to re
move the glaze from the saffron robe, composed of
yellow lake and burnt sienna. This brought them to
a flame color in which the modelingfchad been made.
The robe of the Virgin was next attacked; and upon
the removal of the crimson’ lakes, it appeared of a
greenish drab color. So they went on removing
every color in the picture, diligently dissectiog
every part, loosening every glaze by solvents, and
at last had the ineffable satisfaction of feeding their
eyes on tae design in a condition of crude blank
chiaro-scuro. Blinded by enthusiasm, they flew at
the white and black with pumice-stone and potash;
when, lo! the bubble burst, and the Titian proved
to be a farce, as something very rubicund met their
astonished eyes, which proved upon further ex
cavations to be the tip of the red nose of King
George IV. I So much for the genuine Titian!
Court Etiquette.—ln Prince Albert’s
days the etiquette of the court was extremely se
vere, and some of the young ladies in attendance
had occasionally to be reminded that they were ex
pected to remain standing when the queen or the
prince was in the room, and that, moreover, they
must not mix in the conversation by word or
laughter, unless requested. A. certain maid of
honor who had a beautiful Binging voice, and has
since become a charming peeress, relates Truth, was
one day bidden to sit down at the piano and play
something. She declined, forgetting that the
queen’s wishes were a command. The queen in
sisted kindly, but the maiden urged that she had a
co-d.
••Well, then, you had better go to bed/’ said her
Majesty.
"On, no, thank you,” was the answer; "but, if
you don’t mind, I’ll sit down,” and sne did.
Ou another occasion, a maid of honor who had
accompanied the queen to the opera, and who ought
by righ.s to have taken a seat at the back of the
box, heedlessly sat down in the chair reserved for
the prince consort. A glance from the queen
warned her that she had committed a blunder; but
the girl was either obtuse or stubborn, for eh®
merely removed to the next chair in the front row,
int.nded for another member of the royal family,
and this time she not only stuck to her place, but
ignored the fitness of things by applauding
throughout the performance, like the rest of the
audience.
This, however, is not so bad as the conduct of
that newly-appointed equerry who had been told
that he muse appear in knee breeches at the royal
dinner table, but who came down in trowsers, and
naively apologized to the queen, saying that he had
found his new breeches too tight.
Smoking Against Fog and Damp.—
The smoker fortifying himself against fog and damp,
says the London Lancet, with the cheerful g.ow of a
cigar in front of his face and the fragrant incense
beguiling his nostrils, is apt to forget that nicotine
is a potent depressant of the heart’s action. Wo do
not assert that it even commonly acts as such when
used in moderation, or that a good cigar is to be de
spised. We have no sympathy with prejudices
ayainst wine or tobacco, used under proper re
striction as to the time and the amount of the con
sumpt on. A mild and sound stimulant with meals,
and a cigar when the mood and the circumstances
are propitious, are not only to be tolerated, but ap
proved. Meanwhile, it is desirable that these things
should be used with an intelligent appreciation of
their effects, and it is beyond question that one of
the most formidable eflects of tobacco is its influ
ence on the heart’s action. Now it is upon the in
tegrity of this function the heat of the body de
pends, and nothing could be more short-sighted
than to weaken or hamper the central organ ot the
circulation at a time when it is especially neces
sary that its work should be performed with due
celerity and completeness. In warm weather a
cigar exercises a cooling influence by lowering .the
heart’s action. In the cold season it may—we do
not say it will—possibly depress, and so increase
the mischief it is sought to mend. Fogs and cold
vapor tend to reduce the oxygenating properties of
the air taken into the lungs, beside exercising a
specific influence on those delicate organs. Tobacco
smoke may warm the air ; it is scarcely possible
that it can affect its quality or render it innocuous,
there is, ho vever, a peril that may depress the
circulation. Hence the need of moderation and
care.
A Delightful Listener.— A good story
is told of ex-Gov. Magoffin, of Kentucky, who is a
>ood talker and likes to do most of the talking him
self. Recently, in making the journey from Cincin
nati to Lexington, he shared his seat in the car with
a bright-eyed, pleasant-faced gentleman. Tue Gov
ernor, alter a few commonplace remarks, to which
nis companion smiled and nodded assent, branched
•into a description of the scenes that be had wit
nessed in different parts of the country, grew e.o
queut over tae war, described with glowing speech
the horse-races he h d witnessed, talked learnedly
of breeding, and told thrilling stories of his battles
with the Indians in the Northwest. The hours slip
ped rapidly away, and when the train was nearing
Lexington the two exchanged cards and parted with
a cordial shake of the hands. The Governor drove
to an inn, and to a number of friends he remarked
that the ride had never seamed so stmrt before.
"Then you must have had pleasant company
aboard.”
"You are right. I met a gentleman of unusual
intelligence. We conversed all the way over. I
never was brought in contact with a more agreeable
man.”
" Indeed I Who was he ?” asked his friends.
"Wait a minute; I have bis card,” and the Gov
ernor felt in his pockets, and produced the bit of
pasteboard. "His name is King.”
"Not Bob King?” shouted a dozen in one breath.
" Yes, gent.emen; Robert King—that is the way
the card reads,” was the proud reply.
A roar of laughter followed.
"Why, Governor, Bob King is as deaf as a post.
He was born deaf and dumb 1”
Cold Wateb in Cold Weather.—
It should not be forgotten, says the London Lancet,
that the sole use of cold water in weather is to
stimulate the organism to increased activity. A great
mistake is m-tde when any part of the budy is im
mersed in cold water, and left to part with its heat
without any guarantee that the energy ot heat-pre
duction, so severely taxed, can respond to the re
quirement. It may easily happen that the internal
calorific force—if we are at liberty to use that ex
pression-will be exhausted; and if that occurs,
narm has been done. The obvious principle of
health preservation is to maintain the circulation
in its integrity; and, while the error of supposing
that clotning can do more than keep in the heat
generated within is avoided, it is not less needful
to guard against the evil ol depriving the body of
the neat it has produced. The furnace should be
well supplied with suitable fuel—that is,, nutritious
food; the machinery of heat-production, which
takes place throughout the organism, not in any
one spot or center, should be kept in working
order, and nothing conduces to this end more
directly than the free use of the cold douche and
the shower-bath; but the exhibition of these popu
lar appliances in all or any of their forms ought to
be restricted to a few seconds of time, and unless
the evidences of stimulation—redness, and steam
ing of the surface—are rapidly produced, the affu
sion should be laid aside. The use of the cold
water in cold weather is a practice which must be
governed by rules special to each individual case;
and it is with a view to warn the public against the
recourse to general recommendations we allude to
the subject.
The Diamond-Eyed Widow. —A wid
ow lady in Brussels, having lost one of her eyes
through an accident, caused it to be replaced by an
artificial »eye of jglass. There would, of course,
have been nothing jemarkable in this if the new
eye |,had been glass and nothing more. But the
lady'was not content with an ordinary feature, and
"out of a spirit of coquetry, and with a view of
giving gre’ater brilliancy to the eyeball,” she had it
set in diamonds at a considerable cost. The fame
of the precious eye not only spread throughout
Brussels, but even attracted to the widow’s side a
skilful adventurer from Pans. This man, after a
career of swindling jin the French capital, had, it
seems, decamped, and was not long jn making ac
quaintance with the heroine of the artificial eye.
The sequel was such as might have been anticipa
ted. The optician’s chef d’oeuvre was accustomed to
repose in a particular place when not worn by the
fair owner, and its intrinsic value proved toothmpt
ing to the stranger guest. He once more decamped,
carrying off glass, diamonds, and all, and was next
heard of in a shop in the Rue de la Paix, where he
sold the interesting work of art for 750 francs. The
jeweler and his assistant examined the article with
some curiosity, and while they were thus engaged
the thief took the opportunity of clearing a few
more trifles off the counter. The shopkeeper was
able to give a description of himjto the police, and
ho was arrested a day or two ago at the Northern
station, and is now awaiting his trial.
Cadaver Poison.—lt is said that the
natives of Australia and New Zealand are familiar
with the deadly properties of putrid animal matter
and that many of their poisoned arrows and spears
are simply smeared with the liquids from a putre
fying corpse. Accordlngjto Tallin the Narringeris,
who inhabit the lower Murray district of Australia,
frequently procure the death of an enemy by this
poison. The instrument employed is called a nieljeri.
It is a sort of spear, whose tip consists of a sharp
pointed piece ot human bone, six to eight inches In
length. This is poisoned by plunging it into the
flesh of a partially decomposed human body and
tying about ft a bunch of hair or feathers saturated
with the fat of the decomposing body. It is easy to
understand how the slightest prick from such an
envenomed point might prove sometimes, if not
uniformly, surely and speedily fatal.
A Warning to Romantic Young Ladies
WHO FALL IN LOVE WITH "DISTINGUISHED FOREIGN-
I Elis.” —A warning to romantic young ladies who fall
in love with "distinguished foreigners” is worded
by a case which is just now the talk of the fashion
able world in Paris. It appears that a few days ago
the French police received notice from the Austrian
authorities that a young lady belonging to one of the
highest families in Hungary bad run away with a
gentleman, and the couple were believed to be liv
ing in Paris. The police there were not long in
finding them out. They had taken an apartment in
an hotel in the St. Honoro Quarter, and the gentle
man had given his name as that of the Baron Jo
hannde Wirst. On examination, it turned out that
the distinguished visitor was only the valet de chain
lire of a count living in thg neighborhood of the
chateau inhabited by the young ladies parents, near
Pesth. He had written a number of love-letters to
her, representing himself to be an Austrian noble
man, and promising to marry her as soon as they
arrived in Vienna, where his property lay. Before
leaving Pesth the faux baron robbed his master of
several thousands of francs, with the help of which,
added to a somewhat polished exterior, he suc
ceeded in throwing dust in his foolish victim’s eyes.
The young lady has been sent back, bitterly repent
ant, to her family, while the valet de chambre has
been handed over to the Austrian authorities, who,,
it is to be hoped, will make him pay dearly for bis
heartless conduct
The Moscow of To-Day.—ln Moscow,
with ifs glorious undulating site, its irregular
streets of handsome villas, interspersed with
greenery, its handsome ma .azines, and its con
stant rattle of equipages, you feel as if surrounded
by human interest, and cease to wonder why nei
ther despotic power, nor long neglect, nor system
atic prefereuce for a rival, can wean the true Rus
sian from his love for the ancient crad.e of his
race. And now.it looks brighter and gayer than
ever. Paint, and lime, and varnish, have dona
wonders, making even the old Chinese town look
sprightly and modern; while the gilder has given
to the thousand domes, minarets and spires of
Moscow a splendor only to be appreciated by being
seen. Stand on the esplanade of the Kremlin, and
having first curiously examined its battlemented
walls, its ancient treasury, its grotesque church—
the Assumption—its gay modern palace, and its
thousand and one quaint details; watch for a mo
ment the people, high and low, military and civil,
as they reverently doff their hats while passing
under the sacred gate; and then turn suddenly to
ward the vast city that spreads itself out beneath
your feet; count its innumerable church spires of
delicate green, bright golden, or royal red, learn to
distinguish its fortress-like convents, its regal pal
aces, its public institutes, and you must admit that
you are gazing on a panorama to which the civil
ized world can offer but few parallels.
Brought Him in Debt.—Mine host is
not usually, like Armado, ill at reckoning, but he
does sometimes meet his master. A soft-looking
stranger inquired at a Portland hotel what they
charged for board, and was toid he would be lodged
and boarded for ten do lais a week.
" That’s reasonable enough,” said he; "but I may
be away a bit; what deduction will you make for
that?”
"Fifty cents a meal, and fifty cents a lodging/ 3
replied the landlord; and Jonathan concluded to
stay. Sometimes he was at the hotel; sometimes
be was not. At the end of three weeks the landlord
presented his bill for forty dollars, which was met
by another to this tun®:
"Meals eaten, three—one dollar fifty cents; lodg
ings, seven—three dollars fifty cents; meals missed,
sixty—thirty dollars; lodgings missed, fourteen
—seven dollars; balance against landlord, two
dollars.”
Jonathan’s arithmetic was peculiar; but the land
lord was too astonished to criticise it; and seeing
bis peiplexity, hie boarder considerately remarked
that he need not mind about the two dollars, h©
would take them out in board—an observation that.
so complicated matters, the puzzled hote.-keeper
cut the Gordian knot by insisting on Jonathan's
departure then and there, as be felt it was impos
sible to keep even with such a customer.
The Chinese Method. —February 4th
says the Nevada (Cal.) Transcript is the day on which
tue Caineso select one of their number to preside
over their Joss-house. The discharge of fireworks
constitute an important factor in the day’s observ
ance. The mannerjof proceeding is as follows : The
two companies here are permitted to have each a
numoer of representatives, and the fleetest and
strongest men are generally chosen. These dele
gates repair to a vacant lot at the rear of the Joss
house. A stipulated number of bombs, each one
containing a metallic ring, are placed in charge of a
committee to fire off these bombs one at a time.
When the explosion takes place the ring contained
in the bomb is sent flying into the air. It is the
desire of the two factions to have their respective
delegates secure as many of them as possible.
When the ring drops there is a general scramble on
the part of all duly authorized to obtain possession
of it. Much amusement is afforded to lookers-on’
in consequence of the vigorous efforts put forth by
tue heathens. After the bombs have all been fired,
tue two companies compare notes, and the side
having the larger number of rings is entitled in
exact a Joss (equivalent to minister of the gospel
with us) from among their numbers.
Pretty, and Possibly True.—A pret
ty story is told in St. Petersburg. A government
functionary living in the outskirts of the capital
died’a few days ago in utter destitution, leaving be
hind him motherless aad without friends or rela
tions, two little children, one a boy of 7 and th©
other a girl of 8. Left in the house alone, without
money or food, the boy did not know what to do to
get bread for his sister. At last, urged by the little
one’s tears, he wrote on a piece of paper, " Please,
God, send me three copecks (a penny) to buy my
little sister a roll,” and went to the nearest church
to slip it into an believing, in his sim
plicity, that the prayer would reach Heaven
tarough this medium. A priest passing by ob
served the child on tiptoe trying to thrust the pa
per in, and, taking the paper from him, read the
message. Returning home with tbe child, he took
the little ones to his house and gave them the food
aad clothing they so much needed. The following
Sunday he preached a sermon on charity, in, which
he referre i to the incident, and afterward wont
round the church with a plate. Whonthe ofterings
were counted it was found itiiat the congregation
had given 1,500 roubles, or near.y SI,OOO.
A Courageous Mail Guard. —The In
dependant, of Constantine, in Algeria, contains an
account of an extraordinary act of courage'aud pres
ence of mind by a mail guard. A passenger writes
tuat he was in the coupe of the diligence which runs
from Algiers to Setif, and the vehicle had just
p issed tue bridge over the Oued-el-Xir, when th©
horses stopped suddenly and attempted to swerve
round, but were kept in with difficulty by the na
tive postillion. A large lion was seen quietly walk
ing a.ong the ridge on the right side oi the road at
a distance of less than fifty feet. The situation was
a critical one, for on the other side was a deep rav
ine, down which the diligehca would have beau pre
cipitated bad the horses started off. The guard,
J suph Borje, was inside the vehicle, and seeing the
cause of the alarm, he opened the door and descend
ed, and, going to tho heads of the horses, seized the
bridles and patted the animals on the neck to tran
quilize them. The lion in the meantime contented
itself with giving a sidelong glance at tne carriage,
and then entered the brushwood and was lost sight
01.
Old Practices.—ln some parts of
Scotland, in former times the plows used to be
drawn by four horses abreast, and required the at
tendance Of three men. The business of one man
was to drive. For that purpose he placed himself
between the middle horses, with his face toward
the plough, to guide it straight, and in this posi
tion he stepped backward with the reins in his
band. Another walked behind the horses with a
cieeked staff, which he fastened in the front of the
beam, and ny means of it regulated the depth of
the furrow, by raising or lowering the plow, as oc
casion required. The plowman followed with a hold
■ o/the stilts; and in this formidable and ludicrous
m inner they repeated their attacks on the soil. In
harvest a basket machine was placed on horseback
for carrying home the grain, and persons were em
ployed on each side with forks to keep it in a pro
per poise. It is said that this practice is yet to be
met with in Galloway.
A New use for Electricity.—A new
and useful application of electricity has been mad©
by an American inventor to the apparatus for reel
ing silk from the cocoon. The delicate filaments of
; silk are carried over wire arms, which are so nicely
balanced that they do not press against the silk
strongly enough to break it. and in this relation s
current is kept open; but if the filament breaks the
arm falls, the circuit is closed, and an electro-mag
net instantly stops the reel until the break is re
paired. As the work is now done the detection of
a broken filament depends entirely upon the skill
■ of the workman, and the work must be carried on
slowly that tbe eye can note any break, while with
this automatic stop it is said the labor will be much
more rapidly done and a more uniform thread pro-
> duced. The invention is being introduced into
• France and Italy, the two great silk producing
countries of Europe.
i
Horse Flesh as Food.—The commit
tee for encouragin ? the use of borse flesh as an ar
, tide of food nave issued a return, showing that tho
number of horses, asses and mules slaughtered in
Paris for consumption in 1878 was 11,319) or 700 J
’ more than in tbe previous year. The continued
increase in tho use of horse flesh is, they say, a
, proof that the prejudice against it is being gradu
ally overcome, A prize of 1,200 francs was awarded
by M. Decroix to tbe founder of the first shop for
j the sale of horse flesh in London, opened in May
' last. That venture; during the four months it was
’ carried on, did not, however, meet with all the de;
' sired success, the chief reason for which was, the
committee say, that the director was quite ignorant
of the English language. The committee now offer
a modal of honor to any English butcher who shall
’ take up the trade and continue it for three months
’ at least.
; Sawdust in Mortar.—Some time since
> the use of sawdust in mortar was recommanded as
I superior even to hair for the prevention of cracking
' and subsequent peeling off of rough casing under
i the action of storms aad irost. Some one of tho
j name of Siehr says that his own house, exposed to
; prolonged storms on tho seacoast, had pieces of
i mortar to be renewed each Spring; and after try
k ing, without effect, a number of substances to pre
; vent it, he found sawdust perfectly satisfactory.
It was first thoroughly dried, and sifted through an
, ordinary grain sieve, to remove the larger particles.
. The mortar was made by mixing one part of cement,
> two of lime, two of sawdust, and five of sharp sand,
> the sawdust being first well mixed dry with the
. cement aad sand.
'■ Ruskin on Walter Scott.—What
! good Scott has in him to do I find no words full
5 enough to tell. His ideal of honor in men and
• women is inbred, indisputable, fresh as the air of
■ his mountains; firm as their rocks. His conception
r of purity in women is even higher than Dante’s;.
[ his reverence for the filial relation as deep as Vir-
L gil’s; his sympathy universal—there is no rank or
1 condition of men of whieh he has not shown the
loveliest aspect; bis code of moral principle is en
tirely defined, yet taught with a reserved subtlety
} like nature's own, so that none but the most earn—
• est readers perceive the intention; and his opinion a,
• on all practical subjects are final; the commensur
i ate decisions of accurate and inevitable common
. sense, tempered by the most graceful kindness.
; On the Wrong Tack.—A German
1 physician has started a new theory with regard to
• food. He maintains that both the vegetarians ana
• meat-eaters are on the \yrong tack. Vegetables ara
i not more wholesome than meat, or meat than vege-(
» tables, and nothing is gained by consuming a com-.
L pound of both. Whatever nutritive qualities they;
I may possess, he says is destroyed in great measure,
» and often entirely, by tbe process of cooking. AH
i food sboz’* 1 ba eaten raw. If this practice wer©
; adopted- woutf bo cr M LtMfls among
human beings.