New York dispatch. [volume], April 13, 1879, Page 6, Image 6

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

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6
• AM TALKING IN MY SLEEP.
BY MRS FRANCES OSGOOD,
Fve something sweet to tell yon,
But the secret you must fceep, .
And remember, if it isH M t night,
I am •* talking in my sleep.”
For I know I am but dreaming,
When 1 think your love ia mine;
And 1 know they aie but seeming,
Al the hopes that round nw tfhine.
Bo remember, when I tell you
What I can no longer keep,
We are none of us responsiblO
For what we say ia sleep.
My pretty secret’s coming 1
Oh, listen with your heart.
And you shall hear it humming
So close ’twill make you start.
.Oh, shut your eyes so earnest,
Or mine will wildly weep;
J love you 1 I adore you I but—
•’l am talking in my sleep.”
m
A Legend from the Persian'
A largo caravan was crossing tho desert. It
■was composed of several merchants, who were
reiurntng from Mecca to Btamboul. attended
by a numerous escort of guards to protect their
treasures and persons from the Arabs, the pre
datory descendants of Ishmael. Toward noon
the heat became insupportable, and the ad
vanced guard of the cavalcade having reached
a convenient resting-place,, made a halt. The
principal conductor posted sentinels and await
ed the arrival of the rest of the troop. Thirty
camels, laden with costly merchandise, at
length appeared with their leaders, and were
followed by the merchants to whom the cara
van belonged, mounted upon Arabian horses.
The tents were pitched, and, reposing upon
cushions embroidered with gold, the merchants
partook of the customary spiced meats and
sherbet, which their black slaves presented to
them.
The repast finished, the slaves carried away
the fragments and brought pipes and cofiee.
The smokers sat in silence, and appeared to
■watch with philosophic serenity the fanciful
' convolutions of the gray vapor which issued in
voluminous clouds from their hookahs. At
length Hassan, the youngest of the company,
broke silence and thus adaressed'tbo venerable
Achmet, whosellocks were blanched by the snows
of seventy Winters: ‘
“Three days, O Achmet, have passed thus
heavily in the desert, and none of us have sug
gested any pleasant entertainment to lighten
the tedium of our journey. This dreariness ef
fects me the more sensibly as I have been ac
customed to see dancing, or to hear music af
ter my meals. Can you devise no amusement
to beguile the time?”
“The words of the wise are as the pearls of
Iran,” said the merchant Knalid. “Relate to
us, if it be agreeable to thee, Achmet, some of
those adventures which have diversified thy
long career, or transport us for a few moments
into the fairy realms of imagination.”
“My dear friends,” replied Achmet, “you
have, during our passage through these wilds,
given me the most gratifying proofs of your at
tachment, and I will, therefore, communicate
to you an episode in my life, which 1 do not re
late to everybody; it is the history of the on
chanted ship I”
My father was a small shopkeeper at Balsora.
He was neither rich nor poor, being one of
those people who speculate cautiously, for fear
of losing that which they already possess. He
instilled honorable principles into my mind, and
soon taught me to assist him in his trade. I
was eighteen years of age when he made his
first great venture; he shortly afterward died,
probably from regret at having trusted a thou
sand pieces of gold to the uncertain risks of
the sea. His decease was happily timed for
him, as, in tho course of a few weeks, intelli
gence arrived that the vessel in which he had
embarked his property was totally lost.
My courage was not depressed by this mis
fortune; I converted into money all that my
father had left me, and quitted my native town
in the hope of realizing a fortune in foreign
countries. My only companion was an old do
mestic, whose attachment to me was not weak
ened by my adverse circumstances, and who
wished'Jo live and die in my service.
We sailed with a favorable wind from the
port of Balsora, in a vessel bound for tho In
dies. On the fifteenth day of our voyage, the
captain intimated that a storm threatened us.
His manner was uneasy, and he did not appear
to be sufficiently acquainted with the naviga
tion of the latitudes in which we found our
selves, to view with calmness the impending
tempest. Upon the approach of night the
weather became clear and cold, and the captain
already fancied that ho had been deceived in
hie anticipations of a hurricane, when suddenly
a vessel, which we had not,previously observed,
was seen to pass close to ours. All at once
groans and wild outcries issued from the
strange ship, like those which are heard in the
bowlings of a tempest. Our captain who was
standing at my side on the quarter-deck, turned
fearfully pale, and exclaimed:
“ Our ship is doomed, and death awaits us
all I”
Before I could inquire into the meaning of
those singular expressions, the sailors gathered
round us, inquiring with terror in their looks :
"Did you see that? Did you hear those hor
rid sounds—those evil forebodings ?”
Tho captain aroused himself and ordered that
verses from the Koran should be read; he then
tooa cnarge of the helm himself; but his devo
tion, and his care alike, availed us nothing; a
gale arose, which rapidly increased to a storm,
: nd. in less than an hour, the vessel sprang a
leak, which all hands at tho pumps could not
keep under. The long boat was then hastily
cleared and hoisted out, and scarcely had the
last mariner quitted the ill-lated merchantman
ere she was swallowed up in the devouring
waves. Tnus wore we cast adrift on the wild
and foaming sea, with nothing but what we had
on us, and very little hope of saving even our
lives. The hurricane still raged furiously, and,
incapable of assisting in the management of our
frail bark, I kept myoid servant’s arm linked in
mine, and we vowed not to abandon each other
whatever might befal us.
Day at length dawned, but with tho first
beams of the sun came the crisis of our fate,
our boat was capsized by a violent squall, and I
never afterward saw any of our hapless crew.
Ingulfed in tho “tumbling billows ol the main,”
1 soon became unconscious, and when sensa
tion returned 1 found myself supported in the
arms of my faithful servant, who bad scrambled
on to the keel of our still floating boat, and suc
ceeded in dragging mo after him. Tho tem
pest gradually abated, but no vestige remained
of our lost ship; at a short distance from us,
however, to our great joy we descried another
vessel against which tho waves, no longer fear
ful, impotently broke ; as she drifted toward us
1 discovered that she was the same ship that
had passed us on the previous evening, and
which bad struck such terror into tho hearts of
our commander and the sailors.
On making this discovery all my apprehen
sions returned; the foars of tho captain so
dreadfully realized, the loneliness of the ship,
on which no one appeared to answer to our re
peated calls, all contributed to inspire ma with
an indescribable dread. However, to board her
was our only chance of savmg our lives, and
grateful to Allah tor having hitherto preserved
us in so miraculous a manner, we pgaiu invoked
his protection and awaited the event.
Krom the bow of the vessel hung a piece of
chain, and as sho neared us wa labored with
our hands and foet to reach it. At length we
succoeded, and I shouted again, but no voice
greeted me in return. We then climbed up by
means of the chain, I, as the younger man, be
ing the first to make the attempt.
Ob, horror! what a spectacle met my eyes as
I stepped on boardl The planks were crim
soned with blood, and between twenty and
thirty corpses in Turkish costume wore strewed
about the deck. A dead man, splendidly at
tired, was standing bolt upright against the
mainmast; he held a sabre m his hand, his form
was shriveled and ghastly, and a large nail
passing through his forehead, transfixed him
to the wood against which he leaned. Terror
paralyzed my limbs, and I scarcely dared to
breathe. My companion, who presently joined
me, was equally terrified at the scene before
him, where, instead of living beings, mangled
carcasses shocked our senses.
After commending ourselves to the protec
tion of the holy Prophet, we determined to de
scend below, expecting at each step that some
new horror would present itself to stay our pro
gress. We scarcely dared to turn our heads
lest the chief nailed to the mast should fix his
sunken eyes on us, or one of the dead men
should raise his ghastly visage.
We arrived at length at a stairway which led
to a cabin—there we stopped involuntarily as if
to interrogate each other whether to go on or
return to the deck, for neither had as yet ven
tured to utter his thoughts.
“ Oh, my master I” said my faithful follower,
“some atrocious deeds must have been perpe
trated here. Let us know the worst; if the other
part of the vessel be full of murderers, it were
as good to perish by their hands as to remain
longer among these corpses.”
With this opinion I was ready to concur, and
having rallied our courage, we cautiously de
scended.
The silence of the tomb reigned below, bro
ken only by tho sound of our footsteps. We
paused at the chief cabin door, and I placed my
ear against one of the panels to listen, but all
was still; we then entered the apartment, which
presented a contused appearance, garments,
weapons and many other articles being scat
tered about in disorder. Thence wo pursued
our search from cabin to cabin, from state-room
so steerage, and at last to the hold of the ves
sel. We found, everywhere, superb stuffs,
pearls, precious stones, and other costly mer
chandise.
The sight of this rich cargo, without an own
er, would have filled mo with joy, but for the
solemn impressions which my mind had just
received; even as it was, I thought that we
might appropriate to ourselves all this valuable
property: but Ibrahim reminded me that we
were still far at sea, and that wo could not hope
to navigate tho ship to land without other as
sistance.
Alter having availed ourselves of the provis
ions and liquors, of which there were sn abun
dance, and apparently quite fresh, on board,
we returned to the deck, out not without again
shuddering at the frightlul appearance of tho
prostrate groups around us. It was necessary
to get nd of them, however, and we determined
to cato tom into too w*vou; but our blood
froze within us when we discovered that the
first we touched was peneotly rigid and im
moveable 1 None of them, in fact, oould be
moved from the spot which they occupied ;
they were rooted as it were to tho deck, and to
have displaced them wo must have loosened
’the planaß, which we had no means of doing.
Wo were equally unable to tear the captain
irem the mast to which be was nailed, nor couid
we even release from his hand the sabre which
he grasped.
We rallied at length from the consternation
into which we had been thrown by this super
natural discovery, and passel the day in reflect
ing on our melancholy condition; when evening
came I requested, old Ibrahim to try and take
some repose, while I remained myself on the
forecastle to watch over our safety.
The night was clear, and I saw by the posi
tion of tne stars that midnight was approach
ing, and soon afterward, I felt so disposed lor
steep that 1 involuntarily sunk down behind a
cask that was near me. The sensation that
camo over mo was rather that of giddiness than
of slumber, for I could distinctly bear tne waves
beat against the sides of the vessel, and tho
whistling of the wind through her rigging.
Suddenly 1 fancied I caught the sound of voicos
and the tramping of feet on board. I would
have risen to ascertain tho cause of this new
. wonder, but my hmbs, restrained as it were by
L soma invisible agency, refused to obeyme, nor
could I oven open my eyes. Momentarily the
t noise became louder; it seemed to me that tho
0 deck was thronged with merry-hearted sailors;
1 and in this Babel of tongues 1 thought I could
r distinguish the orders of a commander, and: the
sound of ropes and sails.
1 My senses then deserted me, and I fell into a
profound sleep, during which 1 imagined that
j I hoard the clashing or swords. I did not awake
3 until the sun, already high in tho heavens, op
. pressed me with its fervid beams. At first I
r looked around with bewilderment; my sbip
i wreck, tho strange vessel, the dead men, and
. all that I had heard the proceeding night, ap
. peared to me as part of my dream; but when I
, cast my eyes toward thowaisfof tho ship, my
l perceptions returned, for 1 saw that all was in
s tho same state as I had left it the evening be-
I fore ; the grim corpses lying immoveable on
i the deck, and the hideous captain still nailed to
the mast.
■ I was confounded as I endeavored to distin
guish tho real from the imaginary in what had
i passed before me, and 1 arose to look after my
[ old servant. I found him in the cabin “ per
i plexed in the extreme 1”
“My dear master,” bo exclaimed, as be saw
, me advance, “ I bad rather be at the bottom of
> the sea than remain another night in this dia
i bolical ship.”
I inquired what new terror had alarmed him,
and he gave me the following account:
“After a troubled sleep of some hours, I was
awakened by the noise of some ono running
about overhead. At first I thought it was your
self, but soon the clatterings of numerous feet
convinced me that there were at least twenty
men, who presently snouted and called to each
other. Not long afterward I beard heavy steps
descending the staircase, and I scarcely knew
where 1 was. For a moment only that my ob
: serration served me, I perceived from the cor
ner where I was lying, the man who is above
nailed to tho mast approaching the table,where
he seated himself and began to drink and sing.
The sailor who is enveloped in a red mantle,
and who lies prostrate near him, followed and
accompanied him in his song and potations.
At this sight my senses deserted me, and I fell
into a kind of stupor, from which I did not re
cover until it was broad day.”
You may conceive, my friends, that I did not
feci very comfortable at this recital; I also had,
without doubt, beard these orgies, and I shud
dered at the idea of being shut up, as it were,
with such awful companions. As to Ibrahim,
he was again lost in meditation, from which ho
at length started, exclaiming:
"1 know what must be done.”
Adjoining the cabin there was a small state
room, into which, at his suggestion, we retired.
Wo fastened the door as securely as possible,
and made two holes in it, through which we
might, ourselves unseen, witness anything
which might take place in the cabin. Ibrahim
wrote the name of tho Prophet in the four cor
ners of the chamber, and, thus protected, we
awaited what would ensue.
Midnight again approached, and sleep began
to steal over us, to charm away which, my com
panion advised me to recite some passages from
the Koran. I adopted his plan, and slumber
fled from our eyelids. All at once the deck ap
peared to be occupied by living sailors, for the
cables were unwound, the trampling of many
heavy feet sounded overhead, and we could
clearly distinguish voices, as of the seamen
calling to one another, and occasionally the
deep tones of the officer in command.
Some time elapsed, during which we re
mained in painful expectation, and then we
heard steps on the companion-ladder, and im
mediately after the ghastly chief, whom we had
left immovably transfixed above, entered the
cabin. The nail was still in his forehead, but
his sword was sheathed. Behind him camo an
other man, less splendidly attired, whom 1 in
stantly recognized as the one Ibrahim had seen
on the previous night. The captain was of un
earthly paleness, wore a large black beard, and
his eyes rolled from side to side with a fero
cious expression.
Both seated themselves at the table in the
centre of the room, and began to converse in a
language with which wo were unacquainted.
After a time they became excited, and the com
mander struck the table so violently with his
clenched fist, as if to enforce Borne threat, that
he made tho whole ship tremble. The other
man rose, and with a savage laugh beckoned
the captain to follow him, upon which he
jumped up, drew his sabre, and both of them
rushed out of the cabin.
We breathed more freely after their depart
ure; but our terrible ordeal was far from its
termination. The disturbance increased above;
and at length a tremendous uproar resounded
through the vessel. It seemed as if the deck
would be broken in. Amid tho din. the clash
ing of weapons and shrieks were predominant,
till, all at once, a death-lik’e silence prevailed,
and continued unbroken during the remainder
of the night.
When wo ventured several hours afterward
to ascend, wo found no change in tho appear
ance of the deck; the position of the dead men
was tho same as before; there they were,
stretched out as stiff as ever.
For weeks wo remained on board the vessel;
and the weather being fair, we managed to
keep her before the wind, sailing toward the
east, in which direction, according to my Cal
culation, we ought soon to reach some port;
but although during the day wo accomplished
many miles, our floating prison at night ap
peared to make a retrograde movement; for at
sunrise, the next morning, we always found by
the instruments on board that wo had in reali
ty made no progress. We could account for
tins in no other way than by supposing tho
wizard crew, to whom we every night resigned
the deck, turned the ship’s head always in the
opposite direction. In order to neutralize the
effect of this practice, we spent the next day in
attempting to furl the sails, which, toward
evening wo succeeded in doing, and employing
I the same means which had served us in the
cabin, we attached to them small pieces of
parchment on which were written the name of
the Holy Prophet. Anxioiisiy we awaited be
low the result of our measure; the uproar was
still more outrageous on this than on any for
mer night; but next morning we found the’sails
furled as we had left them at eve. In the day
time we again set such sails as we could, and
resumed our course, in order that the ship
might gradually make way toward the land, and
at the expiration of five days a vast extent of
' sea lay behind us.
Toward the morning of the sixth day land
was visible, and we thanked Allah and bis
Prophet for this joyful sight. That day and
the ensuing night we scudded along the coast,
and on tho seventh morning we thought we ob
served a town at a short distance. With much
diflicuty wo cleared the anchor, and came to
under the land; and having launched a little
. boat that was on the deck, wo jumped into it,
and rowed toward the beach.
After pulling for half an hour wo entered a
river, and at length stepped on shore. We
learned at the city gates that wo had reached
an Indian-town, only a few days’journey from
the place of my original destination. We went
' into a caravanserai to repose ourselves after our
perilous voyage, and there I inquired where I
■ could find a book-learned and experienced man,
1 at the same time hinting to my host, that I
I should prefer a person who had some know
ledge of magic. He conducted me to a mean-
■ looking house in a retired street, and knocking
■ at the door told ma to ask for Muley.
1 On my entrance I was received by a little old
■ man, with a gray beard and a long nose, who
1 inquired my business. I said that I sought the
1 sage Muley, and he replied that he was tho
i man. I then described the circumstances
that induced me to apply to him, and asked
■. his advice concerning the disposal of the dead
mon, and what course I must pursue to clear
' the vessel of them. He told me that the
• ship’s crew were probably suffering under the
effect of enchantment for some crime commit
i ted on the seas, but bo thought the spell
■ might be broken if the corses were brought on
f dry land, which oould not be effected with-
> out removing the planks to which they ad
i hered. He added, that in conformity with the
laws of God and man, the vessel belonged
I to me, with her cargo, because I had found
■ her at sea, without a living soul on board;
howevr, it was best to keep the matter a pro-
■ found secret at present, and in consideration of
> a suitable recompense, he and his slaves would
r help me to get rid of the dead bodies. I agreed
I to everything, and we departed for tho spell
i bound ship, accompanied by five slaves,Tfur
, nished with saws and axes.
Ou our road the necromancer, Muley, highly
1 commended the happy thought that had
1 prompted mo to fasten to the sails the name of
■ the Prophet, the only means he said which
, could have saved us. We reached the ship be-
- times, and immediately set to work. At the
close of an hour four of the dead men wore
■ stowed in the canoe, and some slaves were or
i dered to oenvey them ashore and bury them;
t but upon their returning they told us that tho
> corpses saved them the trouble of interment,
i having crumbled into dust directly they touched
1 the earth. We continued to remove the crew,
i and toward evening the only corpse that re-
- mained on the deck was that of tho commander,
nailed to the mast. Vainly did we endeavor to
. extract tho nail; no human strength could have
- drawn it a hair’s breadth, and a superstitious
, dread prevented any attempt to mutilate the
i body. I did not know what to do, for it would
3 have been idle to think of cutting down the
/ mast and carrying it away. At last Muley re
i lieved us from this dilemma. He sent a slave
1 on shore with a bucket, which he directed aim
NEW YORK DISPATCH, APRIL 13, 1879.
e to fill with sand. When tho messenger camo
- buck with it, the magician pronounced some
e mysterious words, and sprinkled the earth over
; the boad of tho dead man. The latter instantly
o opened his eyes, signed deeply, and blood is
-1 sued from the wound m his forehead. We then
. easily drew forth the nail, and the wounded
a man fell back into the ar cs of a slave.
1 “Who brought me hither?” inquired the
h captain, suddenly rallying. Muley pointed to
me, and I approached tho sufferer. “I thank
o thee, stranger,” he said, “thou hast spared me
- ages of protracted misery. For fifty years my
i- soul has been condemned to reanimate my
j body each night, and to roam with its mortal
o companion about the limitless expanse of the
s ocean; but, now that my head has touched the
earth, Imay henceforth sleep in peace with my
- fathers.” I entroated him to relate bv what,
- moans so horrible a destiny had fallen upon
r h,m, and, Muley having directed some strong
a waters to be poured down his throat, he was
■t able to comply with our wishes.
a “Fifty years ago,” ho commenced, “I was a
s man of rank and influence, dwelling at Algiers,
o when love of gain prompted me to turn pirate,
. and to fit out a vessel. I bad continued this
a desperate profession for some time, when, at
1 Zante, I shipped a dervise who beggod a free
v passage. My crew and myself, far from ro
ll spectng the piety of this good man, sneered at
r hie devotions; and. in his religions zeal, bo re
s pr.oached me for tho life of rapino which I led.
a This was one night after I had been drinking
; deeply with my pilot. Inflamed with wine, and
1 incensed beyond all bounds that a dervise should
a have presumed to rebuke me, I rushed upon
him and buried my dagger in the body of the
i holy man. In his expiring agony he invoked a
t malediction both upon mo and my crow, and
> told us we should neither live nor die in peaoe
■ until our heads had touched land. He then
1 gave up the ghost, and we flung hie remains
• into the sea, laughing at his dreadful prophecy,
I which, however, commenced its accomplisb-
• meat on that very night. Sonic of my mon mu
-1 tinted, and a convict ensued, in which both par
’ ties fought with equal fury. My supporters
i were overcome, and 1 was nailed to the mast;
• but the vessel was soon converted into a vast
i tomb, as the rebels died of their wounds. My
' eyes closed, my breath ceased, and the shadow
of death fell over me ; alas 1 it was only a trance
■ than enchained my senses. The next night, at
I the return of the hour at which we had cast the
dervise into the sda, 1, as well as all my com
panions, resumed our mortal existence, but
were always incapable of either saying or doing
anything other than we bad said or done on the
night of the murder. Thus have wo drifted
about the ocean for fifty years without being
able to live or to die, for we could not reach.the
shore. Often frantic with despair, we found
hope still in the storm and tempest, which in
its rage might dash us on some rocky shore,
and permit us to touch the earth and find re
pose for our troubled souls. Nothing suc
ceeded with us.; but now, at last, I am about to
lay down forever the burden of this world’s
life. Once again, thanks to thee, my unknown
benefactor ; if thou soekest treasures, take my
vessel aud its rich cargo as a testimony of my
gratitude. ”
The captain here lowered his head and ex
pired without a struggle. Like his crew, he
crumbled into dust, which we gathered into an
urn, that it might receive tho rights of sepul
ture. Wethen sent for mechanics from the city,
who put tho vessel into sailing condition. After
having made profitable barter of the stores that
were on board, I engaged a crew of sailors, aud,
having liberally rewarded Muley for his ser
vices, Ibrahim and I embarked for our native
land. I took a circuitous route, touching at
various islands and countries, where we dis
posed of our cargo. The Prophet blessed my
undertaking. At the expiration of nine months
I returned to Balsora, having doubled the riches
the captain had bequeathed to me.
My first care on arriving at home was to divide
with Ibrahim the wealth I had, by his assist
ance, become so suddenly and bo singularly pos
sessed of; but, having no other connections,
from the length of time he had been in the ser
vice of our family, he desired still to continue
to live with me and preside over my household,
declining to have anything to do with money
affairs beyond what his simple wishes required;
and thus ho lived and died with me a faithful
servant and the best of friends.
My fellow-citizens were astonished at my
wealth and prosperity, aud fancied I must have
discovered the valley of diamonds into which
the famous navigator, Sinbad tho Sailor, was
cast. I did not undeceive them, and from that
time the young men of Balsora, after reaching
eighteen years of age, are sent into the world
to make their fortunes after my example. I
have lived happily and peacefully. Every five
years I make a pilgrimage to the holy tomb of
Mecca to return thanks to Allah for his mercies
to me, and to supplicate him to receive the souls
of the pirate captain and his rebellious crew into
the perfect bliss of Paradise, for heavy, indeed,
must be the sin which so severe a penance
would not go far to expiate.
At the conclusion of this narrative the solemn
smokers looked round upon each other and
puffed harder than ever at their ornamental
pipes. Taciturnity for some time prevailed, but
the eyes of each at length rested on tho imper
turbable countenance of the relator. As for him
no vaccillating muscle betrayed the smallest
intimation that his tale had been fabricated for
the occasion to disguise the real secret of the
means by which he had acquired his groat
riches. His correct and respectable life shel
tered him from the suspicion of any sinister
proceeding, and his venerable bearing repelled
impertinent interrogatories.
The old man saw and enjoyed the perplexity
of his companions, but made no attempt to re
lieve it. At last the sago Khalid removed his
lips from the tip of the long-drawn hookah ho
was smoking, and thus addressed them :
“My friends, let us thank the worthy Achmet
for the pleasant entertainment which he has
afforded us. In. whatever light we regard tho
story which he has just concluded, I am sure
we are all quite certain that his fortune was
only obtained in away that was honorable to
him.”
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
A SPECIMEN THAT 808 BUR
DETTE MET.
(From the Burlington Hawk-Eye.)
I wish I was good-natured. But I ain’t.
lam aware that the closing sentence isn’t
grammatical. But I don’t care. I have joined
the ranks of the progressive people. I have
gone in with the metric system lunatics and
phonetic spellers, and while they hammer away
to make people say “one duodecidekamehecto
liter of molasses,” when they mean “one pint of
molasses;” and while they spell “programme ”
with seven letters and “rough” with three, I
am going to do what I can to make grammar
easy.
I saw the good-natured man on the train, to
day, and I envied him. His wife was sick, her
mother, who accompanied them, was tired and
rather sarcastic, not to say peremptory; the
children all looked worried and draggled, their
faces were dirty, and the baby howled eveiy
time the tho train started, and wailed every
time it stopped, and fretted while it stood still,
and cried all the time it was in motion. But"
that man, a big, round-shouldered giant with
old clothes on and hands as big as the hand of
fate, never fussed or fretted nor once looked
black or discouraged. He told the quarreling
children stories, he petted his tired, sick wife,
he cajoled her mother and sang—merciful heav
ens. such singing—to the baby, until I envied
him. He was thefirst good-natured man I have
seen for eleven years, and he was going, he told
me, to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I wasn’t sur
prised at it. Lancaster is just the kind of a
place to develop such masculine angels. It is
itself ono of the happiest, best-natured places
I know.
Did you over think what a rarity the good na
tured man is ? You don’t often meet him.
Think, now, if you know one of him. Think
over your list of acquaintances, and see if you
can find him.
The funny man, he is common enough.
Every newspaper has one of him. There are
plenty of funny mon. The droll man, he lurks
on every street corner, land {whittles on every
dry goods box. You find the witty at every so
cial gathering ; you meet him a great many
times when you don’t want to see him. But a
real, thoroughly good-natured man—brethren,
be is a rarity. When 1 hear of a good-natured
man, I want to put him on trial; and it isn’t
enough that he says droll things down town,
and makes everybody in the store laugh at bis
funny stories. Ah, no-. This is terribly thin
. testimony to bring into court to support a repu
tation for being good natured. Everybody is
good natured down town. I want to see him
travel forty-eight hours in a crowded day coach
with his family. It is easy for him to be good
natured with a crowd of happy fellows over a
handful of good cigars aud a cluster of new
stories in tho smoking car. Before I pass on
the man’s character for good nature, I would
like to see the depositions of hie wife and chil
dren. I would like to cross-examine his mother
and sisters. X would like to hear the evidence
of his dog.
You can’t tell the good-natured man by any
■ national characteristics. From rise to set of
sun, Ireland is famous for its ready wit and its
rollicking humor. But when the police court
opens in tho morning, it is Patrick who brings
the assortment of black eyes and broken heads
; into court; it is Bridget whose husband has
been giving her a “ bit av a bating,” and there
' is nothing peculiarly good-natured about that.
How merry and vivacious is laughing France 1
But it is not good-natured to jam a rapier
■ through your friend merely because he acci
dentally misplaces the accent on your name.
Italy dances and sings under the shadow of
■ classical centuries, but, alas 1 sho also stands
I under your distracted window for hours, with a
I hand organ and a monkey, or calmly cuts your
i throat by moonlight in the colliseum.
. • Germany lifts its scholarly head from amid
I the mists of philosophy to mingle its light
i hearted jests and merry gayety with the mefo-
■ dious chorus of drinking songs, and then de
jectedly hangs or shoots itself into eternity be-
i cause it can’t fathom the mysterious problem of
human existence, or because a suspender but-
l ton gives way.
, America, we happy people of free America,
■ who so happy and full of laughter as we ? We
laugh at death itself, when it happens in an-
' other man’s family, and fling mud and lies and
i hate and slander and political filth all over our
i own brother if ho happens to run for Congress
i on the opposition ticket.
1 Clearly no nation has any monopoly on the
i good-natured man. He isn’t necessarily funny,
sometimes he is stupid. Often he is ignorant.
i But always he is a domestic blessing. Young
i man. it you have any paragraphic aspirations,
a ' if you want to do good in tho world, If you want
e to boa blessing to mankind and your family,
r don’t try to be funny. Don’t try to be witty.
7 Don’t cultivate sarcasm. Be good-natured.
1 THE EASTER LILY
3
’ BY ETTIE ROGERS.
? The little, dingy, brick buildinglooked almost
, infinitesimal in the shadow of the tall tenement
I that loomed up boside it. On she other side a
3 wide, grimy, covered alley led from tho noisy
3 street into a groat yard full of hills and hollows
, of shiny t jetty anthracite. On a sooty white
& ground above the entrance of the large, cbeer
j less office, a big, black lettering announced:
J Q o
4 1 ELY HAZARD. |
COAL.
O 0
One chilly afternoon, early in April, the
’ wealthy coal merchant came down to his place
’ of business in a mood that was not at all amia
t bio. He was fond of money, of the care and
3 toil of traffic, and was not pleased to know that
the season of ready sales and rich profits had
I passed by. „ ,
. “ Where is Almon ?” he asked the pale clerk at
the d'esk
1 “Up stairs, I believe,” was tho answer.
j With an ejaculation of impatience Mr. Ely
i Hazard began to ascend the unsightly wooden
j steps. Reaching tho murky landing, ho pushed
3 open a scarred, unpainted door, and gazed into
; a most oddly-equipped apartment.
j Tho pale golden sunbeams glimmered through
, a narrow window curtained with cobwebs, dim
, ly lighting the smutched wails and ceihng, and.
, straggling in dull yellow gleams over a rough
table in the centre of the room.
1 It was a peculiar picture and one singularly
fascinating. The dim room, with a few cheap
. but pretty chromos fastened on the stained and
. dusty, wall before the rude table with its Bohe
. mian litter, and the handsome youth bending
I over a musty volume, so intensely interested
” that ho was unconscious of toe presence of an
. intruder 1
, “Have you finished that business I entrusted
, to you?” demanded the coal merchant, abrupt
ly. . .
The boy started, and turned his delicate, wo
; manish face toward his parent with a depreca-
■ tory but graceful movement.
, “Don’t be angry, father,” he returned, as if
regretting a pardonable dereliction; “I couldn’t
. understand the matter at all. I should have
, blundered had I attempted to settle it, so I rel
egated tho responsibility to your more experi
enced clerk.”
“You could have understood if you would,”
■ declared Mr. Hazard, wrathfully; “ but the
fact is you prefer to do nothing.”
“You are wrong, father,” remonstrated the
boy, mildly; “I am not indolent. I should
like to fit myself for a life of active labor. But
1 shall never succeed in a business that I do
not find congenial.”
“You do not find my business congenial, I
suppose,” retorted his father yet more angrily.
“Application will teach you to like it, I think ;
and I shall allow you to learn nothing else.
Give me those books, young man.”
Tho boy sprang to his feet, aud instinctively
put forth his slender young arm as if to guard
his treasures.
To the parent in his arrogant and angry
mood, the action seemed wickedly defiant and
undutiful, and with ungracious and untatherly
words he denounced bis son, who listened for a
time forbearingly.
“Stop, father,” entreated the boy as the de
nunciations became too bitter for human en
durance ; “ stop, or I shall forget that I am
your son.”
“ I do not forget I am your father,” was the
hot retort as the man lifted & hasty hand and
struck him a blow that felled him, stunned and
breathless.
Almon staggered to his feet. He was pale as
death, and blood was trickling from a livid
bruise on his white, girlish forehead.
“I think I bad better go away, father,” he
said quietly; “wo shall never agree, and a
repetition of this will make us neither better
nor happier.”
“You are right,” assented the other, sullen
ly. “Go. And as you choose to leave me, I
choose you will not return.”
And that was their parting.
Ely Hazard,
X’ue bustling man of enterprise,
The lortune-fouudmg father, rightly rough.
As who must grub and grab.”
was not a bad man, although stern and stub
born, and much too unpolished and practical to
sympathize with the sensitive and spirited lad
who bad no liking for the vocation that had
made bis wealth.
“He will soon come back humble enough,”
thought the father.
But weeks, and months, and years passed,
and Almon did not return. If he missed his
son. if ho grieved for him, no one knew. But
ho aged rapidly, lost all interest in traffic aud
gain, and finally gave up his business for the
ease and seclusion of a retired home in a coun
try village. >
His housekeeper had preceded him to his
new residence to prepare the house for his com
ing, and when he arrived m the chill dawn of
an Easter morning he found his faithful old
friend and servant dying in one of the darkened
rooms.
“I have lived out my life,” sighed the aged
woman, pushing her gray hair away from her
troubled face; “ and I should not be sorry to go
if there were any one left to care for Zelie. It
is so sad for a girl to be left all alone, without
a friend to advise or protect her. Poor Zelie I
poor Zelie 1”
A slim graceful child with large sad dark
eyes, went up to the bed of the dying woman
and wound her arms about tho thin form.
“Mr. Hazard will take care of me, grand
mamma,” she asserted with the sweet confi
dence of childhood; “he has always been good
tojme.”
“Ab, Zelie—little Zolie, you do not know,”
moaned the sick one; “dear can be
be kind to you when he was cruel to. his own.”
The man grew pale and his hard eyes soften
ened. In that moment of solemnity, the words
touched and troubled him like the voice of an
accusing God.
The child put her little hands toward him ap
pealingly. He hesitated for a moment and
then drew the winning creature into his arms.
“Be comforted, Margery.” be said kindly; “I
shall care for this little one.”
“I believe you,and I am comforted,” was the
answer. “You have been a stern man, Ely
Hazard, a hard and selfish man, but a promise
you have never broken in all your life.”
Just then the golden Easter sun shone
through the windows and filled the room with
splencfor, lighting the brown curls of the
child aud making a glory on the dying face.
“His heart was cold and dark as an empty
tomb,” muttered old Margery; “but the stone
is rolled away and my dear one has crept in to
make it warm and bright. He was hard with
his own boy, but he will be kind to his Easter
lily.”
Her words were prophetic. From that hour
this man who for nearly three score years had
lived for self alone, was marvelously changed.
Zelie, tho bonny, winsome child, had indeed
crept into his cold heart and filled it with all
the gladness of loving.
Had she been his daughter he could not have
treated her more tenderly and generously.
“My Easter lily is the' pride and comfort of
my old age,” ho thought as he saw Zelie
changing year by year from a lovable girl to a
fair and gracious woman.
But there cams a time when he knew that ho
might lose the darling of his hopes and home.
Ono bright Autumn morning as he was cross
ing a remote part of bis grounds ho heard
voices near, him, and looking up he saw Zelie,
and with her a handsome young stranger.
They made a pretty picture standing there
under the great elms—the girl, slim and stately
dressed in silvery gray silk, a fleecy white
shawl wrapped about her brown head, pink
blushes on her dainty face and smiles in her
dark beautiful eyes—be so tall, elegant, and
handsome, with short black curls brushed back
from his white forehead, and a noble beard rip
pling to his breast.
As Ely Hazard gazed at them in wonder, tho
stranger bant toward Zelie, kissed passionately
tho willing, rosy mouth, and then turned and
hurried away.
“Who is that gentleman, my pet?” in
quired Mr. Hazard overtaking ibis adopted
daughter in the homeward path.
Her delicate ebooks grew crimson.
“One who is to bo my husband some day it
my dearest papa is willing," she answered.
“ How long have you known him, my child ?”
asked he anxiously.
“All this Summer, papa dear,” Zelie in
formed him.
The old hard look came back to Ely Hazard’s
face; still ho kept his voice kind.
“You have acted very indiscreetly, dear,” ho
said mildly; “why have you kept, this secret
from me ?”
“There are reasons why he did not wish
you to know just yet,” hesitated the young
lady.
“There are?” he returned with much irrita
tion. “Well, Zelie, because of my love for you
I must forbid you to see or speak to, this in
considerate person again—at least not until I
shall know more about him; and if you value
my judgment you will obey me.”
“I can neither, see him nor speak to him
again very soon, papa dearest,” responded Ze
lie demurely; “for he will leave the village to
day.”
“I am unspeakably glad of that,” asserted
Mr. Hazard.
And during all the long Winter months that
followed, he never once spoke to Zelie of her
lover. He was disposed to believe that the af
fair had been a simple flirtation, and that the
stranger would never return.
Easter morning came again, and found Zelie
in a mood that seemed most strange to her
watchful adopted parent. A feverish scarlet
glowed on her dainty cheeks. Now a tender
smile would dimple about her pretty lips, and
’ again the dark, handsome eyes would fill with
, fleeting tears.
“ Something has agitated my Easter lily,” ob
served Mr. Hazard, as they rode slowly toward
i the church. “ What is it, iny child ?”
“ You may be angry, if I tell you,” she re
turned.
■ “I oould never be angry with you, Zelie,” he
assured her, earnestly. “Teh me.”
“I am thinking of your son, papa dearest,”
she ventured, trembling as she saw the look of
pain that swept over his countenance. " Why
do you never talk to me’tf him?”
• “Tho subject > too sorrowful, my child,” he
; answered sadly. “I was very hard with Al-
t mon. I would give half the years of my life if
’, I might undo my wrong and mjnstice toward
’. him. Again and again bo wrote to me, begging
for a reconciliation, and I ignored his entreat
ies.”
- “You would not refuse a reconciliation now,
papa?’’ she queried with emotion.
“I would implore his pardon if I knew whoro
to find him,” said Ely Hazard.
Tiiey had reached the door of tho church,
and as ha helped her from tho Carriage he saw
j that her sweet face was wet with tears.
t Tneir pew was directly in front of tho altar
t that arose flower-crownod from banks of bloom.
, Mr. Hazard listened to tho impressive ser
j vices rather indifferently.until a rich, resonant
j voice aroused him.
. Then ho lifted tris eyes and saw, standing bo
side a great Easter cross, the handsome stranger
who had kissed his child that Autumn morning
beneath the elms.
He looked toward Zelie and saw the slow tears
trickling through her drooping lashes. Ho
5 glanced back toward the young clergyman,
3 whose black, mournful eyes were fixed upon
. him with infinite yearning, whose voice sud
] denly grew hoarse; and then rang out elo
t qnently, thrilling, and steady to tho end.
> Pale and still as death, Ely Hazard sat until
the services were over.
t Then he arose and clasped the firm, warm
hand extended to him.
“Father I”
, “Almon I”
i It was a strange meeting, at a seemly time,
; after so sad an estrangement.
, “ I am a grateful man and happy one,”
thought .the father, as they drove home to
( gather, “I have found my son, and I shall not
lose my Easter lily.”
I.
' THE DETROITJOLOMON.
’ Bijah’s New Bootjack—Th.e Deaf Vag—
Hypocrisy—Did Ho Edit ?
bijah’s new bootjack.
The unknown friend who sent Bijah a boot
jack is hereby informed that the present was
safely received and thankfully accepted. It
I will be laid away with other relics, as Bijah
. neveruses a bootjack. There isn’t room enough
in the mouth of any bootjack for the old man’s
. heel, and so he is in the habit oi using two
saw-horses bolted together by iron rods and
fastened to the .floor by railroad “chairs.”
■ Alter being out in tho slush and wet the saw-
■ horses are tested to their utmost capacity to
i strain.
THE DEAF VAG.
’ James Farmer entered a house on Orchard
street byway of the back-door, and without
knocking, and when discovered he was hunt
' ing for bread and moat. Tho woman ordered
him out, but he made signs that he was doaf.
She made throats, but he could make signs
faster than she could talk. It was not unti 1 a
' sturdy yeoman entered the house ana struck
' James on the neck with a club that the fellow
found his voice, and then he didn’t say much.
It was simply something about republics being
ungrateful, or a boy stood on the burning deck,
■ or a speech of the sort.
“ You look like a hand man,” said his Honor
as he surveyed James over the top of the desk.
“I’ll try to be good,” was the bumble reply.
“ How did you come to lose your speech in
that house ?”
“I don’t Know. Somehow or other I couldn’t
say a word; I hope you’ll forgive me, Judge.
If you’ll lot me go I'll start for Chicago at once.”
“Can’t do it. It looks to me as if you were a
confirmed old vag, and a pretty wicked ono,
too, and I’m going to give you a change of diet
and atmosphere.”
“This atmosphere is plenty good enough for
me, your Honor, and I don’t care about chang
ing off to sweet cake and oysters.”
He finally offered the court a jack-knife and a
box of tooth-paste to let him off, but the court
rejected the bribe and made it sixty days.
HIFOCBISY.
Barney Dayton, a young man with an extra
ordinary nose and a large amount of gab, and
hailing from Buffalo, was first beard of down
the river, where he went into a flouring-mill
and asked the price of porous plasters. They
put him out, and he sat on the curbstone and
shed tears and sang bynflss till- he collected a
crowd. Ho seemed so sad and so religious
that one man proposed a collection for his
benefit. The sum of one cent had already been
offered when along came a policeman, who
called out:
“Why, this ’ere fraud had better move on or
I’ll lock him up.”
Then Barney’s vail of sadness and religion fell
off all of a sudden, and what did he do bat raise
such a row that he had to be taken up on a
wagon with the bracelets on his wrists.
“ I’m a stranger in town,” he remarked, as ho
was walked before the desk.
“ Oh, well—you’ll soon get acquainted,” re
plied the court. “ You seem to be a man who
makes acquaintances on short notice, any
how.”
“I’ve agreed to meet a lord over in Canada,
this afternoon, and I hops you won’t keep me
here,” observed Barney.
“ You’ll see several lords before afternoon,
Mr. Dayton. I shall send you up tor ■ thirty
days, and when you come out you’d better
change climates. I don’t wantjto criticize your
looks, but your face is one which the police will
loon for a second time.”
“ Have I done anything here, Judge ? Haven’t
I behaved like a gentleman ?”
“But I often send gentlemen to the Work
house. Consider yourself booked.”
The prisoner said he would rather consider
himself in Canada, but Bijah gave him a nail
keg in the corridor to sit down on, and tried
hard to make him feel at home until the ’bus
came.
DID HE EDIT?
The clock had just struck twelve or thirteen
times the other night, when an officer, whose
beat included a lumber yard, heard sighs and
groans and a great wrangling over tho fence.
An investigation brought to light a man who
was half drunk and the other half asleep, and
he was trying to make a lot of clapboards do
duty as bed blankets. The cold would creep
in, however, and he was sputtering and com
plaining and kicking around like a cat in a cold
garret. He was brought down shivering and
shaking, and it took two coal stoves and a pint
of warm water to warm him up. He was a
bumble-looking man as he came into court.
Ho had tried to turn his paper collar, but it
was a sad failure as a help to improve his per
sonal appearance. The effort he had made to
comb his hair with a ten-penny nail was la
mentably sad, though it showed a good streak
in his nature.
“John Gordon Brown, what do you do?”
solemnly inquired the court.
“ I edit,” was the very solemn answer.
“ What do you edit?”
“Newspapers.”
“ What newspapers ?”
“Well, the last one was called the Thursday
Night.”
“ Where was it ?”
“In York State.”
“ Mr. Brown, how does it happen that you
have come down to this ? Where is your pen
—your shears—your bank stock—your good
clothes?”
“1 sold out, got lobbed, been sick, lost my
wife, and I tell you Judge, I’m a pretty sick
editor.”
“Yes, you are, Mr. Brown. Where do you
want tb go to ?”
“Ob, most anywhere.”
“Shall I send you up for thirty ?
“Yes, I guess so. I want to get on my feet
like, and I guess I’ll feel better when I come
out.”
“I think so. It will make you feel more at
home, they will allow you scissors, paste and a
few old papers in your cell. Sit down in the
Mr. Brown—don’t increase your
hungry look by standing up too much.”
A STRANGE CASE.
An Ex-Colonel of the Russian Army Ar
rested. for Pocket-Picking in Berlin.
A very strange case,, writes the Berlin corres
pondent of the London Cflobe, which surprises
eminent legists, came beforo the Criminal Court
a few days ago. At Castau’s Panopticum, tho
Berlin Tussaud’s complaints had of late fre
quently seen made to the manager of the nefa
rious practice of evidently experienced pick
pockets. A detective was engaged to watch.
Among those suspected was an elegantly
dressed elderly gentleman of military aspect,
who, to judge from his broken accent, appeared
to be a foreigner.
He was often noticed approaching young la
dies wearing the now fashionable but tempting
outside pockets. In order to try him, a young
lady of respectable family was requested to take
her stand as a casual visitor in one of the most
frequented parts of the museum. She was in
specting some curiosity when the suspected in
dividual, perceiving, perhaps, a purse ostenta
tiously placed in the lady’s pocket, came to her
side, pushing himself forward. She immedi
ately felt for the portmonnaie, which was, how
ever, missing. An alarm was raised, and on
two, nay, oven three, witnesses attesting they
had seen the hand of the accused in tho lady’s
pockets, he was arrested, and, despite bis pro
testations, taken to the police station. He con
tinued to assert his innocence, showed his pass
port, proving him to be a Mr. Basilowitch, an
ex-colonel in the Russian army, and handed his
pocket-book, filled with about 2,000 francs in
French notes, to the Commissioner, who, be
lieving in his statement, dismissed him without
even searching his person.
Mr. Castau, relying on the testimony of the
various witnesses, appealed to the court, which,
after a thorough investigation, found the Rus
sian guilty, and sentenced him to three months*
imprisonment. Dr. Von Lauer, the emperor’s
private physician, who has known Mr. Basile
witch for years, spoke highly in his favor. 8o
did the proprietor of the hotel where the colo
nel was stopping. Baron Arapoff, the Council
lor of the Russian Embassy, also came forward
on behalf of his countryman, for whom ho stood
bail to the amount of 30,000 marks.
. Mr. Basilowitch’s counsel immediately pro
tested against the verdict in the first instance.
The trial before the Court of Appeals is anx
iously expected, the more so as the public is
rather displeased with the hasty decision of the
i magistrate. As Mr. Basilewitch unquestiona
bly is possessed of considerable means, ba could
1 have no possible reasons for committal of a pot
! ty theft. Mr. Castau, tho proprietor of the
' Panopticum, ought to have been more cautions
in urging such grave accusations against a vis
i itor on whom the stolon article bas certainly
. not boon found.
f glWdUwimg gUtta. J
Powbb Honorably Resigned.—" When i
the Parthians rebelled against their king, Arta- :
’ banus, and drove him oat of the country, they set ,
up Cynamus in his stead. Artabmus found an able •
3 protector and ally in Jazates, King of the Adiabeui,
and was on the point of returning at the head of a
, powerful army to reconquer his crown, when the
1 Parthians, fearful of the issue, privately sentam
. bassudors to treat of terms of submission. “ Most
r willing,” said they, "are we to return under the
dominion of our lawful prince; but we are ata loss
2 how to dispose of Cynamus, whom we have elected
» to be king, and to whom we have sworn allegiance.**
From all difficutty on this score, they were, how
ever, speedily relieved, through the honor and
“ generosity of Cynamus himself. Having received
t‘ secret intelligence of what was going forward, he
I had written letters to Artabanus and Jazates, in
which he assured them that on their appearance be
g would mosij cheerfully yield up the sceptre of
Q Parthia. The two princes accordingly made no
other reply to the ambassadors than that they would
’ advance and trust to the consequence. As soon as
they entered the Parthian territory, Cynamus to
tue surprise of ail about him, went forth to meet
" the invaders, adorned in his royal robes, with the
diadem on his head, and attended by a becoming
1 retinue, yet wholly unarmed. On drawing near to
Artabanus, Cynamus dismounted from his horse
3 and thus addressed him: “Most noble Artabanus,
when the Parthians had driven thee from the king
dom, and were resolved to confer it on another, at
their entreaty, I received it; but as soon as I knew
that it was their desire to restore it to thee, their
» true and lawful king, and that the only hindrance
to it was that they should do it without my con
” sent, I not only forbore to oppose them, but as thou
seest, I come of my own free will and accord, and
t thus restore it to thee.” So saying, he took the
diadem from his own head, and alter assisting to
fit it on that of Artabanus, returned in the royal
train, as one of the humblest of subjects to that
capital which he had left so shortly before in all the
pride and pomp of sovereignty.
A Beatific Existence.—The Phon
gees in Burmab, says the London Daily Netos, hard
ly now occupy the position they occe did, but they
still have great influence. There are whole dis-
- tricts of Mandalay devoted to Phongee-Kyoungs,
3 or monasteries. These are fantastic joss-like
t houses of beautifully carved dark wood, often with
2 singularly graceful tapering spires. I think, on the
.. whole, that I would rather like to be a Phongee.
He has no bother about anything at all. He is for
-5 bidden to have any money, nor does he want any. I
? don’t quite know who finds him in clothes, but he
J always wears a very bright yellow garment. Peo
ple bring him his food, a handful of rice from this
- admirer, a handtul of rice from that other admirer,
j His life is celibate, so that be escapes the nuisance
of a mother-in-law; he is not supposed so much as
to let his eyes rest on a woman, but he has a quiet
knack of giving a sly glance out of the tail of his
I eye. When he travels he lodges in a Kyoung, and
t never goes hungry. And when he dies he has a
. funeral the pageant of which, if ho has been a dis
j tinguished Phongee, may last for days. The details
of it may not be quite pleasing to a person nourish-
• ing the sentiment of respect for his corpse. The
3 dead Phongee is plunged into a cask of honey. After
1 the lapse of such a time as may be sufficient to al
low the virtue of him to pass into the honey, he is
r fished out, and pious people, following the example
, of the sailors who resorted to the practioo known
as “sucking the monkey.** in regard to the cask of
’ rum in which the body of Sir Ralph Abercromby
' was being brought home, greedily consume the
, honey. The Phongee is thou blown up by gunpow
der into small pieces; if the process of disintegra
tion is not completed to satisfaction in this man
ner, he is chopped into minuter fragments with
i knives and swords.
A Famous Old Street in Paris.—
> Baron Haussmann and his successors have left un
disturbed, thus far, in the heart of Paris, a street
’ which has an air about it of great antiquity. The
• time was, remarks the London Globe, when Paris
- was the most difficult and awkward city to drive
through in the whole of Western Europe. But the
• wonderful changes in late years make it very curi
ous that in a quarter the most frequented in the
city, and where improvements have been the most
t general, there should remain a street dating from
tae seventh century, and famous for its association
' with Queen Brunehild, the cotemporary of the not
less famous Fredegonde. It is called the •• Street of
the Withered Tree,*’ and It was there, at the place
where the street is crossed by the modern Rue de
J Rivoli, that the execution of Brunebild took place in
1 the year 613. She had fallen into the hands of Clo
-1 thaire, the son of Fredegonde, who accused her
I with having caused the death of ten kings, or sons
r of kings, and arraigned her before the officers of the
I army, by whom she was condemned, at the age of
k eighty, or, as some assert, at ninety, to a punish
i ment considered worthy of her crimes. For three
. days she was exposed in mean and ragged garments
on the back of a camel, and on the fourth was at
-1 tached by her hair and one of her legs to the tail of
• an unbroken horse, which, so soon as he was let
loose, instantly dashed her to pieces against the
• stones of “ Withered Tree street.** Through the
Middle Ages the street was the resort of seditious
[ Parisians, and the seene of constant disorders.
, There were in it three noted coffee-houses, which,
k in the latter half of the eighteenth century, were
frequented by the encyclopsedist fraternity.
’ Equality of Arms.—After the decline
, of chivalry, when duels were no longer fought in
, the lists, or in the presence of judges of the field,
but in lonely and sequestered places, inequality of
arms were not regarded, however great might be
the superiority of one side.
i "Thou hast both a sword and a dagger,” said
| Quelus to Antragues, as they were about to fight,
"and I have only a sword.”
“The more thy folly,” was the answer, "to leave
thy dagger at home; we came he re to fight, not to
adjust weapons.”
The duel accordingly went forward, and Quelus
was slain; his left hand (in which he should have
had his dagger) being shockingly cut in attempting
to parry his antagonist’s blows with that weapon.
1 The challenged person having a right to choose his
weapons, often endeavored to devise such as should
give him a decidedly unfair advantage. Bran tome
records with applause the ingenuity of a little man,
who, being challenged by a tall Gascon, made
choice of a gorget, so constructed that his gigantic
adversary could not stoop his neck, so as to aim his
blows right. Another had two swords forged oi a
temper so extremely brittle, that unfess used with
particular caution,and in a manner he daily exercis
ed himself, the blade must necessarily fly in pieces.
Both these ingenious persons killed their men with
very little risk or trouble, and with no less ap
plause, it would seem, than if they had fought
without any guile; such was the degenerate spirit
of the times.
Chinest; Oysters.—Like so many pe
culiar things in the Celestial Empire, the system of
breeding the above-named bivalve differs widely
from that pursued in Europe and -America. In the
southern part of China “ collectors” of bamboo arc
placed in the oystee-beds, much after the same 1
fashion as the elaborate tiles and “hives'* employed
in France. These oyster-catchers are, however,
prepared in a curious manner. Tao canes are ex
posed for about two months to the rays of the sun,
and then placed for a similar period in salt water, <
after which they are again dried for several days, 1
the object being to preserve them from decay, and <
prevent the twisting or warping of the bamboo, i
Notches are then cut in the canes, into which oyster j
shells are fixed like so many cups, and thus pre- .
pared they are driven into the sea-shore between i
high and low water mark, and left standing to catch
the young spat. Those localities are considered the
best where the rise and fall of the tid’e is the great- <
eat, so that the bivalves may be alternately covered ]
by the flood and exposed to air on the ebb. There t
the young oysters thrive well and develop rapidly, ]
and are quite ready for the market when they are I
two years old. A large trade is carried on by the
persons who pursue the calling, and who have many
thousands of these collectors planted in favorable
situations, and some successful breeders have boon ’
known to realize large fortunes.
Madame the Farmer.—The wife of a !
French farmer has a greet deal to do, although she t
does not work in the field. As all the domestics are f
at work out of doors, madame must prepare food g
for the men. For dinner she gives them vegetable £
soup, or occasionally rice soup with milk in it. Af- t
ter the soup there will bo omelets—we are told that 1
it will take three or four tor so many men—and t
there will be bread and cheese, salad and wine. The e
cheese is made from milk after the cream is taken j
off, or from goats’ milk, pure. The salad is dressed
with vinegar, walnut ‘oil, salt, pepper, and a little
garlic. At four o'clock they have in the field a .
luncheon of bread, cheese, salad and wine. They .
drink wine with every meal, rarely drinking water, ‘
which they do not like. Harvest hands get meat 1
once a day—at breakfast there is a bit of bacon in 1
the soup, except on Friday—say something more £
than a pound for so many men. They have bread !
and cheese at breakfast. The supper is at eight,
and is soup, bread and cheese again. After harvest !
they wi 11 have a revel. This is a supper whore mad- 1
ame the farmer will have a ham or shoulder boiled '
—for they call shoulders hams. Then they will ;
have some other‘meat; if there are so many men, £
perhaps there will be a couple of rabbits—rabbits !
stewed witn wine; and there will be, moreover,
bread and wine and salad at the revel.
,— ]
A Passionately Scienttfio Physician. .
—Paul Emile Chauffard, who was a Professor at the
Academy of Medicine in Paris, and whose death was '
announced a short time ago, carried the love of bis
art to its furthest limits. On being consulted two '
or three months ago by a man who was evidently !
suffering from some acute form of skin disease, he 1
looked at him attentively, and then, as a strange ‘
light sparkled in his eye, he exclaimed: ‘
“ Extraordinary—unparalleled—iu conceivable I ** ’
The startled patient eagerly inquired if it was a 1
"bad case.”
“ I rather think it is,’* replied the doctor. "You’re
suffering from the Jewish leprosy—that’s all!”
Mon Dieu I’* gasped the poor patient. t
••Don’t distress yourself,” continued the Profee- I
sor; “it was simply a form of disease that we had 1
lost Sight of. It had entirely disappeared, but now
we have found it again, thanks to you. You’re re
ally doing us a great service, and lam delighted!” ]
It is only fair to add that Chauffard effected a
cure.
Suicide of a Family through Trade
Depression. —Two terrible catastrophes, brought '
about by the depression of trade, startled Berlin
about three weeks since. A highly respected mer
chant, the proprietor of a wholesale business,which
had gradually fallen off, conceived, on becoming '
aware of the impossibility of meeting his liabilities, 1
the idea of putting an end to himself and family, '
who apparently without any opposition resigned 1
themselves to their fate. He calmly made the ns- ’
cessary preparations, bought strychnine, and then '
repaired with his wife, aister-in-law, and cousin to
a wood near Berlin, where they jointly committed 1
suicide. Almost on the very hour of their death, 1
another merchant, equally reduoed in oircum- j
stances, attempted his own life and those of his •
wife and son by asphyxiation. He and his consort <
were restored to their senses, but the infant child
succumbed to the effects of the gas. The misera
ble parents have been arraigned on a charge of <
murder.
<
Hard Times with Speculators.— Il- <
lustrative of the state of business in London, writes 1
a London correspondent, is an incident which was 1
related to me by a well-known city man. Ha said ’
that as he was walking down St. Swithln’s Lane he 1
meta stock broker who three or four years ago was ’
doing a good business. He noticed a change in the 1
appearance of the man, and, stepping, asked him
what was the matter.
"Nothing,” was the reply—"nothing, except ]
that I happen to be in want of half a crown. Basi- f
news has been so bad that I’ve sunk gradually till (
1 I’ve com ato be penniless, and without a prospect ,
of doing better. Speculation is so utterly crushed ]
■ that there is no money to ba made, and I, having ]
'no work, have had to live on my capital till it is all i
'‘.bne.” i
I They Fade Early.—This is what a
traveler in Spain says: After a Spanish woman hag
I passed the age of thirty her beauty vanishes like a
■ dream. ’The Spaniards are ungalkant enough to say
! that woman should die at that age. They use so
■ much powder that it dries and hardens the skin,
] and to good soap many of them are sc rangers. But
■ a young Spanish girl is an attractive object. Give
! her a becoming dress, and piece in her band a fan,
aud sho becomes almost irresistible. One cannot
but marvel at the witchery aud grace the fan, a
thing of paper, lace and silk, possesses in her hand.
It must be an accomplishment born with them, for
the tiniest child handles hers with equal ease. They
have as many fans as Flora McFlimsy had bonnets,
for no costume is complete without a fan to match.
But charming as they are, they are not highly cul
tivated; their education is limited. A few of tbo
common branches with a smattering of French and
Italian, a little music and dancing, finishes it. They
are very indolent, but that is the fault of the cli
mate. Eating, dressing, a great deal of sleeping, a
walk, going to church, a little fancy-work,
fills their day, the monotony of which is occa
sionally relieved by a lift e flirtation that may only
consist of a smile, a glance aud a whispered word
on the Alameda, Not until the&wedding ring haa
been placed upon her finger ican a Spanish woman
enjoy full liberty, which is, all things considered, a
wise arrangement.
The Mistakes of a Statistical Au
thority.—With the heading, " The Almanac de Gotha
and the Princess Mathilde,” there is an article in a
recent number of the Paris Figaro which says that
that almanac has descended to gossip and accepted
rumors which more frivolous gazetteers have not
dared to touch. In its edition of 1879 it makes an
outrageous statement concerning the Princess Ma
thilde, the sister of Prince Napoleon Jerome, rela
ted through her mother, the wifb of King Jerome,
to the royal family of Wurtern berg, and to many
other sovereign houses. The Princess Mathilde waa
married, as everybody knows, to Prince
and for several years she has been a widow, how
what does the Gotha do? It marries her again 1
And to whom? To M. Popelin. In the article upon
the family of Bonaparte, wo read after the name o£
Princess Mathilde, “Married to the painter Paupe
lin, December, 1871, England.” Now the daughter
of King Jerome is not married, neither morganatic
ally or otherwise, neither in 1871 nor in any other
year, neither with M. Popeliu, nor M. Paupelin, no©
anybody else. The princess has energetically de
nied this allegation. She has written to the King of
Wurtemberg, to the Empress Eugenie, and tha
Prince Imperial. Iu her letters she has challenged
anybody to discover a document, or anything,whicbi
will establish this pretended marriage. She will
not content herself with these denials, and the edi
tor of the Almanac de Gotha will be taught to ba
more careful hereafter of his statements concern
ing royalty.
A Hoax Which Worked Good.—Ona
of the cleverest hoaxes ever perpetrated, was one
invented by Swift, and intended for thepublia
good. He caused to be printed and circulated
some “last words” of a street robber named Ells
ton, purporting to have been written shortly before
his execution, in which the condemned thief waa
made to say : • • New as I am a dying man, I have
done something which may be ot good use to the.
public. I have left with an honest man—the onljl*
honest man I was ever acquainted with—the names
of all my wicked brethren, the places of their
abode, with a short account of the chief crimes
they have committed ; in many of which I havo
been their accomplice, and heard the rest from
their own mouths. 1 laave likewise set down tha
names of those we cali our setters, of the Wickett
houses we frequent, and all of those who receive
and buy our stolen goods. I have solemnly charged
this honest man, and have received his promise
upon oath, that whenever he hears of any rogue ta
be tried for robbery or house-breaking, he will
look into his list, and if he finds the name there of
the thief concerned, to seud the whole paper to tha
government. Ot this I here give my companions
fair and public warning, and hope they will taka
it” We are told the Dean's ruse succeeeded so
well that street robberies were fbr many
after few and far between.
Playing Mermaid. — One Summen
night some fifty years since the good people of-
Bude, in Cornwall, England, or such of them aef
were out and about, ware startled by the news
a mermaid was singing on a rock some distance
from the shore, and their own eyes and ears soon
verified the report, ihe next night there was a
rush of the population to the beach. They were
not disappointed; the mermaid appeared, and/
flashed the moonbeams about from her hand-mir
ror. Telescopes were brought in requisition, but
she took no heed, braiding her tresses and trolling,
forth her melancholy ditty in profound indiffer
ence to the excitement sbe caused. Next night it
was the same, and the next, and the next, only tha
crowds grew greater and the mermaid hoarser. Afe
last she tired oi entertaining tbe multitude gra
tuitously, and winding up her vocal performanca
with something strongly resembling," God Save tha
King,” dived off the rock aud was seen no more.
Had the deceived people known that their strange
visitant was a hall naked student of divinity, whose
legs were enveloped in oilskin aud his head cov
ered with plaited seaweed, the chances are that tha
so-called mermaid’s career must have been a shorts
lived one, and that the church would have had one
member the lees.
“ Love Always Finds a Way. —A
letter to the Philadelphia Press from the Azores tells
this story : Not long ago a Miohaelese gentleman
saw at the theatre a young and pretty donazetta wittt
whose charms he was at onco smitten. The next
night he managed to obtain the box next to hers,
and as there is no separation between the tiers ex
cept a thin railing of sufficient hight lor a man to
rest his arm upon when sitting the proximity to his
inamorata was anything but distant. It was tha
only chance that he possibly might ever have, andt
there was no way to arrange for a better meeting ;
nothing was left nut to take the present opportunity
and make the most of it. So pulling off his cuff ha
wrote his proposal on it, detailing his prospects,
position, leve and other such things as might prova
interesting. When written to suit he quietly placed
it as nearly before her as could be and waited until
his eyes could direct hens to this tale of a shirt.
She read, she smiled, she uod,ded, and the delighted
swaiu knew that the bow drawn art a venture had
told the mark.
A Very Long Sleep.—An Egyptian
desert snail was received at the British Museum on.
March 25, 1846. The animal was net known to ba
alive, as it had withdrawn into its shell, and tha
specimen was accordingly gummed, mouth down
ward, on to a tablet duly labelled and dated, and
left to its fate. Instead of starving, this contented
gasteropod simply went to sleep in a quiet way, and
never woke up again for lour years. The tablet was
then placed in tepid water aud the shell loosened,
when the dormant snail suddenly resuscitated him
self, began walking about the basin, and finally sa6
for his portrait, wbi -b may bo seen of life size in
Mr. Woodward’s “Manual of the Mollusca.” Now,
during those four years the snail had never eaten a
mouthful of any food, yet be was quite as well and
flourishing at the end of the period as he had been
at its beginning.
A Significant Incident.—A significant
incident took place recently at Marseilles. Th©
garrison had been calle! out to witness the degra
dation of three so diers condemned by court-mar
tial. After the sentence bad been read the officer in
command approached the criminals, and, as is
usual, ordered a non-commissioned officer to de
grade them by stripping them of their epaulets, &c._
At the same time the commander repeated tha
usual formula, " You are unworthy of bearing arms..
We degrade you iu the name of the French nation.”
"Vive la Commune,” replied the three soldiers.
One of these amiable patriotsis named Fiot, and
has already undergone ten condemnations for theft,
and has just been condemned the eleventh time.
His sentence is five years’ penal servitude and
twenty years’ supervision by the police.
An Ingenious Night Lamp.—A recent
number of the Paris La Nature describes a simpla
and convenient nighi? lamp, the invention of Ml.
Behn, indicating the hour by the extent of com
bustion of the oil. From the oil reservoir rise tw»
vertical glass tubes ; one contains oil and is gradu
ated for the flours, the other contains the wick
saturated with oil and giving the light. The con
struction is such that one . hour is required to con
sume the quantity of oil between two graduations of
the first-mentioned tube. A reflector placed under
the flame at the side throws aluminous beam across
the graduated tube. During the night one can thus
see at what bight the oil stands in the tube and
read the corresponding hour.
Bread Raised by Snow. —A writer in
the English Mechanic says he has partaken of bread
raised by snow, without yeast or soda or any sub
stance to generate carbonic acid. Dry, fine snow is
the flour with a spoon,(and butter and salt
added. Then the mixture is brought to the proper
consistency with cold water, put into au oven and
baked for three-quarters or an hour. It comes out
light and good. Tue theory is that the enow takes
in with it, entangled in its meshes, an amount of air,
which expanded by the heat, distends tne dough.
Thus, he adds, it is possible, without any chemical
action, to have light, wholesome bread, whenever
snow can be obtained.
Two Nebraska Desperadoes.—Two
herdsmen quarreled on a Nebraska prairie, and each
threatened to kill the other. Neither was armed,
but there was a gun iu their hut, a mile away. Both
started for the weapon, and it was'a race lor life,
for the man who got it was certain to shoot his
companion. They had several fights on the way,
and were bruised and exhausted when they neared
the goal; but they ran with desperation, and kept
abreast until close to ths house. Then one tripped
aud fell, give the other the lead. The victor dashed
into the building, pulled the gjxn down from its
hooks, and mercilessly murdered his fallen foe. ~
Underground Telegraph in Germany.
—The underground telegraph in Germany has been
so successful that it is proposed to extend the sys
tem over the whole empire. A new line is to ba
built connecting Cologne with Metz, crossing tha
Mosel on bridges, aud sometimes under the bed of
the stream. The onble is composed of seven iso
lated conductors, each made up oi five fine coppec
wires set in gutta-percha, aud the whole protected
by a web of iron wire wound about the conductors,
and also surrounded by gutta-percha. The insu a
tion proves to be a l that could ba desired, and the
expense, all things considered, is less than under
the old system.
Novel Electric Apparatus. —At a re
cent meeting at the Academy of Sciences in Paris
a description was given by a French naval officer
of an electric apparatus or “connector,” designed
by himself and a French engineer, for which it
is claimed that it will enable the captain or officer
commanding a man-of-war to himself manceuvra
the engines of his vessel, to increase thair speed,
to start, stop, or reverse them from any part of the
ship, even if necessary from the rigging. A work
ing model of the invention was exhibited at the
Academy, and acted, it is stated, with the greatest
regularity and certainty.
A TTytT/rrTv Infant. —Mrs Muriel took
great interest in parish affairs. Last year she
promised to assist in decorating the parish church.
One illuminated text she thought would look well
over the chancel screen, and she requested her
husband to bring it from town. As might have
been expected, he forgot the text, and wired to bis
wife for particulars. To the surprise of all tha
telegraph clerks, this massage cams flashing over the
wires «< Unto us a child is bora, nine feet long bj
two feet broad.’*
A “Sube” Cure for Rheumatism.—
It is now stated that the water of boiled celery is 9
sure cure for rheumatism. The celery should be
cat into bits, boiled in water until soft, and tha
water drank by the patient. Put new milk, with a
little flour and nutmeg, into a sausepan with tha
boiled celery; serve it warm, with pieces of toast 5.
eat it with potatoes, and the p&iaful element will
soon ffald.