New York dispatch. [volume], November 02, 1884, Page 2, Image 2

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

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2
of her tiny shoos click-clacking on the
marble pavement.
“So my little blue belle boasts a pedigree I
said Mistears within himself. “ I wonder what
her name is—Dorothy, Chloe, Lattice, Marjory ?
Any one of them would lit her. Poor relatives
of Sir What’s-his-name’s, I suppose ” —for the
critical gray eyes had noted the fact that, al
though the little peacock blue gown was emi
nently becoming to its wearer, it was by no
means a fashionable garment.
Gideon Mis tears was somewhat of a connois
seur in feminine attire. He had two fashiona
ble sisters, and a great many fashionable lady
'friends, and he had never seen any one of them
arrayed like this little maid. He felt as though
ho were in a dream, as he sat there in the grand
old hall, with its great lire place, dark old paint
ings, suits of armor, and tattered banners.
Thrusting his hand into the breast pocket of
his light tweed jacket, he pulled out his note
book, and commenced taking some notes in
short hand.
Mr. Mistears was a journalist, and just now
lie was writing a series of articles for one of the
dailies entitled “Ye Olde Hostelries,” and it
was for the purpose of inspecting one of these
Baid hostelries that he had come hither. He
was a clever young fellow. Those brilliant lead
ers and pungent critiques and reviews of his
were bringing him into notice, and society
was beginning to consider Mr. Gideon Mistears
an acquisiton at a dinner or garden party.
His dark handsome face and fascinating man
ners made him extremely popular with the fair
eex. Ho had the reputation of being a desper
ate flirt; but what was a fellow to do when there
were so many pretty women in the world? he
argued. And why should he be in a hurry to
take unto himself a wife? He was happy and
comfortable enough, and he had never been
actually in love. He had always found it a case
of “ how happy I could be with'either 1” At this
precise moment he was quite as much in love
with his pretty blue-gowned maiden as he was
with any other fair one of his acquaintance.
His dangerously fascinating eyes brightened
when the little maid reappeared with a tray in
in her hands, bearing a glass and a small Toby
jug.
He rose to take the tray from her.
“ I am quite ashamed 61 having given you so
much trouble,” he said.
“It was no trouble. I am sorry we have noth
ing better to offer you. If you would prefer
milk, we have plenty of that; but it does not
quench the thirst like water in her sedate
way.
“ No, it does not. I have been amusing my
Bell during your absence by looking at your fine
old paintings. Is not that a Vandyke ?”
“ Yes, and that lady in the amber-satin gown
Is by Sir Peter Lely, and the one above it, No.
28, is by Sir Godfrey Kneller.”
“ That is a pretty face ” —inclining his head
in the direction of a portrait hanging imme
diately before him.
“ She was the wife of the second Sir Richard
Franklyn. We have a catalogue of the pictures,
‘ if you would like to see it.”
“ Oh, no, thank you I” he returned hastily—
he could not think of sending her upon another
errand. “ How beautifully cool this water is 1
1 feel quite fresh again alter this nice little
rest.”
“ You can stay as long as you like,” she said,
with simple courtesy. “ I think there is going
to be a storm. Nana—myoid nurse, I mean—
eaid that it was beginning to rain when she went
out just now to feed the fowls. You had better
wait a little longer, for there is no place of shel
ter between this and Kingsbridge. Hark !”—
assuming a listening attitude, and lifting her
Blender little forefinger. “Was not that thun
der?”
“ Yes. You are not afraid, are you for a
look of awe had crept into the big fawn-like
orbs, and the pretty voice was hushed as she
Uttered the last sentence.
“No; but I always think that there is some
thing very solemn in thunder. When I was a
little girl I was terribly afraid of storms and of
ghosts too. Of course I know there are no such
things as ghosts now ’’—with a wise smile. “ I
often go into the ‘ haunted room ’ when it is al
most dark, and I have never-seen anything.”
“Then you boast a ‘haunted room.’ Is it a
bedroom ?”
"No; you can see it if you wish.” Like the
her impressionable sex, that quaint lit
: tie mafdon was as wax in the hands of handsome
Gideon Mishars.
“May I really?” the gentleman said e&gerly.
“Ihave always had a great desire to penetrate
into the haunts of the supernatural. I hope I
Shall not be intruding.”
“What, upon the ghosts?”—with an arch
smile.
He smiled too, his dangerous smile, which
did more mischief among feminine hearts than
he was himself aware of, and he was not uncon
scious of his power to fascinate.
“No; upon the other members of your fami
ly ’’—experimentally.
“ Only Nana and I live here. My father and
mother are dead, and I never had any brothers
or sisters,” she told him gravely.
“ How dull you must be I” he had almost
added, “Poor little thing I” But that air of
dignity about his “maiden all forlorn ” checked
Anything like undue familiarity.
“I am used to it. We have lived here three
years now—Nana and I.”
She led the way from the banqueting hall,
through a short corridor where there were two
deep windows with seats in them, and up a
flight of broad shallow stairs into a small room,
the paneled walls of which were painted a palfl
green, ami hung with portraits in oval frames.
The floor, like that of*the corridor and stair
case, was uncarpeted; the room contained an old
harpsichord, a few substantial leathern chairs,
one high-backed arm chair studded with tar
nished brass-headed nails, the Governing worn
and tattered, and a veteran and worm eaten
rocking horse.
“ This is said to be Charles the First’s arm
chair, and that his rocking horse,” Mistears’
pretty guide informed him. “Poor King
Charles ! I cannot bear to look at them when I
think of his cruel death.”
“It was a cruel death, certainly,” admitted
Mis tears.
He had but scant sympathy with the royal
martyr from a political point of view; so he has
tened to change the conversation.
And are you so brave as to sit here alone in
the evening ?”
“ Yes, that ’’—indicating the one deep window
—“ is my favorite seat. When I want to read,
J generally take my book there.”
“ What kind of books do you like—novels ?”
“ I like them; but I have not many. Oh, what
a bright flash of lightning that was! And how
dark it is getting !”
“ It is indeed I I am glad I am safely housed,”
responded Mis tears, walking to the window and
looking at the threatening sky. “ Ah, it is rain
ing now in earnest 1”
“ Do not stand near the window !’’ an anxiety
in her sweet voice calculated to flatter her com
panion’s vanity. “It is not safe when the light
ning is so vivid.”
He smiled under his dark carefully-trained
mustache. This little maid was a new experi
ence to him, so fresh was she in “this old
world.” He must, by hook or by crook, find
out her name.
“Does Sir To whom did you say this
place belongs, by-the-way ?”‘ moving from the
window.
“ Sir Richard Franklyn.”
“ Ah, Sir Richard Franklyn ! Does he ever
Kime down here ?” was his irrelevant query.
“ Occasionally—not very often. He and his
. laughter travel a great deal. Ho has no sons,
ind his wife died two years ago. My cousin,
Venetia Franklyn, is a great beauty. She came
down with Sir Richard one day last Summer.
That is the only time 1 have ever seen her.”
.“ Venetia I” Mistears repeated. “ What a ro
mantic name I”
“ Yes, and it is very pretty. Don’t you think
80 ?”
“ Very. Is yours as pretty ?”
“ No. My name is Rose Mary Brae; but I have
Always been called Rosemary.”
“I think that is even prettier than Venetia,”
said the gentleman, smiling down upon little
Rosemary in her blue gown and Vandyke col
lar.
“What is your name?” she asked, in her
quaint grave tones.
For answer, he put his hand into his pocket,
and, taking out his card-ease, handed her one
of the little slips of pasteboard contained there
in.
“Thank you?” she said, scanning the print
ed name with evident interest. “May I keep
it?”
He smiled at the naive query.
“ Certainly you may, Miss Brae I I shall be
only too much honored.”
“You see, Nana and I have so few nice peo
ple come here,” she explained. “In the Sum
mer a great many visitors wish to go over the
house; but of course Nana attends to them, not
1 ” —with a little set of her brown head that
Gideon Mistears found very charming.
“And am I a nice person?” ho asked, the
corners of his mouth twitching amusedly.
“ You are very polite, and—and I think, if I
knew you, I should like you very much,” she
answered ingenuously. “ Here comes Nana.
She is obliged to walk with a stick, for a few
weeks ago she fell down and in ured her leg.”
Mistears bit his nether lip. He was vexed at
having his tete-a-tete with his sweet little Rose
mary interrupted, and he wished the said
“ Nana ’’ at Nova Scotia.
“You are waiting until the storm is over,
sir?” said the old nurse interrogatively, as she
hobbled into the dusky room.
She was a comfortable-looking, rosy-cheeked
old body, with yellow-white hair banded
smoothly under her stiff starched muslin cap
and benign blue eyes—not by any means a for
midable duenna. Mistears looked, as he felt,
. re! o-cd.
“ Y is; I am very glad I was not caught in it.
It wi 1 soon be over, [ think glanc ng toward
the .via low. “ That last peal of thunder was a
long way off. I have been admiring this charm
ing old house and its antiquities,” he said.
“ Ay, sir, it’s been a fine old place in its day ;
but there’s not much of it remaining. Maybe,
sir, yoUMvould like to go down ino the dungeons
and the crypt when the weather clears a bit and
it gets a little lighter.”
“I should, very much indeed, if I shall not
1 e p dting you to any inconvenience,” was his
cour sous reply. “I have a great weakness for
expl ring old places. In fact, I have come down
expr -ssly .to see an old inn at Kingsbridge—
-6 Th ‘. Golden Fleedo.’ ”
“Have yon, sir? And you have walked all
the way, Miss Rosemary tells me. What a walk
you have had, to be sure I You : ll sleep without
rocking to-night. You won’t, be going back to
London before ‘O-morrow. I snppoe. sir?' 1
“No ; I shall put up.for the i iglit at •' The
Golden Fleece.’ By the ;y. I might jx-sf; one
my visit to the dungeons until the morning. I
would rather explore them by daylight, if you
have no objection.”
“ Not the least, sir,” responded the cheery
old dame. “To tell the truth lam not fond of
poking about the horrid places in the dusk. It
makes one’s blood run cold to think ot the poor
creatures that have been shut up there, many
of them as innocent as you or I, sir. There
were two female skeletons found bricked up in
the wall not five years ago. It isn’t many that
would care to live in such a place as this ; but,
believe me, sir, Miss Rosemary and me have got
used to it, and sleep as soundly as if we were in
a house built only yesterday, as you may say.
Not but what it’s a sin and a shame that a young
thing like that should be buried alive here with
an old woman like me, while Sir Richard’s own
daughter goes gadding about all over the coun
try. My poor young lady —Miss Rosemary’s
mother—married against the wishes of the fam
ily, and Sir Richard never forgave her to her dy
ing day. He's a hard, proud man, and it will all
come home to him one of these days, mark my
words I” predicted the old woman, tapping her
cane upon the floor.
“ Hush, Nana I” rebuked her nursling gently.
“I am very happy here with you.”
“ She would bo happy anywhere, bless her
kind little heartl” declared the old soul, ad
dressing Gideon Mistears. “ Give her a book
and she is content.”
“ And you, Nana dear,” added the girl, lay
ing her hand upon her nurse’s plump old shoul
der with a pretty gesture of affection..
“She means it, too, bless her 1” said the old
woman proudly, tears twinkling in her bright
blue eyes.
“Have you a library near at hand?” de
manded Mistears of Rosemary.
“There is one at Kingsbridge, but I do not
have any books from it.”
Perhaps Mistears guessed the reason ; at any
rate, he did not ask it.
“ Do you see anything of the society journals ?
Because, if you don’t, and would care to have
them, I will post you a tew with pleasure. In
my capacity of reviewer I get more than I can
look at. You had better have them than the
waste-paper basket.”
“ Oh, I should like them so very, very much,
if you wouldn’t mind !” she responded eagerly.
“ Won’t that be splendid, Nana ?” her eyes
sparkling with delight.
“ Ay, that it will dearie I” assented the worthy
woman. “It will be doing Miss Rosemary *a
real kindness, sir, to give her something to
amuse her.”
“ The kindness will be on Miss Rosemary’s
side ” uttering the quaint name with a tender
inflection in his pleasant voice—“ in taking them
off my hands. Well, how is the weather by
this time ?” and he walked to the window. “It
has left off raining. And look—what a fine
night we shall have 1”
Rosemary tripped across the room to whore
Mistears was standing in a carelessly graceful
attitude, with one hand thrust into his trousers
pocket, the other toying with the gold horseshoe
affixed to his watchchain.
“ Yes, the sky is clearing,” assented the girl,
a shade of regret in her voice, which was not
lost on her companion’s sharp ears.
“ I shall always remember this storm,” he
ventured, looking down at the little maid with
an expression in his gray eyes which sent a
pleasant, if strange, thrill through her, such as
she had never experienced until this moment.
“ And I too,” sne said simply.
Mistears would fain have lingered for another
hour in the company of pretty Rosemary Brae;
but he preferred not to run the risk of arousing
the old lady’s suspicions. So, when the sky
was almost clear of the gloomy clouds which
had shut out its summer glory, he took his de
parture, after a very friendly pressure of Rose
mary’s dainty hand, and went on his way re
joicing.
“ Dear little girl!” was his sentimental solilo
quy. “ What an amount of love those great
grave eyes of hors could hold for any lucky fel
low who found favor in them !”
And a very self-satisfied smile curved his
handsome lips, for Mr. Mistears could read wo
men as rapidly as he could books.
CHAPTER 11.
IT WAS CLEARLY A CASri OF L °VE AT FIRST SIGHT.
He had come and gone, and Bosemary Brae
sat in her favorite window seal, her auburn
head shining golden in the afternoon sunshine,
with a dreamy look in her hazel eyes, and her
pretty, tender mouth drooping sadly at the cor
ners, think ng ot him. She had thus sat idly
dreaming for fully an hour, unheeding the flight
of time. On the seat by her side lay a well
worn copy of Miss Burney's “Evelina”; but
evidently Rosemary was not in a reading hu
mor, for she had not so much as opened her
book, which, like the rest of her small library,
she knew almost by heart.
Gideon Mistears had idled away two hours
that morning at Enmoqr Great House. He
seemed to find the society of sweet Rosemary
very agreeable, for it was with unfeigned reluc
tance that he bade her farewell, having a press
ing appointment to keep in town. He would
have liked to spend the rest of the day loiter
ing by her side and watching the color come
and go in her pure cheeks as he talked to
her and looked at her with those dangerous
pray eyes of his. But he had made very satisfacto
ry progress in those two hours. He had felt safe
in venturing upon even a closer pressure of the
little hand at parting than he accorded it the
night before; and ho had promised to come
again.
“ Do not be surprised if you see me frequent
ly,” he said to Rosemary’s old duenna, at the
same time dropping haft’ a sovereign into her
wrinkled hand. “ 1 have taken a great fancy to
this old house. I suppose you would have no
objection to my bringing down a friend at any
time to see it ?”
“ Surely not, sir ! Thank you kindly,” re
turned the dame, beaming benignantly upon the
fair-spoken open-handed gentleman.
So Mistears had gone off triumphant, and
sweet Rosemary had betaken herself to the quiet
of the haunted room to think over all his pretty
little speeches, the glances from his fascinating
eyes, and the charms of his handsome person.
It was clearly a case of love at first sight on her
part, at any rate.
She was only seventeen, and her intercourse
with the sterner sex had hitherto been very lim
ited. As her old nurse informed Mistears, Rose
mary’s mother had married against the wishes
of her family, having eloped with her music
master, and the marriage turned out as badly
as is the case with the majority of elopements.
Sir Richard—the sole male representative of the
Franklyn family—would not consent to his sis
ter’s return to the old home, even when her
husband was dead, and she was left almost pen
niless ; but he grudgingly allowed her child,
who was then seven years of age, to seek refuge
in the ruined old Great House.
In all her troubles, her old nurse had stuck
faithfully to poor Rose Brae, nee Franklyn ; and
when, three years ago, the poor lady lay on her
death-bed, she committed her darling to that
faithful old soul’s keeping until Sir Richard
should relent. Vain hope ! There was no re
lenting in that hard, warped nature.
Educated solely by her mother, Rosemary
was, at seventeen, as unsophisticated as a very
child, for she had had no boarding-school expe
riences of mild flirtations with the boys at the
ad„acent’col!ege, or the girls’ brothers—no sur
reptitious notes pressed into her band when
coming out of church, none of the thousand and
one romantic episodes in which school-misses
delight. She was just a sweet, innocent little
maid, who had certainly read of that mysteri
ous power called love, but who had never expe
rienced even its semblance.
Such was Rosemary Brae when handsome
Gideon Mistears made her acquaintance. It
was her freshness that charmed him even more
than her picturesque face and pretty slight
form. Men of the world like naivete in women,
when it is real and not affected, and Rosemary
was as natural as a wild flower. Those big,
serious eyes of hers haunted Mistears even
when he got back to London and business. He
did not of course sit down and fall a-dreaming
of her, as she did of him ; but he felt unsettled
and disinclined lor work, and was a trifle snap
pish to his sisters when he got home in the
evening.
He had told Rosemary all about himself and
his relatives—how that they lived at Dulwich,
in a house with a very large and pretty garden;
that he had two sisters, one ot whom was short
ly to bo married to a man old enough to be her
grandfather, a veteran general with plenty of
money and a gouty leg; that his mother was
almost as young in appearance as her daugh
ters, and handsomer than either of them ; that
his lather was the most gallant of old beaux and
the best of paternities ; and that he himself was
a pressman by occupation, and intended one
day to try his hand at writing a novel.
This last piece of information had made Rose
mary feel very shy of him just at first. How
clever he must be ! And what an insignificant
little person she must seem to this superior
male being who wrote dry leaders for the news
papers quite beyond her comprehension.
As she sat there musing in the window-seat,
she smiled proudly to think that she had the
honor of this great man’s acquaintance. She
thought, with that odd thrill stirring her pulses,
ol the warm pressure of his shapely white hand,
on the little finger ol which sparkled a diamond,
bright as her starry eyes—of his mellow deep
voice, which lent a charm to every sentence it
uttered, of his dark, clear-cut, handsome face,
with its half-lazy, half-comical gray eyes, of his
graceful muscular form in its immaculate light
tweed suit, which so well became his dusky
beauty—in. short, she sat meditating upon his
mental and personal excellence until Nana
called her down to tea, and she awoke to the
fact that it was five o’clock.
The rooms which she and her old nurse occu*
pied were on a level with the banqueting hall,
witu nothing worthy of note about them from
an antiquarian point of view. They were scan
tily and poorly furnished, but tolerably snug in
the Winter t me ; and when there was a wood
fire burning in the wide grate of their little par
lor, it looked very cosy indeed.
Nana, alias Susan Drysdale, wondered what
had become of Miss Rosemary’s appetite that
afternoon. The old lady had set before her
darling a plate ot fine fresh-gathered raspber
ries, which she had hobbled into the village to
procure, knowing that the young lady had an
I especial weakness for that delicately-flavored
fruit; a dainty little milk loaf, and a pat of fresh
butter, a meal to which at any other time Mis
tress Rosemary would have done ample justice,
and here was she not eating as much as would
satisfy a tolerably"hearty sparrow !
“ Come, my chicken, you are not getting on
with your tea,” said the old dame encouragiag
ly. “ A hat ails my ladybird ?”
‘ “ Nothing, Nana, dear : but I am not hungry,”
she answered, flushing guiltily beneath Busan
Drysdale’s sharp blue eyes.
NEW YORK DISPATCH, NOVEMBER 2, 1884.
“ You have been shut u]> in this musty old
house too long,” was the old dame's avowal.
“ After must take a run in the fresh air,
and that will soon bring the appetite back. I
wonder now whether the gentleman will remem
ber to send the books he promised you. It
does not do to sot too much store by the prom
ises of a young dandy like him. Mayhap he'll
forget all about them when he gets his head full
of other things.”
“ I don’t think he will,” said Rosemary, quiet-
And she was right, for sure enough the very
next morning the postman brought a letter lor
Miss Brae, addressed in a masculine hand; and
the letter said:
“ My Dear Miss Brae : Just a lino to let you
know that I have sent off by Parcels Delivery a
small installment of my waste paper, which I
trust you will receive safely. Two of the maga
zines contain a contribution from the feeble
pen of your humble servant. Try to discover
which my productions, and I will tell you if
you are right. I am anticipating paying an
other visit to Enmoor Great House at my earli
est opportunity. In the meantime, remember
me very kindly to your good old nurse, and,
with best regards to yourself, believe me, dear
Miss Brae, yours faithfully,
“ Gideon Mistears.”
How pink little Rosemary’s cheeks grew over
that letter 1 How intently she studied the crest
upon the envelope and thick rough paper !
Was there ever such distinguished-looking writ
ing as his ? To let out a secret, she slipped the
precious document into the bosom of her blue
gown when she knew every word of it by heart,
and had read it aloud to old Dame Drysdale ;
and, when she went to bed that night—ay, and
for many a night to come—she slept with it un
der her pillow—such a foolish, sentimental little
Rose'mary was it!
With what thrilling interest she untied the
string of the bulky brown-paper parcel which
came to hand sate and sound about mid-day,
and which, upon being opened, was found to
contain enough literature to last her for a month
or more. There were four of the most popular
new novels and a whole bundle of society-jour
nals. Then came the exciting task of trying to
find out which were the productions of Mr. Mis
tears’ pen. That pretty brown head was actu
ally quick-witted enough to hit upon the identi
cal articles before the afternoon was half over.
One was a racy little story entitled “A Maid
and a Gallant;"” the other a sketch of some of
the old nooks in London. He wrote as he
talked, with an easy flow of words and graphic
powers of description; and imaginative little
Rosemary set hia words to the music of his
voice, and tried to persuade herself that he was
telling her that charming story about tho “Maid
and the Gallant” viva voce.
Of course She could not do less than write him
a note of thanks for his kifidness. That letter
was a tremendous undertaking, and its compo
tion occupied two whole hours.
Mistears smiled when he read it, so character
istic was it of the writer. He had given Rose
mary his club address, in order to escape any
possible questioning from his female relatives,
when the answer to his letter should arrive.
That little note evidently pleased him, for, when
he got to the end of it, he went back to the be
ginning, and read it over again. Yet it was a
very simple little note, in spite of the time it
took to compose, It ran thus:
“ Dear Mr. Mistears : 1 thank you very, very
much for the books and magazines you so kindly
sent me. Did you not write that pretty story
called ‘A Maid and a Gallant,’ and ‘Relics of
Old London ?’ I leel sure you did, and I think
them so clever and interesting ! It seems so
strange and grand to know an author. How I
wish that I could write ! To-morrow morning,
if all is well, I shall take one of my books with
me into the park and have my dinner under a
dear old oak—pic-nic fashion. I do hope the
weather will keep fine. Nana desires her re
spects to you, and, thanking you again far ftft
your kindness to me,
“ I remain, yours siQ9?rely,
“ Rosemary Brae.”
“ To-morrow morning—that is, this morning,”
muttered Gideon Mistears, a look of indecision
upon his handsome face. “I should get down
between twelve and one, and I haven’t
anything pressing to-day. I’ll toss for it !”—
thrusting his hand into bls trousers pocket, and
taking out a handful of silver and coppers.
“ Heads I go, tails I don’t I” And, selecting a
florin, he thrust the rest of the coin back into
his pocket, and sent the florin spinning up into
the air, awaiting its descent with eager interest.
“Heads, by Jove I Then that settles the mat
ter—l go!”
(To be Continued.)
FALSE DAUPHINS.
Some Historic Reminiscences.
Whether the boy who died in the arms of M.
Lasn, and whose body was wrapped in a sheet,
put into a deal coffin, and buried in the ceme
tery ot St. Marguerite, was a poor waif of Paris,
or the lad who cleaned the shoes of his jailer’s
wife and should have been Louis XVII. of
France, is, judicial judgments notwithstanding,
a question never likely to be satisfactorily set
tled. Those who have taken the most pains to
elucidate the mystery agree to differ in their
conclusions; M. do Beauchesne being certain
that the Dauphin* was done to death in the
Temple; M. Louis Blanc strongly inclining to
the opinion, that he was rescued from durance.
The wish being father to the thought, many
royalists believed that the Prince had escaped
his enemies, and would some day claim his
own, and pretenders, as a natural consequence,
have never been wanting.
The first of the sham Dauphins appeared in
the days of the Consulate, in the person of Jean
Marie Hervagault, a tailor by trade, who con
trived to make some at least, among tho adher
ents ot the ancient monarchy believe in himself
and his pretensions. Notable for her enthus
iastic espousal of his cause was Madame de Re
cambour. She lodged the impostor right roy
ally at her mansion at Vitry-la-Francaise, and
gloried in seeing her husband do a lackey’s du
ties for her protege. Balls, concerts, and fetes
followed hard upon each other in honor of
“Mon Prince,” until Fouche intervened, and
the ambitious tailor was condemned to four
years’ imprisonment; finding his way, even
tually, not to the throne of his suppositious
sire, but to the Hospital for Incurables at Bice
tre, to die there in 1812.
In 1817, the Gentleman's Magazine informed
its readers that on the 17th of September, a
young man who called himself Louis XVII. had
been apprehended at Rouen. Some twenty
years before, he had presented himself to a lady
of La Vendee as the orphan child of a noble
family of the name of Desin. She took him in;
but five months later, sent him about his busi
ness for some flagrant misconduct and never
saw him again until confronted with him at
Rouen. This was Mathurin Brunneau, the son
of a shoemaker of Vezins, Maine-et-Loire, who,
having learned all that Madame Simon knew of
the lost Louis, went about the country proclaim
ing himseli the only lawful king of France, un
til his profitable peregrinations were stopped by
his arrest, and that of four or five of his deluded
friends. In the following February, Brunneau
was arraigned at Rouen, and behaved in a most
unprincely fashion, challenging the president of
the court to fight, and calling that dignitary a
beast; his many insolent exclamations and ob
servations being “couched in ungrammatical
language and most vulgar terms.” He was pro
nounced guilty of vagabondage; of publicly as
suming royal titles; of fraudulently obtaining
deeds, clothes, and considerable sums of money
from divers persons; and finally, of insulting
the members of a public tribunal in the exer
cise of their functions. For these offenses,
Brunneau was sentenced to pay a fine of three
thousand francs, and three-fourths of the costs
of the inquiry, and condemned beside, to suffer
seven years’ imprisonment—two of the seven
being given him expressly for outraging the
court—his person to be at the disposal of the
government when the sentence had expired.
“ lam none the less what I am,” was tho only
comment ot the cobbler-prince. Of hie accom
plices, one only was punished, by being mulcted
in a fourth of the costs of the trial, and sent to
durance for a couple of months. Brunneau
served his term, and was then set at liberty,
only to die soon afterward.
While Brunneau’s trial was yet in progress, a
well-dressed man, of tall stature and goodly
mien, walked into the Tuileries, followed the
servants who were carrying in the kings dinner,
and reached the dining-hall before his uninvited
presence was discovered. He said he was
Charles do Navarre, and insisted upon seeing
the king. His desire was not gratified. He was
handed over to the police, recognized as the
mad nephew of an exchange broker, and rele
gated to Charenton for the remainder of his
days.
Fifteen years later one Richmont, a baron of
his own creation, was found guilty of having,
by a resolution concerted and decided between
two or more persons unknown, formed a plan
for destroying the government and fomenting
civil war. For this he was sentenced to a term
of imprisonment; but fils real offense lay in put
ting himself forward as a claimant of the throne
as the legitimate representative of the elder
branch ot the Bourbon family. Richemont
managed to get out of prison and out of France
too. He soon, however, returned to his native
land, and lived there unmolested long enough
to see the second empire established. In 1853
he died at the house of the Countess d’Apchier,
wife of a whilom page at the court of Louis XVI.
All the papers he left behind him were seized by
the authorities and sealed up. Determined his
claims should not be abrogated by death, the
pseudo-Dauphin’s friends inscribed on his
tombstone:
Here lies
Louis Charles de France,
Born at Versailles, March 27, 1785.
Died at Gleize, August 10, 1853
—an inscription erased five years afterward, by
order of 111. de Persigny, only to be replaced by
the equally assertive one:
1785.
No one will say over my tomb;
“Poor Louis 1
How sad was thy fate !
Pray for him.”
A gentleman bearing the ’name of Eleazar
yVilljams died at Hogansburg, in the United
States, in August, 1858, after spending the‘best
portion ot his lite in converting the Indians to
VVesleyanism; the fact that he was the long-lost,
son ot Louis XVI. being apparently unknown to
. any but his most int.mateY’riends, until one of
them published a book to enlighten the world
on the matter. From this we learn as follows:
That in the year 1795, a French family of the
* The eldest son of a French king was termed the
name of De Jourdin came to live in Albany, in
the State of New York; madame giving out*that
she had been a lady-in-waiting to Marie Antoi
nette, a statement not belied by her appear
ance; while monsieur looked and acted more
like a servant than the husband of madame, and
the father of Mademoiselle Louise and Mon
sieur Louis, as the children of the establish
ment were designated. That, some little while
afterward, two Frenchmen appeared at Ticon
deroga with a sickly and seemingly idiotic boy,
who with his belongings —two large boxes, one
of whsh contained a gold, a silver, and a cop
per coronation medal of Louis XVl.—was con
fided to the charge of an Indian chief known as
Thomas Williams, to be brought up as one of
the family. That, tumbling from a high rook
into St. George's Lake, made Eleazer—as he
had been named—as sensible as his red-skinned
brothers by adoption. That, one day a French
gentleman called him pauvre garcon % and gave
him a gold-piece. That, going to Long Mea
dow with one ot Thomas Williams’s sons, to be
educated by a Congregational minister, some
body told him he must be of a higher grade of
birth than the son of an Iroquois chief. That,
alter he became a missionary, one Colonel
de Ferriere, before leaving Oneida, with sev
eral Indians, to visit Pans, obtained Eleazer’s
signature, thrice over, to a legal document;
and that the said colonel returned to
America a rich man, and was known to be in
correspondence with the royal family of France.
Each and every one of the foregoing statements
may be true, and yet Eleazar Williams no true
prince.
Much more to the point was Eleazar’s extra
ordinary story of making the acquaintance of
the Prince de Joinville on board a steamer, and
afterward, at his request, calling upon him at
bis hotel, when tho prince laid a document
in French and English on the table, which the
missionary found to be a deed whereby Charles
Louis, son of Louis XVI., solemnly abdicated
tho throno of France in favor ot Louis Philippe.
It he would sign this, tho prince promised to
stand godfather to his daughter, take his son to
Paris to be educated, provide him with a prince
ly establishment m France or America, at his
choice, and transfer to him all the private prop
erty belonging to the supposed defunct Dauphin.
Mr. Williams was not to be tempted, and his
tempter returned to France unsatisfied.
Unfbrtunately, the Prince de Joinville em
phatically declared the story to be a pure in
vention; and it remains as unsurpported as Wil
liam’s other statement, that a gentleman in
Baton Rogue wrote to him in 1848 to inform him
that an aged Frenchman had upon his death
bed declared that he had assisted in the escape
of the Dauphin from the Temple, and carried him
off to North America, where he had been adopt
ed by the Indians, concluding with avowing that
Eleazar Williams was the man.
While that worthy was laboring at his voca
tion m the backwoods, a Prussian Pole, named
Charles William Naundorff, weary of clock
making, was getting into trouble by calling him
self Louis XVII., for which piece of presump
tion a Prussian tribunal sent him to prison lor
three years. This was in 1822. At the expira
tion of a year, Naundorff was set at liberty, con
ditionally upon taking up his residence
in the town of Crosson. In 1833, how
ever, he appeared in Paris and applied
to the Civil Tribunal of the Seine to be rec
ognized as Louis XVII.; an application result
ing in his speedy expulsion from France, and
subsequent retirement to Holland, in which
country be died, on the 10th of Amrust, 1845.
The official certificate ot his death described
him as, “ Charles Louis Bourbon, Duke of Nor
mandy (Louis XVII.), known under the name
of Charles William Naundorff, born at the cha
teau of Versailles, in France, March 27, 1785,
and consequently more than sixty years old;
son of his late Majesty Louis XVI., King of
France, and of her Imperial and Royal High
ness Marie Antoinette, Archduchess of Austria,
Queen of France, who both died at Paris; hus
band of Jane Einert of this town.” Those re
sponsible for big burial inscribed on bi ß tomb,
“Charles Louis, Duke of Normandy, son di
Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette of Austria.”
Naundorff left behind him a son, Albert, born
in England, and four other children, on whose
behalf, his widow, Jane Einert, in 1851, brought
ad action before tho Tribunal of the Seine; but
despite the advocacy of Jules Favre, failed in
prevailing upon that court to recognize their
claims.
In 1863 Albert, the English born Naundorff,
was naturalized as a Dutchman by a vote of the
Dutch Chamber; and in 1874 he appealed against
the adverse decision of the Tribunal of the
Seine, in a suit against the Count de Chambord,
demanding that he, Captain Albert de Bourbon,
of the Dutch army, should be declared the
rightful representative of the royal Bourbon
family. M. Favre again upheld his pretensions.
He contended that the son of Louis XVI. had
not died in the temple. Inspired and paid by
the Count de Montmorin and Josephine de
Beauharnais, certain devoted royalists had
drugged tho Dauphin, placed him in a basket
and carried him into an upper room, leaving
a lay-figure in his bed. Discovering that their
prisoner had been spirited away, the govern
ment substituted a deaf-and-dumb child in his
place and employed a doctor to poison him ; but
the apothecary administering an antidote, and
so frustrating the plan, a sickly lad was ob
tained from a hospital, and soon dying, was
duly coffined. “The coffin was taken up
stairs, where the Dauphin had passed eight
or ten months; the dead body was taken
out and placed in a basket, and the
living Louis XVIL, put in the coffin. On the
way to the cemetery, the Dauphin was slipped
out of the coffin, and some bundles of paper
slipped in.
The hero of this theory of substitutions was
then confided to the care of some trusty friends,
and all the European courts notified of his es
cape; of which Barras, Hoche, Pichegru, and
several other public men were also advised.
Byway of supporting this extraordinary
story, M. Favre made some strange assertions;
namely: Tthat shortly after Bonaparte’s mar
riage with Josephine,’the Dauphin’s coffin was
opened in the presence of Foucho and Savery,
and found to be empty; that Josephine told the
secret to the Emperor of Russia in 1814, al
though the Count de Provence—that is to say,
Louis XVlll.—tried to buy her silence with a
marshal’s baton for her son Eugene: that in the
secret treaty of Paris the high contracting
powers stated that there was no proof of the
death of Louis XVIL; and lastly, that Louis
XVIIL, when dying,.directed M. Tronchet to
examine the contents of a certanin chest, which
proved of such a nature that, but for the ob
stinacy of one member of the Council, the min
isters would have proclaimed the Duke of Nor
mandy King ot France.
Of course, the Duke of Normandy was the
elder Naundorff, whose life had been twice at
tempted, once at Prague, and once in London;
and, said the advocate, “ people do not assas
sinate impostors, but they do assassinate
kings.”
Causes are not to be won by bare assertions
and smart sayings. The court pronounced the
story of the twofold substitution too fantastic to
be entertained; the simultaneous residence
within the Temple of the child that did die, the
child that would not die, and tho hidden Dau
phin, too unlikely to be believed; while the evi
dence before it placed the death of that prince
beyond all doubt. The documents produced
by the appellant could have been easily forged
by any one conversant with the events they
sought to distort; and as for the elder Naun
dorff’s claims being admitted by many people,
that went for nothing, since no sham Dauphin
had ever wanted adherents. It is needless to
say that Captain Albert de Bourbon was dissat
isfied; but he held his peace until the death of
the Count de Chambord, when he publicly pro
tested against the succession of the Count de
Paris, and once more proclaimed himself King
ot France. Two months afterward, he died at
Breda.
A Dead Man Brought from Florida to
Jersey City in a Sleeper.
(From the Washington Republican.}
" I wonder how soon he will be shipped bn ok
by express?” meditated a railroad man last
night, eg a muffled up figure passed painfully
along the platform ot the Baltimore and I’oto
mac Depot on its way to the Southern Express.
“Do you see many Florida invalids come
back that way ?” asked a Republican reporter.
“From three to five a week in good seasons,
and sometimes as many as that in a day. Some
die on the way there, and a few on the return
trip; but at the places ‘ cracked up ’ as con
sumption cures, the coffin trade ie lively. I tell
you, while the ‘ curera ’ are called embalmers,
and go down there every season with the rush
of sick men and women, they pick out their
likely early victims as soon as they see them.
I used to run a sleeper down there ; that’s how
I know.”
“ Does it cost as much to bring back the dead
as it did to take them down ?”
“ Just about double. You see there’s the care
that has got to be taken of the coffins. They
are not made like Saratogas, and a break-up
would be very awkward. And then there’s the
permits that have to be got to pass the corpses
through each State, and some charge high for
allowing the bodies to go over the boundary
lines.”
“Do you always get permits ?”
“ When we know there is a corpse on board
we do, because all concerned would be liable
to arrest the next time we passed into the
State.”
“But you could scarcely be imposed upon,
except in tho case of medical subjects, I sup
pose ?’■’
“ I guess not easily, because a man must be
pretty mean who would crowd his wife’s body
into a casket, and certainly no woman would
serve her husband so, however badly she
might have treated him when he was about and
weli. But I remember one case where we
brought a corpse nearly all the way in a sleep
er, and never knew it till we got to Jersey.
You see, a poor sick cuss in charge of two
friends got on at Jacksonville. He was very
far gone, and I expected to have to leave the
party at one of the towns we passed through.
But when no such thing happened, I did not
trouble—only thought I’d missed my guess for
once. The party occupied a whole section, and
refused to let the porter make the beds up, and
they kept in their seats all the way. At last the
sick man was never seen to move, and the other
two seemed to bo very attentive to him, one of
them tanning him nearly the whole way—at
least, whenever I passed through I would see
the fan agoing. The sick man did not seem to
have much of an appetite; but, then, that was
nothing strange.
“ Well, all went along all right until wo got to
' near where they had to get off. Then tho nor-
ter came to me, and I could see a big bill stick
ing out ot his pocket. He said as bow the sick
man would need carrying out, and would I lend
him my rug to sling him in. The next time I
passed the party there was a strong smell ot
some sort of scent in that part ot the car. Tho
porter had helped them put the rug under tho
sick man, and when the train stopped at their
town the three carried him out on it. 1 hey did
not have to support his back, and his legs did
not drag. 1 started to look in his face, but one
of his friends accidentally pushed his hat down
over his eyes, and I did not see anything but
his under jaw, and that was hanging. That
man was dead. He had not lived more than
half an hour after he got ou tho car. I got it all
from the porter long after, though he denied
that there was anything out of the way at the
time. The friends had decided that they would
not let on about what had happened for fear ot
being stopped, and having a lot ot bother with
getting permits and certificates ot the cause of
death and all that. That was the only corpse I
ever carried without a coffin that I know of. ’
NATURAL GAS AND OIL.
PROSPECTS that they may be
struck injndiana.
(From the Indianapolis News.
The area of discovery of natural gas and oil is
gradually extending westward irom Pennsyl
vania, has long ago crossed into Ohio, aud it
will be shown beiow that portions of Indiana
may be included. It has been known for many
years by a lew geologists that natural gas in
paying quantities, and perhaps oil, are obtaina
ble within Hoosier borders.
Many years ago, Prof. John Collett, now State
Geologist, called attention to the fact that in
many places those commodities might be ob
tained. In Harrison county particularly, nat
ural gas escapes in large quantities through
crevices of rock underneath the river, and
across the river, at Brandenburg, Ky., the dis
charge is ample to provide fuel lor evaporating
salt brine and for illuminating dwellings. The
vast possibilities that ma.y be awaiting develop
ment in this State are apparent after an insight
into her geological formation, and for some re
gions not the least promising products are gas
and oil. There are as many theories respect
ing the source of natural gas as there are relat
ing to the habitation ot the moon. An old-t»tfie
orthodox treatment ot this sub.,ect traced the oil
and gas of the earth to the decaying animal re
mains buried in the interior; but as the animal
matter is lost centuries before the oil and gas
are produced, and as, in fact, there is no ani
mal matter in fossile porous stone, this old the
ory is now as barren oi believers as is Symmes’s
theory of a hole at the North Pole. Prof. Col
lett’s explanation is a far more acceptable one,
and will no doubt be recognized as wholly com
petent by all scientific meh. The woot of his ar
gument is woven into the web of this discourse.
In the Devonian formation is the Genesee
shale, containing a large amount of bitu
minous matter and a considerable amount of
petroleum. This rock underlies a considerable
portion, of Indiana, and at many points where
exposed, as in Cass ana Jasper counties, the
heat of the sun melts from it and tho underly
ing limestone, tar and petroleum. It is a well
settled tact that the heat of the interior of the
earth intensifies rapidly toward the centre. It
is a well-established fact, toe, that some strata
which were deposited in the depths of the ocean
are now on the tops of the highest mountains ;
that others deposited in fresh or the shoal
waters of the ocean, are now depressed to great
distances below the surface. it occurs
that the shaly rocks containing volatile matter
which appear at the surface at New Albany,
Ind., dip rapidly toward the south and south
west, and are depressed at the Gulf of Mexico
several thousand feet below the level of South
ern Indiana. At this depth, under the influence
of tho internal heat of the earth, the volatile
matter of the Genesee shale is distilled away in
the shape of gas. Seeking an outlet, this gas
flows up out of the depths, confined by the im
pervious strata of the carboniferous age. A
portion of it in passing cooler rocks is con
densed, thus forming petroleum, while a large
portion of it follows tho course of the shale to
the northward, and it is discharged as natural
gas. In Pennsylvania the shale which produces
petroleum and gas is irom 400 to BGO feet thick,
and the volatile matter of these thick strata
when condensed furnish the immense supplies
found there. The Genesee shale of Indiana,
Kentucky and Illinois varies in thickness from
40 to 130 feet. This thickness does not furnish
sufficient quantity of material to rival the great
outflows of the Eastern States, the gas being
also compelled to travel long distances from
the Gulf region to reach the surface in Indiana.
It is presumed that the strata throughout their
length are very nearly of uniform thickness.
Harrison county furnishes the best chance for
obtaining immediate results in gas mining. It
was in that county that W. C. De Pauw, of New
Albany, sunk some wells in the hope of obtain
ing enough gas to operate his gasworks, and to
illuminate the city of New Albany. He readily
secured enough gas power to run his steam
engine, but he probably bored too deep, pass
ing through the source of the gas supply, i. e.,
the Genesee shale. On the Ohio river, opposite
the town of Ma:v'n, the gas cm be seen bub
bling up at low water. Some of the neighbors
say they have known the gas to bo discharged
with such violence as to rock a skiff loaded with
men. Confined in the tubes on the swampy
banks of the river, the jets of gas burn day and
night—a constant stream of wasting heat and
light. These escaping streams of gas were
doubtless known of by the Indians. Here the
American sun and fire worshipers flourished,
feeding their faith on the never-dying gasfiame,
ignited from some fortunate flambeau.
Says Prof. Collet: In times of high river this
locality is covered with backwater. The gas,
divided into small streams, bubbles through
the water over a space ten or fifteen feet in di
ameter, making a sulphurous red sheet of
flame, writhing and twisting before tho wind;
aud in the still, dark hours of the night the
flames, goblin-like, dance upon the water like
lost sprites hovering over the sulphurous pits
of “ Dante’s Inferno.”
There is no question but that gas in paying
quantities is obtainable in Harrison and Vigo
counties. Enough of it is there to generate
steam, propel machinery, illuminate houses,
furnish fuel for heating and cooking purposes,
and do a thousand things to which the Pennsyl
vania gas is already applied. By hooding to
gether several wells au ample supply is to be
had. The day is coming when it will no longer
go to waste. The Terre Haute gas wells possi
bly have a future before them, and there are
other localities in the state where this natural
illuminator will be used for domestic purposes
if not in more pretentious enterprises.
A HUNT IN NEW GUINEA.
HOW THE NATIVES SECURE GAME
(New Guinea Correspondence Sydney Herald.)
Recently it was given out that a large tract of
country, about six miles from here, was to be
hunted. About 7 o’clock tho natives began to
move, the men with nets first. These are
coarse-meshed strong nets, about four feet
deep, of various lengths. Far away to the lee
ward of the grass to be burned those nets are
stood up with short stakes, each man’s net
joined to his neighbor’s. The grass is pulled
up in front of tho nets to prevent them catching
fire. The owners of the nets stand by with
their spears in silence and awaiting their prey.
It is tho fashion for all young men to wear their
head-dresses and finery to the hunt. They
shave the hair, too, off their temples, every hair
from their eyebrows and any other about their
face. All carry several spears, roughly made
from a hard white wood. The points are sharp
ened and every one has a boar’s tusk or piece
of glass bottle to scrape them as often as they
require it. Little boys of three and four year’s
old, with their ornaments on, faces painted and
spears on their shoulders, march along with the
crowd. A number of young girls go, too, to
carry water for tho men. It being a grand hunt,
we foreigners joined the company on horseback,
Mrs. Lawes being one of our party. The natives
always walk in single file, and the hunting pro
cession was a very long one. The meet was at
a creek half way to the Laroge river. This was
the rendezvous where all rested and waited for
a strong, steady wind. The nets had gone on
and were in position.
Tho master of ceremonies was a Koitapu
chief named Sivari. When I first knew Sivari,
some years ago, he was a fine-looking man,
agile and active; now he is a pitiable object—
his toes and fingers eaten away by leprosy, and
his arms and legs in a dreadful state. He can
hobble about on a stick, but cannot walk far.
Two of his wives carried him by turn in a net
ted hammock on their backs, suspended by a
band across the forehead. These are some of
the honors which fall to the share of the wives
of New Guinea. The right to carry their hus
bands to the hunting-field is one ot the woman’s
rights undisputed Irere. Tho old sinner, mis
erable object though he is, has had six wives,
some of them young and good-looking, recently
annexed to his’ harem. Soon tho wind began to
whistle through the trees, and there was a gen
eral stampede. The grass was set fire to in
many places and was soon cracking, hissing
and blazing away before the wind. The air was
full of sparks and a dense cloud of smoke rose
above. The natives shouted, the dogs yelped
aud the poor dazed wallabies rnshed here and
there, some escaping spears and dogs, but most
of them falling. It requires a good deal of prac
tice to spear a wallaby going at full speed.
Sometimes one would rush past with two or
three spears hanging from him and a bevy of
dogs after him. There was a good deal of
slaughter and some scores of wallaby carried
in. One man was badly gored by a wild boar.
It is only very plucky men who will face these.
They carry a circle of stout cane, in which is
lashed some strong cord, so as to form several
large meshes. This is held so that the pig
rushes in and gets muzzled by it; then a man
throws himself on the pig and grips him tight
until he is dispatched. When they have tusks
the hunter often gets very ugly wounds. The
man we saw had a nasty hole plowed in his
thigh by a short tusk. The pig, however, was
overpowered and killed.
Better tean Diamonds, and of greater
value than fine gold is a great tonic and reno
vator like Kidney Wort. It expels all poisonous
humors from the- blood, tones tip the system
and by acting directly on the most important
organs of the body, stimulates them to healthy
actioq»and restores health. It has effected many
marvelous cures and for all Kidney diseases
and other kindred troubles it is au invaluable
remedy.
THE HUB vs, GOTHAM.
Points of Difference Between Life in
Boston and New York.
(PrerAice Mu ford in Louisville Courier-Journal.')
The liberty given the Boston public to use
theii* Common stands out a refreshing contrast
to that miserable management which makes of
New York’s Central Park little other than a rich
man’s driving ground. Boys, by the hundred,
daily play ball on the Common. True, on the
ball-ground the grass is worn bare. But Bos
ton thinks it better to sacrifice a little grass
rather than deprive the boys of needed recrea
tion. Grass pleases the eye, but a portion of a
public park needs to be something other than a
lawn. London and Paris give their people miles
to walk over, lie on and ioil over in Hyde and
Regent Parks, the Bois de Boulogne and Parc
St. Cloud. To obtain permission to play ball in
Central Park requires almost as much formality
as to make a will. However, this answers a
purpose. It keeps out the numerous sons of
numerous plebeians.
Boston takes the frequent military reviews on
the Common very quietly. In New York, the
spectacle of a regiment drilling in any public
square, would bring 10,000 people, blocking
walks and streets, hustling, jamming and crowd
ing each other, and 200 policemen would be re
quired to keep order. In Boston a uniformed
regiment drills on the Common all day, and
only a few score of spectators gather to watch
them.
Of things unspeakable, Boston seems to have
a full share. Of pitfalls for the wary and un
wary, Boston, after night, has even more than
its share; of a purely American degradation
Boston can, I think, claim a larger share than
any other city in the country. It reminds one,
in this respect, of the large English factory
towns. Boston aspires to be English in tone
and style. 80 she is in more than one respect.
In Boston public humanity is carried on to
that extent that a man is allowed to sleep in
daytime at full length on the Common’s bench
es without being electrified by a park police
man’s club. In New York such a spectacle
causes the park policeman a thrill of delight.
He scents the battle from afar. The New York
policeman has a of whacking the soles of
such offenders withj the ligneous weapon pro
vided him by the city. lam told by such as
have experienced it that a single lick shocks the
nerves to the very attic of the cranium.
Commonwealth avenue, in appearance,is as far
beyond New York’s Filth avenue as the Champs
Elyses is beyond Commonwealth avenue. Com
monwealth avenue is the abode of Boston’s pri
vate and particular wealth. lam told that it
rests largely on made ground, and that gar
bage. dead cats and tomato cans entered large
ly into the “ filling in.” But these things are
not seen, no more than is the unpleasantness
inside the “ whited sepulchre.”
.The Boston baroer puts his barber-pole in
mourning. He stripes it in black instead of
red, the New York style. The Boston car con
ductor is better dressed and more polite than
the New York article. Ths Boston street car is
more roomy, and, as a rule, cleaner than that
of New York. Boston dignifies its street cars
with the names, in gilt, of its governors, may
ors and other great men.
Boston families have a fashion of converting
their basements into semi-restaurants, while
apparently maintaining above the integrity of
their private households. In the basement win
dow they hang a card bearing the words: “Ta
ble board. Gentlemen, $4 weekly; Ladies,
$3 50.” Or, “Gentlemen, $3 50; Ladies, $2 75.\
Boston ladies are presumed to eat less than the
gentlemen. This assumption is not always sat
isfactorily proven. I am told that ladies at a
boarding-house table attract gentlemen. Hence
the reduction in price. I notice that the cur
tains of these family dining rooms are generally
so arranged as to give the street public a full
view of the table, the viands, and the company
assembled. There seems in this a superior and
subtle sort of management for advertising, not
only the fare, but the quality of the fairer sex
assembled at those tables.
The greatest trouble 1 have m Boston lies in
having Emerson so often pitched at me. If I
attend a meeting, large or small, for some
benevolent purposes, the chanches are that
some solemn-faced man at the commencement
mounts the platform, rolls up his eyes, stands
in silence a moment, and then explodes with
the remark, “ The great Emerson said,” and
goes on at length to quote Emerson. I have al
ready heard in public the phrase, “ The great
Emerson,” “lhe divine Emerson,” “That
grand soul, Emerson,” in twelve different in
flections.
I know Emerson was a great man. I believe
that what he wrote was all his own; that he
would never stoop to plagiarize; that he would
give a customer good measure in corn or milk,
had he dealt in corn or milk; that he thought
no better ot himself than he ought to have; that
he would have turned no beggar from his door,
provided he (Emerson) had a good dinner in
side ot him and felt accordingly benevolent.
If I remain in Boston a month longer I shall
be convinced that all the profound and beauti
ful thought of the nineteenth century was con
densed and concentrated in Ralph Waldo Em
erson. I should not like to be forced to believe
this, inasmuch as I have read several othor
worthy men’s writings, who seemed at least to
have gathered up some of the fragments from
Emerson’s intellectual dinner table. For this
reason I find it a good plan to get out of Bos
ton occasionally and get in the atmosphere of
some other State and city where Emerson is
not so profoundly focused in the hearts of the
people.
MANNING THE PUMPS.
THE STORY OF AN ICE CREAM
SCARE.
(From the San Francisco Post.)
They had a terribly exciting time up in one of
the Napa Valley towns, not long ago. It seems
they were holding a church fair, and some
heavy villian of the bailiwick, either being op
posed to church fairs generally, or, desiring to
be revenged on some of the sirens who sold
chances thereat, put a pound of arsonic in the
ice-cream freezer. At any rate, about ten
o’clock on that particular evening, the girls be
gan to feel as though each one contained a pri
vate internal earthquake, and the dismay of the
congregation and visitors can be imagined as
they beheld some forty young females suddenly
doubled up over the tables, and groaning like
fog-horns. The ice-cream was examined, and
the appalling truth announced. It was no time
to stand on ceremony, however. The three
local doctors arrived, breathlessly, with stom
ach-pumps, and set manfully to work. An eye
witness says it was a solemn and pathetic scene
to behold that trio of devoted men with their
coats off, and the perspiration rolling down
their faces as they each pumped away at a
young woman, with long rows of other pallid
subjects waiting their turn. Nothing could be
heard save the sobs of the bystanders, occa
sionally rising above the monotonous thumping
of the pumps.
But the heroic doctors soon gave out, and as
they fell back exhausted the members of a local
fire company stepped up to man the pumps. It
was even more thrilling than a crew trying to
save a leaking vessel at sea. The wires sped
the terrible nows to the adjoining towns, and
soon other doctors, with more stomach pumps,
arrived, and, sustained by the noblest impulse
common to humanity, these devoted men toiled
on, hardly stopping to spit on their hands, or
bite a chew of tobacco, until, as the gray light
of dawn heralded the approach of day, the last
stomach was emptied and the last relay of
pumpers sank exhausted at their posts.
The next day the people organized a com
mittee, held an* indignation meeting and sub
scribed a purse to employ detectives, a lot of
whom promptly arrived from Frisco, and started
on a number of sleuthhound trails at once.
These California Vidocqs had just, levied their
third assessment for the purpose ot taking a
plaster cast of every adult foot in the county,
id compare with some tracks that Irad been dis
covered in a field back of the church, when
somebody thought of having the remainder of
the ice cream analyzed. The chemist reported
that the alleged arsenic was simply baking
powder, that the confectioner had probably put
in by mistake for sugar.
The originator of the arsenic theory is now
hiding in the tules, while the entire valley is
looking for him with shotguns and dogs. His
assassination may be looked for in our fourth
edition.
A NOTORIOUS CHARACTER.
Arrest of a Noted Texas Character—He
Escapes from the Officers.
The News Fort JWorth special .’says: After a
year’s watching and plotting, the officers from
New Mexico last week succeeded in arresting
“ Jim” Courtright, who is charged with killing
several Mexicans two years ago, near Silver
City, N. M. Courtright was well known here,
having served as a ranger, detective and city
marshal. He is regarded as one of the quick
est men on the trigger in Texas. His arrest
was effected by strategy. The New Mexican
Rangers, under the guise of friendship, lured
Courtright to a room and covered him with pis
tols before he was aware of their intention. A
partner of Courtright in killing the Mexicans,
named Mclntyre, was captured in the same way
at Wichita Falls.
The arrests were made under New Mexican
warrants and a requisition from Gov. Ireland,
of Texas. On the discovery of the arrest great
excitement and indignation prevailed in this
city. Fifteen hundred people assembled at the
hotel where Courtright was confined, and pre
vented the officers from taking the night -train..
With great difficulty the people were prevented
from rescuing Courtright. The prisoner was
finally carried to the County Jail. A writ of
habeas corpus was sworn out, and Gov. Ireland
was severely censured for his action, having
once promised the Citizen’s Committee that ho
never would sign a requisition warrant.
A News, Fort Worth special of the 18th says:
Jim Courtright, arrested last night, escaped
from his captors this evening. The officers,
against the Sheriff’s protest, took Courtright to
a restaurant for breakfast and dinner, when
lar-e crowds followed the prisoner to his meals.
Thfs evening the guards brought Courtright to
supper, and some of Courtright’s friends had
hun" two large pistols under the table where
the prisoner sat at the previous meals. One of
the guards was inveigled outside, whereupon
Courtright seized the weapons and covered tho
two remaining guards, at the same time backing
to tho door. He then mounted a waiting horse
and fled down the street.
The presence of the large crowd who watched
every maneuver, and the prisoner’s friend.,
hampered the officers, preventing an immediate
pursuit by crowding in upon them. The escape
created tremendous excitement. Jim Mclntyre,
accused with Courtright, who was arrested at
Wichita Falls, was also brought to the city, He
was met by a great crowd at the depot. It now
transpires that the men are not wanted for the
murder of the Mexicans at Silver City, but for
killing two Americans named Groested, near
Albuquerque, whom they are charged with hav
ing first arrested as officers, then deliberately
murdered. Courtright’s friends deny the
charge.
THE DETROIT*SOLUMON.
BIJAH’S FEET —FIRST MAN—A
LAME TURKEY—A LATE BUYER.
BIJAH’S FEET.
Bijah was limping about in a painful manner
as his Honor entered the court, and in answer
to the query of what ailed him he replied:
“ Weather affects my feet, sir.”
" Well,” observed his Honor, after looking at
the appendages for a long minute, “ I wouldn’t
have believed it.”
“What?”
“ Why, that we had weather enough in De
troit to affect one of ’em.”
Bijah reddened, opened his mouth as if ta
say something, and finally walked into the cor
ridor and began wolloping tho various articles
about in a manner which threatened damage
and destruction. He had by no means recov
ered his good nature when court opened, but
unlocked cell No. 8 and said to the prisoner:
“ You come out of that, you old drunkard, or
I’ll make hash of you I”
FIRST MAN.
“Abraham Scott, what made you do it?”
asked his Honor of the first one out.
“ I was making ready for Christmas, sir.”
“ Do you make a practice of getting drunk on
the eve of all holidays ?”
“ Always, sir.”
“ And of falling through a confectioner’s win
dow?”
“ That was an accident, sir. I was looking
for taffy.”
“Oh I I see. Well, I’ll give you something in
that line. You can go up in the elevator for
thirty days. The Work House is a good place
to begin the New Year in.”
A LAME TURKEY.
“Well, Thomas Abbott?”
“ Well, sir, I’m sorry.”
“ Oh, you are ! That’s real good In you, and
there are hopes that you may reform.”
“ Yes, sir, I’m sorry; but you see this was tho
way of it. I wanted a turkey for Christmas,”
“I see.”
“ A turkey on the Christmas table pleases tha
wife and tickles the children, you know, to say
nothing of tho approval of your own stomach.”
“ Exactly. Get through with the turkey and
come to the drunk as soon as you can.”
“ Well, sir, I went to a raffle and paid twenty
five cents for a chance to win a turkey worth
one dollar.”
“Yes.”
“But I lost my money, sir. The turkey was
won by a chap who don’t know fowl from loan
beef. Being as I had only fifteen cents left, and
being as I had entirely lost my heart with tho
turkey, I took a little beer.”
" About three glasses ?’•
“ Somewhere about that, sir; but I’m candid
to say that it didn’t affect me in the least. It
was the cold that threw me down, sir.”
“ Pooh 1”
-J“ I hope your Honor won't take me for a liar.”
“Pooh 1 Thomas Abbott, that’s the flattest
excuse for a month. Up you go for thirty, aud
if you have goose for Christmas up there you
can thank me for it.”
Iff LATE BUYER.
“Moses Hoakes, is this you?”
“ It ar’, sah 1”
“ Are you a member of the Lime Kiln Club ?”
“ No, sah. I wanted to jine, but Waydown
Bebee was dead sot agin me.”
“ Last night, about midnight, an officer dis
covered you in an alley a mile or so from home.
He had scarcely set eyes on you before yon
started off like a runaway horse, and but for
falling over an old barrel you would have
escaped. Now, Moses, can you tell the truth?”
“ Why, sah, I nebber tells nuffiu else.”
“ Well, now, you had a bag with you. You
were close to a hen-houso. What were your in
tentions ?”
“ Well, sah, Ize gwine ter spoke de trnf if it
breaks boaf legs short off. I was dar, sah, fur
de purpose of buyin’ two chickens fur Christ
mas.”
“ What!”
“ Shua's yer bo'n, sah.”
“Moses, did you expect to buy chickens at
midnight ?”
“ Sartin I did. I alius buys my fowls ’long
’bout dat time o’ night, kase they kin be caught
so much easier.”
“ You were going to wake the owner up ?”
“ I reckon I was, sah.”
“ Did you know him ?”
“ No, sah; but when I has cash bizness on
hand I doan’ stop fur names.”
“Ah I Moses you are a bad old coon. I shall
have to elevate you.”
“ What fur ?”
“For being a late buyer of fowls. The sen
tence is for thirty days, and if the chickens oi
Detroit don’t feel safer on theii’ roosts for some
time to come I'm no prophet.”
, Autumn Alligator Hunting.
(From the St. Louis Globe-Democrat.)
Tho men who hunt alligators for tboir hidea
and teeth are now reaping a rich harvest. The
hunters receive one dollar apiece for all hides
four feet long and upward.
Two young men killed fifty alligators in one
week recently in this neighborhood. They be
gin hunting as soon as it becomes thoroughly
dark. Their hunting outfit consists of a bull’s
eye lantern, in camp language called “ look ’em
up,” a double-barreled shotgun, or “ kill ’em
sure,” and a hatchet, with which they split the
alligator’s skull, to which they give the very
expressive name of “ dynamite.”
The man who is to do the shooting for the
night fastens the lantern to his forehead and
takes his place in the bow of a small boat. Hit
partner paddles the boat cautiously along th<
stream, while the man in the bow keeps a sharj
lookout for alligators’ eyes, which, under favor
able circumstances, he can “ shine ” with hit
lantern at a distance of two hundred yards. As
soon as they discover a pair of eyes they paddl<
cautiously up to within a couple of feet of the
alligator’s head and discharge a load of buck
shot into it. As soon as the shot is fired th<
paddler catches the alligator by the jaws, whick
he hold together with one hand while he cleaves
the skull open with the other.
Sometimes the alligators retain considerable
power of action. When such is the case it is
rather exciting work getting them into the -boat.
Sometimes very large alligators turn the boat
over. If an alligator is not handled at one©
after being wounded he sinks to the bottom
and is lost.
I asked one of the hunters, who has hilled
more than 1,000 alligators, what was the size oi
the largest one he ever killed, and he told me
13% feet long. He said that his father killed
one on the St. John’s River 17% feet long, the
head of which, when placed in a flour barrel,
projected two inches over the top. Ho sold it ta
a museum for $65.
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