New York dispatch. [volume], April 12, 1885, Page 6, Image 6

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6
A STORY THAT NEVER CROWS OLD.
A youth and a maiden low-talking,
He eager; she, shrinking and shy;
A blush on her face as she listens,
And yet a soft tear in her eye.
Oh ! sweet bloomed the red damask roses
And sweet sang the thrush on the spray,
And bright was the glamour of sunshine
That made the world fair on that day.
But, oh ! not so sweet the red roses,
So sweet the bird’s song from above,
go bright the gold glamour of sunshine,
As was the sweet glamour of love
That fell on that pair in the garden,
As ’mid the fair flowers they strolled;
And there, as’twas first told in Eden
Again was Love’s tender tale told.
OUTWITTED.
(From Belgravia.)
CHAPTER I.
It was a warm afternoon in April, and the
Bun was’ blazing hotly down upon the wooded
bights of the Abruzzi and upon tho marble cliff
against which nestles the little village of Pale
nella.
The bine-green aloes were unfurling their
sharp-pointed leaves in the clefts and crannies
of the rocks above, and every now and then the
wild roses sent a pink shower fluttering down
to the flat roofs below, where maize and wheat
were spread out to dry in the sun.
Lucia Ceprano was sitting at the door of her
gray-stone cottage this hot afternoon, busily
engaged in peeling and splitting willow rods
preparatory to mending a certain dilapidated
old basket which lay on the ground beside her.
The stony village street was silent, and not
a creature was visible but herself, except, in
deed, a few fowls which were promenading in
the sun, and some little black pigs which lay
Bleeping with outstretched legs in sundry dusty
hollows.
The fact was that tho whole population of
Palenolla was gone to take part in a procession
in tho little town of Palone. Not a creature
had stayed at homo but Lucia Ceprano, and no
one now was surprised at this or anything else
Bhe took it into her head to do, for the vil
lagers had mado up their minds that she was
“cracked.”
Lucia had refused the wealthiest young men
in the district; Lucia owned property, yet she
worked as hard as if she were poor ; Lucia did
not dance the tarantella, was not merry,'would
not have a lover, and never beat her mule even
when ho was as obstinate as only a mule can
be I
Such was the indictment against her ; and in
an out-of-the-way village like Palenella, where
every one was about five hundred years behind
the outside world, any one of these eccentrici
ties would have been quite enough to make
people call her crazy.
Then again, though she certainly was beauti
ful, it was in a very different style from her
neighbors ; indeed, she was of quite a different
type from what one usually sees anywhere in
the whole district as far south as Naples.
Tho women in these parts are email, agile,
' and graceful, with pretty little dark-brown
faces, small, sharp noses, pouting lips, and
wild, curly hair, almost entirely covering the
low foreheads. They are light-hearted crea
tures, laughing and chattering the whole day
long, and in character they are an odd mixture
of carelessness, shrewdness, passion, cunning,
and narrow-mindedness.
Lucia, on the other hand, was well-grown and
Btately-lookiug; her face was oval, and she had
smooth, black hair, and wonderful deep, brown,
tranquil eyes, which seemed to look thought
fully at everything ; and her mouth, though
well-formed and full-lipped, was firmly closed ;
Bho moved about in a dignified, deliberate way,
and she was reckoned the most unsociable girl
in the village, for she never spoke a word more
than was actually necessary.
The very fact of her being so unlike other
village girls, however, caqsed Lucia to bo quite
the rage at one time. All the young mon for
miles around were crazy about her, and she
had as many offers as there are Sundays in the
year, for she had other attractions beside her
beauty. Every one knew that beside the very
tolerable property in Palenella which was all
her own and "quite unincumbered, Lucia also
possessed 10,000 lire, or something over .£4OO,
in the National Bank of Rome, so that for these
parts she was a considerable heiress.
Lucia allowed her suitors to have their say
without interruption, and then raising those
calm, wonderful eyes, and looking steadily at
them for the space of a second, she announced
that she had no intention of marrying.
Things had gone on in this way from Lucia’s
fifteenth birthday for five years ; every Sunday
and holiday some one made her an offer, and
every Sunday and holiday some one was re
fused, until she gave up answering at all, and
merely waved her lovers off with a gesture of
her hand, neither more nor less than con
temptuous.
Tho young men had taken offense at her be
havior at last, and now revenged themselves
by pronouncing her cracked, and leaving her to
herself. All but one of them, at least, did so,
and he was the eon of a wealthy farmer, Pietro
Antonio by name, who lived higher up among
tho mountains. Pietro was not so easily to be
got rid of as the rest, and, do what she would,
be followed her everywhere, lying in wait for
her at the fetes and processions, watching for
her at church and market, and persecuting her
to such an extent, now with pretty speeches and
entreaties, and now with angry threats, that at
last Lucia gave up going to the fetes, and did
not even venture to church except in the late
evening, when she could do so unobserved.
Eor l ielro was a wild, passionate youth, with
something of the savage about him, and as Lu
cia disliked him even more than her other suit
ors, she had determined to stay at home this
afternoon for fear she should meet him at
I’alene i>nd be exposed to his vehement impor
tunities.
She bad, therefore, been alone some hours;
but now she heard a distant sound of voices,
laughing and chattering. The villagers were
coming back, and were climbing the rocky
pathway that led to their homes, au<i soon the
little gtreef whs ill! aiiv§ again.
tile nt's i sound of iueir approach, Lucia
had retreated into the cottage, and set about
warming up the polenta for her mother, and as
she stood in tho large kitchen, with the blaze
from the fire lighting up her grave, Madoaaa
like face, this personage came in,
She was an old, gray-haired woman, but there
was an almost wild glare in her small, sharp
epes as she glanced angrily at the girl.
“ What a shame it is 1” she cried, pulling off
her red silk neckerchief and kicking away a
chair. ‘‘The idea of my being the only woman
to have an unmarried daughter Here lam
pointed at by every one. I’m the mother of
the ‘crazy girl,’ forsooth, and I can’t show my
face anywhere I”
“Bah I” said Lucia, without looking up from
the fire—“where can’t you showyour face? ’
“ Why, neither iu the village nor in tho whole
country round 1” returned the oid woman, pas
sionately.
“ Don’t you trouble yourself about any of
their gossip, mother; and don’t force me to
marry, for 1 can’t take any of the young men
about hero,” said Lucia, calmly.
“Forced you will be, sooner or later,” re
turned her mother. “ One of them will cut off
your hair, and then you know you must marry
him, whether you like it or not,” she added,
dolefully.
“ Shame on the men hero, then I” exclaimed
Lucia, with flaming eyes. “Shame on any man
who forces a woman to marry him by such
tnoans !—lying in wait to cut off her hair, and
then making a show of it in the village until the
poor th ng is obliged to marry the thief, or she
will be forever disgraced and’never gel another
husband. Shame on men who win their wives
in this fashion 1”
“Ab, well! it has been the taming of a good
many obstinate girls, for all that, and they are
happy enough now. Look at Emilia Mantori
and ’Peresina,” continued tho mother; “ they
held out for a couple of years, and then one
fine day they lost their plaits. They came back
from the fields with their hair cut short; the
boys hooted them down the street, and three
weeks later there were two merry weddings,
and now it is all as right as can be.”
“ I hope that will never be my fate, mother,”
said Lucia—•“ never 1” and she clenched her
brown hand,with its longjshapely fingers, while
all the blood left her lips. “If people behave
like brigands, they may expect to be treated
like brigands. Any one who lays a finger on
my hair will have to look out for himself, as all
the ruffians about here know full well, and bo
they keep their distance.”
“ Our lads are notrucfians; they may be a lit
tle wild, but there are some good follows
among them.”
“ I don’t know a single one, then, and I
won’t marry a soul here. It ever I am mar
ried, it shall not be to a man who will beat me
and make me work just as if I were a mule—
and you know very well that is what all the
men do here in tho Abruzzi—so why do you go
on complaining and fault-finding ? I tell you
what will be the end of it if you go on scolding
and worrying- yon will drive me away, and I
shall go to Home and open some sort o’f a little
shop ’’
“ And leave your mother here in poverty and
misery.”
“ You are not poor, mother, for you can stay
here as long as you live, and there is quite
enough to keep you well without your having
to work hard. Beside, I don’t want to leave
you at all, as long as you don’t want to force me
into a marriage I hate.”
“ Very well, I won’t, then,” said the old wo
man. “Stay as you are, since you will have
your own way.”
By this time the sun was almost setting, and
a flood of red-gold light’•’s pouring in through
the opeu door, the mountains were all bathed
in purple vapor, add the still, warm evening air
was fragrant with the scent of roses, geraniums
and lavender.
■ The mother and daughter had eaten their
supper in silence, and Lucia had just risen to
take away the things, when a shadow fell,
across the threshold, and on Lucia looking up,
a bold voice said:
“ Good evening, signorina.”
The speaker was a fine young man, wearing a
blue velvet jacket, high-crowned hat, a large
woolen scarf, which was knotted round his
waist, and he was looking passionately at Lucia
with his piercing, coal-black eves.
“ Do you want to see my mo'ther ?” asked Lu
cia, in anything but an encouraging manner.
“ No ; I want to see you, signorina, answered
ths young man with much polite suavity, takirftj
off hie hat as he spoke.
“If you are come to say the same as before,
Pietro Antonio, you may spare yourself the
trouble,” said Lucia, clearly and firmly.
“Then you won’t let pie come into your
house, Lucia Ceprano?” asked the young man
with a sudden contraction of his thin-lipped
mouth, and a look in his eyes not unlike that of
an enraged tiger.
“ The door is open, you can coma in,” said
Lucia, calmly, “ and you can talk to my mother
if you like and with that she left tho room by
the back door, and wont out into the little gar
den, which was fenced round with aloe bushes.
Meantime, Pietro stepped into the cottage,
and throwing his hat upon the table, sat down
opposite the old woman, saying:
“Yon don’t seem to have made much pro
gress, Mother Ceprano.”
“You can see for yourself,” said she in ft low
voice.
“Then she will soon be off to Rome and you
will have to work like the rest,” said the young
man without any apparent malice, “ for every
thing here belongs to her. It was her father’s
property, I know, and settled on her.”
“ She will let me have it,” said the old woman,
dejectedly.
“ But she won’t go on doing all the work for
you ! She works for you both now; and then
• there’s the interest of her money; of course she
will want that for herself when she is in Rome,”
continued the young man, casting a sharp, side
long glance at the old woman as he spoke.
“ Yes, your comfortable, easy-going life will be
quite at an end, mother, unless—but perhaps
she is going to take you with her ?” inquired
Pietro, in a tone of much sympathy.
“I’m sure I don’t know ; but she was saying
only this very day again, that go she would, and
I believe she will.” ■
“Ah I” returned the young man, his lips
working with suppressed passion, “ then yon
will just have to hire a couple of strong women
to do your field work—that's all 1”
“ You know very well there’s not land enough
to keep three people,” retorted the mother, an
grily.
“ Then keep the girl I” said Pietro, lightly.
“ Keep her ! keep her! It’s easy talking.
Pray can you keep her, Pietro Antonio ?”
“ Yes, I can, if you will help me,” said tho
young man softly.
He rose from his seat, and going to the back
door peered out into the garden. But Lucia
was not there. No doubt, thought ha to him
self, she had gone out somewhere to avoid the
chance of meeting him again. At all events she
was safe out of the way, and, closing the door
again, he drew his chair nearer to the old wo
man and said in a low tone :
“ Look hero, mother, I can force her to stay
here. She wouldn’t be the first girl who found
hersell obliged to marry the man who wanted
her! You know what I mean, and though it
would be a real pity to spoil her hair—such
beautiful hair as it is, too—still ”
“And what if she wore to stab you, Pietro?
You don’t know what she is,” and the old wo
man looked uneasily at the floor.
“It will bo your business to take carethat
she can’t do anything of the kind. Take her
knife away when she ia asleep, hide me in tho
garden, and let me in when it is all safe. When
she wakes up again the plait will be mine, and
then we shall be all right.”
“She will turn me out of the house when she
knows, and I shall he worse off than ever,” re
turned'Mother Ceprano, anxiously.
“I shall be there to look after you, shan’t I?
And won’t it all be for your own happiness ?
You know I am the richest follow in the whole
district, and there isn’t another girl who would
refuse me. You know yourself she couldn’t
make a better match, and her refusing me is
nothing but a whim, and if you give way to her
she will end by being an old maid herself, and
making you into a common working woman—so
there I”
“ Yes, I know that; it’s all true enough; and
it would be a real blessing for us all—for you
and me and herself—if she would have you ;
but I say you don’t know her, Pietro, you don’t
know her, and I am certain some mischief will
come of it.”
“ Bah 1 that’s all talk—a woman, indeed—that
would be a new idea,” said Pietro, with a con
temptuous laugh. “ I’ll soon tame her! The
prouder and wilder they are to begin with, the
tamer and more gentle they are afterward.
When I carry her plait through the streets—and
that’s what I will do if she makes any more fuss
—she will follow me .like a lamb, see if she
won’t! There has never been a girl in these
parts yet, who has been disgraced in this way,
without being thankful to marry the only man
who could give her back her good name.”
“ Ay,” interposed the mother in a frightened
tone; “ but then she is not like other girls. You
are strong and clever, and thought a great deal
of, and you are the chief man in the place for
miles around; but where is the good of all that
if she hates you, and perhaps does you some
injury and turns me out of doors ?”
“ She doesn’t hate me, it’s only her childish
pride; 1 know all about that and it doesn’t
trouble me a bit,” returned Pietro, coolly.
‘.‘ You know I have promised to settle so much a
year upon you if she marries me, and I will en
gage that you shall stay here and have the use
of the cottage and the land, rent free, and be
able to keep a servant. There 1 So, now,
please to make up your mind at once, mother.
Will you or won’t you—yes or no ?”
“Ican’t—l daren’t.”
“ Then be poor, as poor as the poorest in the
place 1 Work is wholesome—those who work
long, live long! Good-by, Mother Ceprano,”
said the young man, scornfully, moving to the
door as he spoke.
“ Stay 1” cried the old woman, hoarsely.
“I’ll do it.”
“ When ?” asked Pietro, still standing in the
doorway.
“I will send you a message when I think
there is a good chance. I shall only say that 1
want you to come and speak to me, and then
you can como about eleven o’clock that night.”
“ Well, then, it’s settled, mind. Be careful,
don’t gossip and, above all, keep your word.”
“ 1 shall keep my word,” said old Mother
Ceprano, gloomily, as she accompanied Pietro
to the door, and as she went back into the now
dark kitchen, she muttered : “ She can’t make
a better match; ho is rich, very rich, and he is
looked up to, and he is handsome, and there
are others worse than ho. She will be all right,
and he says is quite true, it is only a
whim,"
CHAPTER fl.
Early the next morning, before her mother
was astir, Lucia was up and busy m the yard,
and after fetching the mule from his stable and
loading him with a couple of large flat baskets
full of onions, she mounted him hcraelf and
trotted off toward Palene.
Lucia’s dress was like that of the other peas
ant women and consisted of a red silk ’kerchief
tied closely over her head; another oi yellow,
which covered her shoulders, was crossed over
her chest and tied behind, and a green woolen
gown. Her beautiful black hair was smoothly
braided in one long thick plait, which hung
down her back. So far, there was nothing re
markable about her costume; but she also wore
what was peculiar to herself, a leather belt with
a metal sheath and a large gardening knife
stuck in it. She kept her hand almost constant
ly upon this weapon, a circumstance which
gave her a rather savage Amazon-like appear
ance, strangely at variance with her calm ma
donna face and smooth hair.
But as the mule jogged on through the fresh
morning air and Lucia watched the golden sun
light playing on the rocks above and tho fields
below, her thoughts were anything but savage,
for she was saying to herself: “ Who would
think that human beings could be so wicked
when one sees how beautiful and peaceful and
happy everything is ? They don’t notice it, for
they are like animals still; they live like wild
beasts. It is different in towns; it is better even
in Palene; but how very different it must be in
Pome, or Florence, or Naples! There, so I
have road, people are good and gentle, and for
giving. They don’t love like wolves and hate
like tigers. I know just one man myself, but
then he is a foreigner, and they would be certain
to kill h : m if I married him. Couldn’t we es
cape to Borne?” pursued tho maiden, thought
fully, bonding her Head down over tho mule.
“But no,” she went on, “ they would find him
out even in Rome, and 000 fine day ho would be
found dead and I should have murdered him.”
Tho mule, finding that his mistress was not.
paying any heed to him, now stood quito still
and put down his head to crop a few mouthfuls
of grass. But this roused Lucia from her
dreams, and taking hold of the reins and utter
ing a loud “Ala !” she put him to a quicker
pace, and in a few minutes more they had
reached tho end of their journey.
The little town of Palene consists of three
narrow streets, a small market-place, a muni
cipal building, and a tolerably large and
handsome church. Facing the market-place
are two houses, rather superior to tho rest,
which are painted pink and blue, and
have bright green blinds. One of the two,
at the time of which we are writing, was a shop
kept by a man named Lugeno, who called him
self a “general dealer, barber, coffee house, and
tavern keeper.” In front of the shop stood a
table and four chairs, while baskets of fruit and
vegetables stood about the entrance, and over
the door hung half a dozen cages containing ca
nary birds.
Tho owner of this miscellaneous business,
Don Ernano Lugeno, was standing at his shop
door enjoying the fine Spring air and comfort
ably smoking a short meerschaum as Lucia
came up on her mule. Now, people in Palene
do not smoke meerschaums, so* this circum
stance alone was enough to suggest the idea oi
his being a foreigner, and the impression was
only confirmed by a glance at the man’s face and
figure. With his broad shoulders, yellow hair,
fresh complexion, golden beard, and bright,
deep-blue eyes, Don Lugeno was the perfect
type of the northern giant in spite of his Italian
name. In truth, his real name was Hermann
Lutgens, and he was a native of Pomerania, but
some accident had brought him to Italy when a
boy, and there he had remained ever since. He
was now about thirty, and for the last ten years
he had been in business at Palene; but in spite
of the numerous strings to his bow already
mentioned, ho did not get on very well, and, in
fact, made but a very poor living. Yet he was
very industrious, and, in addition to selling
green groceries, singing birds, coffee, and wine,
be repaired watches, mended tables and chairs,
put in window panes, and painted beautiful
sign-boards, so that he was looked upon as
quite indispensable in all times of need, and
was highly popular with everybody lor his cheer
ful, obliging temper, and not less for his moder
ate charges. Still, Don Lugeno did not pros
per, and tho reason was that he had one darling
passion; he was an ardent sportsman, and every
now and then he would disappear for two or
three days into the woods, quite forgetting his
NEW YORK DISPATCH, APRIL 12, 1885.
busineßs and his customers; and when at length
i he came homo, looking disheveled and half wild,
he seldom brought with him more than a lean
hare, a small marten, or a miserable quail. In
spite of his small success, however, Don Luge
no could not break himself of his love of sport,
and it was thia which kept him a poor man.
Still, in spite of his poverty, all the women in
the place, whether old or young, had a very
kind feeling for Don Ernano, as he was called
(all the people in the place being usually known
by their Christian names), and, if ho had been
so minded, he might several times have made
such a match as would have raised him at once
to a position of ease and comfort. But he was
not inclined to give up his liberty, or so it
seemed, and the men liked him all the better for
being, as they believed, a woman-hater.
Whether, however, ho really was the inveter
ate woman-hater he was supposed to be might
reasonably have been doubted by any one who
had chanced to observe how instantly his face
lighted up when Lucia and her mule turned the
corner into the market place. They were com
ing to him, of coarse, for Lucia supplied his
shop with vegetables, and had done bo for
years. He had known her and dealt with her
ever since her childhood, and now that she was
a woman, and a beautiful woman into the bar
gain, it had more than once crossed his mind
that, if he could afford to marry, there was no
one in the whole neighborhood whom he should
like so well to call his wife as Lucia Ceprano.
Well as he knew her, however, he was far too
shy and far too humble to hint at such an idea,
for Lucia was an heiress, a great heiress for
those parts, and he—how could he have the face
to ask her to marry a poor man like himself
when she might have the choice of all the young
mon for miles around ? Still, though he drove
the thought away as often as it rose, it only re
turned again, and each time, somehow, it looked
more fascinating than before. Ifonlyhewore
better off; if only he could get away from Pa
lene to some more civilized .place and" ask Lucia
to go with him, he felt as if he could do any
th'ng—even give up his sporting tastes and set
tle down steadily. But if was no use thinking
of such a thing, for even if all the other difficul
ties were disposed of, what right had he to sup
pose that she cared a straw about him except as
a good customer of her garden produce ? No,
the idea must bo put away; and, to assist him
m getting rid of it, Don Ernano went ont for two
or three days’ shooting, and when he came back
ho was poorer, and his home looked more deso
late than ever, and tho first thought which en
tered his mind as he crossed the threshold was,
“How different it would be if Lucia were here
to see after things I”
_ Altogether, therefore, the poor Don’s expedi
tions were not very successful, and on this par
ticular morning he was feeling a little dejected
in spite of his cheerful looks. But the mule
stopped at the shop, and as Lucia sprang light
ly down, he went forward with a smiling greet
ing to help her unfasten the heavy baskets.
•‘Are you quite well, Don Ernano?” asked
Lucia, looking up at him with her deep-brown
eyes. Then, as the giant blushed and turned
away to hide his confusion she added quickly,
for she pitied him for his shyness: “Here are
the onions you wanted, beautiful large ones,
aren’t they ? but can you use so many?”
Don Ernano had apparently not quite recov
ered his composure, for he pulled his ear for a
moment or two without speaking, and then said
slowly: “I could use them all, certainly, but
—well—tho fact is, signorina, 1 haven’t much
ready money just now.”
“Ah ! I know,” said Lucia calmly, “ Don Er
nano has been out shooting again.”
“The signorina knows?” said Don Ernano,
looking at the beautiful girl in amazement.
“Yes, I know, and I have been thinking why
it is that you don’t get rich,” pursued Lucia,
without a trace of coquetry in her manner.
“You are clever and handy, you don’t gamble
and you don’t drink; why, you might be the
foremost man in town, and yet you don’t get a
step further. I have come to the conclusion
that it is the shooting which is at the bottom
of it.”
Don Ernano gazed more and more earnestly
at the girl as,she spoke, and the sympathy
which he read in her face went to his very
heart. But he only pulled his ear again, and
said rather sheepishly: “The signorina may
be right, but it is the only pleasure I have in
the world. What am I to do ? It is so dreary
at home, and sometimes I get bored almost to
death.”
“Ah! you ought to marry, DonErnano,” said
Lucia simply, still busying herself with the
onions. “If you had a wile you would have a
real home, and some one to work for.”
“Yes,” returned the light-haired giant;
“ many 1” it is easy to say; but who would have
mo, a . penniless foreigner? I have thought
about it now and then, but it is a hard matter
for a man like me to get a good wife.”
“ I should not think that,” said Lucia reflect
ively, looking at him again as she spoke, for
they were old acquaintances, these two, and on
intimate terms. “ I should not think that. You
see, I have known you ever since I was a little
girl, and I know you are good and clever. I
dare say the truth is you like your liberty.”
“May be,” returned Don Ernano, and then
with sudden gravity he added, “but may be
also, the right one has not yet come my way.”
“ Ah ! then you are fastidious; I understand.
Now, Don Ernano, what sort of wife do you
want, I wonder ? lam quite curious to know."
“What sort?” repeated the Don, again pull
ing at his ear; and then adding, in a low tone,
“ Well, one like yourself, signorina.”
“Me ? You are joking! ’ returned Lucia with
an attempt at a laugh; “ why, I am only a small
farmer’s daughter.”
“My father was less than a small farmer. He
was an iron-worker, and immigrated first to
Austria and then to Italy; so you see you are
above me, even if I were not as poor as a rat.
And j>b you are so far above me, there is no
harm in my saying that a wife like you is just
what would suit mo, eh ?”
“Don Ernano, can you make a#y use of the
onions?” interrupted Lucia, in a frightened
tone, without venturing to raise her eyes from
the ground.
“Certainly, signorina, if you don’t mind
leaving them and letting me settle with you at
tho end of tho month.”
“I’ll trust you,” replied Lucia, hurriedly
emptying the baskets; and, with a hasty “good
by,” she reseated herself on the mule and
trotted off again to Palenella, leaving Don Er
nano half afraid that he had managed to offend
her.
CHAPTER 111.
As soon as Lucia was well out of the little
town, she seemed suddenly to discover that she
had plenty of time to spare, for she let the mule
walk on as slowly as ha pleased, while she her
self gazed at the golden hedge of broom which
bordered the road, as if . she were intent on
counting its million blossoms.
Traveling at this pace, it was noon before she
reached the village; but, instead of receiving
her with reproaches for her long absence, as
would usually have been the case, her mother
spoke so pleasantly that in spite of her absence
ot mind Lucia could not help being struck by
it.
She knew how obstinately bent her mother
was on getting her married, and she began to
feel suspicious and alarmed. “ Pietro was here
a long time yesterday,” she suddenly thought to
herself; “ there is something in the wind, no
doubt.” And when evening came, without say
ing a word to any one, Lucia dragged) her bed
from its place beside her mother’s in the large
kitchen, and put it in a little store room with a
heavy iron door and a grated window.
“Is it possible she can have overheard what
we were saying?” thought the old woman, as
she watched her daughter’s proceedings in si
lent dread. But no, that was’out of the ques
tion. Lucia had spent nearly the whole time ol
Pietro’s visit in the church, for she herself had
met her there later. “It was only another of
her whims,” she went on, trying to comfort her
self, “ and it will be easy to spoil the lock of the
door some night before she goes to bed. Pietro
Antonio shall not be thwarted, if I can help it.”
And having thus made up her mind, she too,
went to bed; but she was still much per
turbed about Lucia’s odd behavior, and she
began to fear that the girl would suddenly take
herself off- to Rome and so escape her clutches.
The more she thought of it, the more eager she
grew to bring about the marriage with Pietro
without any further loss of time. “ To-morrow
she will be hard at work all day,” mused the
old woman: “ she will be tired out and sleep
soundly. I don’t know that there is likely to be
a better opportunity.”
AU through the night Lucia’s mother lay wide
awake, tossing to and fro and revolving her
cruel plans in her mind. Early in tho morning
she sent the previously agreed message to Pie
tro Antonio, and when evening came she put a
stone in the look of the door, and thought she
had mado all safe.
Lucia went to her room that night tired out
with her day’s work, as her mother had expect
ed; but she was not too tired to notice that
there was something amiss with the door. She
tried it over and over again, but it was all in
vain. The lock would not act, and she gave it
up in despair.
She guessed at once what it meant, and for a
moment she stood still, trembling and almost
gasping for breath; but in another moment she
had recovered herself, and made up her mind
what to do.
She put out the lamp and lay down on the
bed just as she was, without undressing; and
after lying there quite still for about an hour
she rose again, slipped quietly out to the sta
ble, fetched a great wood-cutter's ax and hur
ried noiselessly back to heftchamber.
Once more she lay down, keeping her eyes
wide open, listening with all her might, and
hardly daring to breathe.*
Presently she heard the sound of whispering,
then there was a light step in the yard, and in
the house.
One bright ray of moonlight shone through
the grated window and made a pattern of black
and white bars on the one patch of the stone
floor, but otherwise the room was quite dark,
and Lucia now got up and stationed herselt in
the darkest corner of the room. But all re
mained quito quiet for nearly another hour,
every moment ot which seemed a century to the
poor girl. At the end of this time a faint light
appeared through the crack of tile door, which
was gently pushed open, and then appeared
her mother holding a lamp and followed by
Pietro Antonio, who had a large pair of vine
shears in his hand.
As they entered, Lucia suddenly advanced
from her corner with the ax uplifted.
“Come here, you coward, if you dare,” slio
cried to the young man,who stood there speech
less, motionless, and white as death from sur
prise and fright.
He looked at the pale-faced girl, looked at the
uplifted ax and her strong arms, and slowly
moved away without uttering a word, followed
by the old woman, who was shaking all over to
such a degree that she could hardlv stand,
•while her teeth chattered loud enough to be
heard.
They were gone ! and all was still again; but
Lucia spent the rest of the night sitting on the
bedside, with her beautiful head resting against
the hard, cold stone wall, without venturing to
close her eyes. In the morning she neither
spoke to her mother nor prepared the breakfast
as was her custom, and kept her mouth more
tightly closed than ever.
When she had washed and dressed, and
plaited her hair .more carefully than usual, she
brought out the mule, saddled and bridled him;
but to her mother’s immense astonishment, in
stead of proceeding to load him with vegetables,
she just mounted and rode away in the direc
tion ot Palene.
The mule trotted along merrily and quickly,
but as it was still very early, Lucia stopped him
after a while and allowed him to graze, while
she got down and lay on the grass, resting her
weary head on her hand and gazing into tho
distance with her largo brown eyes. Little by
little her pale face brightened, and began to
lose the hard look it had worn since the prev
ious night. She even began to smile a little
and looked almost happy. At last some pleas
ant thought seemod to strike her, for she ac
tually laughed and blushed, and then getting,
up and calling her mule, she went on her way.
In a little more than half an hour she was
again standing before Don Ernano’s shop in the
market-place.
“ Ah, signorina, you are early indeed to
day,” he began; then glancing at the unloaded
mule, he went on, “ you want the onions back,
no doubt? I was afraid Mother Ceprano ——
“ I did not come about that,” replied Lucia,
abruptly, with an odd, shy smile. “ I came to
day to ask your services as hair-dresser; yon
cut and dress hair, 1 know. Will you be" bo
good as to cut off my hair ?”
“ What, signorina 1” cried the horrified bar
ber, “ cut off your beautiful hair 1 No k you
don’t mean it. I couldn’t have tho heart I”
“ Are you a barber, Don Ernano ?” asked
Lucia, with the gravity and firmness peculiar
to her.
“ Yes, it is on the sign-board, and I cut any
body’s hair when I am asked, but—but—do
you want to sell your beautiful plait?” he
asked, with quite a sad expression in his kind
eyes.
“ No, I don’t want to sell it, but I want it cut
off, and I have come to ask you to do it for me,”
answered Lucia firmly and decidedly.
“ Must I really ?” said Don Ernano, feeling
a little cast down by the girl’s energetic tone
and manner.
“ Yes—you must—if you will,” was her rather
odd answer, and therewith she hurried into the
shop.
“ If you knew how it grieved me 1” began the
barber again. “Isit a vow, signorina ?’’
“ Something of the sort, but it is more than
that to me,” was tho short answer.
“ Then you have quite made up your mind ?”
ho ventured to ask once more.
“Will you do it or will you not, Don Ernano?”
asked Lucia, as if she were much offended and
would leave the shop.
“ Well—if it really must be done—please to
sit down, signorina,” said the barber, moving
reluctantly to the cup-board in which he kept
his implements.
Just at this moment two men came into the
shop, and said, with a sly glance at his fair
customer, “ you’re engaged Don Ernano ?”
“ At your service iu a moment, gentlemen,”
he answered;then bending over Lucia and taking
her great plait, which was almost as thick as
her arm, in his hand, he said in a low tone,
“ you will have just a little bit left 1”
“ No, cut it off close,” answered Lucia in a
whisper.
Don Ernano gently put her head in the right
position, and Lucia, looking calmly and cheer
fully into the little glass before her, could see
with what a dismal countenance the light-haired
giant went about his task, which was no such
easy one, and took some minutes to accomplish.
It was done at last, however, and the barber
held the severed plait in his hands, his face
wearing a troubled expression.
“ Good morning, gentlemen,” said Lucia,
rising and bowing to the two men; “good morn
ing, Don Ernano 1” and before he had recovered
from his astonishment, Lucia was out of tho
shop and trotting away on her mule, leaving
him to look after her and shake his head in
perplexity, while he still held the beautifully
plaited tail of hair in his hands.
“ A very pretty customer, signor 1” said his
visitors, who had not heard all that had passed.
“ A lovely girl,” answered Don Ernano,
thoughtfully, “but strange, very strange, I can’t
make her out.”
“ Have you bought the plait ?” they asked.
The barber shook his head gravely.
“ What then?” they asked with a curiosity.
“ I don’t know,” was the short answer, as the
barber made hurried preparations for shaving
his customers.
He was anything but nervous in a general
way, but to-day his hand trembled so much
that he would certainly have performed his
duties very clumsily if lie had not made a great
effort to recover his self-command.
“ What does it mean ?” he muttered, when he
found himself once more alone. “ What am Ito
do with it? I wonder whether it is a vow; I
know the women about here do make strange
vows sometimes; but she is so clever and sensi
ble and not at all superstitious.”
Don Ernano thought over the affair for some
time, but as he could not arrive at any connlu
sion, he locked the plait of hair up in his cup
board, and spent the next few hours in a rather
uncomfortable state of miud, feeling that he was
involved against his will iu a matter which he
did not understand.
CHAPTER IV.
Lucia reached Palenella again about midday,
and rode into the village holding in her hand the
kerchief she usually wore on her head, a circum
stance which, of itself, would have been enough
to attract attention, since uncovered heads were
rarely seen in the village. But, as the absence
of the kerchief revealed the fact that her heavy
plait had disappeared, leaving only a short,
stubby stump to show where it once" had been,
it was not many minutes before the whole vil
lage was exclaiming, “ Lucia’s hair has been
cut off 1”
Tho news had spread like wildfire even before
Lucia had reached her own door, and was
speedily confirmed, if confirmation was needed,
by the fearful outbursts of weeping and wailing
with which Mother Ceprano received her dis
figured daughter.
The old woman wrung her hands, tore her
hair, uttered maledictions, screamed and howl
ed go wildly that she was heard even in the
furthermost houses, and the whole population
speedily collected around tho house.
"Lucia had not yet dismounted, and there she
now sat on tho mule, looking perfectly calm
and collected, while the children danced round
her mocking and jerring, and the men and wo
men whispered and gazed in astonishment.
It must bo couiessed that the villagers’ first
feeling was one ot satisfaction in the proud
Lucia’s humiliation. But they quite expected
to see some young man appear waving the plait
in triumph, and when they found this did not
happen, their gratification gave way to wrath
and indignation against the unknown person
who had done the deed. The pride of the whole
community was hurt, and wild voices were
heard shouting, “ Whoever it was, he shall not
go unpunished 1 A girl ot our village—he has
insulte’d us all, every one—he shall make it
good or pay for it with his life 1” The men
doubled their fists and raised their arms, utter
ing savage threats and .imprecations as they
pressed round Lucia, who sat like a statue
watching the growing excitement and tumult
with intense interest.
“Who was it? who did it?” they shouted to
her from all sides. “Do you know him ? Who
has dared to insult you and all of us ? You must
say who it is!” were tho cries uttered in vari
ous tones by a hundred angry men and women.
“ He must marry you, he must, or he shall
die! Who was it? who?”
“ A man iu Palone,” answered Lucia in a clear
voice.
“ Palene ? he shall die it he won’t do his duty.
But what is his name ?”
“Don Ernano 1”
“What, he? a foreigner I tho light-haired
man ! the sportsman!” cried several voices.
“It’s all the same,” screamed others, “it’s
just tho same. It would make no difference if
be were a townsman—he shall die if he won’t
do you justice and restore you to honor; yes, he
shall die by our hands, cried all, old and young,
with angry, flashing eyes.
“He must give the village satisfaction at
once,” cried one who had taken the lead; “I
will go to him now. Take your knives, my
men, and say who’ll go with me ?”
“Ill!” cried at least twenty voices, and a
number of men separated from the rest and
started off at a rapid pace along the road to
Palene.
Lucia now dismounted, led the mule into his
stable and retreated to her dismal little room
out of her mother’s way. Here she sat down
quite exhausted on the only chair it contained
and drew a deep breath.
“ Now, no one can kill him for marrying me,
for they will make him,” she said sottly to her
self, “ and he won’t refuse. He likes me, I’m
sure of that now, and Pietro Antonio won’t dare
to touch him, for he would have the whole vil
lage against him.”
It was about an hour after all this commo
tion that the first of the Palenella peasants en
tered Don Ernano’s wine shop and called for a
tumbler of wine. In a few seconds more an
other came in, And theu a third, and before the
barber knew where he was, his room was filled
with peasants, all of whom carried knives in
their gay-colored sashes, and looked very
menacing.
Don Lugeno, though peaceably disposed, was
a brave man enough, but he could not help
feeling somewhat aghast on the present occa
sion, wr there was evideutly something strange
about his visitors,
“Don Ernano,” began the spokesman, “you
have cut off the plait of one of our girls—eh, is
it so ?”
“ Yes 1” returned the barber with some em
barrassment, but without the slightest sus
picion of what was meant, or what the question
boded.
“ Have you the plait ?”
“ Yes. 1 have.”
“ Then please to show it to us.”
The barber went and fetched it from the cup
board and held it up saying, “ Here it is.”
“You know the girl?” they inquired further.
“Yes, it is Lucia Ceprano; I have known her a
long time.
“ Good 1 Will you marry her ?” inquired tho
leader stepping up to the barber.
"Marry— Lucia Ceprano ?” exclaimed Don Er
nano, quite taken aback.
“ Will you ?” and a dozen large knives flashed
into tho air, while in an instant the men had
closed the entrance into the shop, and sur
rounded the terrified owner and driven him into
a corner.
“ Yes or no I” said they in suppressed tones.
Lugeno looked from one to the other and tried
to collect himself. He saw plainly enough that
it was no laughing matter, for the men were
looking at him with an expression of deadly
hatred in their eyes, and they looked so sullen
and determined that hofelt he had never before
been so immediately face to face with death. He
could hardly breathe, but he struggled to say;
“ Only tell mo ”
“Still, man,” whispered the ringleader; “no
shirking and no unnecessary words. Answer
me: Will you marry Lucia Ceprano of Palenella,
whose plait you have cut off, or not? Say you
will, now, this instant, without any humbug, or
in two minutes you are a dead man, as sure as
we all stand hero !”
A gleam of joy and relief came into Hon Er
nano’s eyes; he breathed more freely, and wip
ing his forehead, said, with a smile:
“Why, of course I will, my men, with all my
heart, it she will have me.”
“ She must 1” was the rejoinder, spoken in
tones of as much determination as* before.
• “ Then you swear, here before us, to marry
Lucia as soon as possible, at all events within
the month, and you will be married in our
church, by our priest ?”
“ I swear it,” said tho barber with great alac
rity.
“ That’s well, and you have acted wisely, mas
ter, let mo tell you, for you would not have left
your shop alive otherwise.”
Thereupon the men put up their knives, or
dered some wine, each separately drank to the
health of the still bewildered Don Ernano, bado
him a polite farewell, and returned to the vil
lage. The evening was not far advanced when
they reached Palenella, and going straight to
Mother Ceprano’s house they found her still la
menting and vituperating the rascal who had
done the evil deed, while Lucia was sitting con
tentedly at the table eating her supper with a
good appetite,
“ We have good news for you, Lucia,” cried a
dozen voices; “ he’ll marry you. He has sol
emnly sworn to marry you within the month.
You may be quite easy about it, for he will do
all that is right by you, and he will give us sat
isfaction. He is a clever man, much respected,
and as good as any ono in tho village.”
“ Thank you, my friends, I am quite satisfied.
You have done me a good turn, and I’ll never
forget it,” said Lucia, looking positively radiant
with happiness.
That night tho village was a long time in set
tling down to its usual state of quietness; for
the men felt they had achieved a grand victory
and could do no loss than celebrate it, little
guessing, of course, that they had been outwit
ted by a girl, and that so far from being the
victors they had actually been defeated, and
had had their own weapons turned against
them.
Meanwhile, in spite of her happiness, Lucia
was feeling a little uneasy as to the way in
which Don Lugeno might view her conduct, and
very early in the morning she was in the shop
again. So early was she, indeed, that he did
not hear her enter, as ho was busy with his cof
fee in the kitchen.
“Don Ernano,” began Lucia in a humble,
tremulous tone, “ can you forgive me ?”
The barber turned round like a flash of light
ning.
“Lucia! Lucia!” ho exclaimed joyously;
“but, my dear girl, do for mercy’s sake tell mo
what it all means. Is it true ? Am I really to
marry you ?”
“Do you mind very much, signor ? I thought
—I fancied—” said poor Lucia, trembling, and
panting for breath.
“Mind ! Ah, signorina, it is not that; lam
only too happy to think I am to have such a
dear, good, beautiful wife,” said Lugeno con
solingly, and his manner was so hearty as to
leave no room, for doubt as to his sincerity.
“ My dearest girl, don’t cry ; this happiness has
come upon me like a—like a thunderbolt.
You’re tho very wife I should have chosen
above all others ; but I don’t understand what
has happened, or how it has all como about.
Why, I have been forced to accept happiness
such as I dared not even dream of at the point
of twenty knives ! How is it, dear signorina ?
And why did you make me cut off your plait?”
Don Ernano spoke so kindly and pleasantly
that Lucia had soon dried her tears, and now
looking up at him with a beaming face, she
said:
“I will tell you all about it, Don Ernano.
You see I was obliged to do as I did, or you
could not have married me without incurring
tho vengeance of that wicked Pietro, who is
very angry at my refusing him. Now you are
under the protection of tho whole village, and
he will take good care not to come in your
way.”
Then Lucia wont on to tell her lover all tho
ins and outs of the affair, and how, after Pietro’s
attempt two nights ago, sho had made up her
mind to get him to cut off her hair rather than
let any one else do it.
“ And now will you forgive me ?” sho asked
in a gentlo, shame-faced tone.
“ Forgive ! 11l thank you with all my heart,
you dear, brave, clever girl. I declare you are
wiser and cleverer than the wisest lawyer,” and
drawing the tall, handsome village maiden to
him, he gave her a long kiss, which was cor
dially returned.
“ What a pity about your beautiful hair ! I
wish it were grown again,” said he, tenderly
stroking his bride’s close-cropped head.
“ Well, you are a hair-dresser, so you must
see what you can do,” said Lucia; “ but I have
made a good exchange. Where is the girl who
would not sacrifice the finest head of hair for a
good husband, especially,” she added ehyly,
“when the lover himself cut it off?”
While Lucia and Don Ernano were thus pleas
antly engaged, there had been a great disturb
ance at Palenella. Pietro Antonio, having just
heard all that had happened, had hurried to the
village in a furious passion. First he poured
out his wrath on the peasants for their stupid
ity, and then tried to set them against the
barber, whom ho had always hated, and now,
of course, detested more than ever. He told
the peasants that he was a crafty rascal, that he
and tho girl understood one [another, and had
acted in concert, and that ho only wanted her
money.
But he soon found that this would not do.
The villagers bad no mind to be robbod of their
triumph, and were quito certain they under
stood the matter better than he did, and they
used such forcible arguments to convince Pie
tro of the justice of their views that he retired
to his bed for a fortnight, and after that not
only gave Palenella a very wide berth, but soon
left the district and went to Naples.
Mother Ceprano behaved in a most amiable
and polite manner to her future son-in-law,
who, by Lucia’s advice, determined to let the
little property at Palenella, and allow his
mother-in-law the rent of it for her life. Also
he made up his mind to sell his business in Pa
lene, and have a nice barber shop and cafe in
Rome, where he and Lucia would do their ut
most to please their customers.
Three weeks later the marriage was cele
brated with much firing of guns and rockets in
the presence not only of the whole village, but
of most of the inhabitants of the town of Palene,
and there was every reason to hope that it would
prove a happy one, in spite of the strange way
in which bride and bridegroom had been
brought together.
"“TIM.”
Bl’ 11. QILAD.
They said the train was an hour behind time,
and that information made us all feel put out
and annoyed. Therefore, when a boy of about
fourteen, poorly dressed, and having a traiiip
ish look, came’along the platform asking lor
financial aid to get him down to R on the
train wa were waiting for, it was but natural
that one and all replied :
“If you want to go to R—take tho dirt
road 1 You look as if you were used to tramp
ing 1”
Ho had no saucy word in reply. When he
went and stood in the light of the window, and
I saw how ho shivered in the cold wind, and
how worried and anxious he seemed to be, I
grew ashamed of my gruff words. I saw two
or three others look him over as I had done,
and I had no doubt that they felt as I did. I
ought to have walked up £ to tho boy and said :
“ Here, my lad, if you really want to go down
to R , I’m willing to help you. Take this
half-dollar. How happens it that a lad of your
age is cold, ragged, hungry, and away from
home and friends ?”
But I didn’t. I edged toward him, ashamed,
and yet not quite ready to acknowledge it to
him, and all of a sudden ho disappeared. I
reasoned that he had gone up the hill to the vil
lage, and that his pretending to want to go to
R was all a trick to beat honest men. When
you reason that way the heart grows hard
pretty fast and you feel a bit revengeful. Wo (
talked the matter over—four or five of us—and
the conclusion was that the boy would die on
the gallows.
Well, the train came along after awhile, and it
was moving away, after a brief stop, when a
piercing shriek, followed by shouts and calls,
brought us to a stop.
“ Homebody’s been run over 1” called a voice,
and in a foment the coaches were emptied.
Yes, somebody had been run over—had a leg
cut off above the knee by one of the cruel
wheels. Who was it ? How did it happen ? It
was our boy—the lad who was to end his days
on the gallows. He had crept under the coach
to steal a ride ou the trucks. There he was,
having only a few minutes to live—his taco as
white as the snow-banks—his eyes roving from
face to face—his lips quivering as twenty men
bent down and spoke words of sympathy,
“ Who are you?” asked the conductor.
“ Tim 1”
“You shouldn’t have tried it.”
“ But I wanted to get to R so bad. I was
up here to find work, but nobody would have
me, and yesterday I heard that mother was
dead 1”
“ But anybody would have given you sixty
cents to pay your fare.”
“ Oh, no, they wouldn’t. 1 asked lots and
lots of men, and they said I ought to be iu jail.
I—l—wanted ”
There we were—the half dozen of us who had
repelled him with insult—wrung his young
heart still more—sent him to his horrible death
under the wheels 1 We dared not look into his
face—we even.£hunned each other.
If it could only come to pass again —if Heaven
would but send him back to earth and let him
stand before us as he did that Winter’s night—
but it is too late I
Sb a Hoss fob Food. —Says the Phila
delphia Times: Porpoise fishing promises to be
come one of the principal industries on the New
Jersey coast. The experiment made last Fall
at Cape May proved so successful in a financial
way that the facilities of the company there will
be greatly increased, and other porpoise fisher
ies will be established in both Cape May and At
lantic counties. At first they were caught for
the skin and blubber alone, the carcasses being
thrown away, or in a few instances used as fer
tilizers. From the blubber is extracted a very
fine oil, while the skin makes a superior quality
of leather. Some time last Fall, however, it was
discovered that porpoise flesh was savory to the
taste, and it soon became popular as an article
of food and was in great demand. The juicy
red meat, which is taken from beneath a layer
of fat next to the skin, is pronounced by epi
cures to be more palatable than any porterhouse
steak ever cooked. In appearance it resembles
beef, but is'more solid and ot finer grain and
very tender. Some say that it tastes like veni
son, and that there is nothing of the fishy taste
about it. For the first time it will bo on the bill
of fare at the leading hotels along the coast the
coming season, and will no doubt prove accept
able as a substitute for the inevitable fish. In
addition to this much of it will be dried and
placed upon the market. It is superior to dried
beef, as in this state it retains all of its sweet
ness and is still as tender as when fresh. The
porpoises weigh from three hundred to four hun
dred pounds, and are caught in a seine, which is
necessarily large and cumbersome, as the fish
are very powerful when they are in the water.
Last year a seine about 1,000 yards long, with a
net reaching almost to the bottom of the sea,was
used, but it was seldom that more than half a
dozen fish were taken in a haul. Improved
seines will be used this season, some of'which
are now in course of construction and which
will be patented. Each porpoise was estimated
to be worth 820 per head when nothing but the
bluddor and skin were utilized, but now that
the flesh is in demand, and an extra fine oil is
extracted from the head, it is said that they will
be worth more than double that amount.
A Ghastly Experiment. —A peculiar
ly ghastly experiment in furtherance of the ends
of justice has been performed in Paris. A chem
ist named Eel is charged with having murdered
his female servant, who mysteriously disap
peared some months ago, and disposed of her
body by burning it in a stove. Ho says that the
stove in question is much too small to be put to
such a purpose. To prove that it is not so, the
prosecution, having had a fac-simile made of
the stove, asked lor and obtained an order from
a Juge d’lnstruction, which was sanctioned by
the Prefect of Police, lor a dead body from one
of the hospitals. In possession ot this corpse,
they proceeded to cut it up into pieces, and fed
the stove, which they had lighted, with the frag
ments. The result, so far as it went, was in con
firmation of the theory of the prosecution. In
a surprisingly short time the whole body was
consumed, and nothing remained but a few
ashes. It is obvious, however, that the proof
thus afforded of the possibility ot the disposal
of a body in the manner alleged by the prosecu
tion,can only be material if the positive links in
the chain of circumstantial evidence against the
prisoner are all ot them thoroughly strong.
Sdebping-Dba-ughts. —A word about
sedatives, or sleeping-draughts. It is impossi
ble to speak too strongly against the habitual
use of these. They should never be taken with
out a doctor’s orders. Chloral, though not pro
ducing the ill effects which follow opium, is de
pressing. One or two teaspoonfuls of the syrup
is the dose for an adult. “Chloral drinking”
is a fearful evil, against which none can keep
too sedulous a guard. Of bromide of potassi
um, five to twenty grains is the ordinary adult
dose. It is a powerful sedative to the nervous
system, but should never be used as a habit, for,
beside other evils, it leads to an eruption of the
skin. Laudanum is the preparation of opium
most employed by the public. Children are ex
ceedingly sensitive to it. One drop ot lauda
num has killed an Infant. It should never be
taken without a doctor’s prescription. Dover’s
powder, a ten-grain dose for an adult, is useful
in checking a cold. Every ton grains of this
powder contains bne grain of opium. Therefore
it should be used with great caution. We warn
mothers against all manners of syrups for their
babies, unless such are ordered by the doctor.
A Dt-.olij Incident. —A droll incident,
says the London Atheneum, occurred the other
day at Scotland Yard. Mr. Charles Gibbon, the
novelist, has a friend there who Is an inspector
of the detective department, and to whom he is
indebted for valuable instruction in the details
of criminal procedure. In recognition of this
service he forwarded to his friend a copy of the
book just published, entitled “ A Hard Knot,”
one of the principal characters in which is a de
tective. The parcel was done up in brown pa
per and delivered late in the evening by the
Parcels Delivery Company. This was the in
formation forwarded to Mr. Gibbon on the fol
lowing day: “ Inspector was on duty here
last night, and it is usual for the officer to turn
in about 11:30 P. M. But having received the
parcel, he informed me this morning that he
was unable to sleep—wondering if it contained,
dynamite and every minute was to be his last.
Alter turning over and over in bed, he at
length got up and examined his bugbear care
fully. Then seeing your name on it he felt sat
isfied, went to bed, and slept.”
An EccßNTitio Countess. —The latest
Parisian sensation is caused by the forthcoming
memoirs of the Comtesse de Al
though now fifty years old, she continues to
lead a most eccentric existence and absolutely
shuns the public gaze. The blinds of her apart
ment are continually closed. She never goes
out except in a brougham, with carefully-drawn
curtains. Whenever she goes to the theatre she
sits concealed in a back scat of a proscenium
box. She wears at least ten different dresses
daily. Iler hair, although a golden cloud, like
Titian’s Venus, in the morning, is often jet
black at night; its tints varying in the course of
twelve hours as frequently as the colors ot the
chameleon. She has a passion for diamonds,
wearing them on her dress, in her hair, on her
slippers, and round her ankles. In the days of
her glory the Comtesse de Castiglione was' the
perfection of statuesque beauty.
'*•
A Useful Disguise.— At a fancy ball
given in Russ’a, a footman conceived the idea
of hiring a “black domino,” and thus disguised
easily gained admittance to the ball-room. Per
ceiving in an ante-room a well-spread supper
table, he decided on helping himself, and made
a good square meal. This achieved, he rejoined
his fellow servant, the coachman, and handing
him the “ domino ” advised him to go and do
likewise. The coachman in his turn passed the
dress on to his pals, all of whom had a good
time. Later on the host, inquiring of one ot the
attendants if the guests were availing them
selves of the good things offered, was informed
‘\thata certain black domino had a most vo
racious appetite; ho had already disposed of
four truffled turkeys, three ribs of beef, three
dozen of champagne/and six bottle of brandy,”
and then looking toward the door he exclaimed,
“Why, here he comes again 1”
Bird Migration. —The direction ta
ken by the flocks of passerine birds in Spring is
from east to west along the entire east coast ot
England and Scotland, with a noticeable in
clinat on from the southeast and south. In
1879 the main body of immigrants crossed over
at the southernmost station, where the North
Sea is narrowest; in 1880 they arrived upon the
midland and southeastern portions oi the coast.
The direction of the migrants passing south
ward in Autumn was along the coast line from
north to south. The period occupied in mi
grating by any given species vanes, and often
extends over several weeks, or even months.
Migrants, in fact, seem to 4 be crossing the North
Sea all the year rohnd, and no sooner does the
ebb of the Autumn migration cease than the
flood sets in, and birds begin to pass north
ward again.
Great Britain’s Passionate Years.—
Tho Chinese at one time measured the irritable
feelings of the people of this country (says an
English exchange) by the quantity of china
broken in a year. A Chinese historian observes,
“Tho merchants of Canton make the sale oi
their brittle ware the barometer of European
passions, and as often as the sale augments tlmv
say, ‘ The last year has been a passionate
in England.’ ” China is not now imported to
the extent it was some years ago; English man
ufactured articles have superseded the use of
the brittle ware of Asia, and the wise men of
tlie Celestial Empire now say that Englishmen
have subdued all their anger, that they have no
matrimonial strife, and therefore seldom break
cups and saucers.
Take it
during the spring and summer months.
The peculiar taint of scrofula lurks in the
constitutions of multitudes of men, but
can be expelled by the use of Ayer’s
Sarsaparilla. M. J. Conway, 337 Hicks
st., Brooklyn, N. Y., writes: “ Two years
ago I was examined, at the Long Island
Hospital, in this city, and my case was
declared to be Salt Rheum. Large scales
covered my legs, and were constantly
dropping off; my eyes, also, were badly
affected. My only relief was in warm salt
water baths. I was unable to remain in a
warm room, and could only sleep under
very light bed-clothes, as the heat increased
the burning and itching. The use of
Ayer’s Sar
saparilla gave me great relief. The itch
ing-, abated, and I continued to improve
until the cure was complete.”
Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Ifaes., U. S. A.
For sale by all Druggists. Price $1 j six bottles for
Nbw Gbottoes.— The Fish River Caves
near Sydney, in Australia, are among the most
remarkable limestone grottoes in the world, and
take rank with the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky,
and the Luray Cavern in Virginia. The Fish*
River Caves, which have been recently ex
plored, are remarkable for a kind of filigree
glass-work and stalactic drapery, which hanga
like arras from the walls and roofs. In one part
of the cave a pond of clear water was found,
“its bottom glistening with pearls and other:
concretionary forms like nodules, marbles,,
birds’ eggs, etc., .interspered with patches of '
diminutive coral forms.” In the Shawl Cave*
there are curtains from ten to twenty feet long,
some nearly white, others beautifully striped',
with pink, yellow, and brown. A fresh grotto
has also been discovered quite recently at Dor
gali, in Sardinia. The grotto commences with
a large hall with sixteen columns rising from
the alabaster floor, and apparently sustaining:
the pure white roof, which is wreathed and fes
tooned with flowers and figures of animals in
limestone. The most wonderful thing in th©'
hall was, however, the petrified skeleton of a
majestic stag, which was partly destroyed by
visitors, and the spine of which has been sent
entire to a professor of natural history in Cag
liari. The grotto consists of six other latg©.’
chambers full of natural curiosities.
Rapidity of Thought.—Prof. Bon
ders, of Utrecht, recently made some interest
ing experiments in regard to the rapidity of
thought. By means of two instruments, which
he calls the noematachograph and tho noernat
achometer, he promises some interesting and;
important results. For the present, he writes' 1
that a single idea requires the brain to act .067
of a second tor its elaboration. Doubtless th©
time required is not the same for all brains, ancL
that, by means of these instruments, wo may”
obtain definite indications relative to the mental
calibre of our friends. What invaluable instru
ments they would be for nominating caucuses
for officers, for trustees of colleges, for mer
chants in want of bookkeepers, for manufactur
ers needing machinists and expert assistants—
in short, for all having appointments of any
kind to make.
For the eye to receive an impression requires
.077 of a second, and for the ear to appreciate s-h
sound, .149 of a second are necessary. The eye^,
therefore, acts with nearly double the rapidity* -
of the ear.
The Paradise of Skaters. —Holland
is the paradise of skaters, its highways being
canals which are covered with ice nearly half
the year. The ladies there go shopping on
skates, boys skate to and from school, oldel
members of the family go to church on skates;
the postman delivers his letters and the doctoa
visits his patients on them, and even the solemn
pastor moyes on skates when ho visits his pa
rishioners. Dairymaids skate to town with full
pails of milk, of which not a drop is spilled, and.
farmers’ daughters skate to villages with a full
basket of eggs in each hand. During tho Span
ish invasion several victories were won by th©*
native soldiers who, on skates, suddenly moved
on th© forces of Alva, and as quietly retired to
their own camp. For a period of more than.:-
four hundred years the soldiers have been
trained to perform evolutions on skates.
Florida Saurians. —Some interesting;
discoveries have been made in Florida by Prof..
Lawrence Johnson, of the United States Geolo
gical Survey. Just south of Aluchua county
line he found several specimens and skeletons •
of animals which relatively belong to a not far '*
distant period. In piles, and somewhat mixed.,.
there were the remains of a mastodon, two or
three specimens of the rhinoceros, a large stag,
a camel, fully as large as the Arabian camel,
but in structure more allied to the llama; also
a tapir, very much like the South American
tapir, which lives in swampy places ; two teeth
of some carnivorous animal allied to the tiger
and panther; one set of teeth and bones of ft.-
hippopotamus ; several crocodiles or alligators,
and innumerable other bones-not identified.
Apparently, the territory south of Alachua was
at some time a large fresh-water lake.
A Simple “ Magic Mirror. —Tho magi©
mirror of Japan is a metal mirror which, on be
ing looked into, discovers in a quasi-magical
kind of way the presence of figures and mottoes,
though all the surface appears equally bright.
Various theories have been advanced to account
for them, but the latest is that the figures ar©
duo to a difference of density in the metal,
caused by hammering. Thus Dr. Muraoka, oj
Tokio, recently took a half-crown piece and
rubbed down one surface till it was smooth and •
polished. The reflection of a strong light from
it on a white paper screen then showed the onto
line of the figure on the other side of the coin.
The real magic mirrors of Japan also have on
the back the figures and mottoes that are seen
on the face.
Ravelli and His Oracle. —ltalian
tenors are exceedingly curious. Maplesoi!
relates an experience with Ravelli that is
very amusing. They were visiting Niagara.
Ravelli, fearing he would have no lunch there a
put a bologna sausage in his tail pocket. He
did not require to produce it, and so he left it
there. Going homeward, a hungry dog smelled
the bologna and followed it. Ravelli saw the
hand of Providence, and took tho dog literally
to his bosom, keeping it with him always after. '
To this dog he appealed on every subject. Re
looked at the dog: “Do I sing to-night?” If
the dog barked, he sang; if tho dog didn’t, he
didn’t, and the animal became his oracle.
A Billiard Star.— One of the rising
stars of the billiard world is now Billy Catton,
and his start was rather curious. He was a
newsboy on the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy
road, and handled a cue at every chance. On©
day at Salva, 111., when both penniless and
barefooted, he stole into a billiard saloon to get
warm. There he picked up an idle cue, and a
bystander, seeing evidences of skill, offered to
back tho little ragamuffin against a friend who
posed as an expert. Catton won, and, receiving
the stakes—ss—clothed and shod himself anj' ;
took to the billiard world permanently, where
he prospers.
A Building of Glass. —A queer build
ing is in process of erection in Chicago by a
Boston man. The walls will be of plate glass,
and there will bo very little material in th©
whole structure except glass, cement, and red
slate. The building is to be used for offices,
and it is calculated that 75 percent, of the entire
space can be made available, whereas so mueh
room is taken up in ordinary buildings by
walls, halls, etc., that the available space is
only from 42 to 54% per cent. The walls of the
new edifice will contain about 370 lineal feet oi
glass.
Arbor Day in Kansas. —The Governor
of Kansas makes two important statements in
. his proclamation for an Arbor Day. He says
that “the State which the pioneers found tree
less” and a desert now bears upon its fertile
bosom “more than 20,000,000 of fruit trees and
more than 200,000 acres of forest trees, all plant
ed by our own people.” And the Governor also
says: “That there has been an increase in the
rainfall in Kansas is fully proved by the statis
tics of our oldest meteorologists.”
A Test for Petroleum. —Herr Mon
tag, a German chemist, gives the following sim
ple test for ascertaing whether a sample of pe
troleum is sufficiently volatile to be dangerous*
Fill a glass three-parts full with tho petroleum
to be tested, and fill up the glass with boiling
water, at the same time holding a flame over it.
If the vapor disengaged becomes ignited, the
petroleum should not be considered a safe
liquid to leave exposed to the air.
The Fate of Emperors. —A French
statistician has discovered that up to the pres
ent time 2,540 emperors and kings have governed
sixty-four nations. Out of this number 300 have
been driven from their thrones, C 4 have abdi
cated, 24 have committed suicide, 1$ have be
come insane, 100 fell in battle, 123 were cap
tured, 25 died martyrs, 151 have been assassin
ated, and 108 have been condemned to death
and executed according to law.
Mullein for Consumption. —Says the
Scientific American: According to somo’of our
medical journals the use of mullein as a pallia
tive for the cough of phthisis seems to be meet
ing with favor in various quarters. The cus
tomary form of administration has been a mild
decoction of the plant. More recently the smok
ing of the leaves Jias been recommended as a
more agreeable and effective method of admin
istration.
On ono occasion a friend of Lord Al
venly came for advice under the following circum--
stances: ••Mr. has threatened to kick me when-
ever he sees me in society. What am I to do if he
comes into the room?” “Sit down,” replied big
This Month
is the time to take Ayer’s Sarsaparilla.
A. F. Willard, Rogers’ building, Boston,
Mass., says: “I know of no remedy of
equal efficacy with Ayer’s Sarsaparilla in.
cases of debility, and as a spring medi
cine.” Rich’d H. Lawrence, M. D., Balti
more. Md., writes t “It affords me pleasure
to testify to the success which Ayer’if
Sarsaparilla has had in the treatment of
cutaneous and other diseases, arising from
a vitiated condition of the blood. Were it.
ngeessary, I might give you the names of
fifty individuals who have been cured of
long-standing complaints, by the use of
Ayer’s Sarsaparilla. It is a specific.for
the most obstinate cases. Ayer’s Sar-_. ''
saparilla
is, without exception, the best blood puri
fier and prophylactic with which I am
acquainted.”