New York dispatch. [volume], June 28, 1885, Page 2, Image 2

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

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2
pers, for, although he did not actually love her,
ehe had been as nearly his ideal as any one he
had hitherto met, and he bad been content to
hover around her, to pay her those little name
less attentions so natural to a man of fashion,
to whisper soft little sentences which might
mean so little or so much. And, truth to tell,
there was a great deal that was loveable and
worthy of esteem in Geraldine Mainwaring.
Her features wore regular, her hair dark as the
raven’s wing, her complexion that of a brunette,
her brown eyes large and piercing, yet she just
fell short of being a beauty. Mr. Mainwaring
had been an American financier, and had wed
ded pretty fragile Grace Braithwaite, Sir Ralph’s
only sister, when quite a girl. She had died
when Geraldine was fifteen. Since then Geral
dine had been at a Continental boarding-school.
Mr. Mainwaring had been killed in a railway
accident a tew months before, and then Geral
dine had found herself thrown upon the world,
an orphan and the possessor of a largo fortune.
If Harry Braithwaite entertained no warmer
feeling for her than cousinly regard, it was dif
ferent with the girl. Even in those early days
when her father was either too greatly absorbed
in his speculations, or he found the journey
across the Atlantic too long to spare the time to
visit his daughter, and she had been accus
tomed to spend her holidays at Braithwaite
Hall, Harry had been the object of her passion
ate attachment. With her elder cousin, Percy,
she was shy and reserved, which might, per
haps, be accounted for by the fact of his being
several years her senior. Harry’s regiment had
been quartered in Ireland for some time, so it
happened that the cousins had not met for sev
eral years, Geraldine having been on a visit to
some of her father s relatives when Harry had
been on furlough.
It was during that long Summer that Captain
Braithwaite, deprived of his cousin’s presence,
and finding the time hang heavily on his hands
at the Hall, had made the acquaintance of pretty
Dolly Jarvis. Accustomed as he was to the
society of fashionable belles, he had all the
more readily fallen a victim to the bow and
epear of the unsophisticated rustic beauty, with
her childish simplicity, quaint artistic tastes,
and naive manner. He had not dreamed that
she would attach any serious importance to the
honeyed speeches which fell so naturally from
his lips when he was talking to a pretty girl. He
had forgotten that what was merely a pastime to
him might be attended with danger to Dolly—
still less did any thought of Geraldine ever
arise to make him desist from his harmless
flirtation, as he called it in bis own mind.
And then one day there had come the un
welcome knowledge that his difficulties were
becoming so great that he must do something
to extricate himself, that he must rouse himself
from the easy dolcefar niente state of existence
Into which he had been drifting, if he would
avoid ruin and disgrace; and with that knowl
edge came another. Dolly Jarvis loved him
with all the intensity of "her simple childish
-heart, loved him with all the purity and depth
of a first love, while he—well, he loved her
after his own careless selfish fashion.
To his mother, in a sudden fit of confidence
one day, Captain Braithwaite bemoaned the
tangled mesh in which his affairs were in
volved, and received from her the warmest
sympathy; but she could only declare her ina
j.bility to help him except by giving him the
same advice that he received later from his
father.
“ Why don’t you marry, my boy,” she said—
some one with money, of course ? That
would be the easiest and most pleasant way
out of your difficulties. You can hardly expect
■your lather to do any more for you. He has
tpaid your debts so often that I really don’t see
liew it is to end, unless you will follow my
counsel. There is Geraldine coming on a visit
next week. You used to be very fond of each
other, and she has a nice little fortune—enough
'for you both to live on comfortably; at any rate,
it is worth thinking about.”
And, being an astute woman, Lady Braith
waite said no more, certain that her words
would be more likely to bring forth fruit if they
’were lelt to take root of their own accord. And
fOaptain Braithwaite did think of it; and, not
Vbeing quite heartless, and experience having
taught him the advisability of being off with
the old love before he was on with the new, he
thought he would break off his acquaintance-
Bhip with Dolly Jarvis before the arrival of his
cousin to avoid any complications that might
otherwise arise; or, at any rate, he would deli
cately hint to the blacksmith s daughter upon
what footing they must meet in the future. So
he had planned the interview in the pine-wood
now more than a week ago, and, in a moment
of weakness, he had, instead of loosening his
chains, but riveted them more tightly.
Since then he had bitterly regretted his con
duct, for he had come to the conclusion that,
though Geraldine was not perhaps quite the
style of girl he would have chosen, she would
fnake him a most desirable wife. And, on this
day, as he cantered down the avenue of chest-
Eiuts, ho determined to put all thoughts of Dol
y Jarvis out of his mind. She would probably
tear of his engagement to his cousin soon
enough; and then, if he chanced to see her, he
pould explain all to her. She would be a little
sorry at first, of course; but then she would
see things from his point of view and be rea
sonable. In his own heart however he ques
tioned Doily’s “ reasonableness,” having an
uncomfortable recollection of the scene in the
pine-wood.
Geraldine Mainwaring noticed her cousin’s
abstraction, and regarded him a little curiously
from time to time, though she made no effort to
break the silence into which they had fallen.
But presently, when they pulled up alter a brisk
canter along a wide-spreading common, Captain
JJraithwaito spoke.
i “ Geraldine,” he said suddenly, without any
preamble, “do you think you could ever care
lor mo enough to be my wife? I know I am a
poor match for you ; but we have in a manner
grown up together, and—and it you will intrust
yourself to me, no effort shall be wanting on my
part to make you happy.”
It was not a very ardent wooing, but to the
girl who loved him no suspicion as to the mo
tive which prompted the proposal ever occurred
to her; no doubt as to the genuineness of his
attachment shook her faith in him; true and loyal
herself, she mistook the false ring of the baser
Knetal for pure gold. She did not see the ex
pression in his eyes, for her own were down
cast, and a warmer tint than usual had spread
over her clear olive cheeks. It was just the bit
of coloring needed, and Captain Braithwaite
thought that he had never seen bis cousin look
BO nearly beautiful, and with the thought came
U strange feeling of compunction. Dolly Jarvis
tvas not the only one to whom he was acting un
tairlv. His next words, however, gave no sign
bf wavering in his purpose.
“You will not keep mo in suspense, Geral
dine,” ho urged eagerly as she did not speak—
you will give me my answer now ?”
Then the dark, luminous eyes were raised to
his, and in their clear depths he read all he
fished even before she uttered the words.
“ You must have known, Harry, that—that I
have always cared for you, ever since we were
little children together,” she said, in a low
voice.
“And you will give yourself to me?” he
naked.
“Yes,” she answered softly.
He had come close to her, and, leaning for
ward now, he stretched out his hand and took
hers, which held her bridle, giving it a gentle
pressure. His head was bent, and in another
moment his lips would have touched the trem
bling fingers, but in that instant his horse
swerved, and he had some difficulty in preserv
ing his seat.
Looking round to ascertain the cause of Fire
fly’s unusual manifestation of temper, he per
ceived, with a guilty start, a little figure clad in
A crimson skirt and close-fitting hood, from be
neath which a pair of wild-looking eyes flashed
Burpnse and-pain. It was only a fleeting glance
Jfio caught, for Dolly, who had just emerged
from the path leading down Oliver’s*Mount,
crossed the road, and was immediately lost to
View in the dark depths of the pine wood.
Captain Braithwaite, for no reason but that of
an accusing conscience, devoutly hoped that
the girl’s brief presence bad not been remarked
•by his companion, but he was not left long in
(doubt on the subject.
“ What a lovely face, Harry, and what a quaint
little figure! Who is she?” Geraldine cried,
quite enthusiastically. “ I don’t recollect hav
ing seen her before.”
“No ?” answered Harry, carelessly. “She is
Hot bad-looking for a rustic, is she ?”
“ She is beautiful—simply lovely I” repeated
Geraldine, who might have wondered, perhaps,
at her cousin’s manner, his assumed indiffer
ence was so transparent, had not her own hap
piness rendered her oblivious of it. “ And you
Go not know her name ? •
“ I may have heard it,” Harry returned, eva-
Bively; “but one doesn’t keep a noto of the
names and addresses of all the village girls, as
» rule.”
“Of course not,” laughed Geraldine. “ Only
this one is so unusually good-looking—indeed,
so remarkable altogether—that it would only
be natural to indulge one’s curiosity concerning
fcer.”
“ You forget that it is a trait peculiar to your
Own sex,” Captain Braithwaite said, with a
Bhrug, and then, anxious to change the sub
ject, he added: “You will let me tell them my
good news at home without delay—and, Ger
aldine, you will not keep me long without my
trite ?”
He spoke with feverish impatience that might
have blinded a more worldly woman than the
6irl by his side. Again the swift rose tint dyed
er cheeks.
“ Yes, you may tell my uncle and aunt; but
these are early days to think of—of marriage.”
“ I know what you mean,” Captain Braith
waite rejoined, “ and I respect your scruples.
oßut, Geraldine, forgive me—you knew so little
©f your father that your marriage following so
jgoon on his death could not be considered any
to his memory. I shall be joining
tny regiment soon, and the chances are that we
Jnay be ordered on foreign service, and
Mhen ”
“ Oh, Harry, I hope not! You must leave
the army at once,” his cousin broke in, impet-
dear Geraldine, I think you know—l
|have made no secret of my affairs —I am a poor
®nan, and I cannot afford to live in idleness for
&n indefinite period.”
“ But I am rich,” cried ths girl, impulsively;
!*‘and there will be no need for you to remain in
tithe army—or, in fact, to do anything that you
'.do not like—when we are married.”
“ But untiljthen,” Captain Braithwaite began,
-touched, in spite oi himself, by Geraldine’s gen
erosity and unbounded confidence in himself.
“ Until then,” declared his lady-love, bright
ly, “ you must remain at the Hall and go on
living as you are doing now.”
Xhe captain saw then that the game was won.
“On the condition,” he answered—“ that you
fix our wedding day early in the ensuing year.”
And, after a little further argument, this was
agreed to.
When, half an hour later, Harry assisted his
> cousin to alight, he bent his handsome head
and sealed their compact with a kiss - the first
and—how little she guessed!—the last she
should ever receive from the lips of her be
trothed.
With a light heart and in a flutter of excite
ment and happiness, Geraldine passed through
the hall and up the great oak staircase to her
own room, where she indulged in self-congrat
ulation over her good fortune, and it was not
until afterward, in the midst of those dark days
that followed, that she remembered that
throughout the memorable ride, though Cap
tain Braithwaite had asked her, and she had
consented to be his wife, he had never once told
her that he loved her.
CHAPTER IV.
“ THIS DOLLY COULD DO NO HARM.”
“ Well, and how goes it with you, Joe ? It’s
long since I saw you, lad. What’s been doing
these days past?”
The question was put by Adam Jarvis, the
blacksmith, as he teok from the hands of the
•young gardener an implement upon which his
skill was required and examined it critically.
“ Oh, I’m getting on all right, gov’nor. May
be you’ve heard I’ve got a place as under-gar
dener at the Hall.”
“ No, I hadn’t heard; but I’m none the less
glad now. You’re a steady lad—that’s what I
always say to my Dolly: ‘Joe’s a steady lad—
none o’ your skulkers 'or hangers-on at the
Gray Parrot—and, mark my words, he’ll suc
ceed in life.’ ”
“I’m sure it’s very kind of you to speak up
for me in that way,” Joe said, rather shame
facedly; then, after a pause, “And how is
Dolly ?”
“Right as a trivet—grows prettier every
day I” declared the blacksmith, with parental
pride. “But why don’t you come in of an even
ing sometimes to see for yourself? Dolly’d be
glad to see you, I knqjv,” he added, with a
knowing wink.
“Do you think so ?” Joe queried, eagerly;
then he went on in a dogged tone: “ No, it's no
use; she’s flying at higher game, and ’ud only
turn up her pretty nose at me.”
“ Nonsense 1 Dolly knows better’n to turn up
her nose at old friends, and as for ’igher game,
I don’t know what you mean.”
Joe stared at the blacksmith open-mouthed.
Was it possible that he did not know what was
the common village gossip, that Dolly Jarvis
spent nearly all her evenings in the company of
young Braithwaite ?
“ It’s a pity, and I think mysel’ Dolly’s a fool
for her pains,” the young gardener continued,
as if speaking to himself—“ for of course the
fellow’ll never marry her, and ”
“Zounds! What d’ye mean, talking of my
gal like that, sirrah ?” cried Adam, in sudden
wrath. “I’d have you know that my Dolly
doesn’t need to go down on her knees to get a
husband. Who’ll never marry her? I’d like
to know what you mean by your confounded
impudence. Not marry her, indeed ! I’d like
to see the man who’d make a fool of my lass !”
“ Well, you’ve no call to turn up so rough,”
retorted Joo, sulkily. “It’s in ev’rybody’s
mouth, and it’s what they all say—he’s only
playing fast and loose with her—else what’s this
about the grand wedding there’s to be at the
Hall in the Spring ?”
“ Grand wedding ! Hall!” repeated Adam,
taking off his red cap and running his hand
through his iron-gray locks in a perplexed man
ner. “ Are you daft, lad ? What are you talk
ing about ?”
“ Oh, you haven’t, maybe, heard that either ?”
the younger man rejoined, sarcastically. “No
one’s told you that Captain Braithwaite is to be
married to his cousin in a few months ?”
“Oh, yes, to be sure!” Adam said, quietly,
recovering. “ It’s an old affair, isn’t it? Noth
ing surprising in that 1 I mind how they used
to call them the little sweethearts when they
were children.”
“ Oh, you do I Then, after all, even you can’t
think much of Dolly’s chances.”
Dolly’s chances ! What was he driving at ?
Even yet Adam did not take in the other’s
moaning.
“I tell you what it is, gov’nor,” cried Joe,
flinging prudence to the winds. “ It’s a crying
shame that I’ve been treated as I have been.
No one can deny but that Dolly was sweet on
me once. And I—well, I loved her—madly.
You know you seemed to encourage me, too,
and I took it for granted all was fair and square
between us. Oh, I’ll make a clean breast of it,”
he went on, excitedly. “And then one day,
when I—l wanted to kiss her, she—she just up
with her hand and—and boxed my ears.” Joe
rubbed these organs ruefully as if "he could still
feel the smart of the little fingers. “ ‘ And,’
says she, as cool-like as we’d been the greatest
strangers, ‘ I’ll thank you, Joo Smith, to con
duct yourself properly when you’re with me,’
and then she flounced off. I was awful vexed,
you may be sure; and, whan I came to reflect
on the matter, I decided there must be some
one else.”
“Some one else 1” repeated Adam, abstract
edly.
“Yes, some other fellow she cared more
about—don’t you see?” Joe explained, rather
impatiently. “ And so I se’t myself to work to
find out who it could be. At first I thought
’twas Tom Larkins—oh, you needn’t shake your
head so wisely .’—but I was wrong. She didn’t
care a fig for him, no more than for me : but,
my eye, I was surprised when I found out ’twas
the Captain !”
The ruddy hue on the face had
gradually changed to a sickly yellow, as seen
by the fitful glare of the forge during Joe’s re
cital. When the other paused, he was livid
with rage.
“ The—Captain !” was all he said, and from
the quiet tone Joe never guessed at the work
ings in the man’s heart.
“ Yes,” he repeated, “ Captain Braithwaite—
him as is going to marry his cousin. It is hardly
likely, with all his courting of Dolly, he’ll throw
the other over for her,” he added, vindictively.
“Oh !!
For Adam had taken a step forward, and his
brawny hand clutched the lad’s throat with a
grip that threatened strangulation.
“Liar,” he shouted, hoarsely; “ base-hearted
villain ! I’ve a good mind to choke all the
breath out of your vile body.”
Already Joe was growing black in the face,
when with a final shake, the blacksmith flung
him from him.
“I’ll teach you to come here prating to me
about my girl, because, forsooth, she showed
her sense by not having anything to do with a
skulking hound like you !”
Joe, who had come into contact with the op
posite wall, and had fallen prone upon the earth,
raised himself with some little difficulty, so
bruised and sore was he. Without uttering a
word he reached the door; but, when within a
safe distance of the infuriated old man, he
turned round to sajr:
“Liar, ami? Well, we’ll see! I’ve taken
your thrashing, it’s true; but I’ll have my re
venge when I see all decent folk scouting you
and that fine lass of yours. She’s ”
But there he retreated hastily, leaving the
sentence incomplete., for Adam, in the doorway,
cast upon him so threatening a look that he
deemed discretion the better part of valor and
took a hurried departure.
Long after Joe had disappeared from view
the blacksmith stood there, his sturdy figure
thrown boldly into relief in the gathering gloom
by the forge fire, which flickered and flared be
hind.
He had been in his day as handsome a speci
men of the sons of toil as could have been met
with in old England, and even now his massive
figure was unbent, and hisbrawnv arm retained
much of its strength, of which he had just given
good proof. He might have passed for a son of
Vulcan, with his bronzed face and dark frizzly
hair and beard. A hard man some deemed him,
and his general demeanor certainly showed no
sign of weakness. Only to Dolly did he unbend
—Dolly, his one ewe lamb, his darling, whom
he had denied nothing, whom he literally wor
shiped—Dolly, the light of his old eyes, the
legacy left to him by her young mother, and
which he had cherished all these years. Dolly,
who was to bring shame—ah, no ! Joe Smith
was a r jealous fool; his Dolly could do no harm;
she would have told her father if
“ Am I going mad ?” Adam cried with sudden
fierce pain, breaking off in his soliloquy. “Of
course it was a lie—l told him he was a liar !”
The blacksmith passed his hand over his brow
and heaved a great sigh from his broad chest.
In all his dreams of the future he had pictured
Dolly as a happy wife, but never this—never
that a breath even of scandal should sully her
fair name—never that her beauty would prove a
snare, or that she would be made the sport oi
an idle hour, the plaything of a man of fashion.
“If I thought so, if any one deceived or
wronged my Dolly, bv Heaven ”
He did not finish the sentence—there was no
need; the lowering brow, the flash of the keen
dark eyes, the uplifting of the clenched fist, all
showed that it would fare ill with the man who
incurred Adam Jarvis’s anger.
He went back into the forge presently, but he
did no more work; not that he doubted Dolly
yet, but his interview with Joe Smith had upset
him altogether, for it had been one of his favor
ite theories that his daughter snould wed the
voung gardener—not that the girl herself was
aware of her father’s project. So he put out the
fire, closed the ponderous doors, and went into
the house.
It was early, quite an hour before his usual
advent. Sue, the old woman who had lived
with him ever since Dolly was born, and had
'acted as nurse firstand latterly as general serv
ant and factotum, was superintending some
culinary operation. She looked up, startled at
the appearance of the blacksmith.
“ Lawk-a-mercy, how ye made me jump!
What’s the matter, or is it hungry ye be al
ready ? Supper won’t be ready for this hour or
so.”
“ It’s not supper I want,” the blacksmith an
swered shortly, letting his eyes wander round
the room as it in search of some one; “ it’s
Dolly—where’s the girl ?”
“ Sure now she was here a few minutes ago;
but she just stepped down to widow Lane’s.”
“What for? Why’s she gone there ?” Adam
questioned, so sharply that the old woman
looked up quickly.
“ It’s no harm surely she’s doing. It’s a dull
life for the bairn to lead, and she’s gone for a
bit of gossip, I take it. She’ll be back in time
for supper, no fear !”
But Adam heeded not the last words nor
Sue’s wondering exclamations as he “tittivated”
himself up a bit and finally went out, saying :
“If Dolly comes in, tell her not to wait sup-
NEW YORK DISPATCH, JUNE 28, 1885.
per for me; I’m going on a matter of business
and it’s unsartm what time I’ll be home.”
The blacksmith’s forge stood in the High
street. Turning to the right as he came out of
his dwelling, Adam went a short distance to
where the road divided into two lanes, as it
were, one diverging to the right and the other
to the left. There he paused for a second with
some degree of hesitation in his manner.
Almost within sight of him was widow Lane’s
shop, down what was still considered the main
street. Should he go and ascertain if Dolly
were really there, and, if so, accompany her
home ? But he dismissed the idea as quickly as
it occurred to him. Almost against his will, a
little doubt was rising in his mind. Suppose
she should not be there ? It might only have
been an idle excuse she had made to old Sue, in
order to be able to get away without arousing
suspicion. She might have thought her father
would not inquire for her until the usual sup
per hour.
“Bah!” cried Adam, pulling fiercely at his
grizzly beard. “ It’s that idiot Joe as has put
all this nonsense into my silly noddle. As if I
couldn’t trust my own child ! No, I’ll not be a
spy on her actions, though may be the girl’s not
been so well looked after as she ought tffhave
been. She’s young and there’s not another as can
hold a candle to her for good looks in the village;
and so—well, I’m going to do now what perhaps
I’d better have done before, though I couldn’t
a-bear to put someone in poor Molly’s place,
and it’s only for the sake of Molly’s child that
I’m a-going to do it now—leastways, if she’ll
have me, and there’s not much doubt about
that, I’m thinking !”
He ended with a little chuckle of self-con
gratulation, his brow clearing for the first time
that evening. So the blacksmith went on with
out any further wavering, and finally pulled up
before a red-brick house of some pretension,
standing back from the road, with a garden in
front fenced by a thick laurel-hedge. Over the
white gate swung a red lamp, and that
alone, without the brass plate, would have
indicated it as being the residence of the
village doctor. But the worthy blacksmith
needed none of his nostrums, and, passing the
surgery door, proceeded to the back of the
house.
The neat maid who opened the door in an
swer to Adam’s knock did not appear sur
prised to see a visitor, and, without being
questioned, announced with a giggle that Mrs.
Maine—who, by the way, was neither a married
woman nor a widow, and only rejoiced in the
honorable prefix by courtesy—would see him a
minute, and invited him to "step in.
Whatever passed between Adam Jarvis and
the good-tempered woman who enjoyed Doctor
Seymore’s confidence, it must have been satis
factory, to judge from Adam’s countenance
when, half an hour later, he emerged from the
doctor’s house, for he had not tarried in his
wooing. He had told Mrs. Maine he must get
home to supper a<nd to Dolly, to whom he svas
anxious to tell the news, and had successfully
parried all the good woman’s endeavors to per
suade him to take “ a bit and a sup” in her
company. But now, having finished the busi
ness which had brought him from home, he lelt
in no particular hurry to return. It was a
bright moonlight night, the air a little keen, but
nonetheless pleasant lor that—just the night
for a brisk walk. Adam never could account
for the impulse which led him, instead of tak
ing the direct way back to the forge, to make a
circuit skirting Oliver’s Mount and through the
pine- wood.
On the summit of a hill where the trees*
grew thickest some large boulders jutted out,
forming below a rugged precipiece, the sides
of which were ovqrgrown with bracken and
furze. As he approached this spot, the black
smith’s thoughts, which had not been occupied
unpleasantly with the future prospect in store
for him, was suddenly recalled to the present.
All around was unusually calm and peaceful, na
ture was at rest. Hardly a breath of wind stirred
the leaves, the birds had ceased to twitter, not
an insect buzzed in the air; only Adam’s heavy
tread made a regular thud as ho strode along,
and then suddenly there fell distinctly upon his
ear a man’s voice, low and tender and pleading,
answered by a woman’s passionate sobs.
A dark cloud had passed over the moon, for
a moment rendering all objects indistinct, but,
even before she was sailing again in a sea of
azure, the blacksmith intinctively knew the
man and woman were none other than Captain
Braithwaite and his daughter Dolly.
CHAPTER V.
“beyond alleabthly care.”
The clock in St. Jude’s tower was booming
out nine strokes when a little figure stopped
before Doctor Seymomour’s surgery, and with
unsteady fingers, pulled the bell-handle. It was
a mild warm night, and yet, as the doctor him
self threw open the door, he noticed that the
girl was shivering from head to foot as if with
ague.
“ Dolly Jarvis !” he exclaimed, as the light
flashed upon her face, and he recognized, w.th
some surprise, the blacksmith’s daughter.
‘•Come in. What is it, my dear?” For the
girl raised piteous eyes to his, though it seemed
as if for the moment she had lost all power of
utterance. “Is anything wrong at home?
Your father ”
And then he paused, for bis keen eyes saw
that the right sleeve of Dolly’s dress was" stained
with something dark and red. Could it be
blood ? Of course ! She had herself received
some injury; but before he could question her,
Dolly, whose glance had followed his, divined
his thoughts and broke in tremulously :
“No, no; there is nothing the matter with
me. It is the captain—Captain Braithwaite.
Oh, doctor”—springing up from the chair into
which the old gentleman had gently pushed
her—“ he is dying—may be dead even while we
are wasting time 1”
Doctor Seymour regarded the agonized face of
the girl curiously; he, in common with the rest
of the good folk at Midhurst, had heard rumors
of the gay young officer’s attentions to the vil
lage belle.
“ Ah,” he said quietly, “ but you must tell
me what has happened if I am to be of any
use I”
“It —it was an accident,” stammered poor
Dolly, coloring deeply beneath the doctor’s
close scrutiny. “He "fell over the edge of the
precipice in the pine-wood. You know the
place ?” interrogatively.
“ Not very well. And you think Captain
Braithwaite is badly injured by the fall ?”
*• Yes. There was a great gash on his fore
head, and—oh, it was horrible 1” Dolly ended
suddenly, covering her face with both hands.
“Well, well, we must see what can be done.
You must accompany me to the spot, I might
not find my way easily. In the meantime,
drink this.”
He had, while he had been speaking, poured
out a glass of port, which he now presented to
the agitated girl; then he hastily commenced
putting a few things together—lint, bandages,
plaster and so forth, and by the time Dolly had
drank her wine, he was buttoning up his coat.
“ I would have the trap out,” he said; “ but,
if my recollection serves me rightly, the high
road does not run anywhere near the place.”
“ No,” Dolly answered briefly; “ there is only
a foetpath across the Mount and through the
pine-wood.”
“Then we will start at once.”
As he spoke, the doctor opened a door that
led into the house, and Dolly, like one in a
dream, heard him giving hasty directions in
case there should be any calls on his services
during his absence. The next minute he reap
peared, and he and his companion passed
silently out into the now-deserted roadway, for
Midburst was a primitive place and its inhabit
ants kept early hours, as a rule.
Not a word was exchanged as the two walked
swiftly on, though the doctor now and again
gave a keen side-glance at the little figure by
his side. The strange, dazed expression on her
countenance puzzled him. It was not grief nor
terror, but an expectant look, as though she
were on the alert against any surprise, and she
started nervously at the slightest sound.
What did she fear to see ? Why did she
shrink away from every moving object as
though it were a ghost ? the doctor said to him
self wonderingly, though he refrained from
making any rem*ark.
At length that seemingly interminable walk
was nearly ended, as they had reached the hol
low, Dolly had led the doctor by a circuitous
route to the foot of the rocks—and, as they turn
ed a corner, they came within sight oi a recum
bent figure, over which another form was bend
ing.
“ I see some one is there already,” observed
Doctor Seymour.
“It is only Joe Smith !” exclaimed Dolly.
“He promised to stay with him while I ran for
you.”
The doctor’s face cleared. It was not so bad
as he thought, he had been misjudging Dolly
all this time, and he hastened to make amends.
“ Ah, I understand ! Then you were not alone
with the captain when the accident happened.
I am glad to hear that.”
“ Alone 1” Dolly repeated, turning a startled
and ghastly-looking face toward him, then she
added quickly: “ It was lucky Joe Smith was
there, for I could not have lelt him by himself,
could I?”
She asked the question in such an innocent
childish fashion that the doctor’s first suspic
ions were allayed, afterward, he remembered
that quick exclamation and the look that had
accompanied it.
A few words of greeting, and then Joe stood
aside to enable Doctor Seymour to examine his
patient's injuries.
Dolly looked on with dry ‘eyes, but ever
increasing fear and agony in her heart. She
knew instinctively, before the doctor had utter
ed a word, what his verdict would be, so when
he laid the head gently back on the pillow Joe
had improvised, and uttered the monosyllable
‘’Dead I” it was no surprise to her.
“ It is a terrible affair !” Doctor Seymour said
slowly, as the three stood gazing down with
different emotions upon the handsome features
already fast stiffening iff the icy grasp that held
them. “ Fearfully sudden to be thus cutoff in the
very prime of life, and with such brilliant pros
pects before him ! Poor Ladv Braithwaite, it
will be a sad blow for her, ana almost as great
for Miss Mainwaring ! Smith, I think it would
be well for you to go to the Hall as quickly as
you can and ask see the butler, he will know best
how to break the news. Perhaps it would be
as well for you to say that the captain is dan
gerously hurt; they will be more prepared to
hear the truth, which will be known soon
enough. 1 will remain here and keep watch in
the meantime.”
Joe started on his errand somewhat reluct
antly; be wished the doctor had undertaken it
hlmselt, and left him free to talk with Dflly. He
had something he wished particularly to say to
her, and he might never have such an opportu-
nity. He dared not however do otherwise than
obey the commands he had received, and there
fore set out on his mission without delay.
When he was out of sijjht, Doctor Seymour
turned to Dolly and laid his hand gently on her
arm.
“You cando no good here, my child. This
poor fellow is beyond all earthly care and con
sideration, and you must think of yourself
now. Take my advice and return home imme
diately, before any one arrives from the Hall.
Your presence here would only give rise to
remarks and- surmises, which are best avoided.
Beside, your father, doubtless, must be grow
ing anxious at your absence from home at this
late hour.”
“ My father !” she repeated, raising one hand
to her forehead in a confused manner, and the
doctor saw again that curious look in her eyes,
while a slight shiver passed through her frame.
“You are right,” she added, in a more natural
tone, “he will be anxious; and since, as you
say, I can do no good, I will go now—only
only ” And then, before Doctor Seymour
could interpose, or was even aware of her inten
tion, she had flung herself upon her knees and
was covering the dead man’s hand with passion
ate kisses. The next moment she had risen to
her feet, and, throwing back her head with a
gesture of defiance, she exclaimed, proudly:
“They say he would have married Miss Main
waring, but he loved me—yes, me—Dolly Jarvis,
the blacksmith’s daughter 1”
Then she turned, and, without one backward
glance, moved rapidly away.
“ Well, well, to be sure I” muttered the wor
thy doctor, rubbing his hands slowly together
and staring after the retreating figure a little
blankly. “ It’s a strange world—a very strange
world ! The gossips were right, after all.”
• But, being no gossip himself, and discreet as
those in his profession usually are, the good old
doctor never divulged to a single soul what had
taken place after Joe’s departure.
Meanwhile, Dolly sped on her way. At first
she walked quickly, her feet keeping pace with
the tumult of her thoughts, but by-and-by the
high nervous tension began to relax, the excite
ment which had borne her up in a measure
died away, and her steps lagged wearily. A sort
of stupor began to creep over her, the shadows
of the trees formed themselves into fantastic
shapes, and seemed to her distorted fancy like
so many imps dancing round her and gloating
over her misery.
She wondered whether her father had missed
her, whether he would be very angry when he
learned where and with whom she had been,
whether even he would refuse to receive her
into his house again. Well, it did not signify—
nothing signified, now that he was dead? Dead !
Oh, no, it could not be ! They had been talk
ing together; he had just told her how much
he loved her, when some one had struck him
from behind.
It had all been so sudden, the assault and the
deadly struggle that followed. She had been so
alarmed that she had, alter one feeble protest,
buried her face in her hands that she might not
witness that terrible fight. She had heard the
deep breathing of the men, the muttered im
precations, a heavy fall, the sound of retreating
footsteps, and then there was silence—a silence
that lasted so long that she was fain to look up,
and then she had seen that no trace remained of
the combatants—only the grass was down-trod
den and the brambles broken where they bad
fought close—great Heaven, so close to the edge
of those huge bowlders !
Fascinated, drawn thither by some force
stronger than her own will, she had crept to the
head of the rocks and looked over, to see dimly
a figure lying there still and motionless.
During that terrible and lonely walk she en
acted the whole scene she had just gone through
again and again. That other man—poor Harry's
murderer—who was he? She had uot seen his
face nor heard his voice—and yet, just for one
horrible moment, she had fancied he bore a
strange resemblance to
“Oh, no, no, no, a thousand times, no; it was
not possible I The man who had struck her
lover down mustt have been some one who owed
him a deadly grudge, perhaps a poacher whom
the young officer had been the means of getting
convicted, and who had waited for an opportu
nity to avenge himself; and yet why had she—
Dolly said it was au accident—why had she not
boldly denounced the assassin ?
Ah, why indeed ? What motive could have
influenced her to make her endeavor to shield
one whom she would naturally have been the
first to denounce she could not tell. She was
only conscious of a strange confusion of ideas,
a dread of she knew not what.
When at last she reached home, she stood for
a moment half hesitating before she timidly
knobked with her band on the door. A brief
pause, and then there was sound of ap
proaching footsteps, the bolts were drawn
slowly back, and a voice like—yet so unlike—
her father’s asked hoarsely:
“ Who is there ?”
“ It is I, father—Dolly. Don’t you know me ?”
the girl said tremulously, as the door was opened
cautiously, and she crossed the threshold.
Adam drew the bolts again and followed Dolly
into the kitchen. As the light fell upon him the
girl uttered a little cry of alarm. Could that
old, worn, haggard-looking man be her father,
the jovial blacksmith ! Surely he never before
had that stoop in his shoulders, and his eyes—
oh, why did they regard her so coldly, so
strangely? Had she sinned so deeply as to
have alienated his affection and wrought this
terrible change in him within a few short hours ?
“ Well, girl, what have you to say?” Adam
questioned sharply.
“ Oh, father ! father !” Dolly cried, stretching
out both hands toward him, ancl falling upon
her knees before him, “ don’t look at me like
that—it will kill me! I have done wrong; I
should have trusted you and told you all; but,
oh, if I have sinned, I have been bitterly pun
ished I”
“ How—how?’’ asked Adam huskily; and the
girl shivered at the sound of that strained, un
natural voice.
“ Ho is dead !” the girl answered briefly, with
something like a wail.
“Dead!” Had Adam spoken, or was it a
groan ?
Dolly raised her bowed head and glanced
fearfully up at him. He was standing with
arms crossed over his brawny chest, his eyes
staring straight before him—unconscious even
oi her presence.
“Father!” the girl repeated in frightened
tones; and then her glance fell upon his shirt
front and traveled down to the wristbands.
What were those dark red spots besprinkled
here and there? Dolly’s eyes grew dark and
distended, while they looked like those of
some hunted wild animal. “ Father!” she
gasped, staggering to her feet and taking a
step backward. “Speak! What is this horri
ble thing? It—it is not true! Great Heaven
—oh, say it is not true! I was wrong—when
I suspected—ah, tell me that lam going mad !”
Then Adam Jarvis’s strained gaze relaxed,
and his eyes, filled with a strange regret and
hopelessness, met those of his daughter stead
ily, as he answered slowly and distinctly:
“You are not going mad, Dolly; but 1 was
mad when, in a fit ot ungovernable passion, I
struck down the man who had dared to wrong
my daughter.”
Scarcely had the words left his lips when,
with a cry that rang in Adam’s ears until the
day ot his death, Dolly fell forward se useless at
his feet.
(To be Continual.)
ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE.
THE ALLEGED COUSIN OF 'IHE
QUEEN.
(From an English Erchange,)
That romantic Preston story of an alleged
cousin of the queen, lately narrated in the Mail,
recalls the case of the grandson ot the Earl of
Dunmore, who, had the accidents of birth been
other than they were, might have succeeded to
the throne of Great Britain. A living literary
veteran who used to meet Sir Augustus d’Este
in select circles of London fifty years ago, gives
an interesting account ot him in a recent im
pression ot an American journal. He is de
scribed as a very quiet and accomplished gen
tleman.
His father, the Duke of Sussex, was the fifth
ot the six sous of George 111. and the senior ot
the Duke of Kent, whose daughter now sits
upon the throne. The Duke of Sussex married,
without his father’s consent, the Lady Augusta
Murray, daughter of the Earl of Dunmore. The
law only partially recognized the marriage, and
held it to be invalid as far as any right of suc
cession to the crown was involved, though, in
every other respect, it was considered binding.
The Duke of Sussex was next in succession to
William IV., and had he outlived that sover
eign would have inherited the throne, to the
temporary exclusion of Queen Victoria. Sir
Augustus d’Este had a sister who was known
as Mademoiselle d’Este, though some people
spoke of her as “ Miss Guelph.” But as d’Este
is one of the patronymics ot the British royal
family, to which they are as much entitled as
the ancient kings of Scotland were to the name
of Stewart, it was ungracious to call the lady by
any other name than that which she had a right
to assume to the exclusion oi any other for
which she had no fancy.
Sir'Augustus d’Este and his family were, to
some extent, unpopular at one period, especial
ly among the literary class, on account of a dis
reputable piece of patronage on the part of the
crown, oi which Mademoiselle d’Este was the
beneficiary. The Duke of Sussex had died
poor, without leaving any adequate provision
for his family, and his daughter, grand-daugh
ter of George 111. and ot the Earl of Dunmore,
found herself in straitened circumstances. The
ministers of the day objected to ask Parliament
for a grant of money for her relief, and the
royal family declined to contribute to her sup
port out oi their private resources. So they in
structed the Minister to exercise his patronage
on her behalf, and out of the paltry Civil List
of £1,200 a year, set aside for the help of strug
gling professors of literature, science and art,
an allowance oi £SOO per annum was given to
Mademoiselle d’Este. This was, on all hands,
deemed a disgraceful transaction, and for a lit
tle time a storm of indignation rattled in the
columns of the press.
What intensified the scandal was the fact that
the lady had married Lord Truro, the Lord
Chancellor of England, who was in the enjoy
ment ot the handsome salary of £15,000 a year.
The case was brought under the notice of" Pa
rliament, and some useless displeasure mani
fested against the Minister responsible for the
malversation. Among the members eloquent
in denunciation of the mean robbery of the
literary class was Daniel O’Connell. It is just
possible that the lady whose romantic career
terminated the other day at Preston was a de
scendant of the Duke of Sussex and the Earl of
Dunmore’s daughter,
BARTHOLDI’S BIG GIRL.
The Prejudices Met by a Canvasser for
the Pedestal Fund.
The Bartholdi pedestal fund is nearly com
plete. The statue has arrived and soon New
York harbor will be graced by the most mag
nificent colossal statue the world has ever seen.
“Liberty Enlightening the World!” What a
priceless blessing personal liberty is. It is the
shrine at which people, ground under the heel
of tyranny in the older worlds, worship with
a fervency that Americans can scarcely realize;
it is a principle for which Nihilists willingly die
the death of dogs, and fit and proper it is that
at the very entrance of the bay of New York
this emblematic statue should flash a welcome
to the world.
The press is entitled to the credit of this
achievement. Mr. Philip Beers, who has been
making a circuit of the country on behalf of
the Pedestal Fund, says that the fund will cer
tainly be raised, as the World does not know
the word fail.
Mr. Beers says that he has found the most
pronounced generosity among those of foreign
birth. They seem more appreciative of liberty
than do our native born. Moreover, among
some, a strange prejudice seems to exist.
“ Prejudice ! In what particular ?”
“ I have ever found that however meritorious
a thing may be, thousands of people will inev
itably be prejudiced against it. I have spent
most of my life on the road, and I know the
American people ‘like a book.’ In 1879 a per
sonal • misfortune illustrated this prevailing
prejudice. I was very ill, had suffered for sev
eral years with headache, fickle appetite, dread
ful backache, cramps, hot head, cold hands and
feet and a general break down of the system.
I dragged myself back to New York, seeking
the best professional treatment. It so happens
that among my relatives is a distinguished
physician who upbraided me roundly for preach
ing so much about my own case. Finally, with
some spirit, 1 remarked to him:
“ * Sir, you know that much of your profes
sional wisdom is pretense. You are controlled
by prejudice. You cannot reach a case like
mine, and you know it, can you ?”
“ I had him; and he finally conceded the
point, for it was Bright’s disease of the kidneys
which had prostrated me, and the school men
admit they cannot cure it. Having cured my
self, however, in 1879, and not having seen a
sick day since, my relative finally admitted
that Warner’s safe cure, which accomplished
this result, was really a wonderful preparation.
Had President Rutter, ot the Central" Hudson
used it, I am certain he would be alive to-day,
for ho could not have been in a worse condi
tion then I was.”
“ I have found similar prejudices among all
classes concerning even so laudable a scheme
as this Pedestal Fund.”
Mr. Beers’s experience and the recent death
of President Rutter, of the Central Hudson
Railroad, of an extreme kidney disorder,
proves that the physicians have no real power
over such diseases, and indicates the only
course one should pursue, if as the late Dr.
Willard Parker says, headache, sickness of the
stomach, dropsical swellings, backache, dark
and offensive fluids, prematurely impaired eye
sight, loss of strength and energy occur, for they
unmistakably indicate a fatal result, if not
promptly arrested.
“ Yes, sir-ee, every cent needed for the Pedes
tal will be raised, Of course it will boa great
triumph for the World, but would it not have
been an eternal disgrace had our people failed
to provide for this Pedestal ?”
a modeTcowboy.
HE SHOWS SOME OF THE FINER
POINTS OFTHEJ3USINESS.
(From the Cleveland Leader.)
With the Musselshell round-up last season
was a model cowboy named William McGaigan.
Ho is ono of the best riders in the world, and
can with ease, going at a dead run, lasso any
steer or bull with scarcely an effort, dropping
the lariat snugly over the animal’s neck. Then,
with a peculiar turn of the wrist, known only to
himself, he sends a coil, which runs in a suc
cessive ring down the line, raises the noose
from the beast’s neck, and when it is about to
slip off, with a- sudden jerk ho tightens tho fine,
and lo I you have the steer safely secured with
a halter around the nose. McGaigan under
stands knifing, branding and wattling to per
fection, and from horseback can throw full
grown cattle with as much ease as calves. He
dresses in true cowboy style, and wears an un
usually largo white sombrero, with a half acre
of brim and plenty of silver cord around its
crown.
One afternoon while loafing around the camp
fire on the Musselshell, McGaigan and I got
talking about the skill he had acquired in
throwing cattle, and I had little difficulty in
persuading him to let mo into the secrets of his
wonderful dexterity, and actually showing me
some oi the finer points ot the business.
our bronchos, we rode off through
the sage brush and out on to the open prairie,
where numberless cattle were peacefully
munching the luxuriant buffalo grass. My
friend had his lariat fastened to the pommel of
the saddle, and first showed me many fancy
shots, throwing the lasso from or to any point
over either shoulder, behind or in front. He
caught a tremendous bull by the horns, who
looked up in surprise and started off like a
steam engine, but the pony bestrode by the
cowboy planted his fore feet in the ground and
checked Mr. Bull m his mad career before the
latter got well started. The enraged steer went
round and round in a circle at a 2:40 gait, the
pony acting as a perfect pivot and turning slow
ly round with him, but it was no use—the bull
was a prisoner, and would have remained so
had not McGaigan taken pity ou him and
passed the wonderful ring down the line, upon
which the rope leaped from around the horns
and fell to the ground.
McGaigan remarked that it was no credit to
catch a bull by the horns, for he cannot be
thrown by them, and is simply held as a pris
oner ; but the skill in throwing a lasso is to
pitch the noose just in front of an animal when
he is at hill gallop, so that the next step
he treads into it. He tried it on another bull
while both of our ponies were jumping along on
a dead run. The old fellow was going about as
fast we were, but the fatal loop shot through
the air at a tangent and fell, wine open, in front
of him on the ground. The left forefoot plunged
square into the circle, the rope was tightened
with a sudden jerk and the steer rolled over in
the dust, as cleverly caught as anything I ever
saw. The broncho, to«, understood his part of
the business thoroughly, for he bore at the right
moment in the opposite direction, else he might
have been thrown instead of the bull, to which
he was much inferior in weight.
AS BRAVE AS MEN.
WOMEN IN NAVAL BATTLE.
In the gallant and sanguinary action there
was a seaman named Phelan, who had’ his wife
on board. She was stationed—as is usual when
women are on board in time of battle —to assist
the surgeon in the care of the wounded. From
the very close manner in which the “ Swallow ”
engaged the enemy, yardarm and yardarm, the
wounded, as may be expected, were brought
below very fast, among the rest a messmate of
her husband (consequently her own), who had
received a musket ball through the side.
Her exertions were used to console the poor
fellow, who was in great agony and nearly
breathing his last, when by some chance she
heard her husband was wounded on deck.
Her anxiety and already overpowered feelings
could not one moment be restrained ; she
rushed instantly on deck and received the
wounded sailor in her arms.
Ho faintly raised his head to kiss her; she
burst into a flood of tears, and told him to take
courago ; “ all would yet be well;” but scarcely
had she pronounced the last syllable when an
ill-directed shot took her head off.
The poor tar, who was closely wrapped in her
arms, opened his eyes once more, for but a mo
ment, and then shut them forever.
Phelan and his wife were sewed up in one
hammock, and, it is needless to say, buried in
one grave.
The narrator adds to the pathos of the above
story, telling how, only three weeks before, a
fine boy had been born to them, and how poor
Tommy fared until they put into Port Mahon.
The sailors all agreed “he should have a
hundred fathers, but what could be the substi
tute of a nurse and a mother ?”
Happily there was a Maltese goat on board,
which proved as tractable and faithful to his
charge as the immortal dumb foster-mother of
Roman story.
In Rodney’s battle with De Guichen off the
Pearl Mock, Martinique, April 17, 1780, there
was a woman on board the “ Sandwich,” Rod
ney’s flagship, who “ fought a twenty-four
pounder gun, and afterward attended the whole
night upon the wounded men.”
THE~BAITLEB OF JUNE.
THE BALMY MONTH NOT ALWAYS
BALMY.
June would appear, says an English ex
change, notwithstanding that it has been called
“ the balmy month,” in which
Heaven descends
In universal bounty, shedding herbs
And fruits and flowers on nature’s ample lap,
to boast an exceptionally turbulent history. On
the Ist, 1666, began the terrible sea fight be
tween the English fleet, under the Duke of Al
bermarle and Prince Rupert, and the Dutch
fleet, under De Ruyter and the younger Tromp,
in which, after the former had lost nine ships
and the latter 15, both were compelled to with
draw to refit, without either claiming the vic
tory. On the Ist, also, 1794, Lord Howe gained
a splendid victory over the French fleet in the
Atlantic Ocean. On the 2d, 1653, the English
fleet, under Monk, defeated the Dutch fleet, un
der Van Tromp, taking or destroying 20 of their
ships and compelling the others to retreat to
their harbors. On the 2d, also, 1780, Lord
George Gordon and his fanatical followers com
menced their destructive civil war against the
Roman Catholics of London. On the 3d, 1665,
the English fleet, under the Duke of York, de
feated the Dutch fleet off Harwich, taking 18
ships, destroying 14 more and blowing up the Ad
miral (Opdam) and bis entire crew. On the 16th,
1667, De Ruyter’s Dutch fleet sailed bodily into
the river Medway, and burned several of the
English men-of-war. On the 11th, 1184, B. C.,
Troy was assaulted and taken by the Greeks,
after the historical ten years’ siege. On the
12th, 1381, Wat Tyler commenced his famous
rebellion. On the 14th, 1645, Cromwell gained
a victory over the army of the king at the battle
of Naseby. On the 17th, 1775, the victorious
battle of Bunker s Hill between the British
troops and the Americans was fought. On the
18th, 1643, the illustriousEnglishpatriot Hamp
den was wounded in Chaigrave Field, near Ox
ford. On the same day, 1815, the British army,
under Wellington, won the battle of Waterloo,
and overthrew the power of Napoleon the Great.
On the 22d, 1476, the famous battle of Morat was
fought, in which the heroic Swiss all but anni
hilated the army of Charles the Bold of Bur
gundy. On the 24th, 1340, Edward 111. fought a
victorious battle against the French off Sluys,
taking 230 French vessels, and killing 30,000 of
the enemy, including the two admirals; and on
the 25th, 1314, was fought the famous battle of
Bannockburn, in which the Bruce of Scotland
defeated, with heavy loss, the English army un
der Edward 11.
quaiWaocdotes.
QUIT THE FIELD.
A farmer living near town tells of a lively
fight between a bull and a big dog, both of which
belonged to him. He says the dog got the bull
by the ear, when the latter raised bis head and
ran straight through a very strong stakes-and
rider rail fence, pushing his way through with
the dog in front. The rails flew in every direc
tion, and the dog had several bones broken.
He was glad to let the bull alone and quit the
field.— IrasTungtfon Gazette.
BEST OF THE SEASON.
The first snake story of the season comes to
•us from Henderson. It was a race between a
fleet-footed dog and a black snake. The dog
chased the snake three-quarters of a mile down
a lane. “It is a long lane that never turns,”
and the snake appeared in good spirits. Just
at the end of the' lane the snake made a sudden
turn, and found its hole under the bottom rail.
The snake went down the hole head first, when
the dog seized it by its tail. The snake was
prepared v lor the emergency, and gave up its
outside covering or skin, which peeled off as
easily as the skin of a roasted potato.—Haw
kinsville Dispatch.
CUSTER’S PET.
At one time General Custer tamed a tiny
field-mouse, and kept it in a large, empty ink
stand on his desk. It grew very fond of him,
and ran over his head and shoulders, and even
through his hair. I had, fortunately, only to
keep away from the desk when the little crea
ture was free, for it was contented to consider
that his domain. The general, thinking at last
that it was cruel to detain the little thing in
doors, when it belonged by nature, to the fields,
took it out and left it on the plain. The kind
ness was of no earthly use ; like the oft-quoted
prisoner of the Bastile, it was back again at the
steps in no time, and preferred captivity to free
dom.— Mrs. Custer, in “ Boots and Saddles.”
A SNAKE UP A TREE.
Benjamin and George Brigel, of Robesonia
Furnaces, killed two snakes the other day on
South Mountain. When the reptiles were first
seen they ran up an old chestnut tree and en
tered a large, hollow limb. An axe was pro
cured and the tree was cut down. When the
tree fell both snakes ran out of the hollow limb.
A desperate struggle followed, but both snakes
were killed. One of them measured ten feet
two inches and the other five feet six inches in
length. The largest weighed nineteen pounds.
In the struggle the large monster coiled itself
around the legs of Benjamin, and, no doubt,
would have got the best of him had his brother
not, coming to his rescue, cut it in two with his
axe.— Beading Times.
HORSE SENSE.
David Lukens, a gentleman of undoubted ve
racity, relates the following about a horse. A
few days ago a large bay belonging to John
Burke, a teamster, ran a nail into his left fore
foot, causing a painful wound. The animal was
taken to S. D. D. Smith’s blacksmith shop,where
one of the men extracted the nail and dressed
the foot. The horse was then turned loose to
rest and get well, but every morning he comes
around to the shop, and hunts up his friend who
drew the nail and presents his foot for fresh
treatment. If his physician is busy at the mo
ment the horse patiently waits, but he will not
leave until the man dresses the lame foot.
How’s that for sense ? Mr. Smith confirms Mr.
Luken’s story.— Atchison (Kan.) Champion.
, BETWEEN DEALS.
Colonel E. Wolfe, of Indiana, told an amusing
incident that had occurred between himself and
General Hatch the day preceding. The last
time the pair had met was in Tennessee, near
Memphis, in the early part of the war. Hatch
was in the regular service and Wolfe a volun
teer officer. On the night in question some
movements were in operation, and orders were
coming in thick and fast. To while away the
tedium of the time the two officers sat down to
a game of poker in a log cabin which they occu
pied as headquarters. The play was interrupt
ed by the arrival of frequent orderlies, which
were promptly attended to, and then the game
proceeded. After a while, however, orderlies
began to come in at both doors, and the situa
tion grew critical. Major Hatch started to his
feet with the exclamation: “ Wolfe, this thing
is getting too hot. Mind, it's your deal!” and
leaving cards and stakes on the table he hurried
from the hovel and mounted his horse. On
Friday last the narrator of the story entered the
Brettum House, in Winfield, and handing his
gripsack to the clerk waited the movements of a
gray-headed gentleman in order to place his
autograph on the register. The former having
entered his name, handed his pen to the In
dianian; their eyes met and recognition was
mutual. “ Hatch,” said the ex-volunteer
officer. “ who would have thought of seeing you
here 1” A twinkle came to the eyes of the
veteran addressed, and extending his hand he
dryly remarked: “ Wolfe, it’s your deal I” A
quarter of a century had elapsed since that un
finished game of poker, and since that night in
the negro quarters till the accidental meeting in
the hotel at Winfield they had not seen each
other.— Arkansaw Traveler.
AN ODD COMPLICATION.
Frank Smilie is a drummer. A year ago he
left Cincinnati without a certain perfumed letter
that was expected, but he gave instructions to
have it forwarded. Frank was particularly
anxious to get it, because he had one written to
a certain person whom he had been thinking a
good deal about of late, and this reply might
affect his whole future life. As ill-luck had it,
the letter arrived the day after his departure
and was forwarded, but in some way Frank did
not get it. It kept right behind him, and fol
lowed him into Georgia, Alabama, Florida, and
Mississippi, but he could never get it. All this
time he was wondering why “she did not
write.” A few days ago he read a marriage no
tice in a newspaper, in which the writer of the
lost letter figured as the bride. Wednesday
Frank was in Macon, and one of his customers
handed him the letter. It bore date of April 9,
1884, and had traveled thousands of miles in
hundreds of mail bags in vain pursuit of him.
Opening it, he read a lavorable reply to his own
epistle. When seen by the reporter he was
thinking. Nothing more, only thinking.—
Savannah News.
A FISH STORY.
A wonderful fish is becoming numerous in
Goose Lake, Oregon. It is called by some the
greenback fish, lor it is certainly an inflationist.
It has the power to fill itself with air until it be
comes very much like a round ball. Of even
ings about sundown they may be seep playing
on the surface of the water. They ■tfill swell
up by taking in the air and the wind will blow
them over the lake. They reflect all the colors
of the rainbow, and when sporting over the
lake are a grand sight. A hunter several weeks
ago saw a crane swallow one of these fish when
in its normal condition, but before the crane
had got more than fifty feet up above the lake,
the fish had taken in enough air to explode the
crane, which, at the sound of a report like that
of a gun, flew all to atoms, and the fish came
lightly down on the water, no worse off for the
short ride in the air.
THE DEATH OF A HERO.
Gen. McMahon Relates How Gen. Sedg
wick Fell.
Reporting an interview with Gen. McMahon
“ Gath ” tells in the Cincinnati Enquirer how
Gen. Sedgwick came to be killed at Spotsylva
nia. Said Gen. McMahon:
“ I went out there with him and said: ‘ Gen
eral, I wish you wouldn’t stay out here.’ ”
“ ‘ What is the matter ?’ said he.
“While we were speaking these sharp-shoot
ers’ balls would come, making a noise like an
insect in midsummer—something of a scream
and something oi a grinding in the sound.
“ ‘ Why, general,’ said I, ‘ we have lost sev
eral officers this morning. These are teles
copic rifles, and they are evidently picking out
the officers.’ ♦
“ ‘ Oh, pshaw,’ said Gen. Sedgwick, ‘ I don’t
believe they could hit an elephant at that dis
tance.’
“At this moment one of those balls came
screaming through the air and suddenly stop
ped; it stopped with a kind of lumping or thud
ding sound. I thought I was hit myself, and I
turned to Sedgwick, and there was’ a smile on
his face.
“ Said I: ‘ General,’ and I repeated the word
* general.’ At that moment there burst from
his cheek, right under the eye, a great spurt of
blood, which fell upon my face and breast, and
he turned half way and fell on me; he was a
very heavy man and we both fell to the ground,
myself all covered with his blood. I called
him ‘ general ’ repeatedly, telling him to speak
—to hear me. 1 was in dreadful agony of
mind, and could not believe he was dead. Al
though the blood continued to pour from his
wound, that smiling expression never left his
lips. When he was shot I could see the men
in that instant, distressed as 1 was, crawling up
out of their rifle-pits and little ramparts on
their hands, looking at us from both directions.
I can still see that scene oi surprise, astonish
ment, wonder, grief all along that blue line.
We took him back through the line of battle,
and then I got my horse and rode to Grant s
headquarters. I was covered with ‘blood, and
when I went in first they thought I was wound
ed.
“ Said I, ‘No,’ interpreting what they meant.
“In a minute they all cried out, * Sedgwick.’
“I burst into tears, and sat down there and
cried.”
THE DETROIT_SOLUMON.
A POET—A WRONG CONSTRUC
TION—TOO SOON.
A POET.
Just before court opened a woman came in
and anxiously inquired for Bijah, and when he
put aside his broom and stood before her, she
explained that she was a poetess.
"J 8 h possible?” "gasped the old man.
What show air ye trav’lm’ with this Sum
mer ?”
“ Show, sir I Do you mean to insult me ?”
“ No, marm. Mebbe it’s a theatre company
you are sailing around with ?”
“ And maybe it isn’t I I am a wife and a
mother, and live right here in this city. I have
written a poem on this court, and I hoped you
would give me a couple of dollars for it to assist
in a work of charity.’’
“ Oh—ah I How many varses ?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Cheap enough, marm, and here’s your cash.
If there’s anything I do like more than gum
drops it is poetry. The Judge is also a leetle soft
on the poem business, and I reckon he’ll want a
copy of this, and chip in a dollar toward ex-
Eenses. Sartin, marm—sartin. Any time you
ave any poetry to sell just call around here for
a cash customer.”
She went away happy, and as soon as his
Honor came in the old janitor announced his
purchase, and added :
“ I suppose I am mentioned here and there,
but I reckon she piled it on to you by hull
sale.”
“Read me a verse,” was the rather encourag
ing reply.
The bit of blue ribbon was untied, the fools
cap unrolled, and Bijah proceeded to road :
“A POEM.”
VERSE THE FIRST.
“ How many innocent people,
Who never did the least wrong.
Have been sent up by this court,
By that tyrannical old boss
Who is termed his Honor ?”
“Mr. Joy!”, said the Court, in a voice that
seemed to have pounded glass in it, “ what do
you mean ?”
“ W—why, sir—l—l paid two dollars for this
poem!”
“ I presume so. Let me say to you that from
this moment thero will be a gulf between us.
You have been here a good while, and you aro
an old man who won’t liVe but a few years at
most, but this is too much.”
.‘‘l— I—say, I didn’t mean ” stammered
Bijah; but he was ordered to put the poem in
his pocket and go'about his duties, and for the
first time in years ho forgot to get mad when a
reporter walked on his corns.
“ STRICTLY DECIMUS.”
“ Reuben Stringer,” said his Honor, as a mid
dle-aged colored man waltzed to the mark,
“ you were drunk last night.”
“Can’t agree wid you, sah. Owin’to an at
tack of vertigo I might hev appeared mo’ or
sooner disinebriated, but I ashore you it war’
all a mistake. Ise a strictly decimus gem’lan,
sah.”
“ Decimus!”
“Exactly, sah. None o’ my friends ever knew
me to perorate to de amount of one single glass
of pop.”
“Perorate!”
“Exactly, sah. I kin inflate de moas’ redeem
in’ evidence to articulate de fack dat vertigo am
my one failin'*. Do you desiah de presence of
fifty persons whose acrimony kin be conduced
to reciprocate ?”
“Reciprocate!” gasped his Honor, growing
white clear back to his ears.
“Exactly, sah. I now demand to be sworn
on my own behalf. As de sarcumstances elimi
nate de affidavits you kin cross-examine me on
any pint not made wholly inflations by de ac
ceptability.”
“For the land’s sake!” groaned the court,
“ but you have mistaken the place altogether.
What you want is a colored ward caucus to nom
inate constables. This is the Police Court”
“ Am Ito affiliate from dat remark, san, dat
my cum dig solis am no longer desirable in die
locality ?”
“ Yes, sir. Why, man, I wouldn’t undertake
to get at the facts in your case for a hundred
dollar bill. You have been drunk, you may
have had an attack of vertigo, but skip. Don’t
stay here here another minute, and remember
that your next call here will bring a sentence of
sixty days.”
“ Jedge, Ize anyhibiarsly obliged fur dis dis
play of equilibrium. Good mawin’, sah 1”
A WRONG CONSTRUCTION.
“Whenyou were here the other day, Henry
Rossmore, what did I say to you ?”
“ Let’s see 1 You said I was a tuff-looking
case, and that I had better honor some othet
town with my presence.”
“ So I did, but you didn’t accept the warning,
it seems.”
“ Warning I I didn’t construe it into a warn
ing. I supposed you imagined I was here on a
pleasure trip, and that as 1 had about done the
town it would be well to take a section in a par
lor car and pass on to Buffalo.”
“Prisoner, you will be lifted for two
months?’
“ That’s a good lift, your Honor.”
“ And if the officials up there set you to paint
ing chairs you musn’t construe the action to
mean plum pudding for dinner and strawber
ries and cream with your tea.”
“No, sir—l see. Much obliged for the hint.
Will call on you as soon as my time is out
good-by.”
TOO SOON.
“Gilbert Swift.”
“ That’s me.”
“ You were here a week ago.”
“I was.”
“ I make it thirty days.”
“ Say, Judge, I .”
“Remove the prisoner and adjourn the
court.”
“ Judge, don’t be so sudden. Gimme throe
minutes to sort o’ shape myself.”
“ Remove the prisoner—court is adjourned.”
“Judge, gimme two sec ”
But the Judge had gone.
TEMPTING BILL OF IFARE.
AN IDAHO MINER PREPARES ONE
OE SINGULAR VARIETY.
(From the Philadelphia Herald.)
Somewhere in the wilds of Idaho I know a
lonely miner. The hazardous relaxation of
cards and the stimulant of life that comes in
demijohns have but little attraction for him.
His main unhappiness, however, comes from
injudicious friends. They write him long de
scriptions of the fun they have—the little din
ner parties and things. They send him papers,
and therein he reads tempting menus, “ dinner
for six persons,” that make his mouth water.
I think one-half of the temptation of the modern
menu lies in the French names. I don’t think
entrees are half as nice when they are described
in plain English language. They certainly are
not as expensive. The delicacy of which French
is capable in the matter of expression has done
more to establish immorality as a distinct
amusement than anything else, and the same
disguise offered to lamb’s tongue and sheep's
feet on a bill of fare doubles the cost of the din
ner and enhances its supposed toothsomoness.
He is a humorist, this watery-mouthed miner,
and he retaliates upon his friends with a bill of
fare which reads somewhat monotonous, be
cause it is in plain American. This he sends
for publication. It is a mining came menu :
Dinner for 1,200 persons 900 and odd times a year.
Bean soup.
Bean salad.
Bean fritters with bean crumbs.
Fried beans with bean gravy.
Stewed beans.
Roast beans with bean jelly. Baked beans.
String beans.
(Beans with a string in them.)
Bean pudding. Bean sauce.
Beans with nutcracks.
Fruit bowl of beans.
Limburger beans. Bean cafe.
He sends this receipt for the first dish :
To make Bean Soup.—Take eleven or twelve large
succulent beans, and boil them carefully in more or
less water, according to the number of guests, for
three or four days; add more water; season with
grated beans to suit the taste. Serve very hot.
9 Humiliating
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