New York dispatch. [volume], June 28, 1885, Page 7, Image 7

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

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FORBIDDEN.
BY MEDORA CLARK.
Your white hand never thrills to mine
Your dear lips never smile on me;
J never feel your strong arms’
Your face I never see.
Your voice should be my music, and
I never hear its faintest tone;
Your life, which blesses other lives.
Belongs to me alone.
arms will hold you fast.
And careless lips on yours will rest;
In place of flowers, an empty husk
Will lie upon your breast,
'There is a door between us-locked,
There is one volume closed to both;
Our drifting barques will never moet,
Nor will we break the oath.
'What sin has blurred my soul, ah, fate !
My hands have done what boundless wrong,
That all this discord should have crept
Into my sweetest song ?
A MAN OF HONOR
BY FREDERICK W. AVORY.
Colonel Skerrett, Major Marsh, and Captain
/Pickering were sitting in their room at the Ho
tel Anglais, Paris. They wero Americans on
their travels, all three rough-looking Down-
Jiasters, who had gone through the worst fire
of the civil war. Hr. vicaire, surgeon in the
Trench army, was standing in fl oat of them, re
garding them with a severe air.
“ I come to denounce to you as you have in
sult my friend, M. Io Lieutona .it loulon. He
'demand ze satisfaction/’ said I>r. Vicaire, par
ticularly addressing Colonel Skerrett. “ You
liave kick his dog. You write apology, ver
goot. You no write apology, you choose ze—ze
—ah! vat you call I’arme—..o
“ Weapons,” said Major Marsh, coming to
fcis assistance. Dr. Vicaire bowed.
“Apologize for kicking his lamed cur!”
Shouted the colonel. “ What drl it come snap
ping and barking at my heels for I I "would
Jkick Mr. Foolong himself if he did that.”
“Ah!” replied the doctor, “vergoot! In-
Sult additional;” and he blew his nose like a
Jlourish of trumpets.
Colonel Skerrett was as brave a man as ever
Stood in boots, but beside his conscientious ob
jections to a duel, the cause of the quarrel was
eo ludicrous that he only answered with a burst
®f laughter.
“Ah 1” said the doctor, calmly, but redden
ing. “ Insult tree.” And he took a prodigious
pinch of snuff.
The three friends looked at each other. Ma
jor Marsh took the word.
“My friend will allow me to act for him. We
Shave the choice of weapons ?"
“ Yes.”
“ Then I choose them that nature provided.
Fists ?”
“ Feest!” said the doctor, pondering. “ You
piean ze—ze ”
“ Major Marsh explained in pantomime.
“ Sir 1” cried the fiery doctor, “ you make ze
■game of me ! I see you after my friend have ze
satisfaction.”
“ Don’t got so hot, now. What do you say to
Bluffed clubs in a darkened room?”
It took a long time to make the doctor under
stand this proposition, but when he did he re
jected it with constantly increasing wrath.
Captain Pickering suggested a rough-and-tum
ible in a pit—kick, scratch, bite, claw, and gouge.
Major Marsh thought an excellent way ot set
tling th.e difficulty would be for the two adver
saries to go into shallow water and see whieh
could drown the other. Finally, Colonel Sker
*ett suggested that they should bring a keg of
powder on the field, cast lots, and whichever
apst should sit upon the keg and apply the
fcigar ho had just been smoking to a hole in the
■Leg. Dr. Vicaire tore his hair and rejected one
>and all.
i “ Why,” said the Major, “it ’pears to me
{that we haven’t got the choice of weapons at
t “Of ze weapon, yes ! But zis is no weapon,
fewords, dagger, peestol, gun—zey all weapon.
HBut ze gouge, ze feest, ze clup rempli, or vat
£you call ze stuff clups—eh, monsieur 1” and the
flworthy doctor stamped with rage.
f: “Doctor,” said the Major, quietly, “the last
iisuggestion of Colonel Skerrett is the one that
(has been acted on, in at least one case, in one
■tof the Southern States of America. If your
"friend wants an out-and-out dooel, he will ac
cept the offer of a barrel of powder under them
conditions. If he don’t, he is only foolin’ with
%he matter. People blaze away at each other
Jhere for half an hour, and shoot nothing but
the pigs. When we du a thing in the States we
flu it.”
“ Sir I” shrieked Vicaire, with concentrated
yage, “ you coward, you poltroon, seclrat ! I
Cost you in ze cafe, ze hotel. I and my friend
whip you with ze—eh I—ze whip of ze horse !”
(and he rushed from the room, swinging his hat
frantically in one hand and plucking at his hair
frith the other.
Left to themselves, the three friends laughed
heartily. As for the doctor’s threat of personal
chastisement, Major Marsh alone looked strong
enough to horsewhip the National Guard if it
were called out. For the posting in the cafes
ihey eared exactly nothing. They chatted and
Smoked and were beginning to forget the whole
iaffair.
But an hour later the writer announced “ M.
le Lieutenant Foulon I”
M. Foulon advanced into the room, bowed
courteously to the two, and addressing Colonel
JSkerrett, said in perfect English:
“I have just seen my friend Vicaire. Possi
bly he misunderstood. From what he told me,
I understand that you made propositions which
Ho gentleman would make. Therefore you are
'»o gentleman. It remains to be seen if you are
a coward as well. I am aware that your last
proposition is a mode of the duello practiced in
some parts of your country. Of that my friend
Vicaire was ignorant. Although the practice is
irregluar, I waive that consideration, and per
sonally accept your proposal of a keg of powder
Sluder the specified conditions. You will oblige
fne by naming the time and place.”
“ Say to-morrow at three o’clock in the after
noon. I reckon the little wood of Plessis, on
the road to Versailles, is a quiet enough place.
J will supply the keg of powder for your use,
and you will supply the one for mine.”
“ Very well, sir,” said Foulon, bowing. “ I
thall be there. The terms to be rigidly adhered
o? To apply the cigar which one has just been
smoking to the open hole in the keg?”
I “ Precisely,” answered the colonel.
“ I presume,” said the lieutenant, with a sin
ister smile, “that in any event the services of a
(doctor or surgeon will be unnecessary.”
“ I am sure of it,” said the colonel, with a
grin.
Foulon left the room, and when he had gone
Colonel Skerrett said:
“I’ll fight this here devil, but I ain’t gwine to
be blowed to atoms, nor I ain’t gwine to let that
there fool blow himself to atoms.”
The three friends took measures accordingly.
IThe next day, at the appointed time, the five
Snen, all smoking vigorously, were on the ground.
Each party had brought its powder-kgg along.
The major and Dr. Vicaire tossed up. The ma
jor won.
Foulon turned ghastly pale, but walked firmly
to the keg which the Americans had brought
and sat down on it. It was an ordinary cider
keg, and Major Marsh knocked out the bung.
AH then Retired to a safe distance except the
who remained standing by Foulon’s
Eide. The latter, down whose livid face the
sweat was rolling, took his cigar from his mouth
and advanced it, still glowing, toward the open
jjmng-hole.
“Hold on there,” said the colonel, “that ere
■Cigar is lit.”
“ Certainly it is,” gasped Foulon, his lips
(quivering in spite of himself.
“Well,” said the colonel, with a grin, “ you
be’nt such a darned fool as to put a lighted
cigar into a keg of powder, be you?” When
Jvas you born ?”
“ Sir,” replied the lieutenant, vainly endeav
oring to hold the cigar- motionless in his shak
ing hand. “ I have given my word that if Host
the toss-up I should put this lit cigar ”
. “ Hold on; you didn’t say lit.”
“ Well, the cigar I was smoking.”
“ Put it out, then.”
“Sir, you have run the risk that Iran. I
bave lost, and I but do as you would have done
I will put this lighted cigar into this bung
bole ”
“Put in the chawed-un end, then.”
| “ You insult me again,”sir.”
“ Bless your heart 1 You fire up a darned
■sight easier than this powder ever will. Do you
think that I would put the burning end of a
cigar into the bung-hole of a keg lull of powder ?
■Great Jerusalem!”
“ I have told you again, and I repeat it, that
you are no gentleman. But I—l am a man ot
. honor. Bah! Yqp shall see me die as one. I
keep my promise.”
Foulo’n slowly advanced the burning cigar
toward the opening in the keg beneath.
“Go away here, you shall be kill 1” shouted
Vicaire to the colonel, but the latter remained
Quietly beside the victim. Vicaire covered his
face with his hands, and waited lor the awful
moment which was to blow his friend to atoms.
'There was a dead silence, and then a slight hiss
was beard. Vicaire looked up. Foulon, his
face purple with rage, was holding his cigar,
.S?i er re P eate diy poking it into the bung-hole.
The colonel was one broad grin.
“Is this powder ?” asked Foulon.
'■colt°almigUy W ” er ’” anß ' rer6d Lionel,
“ But,” said Foulon, shaking now with rage
Instead of fear, “ if yon had lost the toss-up
gunpowder. What then?’’
. A pu t th ® OJ S ar 011 “ before I put it
in, said the colonel. ”
“ Ah 1” murmured Foulon.
“Or stuck in the chawed-up end. Hold on to
4ho terms you know.” •
Foulon calmly walked to his carriage He
and Vicaire hoisted in their keg of guunowrinr
and followed it themselves. powaer
“ Sir I” shouted Foulon to the colonel “ I
Baid you were no gentleman. Isay now’you
are a coward.”
The colonel smiled.
For three days the friends walked about
Pana and saw both Foulon and Vicaire several
They were not posted in the cates, for
£ renc hmen feared the storm of ridicule
wnnia k ■ knowled g< s of the grotesque duel
Sir nn g upon them. Neither were they
“°™ I ®. whlp P ed - for Ticair ® argued that they
th« prPbßbly retallats > and in such a case I
tee fcS «mpu ly a ‘ OrBI Oi |
On the fourth day after thia “ duel” the thr.ee
friends happened to be on one of the large and
beautiful steamboats carrying excursions down
the Seine. Colonel Skerret, like a consistent
Yankee, was in the pilot-house, watching the
working of the wheel. He came down after
ward and sauntered back to where his two
friends were standing. Near them were no less
individuals than Foulon and Vicare. Neither
party addressed the other. The boat was in
the middle of the river. For a long distance on
either side the banks were straight, and the
tide was flowing directly down the middle chan
nel. Suddenly arose a cry of fire. A wild
stampede of passengers in the bow of the boat
was made toward the stern, and Foulon, who
was standing near an opening in the railing,
was thrown from his balance. As he was fall
ing overboard the colonel stretched out his long
arm, grasped him by the collar, and pulled him
in again. The Frenchman’s hat had fallen off.
The colonel picked it up, and with a friendly
smile handed it to his late adversary. Foulon
colored up and said eagerly :
“ Colonel Skerrett, I beg your pardon. You
are a gentleman.*’
In the meantime the panic increased. All the
bow of the boat was in a bright blaze, and the
fire reached the pilot-house. The pilot rushed
out with singed beard and eyebrows, and the
boat slowly drifted down-the stream. The
colonel caught hold of the pilot and dragged
him to Foulon.
“ Sir,” said he, “ ask this here fellow which
bank is the safest to land on, and tell me.”
“ He says the right one,” answered Foulon.
“But the boat cannot be managed. The wheel
must be on fire.”
Without a word of reply, the colonel plowed
his way through the shrfeking crowd, leaped
up the steps of the pilot-house, and seized the
wheel. There he stood, the flames roaring
about him, the crowd shrieking beneath him,
steadily steering toward the right bank.
Foulon shuddered at this exhibition of sim
ple, superhuman courage.
The bank was reached. The crowd, selfish
and crazed with fear, rushed to land. The ma
jor and the captain struggled up the burning
steps of the pilot-house, followed by Foulon
and Vicaire. They dragged the colonel out
through the dames, bore him to the bank, and
applied restoratives. He was less injured than
might ha e been supposed, and at length
opened his eyes.
“ Ob, Colonel Skerrett 1” cried Foulon, with
tears in his eyes, “your pardon—your pardon I
You are a brave man and a man of honor 1”
“The colonel,” said Captain Pickering, “can
swim like an otter. He could have crossed the
creek a hundred times without stopping.”
“Fists,” said Major Marsh, “are no weapons,
perhaps. Well, pistols are. The colonel can
knock"the centre of a five-cent piece spun in the
air at fifty yards.”
“ I will never fight a duel again,” murmured
Foulon.
“ And I never call one man ze coward for not
fight of ze duel,” said Vicaire.
“ Is all the women safe ?” asked the colonel.
—Chicago Inter-Obean.,
GHOST STORIES.
AS TOLD BY A GERMAN DOCTOR.
(From the San Francisco Post.)
I was seated in the den of a German phy
sician a lew nights ago. On the walls hung
some of the souvenirs of his student life—foils,
masks and schlaegers. The doctor was busy
arranging botanical specimens.
“ I suppose you belonged to one of the fight
ing corps at the university in your day, doc
tor ?” I said.
“I had my share of it,” said the doctor.
“Thereis a story connected with each of those
martial relics on the wall.”
“ Let us have a yarn about some of those
duels.”
£>“ German dueling has grown common
place,” said my friend, “ but I will tell you a
university tale much more thrilling than any
of those student broils.” He took from a table
drawer a package, which he undid. It was a
large, black silk handkerchief.
“You would scarcely believe,” he said, “that
there is a tragedy connected with this innocent
piece of fabric ?”
“Some fellow hanged himselt with it?” I
suggested. •
“No; that would be commonplace. I will
tell you the story.”
Forty years ago I was studying at a German
University. We were a wild lot of fellows, much
more reckless than the present crop of stu
dents, and made things hum m that little Ger
man town, I tell you. Practical jokes were
much more fashionable then than now, and the
man who invented a new one was glorified un
til outdone by some more ingenious hoaxer.
There was a certain janitor in the college—one
Max —who, by his spying and talebearing, had
incurred the wrath of our fellows. He had
been warned repeatedly, but persisted in his
evil ways. At last we resolved to punish him
for an act of treachery more outrageous than
any oi his preceding offenses in that line. One
night Max received a note telling him to meet a
certain friend ot his at,a beer shop a few streets
distant from home. It bore the signature of a
well-known pot companion of our janitor, who
gladly shuffled into his overcoat and started
for the rendezvous. As he turned the first
corner a carriage drove up; the window was let
down, and one of the occupants called out:
“ Max, come here; I want to see you for a mo
ment.”
The janitor unsuspiciously advanced to the
carriage, the door of which was rapidly flung
open, a rug thrown over Max’s head, and he
was promptly and vigorously lugged inside.
The driver whipped up his horses, and the
frightened janitor was bound hand and foot.
“It you attempt to make an outcry,” whis
pered a ferocious voice in his ear, “ you are a
dead man.”
“ I know,” mumbled the captive, “ this is
some of you students’ work; let me go and I’ll
say nothing about k.”
The prick of a sharp instrument at the jani
tor’s throat convinced him that the jokers were
very much in earnest, so he remained silent.
After an hour’s drive the carriage stopped. Max
saw by the dim light that his captors were
masked, but in order to scare them he pre
tended to have recognized their voices. They
made no answer to his alternate threats and
entreaties, but bandaged his eyes and led him
up a long stairway and into a room. He heard
the key turn in the lock, and then the bandage
was removed.
The astounded janitor rubbed his eyes and
looked about him. He found himself in" a large
hall, lit by candles in sconces on the walls. It
was draped in black. At the upper end was a
raised platform on which three masked men
were seated. They also were robed in black.
Every one in the hall, some thirty or forty men,
was also masked, and wore the same sombre
garb.
“ This will do, boys,” he said, with assumed
cheerfulness. “ You’ve frightened me enough,
now. Let me go, and we’ll call it square.”
“ Bring the prisoner before the tribunal,”
said one of the figures on the platform, in a
solemn tone. Four men grasped the janitor by
the arms and led him before the Judges.
“ Max, janitor of University, you
stand accused of grave crimes,” said the Judge.
“ Let the accusers of this man stand forth.”-
The first charge was of infanticide. It was
found by the evidence of three witnesses that
the janitor had murdered a baby and cast its
body into tne river. The next was sacrilege;
this was also satisfactorily proven. Several
murders were alleged against the prisoner and
all 'proven. The Judges consulted for a few
minutes, and then the chief said:
“Have you any defense to offer in extenua
tion of those horrible crimes ?”
“ See here, Judge,” said the janitor, whose
timidity had disappeared, and who was now in
a red-hot rage, “ this thing has gone far
enough. I’ll report every one of you. I know
your voices. If you stop now and drive me
home I’ll let you off. I’ll show you that, al
though you’re all down on me, I’m not such a
bad fellow, after all.”
“ Have you anything to say why you should
not be punished by death for your infamous
crimes ?” asked the Chief Judge, in a severe
and awful voice.
“Oh, give it up !” said Max—“l’m tired of
this joke.”
“ You see how perfectly hardened this wretch
is,” said the Judge to his associates. “Guards,
summon the executioner to the Council Cham
ber.”
Two of the men disappeared, and in a few
minutes returned, followed by a figure clothed
in crimson from head to foot and wearing a
crimson mask. Behind him came two men
carrying a block, and a third bearing a broad
ax on his shoulder.
All were masked, and all silent as the grave.
This last development startled the janitor.
His bravado was succeeded by entreaties.
“My God 1” he cried, falling before the
Judges—“you don't mean to do any harm ?
I’ve only done my duty in reporting you fel
lows. You don’t mean to murder me ? *Let me
go and I will leave the university! I will even
leave the town 1 Don’t terrify a poor man out
of his wits in this way I”
The Judge made no reply to his entreaties.
“Max, you have five minutes to live,” he
said ; “make your peace with heaven. In five
minutes your miserable head will rest on that
block, and yonder ax will cleave your craven
neck.”
One, two, three minutes passed in imploring
for mercy, and the wretched janitor apparently
resigned himself to his fate. His lips moved in
prayer, and when, at a signal from the Judge
the guard led him toward the block, he made’
no resistance. The last thing that met his eyes
before the bandage was placed on them was the
gleaming ax in the executioner’s hand.
“Strike !” cried the Judge in a loud voice,
and at the word one of the guards hit Max on
the back of the neck with his handkerchief,
which had been soaked to give it weight. The
blow was the signal for a burst of laughter from
the students. They threw aside their masks
and called on Max to arise. But he did not
move.
“ He has fainted,” said the youth who played
executioner, lifting up the pallid face from the
block.
He was dead ; as surely dead as if the bead
had been separated from the body. The shock
had killed him.
“But how did you fellows get out of the
scrape, doctor ?”
“It was the ruin of some of them; well, some
of us, I may say,” said my friend, “for it was I
who played the Judge’s part. They were ex
pelled from the university, and scattered about
the world. The man who struck the blow which
proved so singularly fatal, was at one time a
prominent official of this city, it was he who
NEW YORK DISPATCH, JUNE 28 1885.
gave me this handkerchief. Strange, is it not,
that a man should be killed by a blow from this
light, gossamer thing ? But the mental condi
tion oi the unfortunate janitor was such that I
almost think he gave up the ghost as soon as
his head touched the block. I remember a case
in which, though the incidents are not similar,
the effect was the same.
A. lot of young fellows were seated, one stormy
Winter’s night, about an inn fire in the west of
England. They were telling ghost stories, and
one of the party boastingly remarked that he
was not a believer in the supernatural, and that
he would as soon sleep in a graveyard as any
where else.
“Come, now,” said one of bis companions;
“I’ll make you a bet of the supper for the
crowd that you can’t go to the village grave
yard, where ghosts have been always seen, and
stick a fork on one of the graves as proof that
you have been there.”
“Done,” said the other; “I’ll put on my
cloak and go now.”
He did, and, allowing him a few minutes’
start, the others followed him. They kept well
out of sight, but held their man in view.
At the graveyard gate he paused, and those
who were nearest him noticed that his hand
shook as he undid the latch, and that he turn
ed toward the road he bad come, as if to retrace
his steps. But he braced up, opened the gate
and entered the graveyard. He walked hur
riedly to the grave nearest the gate, bent down,
stood erect and then fell across the mound.
They rushed in and found him dead. The
cause of the shock was explained by finding
that the fork pierced the cloak. It appeared
that in his nervousness and haste he thrust the
fork through his cloak, and then into the sod.
In arising to a standing posture the cloak, fas
tened to the grave, caught him and pulled him
back. It must have seemed to him that the
dead man was dragging him down for the dese
cration of his resting place, and his nerves,
strung to their utmost tension, gave way.
“ We are the first among aoimals,” concluded
the doctor; “ but that is not much of a distinc
tion after all, as an inexplicable noise or an un
usual apparition will make cowards of the best
of us.”
IN A CHARNEL HOUSE.
THE GHASTLIEST HOUSE IN THE
WORLD.
{From the French of Guy de Maupassant in the
N. 0. Times-Democrat.)
No man bears less resemblance to a Neapoli
tan than a Sicilian does. In the lower-class
Neapolitan you always find at least two-thirds
of the Punchinello. He gesticulates, becomes
excited or animated without apparent cause, ex
presses himself quite as much by gestures as by
words, acts everything he says, always shows
himself amiable for self-interest’s sake, polite
through cunning rather than by nature, and he
replies by genteel phrases even to the most dis
agreeable observations.
But in the Sicilian you find much of the Arab.
He has the Arabian gravity of deportment, al
though from his Italian ancestors he has inher
ited a great vivacity of mind. His inborn pride,
his love of titles, the nature oi his haughtiness,
and the form of his features, all tend to make
him resemble the Spaniard more than the Ital
ian. But what especially gives you a strong
impression of being in the Orient, almost the
very first moment you set foot in Sicily, is the
tone of the voice—the peculiar nasal intonation
of street cries. Everywhere you seem to recog
nize the shrill note of the Arab—that note which
appears to descend from the head into the throat,
while in the countries of the North it ascends
from the chest to the mouth. And the languid
song, monotonous and sweet, which comes to
your ears as you pass by the open door of a
dwelling, exactly recalls, by its rhythm and its
accent, the song ever sung by that white-robed
horseman who guides travelers over the vast
and naked spaces of the desert.
At the theatre, on the other hand, the Sicilian
seems to change again into a veritable Italian,
and it is always a curious experience lor any of
us to attend an operatic performance at Rome,
Naples or Palermo.
Every sensation experienced by the audience
instantly betrays itself into an explosion of feel
ing. Nervous to excess, endowed with an ear
as delicate as it is sensitive, and madly enam
ored of music, the whole audience seems to be
come one being, one huge vibrant animal,
which feels but never reasons. In five minutes
such an audience will have applauded with en
thusiasm, and hissed with frenzy the very same
actor, the people stamp with delight or rage,
and if one false note escape from a singer's
throat, a strange, exasperated, ear-piercing cry
bursts from every mouth simultaneously. When
opinions differ, applause and hisses intermingle,
But nothing ever escapes the notice of the at
tentive audience, which is perpetually quivering
with interest, which manifests its feeling almost
every instant, and which often, in a sudden fit
of indignation, begins to howl like a menagerie
of wild beasts.
At present the most popular actress m Paler
mo is*a French woman, Mlle. Hausemann, who
has achieved a remarkable success in “Car
men,” an opera of which the Sicilian people are
passionately fond.
There is nothing very extraordinary about
the streets of Palermo. They are broad and
handsome in the wealthier quarters of the town,
and in the poorer districts resemble the nar
row, tortuous and brightly colored alley ways of
Oriental cities.
Wrapped in ragged garments of the most
showy colors—red, blue or yellow—the women
stand chatting before their doors, and gaze at
you as you pass by with their black eyes,
which gleam brightly under their forest of dark
hair.
Sometimes, in front of the official lottery of
fice, whose business is carried on with the per
manent regularity oi a religious service, bring
ing large revenues to the State—you may ob
serve a comical and highly characteristic oc
currence.
Right in front of the building is the Madonna,
in her niche, fastened to the wall, with a light
ed lantern at her feet. A man comes out of the
lottery office, holding his newly-purchased
tickets in his hand—he drops a coin into the
poor-box which opens its little black mouth be
low the statue; then he crosses himself with the
ticket, which he recommends to the Virgin, af
ter having thus fortified his prayer by alms
giving.
Here and there you stop at a show-window, to
look at the variety of Sicilian views for sale;
and your eye is almost certain to fall upon one
very queer photograph representing a vault full
of dead—full of grimacing skeletons in fantastic
attire. Underneath you read; “ Cemetery of the
Capuchins.”
What is it? If you put that question to any
citizen of Palermo ho will reply with disgust:
“ Don’t go to look at that horror I It is a hide
ous, barbarous thing, which will soon disap
pear, thank goodness! Beside, they stopped
burying people there two years ago.”
And it is very difficult to obtain any informa
tion of a more precise or comprehensive sort
such is the horror that most Sicilians seem to
have of these extraordinary catacombs.
Finally, however, I managed to learn this
much: The soil upon which the Capuchin mon
astery is built, possesses to such a degree the
singular property of hastening the decomposi
tion ot a corpse, that in one year nothing re
mains upon the bones except a few patches of
black withered skin, and perhaps some of the
hair of the beard and cheeks.
The coffins are iplaced in small lateral vaults,
each of which contains about eight or ten dead;
and after a year passes the coffin is opened and
the corpse taken out—a frighful mummy a
bearded, convulsive - looking mummy—that
seems to strive to shriek, that seems to be agon
ized by hornbte tortures; and this mummy is
then suspended in one of the main galleries,
whore the members of the family come to visit
it from time to time. Those who wish to be
preserved by this dying process, make their
wills accordingly, and they will be accordingly
filed away under those black vaults, (like curi
osities in a museum,) so long as their relatives
pay a certain annual stipend. When this is no
longer paid, the remains are taken away and
buried in the ordinary manner.
I resolved to visit this ghastly collection of
corpses.
At the gate of an humble-looking convent, an
old Capuchin friar in his brown habit, receives
me, and proceeds to show me the way without
saying a word—knowing by experience what
strangers want to see in this place.
We pass through a poor chapel and slowly
descend a broad stairway of stone. An all at
once 1 see before us an immense gallerv—broad
and lofty—to whose walls are suspended a
whole nation of skeletons clad in the most oddly
grotesque costumes. Some hang in air, side by
side ; others are lying upon five great shelves
of stone, rising one above the other from the
soil to the ceiling. A line of dead stands erect
upon the ground—a long compact rank, whose
frightful heads seem to speak. Some heads are
gnawed by hideous vegetations, which deform
even still more the jaws and the bones of the
face; some still preserve their hair; others
fragments of mustache; others a long bit of
beard.
These stare upward with their empty eyes ;
those look downward ; here are some who seem
to laugh an atrocious laugh; here, again are
others that appear to writhe in agony ; but all
seem terrified as by some supernatural fear.
And they are all dressed, these dead—these
wretched, hideous, and ridiculous dead —all
dressed by their relatives, who have taken them
out of their coffins in order to make them take
part in this awful assembly..
Almost all are clad in a sort of long black
robe, with a cowl which is generally drawn over
the head. But there are others whose friends
desired to attire more sumptuously, and the
miserable skeleton, wearing an embroidered
Greek cap, and enveloped in a rich man’s dress
ing-gown, seems, as it lies upon its back, to
sleep in a nightmarish sleep—a sleep at once
ludicrous and terrific.
A placard like a blind man’s begging-card,
bearing the name and the date of death, is hung
to the neck of each corpse. Those dates make
a cold shiver pass through the very marrow of
one’s bones. You read, 1880—1881—1882. Here
is a man—at least here is what was a man, three
years ago—only three years ago ? This thing
used to live; it laughed, talked, ate, drank, was
full of joy and hope. And now behold it I Be
fore this double rank ot innumerable dead,
coffins and caskets are heaped up—luxurious
coffins of black wood, with brazen ornaments,
and glass windows to enable one to look inside
them. You might almost mistake them for
trunks, for weird baggage of some sort bought
in some strange bazaar—the hideous bazaar at
tended by all who must depart upon the Great
Journey—as the writers of other days used to
say.
But other galleries, opening to right and left,
prolong indefinitely this immense subterranean
cemetery.
Here are the women, even more burlesque
than the men, for they have been coquettishly
attired and bedecked. Their heads stare at
you from within bonnets decorated with ribbons
and with lace, making a snow-white fringe
around each black lace, all putrifled, all gnawed
by the strange chemistry of the earth. Their
hands protrude, like the severed roots of trees,
from the sleeves of new dresses; and the stock
ings that contain the bones of the legs look
empty. Sometimes the dead wears only a pair
of shoes—large, too large for the poor dried-up
feet.
Here are the young girls—the hideous young
girls I—in their robes of white, each bearing
about her brow a wreath of metal symbolizing
innocence. They might be taken for old women
—very, very old_womon, so horribly are their
grimaces. Their" ages are sixteen, eighteen,
twenty years ! How horrible 1
But now we enter a gallery full of little glass
coffins; this is the children’s burial chamber.
The bones of the little creatures, still soft, could
not resist the work of decomposition. And you
cannot tell exactly what you are looking at, the
miserable little things are so deformed, so
crushed, so frightfully shapeless I But tears
come to your eyes when you observe that the
mothers have dressed them all in the same
little dresses they wore when alive. And they
come here to look at them sometimes—to see
their little ones again, even thus I
Often you see beside the corpse a photograph
showing the living person as he was, ancHioth
ing is more startling, more terrifying, than this
contrast—than this comparison—than the fan
cies aroused within us by the spectacle of this
juxtaposition.
We pass through another gallery, lower and
darker, which seems to have been reserved for
the poor. In one black recess there are some
twenty of them, suspended altogether under an
opening in the roof, which lets in the outer air
upon them in strong and sudden whiffs. They
are clad m a sort of black canvas, fastened
about the neck and feet, and as they lean one
over the other, you would imagine they were
shivering, seeking to escape, screaming for
help. They look like the drowned crew of
some ship, still lashed by the wind, and all
wrapped in the dark tarred canvas attire that
sailors wear in storms, and still quivering with
the terror of that last moment when the sea de
voured them.
Here is the chamber of the priests—a vast
gallery of honor. At the first glance they seem
more terrible than the others, robed as they are
in their sacred vestments—black, red and vio
let. But as you examine them one after the
other, a nervous and irrepressible laugh seizes
you at the spectacle of their bazarre attitudes—
the ghastly comedy of their poses. You behold
some who sing; you- see others who pray. The
faces of all have been lifted up; the hands of all
have been crossed. They wear the sacerdotal
biretta upon their fleshless brows—sometimes it
hangs sideways over one ear in a jocular way;
sometimes it slips down over the nose. A very
carnival of death is this—made more burlesque
by the gilded richness ot the ecclesiastical
robes.
From time to time a head rolls down upon the
ground, the attainments of the neck having been
gnawed through by mice. Thousands of mice
dwell in this human charnel house.
I am shown the remains of a man who died
in 1882. Eighteen months before, happy and
healthy, he had come hither accompanied by a
friend, to select a place for himself.
“I shall be put here,” he said, and he
laughed.
The friend now comes here alone, and re
mains for whole hours staring at the skeleton
which, indeed, stands in the very place se
lected.
On certain festival days the catacombs of the
Capuchins are thrown open to the public. Once
a drunken man got into the place, lay down to
sleep, and awoke in the middle of the night.
He called, screamed, howled with terror,
rushed madly to and fro in vain efforts to es
cape. But no one heard him. In the morning
he was found clinging to the iron bars of the
iron gate with so desperate a grip that it re
quired a long time to detach his hands from
them.
He was mad.
Since that time a great bell has been sus
pended near the entrance.
“THAT BOY.”
WHO HAS NOT SEEN HIM ?
{P'om the Brandon Times.)
Has he crossed your busy pathway—that vis
ible incarnation of surcharged energy and vi
tality; that human representation of a well de
veloped cyclone; that concentrated essence of
the freedom power of incipient manhood ? He
wakes up in the morning with a wild “halloo,”
takes time by the forelock with a determination
that defies defeat, goes to bod with a bounce
that sets the springs to clattering like a million
castanets, and in five minutes is fast asleep
gathering new strength for his antics of the
morrow.
He opens doors with a rush and closes them
with a bang, or closes them not at all, leaving
them quivering upon their trembling hinges
with the suddenness of the shock—dancing an
impromptu jig upon the slippery cellar doors
to the imminent peril of his spinal column, and
“ shies ” his hat at the chickens until that arti
cle is reduced to a hopeless and melancholy
state ot demoralization. He scales the fence
when to enter by the gate would be far more
easy, and climbs the pillars of the porch with a
reckless disregard for paint and patches.
He gets up a perfect system of ventilation in the
knees and|seat of his knickerbockers,sows broad
cast a daily crop of buttons, and keeps up a state
of perpetual divorcement between his upper and
nether garments. He stretches twine from every
door knob with picture cord, and when com
manded to desist, leaves little exasperated ends
and loops dangling from every point. He ties
paper upon the kitten’s feet and goes wild with
uproarious glee at her frantic efforts to “ un
shoe ” herself.
He asks questions until he resolves himself
into a perpetual active interrogation point, re
sponding to each reply with a satisfied “Oh !”
that is a volume of expression in itself and a
revelation to its listeners. He blacks his shoes
in Jthe family ash pile or the dust upon the
beaten highway, and adds to their polish by a
general sprinkling at the family pump. When
reminded that cleanliness is next to godliness,
he dips his small brown hands into the water,
deposits the soil stains upon the clean end of
the towel, and .with a hearty rub at his rosy
freckled cheeks, is off and away without a mo
ment’s warning.
He goes “ a fishing ” the long day through,
coming home at nightfall with tired feet and
empty stomach, dilapidated wardrobe and one
forlorn little “minny ” as the result of a whole
days’ sport. He is the possessor of a quench
less appetite, ever ready to interview the cookie
jar, always wondering “ what there is good to
eat,” and prowling around the pantry in search
of what he may devour. The school bell rings
and he dashes away to school with hair un
combed, his face unwashed and multitudinous
cat hairs clinging to his garments.
He is sincerely repentant for discovered
faults, promises hearty amendment, and in the
twinkling of an eye the promise is forgotten, it
passeth away like a tale that is told or a flower
that is cut down at noontide. Eager, restless
and undaunted, he dashes on his merry way,
compelling one to perpetual wonder if the cares
and dignities of life will ever sober his joyous
face, slacken his boundless step or write their
story in wrinkles on his brow.
IF WOMEN COULD INVENT.
IT IS NOT BECAUSE SHE ISN’T
SMART.
{Trom the Chicago Ledger.)
It seems a little singular that the records of
our Patent Office contain but a slight sprinkling
of names indicating the feminine gender. It
looks as though all the heavy thinking was be
ing shouldered on to us poor men, and it is
high time somebody was raising a fuss about
the matter, and insisting that, if woman ex
pects to vote, she must keep up her end of the
double-tree. But whether it is on account of
the brain-blistering tendency of back hair, in
terference with the proper circulation of the
blood by tight lacing, and Sunday evening
courtship, hot irons and bangs, or wearing
shoes smaller than the feet, we don’t know, but
it looks as though there was a chance for phi
losophy to do a little missionary work at home,
before it goes to the sky in search of steady
employment. It is not because woman is not
smart, or quick with ideas, lor we have seen
one small-sized woman talk four grown-up men
into a cold perspiration, and do it easy, and it
is not because man is more brainy or fertile in
resources, for woman, God bless her bright
eyes, can do more to gladden with a two-dollar
bill in stringent times than a man can do with
all his muscle and philosophy.
When the wolf crouches on the doorstep, with
the apparent intention of becoming domesti
cated, it is a woman, frail and feeble little body
though she may be, that can be depended upon
to drive him away and give the children bread,
and she don’t go out to beg, either, but gets it
honestly, and pays for it with labor that may
shorten her days, while her big, strong and
gifted husband walks the town in disappoint
ment and dies by his own hand in gloomy des
pair. Neither can it be because she is lacking
in expedients, for you may limit her wardrobe
ever so stintingly, and she will turn this, over
haul that, remodel the other,’ and trip on to
church as neat as a pin.
But the records at Washington show that it is
that way, and we must make the best of it. It
is sad, but it is true. With all her gifts and
graces, woman comes up with a round turn
when she faces machinery and stands in pres
ence of cold, unemotional cast-iron, wheels,
levers and shop-gear generally. She has no in
ventive faculty, and would scrub her nails off
before she would pause to sit down on an in
verted tub and evolve from the chaotic notions
in her head a washing-machine that would save
soap and muscle, and be a solace to her sister
hood. Many of them are wearing themselves
out in overtaxing their strength, when five
minutes’ thought and a little gumption could
be worked into a contrivance for getting a
drunken man’s boots off without straining a
tendon. And then think of the labor of getting
a boy up in the morning.
Thousands of women are so tired out with
the severe exertions of that little job, that they
are made nervous and fretful for the rest of the
day, when a few little ropes, a pulley or two, a
pair of ice tongs, and a few brains would yaak
that boy into wakefulneaa quicker than he could
etone a dog, and that, too, with no necessity tor
climbing stairs or leaving the dining-room.
Think of the untold peaceful homes a few
patents of this kind would make. Another mat
ter needs thoughtful consideration, and that is
the enormous waste of female vitality incurred
in the rapid vibration of the slipper against the
caboose of the aforesaid boy’s pantaloons. A
very little brain work could make suitable at
tachments to any sewing machine to perform
the duty with far more vigor, and not the least
waste of motive force. The only thing the ma
chinery could not do would be to kiss the boy
as the grapnel let go of him. But that is not
exhaustive labor, and a woman can stand a
power of it without breaking down.
THE EFFECT OF FRIGHT.
OF THE MOST VARIED CHARAC
TER.
{From the Philadelphia North American.)
Au interesting account of the mental state
induced by fright was given some time since by
Dr. Fazio, who was an eye-witness of the great
earthquake in Ischia. He says the emotions
awakened by the catastrophe were of the most
varied character. During the fifteen seconds
that the shock continued everybody stood still,
seemingly rooted to the ground with terror.
Men were weak in the knees and shook as with
ague, feeling as though they were about to fall.
Soon this stillness was broken by loud cries and
howls, and every one rushed toward the shore.
Then women and children fell into convulsions,
or appeared to be semi-paralyzed and speech
less. Rudeness and brutality were mingled
with self-sacrifice and heroism of the most ex
alted character.
Six hours after the catastrophe the stillness of
death reigned over Casamicciolo. Men wan
dered about the ruins half-clad and silent, as if
risen from the grave; women were excited and
hysterical; children of eight or ten years seemed
dazed and stupefied, while smaller children
stood around unconcernedly, eating whatever
attractive food they could find in the ruins. It
was most interesting to see the different ways
in which individuals were affected by the shock.
The keeper of a refreshment booth, who had
lost everything, kept offering his delicacies to
those who passed by, just as though his whole
stock had not been swept away in the debris
caused by the earthquake. A surgeon, covered
with blood and sorely wounded by the falling
beams, was concerned only for his instruments,
and inquired after them of everybody whom he
encountered. An hysterical woman, who had
been bedridden for months, jumped up and
saved herself by Hight, and remained perma
nently cured. A very considerable number of
instances of this kind are well authenticated,
and the reports seem to show that diseases not
generally classed as nervous, and at all events
not wholly nervous in character, often disap
pear under infiuonces of a strong emotional
character.
Many persons at Ischia, who were brave and
full of energy, immediately alter the first shock
of the earthquake became depressed or wholly
apathetic later in the day, or had convulsions
or alternate fits of laughter and crying. Some
times an attack of melancholia was induced,
which continued for months, and many people
became incurably insane. These were perhaps
persons having the insane temperament, though
the actual manifestation of it might never have
taken place except under the influence of a
great nervous schock. In many instances there
was an aversion for food, lasting for hours after
the catastrophe.
There were several instances in which the
hair was whitened by fright, and even some
boys of ten to fourteen years showed heads
sprinkled with gray. Many of the unfortunates
who were buried in the ruins exhibited the
greatest indifference to their fate, following list
lessly with their eves the motions of those busied
with their rescue. Those whose occupations
had led them to acquire a habit of coolness in
danger seemed to retain their imperturbability.
A foreign officer, whose legs were imprisoned
under some heavy timbers, drew out a cigar
ette and smoked it with the utmost nonchalance.
One man, as soon as he was pulled from the
ruins, shook his rescuer by the hand and pre
sented him with his card. Another, who lay in
the debris for twenty hours, immediately looked
at his watch in*order to ascertain the exact mo
ment of his deliverance. A lady, who had just
been extricated from a mass of rubbish, would
not budge from the spot until she could ascer
tain the fate of her pet dog, which was buried
with her. One woman, who was nearly covered
up in the debris, heard a man calling loudly for
his daughter. She attracted his attention to
her, and succeeded in making him believe that
she was his lost child. So cunningly did she
practice this deception, that the old gentleman
had rescued her from the ruins before the trick
was discovered.
Most of the people, however, who were im
prisoned beneath the ruins were too indifferent
to their fate to make any attempt to get free
through stratagem. It is a curious fact that
most of them had become regardless of the
flight of time, and had not the faintest idea as
to how long they had remained buried. In very
many cases those who had been wounded by
falling buildings were obliged to undergo severe
surgical operations. Most of them experienced
no pain while under the knife, though they were
manifestly in a condition of excessive sensibility
to most of the impressions of ordinary life.
MADE .CmISTAKE.
BY M. QUAD.
“Yes, he may be a fraud—probably is one,”
replied the man under the white plug hat as he
replaced his change, “but I made a mistake on
the wrong side of the ledger once and I don’t
want to get caught that way again.”
“How was it?”
“ Well, I’m neither a Christian nor a philan
thropist. Fact is, I’m a pretty hard-hearted
man on the average, but. I used to be a little
worse than lam now. One evening, five or six
years ago, right in front of this very store, a boy
about twelve years of age hit me* for a dime.
He had tears jq his eyes, a drawl to his voice,
and I spotted him at dhee for ah impostor. He
went on to say that his father was sick and un
able to work, and that he himself had been
down with a fever and had no strength to look
for a job, and I laughed in derision and told
him to clear out or I’d give him in charge.”
“It’s an old dodge,’’observed the man who
was smoking a corn-cob pipe.
“ Exactly; but it may not always be a dodge,
I had a pocket full of silver, and I was too onery
mean to hand over a dime. Suppose the boy
was lying? Suppose he wanted the money for
himself ? How contemptible in me to begrudge
that trifling sum to a little chap who was cer
tainly all skin and bone and evidently needed a
square meal.”
“ But it would- have been encouraging vice,”
said the man with the check shirt trout.
“Bosh ! There are men in this city who are
looked upon as shining examples, who cheat
and swindle the people out of a thousand dol
lars where vice gets a shilling. This little inci
dent I have been relating went out of my mind
in an hour, but next day, as I was looking over
an old tenement with the owner, who wanted
me to figure on repairs, who should I come
across but the boy of the night before. He was
in bed and raving with fever. In bed ! Well,
he was tossing around on a heap of rags. In
the same room was the mother, trying to earn a
few cents at the wash-tub, but not having the
strength to work for more than five minutes at
a time. Also, the father—just alive with con
sumption, and occupying a bed no better than
the boy’s.”
“ Same boy, eh ?” queried the corn-cob-pipe
man, as the hard lines in his face began to
melt.
“ The very same. There was a quaver in his
voice no one could forget in a day. He was
raving away of this or that, but the father
was quiet and inclined to be cheerful. As I
sat down beside him for a moment after leav
ing a $5 bill in his skeleton hand, he said:
“ ‘ God bless you for a good man I When lit
tle Ben started out last night we hadn’t either
light, fuel or food in the house. He met some
kind-hearted man who gave him a dollar. It
might have been you. But for that money God
knows how we must have suffered.’ ”
“Might have been me! When I remem
bered how I bad repulsed that boy the thought
stabbed me like a knife I I was trying to say
something to cheer the dying man, when that
fever-stricken lad sprang up, evidently recog
nizing my voice, and cried out:
“‘Please, mister, don’t have me arrested!
Don’t let ’em lock me up ! I’m telling the truth
—I ain’t lyingT
“He came right over and got hold of me,
and I tell you if ever a man was broken down
it was this very individual. I left $25 there
when I went away, and I sent a doctor around,
but inside of a week father and son were dead.
One died blessing me, and the last words of
the other were an entreaty to me not to call him
a fraud and have him locked up. That’s why
my hand goes down for the chink when man or
boy strikes me for change. I’d rather give a
thousand dollars to frauds than to have another
honest boy die with my refusal grinding into his
soul.”
AN ‘
AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF
GARRICK.
Preville occupied about the same position in
public estimation in France that David Garrick
did in England; but in no respect was he to be
compared with the brilliant and versatile En
glishman. When Garrick was in Parir, Preville,
on one occasion, invited him to his villa. Gar
rick, just then, happened to be in a gay and
funny humor, and suggested to his friend that
they take one of the regular Versailles coaches,
the villa in question lying in that direction.
The twain speedily found an empty coach and
got in, upon which Preville ordered the coach
man to drive on. The latter answered that he
would do so as soon as he should have
got his complement of four passengers. He
could not afford to drive that distance for half
fare only.
A freak seized Garrick. Simply changing the
position of his hat and putting on the face of
Ben Israel, ne slipped out of the coach on the
far side and came round again as though he
had just come up.
“Ho ! Versailles ?”
“Yes, sir. Get in.”
Garrick got in and immediately got out again as
before. This time he simply threw his hat
back, exposing his whoTb face, his only disg Uifee
being the facial contortion.
Even Preville was himself this time de
ceived. As Garrick was about to enter, haying
this time addressed the coachman in the idiom
of Bohemia, Preville put out his hand to keep
him back, at the same time exclaiming :
“ No, no; my friends are away for a moment,
but are
He had got thus far, when Garrick’s face
changed into a smile, An exclamation of sur
prise burst from Preville’s lips as his friend
passed through; but as the latter was again in
the act of leaving the coach, Preville whispered
to him:
‘‘No, no, we are full—we have the four.”
“Let in no more,” returned Garrick, as he
again passed out.
Directly afterward, while the driver was gath
ering up his reins for a start, a little hunch
backed Dutchman came puffing up, wishing to
g° t to Versailles.
“Can’t take you—aM full,” was the coach
man’s answer.
<c w^ ever m i n d—let Him come,” cried Preville.
We’ll make room for him—there ! Now, away
you go, and pull up at my villa—mind.”
At Preville’s residence the coach was stopped,
and the two actors got out, wondering what the
poor driver would say when he reached the end
of his journey and found that his other two
fares had vanished.
A few nights afterward, as Garrick came
upon the stage in one of his favorite charac
ters, a voice was heard in the pit—a voice as
of one upon whom a great light had suddenly
burst:
“Ah ! my third passenger I Oho ! aha I”
it was that of the Versailles coachman.
DUELING IN FRANCE.
Is it Fair to Seize Your Opponent’s
Sword with the Left Hand ?
{From the St. James's Gazette, of London.)
The trial of M. Dekeirel, who killed a French
officer, Lieut. Chapuis, in a duel at Dunkirk,
has excited great interest in France, and all the
greatest authorities in dueling gave evidence,
either personally or by letter. The duel arose
out of an alleged insult offered by Lieut. Cha
puis during the carnival,to a masked lady, who
was supping with M. Dekeirel, an inhabitant of
the town. Chapuis was killed, and although
dueling in itself is nominally illegal, the real is
sue before the jury was whether this duel was
fair. Chapuis’s partisans alleged that Dekeirel
either pushed aside or held with his lift hand
his adversary’s sword while he thrust him
through the body with the right. Many ancient
authorities admit the use of the left hand. The
weight of opinion by modern duelists, including
M. de Cassagnac and M. Anatole de la Forge,
is on tflie other side, but another question was
whether Dekeirel did not use his left hand in
stinctively and without intention. The jury ac
quitted him, and the court showed its sense of
the conduct of Lieut. Chapuis by awarding only
one franc damages to his family.
This trial shows that the masters in the art of
fence differ as to the right of the left hand being
used to ward off a thrust. In Italy this mode of
defense is accepted, and at one time it was ac
cepted in England.
In the year 1613 Lord Bruce and Sir Edward
Sackville fought a desperate duel, which is de
scribed in Steele’s papers. What the two gen
tlemen quarreled about is not stated; but they
agreed to meet in the vicinity of Antwerp, and,
as Lord Bruce declared that “ a little of Sir
Edward’s blood would not serve his turn,” the
seconds withdrew. The principals rode to th®
ground attended only by their surgeons, who
were unarmed.
In his relation of this affair Sir Edward says
that he was mad with anger that Lord Bruce
should thirst after his life, seeing he had come
so far to allow him to regain his lost reputation.
He adds:
“I bade him alight, which with all willingness
he quickly granted, and there, in a meadow
ankle deep in water, bidding farewell to our
doublets, in our shirts, began to charge each
other, having afore commanded our surgeons
to withdraw themselves a pretty distance, and,
as they respected our favors or their own safe
ties, not to stir, but suffer us to execute our
pleasure. We being fully resolved (God for
give us) to despatch each other by what means
we could, I made a thrust at my enemy, but
wag short, and, in drawing back my arm, I re
ceived a great wound thereon; in revenge I
pressed into him, though I then missed him
also, then receiving a wound in my right pap,
which passed level through my body and almost
to my back.”
At this point the pair seem to have seized
each other’s swords. Sir Edward continues:
“ In struggling, my hand, having but an ordi
nary glove on, lost one oT its servants. * * *
But at last, breathless, yet keeping our holds,
there passed on both sides propositions of quit
ting each other’s sword. Who should quit first
was the question, which on neither part either
would perform; and re-striving again, with a
kick and a wrench together, I freed my long
captivated weapon, which, incontinently levying
at his throat, being still master of his, I de
manded if he would ask his life or yield his
sword, both which, though in that immediate
danger, he bravely denied to do. Myself being
wounded and feeling loss of blood, having three
conduits running on mo, began to make me
faint, and ho persisting not to accord to either
of my propositions, remembrance of his former
bloody desire, and feeling of my present estate,
I struck at his heart, but with his avoiding,
missed my aim, yet passed through the body,
and, drawing through my sword, repassed it
through again through another place, when he
cried, ‘Oh ! I am slain 1’ ”
Sir Edward then got Lord Bruce down on
his back, and could not find it in his heart to
do him further violence, though he still refused
to demand his life. Asked if he desired the aid
of his surgeon, Lord Bruce accepted. Sir Ed
ward also put himself in the hands of his sur
geon, being very faint with loss of blood. “Sud
denly,” he adds, “my lord’s surgeon came full
at me with my lord’s sword, and had not mine
with my sword interposed, I had been slain by
those base hands, although my lord Bruce,
weltering in his blood, and past all expectation
of life, conformable to all his carriage, which
was undoubtedly noble, cried out, ‘ Rascal!
hold thy hand !’ ” It is clear that both Sir Ed
ward Sackville and Lord Bruce considered it
fair not only to ward off a thrust, but even to
hold the sword of an adversary.
To the readers of the Gossip Department we
present a few
SEASONABLE RHYMES.
TOO BAD.
The time draweth nigh
When the harassing fly—
In Summer the worst of humanity’s foes—
Will skate up and down
On the smooth polished crown
Of the bald-headed man when he’s taking a doze.
NO BOSE WITHOUT A THORN.
When Summer Is breathing her sweetest del'ght.
And nature is everywhere burdened with bloom,
’Tis then we must spring from our couch in the
night ,
To chase the mosquitoes all over the room.
FROM THE RINK TO THE BEACH.
And now ’tis almost time, sweet maidens think,
From urban dust and smoke and heat to flee,
To put aside the rollers of the rink
And sport among the rollers of the sea. -
A MATTER OF PRONUNCIATION.
How fate the honest man derides I
The man for his new straw hat owes.
And many other things besides,
Delights in native-grown tomatos.
The man who always “pays his way”
Sits down to liver and potatos,
He’d gladly eat, but cannot pay
The price demanded for tomatos.
THE INVALID.
He hies to scenes of rural bliss,
To spend a month in idleness,
And hopes to have his health restored
By country air and country board.
He little knows, and more’s the pity,
The board each day comes from the city.
CATCHES THE WRONG FISH.
Now to the pond the small boy hies
To fish for pickerel, perch and trout,
But soon returns with weeping eyes,
To have that rusty hook cut out.
The uncertainty of success in obtaining a
political position is neatly presented by this
negro porter, who thinks that
POLITICS IS A LOTTERY.
“ It is very wrong, young man, to buy lottery
tickets or gamble in any way,” remarked a passen
ger who wore a white choker and looked like a min
ister, to the sleeping car porter; 44 don’t you know
it is wicked to patronize lotteries ?”
“ Maybe ’tis, boss, but I guess we all does it.
Some does it one way an’ some annudah. Yo’ is in
the lottery business yo’self, boss.”
44 1 ? What doy mean, sir ?”
“Didn’t I heah yo’ tell a gemman that yo’ had
been down to Washington an’ put in your applica
tion fo’ a office ? If that haint a lottery wid a hun
dred thousand tickets and mighty few prizes, I’d
like to know where’d you find one.”
Hero is a fashion item. From it we learn
that
TRAINS WILL BE VERY LONG.
At a station down in Indiana the Lake Shore com
pany employs a lady ticket agent. She is a good
agent and attends closely to her business, but she
is a woman still. The other day a lady traveler
stepped up to the ticket window and inquired.about
a train that was a little late.
“ Will the train be long ?” she asked, meaning if
it would be very long in arriving.
44 Oh, yes,” was the reply of the fair ticket-agent,
“longer than last season, but without so many ruf
fles around the edge.”
If the following story is true the inhabitants
of St, Louis are
A MOVING PEOPLE.
“Well,” said one of a group of itinerant preach
ers’ “St. Louis, when I went there fifteen years ago,
was the greatest place I ever saw for the people to
be moving around all the time. A couple in my
congregation, newly married, had taken a pleasant
little home on Olive street where I called to see
them. Some months afterward I went again, and
was told they had moved on to Morgan street. I
went to the number designated, and was sent away
out on Grand avenue, and from there to North
Broadway, thence to Chouteau avenue, where the
young wife met me at the door.
44 4 Goodness mo,’ ijsaid, shaking hands with her.
44 4 You beat the world for moving. I’ve been hunt
ing everywhere for you.’
44 4 ls that so ?’ she answered, half sorrowfully for
my trouble, 4 well, I’m 80 glad you found us at last,
for we are going to move again to-morrow.’ ”
The lady was undoubtedly anxious to ba
married, but she wanted to do so
ON BUSINESS PRINCIPLES.
Together they strolled by moonlight—he and she.
They talked of poetry, pigs’ feet and pictures. They
communed with the stars and felt that heaven was
drawing nearer to earth day by day. Her hand was
on his arm, nestling in fullest confidence. His
carriage was erect, his step firm and buoyant.
Happy man ! Blissful maiden I
He told her of his day dreams in a voice that to
her was melted gold. With a sweep of fancy he tore
away the curtains of reserve and showed her castles
of brightest splendor—in the air. Then he talked
of Shakespeare, high rents and the price of pork.
Her heart gave a flutter, for she felt that the turn
ing point of her destiny was near. Fixing his pierc
ing eye full upon her he told her of his battles with
the heartless, cruel world. She wondered why he
didn’t pop and be done with it. Then he dropped
into poetry again, and wandered, oh, so far, from
the thought that thrilled her soul. She gnashed her
teeth and began to hum “ Home. Sweet Home.”
Again he made her heart go bounding high in
hope as he remarked that carpets were coming
down fearfully in price, for he toiled daily in a mart
where they were sold. With a tremor like the
flutter of an eaglet’s wing she softly pressed bis
arm, and had a great mind to faint and drop on the
fireplug. But the diversion might distract him and
she withheld.
He wandered to religion, pancakes and sophistry,
when she dropped his arm like a cold potato. He
told her he loved
She turned pale and clinched his arm.
Hot cakes, with plenty of syrup.
She felt that her time was drawing near, and her
head began to seek his shoulder.
Or honey !
Down went her head. The millenium was com
ing.
But not just then.
He spoke of the monastic orders and the peaceful
serenity of a hermit’s life.
She marched on alone, with both hands at her
side.
But that sort of an existence wouldn’t do for
him, he said.
With a bound she had gripped him again with
both hands and yearned for more melody.
What he wanted was a fireside of his own.
Oh. ecstacy ! The dear man.
With a nice little wife—and he looked into her
face with tenderness.
“ All right ! Take me ! I’m yours !” she almost
shrieked with the delirium of joy. “And now let’s
go right home and tell the old folks, and see how
bow soon we can go to housekeeping. I’m tired of
sashaying around. I want to settle down and be
gin on a crazy quilt.”
She was born in Chicago, and business was bred
in her bones.
An exchange is guilty of this reply to that
cleverest of female correspondents, “ Clara
Belle.” It pretty well describes
WHAT A YOUNG LOVER WON’T DO.
44 Clara Belle ” wants to know what a young man
won’t do when he’s in love. Well, he won’t cat
onions; he won’t give his attention to business; ha
won’t wear a poorly laundried shirt, he won’t
go to see his girl until he toas oiled his hair and
scents his pocket handkerchief; he won’t leave hil
girl at night until he hears the step of her exasper
ated father on the stairs; he won’t believe his girl
is anything but an angel, for he never saw her
hanging out the wash with six clothes-pins in her
mouth at one time. He won’t take no for an an
swer when he is parting with her on the stoop and
asks for “just one,” he won’t—but what’s the use
of going further ? Give us a harder one, Clara.
The Irishman told of here
CAME NEAR BEING A FIDDLER.
One time an old doctor who was inclined to be
humorous in his way was called in to see an Irish
man who had broken his arm. He immediately set
to work to reduce the fracture. At a certain stage
of the operation, as medical men well know, it is
necessary for the patient to work the digits back
ward and forward upon the hand belongingjo the
arm fractured. The doctor said to the patient:
“NowPhddy, move your fingers backward and
forward slowly, just the same as if you were playing
the fiddle, and by the way,” continued the medi
cal man, “ Paddy, did you ever play the fiddle ?”
44 No, te jabers, doctor, I never did, 44 but I have
often played forty-foives,” quickly answered Pat.
SCINTILLATIONS.
“Water, you say ?” said the pump to
the milk-can. “I’ll get chalk full to night.”
Reporters may now wear their crape
badges. The baseball season has commenced.
A boarding-house mistress calls her
butter “contagion,” because everybody takes it.
A Brooklyn milkman has confessed
that he waters his milk. When he lost his reason is
not stated.
It is claimed that the highest faculty
of language is to conceal thought. It may be, but
when a man falls over a wheelbarrow in the dark, it
seems to lose its grip somewhat in that particular.
Mrs. L. — “ Louise, donnez-moi un
verr d’eau.” Louise (the new French maid, who
received higher pay on account of her nationality)
— 44 Faith, that must be French she’s a talkin’. I’m
done fur, shoor.”
A Bridgeport druggist claims to have
discovered a compound which, applied to a base
ball, will make it luminous. Such a compound
will fill a long felt want, for with its help basebajl
ists can play all night long.
A Chicago man got hold of the wrong
jug the other day and took a big drink of a mixture
of kerosene oil and muriatic acid. Then he accused
the servant girl of stealing his whisky and pouring
water in the jug to conceal the theft.
“ Papa, do you think our preacher
writes his own sermons ?” “I have no reason to
doubt it, my son; why should you ?” “Why, ’peari
to me that if he wrote ’em he'd know enough about
’em to take his eyes off the paper once in a while
when he reads.”
A teacher in one of the Altoona schools
recently electrified her pupils, who were annoying
her with questions. “ Children, I am engaged.”
Noticing the general look of astonishment, she
added: 44 But not to any fool of a man," and the ex
citement died away.
“ Why should a red cow give white
milk ?” was the subject for discussion in an Arkan
sas literary society. After an hour’s earnest de
bate, the secretary was instructed to milk the cow
and bring in a decision according to the merits of
the milk. It was blue.
“Ah, Fogg,” began Fenderson, “what
did they say of my address last evening?” Fogg—
‘•lt was the general remark that you were a very
happy speaker.” Fenderson (delightedly)—“ Did
they?” 44 Yes; but if lam any judge, you didij’l
have many happy listeners-.”
Oh, the oyster, with a smile,
Gurgles gayly, full of guile,
“Very soon I’ll rest in comfort on the bar;
Under rock and over dam
I shall chase the cunning clam,
For the months that now are coming have no ‘ R.’ •’
Independent Editor. — “ Have you
sent the President a copy of yesterday’s paper con
taining my editorial making him a Washington
in nobility, and a Jackson in energy ?” Clerk—
“ Yes, mailed it last night.” 44 Well, I’ve got one in
to-day giving him Hail Columbia. Don’t send that,”
A lady in Toronto got to laughing
over some amusing incident and couldn’t stop.
Finally a doctor was called in, and he could not
quiet her. But at last a friend thought to remark
that the lady's mouth looked very large when she
laughed, and that put a stop to the lady’s mirth at
once.
Mrs. Plaindame, after looking long
and thoughtfully at the plaster cast of Shakespeare,
remarked: “Poor man! how pale he was! He
couldn’t have been well when he was taken.”
44 No,”replied Fogg, “he was dead.” “Ah, that
accounts for it,” said Mrs. Plaindame, drawing a
sympathetic breath.
Cancer of Tongue!
A Case Resembling that of Gen. Grant.
Some ten years ago I had a scrofulous sore on my right
hand which gave me great trouble, and under the old
time treatment was healed up, and I supposed I was well.
I found, however, ft had only been driven into the sys
tem by the use of potash and mercury, and in March,
1882, it broke out in my throat, and concentrated in what
some of the doctors denominated cancer. I was placed
under treatment for this disease. Some six or seven of
the best physicians in the country had me at different
times under their‘charge, among them three spec’alists
in this line; but one after another would exhaust their
skill and drop me, for I grew worse continually. The
cancer had eaten through my cheek, destroying the root
of my mouth and upper lip, then attacked my tongue,
palate and lower lip, destroying the palate and under lip
entirely and half my tongue, eating out to the top of my
left cheek bone and upto the left eye. From a hearty,
robust woman of 150 pounds, I was reduced to a mere
frame of skin and bones, almost unable to turn myself in
bed. I could not eat any solid food, but subsisted on
liquids, and my tongue was so far gone I could not talk.
The anguish of mind and the horrible sufferings of body
which I experienced never can be revealed. Given up by
physicians to die, with no hope of recovery upon the part
of friends who sat around my bedside expecting every
moment to be my last; in fact, my husband would place
his hand on me every now and then to see whether I was
alive or not, and at one time all decided that life was ex
tinct, and my death was reported all over the country.
Such was my wretched and helpless condition the first
of last October (1881), when my friends commenced giv
ing me Swift’s Specific. In less than a month the eating
places stopped and healing commenced, and the fearful
aperture in my cheek has been closed and firmly knitted
together. A process of a new under lip is progressing
finely, and the tongue, which was almost destroyed, is
being recovered, and it seems that nature is supplying a
new tongue. I can talk so that my friends can readily
understand me, and can eat solid food again. lam able
to walk about wherever I please without the assistance
of any one, and have gained fifty pounds of flesh. All
this, under the blessing of a mercifully Heavenly Father,
is due te Swift’s Sp< cific. lam a wonder and a marvel to
all-my friends, hundreds of whom have known my in
tense sufferings, and have visited me in my afflictions.
While I am not entirely well, yet my gratitude ris none
the less devout, and I am confident that, a perfect recov
ery is now in sight. If any doubt these facts, I would re
fer them to Hon. John H. Traylor, State Senator of this
district, who is my neighbor; l?r. T. S. Bradfield, of La-
Grange. Ga., or to any other persons living in the south
ern vart of Troupe county, Ga.
. MRS. MARY L. COMER.
LaGrange, Ga., May 14, 1885.
Sold by all druggists.
Treatise on Blood and Skin Diseases mailed free.
The Swift Specific Co., Drawer 3, Atlanta, Ga., New
York; No: 157 y. 23d st. _____
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Evigorating Pill, sl. All post-paid. Address
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Send your address to F. C. FOWLER, Moodus. Coaa. |
7