New York dispatch. [volume], November 22, 1885, Page 7, Image 7

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

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U ; ■ - -- ~
THE SONG OF THE WAVE.
u lam free ! lam free I I have slumbered long
In the Winter's icy chain;
But the hills and the woods shall resound to my
song,
“ As I glide to the billowy main.
I lie like a giant enwr.ipt in sleep,
Till aroused by the Spring's sweet call;
But I rise in the might of the swelling deep,
y And I burst from my irozen thrall.
Onward I glance with arrowy spring,
As I bound in my fro ;csome glee;
< For mine is tbe-joy of an untamed thing—
The fetterless and the free.
* Oh ! mine are the sparkles of sunny gold,
And mine is the foamy crest;
And the changing skies all their hues unfold
On the mirror of my bright breast.
•Oh I mine are the showers of glittering spray.
Which I dash on the pebbly strand,
-And the music is mine of the wind’s soft lay,
Lika tones from the spirit land.
■On my bosom careers the white-sailed bark
TcMhe distant Indian shore,
And its crystal gleams with a crimson spark
At the flash of the sunlit oar.
Onward I rush in my wild career:
Yet tempt not mine hour of wrath,
. Wb en my swollen and darkened form I rear
On the proud ship’s ocean path.
Beware ! Beware 1 When in thunder breaks
The voice of my rolling surge,
And the dismal wail of the cold wind shrieks
The mariner’s lonely dirge.
, Ye are mine ! Ye are mine in mine hour of pride.
Ye that sport with a thing like me—
Te that dare your fragile barks to guide
* O’er the waves of the wild blue sea.
The loved of many a home shall sleep
In the ocean’s coral cave;
pFor what human might may stay the sweep
■ Of the untamed, unquelled wave?
BLACK IM.'
The Story of a Heroic Sacrifice.
A very pretty girl was Maudeen O’Shea—the
prettiest round about iwssanure-some said the
prettiest in all Ireland.
She was slight and supple, with a cheerful
aunny nature that for ever bubbled from her
lips in song. She had dark hair that rippled
back from an open brow, deep blue eyes, and
lips that were ever curved in smiles. She had
- the true olive tint of the Celt, but her skin was
soft as satin, and her cheeks glowed like carna-
u tions. Maudeen lived alone on a little farm with
’ her mother, a widow, crippled with rheumatism.
Dennis O’Shea had been dead many years, and
* alone and unassisted the brave woman had
managed the little larm. It had been hard up
hill work-it had bent her back and ruined her
health; but now she had enough to spend and
to spare - she owed no man—not even her land-
Alord-anything, and she owned the sweetest,
prettiest iolleen in the whole barony.
Rossanure was not a place visited by many
strangers, though the scenery was delightful.
*<rhere were grand mountains near by, a lake
that teemed with trout, and the roar of the At
lantic was sometimes borne in on the wings of
the breeze.
Maudeen had passed the twenty years of her
‘' life in this peaceful spot. Every market-day
she brought in her butter an eggs to the little
town that lay two miles across the bog, and
came back, her mother noted latterly, each day
a little later, each day with brighter cheeks and
prettier smiles.
“ Maudeen, honey,” said the mother one
market-day, taking the young lace between her
wrinkled hands and gazing anxiously into it,
“ who’s after spakin’ love words t’ye?”
Maudeen lowered her beautiful eyes, and
tossed her head and laughed.
“ They’re just fools 1” the girl declared.
“ Honey, honey, the boys don’t think so if you
do,” was the quick rejoinder. “ Don’t be alter
playin’ fast and loose by any now, for ye niver
know how such things end.”
Then the good woman sighed, and went her
way, wondering toward which of her many ad
mirers her beautiful colleen leaned.
“ And I do pray it’s Hugh Slievan, the smith,”
she thought, “for he’s a grand lad with his
taste for work, whiles sorra a likin’ has he for
the dhrink. And sure hasn’t he, honest-like,
asked to be my son, and hasn’t he got my
► blessin’ by the same token ? Arrah, but it’s the
rale love—if ever I saw love - that shines straight
out of his eyes when Maudeen stands forninst
him.”
The Summer afternoon waned, and, when the
cows were milked and all the stock made com
r fortable for the' night, and the widow was set
tled over the peat-fire with her knitting and a
week-old paper, Maudeen stooped and kissed
her mother, observing that, the evening being
so fine, it tempted her to go for a stroll.
“ So that ye’re in afore dark and don’t go be
yant the bog, honey,” stipulating the widow,
smiling. “Hugh ’ll be there,” she thought.
So Maudeen went without further delay.
It was a lovely evening ; the soft wind was
sweet with the scent of new-cut hay, and in the
West, where the broad Atlantic lay hushed in
repose, floated a mass of billowy cloud, scarlet
and orange hued.
Maudeen left the farm and turned down the
green lane that led to the high road. A little
stream welling out from under the grasses made
music beside her—the only sound, indeed, that
broke the great stillness of the mountains and
bog around.
Maudeen was used to this loneliness, and
usually Hxvttglib nothing of it. But this even
ing she was evidently out of harmony with the
. peaceful and familiar scene, for, as she moved
along, a look of discontent spread over her face
and a restless sigh escaped her. Were her mo
ther’s words rankling ?
' Maudeen walked on for about a quarter of a
mile, and then suddenly the look of vexation
vanished, and her eyes began shining like stars.
A turn in the lane had brought her near to a
gap where a gate stood, and leaning against it
was a stalwart form halt vailed in the gathering
' dusk. The man was quick to hear the light
step approaching, and he turned and as quickly
went to meet the girl. The western light rested
full on his face ; that in the Maudeen’s at once
died out.
“Well, Hugh,” she began, pettishly, “what
are ye for ever cornin’ down our lanu for ? I
can’t so much as lave the house lor a breath of
air o’ nights but it’s to fall straight upon you,
like as ye were a growin’ toadstool.”
“ r “ Better to be here nor in the dhrinking
shop,” was the curt reply. “But I’ll not be
alter cornin’ again if it throubles you; had I
thought that, Heaven knows I’d not be doin’
*• it !”
This answer seemed both to appease and sad
den the girl. She stood still and pulled at the
briars beside her, tor the man burred her way.
In the silence she felt rather than saw that
his eyes were fixed on her searchingly. He was
a tall, black-bearded fellow well clad in home
spun, for he had closed his forge and donned
his best to walk across country and sup at the
■Widow O’Shea’s. He was plain of lace, but the
- plainness was redeemed by a look of daring and
■courage, and by a pair of eyes at once clear and
dark as a hawk’s.
“Black Hugh”—for thus they called the
smith—“ makes a staunch friend, but Heaven
help his enemy !” said the people about.
After a moment’s pause, the man—his voice
low and hoarse—spoke.
“ Maudeen,” said he, “why do ye trate me
430?”
The girl gave an impatient toss to her pretty
head.
“ Ye're spakin’ riddles the night, Hugh Sliev
an,” she answered lightly. “Forbye it’s but
harsh words ye’ve gotten for me, ye can let me
pass.”
Slievan thrust out an arm strong as an iron
bar, and laid hold of the stone wall opposite.
“Pass ye shall,” he said, with a laugh, “ but
not till ye've heard my say.”
The girl started back and glanced with min
gled fear and anxiety into his darkening face.
“Maudeen asthore, Maudeen asthore, ye’re
in akin’ a divil o’ me 1” cried the man passion
ately. “ Who is there in all the wide world
loves you like myself—ay, and has so done since
the day ye were so high ’’—putting h;s hand two
r feet from the ground—“just a doney babe?
Wasn’t it the two of us that went hand-in-hand
to the school togither as children, and had ye
ivera joy or sorrow but ye bid Hugh Slievan
share it ? Until o', late we niver met but ye had
1 a kind word for me—for ye made believe to love
me, Maudeen—always and always till’’—here
the man’s voice shook with anger—“ John El
liot—curse him I —came and stood betwane us !”
“Let me pass !”/ cried the girl, whose pride
could not hide her distress.
“ Not yet”—and the strong arm trembled with
its fierce hold of the wall—“ not yet. Till Elliot
I say, camo over to take the bread out of the
mouth of men good as himself ivery bit, ve
■were kind enough to me—there was not a truer
- pair in Rossanure. Maudeen O’Shea, do ye
think I’ll stand tamely by and see my colleen
carried off before my own two lookin’ eyes, and
by an Englishman, curses on him ! Maudeen,”
went on the smith, suddenly lowering his angry
voice to accents of touching entreaty, and hold
ing out both his hands to the girl, “say that
ye’ll love me—say that ye’ll be wife to me.”
Maudeen shook her head sadly ; she did not
k speak, nor did she touch the proffered hands.
“ Maudeen,’your mother has promised ye to
me !”
“ She may have promised my hand—my heart
is my own to give, ’ was the low response, and
before he could give vent to another word of
anger or entreaty, the girl slipped past him and
was lost in the dusk.
Slowly, his breast full of tumultuous passion
Hugh Slievan followed, but he paused on com
ing near the gate that fenced the green lane
* from the road, for there, leaning against it the
starlight playing on her happy face, stood Mau
deen O’Shea, and near, very near to her was a
man. There was no need to ask who be was
The sturdy, well-built figure was known to the
smith but too well.
“I’ll be even with ye yet, John Elliott, so
help me Heaven I” muttered Black Hugh
fiercely, as he leaped the ditch and wandered
aimlessly across the bog.
,*»* * * * *
“Twelve o’clock—by the kiln.”
Those were the words that, coming softly
through the darkness, struck upon Hugh Slie
van s car some few nights later, as he lounged
moodily against the door of his forge. A low
whistle was his reply to the mysterious sum
mons, on hearing which a slouching form started
up and stole away rapidly, keeping well within
the surrounding shadows.
When twelve o’clock came that night, a group
Of men were gathered under the ivied wall of an
disused hme-kiln, which stood in the woods
Lord Balhna s demesne. It was sheltered
from the road—at all times a lonely one—by a
thick belt of trees.
Not far from it ran a river which, chafing
within its rocky bed, broke the silence with its
sullen roar. In the sunlight this lime-kiln,
shrouded by foliage and mantled by mosses,
was a spot meet for lovers’ trysts. In the dark
ness, far removed from the haunts of men and
vailed from the keen eyes of police or watcher,
it had come to serve another purpose.
The group of men were dumb as so many
statues. Presently a voice broke the stillness.
“ Are ye all there—the seven o’ ye ?”
“The seven are here,” answered one for the
rest.
“Good!”
The sound of a match striking was heard—
the glare of a lantern fell on th.e motionless
figures—and then, one by one, each went into
the interior of the kiln, a portion of which had
fallen away and so made ingress possible. The
interior was broad and roomy, for nothing but
bare walls remained; and the men ranged them
selves in careless attitudes round a couple of
lanterns, the light of which flickered strangely
on their dark determined faces. These, the
members of the dread “ Black Watch,” had met
by will of their chosen chie: to deliberate either
on political matters or on matters of a more
sinister nature.
Their leader was a farmer, a tenant of Lord
Ballina’s. He was on elderly man, of a taciturn
mind, yet, though speaking but seldom, he
spoke as such times to the point. He did not
waste time now, but, the moment the men were
settled, broached the matter that had led him
to order the secret meeting.
“Boys,” he began, “ye have as usual an
swered the summons like thrue men. Now
hearken to me. It is not the national welfare
I’ve called ye together to spake upon to-ixght,
nor yet whether we’ll let th© young lord do a
bit of hunting the coming Winter, nor yet
whether Patsy Flynn’s cattle shall be let alone.
It is none of such like things, but something
nearer to home than all. It’s whether John
Elliot is worthy of death or no.”
There was dead silence, broken at length by
a low-browed fellow murmuring in a snarling
tone:
“ He sarved a writ on me last week, bad luck
to him!”
“He got my brother six months in Ballina
jail for killin’ a bit salmon and knockin’ the
breath out of one of his lads,” spoke up an
other.
“ He’s a cursed Englishman !” volunteered a
third.
“That’s robbin'us of a position and earnin’
the rights of a Rossanure boy!’’ growled a
fourth. “My father had it afore him.”
“ It’s him that’s put the agent up to his Join’s
of late—gettin’ the patrol doubled, and kapin’
such a tight hand over things ye can’t touch a
snipe but your nose is snapped off! Ah, it was
foine times we had when your father—rest to
his soul—was ranger, Tim 1” Thus spoke a
fifth.
“It’s Elliot that’s stolen the sweetest colleen
in all Rossanure from the man that deserved
her the most—ay, and that was surest of her,
till lie came among us !” said another, a lad in
years, casting a look of deep love and pity at
the black-browed man opposite.
Hugh Slievan said nothing, but his eyes
flashed fire, and a suppressed murmur ran
round the circle.
“’lis a mortal shame!” said some; others
cursed the ranger in a whisper.
“ Well, boys,” resumed their chief grimly,
“ it seems an example should be made of him.
He has been weighed, and the scale against him
kicks the beam. If any one has a good word for
this man, let him say it.”
Silence—unbroken save by the roar of the
river and the sad sough of the wind. The chief
laid a watch between the lanterns and stared
quietly at its face. Five minutes wont by, and
not one plea having been registered in the Eng
lishman’s favor, the chief put the watch back
into his pocket and remarked calmly that time
was up. Then he added, carelessly :
• “Boys, if any one or more of you thinks John
Elliot worthy of life, let that one or more lave
this assembly.”
None rose, not one left the kiln.
“ The matter is settled then—John Elliot
dies!” said the chief; and, opening a sheet of
paper on which was a list of names, he marked
that of John Elliot—distinguished already as
“dangerous”—with a cross. He then handed
the sheet to his neighbor, and it passed in turn
through the hands of all.
When the paper came back to him, eight black
crosses doomed the ranger to death. And,
when he saw them, a grim smile of satisfaction
lighted up Black Hugh’s
##«*•***
Day by day passed, and John Elliot went
about his work, little dreaming of the fate in
store for him. The good people of Rossanure
had begun by hating him; they were slowly
learning to like him. True, he did his duty
fearlessly—he would tell no lie to shield him
self, let alone his neighbor—he was over-scru
pulous about his masters property, but, all the
same, there was a frank, good-humor about the
man that won its way into the heart of every
woman in the barony, and a quiet determination
that gained the respect, if not the goodwill, of
the men. He would serve the writ that all others
refused to serve, did he think it furthered his
master’s interests. But he did not serve it at
the bavonet-point. Alone and unarmed he would
perform his disagreeable duty; and none had
the heart to strike him where he stood, the
light of day shining m the blue eves full of
courage and perhaps of pity. What they might do
in the dark, when those eyes were not looking
their way, was another matter.
The doomed man often came across the
“ Black Watch,” some of whom he knew per
sonally. There was the chief, who, never show
ed other than the strong dislike he felt for him.
There were Hugh Slievan and his young
brother Mike—these two shunned him; of late
he had come to learn the reason why.
“ But, Maudeen, I can’t give you up !” he
would mutter, as they scowled on him in pass
ing.
Then there was a man—one of the under
keepers on the Ballina estate—who evinced a
strong partiality for him. Elliot would sup in
his house, and Tim would seem never to tire of
his company. Tim had been told off to watch
his movements and gauge his habits, that noth
ing might mar the plot in the end; and he seem
ed to derive peculiar satistaction from this duty.
The “ Black Watch” had arranged to spare the
ranger till mid-Autumn. The Summer nights
were short and bright—detection would be easy.
Beside, this was the first blood that would be
shed in the barony, and on the threshold of
crime there is sometimes a lingering.
But the hour came at last.
It was a mild afternoon in Autumn. The
robins were piping as Maudeen gathered the
last of her roses. She was Binging too, for that
very day she had wrung an unwilling consent
from her mother to look with favorable eyes on
the courtship of John Elliot.
“It w?Il break Hugh’s heart,” wept the
widow, “ and, oh, honey, ther’s nothin’ but
harm will come of it—he was dead set on ye,
was Hugh 1”
“ Mother,” cried the girl despairingly, “ I
will marry him an you like; but my heart
will rive in two.”
And, when the widow saw how pale her
child’s face had grown, she bowed her head in
sore trouble, saying:
“Let him come then, let him come, this John
Elliot.”
And Maudeen had sent off a little lad who
tended the cattle; and now at every sound she
raised her bright face, thinking it must mean
John Elliot. Presently a footfall did break the
silence; but it was not the ranger—it was Black
Hugh instead, who stood leaning heavily against
the farm g?»“
“ Good d y. D'ye wish to see mother ?”
asked Mr ud en stifling the pang of fear that
seized he rat -h: of her rejected lover, to whom
she bad sca/cely spoken since two months be
fore, when the; met in the lane.
The widow could heal sprains and burns
better than any doctor. Perhaps Hugh had
hurt his arm at the forge, thought the girl—his
face was certainly pale, and his lips were com
pressed as with pain.
“ It’s you I wish to spake with,” was the sul
len answer, as he unlatched the gate and strode
up to her. “ Maudeen, will ye not be after
givin’me a chance—will ye not try to love me?”
Tears crept into the girl’s eyes.
“I am after lovin’ you, Hugh,” she answered
softly, “ though not in the way you mane. I
can’t do that, Hugh—l can’t.”
“ Try—only try !”
“Hugh, it’s just not possible.”
“ You shall never marry Elliot—never—so
help me ”
A trembling hand laid on his lips checked the
final word.
“Whist, Hugh—oh, whist! Sure it’s niver
mischief you’re manin’ him nor me ?”
“ Let him take his chance, as better men have
done!” laughed the smith hoarsely.
The girl seemed to stop breathing; she grew
pale to the lips—her beautiful eyes dilated with
terror. Then the color surged over her face
again, and she answered gently:
“ Hugh, you frightened me sore for the min
ute, but you’re a true brave man that would
never do evil in the dark. Sure I know better
than that 1”
Hugh laughed again-a wild fierce laugh that
rattled in his thro -t.
The girl began to Ire ••Me i little.
“ Hugh, if there d nu.m d me by him, it’ll be
the death of me !” she sa d f tintly.
The smith made no answer, but turned to
leave her. He had barely reached the gate
when she was once more beside him. He felt
the convulsive clinging of her hands about him,
her warm breath on his ashen cheek.
“ Hugh—oh, Hugh !” she sobbed.
Then a strong shudder seized the man; he
turned and faced the girl where she stood.
“ Heaven knows how well I love ye, Maudeen
O’Shea,” he cried hoarsely—“ how well, how
well! See now; give me one kiss—just one—and
put your two hands on my head and say,
‘ Heaven speed ye, Hugh Slievan !’ and I’ll not
be after troublin ye again.”
And Maudeen, though she trembled still, did
as she was bid.
“ Heaven speed ye, Hugh Slievan !” she mur
mured through her tears, and laid her two
hands on his bowed head and kissed him.
Then the smith leaped the gate, and was gone
from her sight.
* # # # # s.
A isw hours lator, as the chill mists of evening
gathered over the bogs, four men wended their
yay by separate paths toward the bend of the
road that lay between the Ballina demesne and
the farm owned by Widow O’Shea. They all
made for the same spot—a broken bit ol 'wall
enclosing a thicket ot firs bordering the road.
The first three who reached the place carried
rifles; these they laid carefully on the fern at
their leet; and then, cowering behind the wall
NEW YORK DISPATCH, NOVEMBER 22 1885.
they began to search tho road with impatient
eyes.
Half an hour passed.
“ Seems to me he’s desperate long in cornin’!”
muttered one. They were the first words (hat
were spoken.
“ He’ll wish he’d been longer presently !”
laughed another in reply.
The crackle of a dry twig in tlto wood behind
at that instant made the liearts of the watching
men leap within them. They turned round —it
was Black Hugh.
“ Sure, Mister Slievan, ye might have trusted
us !” laughed one uneasily.
“ Troth, there’s none I trust like yourself,
Tim,” was the reply. “ I just came to see as ye
wanted for nothin’. Ye might make that mid
dle loop-hole deeper, I’m tbinkin’. And, Mike,
lad !”
His brother raised his handsome young face
to him.
“ What's that, Hugh?”
“When all's over, never look into the road,
but run straight back to the forge. And see
here—l don’t like that old blunderbuss ye’vo
gotten. Ye’ll put in a big charge, and it’ll be
like to bust. Here’s my own fowlin’-piece—it’s
loaded ready for ye.”
“ All right!” said the other; and the brothers
exchanged guns.
“ Shoot straight, boys, and steady,” urged
tho smith. Then he laid his hand on young
Mike’s shoulder, looked him in the face, and
gave a deep sigh. “ Good night, lad 1” he
said gently.
But, as he turned to leave them—for it was
none of bis duty to watch for what followed—he
muttered:
“ Poor Mike ! There’s none wiR take truer
aim, nor any that’ll be so glad twas with an
empty cartridge.”
“ Seems to me Hugh’s tired to-night,” re
marked one of the men, as they watched him
pass slowly through the wood. “He walks
heavy-like.”
Th© dusk had somewhat deepened when
those waiting lor it at length described a soli
tary figure advancing along the road that led
past their ambush. The figure was tall, its gait
swift and steady, like that of one bound on a
pleasant errand.
“ Be sure it’s him, Tim I” muttered young
Mike through bis set teeth.
“ He wears a light coat, and swirls his stick
about.”
“ That’s him !” jeered another. “ He’ll not
go courtin’ after this night, I’m thinkin’.”
“ Now, lads, steady your rifles !”
The muzzles of three guns wore immediately
raised to the loop-holes.
The .solitary figure still advanced. They
could not see the man’s face, for his head was
turned to the right, where in a hollow a mile
distant shone a light from Maudeen O’Shea’s
window. With swift steady steps the u man
walked straight to his doom..
As he came in line with the rifles there flashed
out at him three tongues of fire.
No answering cry was heard, but, as the loud
rattle of the volley stopped short, choked in the
bog-mists, there followed the thud of a; heavy
body falling on the hard road.
Silently, and but lor a brief second, the men
hung behind their shelter. Then they rose
from their knees, and, without one pitiful look
across the wall, each turned his back on his
companions and stole into the gloom.
Perhaps ten minutes had elapsed when
another solitary wayfarer approached the spot.
He whistled as he walked, striding along swiftly
and without pause till within a few yards of the
fir-wood. Then something on the road—some
thing that at first he took for nothing more than
a gray bundle—caught his eyes.
When, in the dim light, he ascertained it to be
a man, his ifsteps insensibly quickened. The
blood-sprinkled’ dust made him shudder as he
stooped over the recumbent form. A swift
glance, then he fell upon his knees and raised
the wounded man in his arms.
“ Hugh,” he cried—“ Hugh Slievan ! Good
heavens, what's this ?”
He thought he spoke to dead ears, but at
sound of his rival’s voice the smith opened his
heavy eyes.
“ It’s all right,” he gasped feebly—“ it’s all
right, John Elliot: better me than you. Ah,
this ball in my throat! Raise me, raise me !
So—now I can breathe. What was I sayin’ ?
Maudeen—tell her it was for her I done it—
maybe she’ll belave I loved her now ! Let me
lale your hand—the ill-will’s dyin* with me, for
sure. I—vdon’t— mind—so—that—she’ll—be—
happy. Where’s Mike ? Mother o’ Mercy !”
The fierce eyes closed; the weary head fell
back on the ranger’s arm; the restless spirit of
Black Hugh had fled to its Maker.
IF WE WERE TO SUPPOSE.
A MAN WHO WOULD HAVE NEAR
LY EVEBYBODYPUT IN JAIL.
(From the Philadelphia North American.)
“Well, suppose you were to make a law
that—”
It was not known what the citizen who said it
referred to, for just there at the word “that”
the second citizen, with whom he was convers
ing on a street corner yesterday, interrupted
him with:
“ Yes, yes ; now let me suppose a few things.
Some people are very good at supposing. Sup
pose all the law-breakers were in jail ? Suppose
every man that ever killed another man were
hanged? Suppose the ‘phiz’ of every rogue
were in the Rogues’ Gallery? Suppose that
every bank president that deserved it were ex
iled to Canada? Suppose that all gamblers
were routed from their dens or high-toned
clubs ? Suppose that every man who ever bet
a hat or a thousand dollars on an election were
disqualified from voting and punished? Sup
pose that your ‘unde’ were given his legal de
serts as a usurer as well as your banker or
warrant-shaving broker? Suppose that every
public officer who ever stole money or anything
belonging to the people was disgraced ? Sup
pose every one who ever ate a dinner at the
city’s expense, or used its lead pencils and
paper and stamps or things greater or less in
value were openly charged with robbery ? Sup
pose that every trustee who neglected his trust
were known and distrusted ?”
“Suppose all the log-rollers and bribers in
the legislative halls of the country were de
tected and dishonored 1 Suppose every poli
tician who instigated an election fraud, who
ever made a false registry or issued a spuri
ous ticket, were in the grip of the Committee
on Frauds of the Committee of One Hundred ?
“ Suppose that the Sabbath violators were all
turned into pillars of salt on the spot; that bar
bers that shave on Sunday—the five-cent men,
at least—were all cut and leeched from crown
to sole and placed out in front of their shops
for their own signs, and that every citizen who
had gone there to get shaved were to be paraded
around the streets the rest of the day with the
white lather still on his face ? Suppose that
collar and necktie dealers who keep open on
Sunday morning were excommunicated from
their church, along with all the citizens who
patronize them ? Suppose that the saloon
keepers who sell liquors on Sundays or election
days-; who sell liquor to minors," who harbor
thieves and gamblers about their establish
ments, who carry on business without alioense,
etc., were brought to justice by the Law and Or
der Society ? Suppose that all the gamins who go
fishing, or swimming, or chestnuting, or who
play ball, or black boots, or sell papers, were
sent to Sunday-school for punishment ?
“ Suppose that all those who perform any un
necessary labor or business on that day—in
cluding all railroad and street railway em
ployees and officers—were constrained to com
ply with tho law? Suppose that every man
who makes, keeps or exposes indelicate pictures
or statuary, from the best artists and their rich
patrons down to illustrated police papers, and
every writer and publisher of immoral stories,
from Shakespeare down to Sunday journalists,
were prosecuted by the Society for the Suppres
sion of Vice and Immorality ?
“ Suppose that every thug and every gentle
man who carries concealed deadly weapons,
were fined? Suppose that every house-wife
that washes her pavement at the improper hours
in the daytime and every one who uses the city’s
water for the purpose without paying rent for a
wash-pave were taken along to the station-house
by the policeman on that beat ? Suppose that
every policeman who wasn’t on his beat attend
ing to his duty, were discharged, and the Mayor
would be all the time busy discharging police
men ?
“Suppose that every property-owner that
doesn’t clean the snow and ice off his pavement
within six hours after it falls, were made to slip
and fall down and crack hie skull on it, and
that those who do not keep the gutters clear
and dam the water back on the pavements of
properties upstream, were publicly ducked?
Add to these tho multitude who sweep dirt out
of stores and off their pavements into the streets
contrary to law, and the lovers of fruit who
throw skins, cores, etc., on the sidewalks.
“ Suppose that every mau who abuses his
wife were abused in return, and that every
woman who is a ‘ common scold ’ were to re
ceive the legal punishment? Suppose that
every man found drunk and behaving disorder
ly on the street were taken up ? Suppose that
every man who ‘ bids in ’ at public sales to pre
vent ‘knock-downs’ at low figures were to be
given the ‘ knock-down ’ which the law of the
State provides for his kind? Suppose that
every man who has told things he knew to be
false while under oath on the witness-stand
and every juror who has assisted to frame a’
partial verdict or endeavored to prevent a right
verdict, or who has violated his oath, were to be
burned alive instead of dead, as jhe pretended
to fear when he took the oath ? Sunpose that
every man engaged in building ‘ bonus ’ houses,
. which the law is supposed to prevent, were to
be placed in the one that would first fall down,
as all do soon ?
“ Suppose that all teamstars and others who
fail to keep ‘ ten feet apart ’ on the street or
sportsmen who drive faster than seven miles an
hour out in the Park, were arrested; that all the
business men who pile their boxes and goods so
as to continually block up the sidewalks were
fined ? Suppose that the captains and owners
of ferryboats who load them beyond the legal
limit were sent to sea in a bowl and left to their
fate ? Suppose that all the physicians who fail
to make reports of births, deaths and diseases,
and ministers who fail to make their marriage
returns, and editors who blast the reputations
of citizens, and lawyers who fleece their clients
all got their deserts ?
“Then, suppose all the parties so treated ac
cording to law began to publicly swear at their
government, and were all prosecuted for pro
fanity? Suppose all this—and you and I would
look pretty respectable in the crowd, wouldn’t
we ?” We would have plenty of good company,
and you take all those suppositions into considl
eration, how lonely the low that were btft out-
side of jail would feel! Now, suppose we take
something of far greater and more immediate
importance to us both—something that will go
right homo to our own hearts—suppose we
take —”
“What?” sharply asked the bravely patient
man, who had been listening for half an hour.
The answer was never heard, but the two
were by this time moving toward a saloon that
stood on the opposite corner, fumbling the few
pennies that were still remaining in their
pockets.
BY ANNIE KENDRICK BENEDICT.
[The following sketch is a true one. Every in-ci
(‘.ent iu connection with Gen. Randolph bae come
within the experience of a friend.—Author.]
I was a young man of leisure. My physician
had prescribed a vacation, and I was taking it
in a Summer boarding-house among the hills,
in company with an uncle and aunt, and some
proity cousins.
i .no o. ; these cousins was Alice Brantley. She
was an orphan, my uncle’s ward, and she add
ed to the attraction ot largo dark eyes an-d a
fair face that of a lovely disposition and a
strong character. This is not a story of my
courtship, or I might tell how th-e grapevines
were laden with their purple harvest, tho ap
ples were showing their golden color through
the leaves—in short, how I had lingered far be
yond my convalescence, all for the joy of sitting
iu the light ol Alice’s eyes and listening to her
low voice. •
But tho time was coming when we must sep
arate. She was poor. I had yet my name and
fame to make in the world. Wanting a position
as governess, she had replied to an advertise
ment from a lady in the South. Her applica
tion had been accepted, money bad been sent
for her outfit, and she was busy about her
preparations.
Alice and I were together under a big apple
tree one morning, she stitching away on some
numberless garments that women think they
must have if they are going to make a journey,
I lazily lying on the ground trying to make her
etep to eat the golden fruit with which I was
pelting her, when my uncle came near with an
open letter which he threw into Alice’s lap.
“ I am glad you will have company, child,” he
said.
Alice read it, and in answer to my inquiries
told me that Dr. 8., a well-known divine from
one of the large Eastern cities, who knew my
uncle well, had written, introducing Major Gen
eral Randolph, of the Confederate army, who
was to come through our town, and would ac
company her to her destination.
We thought no more ot it, except that 1 re
member the inward curse I visited on thejfpov
erty that compelled me to allow a stranger to
do the task that would have been so delightful
to me. Mrs. 8., to whom she bad engaged her
self as governess, also sent a letter ot introduc
tion, and we only awaited his coming.
Well I remember the morning that he arrived.
We were sitting on the broad piazza in front of
the house as he walked up the drive with my
uncle.
He was a man of about medium hight, rather
slight, but giving the impression of great ac
tivity. His whole bearing was that of a soldier.
He had a remarkable face, wavy brown hair
brushed back from a high forehead, fair com
plexion, eyes that changed with every changing
motion, now laughing, now pathetic, now keen
and sharp, now earnest, never really sinister or
wicked. His gray traveling coat and handsome
brown valise became him well, and his slouch
hat, of the finest, softest felt, gave him a distin
guished appearance.
With an’air of good breeding worn by a man
of the world, he acknowledged the introduction
which my uncle gave in passing, and went to
his room to remove the dust of travel.
His coming marked an era in our quiet life.
It was the last week of August. Many of the
Summer boarders had fled, and those that re
mained were perhaps the most cultivated who
had been with us. In those hazy days of late
Summer and early Autumn there was little to
do but sit on the piazzas and watch the changing
lights on the hills.
General Randolph was here and there and
everywhere. I have seen much of the world
since, and Alice, my wife, is a keen judge of
men and things, but we can both freely say that i
he was the most fascinating man we have ever
met. He had a keen intellect and was brilliant
in conversation. His fund of information
seemed endless. He would sit on the piazza an
hour at a time, twirling the little cane which he
always carried, discussing a favorite aulhor or
telling a funny story or pathetic incident of his
army life. We asked no greater pleasure than
to watch the lights and shadows of his wonder
ful eyes.
The ladies were charmed with him. One of
my cousins mixed his brandy and water night
ly, and a rich* young widow, who had many
suiters at her feet, received his attentions with
evident pleasure. But he had the tact which
made no one jealous or unhappy in his pres
ence. Not a pang crossed my mind in thinking
that Alice would travel with him. He was my
ideal of a Southern gentleman and my only feel
ing was one of pleasure that Alice would be so
well taken care of.
He formed a special friendship for a gentle
man who had a school in the neighborhood. I
remember that one evening as we sat in the
parlor he asked this gentleman to purchase for
him a number of books during a visit to New
York. He wrote down from memory the titles
of at least one hundred of the best of books and
our friend readily promised to do as he desired,
and give the privilege of his discount. The
general also proposed to bring his brother to
our friend’s school, and offered a generous sub
scription to aid him in his work.
He stayed two weeks, and then left for a few
days. He was expecting to return and bring
his brother, then take Alice on their journey.
He came back, but his brother was not with
him.
“ Harry came to tho depot,” he said in ex
plaining, “but was suffering so much from a
felon on his hand that I had not the heart to
insist on his coming. Ho will be her© in a fow
days.”
But all pleasant days must end, and the last
of our pleasant season came. He and Alice
started. He had left a substantial check in the
hands of our friend, and we were all sorry that
we might never meet him again.
I lingered a few days to gather my things to
gether, and was spending my last hour with my
uncle and his family, when our friend, the Pro
fessor, came suddenly into the room with a
dazed look, saying:
“ General Randolph’s check has been re
turned !”
We could not believe our ears. General
Randolph dishonest! Impossible !
My uncle telegraphed at once to his clerical
friend in tbe East. Alas! Dr. B. knew no
such man. He was blind, and wrote by means
of a secretary, so that his signature had been
easily forged.
I was crazy, maddened! Alice had gone
with him 1 Where? Oh, where ? I took a de
tective and started in search of her. I gath
ered my own savings, the bank furnished more
money, and I determined to find him and bring
him back to justice, dead or alive.
We followed them to New York, but they had
left the day before. We traced them by moans
of a small cane which he had left to be marked
at a jeweler’s store. It was to be engraved :
“From Randolph, of Virginia, to Bush, of Ken
tucky,” and was to be sent to Lexington, Ky.
We followed them to Cincinnati. I recognized
his handwriting on the register of one of the
hotels in an assumed name. As I pointed to it
tho clerk laughed and said :
“I’d like to collar that fellow. He played us
the neatest bit of roguery that I’ve seen for
many a long day. He went to tbe theatre one
night and brought back with him a chap that ho
picked up there. They were as thick as hops.
They must room together. I bad charge of tho
safe, and, as they came to the desk to get the
key, your friend said to the other in the airiest
tones—you know what away he had with him —
(Yes, I knew : ‘Now, you must excuse mo, sir ;
but of course we never met each other before
and I think it would be better to leave our val
uables in the safe over night. I have a package
of papers beside me that is worth a good deal,
and, with your permission, I’ll take a effcek for
it. The other chap did the same, leaving a
watch and quite a sum of money. Now, what
do you suppose that infernal rogue did ? Early
in the morning, before the other fellow was
awake, he slipped his hand into his pocket, got
out the check, dressed himself, came down and
handed it over to the clerk (different one in the
morning, you know), and received the watch
and the money, leaving his friend his package
of papers, worthless, of course. You may be
sure we haven’t seen him since.”
We then visited the chief of police, who con
ducted us to the rogues’ gallery. I hate to live
over again the distrust ot human nature that
entered my soul that day, when, in a conspicu
ous place, I saw the handsome face and bril
liant eyes of our friend Randolph.
“He is one of the biggest rogues in the coun
try,” said the chief. “He has been in prison
twice for forgery, and has done more petty
crime than any man that I know of.”
We traced them, in one slight way and anoth
er, to Buffalo. There, in one of the first-class
hotels, to my joy I found Alice. She said that
General Randolph had gone out for a few min
utes, and they were to leave that evening. He
had taken her even to the town where she had
expected to go, showed her the house of Mrs.
8., but regretted to find that the lady was still
in the North on her Summer trip. Alice had
been treated with perfect courtesy, but rather
by the power of his magnetism than in any other
way he had got her on the cars and taken her
to Buffalo. We subsequently concluded that
his purpose in taking her was to make her ot
use in counterfeiting. She was a fine penman
and that was one of his diversions.
She promised the officer to board the train
that evening, as had been agreed upon, and
after it was in motion to point out General Ran
dolph. She did so, and thus was he delivered
up to justice. On the return home he escaped
once, but was recaptured.
After he was fairly locked in the jail I went to
see him. He looked haggard, but met me with
all his polished ease of manner.
“It is all a mistake,” he said—“ all a mis
take. It will be righted soon. I hoard you
were searching for me and was traveling to find
you.”
“ Strange,” I answered, “ that we were look
ing ao hard for each other and couldn’t come
together. I hope the matter may be righted as
you say.”
But it’never was righted. He was tried and
sentenced to Charleston State Prison for seven
years. I have heard since that he played in
sane and was released, and that he was feted m
one of our smaller cities as Governor of Ar
kansas.
Perhaps one of the low truths that General
Randolph ever told was that his brother had
“ a felon on his hand.” The many questions
that will arise in the minds of my readers I can
not answer. I have given the facts; you must
form the theories.
A DOG SNAKE.
A THUE SNAKE STORY FROM
TEXAS.
{From the Memphis Avalanche.)
Knowing the deep interest you give to the
original seducer, the snake, we give you the
1 olio wing, which was given us as facts, and at
tested by many citizens of Hempstead, which is
sufficient to guarantee its verity. A few nights
ago, Steve Wilkins, a well-to-do and known
colored man, went down west of town ’possum
hunting, taking with him Nick Holt’s dog
Witch, well known as being the best ’possum
dog in Brazos county, or perhaps in the State.
Frequent wagers have been made that Witch
could tree a ’possum after other dogs had
abandoned the trail. Well, Steve struck up
with Jim Webster and they sauntered out.
Witch was slow to strike a trail. The weather
was dry and warm, so that the varmints did not
travel. However, as they neared the railroad,
this side of the Brazos, Witch opened, but evi
dently on a cold track, circling around a close
thicket of thorned brush. He finally bayed,
and Steve and Webster knew he was there. Af
ter some sharp barking, and in a manner differ
ent from Witch’s custom and as it at bay and
also in defense, they heard him in a terrible
tussle, and gave evidence of being choked or
smothered. No more could be heard ot Witch,
but, as the papers say, they scoured the wood
and thicket in search. No whistling or calling
could bring any tidings of Witch.
So, after exhausting all patience, Steve and
Webster returned home, much troubled and
mystified at the way Witch had acted and been
lost.
But here comes the strange part of it all.
The next morning, after breakfast, at the cor
ner of Austin and Houston streets, which is in
the suburbs, perhaps the strangest sight ever
beheld in this country of wonders startled the
whole neighborhood as if the Apaches had been
coming. Coming up the centre of the street
was a snake, but different from all other snakes
of which snakeology ever treated—even in
spirits. The snake had the head of a dog, and
carried its foreparts as if by the legs of a dog,
the balance and the tail dragging along, extend
ing nine feet behind. After the bravest of the
brave mustered sufficient courage, they con
cluded to slay the monster, and when Nick
Holt was in the act of discharging a double
charged musket for that purpose from a fence,
the strange creature whined, and in such away
that Holt recognized his dog Witch by his head
and voice.
After much ado about it they found that the
snake had attempted to eat Witch by swallow
ing him, perhaps crushing him only sufficiently
to exhaust life for a time. And after swallow
ing up to the head Witch revived, and in his
great efforts to escape, had actually thrust his
legs through the monster’s stomach, which, in
time, proved his death, and Witch walked home
as has been described.
The snake was of a dark, speckled species,
much like our turkey snake, only much larger
than was ever before seen—eleven feet nine
inches, and twelve and a half inches round.
Some conjectured it had escaped from Barret’s
circus and was a boa. But true to Witch’s repu
tation for ’possums, he had gone his “ full
length ” for this one, for, when on liberating
him with a knife, it was found in the snake's
stomach, where it had been swallowed a few
hours before. Witch is now the noted thing in
this country ; has fully recovered, and the mon
ster’s skin hangs to adorn a tail.
THE MAKE-UP.
An “ Old Man ” of the Stage Tells About
the Tricks of His Trade.
(From the Chicago Mai'.)
“In character representation,” said the actor,
“ a good make-up is essential. In many cases
it will pull a bit of bad acting through. Until
■within the past few years the English actors ex
celled the native-born Americans in this regard,
but the latter have picked up and now average
second to none in the art of making up. But
it’s a great study. Of course the actor's face
should correspond with his conception of the
character to be portrayed. A picture must be
drawn in the mind, of the character to be repre
sented, and then transferred to the face of the
actor. This maintains consistency with the
lines he speaks. Careful artists study this in
the mirror before applying a line to the fea
tures. I will demonstrate to you?’
He then proceeded to lay a foundation of pul
verized chalk, applying it with a piece of cha
mois skin. This he evenly distributed, making
a surface as a painter would prepare hie can
vas. This completed, his face assumed the ex
pression of the old man described. From the
“make-up box” he produced several little
sticks of grease paint, of many colors and com
binations of shades, and proceeded to accurate
ly follow the lines indicated. He blended these
with a camel’s hair pencil until they expressed
the desired effect. A touch of rouge here and
a little India ink and yellow ochre there, and
the picture was complete—a wrinkled old man,
hollow.cheeked and eccentric-looking.
The actor had adjusted his tights and ap
proached the glass in a corner of the little
dressing-room. The reporter looked over his
shoulder, and the actor’s customarily handsome
features were contracted out of shape. His
brows were elevated in an extravagant way,
and irregular furrows ran longitudinally over
his forehead. “ Crows’ feet ” were in the cor
ners of his eyes, and by a dropping of the lower
jaw the deep lines were made down from the
base of the nose on either side, the mouth as
suming a crescent shape. The face in an in
stant had been transformed from youth to en
feebled age.
“ Now, that’s an expression I’ll maintain on
my face for the next two hours and a half while
I’m on the stage. Painful? No, not particu
larly. The muscles of an actor’s face become so
tractable that, like any other exercise, it has no
wearying results. But that's not enough. It
would be sufficient for those with opera-glasses,
but even then we must exaggerate nature a
bit.”
“Wait a bit—l have not finished,” he said.
“ Now, this would be sufficiently strong for the
naked eye, but I must make up for the opera
glasses and strike a medium.”
The chamois skin was again brought into use,
and a perfect transparent surface was formed,
showing the deep lines beneath. The trans
formation was completed.
“ As I said in the beginning,” he remarked,
turning from the glass, “ a good make-up goes
a great distance in this business, and some
men, although born between acts, as one might
say, never learn the art. I’m a villainously
bad actor—l know it—but I believe this is
what I draw my little old fifty dollars a week
salary for.”
EDWIN ADAMS AND FORREST
ROBSON RELATES A PRACTICAL
JOKE EDWIN INVENTED.
(From the Chicago News.)
Mr. Stuart Robson says that Edwin Booth is
chock of full amusing and interesting reminis
cences of Edwin Forrest. One time Booth went
to call on Forrest, and he found the old gentle
man brooding over a grievance he had against
Edwin Adams. Now, Forrest was quick to ap
preciate wit and humor when they did not tread
on his own corns, but he saw no fun in a joke
that somebody else played on him.
“ I cannot understand it at all,” said Forrest.
“ I have loved Adams like a son, yet he tells
these baseless, senseless lies about me.”
“ Indeed, Mr. Forrest,” said Booth, “ you
must be mistaken.”
“ No,” replied Forrest, “ the very heavens
echo with the libels and slanders he is continu
ally uttering. I will give you a sample : He
says I went down to Long Branch last Summer
and became deeply enamored of a beautiful
young lady of twenty-two; that walking upon
the sands of the beaoh one day I proposed mar
riage to her.”
“Oh, pshaw 1 Preposterous!” interrupted
Booth.
“But he says so,” continued Forrest, “and
he says that I said to the young lady: ‘Miss, this
is a great honor. The greatest actor apd the most
gigantic intellect of the age offers you his hand
and heart? Then, says Adams, the young lady,
blushing and looking down at the sands, said
that she fully appreciated the honor, but before
replying she would have to consult her mother.
At this, according to Adams, I drew myself up
to my full jhight and exclaimed: |‘Your mother,
child; your mother ? Your mother can go to the
devil!’ ”
Having told this story in the most vigorous
and dramatic manner, old Forrest drew back
and regarded Booth with an expression that
seemed to ask: “There, now! What do you
think of that?” Then alter waiting a proper
time for Booth to comprehend the fullness of
Adams’s offense, Forrest said, in the most im
pressive manner : “ Booth, I assure you most
solemnly I never said anything of the kind !”
GHOST STORIES.
HAUNTED BY A SUICIDE SPIRIT—
A MURDERER’S WRAITH.
Says a correspondent of the St. Louis Globe-
Democrat: Danville, HL, has a haunted house,
and takes particular pride in the fact that it is
not behind other enterprising towns in this re
spect. The house is situated in a suburb called
Tinchertown, and is the place where occurred
the tragic death of Louis Klemach at the refusal
of a pretty German girl to become his wife.
From that room comes strange noises and
moanings, for which there is no accounting.
The house has been vacant for a long time, and
no one appears anxious to live in it. People
who are seeking for houses to rent turn away
from it when they get a hint that it is haunted.
The last family that lived m the house fre
quently heard these moanings, which some
times were exceedingly pitiful, as if of some
person iu the last agonies.
Footsteps have been heard and other noises
have been distinguished in and about the room.
Some gentlemen who professed to be incredu
lous about the whole matter quietly arranged
to remain in the room one night recently forth©
purpose of investigating, design was
known only to themselves. On the night agreed
upon all were promptly present. They took
tlieir position in a room adjoining the one in
quaetion and communicating with it by a door.
About twelve o’clock, without any premonitory
signals whatever, groans and moanings began,
and increased in intensity so long as the volun
teer watchers could command the nerve to re
main. They endured it but a few moments and
very unceremoniously left the premises. One
of them says he would not repeat the experi
ence of that night for a good deal of money,
while the others refuse to express themselves
touching the matter. The fame of that particu
lar house is spreading.
The whole country around Crawfordsville,
Ind., is filled with ghosts and rumors of ghosts
of the late John W. Coffee, executed there a few
weeks ago. One of the most striking;of these
stories is related as follows, and the part Dick
Tracy played in it is vouched for as true. Tracy
was a conductor on the Louisville, New Albany
and Chicago Railroad, who he saw the
ghost of Coffee, with a rope around his neck
and covered with blood, on his caboose, and has
not made a trip since. He is thoroughly fright
ened, and told a friend all about it at his home,
corner of Halstead and Forty-third streets, Chi
cago. He and his brakeman, William Buis,
were in the caboose, when the ghost jumped on
the front end, just as they were leaving Craw
fordsville. Tracy rushed and locked the door
of the car. when the ghost climbed on the roof
and came in by the cupola and took a seat in
the car. The rope was around his neck, his
luce was bloody and his hands were tied behind
him. He rode for about thirty miles while they
sat transfixed with fear. He went through the
back door, jumped off, and they saw him run
up the steep bank and disappear.
The Boston Times tells this brief, but pun
gent, history of
"THE MODERN SCHOOL TEACHER.”
'Twas Saturday night, and a teacher sat
Alone, her task pursuing;
She averaged this and she averaged that,
Of all that her class was doing.
She reckoned percentage so many boys
And so many girls, all counted,
And marked all "the tardy and absentees.
And to what all the absence amounted.
Names and residences wrote in full
O’er many columns and pages—
Canadian, Teutonic, African, Celt —
And averaged all their ages;
The date of admission of every one.
And cases of flagellation;
And prepared a list of graduates
For the county examination.
Her weary head sank low on her book,
And her weary heart still lower.
For some of her pupils had little brain.
And she could not furnish more.
She slept—she dreamed—it seemed she died,
And her spirit went to Hades,
And they met her there with a question fair.
"State what the per cent, of your grade is ?”
Ages had slowly rolled away.
Leaving but partial traces,
And the teacher’s spirit walked one day
In the old familiar places.
A mound of fossilized school reports
Attracted her observatiou—
As high as the State House dome, and as wide
As Boston since annexation.
She came to the spot where they buried her bones,
And the ground was well built over;
But laborers, digging, threw out a skull,
Once planted beneath the clover.
A disciple of Galen, wandering by.
Paused to look at the diggers,
And plucking the skull up, looked through the eye,
And saw it was lined with figures.
"Just as I thought,” said the young M. D.
“How easy it is to kill ’em !
Statistics ossified every fold
Of cerebrum and cerebellum.”
"It’s a great curiosity, sure,” said Pat;
"By the bones you can tell the creature.”
"Oh, nothing strange,” said the doctor; “that
Was a nineteenth century teacher.”
No husband who has a mother-in-law will
deny that this man was well punished for
NOT MAILING THE LETTER.
Wife—" John, did you mail that letter I gave you
throe days ago ?”
Husband—“ I—l—guess—why, yes, of course.”
Wife—" That is all right, then. It was to tell my
mother not to visit us just now. She was to start
to-day. but if you mailed my letter she won’t
come.”
Husband (tearing his hair as he goes down the
street) —“I didn’t mail it. Forgot it, idiot that I
am, and she will be here to-night, and I am in for a
mouth of mother-in-law.”
The bridge-tender had swung open his port
cullis to allow the schooner to pass up the
river, when, by some inattention on his part, he
RAISED THE CAPTAIN’S IRE.
“If I had you down on the deck of this vessel I’d
break your neck,” said the skipper, shaking his
fist.
"Yer would, would ye, yer chuckle-headed salt
horse. If yer was on the plankin’ of the bridge I’d
mop the flure with your ugly carcass an’ hang yer
up ter dry on ths truss.”
"Shut up, yer animated slush-bucket. For two
brass pins I’d send my cabin-boy up to feed distil
lery hogs with your remains, you chop-snooted son
of-a-gun*”
"Arrah, ye bandy-legged horse-marine, I’ve a big
notion ter drop down off uv the bridge an’ maul yer
ter a pulp.”
"Well, why don’t you drop ?” sneered the captain.
"Just drop, and I’ll undertake to feed fishes with
you.”
" Yer a lyin’ skip-jack.”
"You’re a red-nosed scavenger, with a blue-mold
and a cross-eye. I’m going to tie up just above
here, and I ll give you a lively old interview when I
get ashore.”
"Is it tie up you’re goin’ ter be after doin’ ?” in
quired the bridge-tender, anxiously.
"That’s just what I’m going to do, Cap.”
"Correct; raelud, Wheg yer have tied up yer
schooner, coifift odp herefand we’ll take in the lager
beer saloon just ferninst the aste ind uv the bridge.
Perhaps I’ve made a mistake.”
"All right, my hearty. Mebbe I, too, was a little
quick. I'll be there, because when f drink, I always
aim to do it with gentlemen.”
"An’ it’s a gentleman yer is, Cap.”
Th© Texas Siftings gives us what it thinks is
THE WAY IN WHICH REPORTERS WRITE,
The reporter who is very ignorant always begins
his articles, "We arc well informed.”
When the reporter lies on a mere rumor ho
writes, "We learn from a perfectly reliable source.”
When he is uncertain he writes, "As is well
known.”
If he has written all that can be written on a sub
ject, he adds, "We might continue this subject for
columns.”
If he does not hear anything at all, he writes,
"It has come to our ears.”
If he does not know how an affair started, he
writes, “ As all our readers arc well aware.”
If nobody has said a word to him on the subject,
he writes, "We have just been assured.”
Th© following is an old story. It has been lo
cated in every city in the country, and it is al
ways good- W© have r.eaa it a 4ozen
invariably enjoyed it. The story tells of
A LAWYER WHO WAS TAKEN FOR A DRUM
MER.
A member of the Dubuque bar was recently in
pne of the thriving interior towns of the State on
business. In th© hotel he was accosted by a very
agreeable gentleman, who finally wanted to know
where he was from. The legal gentleman not ex
actly relishing the stranger’s familiarity, answered
curtly:
"From Dubuque.”
The next question was:
"For what house are you traveling ?”
"For my own.”
"You are ? May I ask your name ?”
"You may.”
"Pause—enjoyable to the lawyer,*embarrassing
to the other.
" Well (desperately), what is your name?”
The lawyer gave his name as “Jones.”
“ What line are you in ?”
"I don’t understand you, sir !”
"What are you selling?” (impatiently).
“Brains,” was the cool reply.
The stranger saw his opportunity, and looking
the Dubuque gentleman over from head to foot, he
said, slowly:
* • Well, you appear to carry a duced small lot of
samples.”
This brief poem informs us
WHAT WOMAN WANTS.
Her wishes are but simple;
She does not crave for wealth;
She wants ajhappy little home
And to be blessed with health.
She wants enough to live upon,
So that she need not borrow;
She wants enough to eat to-day,
And just as much to-morrow.
She wants to pass her days in peace—
To dwell in tranquil mirth;
She wants to be without one’ foe;
In fact—she wants the earth.
SCINTILLATIONS.
A Dominion statesman once character
ized the just completed Canadian Pacific Railroad
as a line "running from hell to nowhere through a
swamp.”
“Do you buy your music by the
roll?” said a gentleman to the deacon’s daughter.
"No, sir,” she sweetly replied; “ I always wait un
til Sunday, when I can get it by the choir.”
Elizabeth Cady Stanton declares that
the Christian religion hasn’t benefited woman to
any considerable extent. It has given her a place
in which to display her millinery, however.
A Down East fire comriany, in a reso
lution on a deceased member?says: "He has re
sponded to his last alarm.” It is a wonder that
they didn’t add that "he has gone to his last fire.”
An exchange says that “ married life
should be a sweet, harmonious song, like one of
Mendelssohn’s ‘without words.’ “ But wives are
uot chosen from deaf and dumb asylums always.
There are thirteen widows living on
one street about three hundred yards long, in
Brooklyn. The city authorities propose to put at
each end of the street a sign, " Dangerous Passing.”
“He died willingly,in the hope of sal
vation.” You may think this refers to a”clergyman
who had served God for half a century, but it does
not. It refers to a murderer who chopped up his
wife.
“Dar ain’ nuthin’ more deceibin’ den
soun’,” says a plantation philosopher. "Dar ain’
nuthin’ more pityful den de cry ob the wild cat,
but, oh Lawd, whut er mouf an’ claws dat varmint
hab got 1”
“ How is your son getting along, Char
ley?” "Oh, pretty well; only that he is a little
puffed up with his own importance, fcnows more
than his father, you know.” “Ah ! then the boy io
not quite an idiot?'*
•‘John, when you die would you like
to be cremated?” "No, Jane; no cremation for
your fond husband. Put me on ice. I have had a
hot time enough of it while alive.” His wife has
not sewed on a button for him since.
<r What is usually the nationality of a
boot-block, my dear?” asked Mrs. Caution while
her husbandlwas studying the score of an Allegheny
game. “O, it varies,” replied Caution; "sometime*
they are Polish and sometimes Shlnese.’*
“ You say that man is a vapor ?”
“ Yes; so the Bible says.” “ Well, I’m downright
glad to hear it, because it backs up the remark I
made to Bill Tibbs just the other day.” " What
was that ?” •• I told him he was a gas bag.”
“ Is Washington’s Birthday observed
in Texas ?” asked a Now Yorker who was visiting
San Antonio. "Observed!” exclaimed the as
tonished native, * * why it’s venerated. It takes four
carloads of beer to fill the demand on that sacred
day.”
Dr. Adam Clark, who had a strong
aversion to pork, was called upon to say grace at a
dinner where the principal dish was roast pig. He
was reported to have said: "O, Lord, if Thou canst
bless under the gospel what Thou didst curse under
the law, bless this pig.”
Minister (fashionable church wedding)
—Whom God hath joined together, let no man put
asunder. Let us unite iu prayer. Bride (kneeling,
whispering)—Remember, George, we arc to pas*
down the right aisle, and do try and not be awkward.
You mortify me to death sometimes.
It is said that a scientific explanation
has been given, to account for dreams that occa
sionally come true, but nobody has been able to
make out why it is that a mosquito will leave fresh
meat any time to lunch on a man as old as a
proverb and tougher than a cowboy.
“ 1 am just as much opposed to tip
pling as anybody,” said Fenderscm, “ but, never
theless, liquor rightly used is a blessing to human
ity. When I was ill last Winter, I actually be
lieve it saved my life.” Fogg—"Very likely;
but how does that prove that liquor is a blessing to
humanity ?”
“Some folks is alius sayin’ dat dar ain’
nuthin’ new un’or de sun,” says Uncle Opie Read.
"Dem folks what holds dis idee oughter git er holt
o’some peach brandy dat I tuck er snort o’borne
time ago, an’ blame ef da wouldn’ change dar chune.
W y, dat brandy wuz so new dat I heah it hoppin*
roun’ on its all fours. W'y, de jug had fuzz on it.”
“Oh, yes,” said madame, after the
usual domestic racket had got itself well under way,
"Oh, yes, you gentlemen want your wives to be an
gels I” “Not at all,” replied Mr. Dusenberry, wip
ing the dish water from his head and face; “not at
all—we don’t want them to be angels at all; we
want them to bo ladies.” And then the row began
all over again.”
Judge met a young friend who
was going to Jackson. “ What business will you
embark in?” asked the Judge. "I have not de
cided as yet, but will try to mako an honest living
at something,” was the reply. “My young friend,”
spoke up the Judge, "you are going to the right
place to succeed, for there will bo no opposition in
that line.”— Vicksburg Herald.
“ My husband is so poetic,” said one
lady to another in a Seventh street car the other
day. " Have you ever tried rubbin' his jints with
hartshorn liniment, mum ?” interrupted a beefy
looking woman with a market-basket at her feet,
who was sitting at her elbow and overheard the re
mark. “ That’ll straighten him out as quick a*
anything I know of, if he haint got it too bad.”
Hi ~
Uraf wsv
Il imJi
S
Swift’s Specific
Is nature’s own remedy, made from roots gathered
from the fores!s of Georgia. The method by which it ia
made was obtained by a half-breed from the Creek In
dians who inhabited a certain portion of Georgia, whisrh
was communicated to one of the early settlers, and thu*
the formula has been handed down to the present day.
The aboye cut represents the method of manufacture
twenty years ago, by Mr. C. T. Swift, one of the present
proprietors. The demand has been gradually increasing
until a SIOO,OOO laboratory is now necessary to supply the
trade. A foreign demand has been created, and enlarged
facilities will be necessary to meet it. This great
VEGETABLE BLOOD PUBIFIER
CUKES
Cancer, Catarrh, Scrofula, Eczema, Ul
cers, Rheumatism, Blood Taint,
hereditary or otherwise, without the use of Mercury or
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Books on “ Contagious Blood Poison ” and on ‘'Blood
and Skin Diseases ” mailed free.
For sale by all druggists.
THE SWIFT SPECIFIC CO.,
N. Y. No. 157 W. 23d St. Drawer No. 3, Atlanta, Ga.
'humphreyF
Maaual of all Diseases',
j. r., r. muruRSYS.a. n.
F”'}■> HIGHLY BOUND IN
>' 4 CLOTH and GOLI)
L • j Mailed Fyeg.
SMgTOFPJmTCyVATjNOsj. ’ ’’■6URE9. price.
I £ a Fever a. Congestion, Inflammations... .25
3 Worms, Worm Fever, Worm C01ic.... .25
3 Crying CoHc, or Teething of Infants. .25
4 diarrhea of Children or Adults .25
Ifj |j>ysentery t Griping, Bilious C01i0.... .25
G Cholera JWorims, vomiting 25
* Coughs, Cold, Bronchitis 25
8 Neuralgia, Toothache, Faceache...... .25
13 Headaches, SickHeadacho, Vertigo.. .2$
1O Dyspepsia, Bilious Stomach....
11 Suppressed or Painful Periods...«• *'ss
12 Whites, too Profuse f ... 2 ..... • £
13 Croup, Cough, Difficult Breathing. .X
14 Salt filheuro, Erysipelas, Eruptions.. *25
Rheumatism, Rheumatic Pains .25
16 (Fever and Ague, Chills, Malaria 50
17 Piles, Blind or Bleeding 50
Iss Catarrh, Influenza, Cold in the Head. .50
20 Whooping Cor.gh, Violent Coughs... .5(1
24 General Debility,Physical Weakness .5(1
271 Kidney Siisease .£«>
280 Nervous Debi1ity.......... ••••••••
SOBUrinary Weakness,Wetting 8ed.... .5G
ggg Diseases of the Heart, P'alpitation.e 1 .GO
ITk e? be? r
S W U 8' S V V’ J
Sold by Drng<nsts, or sentnostpaid on receipt of
price.—HUMPlliiEYS’ SIEDICDiE CO., 100 Fulton St. K.Y.
S S URED.—New Truss. Can
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comfort; also Elastic Stockings ! 'or Varicose Veins. Sup
porters for fat people, Female Supporters for weakness,
Shoulder Braces, etc. PEET & CO..
No. 501 Sixth avenue, cor. 30th street, N. Y.
_ BEST TRUSS EVER USED I.
Improved Elastic
Truss. Wotn night
a n Positively
f;. 'j ELASTIC Wjciu’cs Rupture. Sent
1? TT C DV mail everywhere.
Writeforfull descript
ive circulars to the
NEW YORlf ELASTIC
Xsj C/ - to.,
- 744 Broadway, N. X
KMNY JOYAL
‘‘CHICHESTER'S ENGLISH”
The OrißljinS sad Only ©enttine.
r S! aW ?.‘ or Worthies. Imitation.,
•‘tJhichester’H English” are the best made. Indispensable
TO LA D 2 ES. Inclose4c. (stamps) for particulars, testf
monials, etc., in letter sent vou by re- 3 M
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8818 Madison Sy., Philada. Pa. a
AA strengthens, enlarges, and
gr eri ezioiie
ravigorating Pill, sl. All post-paid. Address
New England Medical Institute mI
No. 24 Tremont Row, Boston, Mass hl
■m— t - nniiwl
GUli YOOWiifT
Dr. Bohannan’s “Vegetable Curative” is warranted to
permanently cure all forms of Spermatorrhea or Semi
nal Weakness, Impolency, etc., and restores “Lost
Power,” and brings back the “Youthful Vigor” ofthose
who have destroyed it by sexual excesses or evilprac
tices, in from two to seven weeks’ time. It has been
used by Dr. Bohannan in his private practice for over
thirty years, was never known to fail in euringeven the
WORST CASES. It gives vitality and imparts energy
with wonderful effect to those middle aged men who
feel a weakness beyond their years. Young men suffer
ingfrom the consequences of that dreadfully destructive
habit of Self-Abuse can use this medicine with the as
surance of a speed-y and PERMANENT cure. The in
gredients are simple productions of nature—barks,
roots, herbs, etc., and tire a specific for the above diseases.
Price Five Dollars, sent with full directions, etc.,
to any address. For sale only by Dr. 0. A. Bohannan,
I!. E. corner of Sixth and Biddle streets, St. Louis, Mo.
Established in 1837.
.W"Dr. B.’s “Treatise on Special Diseases,” which
gives a clear delineation of the nature, svniptoms, means
of cure, etc., of SYPHILIS, SEMINAL WEAKNESS,
Etc., Sent Free to any- address upon receipt of ohe stamp.
Diseases of Men Only ; Blood Poison, skin
diseases, inflammation; obstructions bladder, kid
neys and other organs; weakness, nervous and general
debility; mental, physical prostration, <tc., successfully
treated and radically cured; remarkable cures perfected
in old cases which have been neglected or unskillfully
treated: no experiments or failures, it being self-evident
that a physician who coniines him self exclusively to the
study of certain classes of diseases, and who treats thou
sands every year, must acquire greater skill in those
branches than one iu general practice. Dr. GRIND LB.
Ma IU Watt mu aL. between SU aud 7th avamuuK
7