New York dispatch. [volume], January 03, 1886, Page 6, Image 6

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

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6
SONG OF THE SURF.
BY C. 8. O’NEILL.
On tho sea-Jcissed strand, with its gleaming sand,
My white-plumed ranks parade;
Advance and retreat, while the echoes repeat
Old ocean s fusillade;
And I laughingly say *• Let us wash away
The barriers man has made.”
I thunder and dash with a plunge and a splash
'Gainst the sentinel rocks of the shore;
I frolic and sing while my spume I fling
In their faces o’er and o’er;
Andi tauntingly say, " Thou ehalt crumble some
day,
And impede my course no more.
When (he sea runs high 'Death a leaden sky,
And (ha sunlight hicks its charms,
When the scud rides past with the mighty blast,
And the petrel’s pipe alarms,
My spume is the froth of the sea king wroth
While he strains the coast in his arms.
Then woo (o the ship with anchor atrip
That dares.come within my v-rge;
And woo to tbo crew, though trusty and true
As ever have braved the surge;
For I still- their grief with the roar of the reef,
Whose thunders shall be their dirge.
From the birth of the world, my foam hasimpearled
The marginal line of the sea;
An- unto the end will my measure blend,
With all Nature's harmony,
Till Time is complete and its waves shall beat
Gn the snores of Eternity.
A bktSws affair.
BY LUCY FARMER.
CHAPTER I.
SUSPICIONS.
It matters little now how I camo into the serv
ice of Mrs. Heatherington Cardewe. Sho was
not married when I was first acquainted with
h< r. My„motber used to do dressmaking in
the town, and had a good taste. She generally
had the latest fashions down from the London
houses before the country people had seen
them. I used to help her, and having what was
in our parts called a “ tidy figure,” cloaks and
jackets were tried upon me. Somehow I had
Imbibed a taste in dressmaking, which recom
mended me to Miss Dundas, who, when ehe
marr ed, offered the situation of lady’s
maid, and I accepted it.
I was eighteen and, of course, I had a
“ young man;” a “ follower ” they call our lov
ers in London. We ladies’-maids are pretty
careful; for it would never do for a trusted
servant to carry on with “ anybody.” My ante
cedents and Charley’s were well known,eo Mrs.
Cardewe had no objection to my being engaged.
Charley was very particular, but a little jealous.
But they say there is no true love without jeal
ousy, so I didn't mind his ways, though not
always complimentary. His jealousy got a cu
rious turn, though, one day. We had staying
at our house a lady from London, Mrs. Alleyne.
She was a widow. I didn’t much like her,
though she gave me a couple of dresses. I nev
er saw such a wardrobe as she had, and no
maid. She had rather a staring kind of taste,
but Mr. and Mrs. Cardewe liked her. They had
met her at some grand houses, 1 was told. Her
groom and her horses were well turned out,
but I never could bear her ways to servants,
nor his, though by all accounts she was very
polite to him. At any rate, there she was, and
we had to put up with her ways.
Mr. Hemphill admired her. He was a young
ish squire, a bachelor, and though not so well
Off as some, was pleasant and agreeable to all,
free-handed, and noticed us when he met us—
servants, I mean.
“ That will be a match, Charley,” I said one
day, “ mark my words I He is a very nice gen
tleman.”
“So you seem to think,” replied Charley,
who spoke very cross. “I tell you what it is,
Lucy, you must mind you p s and q’s. You’re
too much taken with Mr. Hemphill.”
You might have knocked me down with a
feather, when I heard Charley talk like that.
“Me 1” I said. “ Why, Charley, you are
dreaming 1 I never said five consecutive words
to Mr. Hemphill in my life. Is it likely he
would ‘ care ’ ”
“ No, he wouldn’t, perhaps.”
“Do you mean that 1 would demean myself
to talk ts him ?”
“ Demean I Oh, that’s pretty good,” said
Charley. “A lady’s-maid demean herself to
talk to the young squire !”
“ Yes, demean,” 1 said again. “ For it would
be like that if I ever permitted any gentleman to
be iree-and-eaey with me. So, Charley, you had
better drop it 1”
“ Well, then, why did you meet him two
nights ago, after dinner, in the shrubbery ?
I saw you, and if I hadn’t been after a little job
for Reynolds—well, I’d have spoke before.”
“ Well, then, I never did see Mr. Hemphill.
Why, he’s mistress’s own second cousin 1 You
ought to be ashamed of yourself, Charley
Farmer, so you ought.”
“ I can believe my own eyes,” he replied. “ I
know you by this time. So look out, if I catch
you again, ot him 1”
“ Again, Charley. Look here, I tell you I
never dreamed of doing such a thing, nor have
I ever been flirty with any one. Now, do say
you are sorry—or ”
‘•Or what ?” said Charley, provoking-like.
But my temper was up at his suspicion, and
I replied :
“Or you and me will not part friends. There 1
You are unjust and unkind*.”
“All right,” said Charley, “don’t blame mo
if 1 go to grief, or ’list ”
“Then don’t blame me,” I said, though I was
ready to cry, for all ray brave words. I would
have given anything to catch hold of Charley’s
hand, but I was too proud, feeling I was so un
justly accused. What could I want with Mr.
Hemphill, or he with me ?
“ You girls are all alike,” said Charley.
“ Well, is it good-by, Lucy ? ’
I couldn’t speak for a" moment, and then I
managed to say:
“ Oh, Charley, how can you be so silly
pate d ?”
“ That is no answer,” he replied. “ Yes, or
No. If you did accidentally see Mr. Hemphill,
there's no harm. It wasn’t so dark, either. I
didn’t accuse you. But I saw you.”
“ You did not, Charley.”
He made an impatient movement, and then
«aid:
•“ Look here, Lucy, you and me are engaged.
I will marry you when I can—soon as possible.
Tell the truth, say you were in the shrubbery
path the other evening, and I’ll never say an
other word. I believe in you, really, Loo. But
if you will promise, I’ll never speak of Mr.
Hemphill again.”
“ But, Charley—l ”
“ But, rubbish 1” he exclaimed. “ Look here
—I love you and you love me, don’t you ?”
“Yes,” 1 whispered.
“ Very well. I accuse no one. I’ll say it was
an accident—a chance meeting. I’ll never let
any one think I saw you two. Now, confess,
and I’ll be as steady as a rock for your sake,
Lucy, and we’ll bo married, dear, before
Christmas. Come, now! If not, then I de
clare I’ll go for a soldier, and never come
back.”
What was Ito do? I loved Charley dearly.
He loved me, and yet he would not believe me.
I knew how obstinate he was, and that he
would go off “ like a shot” for a soldier, as he
said, if I didn't “confess.” I could not tell
euch a falsehood, and, if 1 didn’t, I should lose
Charley, who never would blame me. Yet, my
good name ! Men are always ready enough to
rake up things about girls, after awhile. They
are all soap and honey until they are offended,
and then up comes* the bitter word and the
sneer. What should Ido ?
“ Well, Lucy, my darling,” says Charley, very
affectionately, “my dear old Loo, why refuse?
Just put your h©ad on my shoulder and say,
‘Charley, I was m the shrubbery the day before
yesterday evening’—wo won’t “name names—
and all will be right.”
Heaven forgive me I I did as Charley bid
me. I put down my head, my face as red as a
and said out loud:
“ Charley, 1 was m the shrubbery the day be
fore yesterday evening.”
Then I began to cry—l felt so miserable.
“ Come, Loo, that’s all right. You will never
hear another word from me about it. You were
there, for I saw you, and I am sorry you denied
it. But now it’s all right. I knew you were
there. Mrs. Alleyne’s pad-groom told me so;
he saw you, too, it seems.”
1 was silent—l could not say a word. My
blood rushed to my heart, and then all over my
face, my head went round, and I fell back into
Charley’s arms, in a fainting fit.
CHAPTER 11.
A CURIOUS MEETING—SUSPICION GIVES WAY TO
CERTAINTY.
As I fell back into Charley’s arms I heard
him call out to somebody who was passing
along the path to the house, close to where we
were in the kitchen garden. The person, who
ever it was, didn’t come back, and then I was
quite unconscious until Charley sprinkledm y
face with water from the garden pump.
“There,” he said, “you are better. I am
sorry I worried you so much, Loo. Come in
doors.”
“No,” I replied, releasing myself, “I will
stay here a little longer. Charley, will you
promise me you will never say a word about
this ? 1 am quite ashamed I told that false
hood !”
So I was. But Charley never guessed the
real state of the case. It is very curious that
a man will believe what you tell him it it chan
ces to suit his humor 1 Charley would not be
lieve the truth from mo, and yet when I told
him a falsehood he did believe me 1 Dear, dear
what poor things men are, at times 4 ’
Somehow Charley seemed a little uneasy still,
a ;i d kept wondering who it was that had passed ;
along the path, and heard me say I had been in
the shrubbery that dreadful evening. Not that
it mattered in the least, for plenty of people
might pass along the shrubbery, which led into
the flower-garden by a little door in the palings
in? so on under the best bed-room windows by’
the flower-beds and the conservatories. The
gardeners always camo in and out by the shrub
bery walk, but I never did. My way generally
led mo through the kitchen-garden, for the very
good reason that Charley generally was waiting
for me by the pond, or at the little foot-bridge
that crossed the river which skirted our
grounds. There was a high hedge separating
the kitchen-garden from the lawn and flower
garden, so it was quite easy to run out by the
door and intQ the kitchen-garden a jbjqs
uto, unseen. The path to the house was along
side the hedge, on the lawn side, an.d led to the
foot-bridge over the little river, above the
sluice, while the bridge from the kitchen-garden
crossed some hundred yards or so lower down,
below the sluice.
Charley promised faithfully that he would
never say a word concerning Mr. Hemph 11, or
anybody else. I think he was pleased to find
he was right after being so obstinate, and glad I
had given in, as ho thought. I was dreadfully
ashamed, for I had been very strictly brought
up by my mother, and though “only a dress,
maker ” I had been well educated, and mother
had taken great care of me, for which, when I
came into service and saw “goings on,” with the
eavaste, the duplicity, the carelessness, and
worse, I was really thankful to escape such
temptations. Indeed, I can’t tell what came
over some girls. They never seemed to think
what would become of them if they were dis
charged and sent back to dirty little cottages to
toil and slave and be half-starved—perhaps
never see moat all the week —and yet the way
some of them turned up their noses at good,
wholesome food, was to my mind wicked and
shameful.
I was unhappy at what I had done, and Char
ley saw it. but put it down to the wrong ac
count. I did not dare to undeceive him, but I
could not continue there without telling some
one. So I asked*for a holiday, as all the party
were going out for a sail in Mr. Hemphill’s
yacht, and said I wanted to go and see mother.
Mrs. Cardewe gave me leave at once, and next
day, when the ladies had boon dressed, I
dressed myself, and without a word to Charley
—for I was afraid—l hurried off to the station
and took my ticket for Woodleighton, where
mother lived.
Woodleighton is two miles from the station,
and I had to walk, I knew, but what is two
miles, even on an August afternoon, to a girl of
eighteen or so, and well-grown at that? The
only fear 1 had was about my dress, lor it was
one Mrs. Alleyne had given me—a white grena
dine, which was much worn in those days, with
pink bows, to suit.my blue eyes. The dress was
ouo I often wore in the evenings, for I had made
it up nicely, and Charley admired me in it. be
said! It had got a little more tumbled than I
could have believed, but I had no time when f
had put it on to change again ; so I wore it,
creased as it was; but if rain came on, the
water and the dust and the creases would look
dreadful going back !
However, when I got out of the train and saw
that the weather was not very threatening, I
trudged along as last as I could. But I had not
gone very tar when a gig overtook me, and the
man who was driving pulled up, short and sud
den, as he came upon me sharp round a corner.
“ Hullo, Jenny,” he said, “ what are you up
to in this direction ? I declare this is a treat!”
I looked up suddenly at the man and for just
one second I fancied it was Mr. Hemphill. But
it wasn’t. Ho was dressed in rather a “horsey”
fashion, and yet at a little distance you might
take him for a gentleman. But Ctose by you
could see he wasn’t. I knew I had seen him
before, once. He was a friend of Mrs. Alleyne’s
pad-groom, and his name was Tarrant.
“My name isn’t Jenny,” I said, “and you
have no right -”
Before I could say another word, he saw he
had made a mistake, and touching bis horse
with the whip he was soon far ahead of me. So
I plodded on quietly, for the day was hot, and I
was rather careful of my dress in the dust. To
my horror I found a tear in it; and where that
bit could have been pulled out, clean torn away
from the skirt, I could uot imagine 1
Mother was very glad to see me, but she im
mediately found out the rent in my skirt.
“ Really, Lucy, you are getting careless. The
dress is handsome, but see, it is all in large
creases, and—look, you careless child—here is
a tear, a piece actually torn away in the skirt,
like a nail-rent! Dear, dear! You should be
very careful, Lucy. How is Charley ?”
“ Very cross, mother ;” and then I told her for
what reason I had come over from the Manor.
“ Yon were very wrong,” said mother, “ to
say what was not true. Depend upon it, Charley
would have come round after awhile. Yon
should have kept your distance, Lucy. He will
not believe you again.”
After tea I returned to catch the train, and
did not see Mr. Tarrant after all. Not that I
looked for him, but the sound of horses’ feet
made me turn round once or twice. Still be
didn’t come. But I thought nothing of him -
why should I? Yet he knew me. He must
have seen mo at the Manor, I fancied, as I had
seen him.
The train was a little late, and when I saw
Charley waiting on the platform, I was glad Mr.
Tarrant bad not come with me, or met me by
any chance, after what had been said. So, when
we met, Charley asked—
“ What made you run away so sudden,
Lucy ?”
“ 1 didn’t run away,” I said. “ I only went to
see mother.”
“If you’d told me,” said he, “I would have
gone too. How is your mother ? Did you see
any one particular?”
“ No one particular,” I said, blushing a little,
I’m sure I don't know why. “ Mother was
alone—why did you ask like that?”
“Because Mr. Hemphill has just come back
in the tram,’ said Charley, “ and ”
“ Now, Charley, didn’t you promise me you
would give over about Mr. Hemphill ? I’ve not
set eyes on him since I saw you--so that’s
enough.”
“ Very well,” he said. “But I suppose you
don’t know the news ?”
Charley looked at me very hard as he said
this.
“ No,” I said, “I’ve seen no papers nor any
‘telegraphs.’ ”
“ You are an innocent lamb,” said Charley,
with an unkind laugh. “ Haven’t you heard oi
the robbery ?”
“ Robbery 1” I exclaimed, “ what robbery—at
the Manor, do you mean ?”
“You are mighty clever at guessing,” said
Charley. - “ Yes, at the Manor. Mrs. Oardewe’s
diamonds have been stolen.”
“{Stolen 1” I exclaimed, turning pale.
“Yes, stolen—all gone—and there’s only one
clew.”
“What’s that?” I cried—“fell me, quick!
Oh, I wish I had not gone away I What’s the
clew ? When did it happen ?”
“ It happened two evenings ago, they say,” he
replied, “ and the clew is a piece of a grenadine
dress-like yours !«
A piece of grenadine—a tear—a bit of a dress !
I turned deadly pale. My frock had a tear in
it! Mother had remarked it, and tried to mend
the rent.
I flushed red as crimson again. Charley saw
my blushes.
“ So you’ve been in this little job !” he said—
“then, good-by, Lucy Mendip.' You’ve been
deceiving me nicely. I’ll let the law have its
course.”
In vain I pleaded—in vain I tried to assure
him oi my innocence. He was obdurate. I had
confessed I had been in the shrubbery after
dinner the evening the diamonds were missing.
I alone knew the secret cupboard; a piece ot my
dress had been found. Charley had little doubt
who the thief was.
“Good-by, Miss Housebreaker,” said Char
ley. “ You told me one falsehood—l can’t be
lieve you again. Good>by 1”
CHAPTER 111.
IN PRISON—A GLEAM OF LIGHT—RELEASED.
“ Good-by !” And that was all. Was it pos
sible tha’t Charley really disbelieved me? He
said I had told him one falsehood. So I had,
but only to please him. Such a little one. Ah,
are any lies litile ? Many a time since I have
said to myself, “ There’s no end to even a little
lie.”
Well, I managed to reach home, and found
every one in a great state of excitement. Mrs.
Cardewe had only just discovered the theft.
Policemen had been sent lor. The servants’
boxes were to be examined. I did not care, for
1 knew 1 was innocent, but the dress was
against me.
Mrs. Cardewe and, first of all, Mrs. Alleyne,
noticed it. Then, by degrees, it leaked out
that the piece of grenadine matched my skirt,
and when the police arrived they compared it
and made me change my dress.
“This looks bad,” they said, “your dress is
exactly like—the piece has been torn out by a
nail in the wainscot where the jewel-box ’is.
You forgot that, miss •!”
I protested and begged for mercy. Then
other evidence came out. The family were
questioned—Mrs. Alleyne and all the rest
housemaids, men and grooms—and Charley.
He, of course, said nothing about me ; but
Mrs. Alleyne’s groom said he saw me talking to
a man one evening in the shrubbery at the back
near the door which opened into the gardens
under the bedroom windows.
That seemed conclusive. Under pressure
from others even Charley had to confess that I
had admitted being there, and he fancied my
companion was Mr. Hemphill. But when the
gentleman was questioned, he denied haying
been there at all. The evidence was all against
me. My dress was torn. 1 knew the trick of
the jewel-box; in short, 1 was arrested as an ac
complice in the robbery, if not the actual per
petrator of it. Then came other evidence. I
bad been seen talking to the man in the gig at
Woodleighton.
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “He spoke to me
a few words. 1 answered him, and then he
drove on. His name is Tarrant, a friend of
Mrs. Alleyne’s groom. lie was here lately.”
“ I know him,” said Charley suddenly. “ You
have deceived me, Lucy. It must have been
him 1 took for Mr. Hemphill in the evening
light, and you went to Woodleighton to see
him. Bah ! you have taken me in nicely.”
To make a long story short, it was no use my
protesting my innocence. My mother was sent
for, and I was hurried off to the county town.
Mr. Cardewe generously . offered bail lor me,
though he believed I had had “ a finger in the
pie,” and had been deceived. It was no use my
saying that I had never been in the shrubbery
that night, for I bad already said 1 hud been, to
pacify Charley. I was taken before the magis
trates. Mr. Hemphill was on the bench, and
epoke for me, but all was no use. I was re
manded, and then actually committed Cor trial!
I, an honest girl, committed lor trial as a thief,
and the chief witness against me was my own
falsehood!
What I suffered no one can tell. Every one
pitied me, but that only made things worse.
The chaplain begged me to confess; my solicitor
(tor my mother got me a solicitor) said I ought
to plead guilty. 1 wouldn’t—l had told one
falsehood, and I would not go and swear away
my own character like that. Mr. and Mrs. Car
dewe, and once even Mrs. Alleyne, came to see
me. I thanked them and cried bitterly, but
would not confess, so at last even Mr. Hemphill
began tq I was and guilty
NEW YORK DISPATCH, JANUARY 3, 1886.
Charley came, too. He was dreadful; so pulled
down, I hardly knew him.
“ Lucy,” he said, “I am going away. I can’t
bear to wait; I’m going away from here as a
groom, or something. One word; why did you
.deny meeting that man ?”
“ Charley, I denied it because I never mot
him. I said what I did tor fear of losing you,
and bitterly I have paid for my untruth. I said
so because you bid me, I solemnly declare. If
these were my last words, 1 would say so.”.
“ Oh, Lucy, my dear ! Think, do think, is it
likely I can believe that? and you went to
Woodleighton after him, too.”
“Go away, Charley,” 1 said, “ you do not be
lieve me. Good-by 1 Some day you will bo
sorry I”
The female warder then took me away, and I
was put back in my little ceH. Then I cried and
prayed for help, and at last got so ill that I was
put into the hospital-ward, and nursed—kindly
and well.
The day for the assizes was coming very near,
and I was still weak. But I was told I must go
to the town where the trials were to be. My
mother spent money right and left. Mrs. Car
dewe did not want to prosecute, and she offered
to let me off it I would “tell the truth,” and
what had become of the diamonds, which had
been described, and were being sought all over
London and the Continent. This went ou for
five weeks and more. Charley all the time
never wrote, but mother said he was in service
and also a volunteer fireman in Hampshire.
So the days went on and I got well. I didn’t
much care, then, whether 1 was convicted or
not. I bad become “tainted’ and had lost
Charley. My mother believed me, though, and
I think Mr. Hempbill did, and interceded with
Mr. and Mrs. Cardewe. But tbey had sus
tained a terrible loss and could only do as
they were doing. Suddenly one morning a
female warder came in and said :
“ You are in for it now, or out of it, for the
diamonds are found 1”
“ Found !” I exclaimed. “ Oh, lam thankful,
lam indeed !” Then I cried like a baby.
You may imagine I was in a fever of excite
ment, but no more news came. We were alt
sent by train to Winchester for trial, and I shall
never forget that journey as long as i live !
One oi the very first persons I saw in the
place was Charley, his arm in a sling and his
hair burned nearly off. What was he doing
there ? To witness against me ? Cruel he was,
and 1 turned away my head when he nodded.
“ When will my turn come ?” 1 asked the law
yer, as we waited in the court-house, guarded.
“I cannot tell you,” he said; “not just yet.
Perhaps not at all.”
He went away, and I waited hour after hour.
I was the only woman-prisoner and I supposed
they had plenty o; other people. But the guard
ian said only three and one was a robbing case.
So I waited still. Then, quite late, about dusk,
my solicitor came with—who do you think? —
Charley, and said I was free—'
“ Oh, my dearest,” cried Charley, “ forgive
me; oh, forgive me, Lucy, my dear, my dear 1”
“ Why, Charley,” I gasped, “ what does it
mean ? Free ! How ? Who did it ? Who took
the diamonds ?”
Charley looked very wise and said, in a low
voice, “Mrs. Alleyne !”
Mrs. Alleyne? She had stolen them? Im
possib’e. No. I heard it was true, and as I
went out of the court a discharged prisoner—
discharged, as the judge said, “ without a stain
on my character ’ —l saw her led away to penal
servitude.
This is how it came about. Charley had as
sisted at a fire in the very house where Mrs.
Alleyne lodged. The fire spread and a wall
ell. Charley fell, too, and so did a box. He
picked it up and carried it away for salvage to
the proper people, who recognized the dia
monds. Mrs. Alleyne and her “groom,” her
brother, as he proved to be, were arrested, and
the “ Mr, Tarrant,” who was really her hus
band, and had, with her, committed the rob
bery. She had secretly borrowed the dress she
had given me and threw the blame on mo, as
she had done on others before. Several mys
terious robberies were thus elucidated. She,
her husband and her “groom” were all sen
tenced to penal servitude. They were “ old
bands !”
Need I say I was welcomed back to the town
and that Mr. and Mrs. Cardewe behaved most
handsomely? Charley and I are married. Ho
a gamekeeper now and we live in a beautiful
little cottage, overlooking the sea, on the edge
of the plantations on Mr. Cardewe’s property in
Dorsetshire.
DEATH TO THE ROACH.
How Hotel Men Eid Themselves of the
Pestiferous Insect.
(Kom the Omaha Republican.)
“ Cockroaches !” Mr. Davenport gazed con
temptuously into space tor several seconds and
then looked helplessly at the Republican hotel
man, who had called at the Millard in pursuit
ot iniormation concerning the cockroach ques
tion as applied to the hotel business. “Name
seems familiar,” said he—“ probably stops here
occasionally; not registered to-day, though.”
A bell-boy standing near by fe’lt called upon
to snicker outright at Mr. Davenport’s ignor
ance on so common a topic ol conversation.
“See here, now—what are you grinning at?”
said the hotel man, apparently irritated. “Who
told you to laugh ? Gome, now, you skip—hear
mo ?”
“You misunderstood me, Mr. Davenport,”
explained the reporter. “ I refer to those large,
black, many-legged and exceedingly lively
members oi the menagerie with which so many
hotel sleeping apartments are supplied without
any extra charge to the guests. Cockroaches—
you know what I mean.’
Mr. Davenport’s memory was assisted, and
his great mind proceeded to evolve expedients
by the aid of which he could ward off a smirch
ot suspicion which might otherwise defile the
immaculate reputation of “The Millard.”
“ Oh, yes,” said he, his memory suddenly as
serting itself. “Freeman was telling me some
thing of the kind he saw the other night over
at a house on Capital avenue. We were full,
with a large party of cattlemen from Wyoming,
who came on to attend the annual meetings of
the cattle companies. There was also a theatri
cal troupe here and the house was so full that
we didn’t have even a place for our night clerk
to sleep, so that genial individual had to go
out to find a sleeping place. I wouldn’t have
remembered the circumstances at all, only Free
man had a very strange experience last night,
and it seems that these —a—a —oh, yes, cock
roaches, were at the bottom of the whole thing.
You see, when Freeman goes to bed, he always
hangs his trousers on the upper left-hand bed
post, whore he can get at ’em handy—he car
ries his girl s picture next to his heart all day
and takes a look at it the last thing at night
and the first thing in the morning—without
getting out of bed. When he woke up the next
morning be felt for his trousers and they were
gone.”
“ Didn’t he find them at all ?” inquired the
reporter, breathlessly.
“ Yes, after about an hour’s search the miss
ing pantaloons were discovered behind the bu
reau, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of
these —a—vermin. They had looked at the pic
ture. Front I Hoorn with a bath, did you sav
sir ?” a ~
On his way to the Coroner’s office the reporter
stopped in at the Paxton. A well-fed and ge
nial, nice-looking figure, with a pen behind its
ear, rested its hands upon the register. This
was none other than the mortal frame of Joe
Henshaw.
“Mr. Henshaw,” said the reporter, “which
do you consider the best way to destroy cock
roaches ?”
“Kill ’em I” ejaculated Mr. Henshaw, swal
lowing a basswood toothpick.
“Buthow? ’ asked the reporter.
“Well,” said Mr. Henshaw, reflectively,
“Frank Hull invented a preparation when he
first came here from the Parker House, in Bos
ton, which was a caution to cockroaches. The
house was pestered with them, and they became
so bold that they would come up over the coun
ter in pan-s and look at the register. One morn
ing Frank came on duty and found that a big
fellow had registered C. Boach, and was leaning
against the inkstand picking his teeth. Frank
turned as pale as his complexion would allow
him, and registered a vow by all the bones of his
ancestors that from that day he would extermi
nate every roach he could find. He went to
work and got up a preparation at which the
stoutest heart might quake. It contained equal
parts of railroad sandwich, hotel pie, bones and
snuff. He ground it all up fine, and all of ns,
from Dick Kitchen to the elevator bov, armed
ourselves with the deadly compound and waited
for the roaches.
“ After dinner they began coming out of the
dining-room arm in arm, and we swooped down
upon them. We caught; each one ot them by
the tail, and squeezed him until he opened his
mouth wide, and then we threw the preparation
down his throat, and, holding him down on the
floor, we stamped ou him until he was dead. In
a week we hadn’t a roach in the house.”
“ You are positive that the tacts you state are
correct,” queried the reporter.
“True as gospel, every word,” said Mr. Hen
shaw.
The reporter met Mr. Joo Needham at the
front entrance of the Cozzens, and propounded
to him his question.
“Cockroaches?” inquired Mr. Needham,
“cockroaches? Simplest thing in the world,
me boy. Charlie Boss, our night clerk, takes a
lasso and secures them by the neck (it’s his reg
ular morning work), and then they are dragged
by main force to the deepest ‘donjon’ cell,
where anjimmense trip-hammer is constantly
striking an anvil. The roaches are then chloro
formed and|blindfolded and backed carefully
under the ever-moving hammer, and then,”
said Needham, wiping his moistening eves,
“then the last sad scene of all, they‘are
scrunched beyond recognition. Ah, me boy,
this world is all a fieotmg show. In the midst
ot life we are in death. We are here to-day
and next week we are in Council Bluffs.”
Leaving Mr. Needham weeping copiouslv, the
reporter sought Mr. Bumsey, and asked him it
the facts were as Mr. Needham had stated
them. The proprietor cast an angry glance at
the weeping Needham, and said that tbey were
not.
“ We kill roaches by turning upon them the
glare of Charley Ross’s diamond shirt-stud. If
that isn’t enough, we call Needham in and
paraly -.e them with one ot Jos’s stories. It
shrivels'em up every time. If they don’t die.
they are glad to sign an agreement to go to the
W indsor or Canfield.”
“ Every well regulated hotel is more or less
troubled with them,” said Clerk Jones, as he
sat behind his desk at the Windsor, “ but, as
Josh Billings used to say, ‘they don’t live so
much ou what they eat ez what they crawl
over,’ ”
“ How do yon get rid oi them when they be
come so numerous?'’
“ We send them in to the bartender. They’re
extravagantly fond of Jamaica rum and V. 8. O.
P., and when the bartender empties a bottle on
the floor they all walk up and get so blind drunk
that they think they’re in the natatorium. When
they’re all in up to their necks the bartender
touches the whole thing off with a match.”
WHY J EwTIIVE 80 LONG.
The New England Medical Monthly commenta
very favorably on the proverbial long and
healthful lives of the .Jews. Dr. Picard holds
that this superiority is due to their stringent
unealth laws. The Mosaic, like the older Egyp
tian code, is very stringent regarding the eating
of flesh and other articles of food. Of the ani
mals examined, a large proportion are always
condemned as unlit for food. People who eat
meat indiscriminately are very prone to dis
orders oi the blood and of the kidneys, for meat
is composed ot nitrogen, which the kidneys
have to remove from the blood, and of course
they cannot do this successfully except by the
afd ot Warner's Safe Cure, the best kidney
strengthener, unless it is temperately par
taken of, and only the very beat meat is used.
Jews also use alcoholic liquors very sparingly,
and thus keep up good digestion, and then
again they are a holiday-loving and Sabbath
observing class.— Housekeeper.
A TRIPLE TRAGEDY.
Love and Jealousy on the Plains—A
Widow the Cause.
(From the St. Louis Globe-Democrat.)
Jake Marolle was one of those unfortunate
men whom everybody liked. Ho also had a
powerful enemy in the shape of himself. Ho
was a Westerner, and consequently free-hearted
and free-spoken, and it was never charged that
he bad “one wife in Natchez-Under-the-llill and
another one up. in Pike,” but subsequent devel
opments proved that he was none too good to
have had them. He was a large, fleshy young
fellow; with an oiled tongue and fresh-colored
face. He had away of swinging back whan he
walked and standing with his legs wide open
when he talked,which gave you the idea that he
was a man of wealth and influence. He came to
Texas in 1881 and moved in on Jim Ned Creek.
He loudly announced that he had come to stay,
and as he seemed willing and able to pay his
way, everybody was glad to see him. He
bought a ranch and went in for improved stock.
He had a priceless bull and unlimited confi
dence. His range and intentions were good;
his execution was poor. Everybody grew to like
Marolle and everybody washed him well.’ He
was always willing to drink, always anxious to
pay for it, always in the best of humors—seem
ingly at peace with himself and all the woyld;
as it was locally and frequently expressed, “al
ways just the same.”
Every man has his weakness and Marolle's
pet failing was a heinous one. Society was
limited in its scope and its needs on the Jim
Ned and he loved the women. There were not
many of them in the country at that time and
what few there were commanded a premium.
One or two ot the girls were able to play the
piano when they could find one and they made
the most of the accomplishment. Another
played a cracked guitar, swung to her neck by
a blue ribbon, and warbled “ The Yellow Rose
of Texas ’in a very excruciating manner. They
were about the sum total of single feminine
loveliness the Jim Ned Creek could furnish.
Marolle had probably been used to better things;
but it he had, he never showed it. He went
ahead and pottered at his fancy breeding, went
to the neighborhood dances, drank whisky in
Jonesboro and, altogether, seemed to have an
unlimited bank account with the future, on
which he drew liberally.
One night in December, 1882, it was bitter
cold and the cattle were dropping by hundreds
on the ranges, when old man Erath, who lived
over on the Espia and who was cursed with the
piano-playing girls, consented to give a dance.
It was to be a swell affair, and two Mexican
riders were sent through the countryside ten
days in advance to notify the ranchmen and
their families.
In an emergency Jones county could turn out
a fair crowd of wild, free, young western suf
fragans, and it was a settled fact that every
body intended to be there. Erath’s one-story
house squatted in the middle of the bleak
prairie like a duck on the pond, and in the
Summer was a lair place enough, surrounded
by the green and waving grass and cooled by
the purest breezes ever sent from heaven, but
when the bitter norther howled down and the
black earth lay hard and solid under the hoof
beats, it was not by any means comfortable.
Visitors dismounted, and trusting their horses
to seek the southern side of the house and stay
there, entered. The room was full. There
was a big fire blazing in the mud chimney at
one end, and near it sat the solitary fiddler, the
observed of all onlookers, and already half-seas
over. The women, sallow and pinched looking
for the most part, were ranged on one side or
the room, squirming uneasily on the hard-bot
tomed chairs and patting their feet impatiently
wh.le the orchestra mended one of his strings.
They were nearly all married, and their life
mates clustered on the opposite side, chewing
and spitting, and talking capital and cattle.
Marolle was there, too, on the women’s side,
talking to black-eyed Mrs. Wilgot, a smooth
faced little woman, handsome, and with a bold
look. The fiddler finally pulled himself to
gether and the dancing began.
It was only the old-fashioned quadrille; the
lascivious waltz would in those days have been
suppressed with the six-shooter, and the band,
in addition to furnishing the music, called the
figures, acted as master of ceremonies, and,
dropping his bow long enough, drank with any
body* that would ask him. Marolle had out
Mrs. Wilgot, and when the set was over sat by
her. He had her out again and sat by her. He
kept this up all night. Wilgot himself was
there, and an ugly man enough. He was mo
rose, and a drinker, and poor, very little liked
in Jones county—a quiet, unassuming, danger
ous man. He seemed to take things coolly,
however, and, beyond scowling at Marolle once
or twice, said and did nothing. There was a
stand of arms in one corner, deposited by the
guests, who considered it a point of honor to
shuck the irons immediately ou entering. Wil
got had been standing with his back to the wall
and edging along it all night. He had ap
proached within a dozen feet of the rilles, and
had a dogged, pale look on his face when day
light came in at the window and the dance
broke up. Marolle took Mrs. Wilgot to her
horse and helped her to the saddle, holding
her foot unnecessarily long in doing it. Wilgot
turned and looked at him as they rode off, but
said nothing.
One week afterward Marolle bought a buggy
and slashing team of horses. It was a new rig
on the Tom Neddites, and excited much merri
ment. Marolle stood the chaffing very well,
merely saying, with one of his amused
chuckles, that he had bought it for a purpose,
and intended to use it. He could be frequent
ly seen after that driving along the hard prairie
roads in the cold nights, going at a spanking
pace, with his cigar alight and always in ’the
neighborhood of Wilgot’s little ranch. That
citizen was sometimes seen in town, but made
no mention of his wife or Marolle, attending to
his own business with the assiduity that had
always markod him. People began to talk, but
Marolle was such a light-hearted fellow, with
such a ready smile and word, that the women
could not blame him, and the men shook their
tousled heads and winked and leered, but
made no open comment.
Mrs. Wilgot cam-e to town in the Spring knd
imprudently spent a great deal of money. She
dressed very well indeed, and now that she
had the opportunity, proved herself a woman
of taste, and looked younger and handsomer
than tho people had ever seen her. She was
most unmercifully discussed at the camp-meet
ings, at church on Sunday nightiAnd singing
school on Wednesdays, but as yet there had
been no open esclandre, and the women met
and kissed her as usual.
When the Summer came and the Spring
branding was over, and Marolle had pronounced
his year’s breeding operations a signal success,
the young clerks and lawyers who formed the
eligible population of Jonesboro concocted a
fish-fry, to take place on the banks of Jim Ned,
five miles below town. It was a kind of rivalry
between the country and city beaux and belles.
For two weeks previous the little stores of the
place were crowded with female shoppers, doing
their best to fit themselves out, regardless of
their hard-working and hard-riding fathers and
husbands. And Mrs. Wilgbt was in the thick of
the fray, buying everything that woman could
possibly need, laughing affably, and evidently
desperately bent on eclipsing the whole county.
Marolle followed her around like a big tamed
animal, carrying her bundles and imperiously
waving away any male assistance whatsoever.
And Wilgot staid at home, mended his saddle,
rode after the steers, or waited on his two small
children.
Two days before the piscatorial festivities
Mrs. Wilgot informed several female acquain
tances—friends she had none—that her hus
band was down with an attack of rheumatism
and would not be able to attend. “ You won’t
miss him,” hazarded one. “ Oh, yas, 1 shall,”
said the charming young frontier wife. “ But
lor Mr. Marolle’s kindness in offering to drive
me over, I don’t know what 1 should have
done.”
She came there when the crowd of young
pleasure-seekers had assembled, Marolle came
with her, oi course. We afterward learned that
he had driven up to the ranch and the infat
uated woman had taken a seat in the vehicle
without a word ot farewell to her husband or
children. Wilgot sat there patiently, saying
not a word. As lor Marolle, he never consid
ered it necessary to apologize to anybody. He
never asked such things himself, why should
others expect it of him ? And yet he might, in
his light good nature, have stopped to think of
the home he was ruining. Ho might, in the
common prudence of a sane man have, stopped
to think how it was ail going to end. But Mar
olle never thought of anything. He and his
companion drove up to the grounds.with a rush
and a clatter. He was holding his elbows
squarely, had a silver-mounted whip in his left
hand—he was a left-handed man—and the fan
cy team wore smoking and stepping high. He
threw do writhe reins and sprang from his bug
gy, tenderly assisting Mrs. Wilgot to alight.
They wandered off shortly with rod and lino
and wore seen no more until dusk, when they
came up just in time to see tho last dance in the
woods. The woman looked pale and flurried,
and her hand trembled as she raised a dipper
of water to her lips.
It was a cool, pleasant night. The trees stood
around like giant sontinols in the dusk, their
mossy boards swinging in the slow, evening
wind. The laughter had ceased, and the girls
were moving hither and thither, searching lor
wraps and lost escorts. The horses stood
around, huge black and shapeless lorms, and
the clink of stirrup against stirrup sounded as
they shifted restlessly. The cicadas iterated
monotonously and an owl flapped among the
branches and steered his way with a certain
and sweeping motion. The running waters of
the creek had an elfish undertone in the still
dimness, the weeds on the bank stood drooping
and pensive, and the rays of the fast-rising
moon cast queer lengths and shadows among
the swaying limbs. There was a sense of
isolation on the party as they stood silenced
before the start. “ Timo to be off,” said Tom
Leggett. “Let me swing you up, Miss Mollie.”
Marolle bad driven up, and with Mrs. Wilgot
by his side he rolled away slowly. The spell
was broken, the people had mounted and moved
altogether chattering and laughing loudly.
Suddenly, fifty yards in advance, just around
the bend in the road, where the tall cottonwood
cast a solid black shadow across i|,as it lay
white and glistening before them, two heavy re
ports boomed out, and two seconds later a
shorter and sharper one. With a shrill neigh
and a crash they heard the team plunge and
the buggy strike the trees and shatter. Thon
there was the long roll of hoofs down the road,
and all was still. The young men and women,
in a gallop, pressed for the bend that hid a
tragedy.
There were two, three dark objects lying in
the pale sand. They turned them over and
looked at the still faces. And no man said a
word, .'or they had all expected it, and the girls
and women sobbed hysterically, and one of them
stepped forward and shudderingly pulled down
the hem of a woman’s dress which had been
raised in the fall. They were quite dead, the
seducer, the female fool, the suicide. Marolle
bad been killed instantly. His face had a half
merry, halt pleading look, and his right hand
held a piece of pale pink ribbon, and the wo
man’s features were distorted by fright, pain,
horror, what not? They were very dreadful
to look upon. Across her breast, covered by its
newly purchased silk, there lay a splinter from
the riven vehicle. Wilgot was straightened out
composedly, like a man who had done his work
■well and was satisfied. He lay on his shot-gun,
the weapon ot murder; a small pistol, the
weapon of suicide, lay on the other side of the
road. He was dressed plainly, in rough
clothes, the stockman’s wide hat still resting on
his grizzled head, but he had a nameless dig
nity, lying dead in the moonlight, which was
not his in lile. Perhaps his wrongs, that had
been the death of him, had made a man of him.
His little children were asleep when the ranch
was reached. They waked and asked for their
father; for their mother they had no word.
A LOVER’rsmTAGEM.
THE ERRING CHILDREN WERE
FORGIVEN.
Sir George Mackenzie, who flourished in the
last hall of the seventeenth century, was one of
tho most eminent jurists ever known in Scot
land, beside being a brilliant man of letters.
He inherited wealth, and during his busy life
he added to it so much that he became one of
the wealthiest men of his time. As a politician,
he was self-willed and stubborn, and at times
violent. Between himself and the young Earl
ot Bute a strong political difference existed,
which neither showed a disposition to har
monize. Yet the earl had fallen deeply in love
with Sir George’s daughter, and the love was
by her returned. The lovers knew that the
stern old advocate would not consent to their
union. In fact, it is doubtful if Sir George
would have admitted Bute to his house as a
friend. His feelings were deep and bitter, and
he had been heard to denounce the earl as
little better than a renegade.
The lovers put their heads together and con
sulted. They were eager to be made man and
wife. Of course, the young lady could elope
and be married clandestinely, and the father
could not help himself—but, ah ! he Could dis
inherit his recreant daughter, and that must
not be. The young earl was not mercenary.
The damsel’s prospective wealth, as heiress of
her rich father, had given her not a particle of
extra attraction for him. Yet he did not like
the idea of having his wife deprived of her just
inheritance; and, naturally, he did not care to
lose such a broad and grand estate—for this
daughter was an only child.
At length the earl hit upon a plan, and re
solved to act upon it. He visited Sir George in
his chambers, while the latter held the office of
King’s Advocate, and appealed to him for as
sistance.
Now, as man to man, in matters of business,
or in any way not involving brotherly love, Sir
George held the young ear! in high esteem, and
there was no man ol his acquaintance whom he
would have more readily assisted legally.
Furthermore, the advocate had not the remot
est idea that Bute either loved his daughter, or
that he was familiar with her.
“ Sir George,” said the earl, when he was
ready to open his business, “there is a young
lady in this city whom I dearly and devotedly
love, and she has confessed her love for me.
Her father is wealthy. Now, sir, I care not for
the lady’s money; yet it would not be pleasant
to have her father disinherit her. From this
you can judge that the father is opposed to our
union. At all events, we fear that such is the
case. Now, my dear Sir George, I know that
you would not hesitate to vouch for my worthi
ness.”
The old man nodded assent very pleasantly.
“ And, sir, I think you would be willing to
exert your influence in my behalf, if I should
marry the lady clandestinely. Your influence
would be effectual, I am sure.”
And so the earl went on until he had brought
Sir George not only to promise his assistance
toward preventing a disinheritance, but so far
had the keen old lawyer entered into the spirit
of the thing, that he advised the earl by all
means, to go ahead. “ Why,” he exclaimed,
forcibly, “the man must be blind or a fool who
would reject such an alliance for his daughter
one of the oldest names in the realm; a fair
share of wealth, and a coronet. Go ahead, my
lord, and I will sustain you, if I can.”
And the earl went ahead. That very evening
he arranged with the lady, and on tho following
day they were privately married.
In the evening Sir George missed his daugh
ter. He had just inquired for her, when a door
was opened, and she and the Earl ot Bute en
tered, hand in hand, and advanced straight to
his chair, and went down on their knees.
.Notaword of explanation was needed. The
old advocate caught his breath ; changed from
a death-like paleness to a furious flush half a
dozen times, and finally gave in.
“Sir George, henceforth I shall take pleasure
in sustaining my wife’s father,” said the earl.
A hot response was upon tho parent’s lips, but
he swallowed it, and gradually a sense of the
absurdity of the situation possessed him, and,
anon, he burst into a hearty laugh, and the er
ring children were forgiven.
bumas’Treporters.
HOW THEY WERE IMPOSED UPON
BY GARIBALDPS JOFEICERS.
Whilo Aleander Dumas was editing the Inde
pendents at Naples, in 1860, he was accustomed
to send his reporters—all young Frenchmen—to
the different camps for war news. The follow
ers of Garibaldi were then encamped on the
other side of the Volturno, opposite Capua, the
last stronghold of the Bourbons on this side.
The reporters, like reporters all over the world,
wanted some news. Their inquisitiveness both
ered the officers. At last, by tacit understand
ing between the officers, they agreed to tell the
reporters anything that entered their minds. So,
one line morning in September, Dumas sent a
young French scribe for information in regard
to certain war news. Major Fix, of the engi
neers, was then a young officer ready for any
kind of fun, He was just then building fortifi
cations with sand bags all along the railroad
between Naples and Capua. The tracks were
torn up, guns, gun carriages and bags filled
with sand were lying on tho ground in the
greatest disorder when the reporter appeared.
“Well, Major, any news ?”
“Certainly,” was the reply; “don’t yon see
this disorder? The Bourbons came last night,
supported by Bavarians and Swiss troops, and
we had a lively time of it. We took all the guns
you see lying round here, made 10,000 prison
ers, and took any quantity of arms and ammu
nition.”
The young scribe took his notes and made a
beautiful description of the fight, revised by the
hand of old Dumas himself, and only as Dumas
could write. When it appeared the next day
in his paper, Garibaldi, who was then dictator
of the southern provinces, was furious on read
ing it. Dumas, as was his habit, camo to see
tho General every morning; he was received
with a frown. At last Garibaldi said:
“Where, in the devil’s name, did you getyour
information about that splendid fight at San An
gelo ? The first I heard of it was in your paper
this morning.”
Dumas was nonplussed and angry, and said
to Colonel Bonrdone, in going out:
“ I shall thrash Fix the first time I see him.”
Garibaldi oame the same day to make an in
spection. Those in tho field had not received
the paper yet. After his inspection was over
he looked Major Fix in the face, with a satisfied
grin, and asked him :
“ Where is the place in which that big fight
occurred ?”
“ I do not know,” Major Fix replied ; “ there
has been no fighting around here for over three
weeks.”
Then the general took the paper out of his
pocket, and said :
“ Bead this description.”
They all had to laugh right out.
“ You young fools,” he said, “ let the reporters
alone.”
After a day or two Major Fix went to see Du
mas, and explained matters. They had a good
laugh about it, and the pere prodigy e thought it
was a good joke, but Major Fix had to promise
Dumas that in the luture nothing but the truth
would be told to any of his innocent young re
porters.
A Cmvbb Horse.— Judge Billings, of
Santa Clara, Cal., is the possessor of a young
horse on which his little son has bean in the
habit of riding and driving the family cow to
and from the pasture. A few days since the bov
rode to the pasture, let out the cow, and, not
taking hold of the horse soon enough, it turned
away and went alter the cow, driving her home,
as usual. The next morning the horse was sad
dled and bridled, and brought out and sent al
ter the cow, to see if it would return with the
cow to the pasture, and, sure enough, it drove
the cow home; as usual.
Making Tea in Japan. —Says a cor
respondent to the St. Louis Globe-Democrat :
A Japanese gentleman never intrusts the mak
ing of tea to his servants on company occasions,
and the fine art of the process was fully shown
us in the dainty management ot every article of
the service before the host. The teapot was a
little jewel-like thing that could be set, handle,
spout and all, inside one of the common-sized
coffee cups that a foreitner draws once or twice
at break -a st, and the cups were of fine cloison
nee, with plain enameled lininge, each no
larger round than the circle a tulip’s petals
could inclose. With them was a small pear
shaped pitcher, a beautifully wrought bronze
teapot in which the boiling water was brought,
and a lacquer box, containing the caddy of tho
choicest leaves from the fine tea gardens ot the
Uji District—a tea so rare and expensive that
none of it is ever exported or known abroad,
and only the wealthiest Japanese can afford to
buy the precious leaves. Our host, taking an
ivory scoop, carved in the shape of a large tea
leaf, filled the little teapot full of loosely heaped
leaves, and then, having poured tho hot water
into the pitcher that it might cool a little,
poured it into the teapot loaves. Tho hot water
had barely touched the leaves in the little tea
pot that wo were watching, so closely, when tho
host began pouring off a stream of pal© straw
colored tea into tho little cups, that were then
passed, each only half full of the infusion. This
tea was as delicate and fragrant as if made of
rose leaves, and tho three sips in each cup
slipped so smoothly down one’s throat that no
one dreamed of its being strong enough to keep
one awake for twelve hours afterward.
But Now its Eyes are Opened. —The
ladies of the Primrose League have made them
selves very conspicuous during the recent elec
tions. Here’s a story of the doings of one of
them, taken from the Sheffield (Eng.) Independ
ent : Mrs. Heathcote, one of the ladies of tho
Primrose League, and wife of the candidate for
Northwest Staffordshire, was canvassing the
other dav somewhere in the Halmerend and
Audley mining district, when she went into the
cottage of a miner. The miner’s cat had only a
day or two before given birth to a fine litter of
kittens. Mrs. Heathcote, seeking tor a good
cue to commence her canvassing, exclaimed :
“ Oh, what beautiful kittens ! I suppose they
are all Tories ?”
“Oh, yes 1” replied the collier’s wife.
“Then I hope you will give me one of the
pretty little things. Can it see ?”
“ No, it cannot see yet,” answered the woman,
smiling.
“Then,” said Mrs. Heathcote, graciously, “I
will call for it when it has opened its eyes.”
A short time afterward Mrs. Heathcote again
appeared at the cottage and gushingly ex
claimed : “ Oh, where is my pretty little puss ?
Give it to me, for I want to show it to the cap
tain. Let me see, you said it was a Tory ?”
“Yes! It was a Tory when you were here
lest, but then it could not see, but now it has
opened its eyes, it’s a Liberal. ’
Charges Against a Dog. —As a speci
men of legal phraseology, the following com
plaint, filed by John Eagan, as plaintiff, in a St.
Louis court, against John Kelly, is a fair one:
“The plaintiff, by his attorney, complains
and alleges:
“1. That the defendant, on the 25th day-of
December, 1885, and long prior thereto, at the
city of St. Louis, was the keeper of a certain
vicious dog, which was accustomed to bite
mankind.
“2. That the said defendant, well knowing
the premises, did wrongfully and injuriously
keep and harbor said vicious dog, and wrong
fully and negligently suffered such dog to go at
large, without being properly guarded or con
fined.
“3. That while so kept as aforesaid, the said
dog, on December 25, 1885, did bite and greatly
wound this plaintiff upon the lef t hand, and did
tear and greatly lacerate the. same, whereby
this plaintiff suffered great pain, became sick
and sore, and still continues so, and was and is
prevented from attending to his lawful affairs,
to his damage $250, for which ho asks judg
ment, together with costs of suit.”
New Version of an Old Story. —Tn a
village not far from Boston an attempt was re
cently made to reform by fright a genial old
chap who was so strongly “ in love with his
cups” as to be habitually lull. Friends had
labored with the erring brother in vain, and in
despair he was left for any one to reform him
who could, and in any way they chose. A
number of young larks in the town decided to
try the experiment of fri-ht. One warm Sum
mer afternoon the old fellow got as full as a
tick, when the committee on reform procured a
coffin from an undertaker and placed the soggy
toper inside, with the lid turned back to give
him air, and conveyed him to the
cemetery, where, concealed behind the shrul>
bery, they awaited his awakening. After two
hours sleep, the old fellow awoke, and wiggling
his head from side to side, and struggling to
raise his hands, the seriousness of h s position
seemed to dawn upon him. He finally raised
his head, looked down the length of his coffin,
surveyed the tombstones and monuments on
either side, and finding none other similarly
situated, he said, “I’m (hie) either the (hie;
first man, or else (hie) I’m left.”
Prince Bismarck’s Vegetables.—
Prince Bismarck is to be made a sufferer from
protection in a very curious way. Every year
a choice selection of vegetables and fruit finds
its way from Dusseldorf to the residence of the
Chancellor on the morning of his birthday. Of
course a letter of thanks follows in which the
sender is complimented on the creditable way
in which he maintains the national reputation
of his particular calling, and this letter finds its
way into tho papers, to the indignation of rivals.
Now, however, it has been discovered that the
fruit and vegetables which grace Prince Bis
marck s table when the birthday anniversary
comes round are not grown in Germany at all,
but come from Italy. Market gardeners of ali
sorts and conditions are therefore up in arms,
and are calling for heavy customs duties for the
protection of the native industry against the
foreigner, and such imposts are proposed as
will, it is hoped, effectually exclude Italian
produce for the future.
Useful in Many Ways. —Never throw
away old paper. If you have no wish to sell it,
use it in the house. Some housekeepers prefer
it to cloth for cleaning many articles of furni
ture. After a stove has been blackened, it can
be kept looking very well for a long time by
rubbing it with paper every morning. Rubbing
with paper is a much nicer way of keeping a
tea-kettle, coflee-pot, and teapot bright and
clean than the old way of washing them in suds.
Rubbing with paper is also the best way of pol
ishing knives, tinware, and spoons; they shine
like new silver. For polishing mirrors, win
dows, lamp chimneys, etc., paper is better than
dry cloth. Preserves and pickles keep much
better if brown paper, instead ot cloth, is tied
over the jar. Preserved fruit is not so apt to
mold if a piece of writing paper, cut to fit the
jar, is laid directly on the fruit. Paper is much
better to put under, a carpet than straw. It is
warmer, thinner, and makes less noise when
one walks over it.
The Richest of All Women. —The
Croesus of South America is a woman, Donna
Isadora Cousino, of Santiago, Chili, and there
are few men or women in the world richer
than she. There is no end to her money and
no limit to her extravagance, and people call
her the Countess of Monte Cristo. She traces
her ancestry back to the days of the conquest
and has the record of the first of her fathers
who landed in the New World. Hia family was
already famous, tor his uncles and sire fought
under’the ensign of the Arr agon s before the
alliance with Castile. But the Span sh branch
of the family was lost in tho world’s great
shuffle two or three centuries ago, and none of
them distinguished themselves enough to get
their portraits into the collection which Senora
Cousino has made of the lineage she claims.
Parisian Fish and Parisian Gutters.
—The itinerant fishmongers of Paris, in order to
supply their customers with well-cleaned fish,
wash quantities of soles, whitings, plaice, j. c.,fin
the gutters, which are plentifully supplied with
water. People who have the advantage of re
siding in the immediate vicinity of a good flow
ing gutter can frequently observe these sanitary
precautions, and are thus forearmed and fore
warned. Others, in this respect less fortunate
ly placed, constantly purchase in confiding in
nocence fish cleaned in gutter water flowing
through Paris streets, and devour the same,
prepared with that skill for which the French
cook is so famed—a skill which may conceal bad
flavors, but cannot protect the consumer against
the evil results of devouring contaminated food.
87 IS
Safe to Take
Ayer’s Sarsaparilla, and those who use it
are always ready to say a good word in its
favor. Mrs. C. Johnson, 319 Hicks st.,
Broooklyn, IT. Y., suffered greatly from
debility, and says: “I did not think it was
in the power of medicine to produce such
a wonderful change as Ayer’s Sarsaparilla
has effected in my case. I feel that I have
entered a new life.” Mrs. E. R. Henry,
4th st., Lowell, Mass., Writes: “ For years
I was badly afflicted with Salt Rheum in
my hands. My physician advised me to
try Ayer’s Sarsaparilla. I did so. The
result was perfectly satisfactory. I have'
more recently used it in my family with !
equally pleasing effect. It merits ail that i
is claimed for it. As a blood purifier
Ayer’s Sar
sanarilla ba? so equal.” 1 is the beet medicine I ever toot”
Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer Sc Co., Lowell, Mass., U. 8. A.
ffor sale by all Druggists. Price $1; six bottles for ®5.
Indian Supebstit —The Indiarfs
believe that thunder is a hue bird, with greed
back and gray breast, an I that the flapping ol
his wings causes the th under (some faint re«»
semblance to the mytbolo. <!al birds of Jove,
who carried the thunder in tbeir claws). They
imagine that the bea ens are supported by four
large poles, resembling large trees; that the
big bird lives in the We t, and is only hear#
when flying East. This is easily accounted fo»'
by the fact of their storms almost invariably
coming from the West, r hey have a supersti-’
tious fear of the aurora borealis, which they*
call the “ medicine fire.” They believe that it
has the power of rendering them good shots
(an idea arising, I imagine, Torn the manner in.
which the rays of light in an aurora dart about
in the heavens), and conse juently worship it#
Of meteors and falling stars they have a great!
dread, and believe th it they are sent by th®*
groat warriors who are in >he “ happy hunting?
grounds,” to warn them o: danger.
Anti-Cigar Movement in Naples. —AL,
correspondent writing from Naples, says: Antj
amusing comedy is being enacted here, ands
probobly in many other parts of Italy. A
days ago came into operation a new law b/j
which the price ot cigars is affected. Thosaf
who had any on stock closed their shops in
evening before the evenNul day, hoping to makefj
no slight profit by what they had on hand. Tofj
their dismay, however, on the fatal morning the£,
officials of the government, on tho door beings
re-opened, presented themsejves and took a re«£-
account of’the stock, jbe public are much/
irritated, and refuse to purchase cigars. Inf
Rome, it is said, an association has been former
called the Pipe Club, every, member of whicltfJ
refuses to smoke cigars. !n Naples three
four evenings ago a number of young menC
paraded the streets with long pipes, so tbas
there is a regular revolution ;n the habits of
people who seem to have been born with cigar®'"
in their mouths.
A Woman Duflltst. —ln
Poland a lady recently became her own cham/
pion by fighting a duel wii’.rr the man who hadfi
calumniated her. It appears he bad offered hiss
hand, which she hud refused. Stung by
rejection, he set bi niseii to spoil her good nam/r
by spreading false report; about her. There/
upon this plucky lady declared that a dueSJ
alone could vindicate her honor, and,
the assistance of several gentlemen who
anxious to make her cause their own, she in<*
vited her traducer to “pistols for two and coffe®,
for one.” There was nothing for the man to dd.‘
but accept the challenge, and the combatant®
met in a place outside Warsaw. Both missed
their aim. The lady proposed a second
but the seconds declared that lull
had been made, and she had to defer to their?
ruling. As for her adversary, he was so movedF;
by her masculine gallantry that he
her a formal and ample apology on the spotj
She accepted it.
Didn’t Know Him. —Varin, joint au/
thor with Dumersan of “ Les
and as kind-hearted a msn as ever
told the foliowin. anecdote o.‘ La.on, the trage-*
dian, whom certain partial critics had injudif
ciously set up as a rival to Talma. He was
clever actor, but ogre jously vain of his talent
and insufferably consequential in
Entering one day the shop of a tailor in thd
Palais Royal, accompanied by his son, he re-*
quested to see some ready-made cloaks, suitably
for the youth, and, after considerable
selected one and ordered it to be sent horned
saying : “ Mon bo>” (h.s usual way of
ing people), “lam M. Lafon.” The
bowed and begged to be favored with bis cua<*
tomer’s address. “What, ‘»on bon ! iy indig4
nantly exclaimed the tragedian, “ you don’s
know me? Come away, my son, come
this man will not. do lor us; he actually
not know Lafon of the Comedie Francaise ?
Who Are the Metts? —Riel
in his lately published paper that the
ancestors of the Metis wore the former employe©
of the Hudson Bay and Northwest Fur Com
panies, and their maternal ancestors were In
dian women of various tribes. The
word “ Metis ” is derived from the Latin parti/
cle which means “mixed ;” in Frenchf
“ mele,” it expresses well the idea that isj
sought to be conveyed. However appropriate'
the corresponding English expression “ Hal A
breed “might have been for the first
of the mixture of blood, now that European?
blood and Indian blood are mixed in every de- 1 ?
gree, it is no longer general enough. Tha'
French word “ Metis ” expresses the idea ©j.
this mixture in the most satisfactory manned
possible, and thus becomes a proper race name/
“For I am declined into the vale oj
years,” she said a little sadly, “ but indeed >
don’t much mind it since I can get Balvatiorfr'
Oil for 25 cents.”
A Very Thin Story. —While out
hunting one day last week, Peter Hart, a farm/
er, living near Kuowersville, discovered a lettesf
secreted in a tree which stated that the
John Robert Smith, and his partner, Halley/j
had been engaged in a number of robberies*?
which had netted $1.5,th0. While escaping;
through the Helderberg hills the partners ha®
quarreled and Smith murdered Halley and bur-*
ied near by. Smitten with remorse,
had buried the money and was about to drowcf
himself in Warren’s Lake. The letter is ac«
.companied by a rude diagram showing wher®
the body and money can be found, and Smithf
gives the latter to the finder. The entire popu
lation of Knowersville is now engaged in
search for the hidden treasure.
MoTHER-OF-BfAßL.—Says an
paper: The mother-of-pearl industries are mak«
mg greater demands than ever on the shells of
the world. It is announced that a single firn®
in Paris have accepted the contract of a shellT
gatherer in Los Angelos, aiifornia, to shirt;
forty tons of shells every sixty days. Strangely
enough, although the American coast is so
in shells, the Americans get almost all theifl
shell and mother-of-pearl industries from Ear
rope. For this they have to thank the
freights, which makes the cost of sending shell® j
from Los Angelos nearly three times as great a®
that of shipping them from San Pedro to Havre!#’
One of the Rothschild Houses. -Aj
Baron Alphonse de Rothschild has just finisheif
the transformation of his house in the Hue
Florentin, Paris, into a sort of iron-clad
Every window is provided with bullet-proof
shutters, each glass show case, containing price/’
loss curiosities, disappears into an iron safe iir
the wall by the simple pressing of a spring; eac&f
picture is provided with a numbered case, line®';
with morocco leather, so that in an emergency
the whole gallery could be packed in anTioufb
and stowed away in the cellars or sent to Eng/
land for safety. The bill lor these cases amounts*
to 50,000 francs.
A Story of McCullough. —After thi;
death of Ralston, his backer in the California'
Theatre, McCullough found that $60,000 paid iffi
by him to the bank had not been placed to hiaf
credit. Before producing the receipts for th®
payments, he said: “If this transaction wilr
reflect on Ralston’s memory, I will tear up th®,<
papers.” The matter was" never satisfactorily?
adjusted, and McCullough found it necessary;
to continue his tour as a star, to make money :
enough to meet bis debts. y
A $1,500 Cup. —A silver
which formerly belonged to Frederick the’Great
has just been sold at Berlin for 2,000
The cup was presented to Frederick by hiafi
troops, and he drank out of it on his 1 st battlekl
field. There are inscriptions on it of the names;,
and dates of his great victories, and it is in allk
respects a rare curiosity. The German ambasfl
sador offered the late owner 5,000 roubles forf
it some years ago, but he then refused to sell
Riches for Scholars.— The interest;#
ing suggestion is made that if ever any of 4h<
Christian nations of Europe extend help to th/
Turk, one condition shall be the searching of
the sultan’s library and of the crypts beneatK
the Mosque of St. Sophia. In the latter, espef
cially. it is believed that some wonderful find/
of ancient manuscripts would be made, owinffi.
to tho believers disinclination to destroy papefl.;
that may have the name of God written on it. •
Mormondom, —Fanaticism has growti
with the increasing force of unrestricted liberty *
until Salt Lake is a hot-bed of hostility to the.
general government. The secrecy of proscribed ;
rites has knitted the Mormons into a closer felT
lowship than That of any other body ot men o<
the continent, because even murder and its aW
tendant crimes are regarded as justifiable mean/
of defending their laith and preserving thei§
political existence. i?
IT IS
Sure to Cure
any disorder that arises from impurities
existing in the blood. Even where no
particular disorder is felt, people live
longer, and enjoy better health, for puri
fying the blood with Ayer’s Sarsaparilla.
John W. Starr, Laconia, lowa, writes:
, “Ayer’s Sarsaparilla is the best blood med
icine of the day. I was troubled with
scrofulous complaints for several years.
I took only two bottles of Ayer’s Sarsapa
rilla, and now feel like a new man.” A.
S. Pettinger, M. D., Glen Gardner, N. J.,
writes: “Ayer’s Sarsaparilla is an excel-
■ lent alterative tonic, and in all cases where
. i such a remedy is needed I prescribe it.”
. I Mrs. H. M. Thayer, Hillside st., Milton,,
i Mass.,writes; “Ayer’s Sar-
1 ”11
isapanlla