New York dispatch. [volume], March 28, 1886, Page 6, Image 6

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

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6
OH! JESSIE, WHAR YO’ GONE?
•h, Jessie, laughin' Jessie, whar’ yo’ gone ?
Is yo’ wand’rin* in de medder,
Whar’ we nee’ to roam togedder ?
Jh y©' wand’rin’t rough de cotton or de co’n ?
Oh, Jessie, doan’ yo hear me ?
Is yo’ laughin’ sperrit near me,
Or has yo’ learn’ to fear me
An’ to sco’n ?
Dey done tolo me, Jessie honey, yo’ is dead —
Bat yo’ sperrit is a-libin’
Wid de angels up in heaben,
An’ yo’ nebber coinin’ back to me, dey said;
But I saw yo’ eyes a-beamin’,
An’ I’s alio’ I wasn’t dreamin’,
For de moonlight was a-gleamin’
Oberhead.
I>cn I tried to catch yo’ eye and feel yo’ han’.
But de minnit I come near yo’,
Fur to fondle and to cheer yo’,
Yo’ done glide away an’ leab mo whar, I stan’,
Yo’ done leab me dar a-cryin’.
An’ my heart widin me dyin’,
While de night wind crep’ a sighin’,
T rough de lan .
Ob, my angel! Oh, my Jessie 1 Ana it true ?
Is yo’ gone from me for ebber
Across de sperrit riber ?
Don I soon will come across dat riber too.
For my eyes wid tears am achin’.
An’ my heart void grief am breakin’,
Au’ my cabin am forsaken
Wi'dout you.
ffIIIHWEIL
BY A POPULAR AUTHOR.
CHAPTER IX.
“ SUE never tells vs stories about counts
NOW.”
It was May, about eighteen months after the
•Id rector’s death, and Crystal Conyers’s black
dresses were growing very shabby, and might
have been replaced by something lees sombre,
had new dresses been as plentiful with her ra
the present little shabby-genteel Bayswater
home as they were in the easy-going comfort of
Easton. But Crystel’s black cashmere must
carry her through another Summer, for" Dolly
and Ida grew so last that their garments be
came unfit to wear, and Tiny was sighing for
•ometbin-g a little more cheerful, say lilac or
silver gray, which Crystel had not the heart to
ga ns ay.
Mrs. Conyers, the busy country lady, had,
with her change of position more than from the
loss of her husband, subsided into an exacting
invalid; so it was upon Crystel that the house
hold management chiefly fell—Crystel,who,with
her romantic book-lore and unpractical ideas of
cvery-day life, had to learn the very A B C of
domestic routine by the bitter experience of cut
ting down everybody’s lavish expectations to
suit a very limited income. The rector of East
on had lived handsomely and easily on his sti
pend and his canonry; but there had been very
little laid by, and the Bayswater household was
mainly carr ed on by means of an allowance
from Sir Martin Harland and Mr. Moreton to
their mother and sister-in-law. No wonder
Crystel, remembering this, decided hastily to
turn her black cashmere. Tiny could have a
gray beige a little later on, and, if the younger
gir.s wore asked down to Easton for a lew
weeks in the Summer, it must be contrived
somehow; her mother would probably go to the
Harlands, and she (Crystel) would have the lit
tle town bouse to herself, to put in hand certain
modest repairs and alterations which were of
more importance to her than a Summer outing.
All this was weighed and decided as she sat
quietly apart in oue of the secluded by-paths of
Kensington Gardens; Dolly and Ida, with a
pocketful of dry crusts, had retired to the
neighborhood of the Round Pond, where they
were well known by the other habitues of the
spot for their intrepid conduct and country
bred indifference to the very fiercest swans and
ganders. Crystel would have an hour, at least,
to herself, and, when once the household plans
had been definitely thought out and arranged,
with approximated prices attached, there was a
long foreign letter from Mrs. Woodroffe in her
pocket, which had been lying by since the early
post, waiting its turn.
She took it out now aud spread the thin sheets
on her knee. The old heading, “Hotel Rose,
■Wiesbaden/’ brought the blood to her cheeks,
•nd for a moment the letters swam before her
•yes in a mist of tears.
Mrs. Woodroffe had returned to her favorite
doctor, and Bessie Bellasis had Crystel’s little
bed-room at the “Rose.” “The town,” con
tinued the writer, “is full of people, much fuller
than in the quiet Winter season, and, dear Crys
tel, I think I ought to tell you that I have seen
the Graf Von Ritterhaus with his fiancee—&
rich Miss Levison, a Frankfort-American—at
several of the concerts. I tell you this, my dear
child, because I think you would rather learn
it from an old friend who loves you than hear
it accidentally.”
“ You must tell her—and, oh, teil her very
gently !” the tender-hearted squire had said,
dreading lest his part in Von Ritterhaus’s en
lightenment might hurt her; however, Mrs.
Woodroffe had herself been concerned in the
careful young lieutenant’s final extrication of
himself from the difficulty, having, a day or
two alter Crystel’s departure from Wiesbaden,
received a visit from the colonel of Von Ritter
haus s regiment, who, after the simple and pa
ternal fashion of Germany, proceeded to dem
onstrate to the gnadigefrau that a marriage be
tween his penniless “ sub” and her charming,
but equally penniless, young friend was out of
the question.
“ Quite oui of the question,” Mrs. Woodroffe
had replied, loftily, and she did not tell either
Oswald or Crystel that it had given her some
satis action to add, to the astonishment of the
courteous, though practical colonel, “ I have
other views for Miss Conyers, who is likely to
form an alliance with a gentleman of cons dera
ble wealth and position in her own neighbor
berhood. I should never have sanctioned any
engagement with the Graf Von Ritterhaus, even
if he could have afforded to marry for love. I
wish you good morning, Herr Oberst.”
It had been a vain boast, Mrs. Woodroffe
knew, and one whi.'h she had not dared to re
peat to her nephew when she gave him an out
line of the affair in a letter to the Knoll, where
Jie stayed on after the rector’s funeral, hoping
to be of service to the Conyers family.
“ It will not kill Crystel to know the truth,”
he had written back. “It is only justice to her
to tell it all, and less painful, in realitv, than
the suspense which she is bearing now; beside,
the has hard work before her, and that is all
her best zrien~ S ive M a weapon
•gainst thie cruel trial ” * 7 _
Mrs. Woodroffe had told Crystel all the truth,
And then there had intervened a long silence of
eighteen months, during which the name of Yon
-Bnterhaus bad been Unspoken in hey ears. To
day, once more, Mrs. Woodroffe ha& broken the
spell, and Cryqtpl folded the pages of her letter
together, trying io realize what Eugen’s be
trothal to Miss Levison ©eanj to her. Despair ?
Misery ? Nay, those had their day in the bitter,
bereaved, homecoming, in the sickening uncer
tainty of silence, in the humiliation of the dis
closure when at last it came, in the grinding
dreariness of the life that followed. And now,
even the thought that he belonged to another,
stirred no fresh pain, touched no new chord of
anguish; only the recollection of girlhood’s
first awakening, of the marvellous sunshine
upon the distant landscape, of the sudden birth
©f music and color and light and love, filled her
with so intense a longing for a little taste of
mortal happiness that her brain reeled for a
moment, and she clutched the side of the seat
for support. the letter on her lap fell to the
ground, and, tossing a second m the light
breeze, fluttered across the path to the feet of a
gentleman, who came noiselessly toward her on
the soft grass.
“ 1 was looking for you, Crystel,” said Oswald
Bellasis, holding out his hand with the letter, in
the most natural way in the world; “ I met
your sisters five minutes ago, and they told me
where 1 should find you ‘ doing your accounts,’
they said. Shall I be disturbing you if I sit
4own ?”
“ No, indeed ; it is a great pleasure to see you
•gain. 1 thought you were in Paris.”
“So I was, yesterday—you have been Rearing
from my aunt, I perceive—but an unaccountable
longing after—well, after England -came upon
me, and I crossed last night, and went to Ever
ton Terrace to ask for your mother this after
noon ; she was not visible, but your servant
told me you were here in the garden, and Dolly
•nd Ida put me in the right path.”
“ I am sorry mother did not see you ; it is
one of her bad days, so I took the children out
of her way.”
“ And the accounts ?”
Oh, they were settled long ago! I was
•musing myself—that is, reading your aunt’s
letter—when you came up, and I was so ab
sorbed that you startled me for a moment.”
•* She is back again in Wiesbaden ?”
“ Yes.”
You were thinking of it as I came along ?”
“I was/’
I saw it in your face. Ah, Crystel, forgive
we, but I got into the habit of studying your
expressions long ago, and I guessed, I heard—
that is, I had a letter from my aunt 1 The fact
is, dear, I know what you are thinking of, I
know what grieves you ; I would give my life to
eave you from one single instant of pain, and, if
I could have borne it for you, you should never
have known sorrow.”
“ I think you are mistaken,” Crystel Inter
rupted.
“ What, in saying that I would fain savo you
from pam ?”
“ In thinking that what your aunt has written
eould pain me now. I owe it to you, who were
always so patient, so lenient with me, to tell you
this—you know what work and care for ethers
Will do toward crushing out a pain which is
purely selfish and personal? Thank Heaven,
after a while, strength comes and a clearer sight,
and, by-and-by, peace. Only. I think, the spring
mmshine has made me a little foolish and daz-
Eled ; 1 confess I was thinking of the past, chief
ly of the pleasure and the beauty of it which I
owed to your aunt, and you thought I was
grieving over some old bygone trouble !”
' “ And it has really gone, Crystel?”
“ With Heaven s f’
•* No, she never tells us stories about counts,
How, Ida confided to Mr. Bellasis on-* day in the
dingy Bayswater drawing-room, as he waited
for the appearance of the elder sister ; “ some
how we don’t care about counts and fairies and
Impossible people now, we re bo much older,
hut she goes on with the stories better than
©nly they are mostly about Englishmen. Dolly
>tiU likes to put in plenty of things to eat, but I
like best to hear about brave men and people
giving up things they care most for, and that's
Crystel's favorite kind of storv, she says.
“ What nonsense are you talking, Ida?” said
Crystel, coming in at that moment. “ W hy, Mr.
Bellasis, is it you ? You should not encourage
those children to chatter.”
“I like it; it interests me. Run off, Ida, and
put on your hat; I am going to take you and
your sister for a walk. Crystel, will you come
with me into Kensington Gardens and let me
tell you the story of a man who tried hard to
give up the thing ho cared most for, and found
in the end he could not do without it ?”
And Crystel went willingly.
Mrs. Conyers has been quite invigorated by
the pleasing assurance of all her friends that
her right hand has not lost its cunning, so far
as the settlement of her daughters is concerned,
and, nowlhat she is the mother of Mrs. Oswald
Bellasis, of Easton Park, there is nothing more
heard of Crystel’s mistakes.
THE END.
SWITCHED OFF.
BY CLYDE RAYMOND.
“ It’s for Miss Sue Loring per-tick-ler, ma’am,
so the gentleman said,” repeated the messen
ger boy, hesitatingly, as he stood on the npper
step, balancing a note rather nervously in his
Angers' as if uncertain whether or not to give it
into the fair hand extended for it.
“Certainly; that’s all right, my lad,” smiled
the pretty young lady who stood in the half
open door, speaking in low, guarded tones.
“ Miss Loring will not be in lor an hour or so,
but I will see that she gets it the moment she
returns. Won't that do quite as well? You’re
not afraid to trust me ?”—with a winning smile.
“No, miss, of course I ain’t,” looking half
ashamed of his own strictness; " only them was
my orders; you see,” —slowly relinquishing his
trust. “ Now, ma’am, you won t forget it—
sure ?” he added, anxiously, with a direct stare
into the pretty, triumphant face as he turned
away.
Nina Bradley’s answer was a soft, reassuring
laugh as she hastily took the envelope and
closed the door almost in the lad’s face.
Slipping the note into her pocket, she turned
at once toward the parlor.
/‘Was it anything for me, Nina?” called a
fresh, sweet voice, as a pair of bright brown
eyes peeped over the baluster from above. “ I
saw the messenger boy just going away.”
“For you?” and the blue eves glanced care
lessly up to meet the questioning brown ones.
“ OU, no; merely a pressing invitation from
Mies Nelson for me to call there to-morrow.
She has some astonishing secret to communi
cate, as usual.”
“ Oh, is that all ? ’
And the bright face disappeared from the
stairway, its owner quite satisfied with the ex
planation given.
Meanwhile, Miss Nina repaired to the parlor,
which had no other occupant just then, and,
deliberately breaking the‘seal of the note en
trusted to her care, read the brief message
through.
It was simply to inform Miss Loring that
pressing business, entirely unexpected, would
prevent the writer from keeping an engagement
to attend a skating carnival with her that even
ing—a pleasure which, aa Miss Bradley hap
pened to know, Sue was looking forward to
with liveliest anticipations.
Only a brief note of apology; but, “reading
between the lines” and remem’< ering the wri
ter’s careful orders concerning its delivery, she
understood clearly the unconiessed love which
made him anxious to avoid even the possibility
of a misunderstanding between Sue and him
self, and which caused him the keenest regret
at having to thus disappoint her ever so
slightly.
“ If I could only arouse dietrust and jealousy
between them,” Nina muttered, her fair brow
darkening with envious, malicious thoughts,
“1 might prevent the declaration which has not 1
been made yet, lam sure. If I don’t play my
cards very skillfully, however, I may be found
out in this little matter, and then—but pshaw ! 1
there's nothing like trying. ‘ Nothing ventured,
nothing won,’ as the good old proverb has it I” !
And, with a complacent smile wreathing her
rosy lips, she tripped lightly up stairs to discuss .
the carnival with unsuspecting Sue.
Nina was Sue Loring’s cousin, who had made
her home with them during the past year, and '
who seemed gratefully devoted to her generous '
relatives. One of a large family of girls, it was
no small favor to be thus offered a home as long
as she cared to accept it. She had not the slight- '
est intention of leaving it, either, until she could
exchange it for one of her own, and. what was
more to the point, she had privately selected '
Philip Almy, Sue’s own most favored suitor, for
her iuture husband. ■
Pretty and attractive, .she had several ad- ‘
mirera of her own ; but, by some perverse fate,
she bad placed her affections upon Philip Almy,
aud him she was bound to win, by fair means 1
or foul, quite regardless of Sue’s feelings in the '
matter. ,
“ What can be keeping Philip so late ?” com
plained Sue impatiently, wandering restlessly
over to the window for the dozenth time. “It’s
long past the time wo were to have started.” 1
“Perhaps he has forgotten the engagement,” !
suggested Nina, carelessly, taking a more com- .
fortable position on the sofa as she turned a
fresh page oi her novel.
“ Forgotten !” Sue turned from the window 1
and faced her cousin, her brown eyes flashing >
haughtily. “Impossible 1 It I thought that—
She did not finish the sentence, but the scorn
ful curl of her red lip and the ominous flash of (
her eyes, told how she Would avenge the insult .
of forgetfulness from Philip.
But the evening wore on and still he did not ,
come. Two or three callers dropped in, but, ,
though she talked and laughed, and tried brave- '
ly to be her natural self, Sue was distraite, fe
verishly uneasy, and—well, yes, angry—angry ,
with Philip, who had never neglected her like
this before.
“At least he might have sent some explana
tion of his absence,” she kept thinking, wratb
fully. “ Does he fancy himself so certain of my
love that he can slight me with impunity ? If 1
so, I will soon teach him differently 1”
“By the way, Sue,” remarked Nina, heslta- J
tingly, pausing midway on the stairs after com
ing in from a round of calls and shopping the .
following day, “some one mentioned to me .
while I was out (but I don’t suppose it is really .
true—a mere spiteful rumor, doubtless) that <
Philip Almy was seen at the theatre last Slight ,
with a very handsome young lady by his side— ,
& Stranger. It it were true, that would account ‘
lor his failing to keep hie appointment with vou 1
but—” v r
" told you that ?” flashed Sue, her brown
eyes gleaming and her cheeks deadly pale, but
not all from the anger. She was a high-spir
ited, merry little maiden, yet she had a loving
heart and it had been sorely woundedj (
“Ifoal'.y J can t remembej hSw/' answered '
Nina, pretending to think deeply for a moment,
“ I paid so little attention to it. If I were you I
wouldn’t give it a serious thought,”
Aud she continued her way tip the richly-car
peted etaits, knowing full well that she had ’
planted a thorn which would rankle to some -
purpose in Sue’s proud, sensitive little heart. f
The result was that when Mr. Almy next E
called he mej with tjie coolest of cool receptions. <
At first he felt surprised, then hurt, then slight- s
ly indignant. Sue was very unreasonable to ex- ‘
hibit such coldness and displeasure toward s
him when ho was not at all to blame. He had <
explained in his note the business which una- <
voiuably claimed his attention that evening, so <
he supposed her resentment arose simply from '
having her pleasure spoiled for once, aud that 1
was surely childish and unjust.
He had meant to tell her in person just how 1
sorry he was for being forced to disappoint her 1
—and himseli, as but the iceberg frigidity '
of her manner disdbtiraged that idea, and he 1
finally left withoht having made the slightest I
allusion to the subject.
Nina, who had not failed to be present during
the call and who had been ■extra-sweet to atone
lor her cousin’s haughtiness, lingered on the
porch with him a moment as he was going.
“I was so surprised at Sue’s heartless behav
ior toward you, Thilip—Mr. Almy,” she mur
mured, with a sweet look of sympathy, correct
ing her utterance of his name in pretty coniu
lusion, “ and so sorry,” still more tenderly. “I
shall have to read her a good round lecture
about it when I go in.”
“ I’ray don’t,” he answered quickly, his fair,
handsome face assuming a look of haughtiness
equal to Sue’s own. “Xhave had the misfor
tune to offend her, it seems, though most uniuj
tentionally. But let it pass.”
“ Sue is such a changeable little witch!”
wont on Miss Bradley, and her tone was that
of half-indulgent, half-severe apology tor her
cousin’s mis.doeds. “ One never knows where
her fancy will lead her from one heur to anoth
er. I could not help thinking last night, when
Tom Saylor—ho is such a handsome, fascina
ting fellow, you know, and really seems de
voted ”
She checked herself suddenly with great ab
ruptness, as if just remembering that he might
not relish the thoughts called up by Tom Say
lor’s fascinations and his devotion to Sue Lor
ing.
“ Well ?”
Aitor a brief silence the questioning word fell
slowly and reluctantly from Philip’s lips, and,
though he tried to make it sound careless and
uninterested, Nina detected the rankling of her
poisoned arrow.
Oh, nothing ! She may have been only flirt
ing again, you know,” she hastily returned,
with a soft, pitying sigh as she glanced into
Philip’s gloomy eyes. “As I said. Sue is rath
er addicted to that weakness—too much so, I
regretfully admit; for I’m very fond of my way
ward little cousin.”
Then she said “Good-night," with a soft,
shy, lingering touch st her dainty little hand,
aud loft him to extract what comfort he could
from the hints she had so artfully suggested.
It was very soon after that call, which had not
been repeated, that Sue conceived a sudden
and irresistible desire to make a long-promised
visit to a dear friend whe lived miles away.
A number of hsr young associates assembled
at the depot to “see her off,” among them
Philip Almy, and, as ho held her hand for an
instant and wished her “ a pleasant journey and
safe return,” she looked so irresistibly charm
ing and innocent in her pretty traveling-suit,
with its close-fitting fur-bordered jacket and
jaunty hat,that,heartless coquette as be was last
growing to believe her, he longed unutterably
to draw her close to his side and tell her all his
love.
But they were not alone. Observant eyes
were on them, and, above all, Nina Bradley was
chatting brightly at bis side, and Nina some-
NEW YORK DISPATCH, MARCH 28, 1886
J how managed to claim, in a pretty, cousinly
away, a good deal o! his attention.
So, with a last stolen glance of tender admi
’ ration at the flushed cheeks and bright brown
• eyes of the girl be had loved so devotedly, hcr
3 turned and walked homeward by the side of
the pretty siren who, at last, had the “ game in
I her own hands,” as she was secretly telling
1 herself that very moment.
3 Sue was in no haste to return. Homo, with
-3 out Philip’s loving attention as of old, was a
> place where her heart would break, she thought.
I And Nina’s letter’s, which came regularly, gave
no hint that her absence caused him a shadow
of regret.
And if the subtle stories which Nina constant
r ly poured into his ears of boastful letters from
Sue, regarding her new conquests and “glori
’ ous flirtations,” were utterly false aud troach
, erous, how was he to know ?
I So, when Sue Loring reluctantly came home
5 at last, Nina no longer feared her. She had
gained her point—was absolutely engaged to
Philip Afmy, and the appointed wedding-day
was not far distant.
“ And I’m so delighted to have you back
again, dear little coz,” gushed Nina sweetly, the
moment Sue had fairly entered the house. “Just
in time to be my bridesmaid ! My next letter
would have told yoa—l'm going to marry Philip
Almy.”
For a second those words seemed to have ut
terly swept Sue’s breath away. She stood trans
fixed, staring with wide-open, dazed, brown
eyes and death-white face at the girl who had
spoken them.
“Going to—marry Philip!” she gasped at
.length, involuntarily catching at a chair to keep
herself from falling. “Oh !”
She pressed her hand with all her force
against her heart to still the pain that seemed
killing her. Then realizing how she was be
traying her love for a man who cared nothing
for it, she made one mighty effort to regain her
proud composure, and succeeded.
“It was an immense surprise,” she remarked
almost indifferently, a moment later. “ I
couldn’t take it all in, you know, at first allow
me to congratulate you.”
And then she listened, apparently unmoved,
to Nina's charming little fiction of how Philip
bad con'eased that he had loved her—Nina—a
great deal longer than ho himself had been
aware of; how some romantic little incident bad
suddenly startled him into the full knowledge
of his own heart, and then he had lost no time
in proposing.
Sue quietly listened to all, and made no sign.
But, oh ! alone in her own room it was a dif
ferent thing. There she could yield to the grief
that was consuming her where no eye could wit
ness her humiliation.
One night—it was in the last week preceding
Philip’s marriage—she had given way to her si
lent, passionate sorrow until heart and brain
both seemed on fire.
Turning at last to her window, she threw it
open to admit the cool Spring air. But the
late-rising moon just climbing over the tree
tops on the lawn, seemed to mock her with its
nalo, cold radiance. She was about to shut
it out again, when some strange object be
low riveted her attention.
A dark shadow gliding stealthily about in the
moonlight under the yet leafless trees. What
was it—ghost or robber ? She felt tempted to go
down and investigate. Sue was no coward: and
,ust now she felt reckless, desperate, and longed
for something to drive away distracting
thought.
Without stopping to reflect, she threw a shawl
about her and flitted softly down the stairs and
out upon the lawn. The shadow had disppear
ed, but, turning the corner, she came full upon
it—almost ran into its arms, in fact. “And it
was no spirit, but a man, who was now standing
beneath her own window; and, as he turned, she
saw the face of—Philip Almy !
“ You !” she exclaimed, drawing back in
astonishment, and speaking in low, intensely
bitter tones. “ What are you doing here ? That
is not the window of your lady-love; it is my
own.” i
“1 know it,” he answered quickly and with
equal bitterness. “ But, heartless and false as
you have been Sue Loring, I could not resist
the longing to come here lor one farewell
glimpse of you before—leaving you forever.”
“ ‘ Heartless and false!’ You’insult me, sir I”
she haughtily exclaimed, turning to leave his ;
presence.
“ Wait but one moment,” he cried in low, im
passioned tones, coming a step toward her.
“ You call it an insult from me to speak of that
old love because I am now to marry your
cousin. But you can surely forgive the weak- ]
ness this once. Sue; I will never offend again.
You know how I loved you then, how I dream
ed that you wonld be my wife, until your cold
ness—your heartless coquetry ”
“ Stop!” she commanded suddenly, her
cheeks and eyes blazing like coals of fire.'“ How
dare you apply those words tome, when it is 1
you who deserve them? you who have been
false and treacherous ? I will not hear it.” 1
He stood and looked at her in amazement.
Her anger was so real, her sense of injustice
and insult so unfeigned, he could no longer 1
doubt her sincerity.
All at once he seemed to see that something 1
had gone wrong between them—something more 1
than childish anger or willful coquetry was at
the bottom of all this. He frankly told her so ; J
and, little by little, their misunderstanding
cleared away’until but one mystery remained— 1
what had become of the note which he had sent J
to her that fateful afternoon ? 1
<? I think I know away of finding even that 3
out,” he said, hopefully, at last. 1
And when Sue Loring returned to her room
her eyes where still shining like stars, but now >
it was with the sweetest hopes of love, for 1
Philip had resolved to lay the whole case be
fore Miss Bradley, and ask—nay, demand—his <
freedom, t
The mystery of the note —the missing link— 8
was soon cleared up, when Philip had shrewdly i
hunted up the messenger-boy and learned into <
whose hands it had been delivered. i
“ By jingo !” exploded that young representa
tive of the A. D. T., ramming his hands into bis
pockets and giving vent to a long, low whistle 1
of amazement. “That there message was t
switched off somewheres between the front '
door and the k’rect station, an’ it was that
pretty little blue-eyed woman as cut the wires, t
Jehosaphat! who’d a thought it, when she
smiled like an angel into a feller’s face and
asked me if I was afeerd to trust ’er ?”
But Nina’s treachery was never exposed to
the public. Philip and Sue were married in a 3
lew short weeks, but their friends simply knew
that a romantic misunderstanding of some kind
had been happily cleared away. And as Nina I
was urged to fill Sue’s vacant place in the old
hom£, nobody dreamed that she was the mis
chief-make?. But her punishment—and a bit
ter one it is—lies in Philip’s knowledge of her
base designs.
OUR MONETARY SYSTEM.
Coin Laws Enacted by the United States 3
Since Its Foundation.
(From the Indianapolis Journal,)
The act of April 2, 1792, established the mint y
and regulated the coins of the United States.
This act provided that the coins should be of
gold, silver and copper; that the gold coins
should be eagles ($10), half eagles ($5), and j
quarter eagles ($2 50) ; that the silver coins
should be the dollar, half dollar, quarter dol
lar, dime and half dime; that the dollar or unit j
should be of the value of the Spanish milled
dollar then current; that the proportional value
of gold to silver should be as fifteen to one; that
all gold coins should be eleven parts fine to one
of alloy; that all silver coins should be com
posed of 1,485 parts fine to 179 parts alloy; that
the alloy of the gold coins should be composed
of silver and copper, half and half, and the al- 1
loy of silver wholly copper; that th© eagle 1
should contain 257 4-8 grains pure, or 270 grains I
ot standard gold, and the silver dollar 371 4-16 1
grains pure, or 446 grains standard silver; that ;
the lesser gold and silver coins should contain
the same proportions according to value; aud <
that all the gold and silver coins should be legal '
tender for all payments whatsoever. (4>Statutes,
pp. 246-251).
The act of June 23, 1834 (4 Statutes 699), re
duced the gold coins so that thereafter the eagle
($10) contained 232 grains pure and 258 grains
of standard gold, and the half and quarter
eagles were proportionately reduced, but their
legal-tender quality was retained lor all pay
ments whatsoever.
The act of January 18, 1837 (5 Statutes pp.
136-142), provided that thereafter the standard
for both gold and silver coins should be 900
fine; that is, 900 parts pure metal and 100 parts
alloy, and reduced the value of the silver coins
so that thereafter the silver dollar contained
412% grains of standard silver and the smaller
coins their relative proportion of the same, ac
cording to value; but their legal-tender quality
was retained for all payments.
The act of February 21, 1853, debased the
subsidiary silver coins, that is, the half and
quarter dollars, the dimes and half dimes, so
that thereafter the silver half dollars contained
192 grains of standard silver, and the quarter
dollar, dime and half dime were debased in
like proportion, according to their value, and
their legal tender capacity was reduced to pay
ments «f $5. This act left the gold coins and
silver dollar legal tender for all payments what
soever.
On the 12th of February, 1873 (seventeen Stat
utes, 424-736), an act revising and amending the
laws relating to the mint and coinage was
passed, which is known and designated by law
as the “ coinage act of 1873,” and all other’ acts
and parts of acts inconsistent therewith, Ere re
pealed.
This act provides that the standard for both
gold and silver coin should be 900 fine; that is,
that all coins shall be 900 parts pure and 100
parts allov; that the alloy of the gold shall be
silver and copper, th© silver in no case to exceed
one-tenth ot the whole alloy, and the alloy of
the silver coins to be wholly copper.
This act provides that gold coins of the
United States shall be $1 piece, which at the
standard weight, 25 8-10 grains, shall be the
unit of value; a quarter eagle, or $2.50
piece; ahalf eagle, or $© piece, an
eagle, er $lO piece, and a double eagle, or
S2O piece, and these geld coins shall be legal
tender m all payments; that the silver coins
shall be a trade dollar, a halt dollar, or 59 eent
piece; a quarter dollar, oir 25 cent piece; a
dime, or ten cent piece; that the weight of the
trade dollar shall be 420 grains troy, and the
weight of the half dollar 12% grammes, and the
quarter dollar and dime, respectively, one-half
and one-fifth the weight of the hal -dollar; and
that the silver coins shall be legal tender lor
any amount not exceeding $5 in any one pay
ment; and the coinage of any other gold or sil
ver coins than those named above is prohibited.
r The Revised Statutes of the United States
were passed June 22(1, 1874, and are intended
. to embrace the statutes of the United States in
i force on the Ist day ot December, 1873, as re
r vised and consolidated by the commissioners
appointed for that purpose. The Revised Stat
i utes re-enact the statute of February 2d, 1873,
r without change.
The act of July 22d, 1876, provides that the
. trade dollar shall not thereafter be a legal ten
t der, and the coinage of the trade dollar is lim
ited to the export demand. Any owner of
, gold bullion can deposit the same at any mint
’ and have it converted into coin for his benefit
without charge. The Revised Statutes provide
th t any owner of silver bullion may have it
i converted at the mint into bars or trade dollars
of 420 grains troy, but for no other coinage, on
. payment of the actual cost of coinage. But as
by the act of July 22d, 1876, the Secretary of the
, Treasury is authorized to limit the coinago of
trade dollars to the export demand, it would
( now seem to be optional with him whether own
ers of silver bullion could have it converted into
trade dollars or not.
The law limits the coinage of the subsidiary
, silver coins, that is the dime, quarter and half
dollar, so that it shall not exceed at any time
$50,000,000.
The act of February 28, 1878, provides that
the mints shall coin silver dollars of the weight
of 412% grains troy, as provided by the act of
1837 ; that the same shall be legal tender for all
debts, public and private : that the Secretary of
the Treasury shall purchase not less than
$2,000,01)0 worth of silver bullion at the market
price ; nor more than $4,000,000 worth monthly
and cause the same to be coined into such dol
lars as fast as purchased, the grain or seignior
age thereon to go to the United States Treas
ury ; that holders of such dollars can exchange
them for silver certificates, which certificates
shull be receivable for customs, taxes, and all
public dues. This is the last general coinage
act, and is still in force and effect. The fore
going is a complete summary of all the coinage
acts.
THE DETROITJOLOMON.
A POETIC PRISONER—“SES MO
SES”—“K’RECT, PARTNER.”
A POETIC PRISONER.
A cobbler up Fort street was cobbling .way
the other evening when Leonard Smith came
along and leaned against the window and solilo
quized:
“Oh! cobbler, why do ye cob? Why peg
and eew ? Why thie monotonous sound of the
hammer ?”
And the cobbler looked up and shouted for
him to be gone. Leonard did not go. He
raised his voice and sang :
•’ A cobbler he rode on a cob.
And a bobber he rode on a bob,
Aud the sob of the robber waa aad for the Bobber,
Ab the cobbler cobbed off on bis nob.”
Then the cobbler arose and warned the man
to begone or he would lame him for life. Bnt
the white face of Leonard pressed closer to the
window as he warbled:
•'The pegger be drove In a peg.
And the beggar went out lor to beg;
And the ham of the hammer was bad for the
slammer,
Ab the pegger pegged off on his peg."
Then the cobbler went out and lasted him
with a last, and it was while they were strug
gling that an officer came along aud walked
Leonard off to thecroas-bar retreat.
“ Why did you do it?” asked his Honor as the
prisoner walked out.
“le it against the law to soliloquize—to
sing ?”
“ It's according to whom you soliloquize or
sing at. You can’t go around making it un
pleasant for other folks.”
“ I didn’t mean to hurt this cobbler’s feelings.
I thought he looked like a man who liked a lit
tle iuu. Why didn’t he come out to me and
say;
The drunkard was off on a drunk,
And the epnnker be hadn’t no spnnk;
And the Hill of Old Bunker was bard on the
flanker
As the bunker laid down in. his bunk ?”
“ I don’t know,” replied his Honor; “ but I’ve
got a little verso which will interest you. It is;
“ The prisoner be goes to prison.
And a sentence of ■ thirty’ is liia’n;
And tbe good Black Maria will take him up higher.
And hereafter he'll mind his own bizzen.”
“I’m dished,” said the prisoner as he fell
back.
“ SES MOSES.”
“ Do I make any mistake in addressing you as
Peter Jones ?” asked his Honor of the next.
“ No, sab.”
“Am I right in saying that you were arrested
for knocking Moses Smith down with a chair?”
“You am perfeckly k’rect, sab, but do yon
know what Moses sard to me ?”
“ No.”
“ Dat ar’ Moses am a bad man. He used to
lib in Varginny. If you want to know how bad
he am jist go down to Richmond an’ ask the
folksea around dar. One time, when he was
loafin’ around Rich ”
“Never mind about one time, tell your story
about this fuss.”
“ Well, sab, I met Moses las’night. We shook ]
hands. Den he axed me if I had any baccy. ;
Den I said I hadn’t. Den he wants me to lend '
him ten cents. Judge, you doan’ know dat ;
Moses like I does. De time he was libin’ in ;
Richmond ho was de wuss ”
“ Prisoner, I don’t want to hear about Rich
mond. Confine yourself to what happened last i
night.”
“ Well, sab, when I wouldn’t lend Moses ten ■
cents he went back on me. I knew he was gwine
to say sumthin’ ’bout de time my wife run’d ,
away from me, an’ I was gwine outer de doah, )
when he called me back. Tell you, Judge, when
dat Moses was down in Varginny he was a ter- ■
ror. One time he ”
“ Stick to last night, prisoner.” ;
“ I’ll do it, sah. Let’s see. I was tellin’ what
Moses said. He got up by de stove, an’ he
turned around, an’ he looked at me like he (
wanted my blood. Dat Moses wonld kill a man
quick as scat if he got mad at him. Did he eber ,
threaten you, Judge ?” ,
“ Prisoner, I will have to send you up.” <
“ What tar ?”
“For striking Moses with a chair.”
“ But I hasn't dun told what Moses said. How j
you gwine to tell who am guilty ?” t
“ I shall give you twenty days.”
“ But 1 doan’want'em. I want to tell ye how ,
Moses backed up to de stove an’ said ”
“ Take him away 1” ,
“ Judge, am I dun gone up ?”
“Yes.” ,
“ No gittin’ out ?” |
"No. 8
"N& tellin 1 what Moses said ?”
“No.”
“Good-by. Boon’s I git out I’ll come an’ see
ye an’ tell ye what Moses said.”
“EXACTLY.”
“ Charles Marion, you were drunk last night.”
“Exactly. You ve bit me straight, old man.”
“Be a little more choice of your terms. Have
you any excuses ?”
“Not a one, Judge.”
“ I’ll have to send you up.”
“ Exactly. Pull trigger and let her sliver.
How much ?”
“Thirty days.”
“ K’rect 1 So long, partner I Whenever I’m
around in thie neighborhood I’ll call on you.”
TOM’S WE.
BY J. V. B.
Tom’s wife is the delight and admiration of
his friends; yet the reason is seen plainly only
by nice observation and some thought added
thereto. She is not beautiful in face, though in
form graceful, but Tom will not have it so,
averring that her face is none the less lovely
because its beauty, being expression and the
outporing of delicate feelings, is reserved for
him alone, or mainly. Nevertheless, I say she
would not be called fair, and surely not bril
liant. A very quiet presence she is, the most
noticeable thing being a rare kind of peace in
her presence, a something warm in the room as
if no chill could enter, and no one of the hack
neyed cares of the day crowd into that essential
and glowing quiet.
It is confessed on all hands she is a rare wo
man, with a rare kind of genius, a marvelous
might to make comfort and turn forth joys, as
wonderful as any poet’s metres, rhymes or
thoughts. The wonder is how Tom, a very
good fellow, but ordinary, ever divined her to
seek her. Th© wonder, I say, that is, t© others,
not to me; for I have drawn the secret from
him. I find that, ordinary in exterior or man
ners and little read in learned lore or given to
books or to deep thinking, Tom has a wisdom
which has taken hold of the signs by which
things show themselves in life as they are. He
told me he owed his choice of his wife to two
fortunate facts; his choice of her, 1 say, for as
to what led her choice to him he humbly con
fesses his ignorance, and says she must have
had that missionary ®r Sister of Charity spirit
which transmutes somebody’s great need into
one’s own great love.
He was led to her by two thoughts, as fol
lows: Once on Sunday in a church he heard a
preacher utter this sentence: “It.is not at all
necessary that we should be loved, but it is
very necessary that we should love.” Tom
seized on this as a bit of wisdom worth follow
ing to its length, and brooded much on it at odd
moments, for he was not given to set thought.
Now it so happened that during the next Sum
mer, which followed shortly, he was spending
his holiday at a pleasant lake side. Idly fish
ing in a cove, he heard a number of merry girls
in a thicket on the shore, laughing as they de
scribed what they would require in their ex
pected lovers and husbands. Now all agreed,
according to Tom, that the first requisite was
entire, constant, tender, chivalric devotion.
They all declared, said Tom, that the point of
first importance was that they should be loved
—all but one ; one voice, which had been silent,
answered at last to the railing challenge of h'er
comrades, quietly, with serious tone, that for
her part she thought the first, and second, and
last requisite, was that she herself should love.
Tom started. Lo 1 the remembered sentence
from the sermon I He recognized the voice;
he resolved to know more of the speaker.
8c far for the first thought. For the second,
Tom avers that he was greatly impressed by a
reference in Emerson to Lord Holland, to the
effect that he always came down to breakfast
looking as if aom® sadden good fortune had just
fallen to him. In this, Tom says, he caught a
fine element of judgment as to character; lor,
he argued, the important point is th© starting ;
if one deviate but little at the centre and go to a
j ’ wide circumference, he will boa vast space
I away. This is the wisdom of Browning :
O, the little more and how much it is,
And the little less and what worlds away !
‘ So, reasoned Tom, it is plain that the morn
ing’s start is the secret, of the day’s journey,
' whether to light or to shadow ; and the day’s
start is the secret of the week’s goal, and the
week’s start of the month, and the month’s
start of the year, it is plain enough, said my
P ordinary friend, therefore, that the secret of
r life’s contentment, and the whole power to shed
' peace and pleasure lies in your way of waking
' up. Now, Tom, O astute fellow ! does not hesi
. tate to own that deliberately he set to work to
learn the waking up of this same young girl who
had startled him by joining her ideal to the
preacher’s rule of life. But how did he accoin
‘ plish this ?
Ah, what a convenience, what a treasure,
powetj illimitable resource, in great and press
ing exigencies of life is a sister ! Tom had a
sister ; therein tbe story is told. She was able
to discover, by what wiles, what nights, morn
ings, waking moments or comradeship, who
knows? Suffice it, she learned, and told tom.
“An angel,” cried Tom, “ truly an angel
whoso first morning look is a beam of light and
of peace, and whoso philosophy for the day is
not to receive but to give I” “On this war
rant,” says tom, “I sought, I spoke, I won, to
the blessing of day after day and week after
week, but especially, and as the source of all
other blessings, to the blessing of my waking
time, by which I am set with my face right and
so movo off freely every day.”
BETTER TIIAtT ROASTING.
A GOBLIN STORY FOR THE YOUNG
Sama was a prince, the eon of a king; but his
father lost the kingdom, and then died, leaving
him nothing. Sama’s attendants, who cared
nothing for a prince who did not know where to
look for his next meal, all ran away, and Sama
was obliged to go into the forest to chop down
trees for a living.
The first tree he came to was a very big one,
and the more he chopped the more it seemed
to grow; but in about two weeks the tree began
to yield—a great hole opened wider and wider,
till Sama peeped down a great placo like a
door. As he leaned over, an invisible hand
gave him a push, and in ho went—down, down
— till he landed in a great hall made of polished
wood, with carpets oi moss and banks of flow
ers for seats. In a great oak root, hollow-ed
out and lined with ferns, sat a funny old man,
yellow as saffron, one-eyed and very short, with
a frightful wide mouth, one long lock of red
hair, and hands like claws. He had gigantic
lady-slippers on his feet for shoes, and a dress
ing-gown made ot Autumn leaves, and he spoke
in a harsh, discordant voice, twisting his face
into the ugliest possible shape.
“ Good morning, Prince Sama. Is it the way
in your country to come hunting into people’s
houses through their chimneys ?”
“I did not know it was your chimney,” an
swered poor Sama, humbly enough, who cer
tainly couldn’t help coming.
“Of course not, snarled the goblin ; “ you
have been hacking and pounding on my house
lor the last two weeks, and knew nothing about
it. My daughter is in a delicate state of health
—got nerves, sir; and your confounded clatter
has kept her in strong convulsions twelve hours
out of every twenty-four. What do you think of
that, sir ? Do you deserve anything less than
death?”
Sams, who felt that this was a very aggra
vated case, indeed, looked down on the ground
and said nothing.
“ However,” quoth the goblin, with a prodi
gious puff at his pipe, “I am good-natured—
that is my weakness. If you will mnrry my
daughter wo will say nothing more about the
noise ; if not, you will probably tasto very well,
roasted, for dinner to-night.”
Sama stole a side-look at the goblin.
“ Yes, she is just like me,” answered the gob
lin, who read his thoughts as easily as an open
book. “ After that, I needn’t say she is hand
some, but come and see for yourself.”
So Sama, who saw nothing better to do, fol
lowed the old goblin, who hobbled along with
his Autumn-leaf dressing-gown trailing behind
him, till he came to a great hall of crystal with
a roof of emerald, rounded up in pointed arches,
and supported by beautiful amber columns.
Thia was filled with the flower-sprites, lovely
tiny men and women, yet curiously reminding
Sama of the flower whose name they bore; there
was Sir Tulip, with a gay purple cloak—and his
brothers in red and yellow—and Lord Peony
very red in the face—and Duchess Pansy in im
jerial purple—Heliotrope, and the proud Tube
lose, and her cousin, the Blush-Rose. The
little people and a host more looketl very super
ciliously at Sama, and ran away to giggle, but
his eyes were fixed on a throne where sat the
goblin’s daughter.
She wore a dress of yellow satin, that flowed
three yards behind, thickly sown with dia
monds, a great crown of rubies, and a lace man
tle ; but oh, how ugly ! worse than her father.
Twelve maids of honor, lovely as the dawn,
stood about her ; one combed her hair, one
held her gold smelling-bottle, a third her hand
kerchief, and each and all made her, by con
trast, ten times more hideous. At her feet,
holding them in her lap, was the loveliest maid
Sama had ever seen; her eyes were like blue
violets, her long hair fell upon her like sun
beams, and though she was dressed in a coarse
frock only, Sama loved her as he had never
woman before.
Going to her, he took the opal ring from
his finger, and placed it on the maiden’s.
“ What are you doing ?” thundered the goblin.
“ That is my daughter on the throne.”
To which answered Sama: “ She is uglier
than & witch; and I won’t marry her if you
roast me this moment I”
“We will see about it,” answered the goblin.
“ Call the cook.”
Sama stood over the golden-haired girl and
kissed her.
“ I will marry ynu or none!” he whispered.
The cook came, the ugliest goblin Sama had
seen yet.
“ Take him down to the kitchen, and cut him
up,” said the goblin to the cook, who carried off
Sama as it he had been a baby, laid him ou the
table and raised his knife.
“Will you marry the princess?”
“No,” said Sama, and shut his eyes, expect
ing the blow; when Whizz ! he was back again,
aud on the throne sat the golden-haired girl in
royal robes and the yellow witch had disap
peared.
“Take my daughter,” said the old goblin,
“yon are worthy of her.”
And so Sama married her, and lived there
happily all his life, which certainly was better
than being eaten lor dinner.
THE TALE OF A SHIRT.
AND IT’S A RATHER GOOD TALE.
(From, the Washington Cor. Boston Traveller.)
A tall, lean, lank man from Illinois had his
feet upon the table in the reading-room at
Willard’s one night, while he alternately looked
at tbe ceiling and at a " two-for-five ” which
persistently refused to draw. The firs in his
cigar gradually dwindled out, and the lean man
sorrowfully, but carefully laid it away in his
vest pocket tor future reference. Turning
around to a party of friends who were sitting
near him he said:
“ Boys, have you ever heard ‘ The Tale of tho
Shirt?’ No? Well now that is one the most
peculiar pranks that politics ever played upon
Illinois. In ’B4 a district convention was held
in Peoria to elect delegates to the Democratic
National Convention. Among the men who
tried to be sent to the Peoria convention was S.
Corning Judd. He was defeated, as usual, but
he came down nevertheless to see the boys have
their fun. Now, among the delegates were
Mike Corcoran and his chum and bosom friend,
‘ Bad Jim ’ Connorton.
“ Mike Is a comical-looking fellow. He is
about twice as wide as he is high and he loves a
good time better than anybody I know. Mike
and ‘Bad Jim’ roomed together. The night
before the convention ‘ Bad Jim ’ came in full of
fun and some other things that you take out of
a bottle. He saw the peaceful Mike Bleeping
and the spirit of mischief entered him.
“On a chair was Moke’s shirt. It was un
doubtedly the biggest shirt in Peoria. Careful
ly opening the window, he dropped the under
garment to tbe ground, and his delight was
somewhat intensified when he saw a passing
tramp disappear with it in the darkness. Clos
ing the window ho put out the light and got
into bed.
“ You can just believe that there wae a howl
when Corcoran awoke in the morning and
couldn't find his shirt, for, as a true disciple of
Jeffersonian simplicity, he had only one with
him. ‘ Bad Jim’ and ionr bell-boys scoured the
town after a shirt that would fit him, but all in
vain. In the meanwhile tbe time for the meet
ing of the convention was drawing nigh.
“To make a long story short, Corcoran gave
Judd his proxy and Judd entered the conven
tion as a delegate. By one of those curious
twists of politics he was elected to go to tbe
national convention. His tack didn't desert
him there and he was made the member of the
Democratic National Committee from Illinois.
When President Cleveland began to look about
him for a man to succeed Postmaster Palmer at
Chicago he lit upon Judd. I don’t know what
‘Bad Jim’has bagged ont of this deal, but be
ought to have something, for if ho hadn't
thrown Corcoran’s shirt out of tho window,
Judd would never have been Where he is now.
That, gentlemen, is my ‘ tale of a shirt.' ”
HOW THE LMHAN TOLD.
AN OLD STORY FOR
The story about an Indian who found a white
man lying dead in tha woods, with a bullet-hole
in his forehead, is one of the best illustrations
of the habit of observation which a detective
must cultivate. The Indian came into the set
tlement and t >ld his story:
“ Found white man dead in the woods. Had
hole in his head. Short white man shot him
with long gnn; ramrod of gun three inches bo-
Sond muzzle of gun. Wore gray woolen coat;
ad little dog with short tail; had waited long
while lor dead man to c me along.”
“How do you know all this? Did you see
it?” was naturally demanded of the.lndian.
“ Oh, yes. Me saw; now show you.”
The settlers visited the scene of the murder,
and the Indian showed them the spot where
the murderer had waited for his victim. He
had set his gun against the tree. It was a long
one, because the bark was slightly grazed high
up, and about three taeles above the mark left
> by the muzzle there was a alight mark made
by the ramrod, showing that it projected three
inches. The mau wore a gray woolen coat, be
cause where he had leaned against the tree iit
. tie particles of gray threads had been caught
, by the bark. There was the place where the
’ little dog sat on his haunches—his stump tail
, left a mark in the yielding soil. The murderer
, was short, because when he reloaded his gun
he set the butt a good way irom his feet. The
f trail he left coming and going showed he was
[ white, because ho turned his toes out—lndians
neve- do. The trail also showed that the one
i coming to the tree was older than the one going
i away from it—house the murderer had waited.
Mmo Platte.
A Man Disguised as a Lady’s Maid.
—Says the Edinburgh (Scotland) AZeios.* An ex
traordinary story has for some days been float
ing about in Edinburgh. Although 'there are
different, versions of the matter, and no official
information can be obtained, all agree as to the
main features of the case, and the facts appear
to be nearly as follows: Some time ago articles
ol plate and jewelry having mysteriously gone
amissing from a family who occupy a house in
a fashionable locality in the west-end of Edin
burgh, the matter was reported to the police at
Scotland Yard, and a London detective arrived
to investigate the matter. After dinner with
the family as a friend, learning the whole facts
of the case, and consulting as to the circum
stances of the theft, the detective’s suspicions,
it is stated, rested on the lady’s maid ns the
most likely cnlprit, and he requested the lady
to leave her handkerchief in the room and send
her maid tor it. As the maid had been in her
service for a considerable time, was a favorite,
and believed to be thoroughly trustworthy, the
lady somewhat resented the imputation that
she could be a thief, bnt, nevertheless, the of
ficer’s suggestion was adopted. When the maid
entered the room, the officer proceeded to ques
tion her, and ultimately, it is said, arrested the
supposed maid, as a male foreigner wanted in
London on another charge, and whose photo
the officer had in his possession. The prisoner,
it is stated, was afterward conveyed to London
by the detective, but whether any of the arti
cles stolen have been recovered has not yet
transpired. It is stated that during the time
the “ maid ” had been in service in Edinburgh
no doubt as to •' her ” sex had been entertain
ed. It is added, though probably this is one of
the natural accretions to such a story, that a
neighboring butler was in the habit of walking
out with the maid as a sweetheart.
Sib Philip Sidney at Zutphen.—lt
was during a conflict before Zutphen that the
episode occurred which made the name of Sir
Philip Sidney so remarkable in history. He
had signalized himself one day by prodigies of
valor, for he was a warlike enthusiast of the
highest order. Two horses had been killed un
der him and he was in the act of mounting a
third, when an arquebuse-shot from the trenches
broke one of his thigh bones. He was unable
to manage his horse, but the faithful animal
bore him out of the field to the camp, a mile and
a half distant. He was in great agony and faint
from loss of blood, and when passing the rest
of the army, called lor water. It was brought
him, but as he was putting the bottle to his
mouth, he saw a poor English soldier borne past
who was more severely wounded than himself,
and who gazed at the bottle longingly and with
haggard eyes. “ Thy necessity is greater than
mine,” said the gentle and heroic Sydney; nor
would he drink until the soldier had been satis
fied. He was then borne to Arnheim, whore the
principal surgeons were stationed. Hopes were
entertained of his recovery for sixteen dasy, bnt
as they were unable to extract the ball, and
mortification ensued, he prepared to meet death
with a resignation, piety and fortitude that cor
responded to his past life, and he expired in the
arms of his brother, Sir Robert Sidney, on the
17th of October, 1586, in the thirty-second year
ol hie age. The United Provinces wished to
have the care of his interment, bnt this was de
clined by Queen Elizabeth, by whoso orders his
body was embarked for England with the mili
tary honors of the time. It was received at the
Tower of London in the same manner, and, after
lying in state for some days, was solemnly in
terred in old St. Paul’s.
Frying Food.—Greass of every de
scription is capable of being tfeated to a very
much higher temperature than water—in fact,
it can be made almost three times as hot as
boiling water. When fat is at its boiling-point,
it is so hot that any article of food brought in
contact with it is actually burned ; and this is
precisely the reason why, for purposes of fry
ing, fat should always be boiling hot. For any
article of food—a dough-nut, for example
dipped into boiling fat, is immediately covered
all over by a thin crust of burned dough, which
prevents the fat from penetrating farther in and
enables the rest of the dongh-nut to be exposed
to a greater degree of heat than can be applied
to it by any other process, without coming into
contact with the fat, and the natural chemical
processes go on inside with a greater degree o'
perfection than can be obtained by any other
method. Perfect frying is the perfection ol
cooking; but, so soon as the fat is not suffi
ciently hot to create the burned crusts around
the article fried, the fat penetrates it and abso
lutely prevents cooking from taking place at all.
If the fat is not boiling hot, the process that
takes place is not cooking, bnt simply drench
ing the food with, a tepid fat, and rendering it
totally indigesUble. It makes au ultTereace
how hot the fat is afterward—the mischief is
done the moment the fat penetrates the inside.
A Demand fob Plain English. —Says
the Popu'ar Science Mont’nly: Day after day
one is obliged to ask students to translate their
lingo—l don’t know what eles to call it—into
English. Frequently they cannot. At length
they begin to see that they are only deceiving
themselves by using words which they do not
comprehend, to describe structures which they
do not understand. It frequently happens
that, after a student has described an object
under the microscope, in what he considers fine
scientific language, be admits that he does not
understand the structure of the object at all,
but, on making him start over again and de
scribe it in plain English, he finds that it all
comes out clearly enough. It is evident, for
instance, that, bo long as a student thinks he
must call all round bodies in cells, nuclei, he
will soon have such a stock of nuclei on hand
that he will be hopelessly confused, and the
matter is not improved if, as a last resort, he
indiscriminately calls some of his superfluous
nuclei vacuoles and other bioplasts. The ten
tency to use meaningless words is not, by any
means, confined to biological students, but in
a laboratory where one is examining something
definite, the evil should certainly be checked
by Irequent demands upon English translations
of verbose rubbish.
Fob Good as Well as Evil. — ' ‘There
is always a woman at tho bottom of it,” is a trite
remark. True, women are at the bottom of
good as well as evil. Congressman Whiting, of
Holyoke, made a little speech recently at a din
ner in this city, and in the course ot bis re
marks on the influence of paper, he stated this
incident: “ The introduction of blue paper is
another interesting item. The owner ot a small
mill in England went to London to sell his pro
duct, leaving his wi eat home. It was washing
day—presumably Monday—and the good wile
had a blueing bag tied to her apron. She visi
ted the mill, and, leaning over the engine,
dropped her blueing bag, and instead of white
paper she had a lot of blue paper. She met her
husband upon his return with a good deal of
apprehension, and informed him of the misfor
tune. He left as if a very serious mistake had
been made until he eent the product to market
and received five cents per pound more than
lor his usual article, and thereafter his mill was
run on blue paper, and it brought him a for
tune.”
Peat-Cutting Machine for Russia.—
Says the Chicago Times: There is an excellent
chance for the inventor of a simple peat-cutting
machine, lor Russia, which can be worked bv a
team of horses, and would take the place be
tween the ordinary hand cutting-machine and
those worked by steam, the latter of which cost
about $4,500. Large deposits of peat exist in
the country, which it is intended to use instead
ot coal as soon as they can be worked cheaper
than coal. In fact, on the Northern railway ot
Russia the locomotives hitherto burning wood
or coal are being adapted for peat-burning, as a
considerable saving is expected to be realized.
The hand machines, by the way, have the draw
back that the peat cannot be worked below
eight feet, while the steam cutting machines
penetrate twenty feet and reach a superior kind
of peat.
A Word to the Wise.
Every winter and spring Inflammation of the Lungs, induced by neglected Colds
and Coughs, causes the death of thousands who might have been saved by the timely
use of Tver’s Cherry Pectoral. **l was afflicted with a severe Cough, which
deprived me of my regular sleep. After trying various remedies, without benefit,
I procured a bottle of Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral, and used it according to directions. I
am happy to say that this medicine cured me. — Robert Holiiway, Linn,Mo.
I have used Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral,
for several years, in cases of severe Colds <
and Throat afiections, and have always :
found it a speedy and effectual remedy for ;
these ailments. —Samuel Bement, Prin
cipal Bartlett School, Lowell, Mass.
I cannot say too much in praise of
Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral. I have used it in -
my family m’anv years, and always with
perfect satisfaction. It never fails. — Mrs.
ft. F. McKeen, New Gretna, N. J.
I have used Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral In
my practice since 1853, and have always
found it reliable for the cure of Colds,
Coughs, and all Throat and Lung diseases.
— S. Haynes, M. D., Saranac, N. Y.
I am never without Ayer’s Cherry Pec
toral. It cures severe cases of Colds and
Coughs more speedily than any other rem
edy known. —E. Allen, Kingston, O.
Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral,
. Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. Sold by Druggists. Price *1; eix bottle*, ♦»
j i Unmanageable Maternal Elephants.
' i Says the Hartford (Conn.) Globe: Chief and:
Queen, the oni y two elephants who ever became
parents in captivity, and who have been quar
wre? afc , T - Barnum’s grounds during the;
' Winter, have been sold to O’Brien, the circus
manager, for a sum which is nominally small.
tlla t their original cost was about
S 10,000 each. O’Brien, who intends putting
i show on the road the coming season, has use
tor them alive, and hence the purchase of them.
He bought them because they were rather un
manageable, together with the ten others ot a
similar disposition bought from different par
ties, having conceived rather a novel idea of
loading them down with iron chains and balls
to show the people of a civilized country th®
fierce and dangerous quadrupeds in captivity
They leave here on the 29th of thia month and
one who has been with them all Winter pre
dicts that they will have quite a lively time
when they come to remove them. Prof. George
Arstingstal, who,without doubt, is the pluckiest
elephant tamer in the country, and.who is now
in the employ of the greatest show on earth,
has received a letter from Mr. O’Brien offering
him SB,OOO per year to take charge ol his wild
tribe of twelve, but ho will not accept—nor, in
deed, would he if suO,ooo more was added to It.
It is bad enough to bo around and take charge
of a tame elephant, but when it comes to look
ing after those ugly monsters it is a little too
much, said he, and “I tell you what, if them
critters ever get started together they will turn
over a whole town.”
One Cent Breakfasts.—-Says the-
London Lancet: The head master of the board
school at Wallsend seeing so mucti distress
about, and that many of the children attending
his school were badly prepared to face the les
sons of the day lor want of sufficient food st
home, and being, it is said, a firm believer in
oat-meal, once the chief of “Scotia’s food,” de
termined to do something or his own accounts
without waiting lor “ a committee.” So he or
dered a good supply of oat-meal from a mill in
Berwickshire, of the finest quality. The cook
ing operations comiuenee at 6:30 A. M., and th®
porridge is allowed to boil for fifty minutes,
and is cooled and ready for serving out at 8:15.
bach child is supplied with about a pint of por
ridge—more or less, according to size and ap
petite—and a little more than half a gill of good
skimmed milk. Ai.out 120 children are thus
receiving breakfast at a cost of about one half
penny each, and in most eases they arc given
free In times gone by oat-meal was also tho
staple food ot the north of England ; it will be
curious if it comes again into use. Its value as
regards nutrition for children is beyond dis
pute. High wages have conduced to a high
class though not belter, food, for our workins
classes.
An Eastern Story.—An Eastern story
aaye an Arab and his horse were both captured
by Turks. In the night Hassan heard his horse
neighing outside the tent, and crawled out to
where ho stood with fore-feet tied. Hassan was
bound hand and foot, but with his teeth gnawed
and pulled the thong of goat-skin apart, till the
horse was free. Then, kissing him, lie gave him
messages of love to wife and children, suppos
ing he would find his way home. But the horse
stooped his head, lifted his wounded master bv
grasping the leathern girdle around his waist,,
and carried him many weary miles over moun
tain and plain, till he reached Hassan’s homo,
where he laid him gently down. The brave
horse then dropped dead from exhaustion.
“ One fire burns out another’s burn
ing,” and most pains suffer more to be cured,
but Salvation Oil is painless and certain. It
costs only 25 cents.
Not a Case fob tots Coboner.—A fire
in Portland, Me., the other day, played havoc
with a mens furnishing store. The day follow
ing one of a gang of men cleaning out the cellar
saw a foot with stocking and shoe on. sticking
from under a pile Of blackened bricks. Tfi®
men wore mu h excited, and decided at once to
send lor tho coroner. While one started for
him, another, holder than tho rest, took hold ot
the foot and pulled it a little. The foot and leg
readily came out ot the pile ot bricks, and his
companions scattered, shouting: “ He’s pulled
off one ot his legs.” They were mistaken. The
leg was made of paper macho, for tho purpose
of advertising stockings aud patent gaiters.
Machinery Used on German Farms.
—A recently published volume of imperial sta
tistics gives some interesting figures in relation
to the machinery used on German farms. It
appears that ot 5,276,344 farms only 391,746 use
machinery at all. Of these, 836 use steam plows,
63,842 Bowing machines, 19,63-1 mowing ma
chines. Thus, not much over 7 per cent ns®
machinery at all, and of these by far the larger
portion only the threshing machine. Three
fourths of the whole agricultural industry use
no machinery, 4,000,000 peasants dispensing
with it altogether. The farms between 25 and
125 acres, numbering roughly 600,000. employ in
round figures, 213,000 threshing machines.
A Tribute to the Sex.—“ For una
dulterated meanness a rich woman, when sh®
sets out, can give a man odds and then beat him
clean out of sight,” savagely remarked a Syra
cuse clerk as he charged up fifteen cents te ■
profit and loss. “A lady camo in here the
other day and beat us down iute selling her a
ninety cent pitcher tor seventy-five cents. The
next day she brought it back to exchange for a
larger one. That was all right, but in making
the change she wanted to bo allowed ninety
centra for iea pitoliOT alio yvoeiU oovouty-
five cents tor, because ninety cents was the
price marked upon it.”
Ornithological Humbug.—Says the
Boston Herald: There is an awful lot of hum
bug about this d natural history study.” Why
should the robbing of birds’ nests be encour
aged on the simple statement that it is done for
scientific purposes ? What are scientific pur
poses ? Of what use to science is a collection
of a dozen er two of birds’ eggs made at the
cost of half a hundred times as many ruined
nests. Ornithological is an impressive word,
but the-ornithological science which is killing
off all our birds, beautiful for song or plumage,
and which yields not a namable benefit, is a de
lusion and a snare.
Pneumonia and Natural Gap.—lt is
said that pneumonia has become epidemic
around McKeesport, Pa., and the physicians at
tribute it to natural gas. “ I have no doubt, ,r
says one of them, “ that natural gas is respon
sible not only for pneumonia, but also tor many
other diseases of the respiratory organs. It i®
a great convenience, but as it is burned now
the grates are almost closed up and no provis
ions made for ventilation. The result is, the
atmosphere of the entire house not only be
comes very dry, but is vitiated by the products
of the com’bustion.”
Bad Bitters Made of Wood.—The
manufacture of alcohol from wood has increased,
rapidly within a lew years, and it is said to be
used largely for patent bitters, ginger extracts,
and other alcoholic compounds whose strong
flavor makes it unnecessary to use a better
quality of spirits. Wood alcohol is a dangerous
product, and sometimes gives rise to serious
disturbances ot the brain and nervous system.
Ohio’s Richest Man.—David Sinton,
of Cincinnati, Ohio’s richest man, is a Scotch-
Irishman, and grew up around the big iron
mills of Pittsburg. He began business as a
clerk in a country store at $4 a month; then was
a clerk in a blast furnace, afterward manager,
and at last ball owner. After that the advance
in wealth was fast. He is worth $12,000,000, and
gives largely to public charities.
Draining of Swamps.—lt is said that
Georgia’s great swamp, the Okefeenokee, can
easily be reclaimed by drainage into the St-
Mary river, only a lew miles distant, and a
magnificent area ot land made ready for th®
plow. Great sections of swamp land in Florida
have been reclaimed by methodical drainage,
carried out by a company formed for the pur
pose.
What Real Health Is.—Sir Andrew
Clark, the celebrated English physician, de
clares that one-halt the population of London'
is permanently ill. He defines health as “ that,
state in which the body is not consciously pres
ent to us, the state in which work is easy and.
duty not over great a trial, the state in which it>
is a joy to see, think, to feel aud to be.”
De Lesseps s Cemeteries.—The fear
ful mortality among the laborers on De Lee
seps’s canal is indicated by the statement that
no less than five cemeteries are open, and that
in one of them, opened less than two years ago ft ,
upward of three thousand interments have taken
place.
Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral is the best rem
edy I know of" for diseases of the Throat
and Lungs. It cured me of incipient
Consumption, forty years t&o. —S. R.
Lawrence, Schuylerville, N. Y. ,
About three years ago, as the result of a
bad Cold, I bad a Cough, for which I
could obtain no help until I oommenced
using Ayer’s Cherrv Pectoral. One bottle
of this medicine effected a complete cure.
— John Tooley, Ironton, Mich.
I have used Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral,
and received great benefit from it. I con
sider it an excellent medicine for the
diseases it is designed to cure. — Rufus A.
Tremain, Guysbbrough,N. H.
One bottle of Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral
saved my life. It cured me of acute
Bronchitis when other remedies failed.—
George B. Hunter, Altoona, Pa.