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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, March 28, 1886, Image 7

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MY LOVER’S BARK.
BY LAURA DON.
I lean from my window looking down
On stony arches hi d iurbid t>da.
The lights stream in the drowsy town,
And the wake of oars where boat-men glide,
• Far, far beyond to the harbor s mouth;
To the beacon light 1 ke a lur d star,
Where the winds blow hot from the purple South,
And the foam caps leap at the sandy bar.
Oh '■ the ship at an< hor I Oh ’ bargeman bold I
Oh I river rolling to meet the sea 1
My heart within me is faint and cold;
I pray you, I pray you give ear to me.
Oh, tell me where is my lover’s bark ?
Is it riven or wrecked by Indian gales ?
On some far sea in the nameless dark.
Does a white moon rise o'er its tattered sails ?
Some morn she will come to the harbor’s mouth.
With the musk of the East in her dusky hold;
■ Z shall see her masts in the purple South,
I shall hear the songs of her sailors bold;
X shall hear her cordage rattle and strain,
I shall lean me forth and with joyous tears
Look on the bark of my love a.'aiu—
The first of all at the crowded piers.
And what will she bring jne from that far land ?
What Indian jewel, or pearl of price ?
What diamond, silted through burning sand ?
What bloom from jungle or field ot rice ?
Ah me I Ah me 1 shall I find once more
Ln the priceless treasures that crowd that ship,
The old lost gold that my hair once wore,
Or the old lost red of my faded lip ?
-Ohl I sit and wait at the dreamy piers.
And the ships return and the ships depart;
And my hopes die slow with the 'lying years.
And drop their ashes upon my heart.
The waves may mock, the winds may shout.
The white moons wax and the white moons wane;
The tide rolls in and the tide rolls out.
But the bark of my lover comes never again.
lAHISSffI'S SONS-IN-LAW.
A LONDON STORY.
Old Manasseh, the breechea-maker, married
his two daughters to his two apprentices—lsrael
Barnett and David Morris. They were both
model young men in point of industry and busi
ness aptitude ; so much so, that he considered
St a pity that their talents should be wasted in
the shop, which would go on perfectly well
without such highly skilled assistance. He
therefore started Israel in business as a bill
broker in Cork street, and assisted David to
establish himself as an accountant in Old Bur
lington street. By his advice, Israel changed
his name to Harrington, and, as Mr. Harring
ton and Mr. Morris are at present two of the
best-known West End money lenders, it would
be i&le to pretend that their ostensible occupa
tions represented their true callings.
The experiment was so far successful that for
some years old Manasseh had every reason to
congratulate himself upon his choice of sons-in
law. It suited the old man’s purpose excellent
ly to find the money for these astute young gen
tlemen to trade upon. He doubtless took every
precaution to secure himself against loss, and
by playing off his sons-in-law, one against the
other, ho stiOceeded in netting a very large pro
portion of the profits of both. He was, there
fore,. enabled to devote himself exclusively to
breeches-making. without, as heretofore, trou
bling to relieve the pecuniary embarrassments
©fnis customers. If applied to for temporary
Accommodation, he contented himself with re
ferring the applicant to Mr. Harrington of Cork
afreet, or to Mr. Morris of Old Burlington street,
both of whom, he was assured, were highly re
spectable persons, though on his honor as a
gentleman, he was not personally acquainted
with either.
Unfortunately for himself, however, the poli
cy he had followed with regard to his sons-in
law led to this inevitable result, for the young
men, who, previously to their marriage, had
been tolerably good friends, speedily learned
So hate one another with refreshing cordiality.
Their enmity led to bitter and uncompromising
business rivalry, which attained such propor
tions that old Manasseh found that it material
ly interfered with his profits. It was all very
well for him to make the best bargain he could
for his own benefit by pretending to prefer one
to the other. If Isreal’s terms would not suit
his grasping demands a threat to apply to David
never failed to have the desired result, and
vice versa. But when it came to customers
playing the same game and reaping advantage
from the bitter and furious competition which
existed between the brothers-in-law, the evils
®f the system became painfully apparent.
Old Manasseh wrung his hands in despair
and made futile efforts to effect a reconciliation.
But it was then too late, for Loth were so blind
ed by hatred and jealousy of one another that
they ignored their best interests. It was clear
to old Manasseh that this deplorable state of
things mustbe putjan end to. He must sternly
discountenance one or the other, or else discon
tinue his dealings with both. The latter alter
native might be more just, but it did not com
mend itself to old Manasseh. Both Israel and
David knew his ways, were acute and shrewd,
and could be trusted as far as he cared to trust
any one. It was, therefore, a question which
be should cast off, and this delicate problem
gave him a great deal ot anxiety. After all-,
blood is thicker than water all the world over,
and the old man, notwithstanding his sordid
disposition, had a natural affection for both his
daughters. If he quarreled with Israel, he
would quarrel with his winsome Harah; while
separation from David would involve a painful
Beene with his comely, red-lipped Rebecca.
The difficulty of dealing with this critical sit
uation caused old Manasseh to delay taking ac
tion much longer than he intended, in fact, he
became quite ill with the worry. But at length
the knotty point was solved lor him by a cir
cumstance which the old gentleman piously re
garded as providential. The old breeches*
maker, as before hinted, never trusted his sons
in-law farther than he could see them and he
took care to keep himself informed from a pri
vate source of their proceedings. His agent
was a certain Captain Falconer, who. tho’ his
reputation was sadly tarnished, nevertheless
retained sufficient shreds of outward respecta
bility to enable him to mix with decent society,
and to continue a member of two or three third
rate clubs. In this way, in exchange for small
favors of a pecuniary nature, the captain man
aged to pick up some useful items of intelli
gence regarding the dealings of Messrs. Har
rington and Morris with their customers.
From this cource old Manasseh learned one
day of the details ot the shocking treatment, by
his son-in-law Morris of a miserable, dissipated
youth named Johnson, who had contrived to
run thro’ a fine fortune before he came of age,
and was at present deeply engrossed in the ab
sorbing occupation ot drinking himself to
death. Old Manasseh bad the best reasons for
knowing that David had picked the bones of
this poor lad remarkably clean ; in fact, he had
himself derived considerable advantage from
the operation. But it now transpired that David
had made a much better bargain with young
Johnson than he had pretended, to the detri
ment of his revered father-in-law, whom he had
not scrupled to defraud of his due share of the
-spoil.
By the simple process of adding a naught to
the victim’s receipt for a large loan, the versatile
David had considerably misled his innocent rela
tive concerning the amount of the advance, and
had pocketed the difference. The lad Johnson,
it appeared, upon receiving back this receipt at
the settling up of accounts, had suspected the
fraud which had been perpetrated upon him,
but his poor befuddled brain was not strong
enough to remember distinctly the original
transaction. David’s indignant denials had,
therefore, been aceepted, but young Johnson—
aow in a chronic state of incipient delirium
tremens—made no secret ol his suspicions, and
had caused considerable scandal by repeating
it
Old Manasseh’s virtuous indignation at this
disgraceful story was edifying to witness. Apart
from the suggestion of forgery, it must be owned
that Mr. David’s conduct toward the poor youth
had been heartless and reprehensible in the
highest degree. It was not so much this, how
ever, which excited the wrath of his father-in
law. The older breeches-maker was singularly
large-minded in matters of business, and was
©ever disposed to quarrel with any man for
driving a good bargain. The forgery was
scandalous and disgraceful enough in all con
science, but that a young man should deliber
ately defraud his father-in-law and benefactor
out of his just rights revealed a depth of iniquity
which old Manasseh had not suspected, even in
David.
The old gentleman gnashed his venerable
gums in speechless rage at David’s wickedness,
but at least it afforded him one consolation—he
no longer need feel the least hesitation as to
which of his sons-in-law he must quarrel wRh.
But, not content with his idea ef visiting his
displeasure upon his son-in-law by withdraw
ing from him his countenance and support, old
Manasseh became possessed of an unhallowed
longing for revenge, and he determined that
Mr. David should pay dearly for his nefarious
behavior.
It was nos difficult to devise a means of
wreaking his vengeance. Within an hour after
ihe captain’s visit, old Manasseh walked into
the office of Mr. Harrington, in Cork street,
trembling with suppressed excitement. Mr.
Harrington started with surprise at his father
*ta-law’s agitation.
“ What’s up, Mr. Manasseh ?” he inquired—
" anything gone wrong, eh ? ’
“ It’s David, my dear,” replied ~the old man,
speaking with forced calmness.
“ What’s he been up to now ?” asked Mr. Har
rington, with much interest.
“ He’s a forger and a thief and a liar !” cried
his father-in-law, shaking his wrinkled fist in
the air.
“Well, that’s no news,” said Mr. Harrington,
readily. “ He’d boa murderer, too, if he had
the pluck. Tvo said it often enough—haven’t
“You have, Izzy, you have. You’ve always
thought worse of him than I did. But you were
right, my dear, you were right,” said'old Ma
nasseh, in a carneying tone.
“Oh I So you’ve found him out, have you ?”
remarked My. Harrington, with the keenest sat
isfaction.
* I trusted him, Izzy, like I trusted you,”
a aid the old man, feelingly. “Not quite as
much, of course, because 1 always knew you
were a gentleman, and I’ve treated you accord
ingly.”
“ Ahem 1” coughed Mr. Harrington, with a
private wink at an imaginary person in the
background.
“ You’ve always behaved straight and honor
able, Izzy, and you shan’t regret it, my doar ”
oonUaued old Manasseh “But u lor that
scoundrel—why, he has robbed mo of hundreds
of pounds.”
The old gentleman proceeded to relate his
grievances, to which Mr. Harrington listened
with eager and sympathetic attention. If the
truth must be told, he seemed more exultant
than grieved or indignant at the recital of his
brother-in-law’s misconduct, but be could not
withhold a-n involuntary tribute to David’s
smartness.
“ I’d never have believed he’d had the pluck,
he exclaimed, half grudgingly.
“He shall rue it, Izzy. W e’ll make him smart
for it between us I He’s no friend of yours,
my dear. The things he has said about you I
only I never believed ’em I” continued the wily
old gentleman.”
“Curse him, no ! I’d like to ruin him I” ex
claimed Mr. Harrington, amiably.
“So you shall, Izzy ; so you shall,” exclaimed
old Manasseh, leaning eagerly across the table.
“ Shall I tell you how you can do a good stroke
of business ?”
Mr. Harrington was ready enough to ba in
structed on this point, and his father-in-law
proceeded to enlighten him at some length.
After a long discussion old Manasseh took his
departure, considerably relieved in his mind,
and leaving his associate brimful of enthusiasm
about the project he had revealed to him.
Two days after this conversation the old gen
tleman read in an evening paper that his son
in-law, David, had been that morning brought
up at Mulberry Street Police Court on a charge
of forgery, the prosecutor being the poor lad,
Johnson. From the published reports, things
looked very black for David, his own confiden
tial clerk having been brought up as a witness
against him. Though represented by the high
est legal talent, David had considerable diffi
culty in getting the worthy magistrate to admit
him to bail; but, with rare magnanimity, his
brother-in-law, Harrington, had come forward
with the offer of undeniable security. Eventu
ally the obstacle was surmounted and David
bad obtained his liberty, but with every likeli
hood of having but a brief taste of freedom.
Old Manasseh read the affecting intelligence
in the little back parlor behind hie shop, and
his old face puckered up into a sardonic grin
ot intense satisfaction. His son-in-law’s un
comfortable predicament seemed to afford him
the liveliest gratification, but after half an
hour’s reflection he began to show symptoms of
uneasiness. Whether he dreaded a visit from
David or shrank from a scene with his daugh
ter, he, at all events, experienced a strong dis
inclination to return home that night. The
consequence was that he sent a messenger to
his residence for a modest quantity of clothes
and toilet necessaries, with instructions to
meet him at London Bridge in time for the
Brighton express, and the same evening he
took his frugal dinner in a quiet corner oi the
coffee-room of the Grand Hotel.
If the old gentleman came to Brighton in
search of health he certainly found it, tor he
walked during the next two days with a very
sprightly and lively air, and looked radiant
with conscious prosperity. The erring David
had contented himself with writing to protest
his innocence of the charge of which he was ac
cused, being no doubt too much occupied with
preparing his defense to find time for a journey
to Brighton, so that the old man was spared the
painful ordeal which he had dreaded. The pos
sibility of his son-in-law being committed to
trial, and ultimately sent to penal servitude,
did not appear to disturb his equanimity in tho
least degree, thdugh he naturally purchased at
the earliest possible moment, the first evening
paper which appeared on the day when David
was to make his second appearance at Mulberry
street.
Old Manasseh chuckled without evincing the
slightest surprise as he read the report of the
day’s proceedings. What had happened was
apparently nothing more or less than he had
expected. After all, one is getting accustomed,
in these days, to witness the conversion of what
appears to baa serious legal drama into a
screaming farce. When David had surrendered
to his bail, it had transpired that the prosecu
tor was nowhere to be found; in fact, somebody
came forward with the edifying information
that Mr. Johnson had gone down to sea in a’
ship, and had left the country.
The counsel on both sides protested with a
great show of outraged virtue at this scandal
ous incident, and David’s representative waxed
eloquent in proclaiming his client’s indignation
and disappointment at the turn of events. But
the magistrate was the only person who seemed
genuinely concerned or surprised; he was evi
dently inclined to make things particularly dis
agreeable, and David’s lawyer was almost
moved to tears by what ho termed the harsh
qpas of some of liis worship’s remarks. How
ever, “ Hamlet” can not be acted if there is no
body to represent the Princo of Denmark, and
the upshot was that David left the court without
a stain on his character.
Ths old-breeches-maker was at least as much
amusetj at all this as the rest of the public,
though he probably was much less scandalized.
At all events, he remained at Brighton two days
longer with unimpaired cheerfulness, and then
returned to town. His first visit on reaching
the metropolis was to his son-in-law, Mr. Har
rington, in Cork street
“ How did you manage, Izzy ?” was his first
inquiry, when closeted with that worthy.
“First rate. You saw it in the papers, I
suppose,” said Mr. Harrington, with a wink.
“And the youngster?”
“Ho is safe out ot the way. Stood out
for £SOO, though,” said Mr. Harrington, re
gretfully.
“Cheap enough,” said old Manasseh, with a
knowing nod. “ X daro say it coat David a good
deal more.”
“ Well, I squeezed hitn pretty hard.”
11 What I you ?” exclaimed old Manasseh, with
a start of alarm.
“ Pooh! You know what I mean. Johnson’s
lawyer,” said Mr. Harrington, laying his jew
eled finger on his nose.
“How much?” inquired tho old man eagerly.
“ Five thou. ’
“That’s good, Izzy. That’s capital, my boy!”
exclaimed old Manasseh, enthusiastically. “And
he doesn’t suspect, eh ?”
“ Went bail for him, replied Mr. Harrington,
with a grin.
“ I saw you did ! I saw you did !” chuckled
his father-in-law. “Five thousand pounds!
Well, that will teach him a lesson; won’t it,
Izzy? He won’t rob his father-in-law again—
he won't have a chance, that’s one thing. Our
bird will have to fly very near the ground ior
the next few years.”
“ Swears he is ruined. It’s a lie, of course ;
but I doubt if he has got much more,” said Mr.
Harrington, producing his check book. “ Here
is your share, sir,” he added, alter filling up a
check.
“ It’s mine, Izzy, every farthing,” cried the
old man, pouncing eagerly upon the slip of
paper. “It ain’t half what he’s robbed me of,
not half. It's restitution, my dear, and then,
you know, I shall probably have to do some
thing for Rebecca and the children. That’s why
I take the money.”
“ He is sure to come and ask you to set him
up again,” said Mr. Harrington, with a laugh.
“ You’ll find him and Rebecca, too, at your
place when you return.”
“ I wouldn't give him a farthing, Izzy, not if
he was to go down on his bended knee,” cried
the amiable old gentleman.
Mr. Harrington gave a loud laugh of approval
at his father-in-law’s resolve, and the latter de
parted, a little nervous and flurried at the or
deal which awaited him, but firmly resolved,
nevertheless, to act up to hia word.
Old Manasseh was greatly relieved when
neither hia daughter Rebecca nor her husband
appeared to trouble him either that day or the
next, but when three days passed without his
seeing or hearing from them he begarn to feel
vaguely uneasy. And on the fourth day un
comfortable forebodings had taken such com
plete possession of him that the sudden appari
tion of Mr. Harrington, breathless and agi
tated, at the door of his office, caused him to
break into a cold perspiration.
“Good Lord, Izzy, what is it?” he mur
mured.
Mr. Harrington carefully closed the door of
the private office, after a cautious glance into
the snop to make safe there were no listeners
about, and then said in a frenzied tone:
“ Father-in-law, we must bolt! I'm off by the
next train to Dover 1 You had better follow
double quick I"
“ Why ? What?” gasped old Manasseh.
“ We’ve been blown upon I It’s all up! David
has found out everything, and he is applying
for a warrant at Mulberry street at this mo
ment !”
“ A warrant! What for ?" screamed the old
man, turning livid.
“ Why to arrest you and me for conspiracy.
Ho sent after young Johnson and brought him
back. He knows the whole story, and its
Senal servitude for both of us. “ I'm off,” said
tr. Harrington, seizing the door handle with
nervous energy.
“ Stay! Stay I Izzy I” cried old Manasseh
wildly; “ I want to speak to you. This—this is
an awful business,” he added after a pause—
“ awful I mean for yon, my boy.”
“ It ain’t a Summer picnic for you, either,”
retorted Mr. Harrington rather angrily.
“ It-it wasn’t my affair, my boy. I—l wasn’t
in it. I was down at Brighton,” said the old
man with a miserable attempt to look at ease.
“ You shared the swag," said Mr. Harrington,
coarsely.
“ Yes, but, my dear boy, who is to know?
You won’t tell tales, Izzy, and I’ll stand by you,”
cried old Manasseh, imploringly.
“ I shan’t wait to be asked questions,” re
turned Mr. Harrington. “ Whan he finds I’ve
gone, my clerk, Josephs, will go over to David,
and he knows about the check. The scoundrel
never turned up this morning; that is what first
roused my suspicions. I squared David’s clerk,
now he has returned the compliment.”
“ Stay; one moment more, Izzy! Can’t wa
see David I” cried his tather-in-law. “ I’m
willing to let by-goues bo by-gones, ana we can
both refund, ft may cost us a trifle, but we
must share the expense.”
“ Not I,” interrupted Mr. Harrington, im
patiently. “ I’d sooner bolt with what I’ve got
than stay and bo ruined. You mark my words,
David won’t drop it—No, not for twenty thous
and. If you think you can afford it
“I—l can’t go away. How can I leave the
business?” interposed the old man, in a per
fectfrenzy of terror and perplexity.
“ Hang the business !” cried Mr. Harrington.
“ I’m off. Meet me in Spain. That’s your only
chance gov’nor.”
With these ominous wards Mr. Harrington
fairly turned and lied, leaving his father-in-law
in a half-fainting condition. For nearly a quar
ter of an hour old Manasseh remained seated
in his chair, looking halt demented, and com
pletely unnerved by the news he had hoard.
Then, by degrees, he began slowlv to recover ;
he poured out a glass of sherry with a trom-
NEW YORK DISPATCH. MARCH 28, 1886.
bling hand and drank it at a gulp, and finally
with a great effort, he summoned an assistant,
and bade him go and letch his son-in-law, David
Morris, instantly.
* * * «■ * *
What passed between old Manasseh and bis
son-in-law at the momentous interview which on
sued need not be detailed. It was a very pain
ful acene, and neither party, it is to be feared,
manifested the best qualities of human nature.
But the result was that David was induced to
abandon tho criminal proceedings he had con
templated, upon condition ot being paid no less
than £20,009 in cash. Old Manasseh never re
covered tho blow, and soon afterward manifest
ed decided symptoms of softening of the brain.
One of his delusions was that the whole affair
was a disgraceful plot concocted by his sons-in
law to ruin him. Nobody paid serious attention
to such wild talk of a sick man ; but it is a curi
ous circumstance that when Harrington re
turned from Spain, which he did immediately
the compromise had been effected, his brother
in-law, instead of showing any signs of resent
ment, welcomed him with great cordiality, and
a secret and profitable business partnership has
subsisted between them ever since.
THAT FATAL DIAHOJD.
A THKFSUJONFESSION.
I am the most unhappy man that ever occu
pied a prison ceil. I say this advisedly, know
ing that hundreds are at this moment bewail
ing their fate, which in many cases may seem
harder than mine; but it is not, if they still re
tain the self-respect which I have lost. That’s
what tortures me; my prestige is gone; I am
degraded in my own eyes; I despise myself as
heartily as the most virtuous man in the world
could. ’ That I, to whom half the thieves in
London have looked for guidance, should my
self have laid a plot for myself and walked into
it I It is too humiliating I To fall a victim to a
too powerful combination of adverse circum
stances is no disgrace; to be outwitted by the
superior finesse of the police is hard but en
durable, but to fall into a snare which should
not have misled a boy who had never so much
as stolen a handkerchief in his life—this, this is
shame I
It was that diamond ring that did it. I really
think that some special ill luck must have at
tached to the trinket, for it brought no good to
its previous possessor. It was hardly in the
regular way of business that it came into my
hands—just as it has escaped from them in a
most unbusiness-like fashion. That young man
must have been in great straits before he united
himslf to me in the business of stealing his un
cle’s cash-box, in order to obtain funds to pay
his gambling debts. It was a very easy matter
for me. He was to mix a few drops of an opiate
I gave him with his relative’s brandy and water
one evening, and leave the hall door open; I
had only to walk in and take up the booty he
had collected and placed ready for me.
It was a very fair collection of plate that
awaited me as well as the coveted cash-box; but
I am fond of jewelry, and the house was so
beautifully asleep, that I could not resist creep
ing up to the master’s bed-room to see if there
was not in it a trifle worth picking up. There
was—the diamond ring and a rather good set of
studs. I took them, and slipped ou»t of the
room so quietly that I should not have dis
turbed their owner, even it my young friend
had not, byway ot making sure, doubled the
prescribed* dose of the opiate, and thereby
plunged his uncle into, not sleep, but death.
Poor young fellow ! the knowledge that he
killed a relation who had always treated him
with kindness, if also with severity, was too
much for his mind, which doubtless was never
strong. Those debts of honor were never paid;
he never came to claim his share of that night’s
spoil, and I have heard that the distant cousin
who, failing him, inherited the old man's prop
erty, grumbles greatly at having to pay for his
being kept in a lunatic asylum.
' This is cowardice on my part. I have con
demned myself, as the fitting punishment of my
folly, to set down in black and white the way in
which I entrapped myself, and I am postponing
the task to maunder over an irrelevant inci
dent.
The ring had not been long in my possession
when 1 paid the unlucky visit to Paris which be
gan my misfortunes. The London police were
very active just then, and business was in con
sequence dull and risky, so, being in funds, I
thought I might take a holiday and enjoy a fort
night in the city of pleasure. I was pretty well
known at home; but I had not, so far as
I know, a single enemy in France, and I did
not intend to make any. For a fortnight I
would boa mere innocent pleasure-seeker, tak
ing the day’s amusements as they came, and
making no effort after either my own gain or
others’ loss. Such was my intention ; but alas I
what intention, especially if it be a good one,
can withstand the force of the habits of a life
time ? Mine gave way, and speedily.
One evening—a pleasant April evening—l
formed ono of the crowd that surrounded the
platform.at an open-air concert. By my side
was standing a stout and elderly man, whom,
from a score ot tiny indications, I guessed to be
a British holiday-maker. “ There’s from fifteen
to twenty pounds in his coat-pocket, I'll be
bound,” thought L “He is far too cautious to
leave bis money at his hotel, where Frenchmen,
whom he regards as all thieves, may lay hands
on it, so he carries it about with him, thinking
that on his person it cannot fail to be safe.”
The idea of undeceiving him in this particu
lar was too tempting. I found myself smiling
in anticipation at the bewildered and horror
stricken expression his face would wear when
he discovered his loss. It was the humor of
the thing that touched me. That fatal gift of
humor, which has ruined so many honest men,
led me to my destruction. Deep in my soul,
beneath the outer garb of the man of the world
I was wearing, dwelt the instincts of the profes
sional pickpocket. Almost unconsciously I in
serted my left band (we are all ambidexter in
our profession) in his pocket, and gently drew
out a pocket-book—the very sort of pocket-book
I knew he would carry. I edged away from my
victim as soon as the little operation was over,
and disentangling myself from the interested
auditors who were listening to a gayly dressed
damsel shrieking with the remains of a once
powerful voice, I soon found myself walking
along the brightly lighted boulevard. I had not
gone long before I noticed that the diamond
ring which 1 constantly wore on the third finger
ot my left hand, was missing. It was a little
too large for me, but I had not thought it advis
able to have the size altered just yet, and the
result was that it had slipped from my finger.
I knew that I wore it when I left my hotel, but I
could not recollect noticing its presence at any
subsequent time; so I went to every place I had
visited since I came out, the cafe where I had
dined, the shop where I had bought some cigars,
the streets I had traversed, looking everywhere
for some trace of my lost jewel, and inquiring
of every one to whom I had previously spoken,
if they had seen anything of it.
1 felt a dreary conviction that my treasured
ornament was gone forever, when, as a last re
source, I went to a bureau de police, and gave
a description of the ring to the officer there.
The officer was polite, but gave me small hope
of ever seeing my diamond again. I gave it up
as gono forever.
I was sitting in my hotel dull and depressed,
angry at my own carelessness, and inclined to
give up any further holiday and forget my
annoyance by a speedy return to my profes
sional duties in London, when my friend of the
police office entered.
“ I am happy,” he said, bowing politely and
smiling with, as I thought, anticipation ol a
handsome reward—“ lam happy" to inform
monsieur that we hope soon to place his ring
in his hands. One answering to the description
you gave was brought to our office by the finder,
a countryman of your own. The ring being
rather an uncommon one, I felt assured that it
could be no other than the one you had lost.
You described it, I think, as consisting of five
diamonds set in the shape of a violet, with a
smaller brilliant in the centre—a very curious
and valuable jewel.”
“ Yes, that’s it,” I replied curtly, wondering
why he could not give me back my property
without so many words.
“ Then I may safely assume that this is the
ring in question?” He brought out my ring
Irom his pocket and showed it to me.
“It is, I said, stretching out my hand ; but
he did not restore the jewel, only stood there,
holding it and smiling more than ever. I sup
posed he wanted to see some sign of the reward
he expected to receive before parting with the
trinket. I took out my purse, and opening
it, made some remark about showing my appre
ciation of his honesty ; but he shook his head,
smiling, if possible, more broadly than before.
“Do you not wish to know, monsieur, how
your ring was found ?” he asked, with a leer
which I thought was disagreeable.
“ Well, how was it found ?” I said, tartly.
My policeman drew himself up to deliver his
great effort:
“ Monsieur, your ring was found in another
man’s pocket!”
I stared at him in bewilderment, mingled
with an indefinite fear, while he continued his
narrative in a lees courteous and more confi
dential tone than he had hitherto assumed:
“Ahl mon ami, one may be too clever ; one’s
dexterity may lead one astray it it be not bal
anced by discretion. You had not long left the
office, when another Englishman came in com
plaining that he had lost a pocket-book con
taining all his money.
“He had put his hand in hia pocket to bring
it out, meaning to pay for something, but found
it gone and in its place a diamond ring—your
ring. For my own part, I do not doubt your
honesty—even your generosity. You believed,
doubtless, that exchange is not robberv and
that in leaving your ring in exchange ior his
portmonnaie, you would at once obtain a me
mento ot a compatriot and do him a practical
benefit. That is the interpretation I should
wish to put on the affair; but the owner of the
pocketbook will not see it in that light—he lacks
imagination, as so many English do. Of course,
your coming to ask us to try to recover your
lost ring tends to give color to his version oi the
matter, which is, that while you were robbing
him of his money, the ring slipped from your
hand and remained in his pocket, and with a
lack of sympathy for a countryman, which I
grieve to recount, he demands that you should
be arrested, a duty which I am reluctantly com
pelled to fulfill.”
I was absolutely dumb with surprise and an
ger. Had I had my wits about me, I might—
though circumstances were against me—have
brought some counter-charge of theft against
my accuser ; but I was so stupefied by the
strange turn events had taken, that I submitted
meekly to be searched, to have the fateful
pocket-book taken irom me, and to bo led away
to prison. Somehow, too, I was unable to se
cure possession of the ring that was the cause
of my undoing, and 1 have not seen it since my
arrest.
So here I sit in my cell, depressed and wenry,
a victim to the bitterest self-reproach. I could
almost wish to be condemned to life-long im
prisonment, for what is freedom worth to me ?
Aitor such a piece of suicidal lolly as f have
been guilty of, I shall never dare to lift up my
head among my professional brethren, and I
fear that nothing will be left for mo but to take
to honesty when my term expires.— Chambers's
Journal,
A NUKSE’SJXPERIENCF.
SAD EXPERIENCE OF A DOMESTIC
IN CARING FOR AN INVALID.
(From the Denver News.)
“No more invalids for me,” said a weary
looking woman as she dragged her way into a
well known Larimer street intelligence office
yesterday afternoon.
“ Why, did t you like your place ?” asked the
lady in charge.
“The place was all right, and I don’t know
but if I was the invalid I would like it; but no
more caring for invalids takes me out of town.”
“ Well, what was tho trouble? ’
“Oh, a new racket, and excellent for the in
valid if she could only get hold of the right kind
of a girl. When I went up to Idaho Springs and
took that place you sent me to, I was surprised
at the kind of a looking invalid I was to take
care of. Oh, but she was a strapping, able
looking laddy-buck as you’d find m a day’s
walk.”
“ Well, you hired with her
“Indeed, I did, ma’am, and was glad of the
chance, for I thought sure that an invalid with
arms on her as big as a stovepipe couldn’t'be
much trouble to take care of.”
“Well?”
“ Well, there was a smell of beer about her
that would do for a saloon sign, and when I sat
down near her she looked at me as if I had trod
on her corns. ‘ Don’t you hear them children
crying?’ says she. ‘The poor little darlings
haven’t had a bite to eat to-day, and yet you let
them cry as if my health wouldn’t be hurt by
it.’ 1 tried to tell her that taking care of an in
valid wasn’t cooking for a whole houseful of
children, but she shut me up with, ‘ What I
. don’t yon suppose it makes any difference to
my health whether my children are starving or
not ?’ and I went and got the children break
fast. When I got through with this, says she to
mo, ‘Maria,’ says she, ‘the life is worried out of
me with the pile of washing that’s to be done in
this house and that isn’t done.’ And says I,
‘You don’t expect me to do the washing, too, do
you ?’ ‘Do you suppose I can improve any,’
says she, ‘while I have it on my mind that my
poor little darlings hasn't a clean stitch to put
on them ?’ and with that she burst into tears.
Well, sooner than see her cry that way, I off
and started in at the washing. I wasn’t long at
it, though, when I hears a screech, like a steam
whistle, of ‘Maria!’
“ I knowed it was my invalid at once, and
when I went to heri thought she would die any
moment with the wild highsturicks she was in.
‘Oh, Maria,’ says she, ‘my husband will be
home to dinner in half an hour, and there isn't
a bit of a meal ready, and won t be, unless you
get it for him.’ ‘ Mam,’ says I, ‘ I hired to take
care of an invalid, and if it’s yourffiusband, in
stead of you, why, I’ll be only too glad to take
care of him I’ To see the look she gave me.
‘Do you suppose,’ says she, ‘ that it’ll benefit
my health to have my husband raving and tear
ing because there’s no dinner cooked for him,
and if you think so, where did you learn that
way of taking care ot a poor, sick, helpless
woman?’ and away she went again into tears.
Well, I couldn’t stand that, and so off I goes and
scrapes up what little dinner I could find for her
husband. It was a very thin meal, but it was
the best I could do, and I went and told her
what J got for dinner, some cold meat and a bit
of butter, a dish of preserves and a lew other
things. ‘ Preserves and butter,’ says she, ‘ and
do you want to break the heart ot a poor in
valid by wasting everything in the house ? Go
and bring me them preserves this instant!’ I
did so, and when I left to let in her husband,
she was swallowing the preserves by the hand
ful.
“ I was afraid of my liife of the husband from
what she said, but you never saw a quieter,
broken-downer looking man on the face of the
earth. He smiled when he saw the dinner I
got him, and thanked me for everything I done
for him. He looked like a skeleton, and if any
body needed to be taken care of as an invalid,
it was him. Well, when his dinner was over
and her husband gone, I went back to tho wash
tub, but had hardly got to work ag;<in when I
heard the screech of my invalid, calling me.
‘ Did you lose your last place,’ says she, ‘ by
starving your invalid to death ? Why don’t you
set about getting me something to eat ?” And
with that she gave me an order on the butcher
for a two-pound porter-house steak, a lot of
cakes from the baker, and two quarts of beer.
‘ Hurry with that, now,’ says she, ‘for I feel a
gnawing at my stomach, and if something ain't
done to stop it soon you’ll be without your in
valid, for I’m going fast.’ Well, I got her the
meal, and after she had cleared out all of the
tender parts of the steak, ‘ take that,’ says she,
‘ and get your own and the children's dinner
out of it, and put the rest away for doar Char
ley’s supper.’ Thon she ups with the pitcher
of beer and drinks it down without ever taking
her mouth from it.
“ Well, alter the children’s meal was over, I
started back to the tub. li was the same at
supper as at dinner, and when night came I
ielt that I could sleep. But what does she do
but calls me and says, ‘ Maria,’ says she, ‘ I
must go and take my exercise, and I want you
to dress me for the rink.’ Well, I got through
with it somehow, although it was one of the
toughest jobs I ever undertook in all my life.
I never could get on paint or powder or curls
enough to suit her, it seemed. ‘ Now lollow me
to the rink,’ says she, ‘ and if I faint you be
ready to take care of me and keep them from
throwing water in my face, for it will spoil
my curls and take all the paint off. But never
mind, I won’t faint to-night, I don’t believe, for
there won’t be anybody of much account at the
rink. Be ready with a shawl to throw around
my shoulders when I stop to breathe, and have
some sandwiches with you steeped in brandy.’
“ ‘ Ma’m,’ says I, ‘ maybe you think I m a
fool because I don’t put on more style, but if
you think I don’t know any better than to bo
seen in a skating rink you’re off your base,
ma’m.’ says I. ‘ You won’t obey me, won’t
you,’says she. ‘No,’ says I, ‘ I won’t, and if
you’ll pay me’ for my day’s work I’ll be taking
my leave of you.’ ‘ And* you’ll dare talk that
way to a poor invalid, will you ?’ says she, and
with that she took me by the back of the neck
and, running me through the hall, flung me out
of the door and down the front steps. I was
glad enough to get out of her hands, and so I
picked myself up and started on foot for Dnn
ver, and here I am ready to take care of a livery
stable or a lumber yard, or anything else only
an invalid.”
tunisiaTjustice.
AFTER THE MANNER OF CALIPH
HAROUN AL RABCHID.
The East is the cradle of the race and the
source of its legends and fables. Hindoo moth
ers soothe their children to sleep by telling
them the originals ot stories which are the
commonplaces of European nurseries. An En
glish traveler undertook to teach a Tartar hoy
“ cat s cradle.” The little fellow took the string
out of the European’s hand, and showed him a
more intricate “ cat’s cradle ” than ho had ever
seen.
The brothers Grim, both learned philolo
gists, gathered the admirable collection of
stories they have published, from the old peas
ants of the Black Forest and the Hartz Moun
tains. But the traveler in India may hear them
as they were told two thousand years ago, if he
will enter a native hnt and coax the grand
mother into telling the stories her grandmoth
er told her.
Every one knows the fable of the monkey
whom two cats asked to divide the stolen cheese
over which they had quarreled. It is a very
old fable. Did he who first told it see some
thing like the scene which occurred two or
three years ago in the audience hall of the Bey
of Tunis ?
One morning, while the Bey was on the judg
ment seat, two Bedouins appeared before him.
They had found a cow which no one claimed,
and which each insisted on retaining. They
quarreled, and both came before the Bey.
He tried to persuade the two Arabs to settle
the matter amicably, but they were too angry
to be reasonable. Seeing that he must decide,
the Bev ordered the cow to be brought before
him. On the animal’s appearance, he said to
the two litigants:
“ All property which has no legal owner be
longs to me; therefore, according to law, the
cow does not long to either of you. Let the
owner come be here and ask me for his cow; he
will be sure to receive punishment for not prop
erly guarding his cattle from straying.
“ As for you, think yourselves happy to go
out of my presence without being bastinadoed,
for I strongly suspect you stole the cow.”
“NOT THE WORST OF IT.”
THE DISTRESSING AGONY OF A
DESERTED HUSBAND.
(From the Chicago Intel'-Ocean.)
John Loiser, connected with the glass works
at Ottawa, 111., rushed into the detectives’
office and told Lieutenant Shea that his wife
had eloped. The lieutenant was inexpressibly
shocked, and so said nothing.
“ But that ain’t all of it, by a blamed sight,”
said the excited visitor.
Lieutenant Shea’s eye-browa raised, as if to
question the statement of there being any details
that could add to the horrors of the desertion
of a husband by.his Wife.
“ No, sir, it ain’t all. She—she—run away
with two men.”
The eye-brows were raised a little higher now,
and the lieutenant was about to say something,
when Leiser yelled, *’ but that ain’t the worst
of it 1”
The lieutenant backed a little and watched
Mr. Leiser closely, to see if he were not de
mented.
“ No, sir, it ain’t; she took SSOO with her.”
Leiser wept rather copiously at this stage of the
interview.
The lieutenant was about to join him, when
the bereaved husband looked up with a tear in
each optic, and observed in a hoarse whisper,
“ But that ain’t the worst of it. it ain’t.
She slipped away at night, and when the baby
awoke I could not find the paregoric.”
“Whew! tins is serious,” said the efficient
detective. “ Sbo mustbe found. You think she
camo to Chicago, do you ?”
“ Positive of it; they bought three tickets for
Chicago.”
“Then we’ll find thorn,” and tho lieutenant
summoned a couple of detectivesand instructed
them in the details of the matter as given by
Mr. Leiser. In a very short time the detectives
returned. They had in custody a man named
George Fredericks-he had been seen with the
woman. Alter a timo Ernest Von Bauer re
ported at the station and the two acknowledged
they were tho men sought alter by Leiser. But
their story differed from that of tho lachrymose
husband. They had never seen a cent of his
money; knew nothing of his paregoric, but
knew all about his wifo. They were coming to
Chicago and bad been requested to escort Mrs.
Leiser here by the lady herself. She had in
formed them she was tired ot her husband’s
abuse and wanted to leave him. They also
stated they had found apartments for her at the
Schweitzer Hotel, while they had secured rooms
at a place down town. The woman was re
quested to come to tho station, which she did,
and corroborated the story of tho men. The
people were allowed to go, as Leiser was unable
to prove that any money or anything else had
been stolen.
AMERICAN FABLES.
CONSIDERABLY AFTER THE PER
SIAN.
THE FOX AND THE HARES.
A Fox who was passing through the Forest
one day heard a great Dispute among the Hares,
and he turned Aside to find several of them En
gaged in Hard Knocks around a Burrow.
“ What's all this Row about ?” demanded Rey
nard as he fell Among them,.
“Why, sir,” replied one ot tho Hares, “our
Father is Dead, and we can’t agree as to who
shall Possess his Burrow.”
“But it is large enough for all of you.”
“So it is; but that settles a Question of Fact
instead of Principle.”
“ Well. I’ll take the Fact and you can keep the
Principle,” said the Fox as he took Possession
of the Burrow.
MORAJL :
When the Heirs Fight over the old Homestead
the Lawyer comes to own the Farm.
THE TIGER AND THE PEASANT.
A Tiger who was out for a Walk came to the
Cabin of a Peasant and Knocked on the Door.
“ Who is There ?” demanded the Peasant.
“ It is I, the Tiger.”
A Gun was poked out of a Window and the
Tiger received a mortal hurt As he rolled on
-the Ground in his Dying agonies he Gasped:
“ Ungrateful Man ! I was Intending Simply
to pay you a Friendly Call!”
“Ah! yes,” sighed the Peasant; “but the
Difficulty of Distinguishing a Good Tiger from
a Bad Ono is so Great I make it a Rule to fire
upon all.”
MORAL:
There are no Honest Burglars.
This writer is certainly one of our most pro
lific novelists. He takes pride in being entitled
THE GREAT UNKNOWN.
“ What is your business ?” a passenger on a rail
way train asked of a chance acquaintance.
* I am a writer of popular novels.*’
’• What is your name?”
**Niok Smith.’*
‘•Well, i don’t believe I read any of your novels.
But perhaps you e.nploy a nomdc plumef”
•• Yes.”
•• What is your pen name ?”
♦‘l change it very frequently.”
«* Why so ?”
'■Well, you see, I am employed by a publishing
house to continue the works of men who die in the
zenith of their fame. I have finished ‘Hugh Con
vay’ and I am now waiting for Wilkie Collins to
die.'*
No ono will deny but that Mr. Martin gave
A PLAUSIBLE REASON.
“That's a queer name fora book,” remarked a
young lady in a book-store to Mr. Martin.
“ What’s that ?” he asked.
“ ‘ Letters to Dead Authors.’ I wonder what it
is.”
“Well, I can't say, a3 I haven’t read it; but from
its title I should say it was a request to the late
Hugh Conway ior more stories.”
It was lucky for him that his wife didn’t know
this
FRIEND OF HIS BOYHOOD.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Snaggs to her husband,
this morning, “I don’t think I know your friend,
Mr. Pott, do I ?”
“Pott?” asked Mr. Snaggs, in surprise.
“Yes, Mr. John Pott.”
“John Pottl I don’t know anybody of that
name.”
“ Oh, you surely must know him very well, for
you talked about him in your sleep last night, and
called him Jack, aa though you had known him all
your life.”
“Jack Pott! Ah, I must have been dreaming
about a schoolmate of my boyhood days. I had al
most forgotten him.”
And Snaggs went down town cogitating ou what
a narrow escape he had.
Here is a neat bit of
DOUBLE MEANING.
“Say, George, what kind of a doctor is this young
Allen ?'*
“All that I know about him is that he snatched
my aunt from the grave last Summer—that is, I
shall always think he did.”
“Did he, indeed?” replied the other; “well, he
must be a pretty good doctor, then. What was the
matter with your aunt?”
“ Oh. she was dead and buried, you know.”
Even on the frontier there are men who take
advantage of the ignorance of the uncultured
and
SELL THEM FALSE MOTTOES.
A traveler in Western lowa noticing on the wall
of the parlor of the hotel the legend, “Ici Ton parle
francais,” said to the proprietor:
“ Do you speak French ?’*
“French ? No. United States is good 'nougli fer
me.”
“Then why do you keep that legend on the wall?
That means ‘French is spoken here.' ”
“ Is that so ?’*
“ Certainly.”
“Well, I’m a half tKr.’ied from up the Missoury if
a feller with a wart on his nose didn't sell me that
for a Latin motto: ' God bless our home.’ ”
This young woman was more truthful than
women usually are in such matters, when she
explained why
SHE HAD A REAL GOOD TIME.
“Did you go to theTibbons party the other night,
Mrs. Prinkley ?” inquired one woman of another in
the jam at a millinery store.
“Yes, indeed,” she replied, with eyes fairly snap
ping with delight.
‘ Have a good timo ?”
“Yes, I had a splendid time. The Twomley girls
were there, you know, and they didn’t have on a
thing fit to be seen, while everybody said my new
dress was just too lovely for anything. Isn’t this
delicious weather ?”
John Gough probably delivered as many lec
tures as any man that ever took to the rostrum.
But Mr. Awljaw looked upon it aa
NOTHING EXTRAORDINARY.
Mrs. Awljaw—" Mr. Gough must have been a re
markable man. I have just read that he lectured
nine thousand times.”
Mr. Awljaw—“ Nothing remarkable in that.”
“No ? Where is there a similar case ?’*
“Let me see. We have been married thirty
years. Now, you have lectured about every night
—let us say thirty times three hundred and
fifty ”
(Seance breaks up in disorder.)
Mr, Fogg gave a very good reason for being
TIRED OF VISITING.
“ No,” said Fogg, “I’m tired of going out visit
ing. If I call on Brown, he’s sure to bore me to
death with his everlasting bragabout his dog; if I go
to Black’s, he’ll talk of nothing but that confound
ed horse of his, and at White’s I shall hear of noth
ing but his hens. Therefore, I prefer to stay at
home and enjoy myself.”
“But, my dear,” interposed Mrs. F., “the con
versation will hardly be more improving if, as
usual, you dilate on pipes and tobacco.”
“Yes, my love,” replied Fogg, “but you should
remember the difference. Ido the talking.”
It was a nice fit and the suit was made of ex
cellent goods which
DE JONES GOT FROM ISAACS.
Isaacs—Mine frient, dot vits you shust like der
skin on der sausage.
De Jones—Yes, it fits fairly well, but is it good
goods ?
Isaacs—Goot goots ! So hellup me, dot ves der
finest biece of goots on der market.
De Jones—Do you warrant it ?
Isaacs—Varrant it! Veil, no. but, mine frient, if
dot goots ain’t goodt, shust you bring it back and
ve’ll make it goodt for not’ing.
SCINTILLATIONS.
“What is your idea of love, Mr. Sin
nick?” ”Three meals a day, and well cooked.”
Women swallow flattery as babies
swallow buttons, without aux Ida. ot tho troabl.
that may follow.
A man never realizes how insignificant
he is until be attempts to describe to his wife the
dress worn by another lady.
“ I aim to tell the truth.” " Yes,” m
terrupted an acquaintance, “ and you are probably
the worst shot in the country.''*
The reason that a lady always likes to
wear tight gloves is because it makes it seem as
though somebody was squeezing her hand.
A society lady, who was describing
a grand ball to a friend, a few nights ago, was asked
how she was dressed. “Low—and behold!” was
the response.
“Pat, what time is it?” “Oi don’t
know, Mike, but let’s guess at it, and thin, begor
ra, the man who comes farthest off can go out to
the kithen to look.”
“ Madam,” said a shivering tramp,
“ w-will y-you give a p-poor fellow a ch-chanoe to
getw-warm?” “Certainly,” replied the woman,
kindly; “you can carry m the ton of coal, but
don't burn yourself,”
A young lady—a sensible girl—gives
the following catalogue of different kinds of love :
“The sweetest, a mother’s love; tile longest, a
brother’s love; the strongest, a woman’s love, and
the sweetest, longest, dearest love—a 'love of a
bonnet.***
An elderly gentleman is seen to tread
on a pioce «f orange-peel and come heavily down on
what may be politely called the large of his back.
To him a polite stranger, raising his hat, says :
"Excuse ma, sir, would you mind doing that again ?
My friend didn’t see it."
“I guess, sister, you needn’t bother
about having the parlor swept out to-day,” was the
remark of a youth, as he started to school. " What
on earth do you mean. George ?” "Well, I heard
lather tell mother that if that young man of yours
came to-night, he’d wipe the floor with him.”
A Henry county farmer came to Olin
ton on the late cold wave wearing a coonskin over
coat. A west side grocer inquired: "Why don’t
you wear the hairy side in instead of out?” "I
reckon the coon knew which side was the warmest
when he wore it, didn’t he?” replied the farmer.
Mr. Jenkins j)layfully remarked to his
wife that in her he possessed five fulls. "Name
them, my love.” "You are beautiful, dutiful,
youthful, faithful and an armlull,” “ You have the
advantage of me, my dear.” "How so, my pre
cious ?” •• i have but one fool.” Mr. Jenkins made
no further inquiry.
Superintendent—“ Children, this is
the liev. Dr. MacSuorter, from Gowanus, who will
address you a few brief remarks. Children, he has
come all the way to try and save your souls from
hell. You are not paying attention. Now, can any
little boy or girl tell me where this gentleman is
from ?” Chorus of children —“ From hell.”
Pa—“l do not like that young man
and wish he would keep away.” Daughter—" He
does not come very often.” Pa—" Very often I He
is here nearly every evening and sometimes in the
afternoon.” Daughter—" But, pa, he never comes
in the morning.” Pa—"No, I wish he would,”
Daughter—" You do? * Pa—" Yes. if he could once
see you in the morning he would never come
again I"
“ We feel,” a Western editor is quoted
as writing, "that an apology is due to Widow
Grimes, in our issue of last week wo stated that
she had eloped with an eighteen-year old man. The
truth is that she was thrown from an eight-year-old
mare, which she was riding in a lope, and which
slipped and fell. Mistakes will happen in the best
regulated newspaper-offices, and we are confident
that when we state the item was sent over a tele
phone wire, no other apology will be needed.”
Not long ago, as an elderly couple
were out walking, a lady on the opposite side of the
street slipped and fell down. The old gentleman
rushed across the street, raised his hat, and offered
to assist her in any possible way. His wife followed
him across at a slow pace, and witnessing his devo
tion to the stranger, shook her fist at him. "It’s
all right—it’s all right 1” he whispered. " Yes, I
know it is I” she exclaimed, hotly. " Here’s an
unknown woman hurts her toe, and you plow
across the street to eat her up with kindness. The
other day, when I fell down-stairs, you stood and
laughed, and wanted to know if I was practicing for
a circus.”
HUNTING A LOVER.
A SWEDISH GIRL’S PERSISTENT
AND SUCCESSFUL SEARCH.
(From the Omaha Republican,)
About eight months ago there arrived in this
city a very pretty Swedish girl, direct from
Stockholm, bearing the name of Christine Olson.
The young woman could speak but little Eng
lish, but her charming appearance and winning
manners won for her many friends. She was in
this city but a very short time before she was
employed by a lady on South Sixteenth street
and given a situation. The girl was bright, and
showed an aptness to learn which encouraged
her mistress to teach her English. Her pro
gress was rapid, and in a very short time the
girl had acquired considerable knowledge of
our language, which is considered especially
hard to learn by foreigners. Along with a
knowledge of the English language the lady
taught the pretty servant to cook and perform
many household duties that were new to the
young foreigner.
As Christine became more acquainted with
the English language, she grew to love her mis
tress until, neediug some one in whom to con
fide, she chose her mistress as her confidante,
and told her the history of her lite. The history
was not filled with pretty women and valiant
knights; on the contrary, it was a pastoral poem
in prose. She stated that she was born in
Stockholm; that her father was a toy-maker
and owned a neat little shop on one of the prin
cipal streets; that he employed a number of
workmen, among them a young man named
Hanson. The young man was not handsome,
but he had a kind, big heart, and he won the
love of his employer’s daughter. Hanson was
an honorable fellow, and feeling that his em
ployer would never give his consent to a mar
riage with his daughter, he thought the. next
best thing would be to leave the country and
try his fortune in America, about which he had
heard so much. To think was to execute, and
it was but a lew days after that the young man
bid good-by to bis sweetheart and set sail for
the unknown arcadia, with assurances that he
would send for Christine in a lew years. Han
son was not a spendthrift by any means, and
when he landed at Castle Garden he had a few
hundred dollars left by which he might start a
little business for himself. He had learned
cigar-making while in the old country, and felt
that a fortune was in store for him in this busi
ness.
Everything went well with the young man for
two years. He wrote regularly to his sweet
heart in Stockholm, telling of his triumphs and
misfortunes. He spoke encouragingly of the
time when he could send for his betrothed and
in every way made the burden Christine was
bearing as light as possible.
But Hanson found that the country was not
what it had been painted by interested emigra
tion agents. That instead of sitting down wait
ing upon fortune to overtake him, he had to be
up and doing to overtake the fickle guide. He
grew despondent, and finding nothing to do in
New York, joined the great army of tramps
“ looking for work.” His money was soon gone,
but during all the time he was tramping up and
down the country he wrote to the little woman
at home asking her to be of good cheer, as ho
soon would send for her.
Sixteen months ago he ceased to write to
Christine. The girl not knowing what to make
of the silence, waited for nearly a year and then
resolved to seek her lover in America. Her
father and mother had died in the meantime,
leaving the girl about S2OO after all debts wore
paid. With that little pittance she left her old
home and came to the United States in search
of the man whom she believed to be dead, or
perhaps what was still worse, married to some
one else he had met in his wanderings. When
Christine arrived in New York she met a cigar
maker who remembered Hanson as a good
fellow, but thought he was in San Francisco.
Christine bought a ticket for Frisco and started
to find the truant lover.
When Chicago was reached she met a confi
dence man who induced her to sell her ticket
and buy one to Omaha, stating that he knew
Hanson well; that he was in this city saving
money to send for a little woman whom he had
left behind in Sweden. The girl believed him
and who would not, under the circumstances.
She believed the man, and did exactly as ho
told her. Her new-found friend then robbed
her of her money, leaving her only her ticket to
this city and $5. Broken-hearted and in a
strange land, not knowing what to do, she got
off hero, and having met a country-woman, who
told her she better go to an intelligence office
for work, which she did, and was engaged by
the lady on South Sixteenth street.
Christine, as she told this story, would often
cry, bemoaning her fate and lamenting that she
had ever come to America to search for a man
who no doubt had forgotten her long ago. But
the love was not dead, and try as she would she
could not make herself believe that Hanson was
untrue to her.
She saved her wages and about ten days ago,
having heard that Hanson was in Kansas City,
gave notice to her mistress to get another girl
as she was going to quit. No amount of per
suasion on the mistress’ part could change her
mind, however, and she left Yesterday the
lady on Sixteenth street received a letter from
Christine saying that she had found Hanson,
that they wero married and the future looked
very bright for them. Could there be anything
stranger in fiction ?
THE FALLS NOT RECEDING.
Niagara Will Not Reach Buffalo for
Three Million Years.
(From the Pittshurg Dispatch.)
Time and again I have related through the
press ot the country, and discussed before sci
entific bodies, how the United States Engineer
Corps measured the depth of water in the can
yon, and ascertained the rapidity of the cur
rents, the amount of volume of water, and the
probable annual wear of the rock and recession
of the falls. Some of these facts lead to others
which I wish to relate. •• When will the falls
reach Buffalo ?” is the most common query.
“Never while Buffalo exists to witness the ar
rival,” I reply. " Well 1 but the falls are mov
ing backward several feet per year,” is the re
sponse. “ Pardon ; they are not moving several
feet, nor one foot, nor several inches, nor on.
inch, nor any perceptible amount annually.”
It is true that at one place—the Horseshoe—the
recession is visible. This only indicates that
the falls are swinging around Goat’s Island,
and will make that a truly wonderful natural
structure some day, with perpendicular walls
and a roaring, circular canyon around it. In
order to reach Buffalo, the tails must displace
about twenty-five cubic miles of the hardest
limestone rock—a rock that looks as if it had
actually been melted and poured into its place.
Twenty-five cubic miles of rock would be suffi
cient to construct all ol the buildings on earth,
and then rebuild them several times. The face
of the entire tails is about one mile long and
about font hundred feet high above and below
the low water. If we accept the average wear
along the entire face of the falls at one-half inch
per year, we have an annual displacement ol
88,01 X) cubic feet of rock—an amount enormous
ly too large. At this obviously too great annual
rate of recession, the falls have been over
1,700,000 years in arriving at their present po
sition, and will require over 8,000,000 years to
get to Buffalo.
It has always been a mystery to me why the
great whirlpool of Niagara is seldom or never
visited by the public; it is not spoken of in
guide-books, or advertised by railways. The
public has been made to lose sight of this most
wonderful maelstrom in the world, by the cun
ning of the men who control the view of the
Whirlpool Ilapids, and with whom the guides
and hackmen are in collusion. The latter is
directly under and below the cautalever bridge
of the Michigan Central railway.
The maelstrom is located something over a
; acres of space which may
be called a hump rather than a bend in th a
river. Into this bump the river enters on ona
side, is whirled round like a top, pressed down
thousands of feet, brought to the surface by
counter currents, and hurled out on - the lower
side. The bodies of men which go over the
falls are regularly found on the lower side ot
this pool nine days after their plunge over the
cataract.
Here, it is said, is the long-sought subterra
nean outlet of the great lakes. If so, where is
the great surface exit or spring ? There can bo
no cause without an effect. If lakes of water are
emptied through this hole, the lakes ot water
must bubble up through some other hole. Gen
tle reader, this malstrom was dug by the falls
several or more years ago—and it took a mil
-lon years to make the excavation. Further,
the projectile at the water hurled at the rate of
a mile per minute through the canyon is a cube,
the lace ot which is 100,6.10 loot s fuare. Is not
that volume of water quite'sufficient to keep the
vast St. Lawrence busy, and to do away with
the necessity of a subterranean outlet for the
lakes? I strolled down to the edge of the cra
ter ot the maelstrom through the deep snows ot
the Sth of this month.
THEIuiLROAD IRA IN.
SOME OF THE MINOR MISERIES.
Considered as an instrument of torture, the
modern railroad train deserves all that can be
said of it. Looked upon in that light it is doubt
less a big thing. The adjectives incomparable,
matchless, and amazing, would apply to it; es
pecially to those trains whereupon the burning
of soft coal is practiced, would the description
be applicable. Among the minor miseries which
beset you after you have really gotten yourself
seated in thia much-lauded vehicle, is the want
of anything to breathe. A person accustomed
to the free air ot heaven gasps in the red-hot
air, if it be in Winter, and instinctively places
his handkerchief to his noso as the combined
smells of the place strike upon his sensitive
nostrils.
Then the swaying motion, added to the lack
of oxygen, soon produces a desperate and
deathly feeling which no other combination of
earthly circumstances can really induce. It is
exaggerated, however, when your neighbor
opens a lunch-basket, as car-neighbors invaria
bly do, and feeds the six strong and lusty chil
drod seated near you. How they eat—the
wonder will never cease I Eat straight on
through the contents ot that lunch-basket with
out flinching ! Ham-sandwiches aro
" Like snow falls on a river,
"One moment white, then gone forever.”
The bones of ancient and respectable fowls are
picked up and flung away, and greasy dough
nots are sent to their long home, and still the
insatiable monsters eat on.
The repast proper is followed by apples, can
dy, and pop-corn—ad infinitum, ad nauseam—
still they are not appeased. They look hun
grier than ever—their jaws still seem in good
condition. You desire to recommend to them a
whale or two as likely to be satisfying, but the
ravenous crew still eat on. You try to open
your window, but of course it is of the kind that
doesn’t open. This fact probably saves yon
from pneumonia and an early grave, but it is
nevertheless hard to bear at the time. You turn
your face away and produce your cologne bot
tle, while the mother brushes the crumbs onto
the floor and secretes the bones under the cush
ion ; you groan, but to no purpose. You aro in
for twenty-four, or thirty-six, or forty-eight
hours of this, as the case may bo, and there is
no such thing as relenting on the part of des
tiny. Nothing but a great American smash-up
can save you.
OO
PROF. CHS. LUDWIG VON SEEGER,
Professor of Medicine at the Royal University;. Knight of
the Royal Austrian Order of the Iron Crown; Knight Com
mander of the Royal Spanish Order of Isabella; Knight of
the Royal Prussian Order of the Red Eagle; Chevalier of
the Legion of Honor, Bfc., 4*c., says:
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Invaluable to all who are Run Down, Nervous, Dyspep
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Beware of Imitations.
HER MAJESTY’S FAVORITE COSMETIC GLYCERINE.
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7

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