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NO PERFECT WORK EUT GOO’S.
BY ROSE HUH WICK THORPE. «’I will build,” said the architect, ‘mansions more fair,, Marble-columned, and stately and grand, Mammoth-domed, perfection base, turret and stairs, And the winds the fam ■ of the builder shall bear To the uttermost parts of the land. ’’ "I wdl paint,” said t.. artist, “ a pi< tnre sublime. Rainbow-tinted and wonderfully quaint ; The world shall bow down to this picture of mine. For I’ll dip my brush in iue river of time, And the lights of eternity paint.” I wii-t wr.te,” auid th- poet, “a beautiful song In the glory and strength of my might. I will liberate truth. Ti.e shackles ol wrong Shall be broken, and sin, red-handed and strong, Shall bo slam by the words 1 shall write.” ’Neath the broad dome of Heaven’s encircling blue. Sculptured columns reared stately and vast, And the architect smiled as the palace grow, But the finger of time pierced those columns through, While the mountain’, God’s buildings, stood fast. The picture lacked something which glowed on the breast Of the sea when the sunset unrolled ; The best of the poem was never expressed ; Man’s grandest achievement is dross at the best. Compared with God’s labor of gold. lady Frederick’s Diamonds. What Was Bidden Under the Tombstone. (From Chambers's Journal) I, Arnold Blake, have had a queer, up-and down, checkered sort of life, and until 1 was rearing my fortieth year was most persistently down in my luck, l irst, it was m Mexico that I tried my fortune, and failed. Then, tempted by an enthusiastic friend, I went to Genoa and 3et up there in partnership with him as a mer chant. The life was a very healthy and happy one, but not what any one could call pro Stable, from a pecuniary point of view—m fact, quite the reverse. 1 After a few years, finding it im possible, with both ends stretched to the utter most, to make them meet, we gave that up, and 1 moved on to Nice, wnere i had two or three substantial friends. There things took a turn tor the better, and 1 gradually formal a niche for myself, in time ecoming quite an authority in my own small circle. Then, acting on good advice, I started a branch bank in connection with a well-known one in Loudon. This an swered fairly well; I had just as much work as I cared to do, was able to pay my expenses, and had even begun to lay by a little hoard against the proverbial “rainy day.’ 1 Nice was a gay, bright town to live in, and I constantly met old riends and made many new •ones, who were passing through to the South or spending two or three months there or at Monte Carlo, for the fascinating pleasure of either losing their own money or making a tidy little fortune out o: somebody else s pocket. One afternoon 1 was sitting in my small counting-house, writing for the English mail, when the door opeixed, and in came an old ac quaintance, Sir Frederick O’Connor, with a parcel in his hand. “How dye do, Blake?” said he, cheerily. “ I’ve come to you to get me out of a di.uculty. These are my wi e’s jewels. Why she has brought them with her, family diamonds and all, parses my understanding. I call it insane. Fact is, I don’t ie?s!i the idea of waking up some fine morning to find my throat cut. 1 want to know ii y<.u will be so good as to keep them in your saio while we are here. When ever Lady O’Connor wishes to dazzle her friends with them, f can easily come round and ask you for what she wants.” Naturally, I w inugiy consented to find a cor ner lor the jewels , and alter 1 had taken an in ventory ol them, Sir Frederick himself placed them in an inner compartment, and I locked the door. I little thought what a dance those confounded diamonds should lead me ! A few days a ter this, at a large garden-party I met Lady O’Connor, young, pretty and nappy looking. bhe sho k hands cordially, expressed pleasure at meeting again, and asked it I thought the season would be a gay one. “By-the-by,” she said, “it is very kind of you, Mr. Blake, to take care of my valuables. Sir Frederick was quite in despair about them, until a happy th ught suggested you as their protect r. lam going to trouble you for some of them to-morrow. Fred will call for them, and do not be surprised if you see him bristling with bowie-knives and revolvers, for he has a fixed idea that the Nice ruffian has a keener nose for other people’s property than any other ruffian in the world.” I answered that her lovely jewels were wor thy of an escort armed to the teeth, and that 1 was very glad indeed to be of use to Sir Fred erick and herself <n any way. The morning a ter this garden-party—it must have been about half-past four or five—my sleepy senses were completely scattered by my door being thru an violently open and Foscoe, my combined valet and commissionaire, a quiet and respectful treasure, landing beside me as if shot out of a catapult. I knew at once that something very dreadful must have happened. Roscoe’s face ■»! horror and despair would have made a valuable study for an artist. “ Get up, sir, at once, and come down to the office. The sa e h>s been broken open and cleaned out, sir, quite empty 1” gasped Itoscoe breathlessly, paie with excitement. I cannot recollect what followed during the few minutes in which I hurriedly dressed, and Roscoe is far too considerate to have ever re minded me of that short scene. The first thing I do remember is, finding myseli in my office, clothed in a sketchy and uncomfortable man ner, the victim of one of the most audacious burglaries that had taken place in Nice for a very long time. I stood gazing at my ransacked safe and rummaged drawers, and at the floor, strewn with papers,among which hei ea id there I noticed a few gold pieces, which seemed as if the robbers had been interrupted or startled in some way or other. I was a'raid to move from the spot on which I stood until the de tective, whom I had sent Roscoe off in a fiacre to fetch, should arri e, lest I might unwittingly destroy some small but important piece of e I dence, which his experienced eyes would dis cover at a glance. In a very short time he ap peared, and after a friendly word or two, com menced his investigations. He carefully exam ined the safe, the window, and the door. Noth ing seemed to escape him. He took volumi nous n tea; measured a footmark which he dis covered on the floor, but the footmark on fur ther inquiry was found to be his own, which rather put him out. I told him of the jewels which had been placed in my care so lately. “ Your man informed me, monsieur, as wo came, that you had diamonds of great value in your iroaaafe.” A clammy dew broke out suddenly on my forehead, as I remembered that Lady O’Connor was counting on appearing in those same jewels at the prefecture ball that night. “ On the strength of what your servant told me, monsieur, ’ continued the detective, “ 1 have already telegraphed to Marsei les.. Genoa, and Turin, and have directed some of my most trustworthy men to be on the alert at the rail way sta-tion and the port. I will send and let monsieur know the moment we get any trace of the stolen property.” I made out a care'ul list of all I had lost, gave it to the detective, and then returned to inv rooms to dress in a rather less superficial manner. The awiul business of breaking the loss of the jewels to Sir Frederick and Lady O Connor was now staring me in the face, and as I walked to their hotel I became a nrey to the most paralysing nervousness I hope'it will ever be my lot to endure. I was shown into a charming sitting-room, facing the sea, and though 1 did not look at anything round me, except tho two people 1 had come to see, I re membered afterward every detail of the scene. They were at breakfast. The refreshing, sun-warmed morning air breathed softly in through the open window, scented by the mignonette, which grew thickly in boxes on the balcony outside. Lady O’Connor looked very gracolul and pretty in a long loose gown of some soft T ndian silk, trimmed with lace. Sir Fred erick, also in comfortable unconventional gar ments, was reading aloud a letter, over which they were both laughing merrily as I was an nounced. They welcomed me warmly, looking as if early and unexpected visitors were quite a common occurrence, and between them carried on the usual preliminary chit-chat about the lovely weather, the delight of being able to breakfast wi.h the window open in the month of November, the view, Ac., as long as the serv ant remained in the room, while I stood look ing from one to the other, solemnly bowing my head in silent answer to their cheerful re marks. It is not necessary to relate what passed; suf fice it to say that both Sir Frederick and Lady O’Connor possessed an unusual share of kind ness of heart and of sympathy with other peo ple’s misfortunes, and they endeavored to make my unpleasant position as easy for me as Then followed a week of restless activity. I haunted the police bureau; if I was cot there two or three times a day myself, I sent Roscoe to find out for me it any telegrams had arrived on the all-important subject, any clew been found to throw the smallest light upon it. One lovely alternoon I was walking down the Promenade des Anglais, in anyt.iing but a cheerful frame of m nd—indeed,T do not think I ever felt so utterly depressed before. Noth ing whatever had been heard oi the missing jewels, and during a long consultation that morning with Aigunez, the detective,* he had told me that he firmly believed that the rob bery was the work of one man, and that the jewels were still in Nice. I had been calling at one of the pretty villas beyond the Var, and was now making my way down the side of the promenade next the house,, to the Hotel de la Mediterranee, to talk over Aigunez’s last suggestion with Sir Frederick O’Connor. As 1 was passing the high solid walls ot the now quite unused cemetery, I noticed that the door was ajar; and expecting to find there old Baroni the care-taker, whom 1 knew, 1 pushed open the door and entered. Nobody was there; all was silent and solitary. Here and there were untidy heaps of rubbish; tangled, overgrown bushes; and propped against the walls were two or three gravestones that had covered graves from which the remains had been removed to some family vault elsewhere. I could not help wondering how ii u 'h Baroni received for the amount of care and labor he bestowed on the old English burial-ground. When my eyes which were uncommonly sharp ones, had be- l coni' 1 accustomed to the dark shadows thrown | by the wails, and the brilliant glare where the I bhadowline ended, i noticed that a gravestone i lying in rather a ret red spot appeared, by the i tresh-iooking footmarks round it, to have been i lately moved. Ido not think that this circum i stance would have roused my curiosity in the then preoccupied st;te of iny mind, bad it not been that close beside it a large branch of a neighboring tree had been bent down and fastened firmly to the ground by means of a stone. This arrested my attention, it was so evidently intended to mark the spot. Exerting all my strength, 1 pushed the heavy stone suffi ciently one side to enable me to see that it con cealed a small pit, recently dug, by the look of the mold round it. It was empty ! 1 managed to replace the gravestone, and leftthe cemetery, carefully closing the door behind me, and gian ing round to see if my actions had been observed. I hurried on to the hotel, wondering and con jecturing as to the possible meaning of lhe cu rious little mystery I had just discovered. That small oblong pit—for what purpose could it have been prepared ? My first idea was that a murder had been or was about to be commit ted, and in this way it was intended to get rid oi the victim’s body; but the hole was certainly not large enough for a grown person. Was it possible that it was to be the unblessed, una dorned tomb of some little one, done to death by pitiless eartlilyguardians,who found its frail, helpless life a burden to them ? That was too hideous a fancy. Suddenly the thought struck me that it might be a hid ng-place lor property. By Jove, the diamonds ! At that moment I reached the Mediterranee, and going up the broad stairs three at a time in my excitement, I knocked at the door ol the O’Connors’ sitting-room. Sir Frederick was alone, smoking, with a pa per in his hand. “ I felt sure that you would come in this af ternoon,” he said, as he pushed his cigar-case toward me, “so I put off going to the club. What is the In test intelligence ?” I first told him oi Aigunez’s opinion, that the jewels were still in Nice—an opinion which had now gained for me a double significance. Then I unfolded my own budget, and told him of all I had seen in the old cemetery which had been closed for so many years. 1 This put Sir Frederick into the wildest spir its. “ We’ve got them now, Blake !” he exclaimed, “and no mistake about it. They've run them selves into a nice trap. Of course, these are the rascals we're after. What do you say? Don't set my heart upon it, in case of disappointment. Nonsense I my dear fellow. Don’t you see they cannot get rid of diamonds like those in a hur ry, and not being able to leave the town puts them in a regular fix ? It is very dangerous for them to keep such valuable things about them, and n 'W, they flatter themselves that they have found an uncommonly safe hiding-place. Why, Fate must have led you by the very nose to that door this afternoon I” I laughed. “It is as well lor us, perhaps, that I did not feel her fingers, or things might have turned out differently. We had better settle our plan of action for to-night, as it won’t do to let this chance slip. How fortunate there is no mom. It will be as black as Erebus inside those high walls.” “Our best plan,” said Sir Frederick, “is, I think, to hide ourselves there as soon as it is dark. We may have a long time to wait, but then, again, we* may not, and we are much less likely to be observed if we slip in early in the evening.” “Then I will call for you, Sir Frederick, as soon as it is dark enough,” I answered. “And allow me to suggest that we do not take Aigunez into our confidence, for it will be a triumph in deed to cut out the far-famed French detective in bis own line of business.” I leit the hotel w.th a lighter heart than I had carried about with me for some time. Though I bad cautioned Sir Frederick not to be too san guine, 1 was myself convinced that we should have the diamonds in our p ssession before morning. I went back to my rooms, write some letters, dined, and then tried to quiet my excited mind by pacing up and down the sit ting-r om, smoking my usual post-prandial ci gar, till I thought it was sufficiently dark to venture forth. The church clocks were strking ten as I arrived at the Mediterranee Hotel, and I found Sir Frederick performing the same rest less quarter-deck constitutional on the pave ment outside. “So glad y u’ e come, Blake; I’m anxious to be off now. What is that in your hand ?’’ “ A small lantern,” I answered. “We shall find it useful.” “ Got a revolver ?” inquired Sir Frederick in a solemn whisper. “No,” said I, in an enually sepulchral voice, “fists are my weapons.’' “Poch!” returned be. “Oi what use are English fists when you ha e an Italian knife in your ribs ? Here we are !” The door was exactly as I had left it. There was not a sign of anybody near us, so we went quickly through, closing it again behind us. We stood for a minute silent and still, until our eyes had become more accustomed to the intense darkness round us; then we groped our way, with two or three stumbles against tombst nes and over mounds o earth, to the spot where I fancied the marked stone must be, and in a few seconds I discov ered it without doubt, by falling over it. As I was collecting myself and my scattered senses together again, after this sudden and unpleasant downfall, 1 heard close beside me a volley of muttered execrations from Sir Fred erick, who declared, in an agitated whisper, that he was sure he had caught a ghost or some thing very like it. At the risk of discovery, 1 opened the lantern, and for one second threw the light on the object he held in his bands. It was an unusually large bat, which, disturbed by our intrusion on its own domaid, must have flown or dropped (-a to Sir Frederick from the tree under which he was standing. He quickly shook it off, and without further adventure we concealed ourselves in some thick bushes near the grave. It would have required the eyes of a lynx to discover us, hidden as we were in the midst of a mass of evergreens, overgrown with a network of tangled creepers, and the high black wall behind. There we waited, keenly watchful. Not a leaf stirred. A perfectly dead silence lay over everything, as if the fairy of the Sleeping Beauty story of our childhood held nature bound under her spell. A moldy, damp, earthy vapor rose from the ground at my feet and seemed to weigh me down as if it were something solid. The clock of Notre Dame struck eleven. An other long weary hour went slowly by, and then the clock struck midnight. I believe I had sunk into a sort of doze, when every faculty was suddenly roused by bearing a soft move ment at the door, which was very gently opened. There was a pause, as if the new comers were listening ; the door was shut, and a lantern ehed its narrow streak ol light over the graves at their feet. One, two, three dark forms, two of whom carried between them what seemed to be a box. Sir Frederick gently nudged me—of course that contained the jew els. They came quietly to the side of the mys terious tombst ne, and setting their burden down on another one close by, they set to work an 1 quickly moved it to one side. I then dis covered, to my surprise, that the one that held the lantern was a woman. Their faces were deep in shad »w ; I did not once get a glimpse of their features. All their movements wore quiet and iree from haste ; they evidently had not the smallest notion that discovery was pos sible. The two men carefully laid the box in the hole prepared for it, covered it with mold, and, after replacing the stone, stretched them selves and held the lantern aloft, the better to survey their handiwork. It seemed very satis factory to their female companion, for I dis tinctly heard her breathe a sigh of unmistak able relief. They left the place as quietly as they had come to it, not having, as far as we Knew, spoken a word to each other the whole time. ft was our turn now. As soon as we were quite sure that we again had this dismal soli tude to ourselves, we emerged from our damp hiding-place and shook ourselves into shape, for naturally wc both felt very stiff and numb after our long, weird vigil. I opened my lan tern and we began eagerly to undo the work we had Just seen so neatly accomplished. It did not take long to remove the stone and scatter the thin layer of mold. In a lew minutes we had the box—a boy’s oblong deal play-box, clamped with h*on—lying on a tombstone before us. “ Open it, Blake,” said Sir Frederick. “ Locked,” I answered as I shook the lid. “Take my knife,” continued the baronet, as he drew from his pocket one of the formidable weapons at which his wife had laughed. It was a common lock and easily forced. As 1 threw back the lid Sir Frederick held up the lantern. “Take them out, Blake, and see it they are all there .; it will be a wonderful thing if none are missing. What on earth is that ? “it looks to me like a dog-collar,” 1 an swered, as I shook out a black cashmere shawl in which was wrapped a silver curb chain with a small silver bell attached to it. “Stolen from somebody else,” cried Sir Frederick. “Get on with the rest.” “ This beats everything,” said I, and drew forth a small, pale-blue garment, fashioned like a horse's body-cloth, with a monogram in gold thread at one side. “It is a dog’s coat. And what the deuce is this ?” “ A dog I” we exclaimed simultaneously. Carefully folded in a piece of soft linen lay the body of a small, silky-white, long-haired terrier—to judge by all its surroundings, a lady s cherished pet. For a lew seconds, dis gust and disappointment kept us silent; then .Sir Frederick broke out into a series of execra tions more amusing than effective. We had been beiooled by our own enthusiasm as amateur detectives, and at first were angry, but by and by came to see the situation in its more grotesque aspect. After giving vent to our feelings in a burst of suppressed laughter, we put the little pet back into his play-box coffin, being careful to see that everything was just as we had found it, and quickly shoveling the mold and pushing the tombstone over it, we crept out of the old cemetery. Our feelings were very different from those with which we had entered it. We were greatly cheered, how ever, on reaching the hotel to find a line from Aigunez, which had come during Sir Frederick’s absence : “ I am on lhe right track.” We heard no more for two days, when the de tective reappeared with a captive, a valet whom ir Frederick had dismissed before leaving England, who, knowing the great value of the ewels which Lady O’Connor was taking with her, had thought it worth his while to follow them, and t e ng a clever hand that sort ol work, had succeeded as wo have seen. NEW YORK DISPATCH, SEPTEMBER 5, 1886. LIGE PEAKE’S BOMB. DIDN’T MIX" THE~INCtREDIENTS ’ RIGHT THIS TIME. (From, the Atlanta Constitution.) During our civil war many attempts were made on both sides of the line to invent a de structive and death-dealing bomb of extraor dinary power. Some of the inventions were tolerably successful,-but they did not come up to the popular ideal. What was wanted was a machine that would exterminate men by regi ments and at the same time spread a conflagra tion that could not be extinguished by ordinary means. One of these bombs created quite a sensation in its day, but the experiment with it did not prove altogether satisfactory. It was invented by a private in the Georgia militia. His company was stationed on the Chattahoo chee to intercept Sherman’s march to the sea. To vary the monotony of camp life, Lige Peake sent to Atlanta and obtained a lot of chemicals, with which he proceeded to manufacture an ex plosive of great power. Lige was an adven turous character. He had been engaged in gold mining in Mexico, and one of bis tales was that while in that country he had seen a mountain split in two, from top to bottom, with a small tube containing an explosive manufactured by a German scientist. The secret had been re vealed to him and he was satisfied that he could get up a bomb that would wipe out the Yankees, hundreds at a time. Capt. Tump Limberley took a wonderful in terest in Lige’s pet hobby, and soon became a firm believer in it. The other officers in the company had their doubts, but kept them to themselves. One day Lige tried an experiment with his Greek fire. It was quite successful, burning so fiercely that water seemed to add to the flame instead of putting it out. He ex plained that the materials used were only a part of those contained in his proposed bomb. After the explosion of his missile the Greek fire part of the business would put in its work. Gradu ally Capt. Tump Limberley grew more and more interested. He detailed Lige to perfect his invention and assigned him a little log hut near the river. In this quiet laboratory Private Peake spent nearly all his time at work. Sev eral premature mishaps occurred, and at the end of a week the experimenter had all the hair on one side of his head singed off and both eye brows were missing. At last the day arrived when a public test was to bo made of the new weapon ot warfare. Capt Tump Limberley was the biggest and the happiest looking man pres ent. He had invited several officers to be on hand, and altogether there were about a dozen spectators. The place selected for the trial was a deep hollow near the river bank. The officers stood on the water’s edge and viewed Lige and his machine rather suspiciously. Lige bore himself with the dignity and solemnity of a man who was about to be blown into fame or eternity, be hardly knew which. He stood down in the hollow by a giant oak, one ot the monarchs ot the forest. A hole had been drilled through the base of the tree, and in this had been inserted the iron tube con tuining the mysterious explosive. A long fuse was attached to the tube, and Lige carried the loose end toward the river, where the officers were. “ I say, Lige,” yelled Capt. Tump Limberley. “ All right,” Cap.” “ But it may not be all right. Are you cer tain about that blamed thing ?” “ Ob, yes,” replied Lige; “it will work. It will tear that tree to flinders.” At this some of the crowd became a little nervous, and a major asked: “ Are you sure there is no danger ?” “ I don’t tnink there is,” said Lige. “ When touch off the fuse I’ll join you and we’ll all squat down behind that ridge until the explo sion is over. It is all right unless I have made a miscalculation. In that event it wouldn’t surprise me to see a hole blown clean down to the bowels of the earth.” His hearers shuddered, but it was too late to get away, and they all dropped down on their knees on the river side of the ridge. In a mo ment Lige was among them looking very pale. He exclaimed: “ I’ve fired the fuse !” “ Whishity—whish—fizz—whisbity—whish I” “ Great powers 1” grunted Capt. Tump Lim berly, who was then lying fiat on his stomach. “ Whishity—whish—zizz—whish—zip !” “ Great Goddlemighty !” groaned Capt. Tump Limberly. “ Whizzer—whish—zizz—zip—whisity—r-r-r --r!” “Kerohug!” It was Captain Tump Limberley who had plunged into the river, and was exhibiting nothing above the water but a bald head and a pair of big eyes. “ Zip—whish—sizz !” “ Kerchug !” This time it was the colonel of the regiment who had tumbled into the water. Then there was a succession of precipitous “ kerchugs,” and the entire crowd, including Private Peake, threw themselves into the water. “ Whisbity—whish—whiz I” For fully ten minutes this dismal and alarm ing noise kept up, and then all was silent. Five minutes more passed, and Capt. Tump Limber ley scrambled out of the water, swearing and spluttering. He was quickly followed by the other officers, also swear ng and spluttering. “ I say, Lige Peake,” roared the captain, “ what’s the mattor with your durned old ma chine ?” “ Well, cap., I busted this time,” answered Lige. “ I didn’t mix the ingredients right.” A hoarse murmur of dissatisfaction stirred the air. “ It’s my opinion,” said Capt. Tump Limber ley, “thatLige Peake is an infernal, good-for nothing rascal. ’ There was a general chorus of indorsement, and the drenched and disgruntled officers inarched back to camp. Lige begged for one more trial, but they were all against him, and the poor fellow was put to work digging trenches. Perhaps Capt. Tump Limberley was too im patient, too hasty. With a fair showing Lige Peake might have produced an explosive that would have scattered Sherman’s army and changed the whole course of the war. ex-gueeillTmosby. His Reception of a Correspondent in Hong Kong—Going Into the Lecture Field. (From the Cincinnati Times-Star.} In an interview with Joseph Arthur, one of the managers of the Matt Morgan Diorama Company, which opened at Heuck’son Monday, August 30th, he said : “ By the way, many of the old war characters are coming to the front this season in the char acter of showiolk; prominent among them is ex-guerilla John Mosby, who goes upon the lec ture stage this Winter. ‘Mosby’s debut,’ said Mr. Arthur, ‘ reminds me of a call I made upon him while he was United States Consul-General at Hong Kong, China.’” “ Your visit to old China was very interest ing ?” “Very. Old China always is. You know that Mosby, ‘the hero of the bush,’ was of late years our Consul-General there. I called upon him at the Consulate, and before ascending the stairway I discovered evidences ot malignant hatred of Mosby in detached words, sentences and earioatures written on the walls and door. The most expressive of these read thus : “ ‘ John Singleton Mosby, you are a > “The deposition from office of consular •thieves and tricksters by Mosby explained why they should thus pour out their vials of wrath. I rang the bell. A compradore came and took my card up stairs to the colonel. He returned almost immediately, and said : ‘ His Highness says bring your own card up.’ I did so. On entering his office I looked about in vain lor a man which my fancy had painted as a semi giant with ‘ grim-visaged war and wrinkled .rontispiece,’ a six-footer with a draw-can-sir air and bearing of a bombastic swashbuckler. But imagine my astonishment on seeing a bul let-beaded little runt, with close-cropped gray hair and smooth-shaven face. He sat with his heels upon a desk, his thumbs in his arm-pits, trying to spit tobacco-juice upon a lizard on the ceiling. He missed the lizard and struck my boot. “ What was my first impression? ‘Why,’ I mentally exclaimed, ‘ this lellow is not so terri ble, a.ter all.’ “ ‘ Who the h—l are you ?’ he said with a roar. “ ‘Nobody much,’ said I, with an I-want-to go-out sort of a tremble in my voice; ‘an Amer ican like yourself, in China.’ “ ‘ You are one of those d—d newspaper cor respondents, ain’t you ?’ “ I lied like the deuce at first to convince him I wasn’t, but when he bellowed, ‘ Yes, you are,’ I exclaimed incontinently: “ ‘Yes, I guess I am,’and sat down feeling rather faint. “ You see, the little runt made up in voice and positiveness what he lacked in physical at tributes. “ ‘ Where are you from?’ “ ‘ From Indianapolis,’ said I, with a magnifi cently ghastly attempt at a smile. Just then he squirted a stream of (nigger head) tobacco juice out of the window on a passing Chinaman. I felt easier, determined to get out before he wanted to again. “ ‘ Indianapolis, eh ?’ “ ‘ Y’es, in that city where would-be vice presidents most do vegetate as prolific as mistletoes and other parasites on trees.’ “I hoped that my joke would convulse him with laughter, but it didn’t. He frowned and I began to wish 1 hadn’t come. He rose to his feet and assumed a kindlier tone, which made my heart glad, and I begun of course to get fresh. “ ‘Do you know General George H. Chap man, of indianapolis?’ he asked. When I in formed him I did, he looked straight at me— not at me—through me, and in measured tone said, ‘Describe him.’ “ I did minutely, even to Chapman’s gold rimmed specs and mannerisms. He seemed convinced, and from that time until I left he treated me with much consideration. “ ‘ chapman wanted me to surrender to him in the Shenandoah Valley,’ said Mosby, ‘ but 1 sent him word I wouldn't, and Chapman got mad. Subsequently, however, I met Chapman and a bond of great friendship existed between us until his death. 1 would have surrendered long before I did, but r leaied the late of Mar shal > ey.' “ ‘ Heiw do you like China, colonel ?’ “ ‘ i don’t like it quite as well as Napoleon did the island of St. Helena; nor as well as Robin son C rusoe the island ot Juan Fernandez.’ “ ‘How does China like you?’ “ ‘ You may judge by what you see written on the walls below.’ “ 1 told him I had read some unpolished things on the door. “‘ I caught a lellow at it the other day and stuck a spear in his back after chasing him a quarter of a mile.’ [This spear was a Zulu assegai, presented by a merchantman who brought it kom South At s rioa, and there presented it to Mosby.] “ Mosby was arraigned before a British mag istrate, pleaded his own case and got off. The other lellow got out of China at once. “ ‘Are you a Republican or a Democrat, col onel ?' ” I asked. “ ‘I am a Republican,’ said he, with warmth, ‘and will always be.’ “These outspoken words from a veritable modern Ingomar disarmed my prejudice. I told him so. “ ‘Il all Americans would go abroad,’ said he, ‘they would return with a higher appreciation of their country and less desire to disrupt it.’ “ Mosby was a good sort of fellow, alter all, as was his dinner next day. How he will ‘catch on’ in the lecture field deponent sayeth not.” A AVONDERFU£ VISION. The Haunted Ship that Was Bun Down by a Phantom Craft. (From the San Francisco Call,) “ Just clap your eye on that, mate.” The speaker was a seaman of the old school, who had, with ejaculations of wonder and sur prise, been hauled up the incline at Telegraph Hill in the same car with the writer, and bad for several moments been gazing through the big telescope of the tower. “ Say, sonny,” continued the old man, ad dressing the boy in attendance, as I took my place at the glass, “ how many foot o’ cable nave you got out?” “ None,” retorted the youth, sullenly. “ What!” exclaimed the old mariner, looking around, as the building shook and creaked under the strong east wind. “It always creaks and groans,” said the boy. “ Oh, it do, do it?” responded the sailor. “ Well, you keep clear o’ that hatch., ’cause in case anything gives, I may want to make a break for it. What do you see, mate ?” turning tome. 1 saw nothing and said so. “ Don t ye see a kinder dim outline across the bay ?” I shifted the glass slightly, and made out a faint something that might have been in the deepening mist a large ship beating out of the Golden Gate. “ Ye see her?” asked the old man again. “ I see something,” I answered. “Well,” he said, looking around suspiciously, then drawing near and speaking in a sepulchral tone, “ it’s - notin’.” “ Nothing I” I repeated; “ what do you mean, man ?’ “ What I mean is this : You reckon you clap ped your eyes on a full-rigged ship ; but it was nothin’ but a ghost—a ghost of the old clipper ship ‘Tennessee.’ You think I’m a hocuspoc usih’,” he added, “ but I ain’t. Drop in here and I’ll tell ye how 1 came to think so. Ye see,” he continued, as we took seats near a window, “s me years ago I slipped from a port in the Malay peninsula for the china coast, and so on to ’Frisco. Cn the way up the China b'ea we had bad luck, got caught in a typhoon and near ly foundered, and in the gale the skipper got ugly and laid out a man with a belayin’pin. The man died, and from that day all luck left us. I didn’t say nothin’, but I knew we was in for it; but the old man owed me a pile, so I bad to keep to her, and stick I did. “ We left the China coast with a load of tea, bound for ’Frisco, and it was my watch. I was a-standin’ on the lo’castle, right near the weather cathead, jest as sober as I am now, when what I’m going to spin you took place, it was blowin’ a good ten-knot breeze, and everything except the royals was drawin’, and we were makin f for home, so that I’d a-swore my old woman had holt of the painter. It was as fine a night as you want to see, when all to once I clapped my eye on a big clipper ship headin’ right for us. She wa'n’t one hundred yards away, and as God’s my witness, she was c imin' with everything a-drawin’, dead agin the wind. I see her jest as plain as I see you set tin’ there, mate. I heard the reefpoints* on her fo’sail singing; I see the foam a-bilin’ an’ slashin’under her ent water, and her sails was that white and bright that they shone out like fire. “ I took all this in in a second, and then 1 sings out : * Hard a-port ! Up with her, lad.’ The watch came a-tumblin’ up the hatch, the ship fell away and then, like a shot, she was on us. ‘ Ship ahoy !’ I sings out ; * ship ahoy !’ I was hangin’ in the shrouds then. ‘ Port your helm, for God's sake, ship ahoy !’ On she came, and I turned to sing out to the men, and I was ready to take her chains. I see her flyin’ jibboom over my head, I heard the roar, and just then I felt a grip on my shoulder, and turn in’, 1 see the skipper. ‘ What’s the matter with ye ?’ he said. I could not speak, so help me ! for the ship was gone, and there we were a bowlin’ along just as if nothin’ had happened. ‘ We was about run down by a ship,’ says 1, finally. ‘ You’re drunk,’ says the the skipper. 1 began to think I was, mate, and didn't say nothin’. I s’pose you've heard of folks gettin drunk from bein’ thirsty ? Well, I thought mebby I had that, for as true as sailin’, I hadn't had a drop o’ rum for a month. But when 1 came to talk it over, the hull watch see her ; every man of ’em, and you’ve seen her to-day. That’s her ye just clapped your eyes on through the glass; the same identical old craft, and nothin’ but the double of the ship. Short, that’s what she were, and when the mate let on to the skipper that he see her, tho old man swore that he’d clap him in irons the next time he mentioned it. But it wan’t no use fighting solid facts. Four nights afterward it was my trick at the wheel, and the skipper was walkin up and down the quarter deck cussin’ and swearin’ about the wind that was a-Sailing oft and on, and kept a-taeking us back. All to once 1 see a sail astern and singa out, ‘Sail ho!’ ‘ What d’ye mean, you old swab ?’ saya the skipper. ‘ Swab or no swab, there she is,’ says 1, and ahe was haulin’ up on us that fast that in a second she was almost aboard. The skip per made a jump for the rail, and sings out, ‘ Ship ahoy ! bear away 1’ “ You could a-beard him halfway to the Sand wich islands, but on she come, and when she boarded us, he fell back in a dead fit-like, and I saw his eyes sot in the light of the binnacle just like a m idman’s.” “And the ship?” I asked. “ Well, I see ahe went right over ua, or we right through her like a cloud like, and that was the last we see ot her for a week; then ahe sailed abreast on ua for an hour or so; that fixed the old man; he went ravin’ mad, and tried to heave himself overboard, so we laahed him in the cabin, and the mate took charge, and that was the last of her. “ What do I think of it? Well, I ain’t no phil osopher,” answered the old sailor, “but, mates, the hands, from the galley up, thought that that ere craft was the old Tennessee’s double, and her skipper was the man our mad skipper killed by rappin’ him over the head. “ What is she doin’ here ? Well, the skipper came ashore here and went East by rail and got cured, and I hear he’s back now, lookin’ for an other ship. If you see a man short and thick, with a red face and billycock eye and wearin’ a glazed hat, a man what is always dodgin’ your eye and lookin’ ’round a-watchin’ and spyin’ tor something that ain’t never found, if you see such a chap along the docks some mornin’, that’s him; and what’s more, this ’ere double is a-lyin’ oft and on the Golden Gate to chase him out, and she'll toiler him, mate, till he goes on board. Perhaps you’ll think I’m oft' my sound in’s, but I ain’t, ’ and the old man looked around as a terrific gust struck the tower, and macle for the hatch that led down the building, ;<nd a few moments later was sliding d*own tho incline. The story might have been told by a crank, and would pass very well as a yarn of the Fly ing Dutchman stamp, but curiously enough, I ( had heard a similar story from several persons, and once from a gentleman of some reputation, who, however, being a spiritual st, gave some supernatural s gnificance to what he saw, which was, in point of fact, a very common phenome non, if whalers are to be believed. Whenever these huge animals are found, or extraordinary large schools of fish, what are called “ Izcka ” are seen, exudations of various kinds that col lect upon the surface, and under certain condi tions produce a gas, which becomes luminous and glides over the water, assuming various fantastic forms to suit the imagination of the observer. Thus the luminous cloud or mist takes the shape of craft of various kinds and performs impossible feats in the water of the Atlantic and Pacific coasts. “If a person was inclined to be supersti tious,” said a gentleman recently, “ the sights 1 observed between here and the Sandwich Is lands would afford him abundant material with which to exercise his fancy. As soon as night set in the water seemed to ignite and turn to fire. The bows were covered withit, and every drop that fell upon the deck appeared like mol ten gold, and the sails assumed a ghostly hue. I took up some of the water in a bucket, but there was nothing there, and it was a mystery.” The phosphorescence of the Pacific is very sim ilar to that of the Atlantic, and is owing to the presence of innumerable minute animals that in some strange way—as yet a secret—give out a strangely brilliant light. These luminous forms can be found by careful search, and con sist of worms, jelly-fish and crustaceans of va rious kinds. One of the most interesting is a little animal called the salpa, which has a fac ulty at times of joining with others and forming chains, often several hundred feet in length, and when viewed from the topmast of a vessel present the appearance of fiery sea serpents winding their way over the sea. The jelly fishes are equally brilliant, and large ones pre sent a magnificent spectacle, especially on the eastern coast, in the Fall, when they are ground up and beat upon the rocks, converting the entire shore into a scene of splendor diffi cult to describe. Another animal, sometimes met with by ves sels plying between the Sandwich '.Biands and San Francisco is columnar in form, and is known to 8 ilors as the “fire-barrel;” in fact, they resemble long, narrow, red hot fire-bar reis. One vessel, further to the south, met a school ot them several miles in extent, and when she sailed into them a light was produced that was said to be appalling m its effect. The light of the stars was almost completely dim med; a wave of fire seemed to gather about the bow, and every rope and halyard cast a shadow . upon deck, as the limbs of trees do under the electric light. With ail this seeming fire it is a light without heat, a seeming combustion without loss of matter, a phenomenon that occurs in the ani mal, vegetable and mineral kingdoms, in li'e and death, in growth and in decay. Dead fish es often gleam with a pale light. Living ones from the deep sea are provided with luminous organs upon their head and sides to illuminate the deep caverns they inhabit. The dead fibre of wood gleams with a soft glow,while near Salt Lake a limestone can not be touched without giving out a soft light, much to the astonish ment oi the workers in it. Star fishes and sea urchins are often luminous. The marigold of the garden, the oriental poppy, various toad stools, and ferns emit light; m fact, this curious phenomena is found everywhere, and even the worm is said to be phosphorescent by some. THE NEWPORT GIRL. A Compound of Energy, Beauty and Grace Critically Considered. (From the Boston Transcript.) The girl seats herself comfortably in the ham mock, and, swinging gently to and fro the while, proceeds to give us the latest news and the social surmises of the day. She keeps us all amused tor hall an hour, and then, pleading an engagement to play tennis, drives away in her smart mail phaeton, smiling farewell from beneath her astonishing hat, whose shape and size surpass any effort in modern millinery that I have ever met. We saw her at the beach this morning. She stayed in the water fully halt an hour, and most of that time she was swimming a race with my dude, who had set aside his prejudices against surf bathing for the nonce in order to accept her challenge to swim a race. She has told ua that sho rode nine miles before eight o’clock to day, and that she plays a tennis match this afternoon, goes to a dinner to-night and a little dance afterward. She is nineteen years old, and is possessed of a strong, straight figure, well developed and muscular, but graceful in every curve and movement ; a comely enough face, with large eyes, too heavy features, a clear-tanned skin and small white teeth. She looks men in the eyes squarely, a little too hardily perhaps, and can handle a catboat and a crochet needle with equal skill. She tells you frankly that she has no accom plishments, and it is easy to soe that when she talks on any subjects save those of people, horses, dogs or tennis, she has got up her con versation out of the Century, that salvation oi dull male diners out and bright women who have no time to read books. She is as strong as a young Amazon, and comes of a race of women who have always ruled in their social circle. Her mother and grandmother were great belles before her. They are both here, and one sometimes meets the three driving to gether. The two elder women, each of whom married at eighteen, have the air of command that a woman who has ruled by her birthright of beauty never quite loses, but it is a gentle and gracious imperiousness that one reads in their delicate face?, wonderfully alike in their setting of iron-gray and silver-white hair. Will this scion of the rising generation, with her athletics and her knowledge of horses, her robust health, and her splendid appetite, carry on tho traditions of her house ? A year will show. She is “ very different,” and in her phy sique shows a great advantage over the deli cate mother and more fragile bonne maman, intellectually and spiritually. I fear there is a distinct retrogression, and this is, I take it, quite in accordance with Darwinian science. Vww w • We pity the lawyer who has. to undertake the miserable work of EXAMINING A DEAF WITNESS. Several years ago, whi’e Antrim county, Mich., was in a primitive state of civilization, a breach of promise suit came before the Circuit Court at Elk Rapids. The plaintiff, one Eliza J. Spooner, al leged that William Smith had trifled with her young affections seriously much. He had, by promise to marry, induced her to give up one Samuel Jones, who was also an admirer of hers, and who, under the smart of her refusal, had since joined himself in the bonds of holy matrimony to Lucy Skinner, and, in consequence, was now out of market, which the suing party claimed had blighted her fondest hopes, and cast about $125 worth of gloom over her future. The plaintiff’s principal witness was “Uncle” Dave Baglay. He was over seventy and very deaf. One of his peculiarities was to always answer a question, and it made no difference whether be un derstood it or not, his reply was ready. The lawyer for the defense was a little,asthmatic, choleric man named Somers, and this was his cross examination of Uncle Bagley: “ Mr. Bagley, you have taken a solemn oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, aud nothing but the truth. You say that upon a certain night you saw said Eliza J. Spooner and William Smith—the man now before you—together. You also said that they were seated upon Mr. John Spooner’s back porch. Now you will please state to the jury the exact date of this occurrence.” •’ Lizy Jane Spooner was a sittin’ on Bill Smith’s lap, an’ he ‘•No, no. Hold on !” interrupted Somers, sharply. “Answer my question directly and unequivocally.” “Bill had his arras around her a huggiu’her,” pursued the old man complacently. The defense glared angrily at the witness, and then glanced around the court room. Every one wore a look of supreme felicity that was little cal culated to sooth his ruffled tamper. Turning to the witness again be said emphatically: “ You do not seem to catch my meaning. I simply asked the date of this occurrence.” “ Yaas, that’s w'at I said. Kissed her forty-seven times in less’n twenty minutes, an’ then Somers pawed the atmosphere excitedly and howled: “ When did this occur ?” “Oh! W’y d dn’t’© say so afore, young man?” Then, reflectively; “Waal, bein’ *s't I’m under oath Ish d jedge't might a b’en a leetle arter 11 o’clock ’t night.” The lawyer nearly choked, but seeing that he was fast losing ground with the jury, he partially ral lied aud said quite slowly: “ I mean the date. What was the date of this ?*’ “ Oh ! I sh'd jedge she sot on his lap half an hour, ’n then they changed off’n he sot on—” This was too much. The jurymen were all con vulsed with laughter. The judge’s solemn face wideced into a grin., Somers jumped up aud began peaking excitedly. Uncle Dave watched him for two or three min utes, and then, thinking that he was ta:king about Miss Spooner, he squeaked out: “Now you look a here, young feller, don’t 'e never say nothin' agin 'Lizy Jane. ’Lizy Jane’s es flqe er gal’s ever trod shoe leather. ’Taint nothin’ agin her it Bill Smith coddled her up to think he’d splice up with her.” But the old man was removed from the box, and as he walked down the room he growled out: “'E young fly trap ! 'E may fool a young gal out’en her teller, but 'e can’t cod a nold man like Uncle Dave Bagley. No sir eel” The following is a brief relation of A CONNECTICUT TRANSACTION. They tell a story, said to be a true one, of a farm hand in Ellington years ago who was so mashed by the rosy cheeks and bright eyes of a schoolma'am boarding with his employer that he one day re marked with a sigh to the latter: “I would give a dollar to kiss her.” “All right!” said the complacent employer, “you may.” When settling time came the man found his cash $1 short. Why did you take out that dollar ?” was asked. “Oh ! that was for kissing the schoolma'am, ” was replied. “But I didn’t kiss her,” protested the man. “Well, if you didn’t it was your own fault. I gave you leave.” It is said that the father of Benjamin Frank lin was very prosy and long-winded in the blessings which he asked on the food of which he and his family were about to partake. One day he was salting down a barrel of pork, when the young philosopher said to him, “ Father, couldn’t you say grace over all the pork now ?” The doctor, of whom the following incident is related, was no doubt AN ADMIRER OF BEN. FRANKLIN. Among the many laughable stories told of the late Dr. Kemper, of Nashota, Wis., is the following : On his way home to dinner, one day, meeting one of the divinity students, he cordially invited the young man to accompany him, adding that be did not know as there would be much to eat. The invitation was accepted, and immediately upon being seated at table the doctor commenced carving a boded bam that was doing duty for the second or third time. “ Why, my dear,” exclaimed his wife, in sur prise, “ you have forgotten something. You have not asked the blessing.” “ Yes, I have, too,” bluffly responded the doctor. “ I’ve asked the Lord to bless this old ham all I’m a-going to.” The Dakota farmer’s head was very level when he announced that WOMEN NEVER HAD BUSINESS TACT. “John,” said the wife of a Dakota settler when he came home irom a trip to town, “old Bill is dead at last.” ••Well, that’s good—l Towed when I turned him out in the pasture the other day, that if he didn’t die 'fore Winter I’d have to shoot him. It don’t pay to keep a hose when it gits as old and feeble as he was. He 'peared extra weak this mornin'.” “Oh, be didn’t die that way—some Chicago hunt ers came along and shot him by mistake.” “Shot him, hey ? Well, that’s blame smart. How much did you get for him ?” “ Why, 1 told ’em it was all right, that we wanted him to die.” “Great thunder, woman ! Don’t you know noth in’? Why in blazes didn’t you tell 'em he was our lamily buggy hose, and worth one hundred and filty dollars ? Great snakes I It seems as if women never had no bus ness ’bout ’em, anyhow. You might just as well have told ’em that he was a blooded boss, and that yer husband was county sheriff, and got one hunffred dollars of good honest money.” This scholar hadn't as much desire to see a horse race as his schoolmaster, or the Estelline (Dakota) Bell is mistaken. The master whipped him because THE BOY DIDN’T ADVERTISE THE RACE. One morning last week, the son of a prominent Estelline man arrived at school about a half hour Jate. “See here,” said the teacher, with considerable e npbasis’, “ you’re tardy just ..thirty minutes. Htve yon an excuse ?” “ Why, yes. sir; you-er-you know some fellers was ba\ing a little boss race down at the track, and 1 w mt down, and ’ “Been to a horse race, have yon? Come here sir !” aud he grasped me boy by the collar. " W-w-w’-y, I-I t-thought you wouldn’t care,” blubbered the youngster, “if I only ataid just a few minutes I” ” Thought I wouldn’t care—well, I'll show you. Why didn’t you come up and let me know about tho race, and I would have dismissed school so we all could have seen it ? I’ll teach you to remember next time when there is a chance for the scholars to improve their minds I” and he reached fora two-foot rule. In most arguments there are two sides io the question. It proved so in this case. Though the parson was away ahead in the beginning of the intellectual contest HE •• TOOK WATER ” TOWARD THE CLOSE. The Rev. Dr. Bulleworth, one of the best known and also one of the best men in Arkansaw, is a great believer in personal liberty. In his home the doctor allows his children to govern their own actions, and when any question involving the comfort of the family arises he submits a proposition which the children discuss. “I try,” says the doctor, “to rule my household pretty much as the great Gladstone rules his, and in my family a quotation from Glad stone always has its effect.’’ • The other day, while the doctor and his family were in the dining-room, where after dinner they usually sit and pass upon matters of importance, Henry, the elder son, said: “ Father, 1 see that the Gladstones are still argu ing. The last subject under discussion was a wasp- It appears that while they were talking about some thing, one of the boys got up to kill a wasp which was buzzing at the window. Mr. Gladstone argued that the wasp bad aright to live, while his eon de clared that it should be killed. The old gentleman’s side won and the wasp was set at liberty.” “I am very glad to hear it,” replied the doctor— ■glad to know that the great man will argue in fa vor of anything’s life.” “Yes; but, father, I think that we waste all the sympathy we bestow upon wasps.” “ I can convince you that you are wrong, my son. Ab, there is a wasp at the window ! Now, my chil dren, let ns determine whether it must die.” The doctor took the side of mercy, Henry ar rayed himself on the side of immediate extermina tion, and, with the doctor’s wife and the children as a jury, the mill of justice began. The minister quoted many passages of Scripture, and his bald head glowed with a benevolent warmth. Henry did his best, but it wa& plain that the old gentleman had the best of the argument, and the jury, without retiring from the sofa, grant ed the wasp a right to live. . “ Now, Henry,” said the preacher, “ take a stick, conduct the wasp to the door, and let it fly away. This should be a lesson to you, my son. That wasp has as much right to live as you have.” Henry did as directed, but just as he was passing his father, the wasp flew from the stick and alight ed on the top of the minister's bald head. “He'll not sting me.” The wasp raised his wings and “tucked” his tail. The minister yelled and his eyes bulged out. Un able to longer endure the pain, which the wasp con tinued to inflict, he exclaimed; “Come here, Henry, and kill that infernal thing ! There,” he added, when the wasp had been killed, “I am done. If a man ever catches me defending a wasp any more, I’ll grant him the privilege of kick ing me down stairs.” The Arkansaw Traveller gives an old negro’s witty reason WHY HE WAS SLOW. “ Helloa, Uncle Boggy,” said a young negro, speaking to an old negro whom he overtook in the street, “ W’yn't yer walk faster an’ not let me pass yer dis way ?" “ Hole on er minit,” the old man requested. “Yer’ve seen er man totin’ er sack o’ co’n, hain’t yer ?” “Oh, yas, sah.” “ An’ yer s seed er man totin’ er empty sack, I spoze ?” “ I sho has.” “ Ah, hah; an' didn’ yer alius notice dat de man whut ain’ god nothin’ in his sack walks faster den de one dat’s got a full sack ?” “ Yas. sah.” “ Wall, yerseTs one o’dem men wider empty sack. Run er long, son, fur yer ain’t got weight er uuff on yer shoulders to hoi’ yer on de groun’.” The young ladies of our day are not to bo re lied upon. They are flirts, they are fickle, and they are guilty of the enormous crime ot FOOLING THE DUDES. Monti Montgomery is a young min with a heart, and the other morning he aj peared at the club greatly dejected. ” What’s the matter, old man ?” asked Roberts, a man without a heart. “ I am bwoken-hearted,” he said, mournfully, *• No ? You don’t say ? How did the fracture oc cur ?” “Well, don’t you know, I have been devoting my self some time to Miss Richesse, and lawst night 1 pwoposed, don’t you know.” “ Ah, indeed ?” “Yes; I took her hand in mine, that pwetty white hand, don’t you know ; 1 looked into her iovely bwown eyes ; I told her I loved her moah than tongue could uttah ; that she was beautiful and good and all tho wowld to me, and I awsked her to maiwy me, don’t you know.” “ And what did she say ?*’ “Not a deucid word, don’t you know j she just wung one of those hawwid chestnut bells on me and walked away with that w&soally and fwesh lieu tenant who has been pwowling awound the lawst month, don’t you know.” This tramp was not one of the usual sort. If he took no delight in work, HE HAD ESTHETIC TASTES. “ But why don’t you go to work ?” asked the lady of the bouse. “ Ah, madam I” exclaimed the tramp, “ how gladly would I do so. but unfortunately there is nothing to do in my line now.” “ Poor man,” said the lady pityingly, pouring out another bowl of coffee and piling up his plate afresh, “and what was your business ?” “ Madam,” replied the fellow, after having dis posed of the victuals, “I am a professor of roller skating, but there is nothing doing now, nothing &t all.” ■■ But did you make money while the business was good ?” “ Ah, that’s just it, madam ; my usual luck ; I didn’t enter the profession until all the rinks had closed. Some men are always a day too late. Good morning, madam ; if you’ll be good enough to bold the dog for a few minutes I'll tear myself away and go to some shady spot where I can forget my sor row in slumber.” SCINTILLATIONS. The morning cocktail is an early rye sir. The apothecary is a vial and pestle-nt fellow. Practical jokes are like lung troubles, there is a pain in the jest. Mr. Peel, Speaker of the House of Commons, being a Liberal, is not an Orange Peel. Why is the author the queerest of animate? Because his tale comes out of his head. A Frenchman has at last fallen in a duel. It is thought he slipped on a piece of banana peel. A watering-place young lady is a good deal like a brewer. She cannot get along without the hops. The fat woman at a dime museum may not be “all wool," but she is generally “a yard wide”—or more. Barkeepers say they find by observing their customers that “ a man may smile and smile and stiH be willing.” When a Narragansett Pier bathing dress gets out of fashion, its fair owner can always sell it for a doll’s dolman. Sunday School Teacher —'* Methuse lah lived nine hundred years.” Boy—“ That was pretty tough on his sons-in-law.” A Philadelphia paper says that “bath ing is not fashionable among the best people now.” We trust that the assertion refers only to Philadel phia. Prohibition—A law compelling a man to eater the back door when ho wants a beverage for bis •• oft infirmities,” and so forth—especially the latter. Bookbinder— “ Will you have it bound in Turkey or Morocco?” Purchaser—“Oh, mercy, no! What is the use of sending it away ofl’ there’ Have it bound in New York.” Full many a man, both young and old, Is sent to his sarcophagus By pouring water, icy cold, Adown his warm ffisophagus. “ Why are two buttons put on the back of a man’s coat?” asks a writer. Don’t know: but they come in mighty handy sometimes, when there is one missing in the front. “ Oh, if my creditors were only like my sins 1” exclaimed Mr. Brown to his wife. “ Be cause my creditors call and catch me every day but my sins always find me out.” Policemen are very impartial When arrests they are making; They put men in jail for safe-keeping, And also for safe-breaking. “I thought, Miss 8., that you hated that flirty minx ; yet you went up and kissed her.” “So Ido hate her, and that’s why I did it. Look at the freckles on her chin where I kissed the powder off.” “ Well, Herr Yager, how do you like the new postmaster ?” “I dun know ouf he vas petter as dot odder feller, der vomans bostmaster. I dond any more letters got now as before, und der brice vas schoost der same.” Miss Lowneck—“Dear me, I’m so sorry I can’t go to the hop to-night." Sympathiz ing friend—•• Why ? What’s the matter ?” Miss L. —“ W’hy, my dear, I fell against the chair this morning and bruised myself right in the small of the back.” “ Emma Abbott has purchased two young Florida alligators," writes a Philadelphia editor; “but if she succeeds in teaching them to open their mouths as wide as she opens hers when she sings, she’ll have to put corsets on them to keep them from splitting wide open.” A little four-year-old miss while at the seashore chanced to get a mouthful of sea water. After thinking some minutes she said, “Mamma, do ’e fishes live in 'at water all ’e time ?” “ Yes, dear; what makes you ask ?" “ Why, I was jus finking ’at they must get awful firsty,” was the reply. Maud —“ Mr. Allround is a sort of universal genius, isn’t he?” Mabel—“ Yes he is exceedingly clever.” Maud—“ He isj something of a lawyer and something of a musician. What is his profession?” Mabel —“Well, the lawyers call him a musician, and the musicians call him a lawyer.” A Reasonable Supposition : Visitor— “ Well, Jones has paid the debt of nature.” Mer chant- “Why, when was'he hung?” Visitor— ‘Hung? What do you mean,? He died a natural dea h “ Men h nt **(»h > supposed that nature must ha .»• j orteir-her debt -s the rest of us always “You sit on your horse like a butcher,” said a pert young officer, who happened to be of royal blood, to a veteran general who was somewhat bent with age. “It is highly probable,” responded the old warrior, with a grim smile; “it is because all my life I’ve been leading calves to the slaughter.” “Bailiff,” said an Arkansas Judge one day last week to the officer in charge of the jury, “ will you please inform the jury that there will be a horse race in Merrick’s pasture at three o’clock ?” The jury had been out for forty-eight hours, but in less than thirty minutes they came into court with a verdict. It was Summer. And Long Branch. Ho came there. We met. He was handsome and hasty; and I a coquette. He proposed. I refused him. I loved him. But then, I thought—don’t you see ?—he would ask me again: But he didn’t. Clara writes from the seashore': “There are only a few young men here, and they are so in tensely and wonderfully fresh that even the mighty Atlantic, in which they bathe frequently, has no effect on them. I try to treat them coldly, but tho weather is so warm and their hides so thick that my efforts are wasted; beside, they are liable to transfer their attentions to the Boodle girls, and I could not endure that. I long for the end of the season.” I have a philosophic friend Who is a shrewd observer. And prompt to see the way things tend, And speak his mind with fervor. The other day I ate some bread My boy had just rejected, And seeing this, my good friend said, “ Yes, that't to be expected.” “ The crusts of life, our children give To us—nor tax their powers; We take their leavings while we live; They, when we die—take ours I” ’TWAS EVER THUS. AN INDUSTRY THAT 18 NEVER SUSPENDED. (From the Boston Record.) There is one industry that is never suspend ed even in the deadest part of the season, and though it is carried on to an enormous extent at the seaside, it flourishes right straight along in the city. It is practiced chiefly through the air, and irom window to window, and strangers from abroad say that Boston seems to have a great specialty in this line. No doubt the su perior narrowness of our streets is one of the stimulating causes, and yet it is practiced as much at the South End, where the streets are fairly broad, as it is at the West End, where they are of various degrees of narrowness. The business is organized in this way: A young woman sits at an open upper window during certain hours of a day and fans herself, or sews or paints or plays on a guitar, or sim ply holds her bands and looks out. A young man sits at an open Jupper window across the street day that the young woman sees the young man looking at her she pays no attention to him. and Ipokf a.| the young woman. On the first The next day she appears conscious of him. The thirA day she looks sideways at him, gets up and gees away, comes back and sits down again, looks up at him, and then looks straight down. The next day the young man waves a hand kerchief, whereupon the young woman gets up and goes away, but comes back with a handker chief in her hand, which she does not wave. The next day the young man starts a smile, and the young woman half starts one. The next day the young man’s smile has become fully devel oped, and the young woman’s is where his was the day before. The next day the young man wears a tremendous grin, and the young woman a grinlet. Then handkerchiefs are waved, and divers accidental signals exchanged. The busi ness is now well under way. In the meantime each party has been dying of curiosity to know about the other. There have been mysterious questionings of people in the house, and all sorts of surmises and guesses, the majority of which are upset by some unfore seen behavior on the part of the person across the way. Finally, the young woman, who is going out on a little shopping errand, happens to sit down on the window-sill for an instant, quite thoughtlessly, with her hat in her hand. I’he young man instantly appears at the oppo site window with his hat and cane in his hand. Thump, thump I There is a heart beating on the part of somebody. But she goes out just the same, and on the next corner she is over taken by him, who acts a trifle sheepish as he takes off his hat when he comes Up; but he con ducts the thing briskly enough after all, and there is a very fascinating promenade, and after that the window department of the business is intensified beyond what either grinning party dreamed of in the first place. THE PIOUS OLiTFELLOW. HOW HE DOESN’T LET HIS BOAT ON SUNDAY. (From the Boston Record.) On the bank of a pretty lake, in one of out suburban towns, there lives a thrifty and pious old fellow, who has a boat which he lets tor 25 cents a “ let.” Ou week days the two oars are in a ehed near the bank of the lake; on Sundays the boat is pulled up on the bank, and the oars taken out and put in the basement of the house. The old man doesn’t let the boat on Sunday, and this is the way he doesn’t let it: One Sunday lately a couple of young men came to the old man’s residence. He was mov ing about the yard with his hands behind his hack, looking vacantly out on the water. The young men went to the basement of the house, got out the oars, proceeded to the shore, launched the boat and rowed away, while the old man still stood in full view with his hands behind his back. Atter they had rowed as long as they liked they oame’back, drew up the boat, returned the oars to the basement of tho house without a word and went away. The old man was still moving about aud gazing out on the river. Next day one of the young men called at the house and gave the owner of tho boat a quar ter. “That’s for the boat yesterday,” he said. The old man took the quarter, deposited it in his trousers pocket with great deliberation, and then said with equal deliberation: “ Waal, I don’t let my boat Sundays I” TRADE jfrjgy MARK, The only perfect substitute for Mother's milk. 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