New York dispatch. [volume], September 19, 1886, Page 7, Image 7

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

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IN THE NIGHT.
BY MARGARET C. BISLAND.
In the night when siieuce reigneth;—
Sleep ana silence utterly—
Truth no more to falsehood feignetb,
Love no more her wist restraineth,
Haste, beloved ! The white moon waneth—
Sleep and dreaming wait on thee.
Through the room doth brightness hover; —
Bloom and brightness born of peace—
Hope hath found her heart’s recover.
Fair art thou as snow peak's cover.
Kiss me, sweet! The night is over; —
Sleep and dreaming soon must cease—
Brief the night, ah I brief and fleeting; —
Closer, red lips, close to mine—
Parting cometh after greeting,
Ghostly halting, then retreating
Day ! These golden dreams defeating;—
Dreams and visions so divine 1
A CRUmWIOCY.
J3Y AN ENGLISH EX-DETECTIVE.
I had just got my first step in the detective
service when I was placed on the most repuls
ive duty I ever had assigned me. I had to
watch a certain doctor’s establishment in the
vicinity of Tottenham Court-road, and to do
this effectually I was instructed by the inspec
tor in charge of the case to take lodgings right
opposite.
1 sat for days grumbling to myself behind the
curtains of my first-floor apartment, and dur
ing that period I could make nothing out of
what seemed to please my superior officer
amazingly. 1 had almost made up my mind to
throw up the job and the “ force ” in disgust,
when one evening, in the dusk, I saw a woman
suddenly appear at one of the windows of the
corresponding floor of the doctor's house. She
seemed very much excited and rather hand
some, and I became more interested when she
appeared, with nervous fingers, to endeavor to
push back the “ catch,” with a view of throw
ing up the lower sash.
Before she could succeed, I saw a tall man
with bushy whiskers and mustache come up
behind and brutally seize her by the hair and
l?ull her forcibly back into the room. I leaped
up at once and hurried out into the street with
no object very clearly defined in my mind. The
ground-floor of the house in which I lived was
a bookseller's shop, and the owner was stand
ing in the doorway. To him I related what I
had «een. Instead of being horrified, as I ex
pected, he simply smiled and said that he be
lieved that Dr. Hoskyn was very skillful in men
tal oases and in inebriation, and no doubt “ I
bad seen him draw one of his suicidal or re
fractory patients away from the window.”
“But he acted cruelly 1” I returned.
“I fancy you are in error,” replied the book
seller, turning upon his heel; “but. if you were
right, I suppose he knows the best kind of
treatment for his patients.”
I differed from this gentleman, and, after a
little passage of arms, returned to the window
of my own room, where I stood watching with
out lighting the gas, that I might see without
being seen.
The time passed slowly, and I was conjuring
Tip all kinds of ideas regarding the poor girl, or
young woman, of whom I had had a glance,
when a blood-curdling shriek suddenly pierced
the whole neighborhood. The next instant I
saw the door of the surgery pulled open, and a
handsome woman rush out and up the street,
followed by the doctor and, evidently, two as
sistants—one of the latter coarser than the
other.
I rapidly gained the street, and followed them
through several short and narrow streets. At
last I saw them turn down a narrow lane, or
court, and into that I proceeded cautiously.
Three doors down was the back entrance of the
pawnbroker’s at the corner, and opposite that a
numble chapel. Crouching in the shadows I
beheld the doctor leaning against the sacred
miilding. He was saying :
“ I must not be seen. She has taken refuge
there. Seize her, or she will escape by the
front door.”
The two subordinates pushed their way into
the back shop, and I hurried up to the main
street to find, if possible, the constable on the
beat. I was instructed not to betray the fact
that I was a detective to any person in the
seighborhood, and while I resolved to obey
orders, 1 was equally determined that the
young woman I had seen should not be treated
badly.
Luckily I met the officer, and, having told
him who I was, ordered him to prevent any
cruelty to a woman, who was evidently an in
sane patient—at least while she was in the open
air.
Ho followed me until we reached the little
ohapel, where he went ahead in time to meet the
two young men drag the unfortunate creature
from the building in which she had taken
refuge. Sho was very pale, her eyes were glar
’ng with a mingled expression of rage and de
spair, and her long, fair hair floated over her
thin but still well formed shoulders.
Her two captors were not of the same humor.
The rougher one, who was evidently a porter
or servant, was inclined to twist the delicate
arms of the struggling victim, but the other,
who was, I afterward found, an assistant sur
geon, seemed to pity the poor creature a little,
and merely kept her arm firmly in bis grasp.
Dr. Hoskyn himself had hurried along the
cross passage, as if he did not care, now the
woman was safe, to be seen in the matter.
When the woman’s eye fell upon the police
man, she uttered what might be called a cry of
joy, and followed this, as sho struggled past
him, with :
t “ Help I Make them release me, officer.
They are murdering me—poisoning me in that
horrible place to which they are dragging me
hack. Oh, have pity on me. Mercy, mercy I”
These last words were drawn from the woman
by the roughness of the porter.
“ You had better stop that, or I’ll take you in
custody,” said the constable, sternly.
“ What right y<?u .tQJuteriets ? *
.It is duty to interfere 'yjien 1 Mh wit
ness to any assault, and so 1 Warn you.”
Here the doctor returned, and said:
“ You are quite right, officer. I never allow
Undue violence, and I am responsible here.
You cannot, however, interfere between me and
mv patient, who is legally under my care. Now,
Benson”—to the man—“l have warned you
before n tto lose your temper. You will cer
tainly get me and yourself in trouble if you
don’t take care. 0 >me along gently—gently,
now,” proceeded the medical man, and I per
ceived him bend his eyes fiercely—half conceal
ed as they were under his bushy brows—upon
the poor girl,who shuddered cofivulsively, and
murmuring or moaning something, permitted
berseli to bo leg away.
That poor woman’s face hauntpd me the
whole night, and I confess that I was full of the
case when the inspector came round for my re
port in the morning. He smiled mysteriously,
and rubbed his hands in a manner peculiarly
liis own, but said nothing. He is, in fact, one
bf the most silent men m the force. After
standing a few minutes gazing out at the sky,
Jas 1 fancied, he said:
“You have described all the callers without
any mistake.”
“ I have made no mistake, although 1 hate the
job.”
“We all have to do duties we don’t like,” he
proceeded quietly. “I hope soon to see you
out of.this Job, my lad,” he continued. “How
are you situated for money ?”
“ I have about two pounds in my pocket.”
“ You may want more at any moment. Here
is a note for five pounds. Keep a strict account
jj£how it is expended.”
SS TBIS was said with a smile, the meaning of
frhiohl perfectly Understood; for he knew I was
samiliar with the rules of the service in every
particular. When I had pocketed the note, he
Went on:
“ You may at any moment now be called upon
to follow Dr. Hoskyn wherever be goes. You
Dave only to report what you see, and you must
not be led to interfere in any way with him, nor
let him suspect that you are watching him.”
“ You may depend upon my discretion,” I
returned.
“ I know 1 may,” he answered; and then,
after a pause, and in a manner that might seem
quite unconcerned to those who did not know
him, he murmured:
“ You know Mr. Blaxland, solicitor, of
Course ?”
“ Certainly.”
“ You have not seen him call here?”
“ No.”
He took his leave, and I mentally concluded
> that the doctor and the lawyer were up to some
nefarious game; for I knew that Mr. Blaxland
had had a shady reputation for a long time, and
the doctor’s conduct had convinced me that
he was equally “queer” in character.
The prospect of paving a hunt after some one
brought back my usually good temper, and I
was preparing to go to the tavern at the corner
and have luncheon, when glancing through the
Window I beheld my superior slowly lounging
down the other side of the street. He had
“ changed his skin ” completely, as we say in
the for* e, in less than ah hour. He usually
dressed like the most careful of city men—in
Wblue frock-coat, white waistcoat, and light
tweed trousers in season, with a well-polished
and fashionable silk hat, the best-fitting of
French kid gloves, and an umbrella faultless
In size and folding. Now he appeared in a
loose yachting costume, with a white flannel
shirt trimmed with blue. His hair was brushed
loosely over bis brow, and his head was sur
mounted by a soft felt “ billycock ” hat of the
“ crush ” order.
The metamorphosis was magnificent, and in
deed formed a complete disguise without
** changing a hair,” and my admiration for the
man.grew greater every minute.
1 was still looking at him, when 1 was sur
prised by hearing a heavy crash of glass, fol
lowed by a shriek, numerous cries, a thud, the
sound of rushing feet, and other exclamations.
A number of people were running from the
Tottenham Court road direction.
r When I looked in the direction of Dr. Hos
-7 kyn’s establishment, I saw that the whole lower
half of the plate-glass window had been aasbed
Out, and that the crowd had gathered round
gome one who had evidently leaped through it.
I instantly thought of the poor girl of the night
before, and concluded that the fall must have
killed a poor creature so fragile.
1 hurried to the scene of the excitement, and
paw my colleague and superior supporting the
unhappy woman, whose lace, hands, hair and
dress were covered with blood flowing from
numerous wounds. The doctor had arrived,
and was leaning over his strange patient, livid
frith anger and perhaps fear.
v ‘‘Sbota the most cunning person under my
care,” he said in alow tone; but evidently the
words were intended for the pitying spectators
who had gathered round. “ She elndea the
closest vigilance in watching. She must have
bribed some one’to convey whisky to her ”
“ Sal-volatile,” I heard here in the lowest of
whispers; and then 1 perceived that the inspec
tor had leaned down so low as to be able to
catch the odor of the potent spirit to whose in
fluence the poor creature had succumbed.
It was evident that the doctor had not beard
this now he directed his people to
convey the almost insensible victim to his house
carefully—very carefully; and having conquer
ed his anger, he expressed the greatest anxiety
regarding her welfare, and this seemed to have
the wished-for effect upon his hearers, with the
solitary exception of myself. Imagine my sur
prise when 1 heard the inspector say :
“ Any one can see that she is in good hands
when she is in yours, doctor. I was about to
propose the hospital—the Middlesex or the Uni
versity—but I am confident she will have more
attention with you. It was a terrible accident,
and the public will be anxious to know how the
poor creature gets on.”
“The people are very meddlesome some
times,” said the doctor, frowning.
“ And so are the police,” said the inspector.
“ Here comes a sergeant, and I have no doubt he
will be asking all the particulars of the affair.”
Here he darted a quick look at the sergeant and
myself—a glance which was equally as intelli
gible to both, although it contained two distinct
and contradictory meanings. The first part,
directed to the sergeant in uniform, meant,
“Question him care ully,” and the latter part,
which was for my benefit, said as plainly as
possible, “Be careful not to be seen in this.”
As it to make matters doubly clear to the ser
geant, he continued:
“I expect you’ll be detained a goodish bit
with the officer, doctor; so, if you 11 allow me,
I’ll carry this poor creature in for you. I’m
stronger than any of your folk,” and, without
more ado, he raised the fragile and blood
stained form of the unhappy woman in his pow
erful arms, and, guided by the medical student
of the night before, conveyed her easily into
the interior of the doctor’s establishment, thus
obtaining an entrance by accident, after having
waited for a fornight for the conception of some
device for accomplishing the same thing with
out creating suspicion.
A quarter of an hour later the sergeant came
out wining his lips, evidently satisfied with the
quality of Dr. Hoskyn’s wine. A few people
still hung about the doors, as idlers will do
everywhere. I stood at some distance smok
ing, and, apparently, paying no attention to
anything but the traffic going up and down the
great thoroughfare at the end of the street.
The sergeant -halted behind me, stooped to
pick up a piece of paper—or appeared to do so.
“Is this yours, young man ?” he said, hold
ing a fragment up.
“ Yes—thanks.” I returned. “ I’ve just drop
ped it.”
Walking away. I glanced at the scrap, and
found written in pencil these words:
Meet me at the Bedford Head Hotel in fice min
utes.
I walked leisurely there and the inspector
presently joined me.
“ 1 have no alteration to make to my former
instructions,” he said, “ but the task has now
become d übly difficult. If you permit Dr.
Hoskyn to see and notice you I shall be com
pelled to bring another hand into this business,
and that I don’t want to do. Whatever honor
and glory comes out of it when completo, 1
wish to be divided between us. Do you know
why I selected you instead of an older hand in
this affair ?”
“ Certainly not,” I replied.
“I was told you had been a medical student
before you became a policeman.”
I colored deeply. The strange man went on:
“ I didn’t want to be told, however, for I never
forget those who have been once or twice
through my hands,” and then he proceeded to
relate one or two mad escapades in which I had
been concerned when I was spending money
recklessly, never dreaming that banks might
tail, and the most abject poverty follow compe
tence or comparative wealth.
“ Yon must follow Dr. Hoskyn, and avoid be
ing seen by him, beeause I may yet have to in
troduce you into his house for the purpose of
testing semething which only your past exneri -
ence would enable you to do. But I won’t de
tain you now. What has occurred this morning
must lead to instant action on the part of the
doctor and hia friends; so you had better be off
and prepare for any emergency.”
“ Why keep me in the dark, inspector? Can
not yon give me an inkling of the game in which
I am playing a part?”
“ You will succeed better as it is. Knowing
liitle, you cannot let anything slip, and our op
ponents are as cunning as serpents, and ready
to make use of the least advantage they may
obtain. New I’ve said enough. Good-by,” and
he hurried one way, while I returned to my
hateful station.
I had scarcely reached my room when I per
ceived the porter, Benson, leap out of a hansom
cab at the doctor’s door. I immediately pnt on
my overcoat and changed my usual hat for a
broad-brimmed felt one. Then 1 descended,
and hurrying to Tottenham Court road, soon
stopped another hansom, and having told the
driver to follow the one at Dr. Hoskyn’s door
wherever it went, I leaped in. I had scarcely
taken Wiy seat when a portmanteau was thrown
upon the roof of the other vehicle, the doctor
jumped in, and it drove in our direction. My
man followed faithfully, and presently the cab
we were following entered the Euston station,
and the doctor had scarcely reached the book
ing office when I was close behind him.
He evidently had no suspicion of being fol
lowed, for he cried quite loudly:
“First single, Stony Stratford.”
“ Jnst in time, sir,” said the porter with the
valise, and upon this hint I acted, getting a sec
ond-class ticket for the same place.
Arrived at our destination, my amazement
may be imagined when I recognized Mr. Blax
land, the attorney, waiting on the platform. He
shook hands warmly with the doctor, and then
both get intd a “ fly,” while I proceeded to ask
(h 5 driver of the omnibus from the principal
hotel if the earriage belonged to the same estab
lishment.
Having replied in the affirmative, I took my
seat, and in half an hour reached the hotel,
where 1 had the satisfaction of seeing my men
going up stairs to a private room, where they
remained lor three hours. At the end of that
time a dogcart came round, and they both got
up and drove away. However, the valise was
not with them, and, as they had ordered dinner
for six o’clock sharp, I was compelled to be
content for the time.
I was near the yard entrance when they re
turned, and heard the doctor say:
“Well have the same trap and horse, it possi
ble, to-morrow at half-past nine punctually.”
J tiad already, and
now i said, as he took horse out:
n The afiimal’s quite fresh.”
“ He’s only been to Newport,” was the reply;
and I resolved to be in that town before the
friends next morning.
1 took the first train, and reached there be
fore eight o’clock. I soon saw all that was to
be seen in Newport-Pagnel, and wandered to
ward the Stratford road about the time I ex
pected to see the vehicle.
At eleven o'clock Dr. Hoskyn was married by
special license to a young lady who acted as
governess in the family of a local lawyer. That
lawyer and his wife were present, and the
young lady’s brother—a boy of fourteen or so—
acted as “ best man,” while the “ master ” of
the bride gave her away. The party returned
to the solicitor’s house—presumably for the
wedding breakfast. At two o'clock the doctor
and his bride were escorted to the station,
which they left for Torquay for the honeymoon.
Mrs. Butler, the lawyer’s wife, went home,
and Mr. Butler, Mr. Blaxland and tho boy
went into the hotel where, the horses had been
put up.
Presently the ostler brought the dogcart
round, and I moved along the road they had
to come, in the hope of overhearing something,
for I had heard that the lad was going with Mr.
Blaxland.
Near the gates of a somewhat preteptious
mansion 1 saw a gap in a thick hedge. Passing
through it, I returned toward the gates, where
the hedge was highest, and I would least likely
be seen from the elevated position of the
driver.
They soon came dashing along, and when
quite close I heard the high-pitched query of
the country boy:
“Will my sister’s house in London be as
grand as that?”
“ Much grander,” returned Mr. Blaxland,
with a laugh, and the noise of the wheels
drowned anything else that may have been
said.
I walked back to Stony Stratford, pondering
over the situation of affairs in my own mind. 1 .
began to realize that I had not followed the in
spector’s instructions to tho letter. The idea
now arose that I should proceed at once to Tor
quay; but concluding that London would be on
my way, I hurried on to my destination, and
found, on arriving, that the solicitor and his
charge had driven to Wolverton to catch the
first train to town.
In time lor the next, I rode to the inspector’s
residence on arriving in town, and when 1 had
made my report, I could see that he was more
than satisfied.
“ Now I may let you kfiow something of what
we have been doing.” he went on, thoughtfully.
“ Dr. Hoskyn was called into the house of a
young fellow who was suffering from consump
tion. His native air, generous food and wine
and absence of all anxiety would prolong life, it
not effre him altogether. He mourned over his
poverty, and when his wi e was not present he
was in the habit of saying, bitterly:
“ ‘lt is doubly hard to be in this condition
when one is entitled to wealth—great wealth, in
fact.’
“ When questioned, he explained that his
wife, he believed, was heiress to about forty
thousand pounds, left her by an uncle who died
in India. Questioned as to that uncle’s name,
be replied that it was William Digby Adair, a
colonel in the Honorable East India Company’s
service, who had become the chief organizer’of
the army ot a great native prince.
“ Poor Broughton died, ’ thg inspector con
tinued, “and from information 1 received from
the landlady of the house in which he lived, Dr.
Hoskyn had introduced Mr. Blaxland with a
view to recover the money for the young cou
ple. At first the worthy pair helped the poor
people, but they afterward changed their tac
tics -professed the money beyond recovery—
though it cannot be doubted but they conclud
ed that, if the husband was out of the’ way, they
could drive a better bargain with the unpro
tected widow.
“The man died, the widow fell ill from grief
and the long attention to and nursing ot her
husband, and when she had partially recovered
NEW YORK DISPATCH. SEPTEMBER 19, 1886.
I and found herself penniless, the doctor offered
' her a home in one of his retreats for convales
cent patients. There he proposed marriage to
her; but she suspected his neiarious designs,
and refused to have anything to do with him.
Since then she has been a prisoner in what ho
calls a registered home lor inebriates, and for
some time it has been my belief that her mental
health has been slowly undermined by the ad
ministering of certain drugs ”
“Such as sal-volatile?” I remarked.
“ Just so,” the inspector went on. “ The doc
tor and bis worthy friend soon discovered that
Mrs. Broughton had a younger sister named
Victoria Adair living in Stony Stratford. Mr.
Blaxland proposed to marry her himself, but
his shameful attempt to get a divorce fr m his
present wife broke down, so the doctor had to
go in for the prize; and now you know that he
has succeeded in accomplishing his end in that
direction.”
“ What a pity the young lady should be sacri
ficed to a calculating scoundrel Lke that!” I
said, involuntarily.
“ She shall not. I shall go to the office and
get the chief to telegraph to the superintendent
at Torquay to arrest the doctor, giving his de
scription, and this before he and his bride re
tiro for the night.”
This was done, and in an hour we received
the following reply :
“ Persons named arrived this afternoon. Gen
tleman went out tor walk alone. Superintend
ent went in uniform to hotel. Lady alarmed.
Stole out, and was seen to warn gentleman, who
has disappeared. On watch.”
We went down to Torquay next day and found
the lady alone. The inspector explained all that
could be told her, and she returned with us to
nurse her elder sister back to health. Tho lat
ter, of course, was the woman who leaped from
the window.
* »»»<#*
It was plain that Mr. Blaxland did not expect
any communication. That there was a concert
ed plan between them, however, is certain, for
we entered his office in timo to hear him say to
young Adair, who became his office boy:
“ I will be generous with you, although you
have stolen the money. Sign this paper, and I
will not only forgive you, but send you to sea.
Refuse, and I call in a policeman.”
“No necessity for that,” said the inspector
cheerily. “ There are two here, and we arrest
gou for conspiring with Dr. Hoskyn to defraud
two ladies and this lad; and it will go hard with
us if we don’t prove that you were cognizant of
the doctor’s plan for poisoning Mrs. Brough
ton.”
“Poisoning my sister I” cried the lad.
“ Yes, my boy,” returned the inspector, seiz
ing the paper the boy was to be induced to sign.
“ Ah, I thought so power of attorney to act
for you and rob you of your fortune. No, my
lad, you’re safe, and—on with the darbies,
Hunter.”
“ On they are’ sir,” I said; and Blaxland was
our prisoner.
We traced the doctor to Fowey, and came up
with him one day in tho neighborhood ot one of
the wildest scenes on the south coast of Corn
wall. He broke from us on being charged with
the serious offences named, and I, being light
est of foot and youngest, pursued him over a
ridge of sharp rocks to the very edge of the
water, where I succeeded in pinning him down
on a slippery slope, from which he vainly tried
to slide into the sea and pull me with him in a
grasp of death. The newspapers made a great
thing of this at the time, one publication call
ing it “A Death Struggle on the Cornish
Rocks.”
As Inspector Poynter had prophesied, my
connection with this case benefitted me greatly.
I don’t care about talking much about myself,
so I may as well explain that Hoskyn and Blax
land got sentenced to fourteen years each. The
marriage of the former was, of course, set
aside,never having been consummated. The two
ladies have married since, and so has Herbert
Digby Adair, who entered the army on the re
covery of his uncle’s fortune, which was greater
than the sum named. The inspector and I re
ceive frequent proofs that neither the ladies
nor their brother have forgotten The Ci'uel Con
spiracy.
THE HARVEST MOON.
WHY THE FULL MOON OF SEP
TEMBER IS THUS CALLED.
It is tho Harvest Moon ! On gilded naves
And roofs of villages, on woodland crests
And their ferial neighborhoods of nests
Deserted, on the curtained window panes
Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes
And harvest fields, its mystic splendor rests.
—Longfellow.
The full moon of September is popularly
called the harvest moon. The September moon
completed half of the phases which it passes
through between successive appearances of new
moon and new moon on the 13th, and rose when
the sun set. This was the harvest moon. At
this particular period of each year the moon’s
orbit makes its smallest angle with the line of
our horizon. As a consequence, the intervals
between the time at which it rises on consecu
tive evenings are found to be shorter than in
any other of the twelve months. To those un
accustomed to close and intelligent observa
tion of celestial phenomena, the full moon of
September would some years appear to rise at
nearly the same hour each successive night for
almost a week. It the hours of its appearance
on consecutive nights are carefully noted, how
ever, it will be seen to rise later later each
night by a well-defined though not constant in
terval.
The path travered by the moon in its journey
around the earth, which it completes every
twenty-nine days, forms an angle with the path
traversed by the earth around the sun, com
pleted every year, and also with our horizon.
If a luminous line were drawn across the firma
ment representing tho earth’s orbit, and anoth
er representing the earth's horizon, it would be
found that the two form a smaller angle at one
time in the year than they do at the other, six
months later or six months earlier, as the case
may be. The earth and moon are nearer the
former or smaller angle in September each
year, and near the latter angle in March. The
full moon in September in our latitude
later each successive night by an interval rang
ing from about twelve minutes to a little over
halt an hour, being dependent on the moon's
distance from the earth at that time. The full
moon of March rises later on consecutive nights
by an interval ranging from about an hour and
ten minutes to an hour and a half. This Sep
tember the difference in time of the moon’s ris
ing will be at about its maximum, or halt an
hour.
The simple agriculturists of the early ages in
England believed that the rising of the moon
in August and September, for several nights in
succession about the time the sun had set, was
a beneficent provision of Providence to give
JigJUte SSqHnjlS tbsj laMM withoutinter
ruption into tne night. Hence the moon, which
is full in September, came to be called the har
vest moon. It has given a theme to innumera
ble poets, both in England and the United
States. Turner voices the sentiment of an
earlier age toward the harvest moon in these
glowing lines :
How peacefully the broad and golden moon
Comes up to g ze upon the reaper’s toil I
That they who owu the land tor many a mile,
May bless her beams, and they who take the boon
Of scattered ears. Oh ! beautiful, how soon
The dusk is turned to silver without soil,
Which makes tho fair sheaves fairer than at noon.
And guides the gleaner to his slender spoil.
Science has robbed the September moon of
much of its sentiment, and has shown that it
moves in obedience to laws imposed upon earth
and moon ages before the human race was cre
ate:!. it still continues, however, to be the
most charming feature of the early Autumn
evenings, as it completely bridges, for several
successive nights the interval between the set
ting of the sun and the subsequent rising of the
same. _
CAJOLED BY A WOMAN.
BY A SECEET-SEBVICE DETECTIVE.
In the Summer of 1834 complaints were made
to our bureau that some one was “ shoving ”
bogus shinplasters in the neighborhood of
Green Bay. A good many hundred dollars
worth of the currency was let loose all at once,
and I was detailed to proceed to Wisconsin and
work up the case.
It was settled before I started that the
“ stuff ” had been printed from plates made by
an engraver known to us as “ Slick Sam.” His
right name was, I believe, George Disston, and
he was then in State Prison on a long sentence.
It was pretty certain that the plates had fallen
into the hands of some of his pals, and were be
ing made use of iff a lively manner. It was
probable that the printing was being done in
Chicago, and that an “agent” had struck Greten
Bay to unload.
Upon reaching the place mentioned, I found
that almost every branch of trade had suffered,
and pretty soon I was able to show that most of
the bogus money had been passed upon them
during one week. Then they began to hunt up
sales and remember buyers, and it was settled
that the “ shover ” was an old gray-haired man
named Newell, who lived on a farm a few miles
away. He bad purchased dry goods, notions,
hardware, drugs and almost everything else,
paying in shinplasters which appeared almost
new. It was plain to me, after getting thus far,
that he had bought his bogus money outright
of some agent, or had sent to parties in some
city for it. Had it been otherwise he would
have sought to turn it into good money.
I swore out a warrant for him, took the cars
to within four miles of his house and accom
plished the rest of the way on foot. He lived
in the woods, in a log house, and had but a few
acres cleared. Evidences of poverty and shift
lessness could be found on every hand. I was
quite certain that I saw him about the door of
the house while I was yet some way off, but
when I reached it the door was shut and no one
was in sight.
However, after I had done some lively rap
ping a muscular woman about thirty years old
opened the door and inquired my business. I
replied that I was an agent from Chicago and
desired to see her husband. She invited me in,
believing, as I meant her to believe, that I had
come as the agent ot the counterfeiters. She
stated that her husband was off hunting, but
would be home soon.
After we had talked for half an hour the
woman’s demeanor suddenly changed. What
aroused her suspicions I can’t say, but I saw
that she looked on me with distrust. Thinking
that the plain way was the best way I told her
who 1 was and my errand. .
“So you are a detective, come to arrest my
husband she called out in a loud voice.
I sought to calm her, and had instant success.
She settled down in her chair and said she had
been expecting it for weeks, and that her hus
i bnnd must make the best of the situation. She
shed tears and seemed much affected, and as
time passed and I wanted to go out and hunt up
Newell she excused his continued absence and
kept me seated, on the plea that he must soon
show up. I had been there two hours when we
heard a voice shouting for help. While I ran
outdoors she rushed into the other room. I
passed half-way around the house to find the
old man hanging head downward, hands on the
ground and feet in a small window four or five
feet up. After I had released him and taken
him into custody I found that he had run into
the room when he saw me approaching the
house. When the wife raised her voice it was
to warn him who I was and what brought me
there. He climbed out of the window to escape,
but in his descent his trousers caught on a nail
and held him last. The wile was detaining me
in order to give him a good start, but it turned
out that she was only prolonging his sufferings.
He stood it until ho could bear no more, and
then called out. The case against him was so
strong that he made no defense, and received a
sentence of six years.
NEGBO NED’S CHURC If.
BY BILL ARP.
the Atlanta Constitution.}
Not long ago I heard a story about an old
darky named Ned, who used to belong to Bish
op Wilmer. Ned was a little scattering in his
ideas of religion, but he concluded to join the
church, and consulted his master about it. The
result was his admission into the Episcopal
church. He sat alone in the gallery for a lew
Sundays, and was not happy.
“ Master,” said he, “I does not like to trouble
you, sir, but you see how it is, sir, Ned are
mighty lonesome in de ’Piscopal church, sir. I
tink, sir, when I fine de church I be so happy
and feel so good, but master, you see how ’tis,
sir. I set up in de gaily and do preacher away
off; and he wears such curious close, sir, and
he go back and take ’em off and put on some
more, and he read and read and pray and pray,
and do folks jump up and sot down so much,
sir, dat Ned git all confuse, sir, and when de
preacher preach, sir, ho do not preach to de
hairt, sir, or if he do it all git cold ’fore it git to
me, sir. De folks down dare git it all, sir, and
Nod don’t know whar it cum from nor whar it
agwine, sir. If you got no ’jection, master* I
would like to jine de Presbyterian church, sir,
for dere is some of my folks in dere, sir, and
doy sets in the gaily and I not feel so lonesome,
sir.”
His master pitied him and gave his consent,
and so Ned joined the church of his choice, and
for several Sabbatbs was soon in his accus
tomed place in the gallery, but still he was not
happy. With an humble bow ho approached
his master one morning and said:
“Master, I knows I trouble you’bout dis
ting, but master, Ned be not happy, sir. He
tink dat he be happy in de Presbyte’an church,
air, but you sees how ’tis, master; I gits along
very well sometimes, when do preacher fire up
and preach to de hairt, but, master, he fire up
so seldom, and he stand up so straight, sir, and
he collar so stiff, sir, and he talk so much ’bout
sankficashun and ’dopshun and de ’riginal sin
and all dat, sir. and his long words sound so
dismal, sir, dat Ned git sleepy, sir, and don’t
woke up, sir. He don’t preach to de hairt, sir,
and so last Sunday I went to hoar de Mefodis,
sir, and de preacher he jes’ roll up his sleeves
like he was at a log-rollin’, sir, and he ’liven up
everybody, sir, and de folks all sing togedder
and dey pray and den shout, and eberyting go
straight to de hairt, sir, and ’fore I knows it I
was singin’ and shoutin’ wid ’em too, sir. Mas
ter, you see how it is, sir, lis found de church
at last dat I was a huntin’, and de one dat suits
a poor nigger wid no lamin’, and if you lets me
jine him I feel so thankful, sir.”
His master lectured him on his indecision,
but finally consented, and so Ned was taken in
to the Methodist church. A few months after
ward his master learned that Ned had quit the
Methodist and joined the Baptist church. He
was disgusted and vexed, and calling him up he
began to abuse him, but Ned’s humility always
atoned for his sins. His conduct had not been
very exemplary of late. He had a weakness—a
thorn in the flesh—and had been cited to come
before the church—the Methodist church—but
he didn’t come.
“ How came you to quit the Methodists, sir?”
said the master.
Ned bowed his head low and said : “Master,
I ’fraid you be mad wid me so I no come to you
to ax you. I like the Mefodis very much, sir;
dey preach to the hairt, sir, and suit me mighty
well, sir, and I tink I git along wid ’em and git
full of grace, sir, but master, dey is wrong about
one thing, and dat makes me quit ’em, sir. Dey
is entirely to ’quisitive sir; dey takes notes, sir,
of every little ting and circumstance, sir; dey
’quires into all my family affairs, sir; dey is too
’quisitive, sir, for a poor niggar dat was raised
an ofin, sir.”
“ Well, bow are you getting along with the
Baptist church,” said his master; “ are they not
inquisitive, too?”
Ned opened his eyes as though astonished at
the question and said:
“ Oh, no, sir; de Baptist doctrine ain’t dat
way at all. When you jines de Baptist, sir, it’s
jes’ ‘ dip and done with it.' ”
A CRUEL PRACTICAL JOKE.
The Foolkiller Missed One of His Vic
tims in Cleveland.
(From the Cleveland Plaindealer.)
A practical joke, or a dastardly trick, almost
unparalleled in meanness and audacity was per
pretrated at the Cleveland Theatre, on Wednes
day night, by a young woman, said to be rather
handsome and attired in a dress of light mate
rial. While the play “ Lights o’ London ” was
in progress, she walked up to the box-office
window and handed Manager Drew a note,
written in a feminine hand, which she request
ed him to read or have read from the stage.
The girl seemed anxious that her request be
complied with, and after a brief consultation
between Managers Frank and Drew they de
cided to read it, as its contents seemed to be of
the greatest importance to the person inter
ested.
The note, the most important words of which
were underscored, read as follows :
“ If there is a gentleman in the audience by
the name of Nathan Stark, tell him he is
wanted at home just as soon as ho can get
there.”
Tho girl was questioned further for an ex
planation of the contents of the note, and she
replied that the young man’s mother was dying,
and that if he wished to see her alive he had
better go to his home as quickly as possible.
The curtain dropped on the mimic play, the
mysterious young girl in white disappeared in
to the street, and the plot of the real drama be
gan to develop by the appearance of Manager
Frank, with the note in hand, behind the foot
lights. He read the note as hurriedly as possi
ble, and a young man, greatly agitated, accom
panied by a young lady, was seen rising from
his seat. AU eyes were fixed upon him. He made
straightway to the box-office, where he asked
for further particulars. There he was told as
gently as possible that the lady who left the
note made the further statement that his moth
er was <?n her death-bed. He turned deathly
pale and disappeared.
The matter was almost forgotten by the peo
ple about the Cleveland theatre, but the note
was preserved as a safeguard in case any trou
ble should result from it, and sure enough, last
night, between 9 and 10 o’clock a young man,
claiming to be Nathan Stark s brother, went to
the box-office and asked Managers Frank and
i Drew for particulars about the person who left
the note. He was furnished with a description
as closely as it could be given, and then he
wanted the note in question, which was also
lurn'ished him.
“I think we have a clew now,” said he, “and
we can place the matter in the hands of the po
lice.”
“In the hands of the police? Why, what is
the matter ?” asked a Plain Dealer reporter,
who was present.
Mr. Stark then explained that his brother
hurried to his home, No. 82 Parkman street, as
rapidly as possible—fear, hope and excitement
keeping him up until he reached the gate of his
home. There he saw hia mother alive and well,
seated on the front porch in conversation with
the other members of the family. A sudden re
action or possibly joy, which sometimes kills,
unnerved him and he had to be carried into the
house in an unconscious condition. A doctor
was instantly summoned, but he declared the
case a critical one and a second physician was
called. All day yesterday he hung between life
and death, requiring the almost constant at
tendance of two physicians. When questioned,
young Stark could not say whether the illness
will result fatally, but the case, he said, was
pronounced to be very serious, requiring the
utmost attention. The brother could not ad
vance any conjecture or motive for the young
girl’s actions, but i-t may be possibla that
jealousy was at the bottom ot it. An experi
enced detective, who listened to the story, re
marked :
“ Very likelv this girl heard that he had in
vited some other young lady to the theatre, and
she made up her mind to spoil the evening’s en
tertainment, and so did it.”
Nathan Stark is twenty-four years of age and
a mattrees maker by occupation.
BEERirGERMANY.
NO COUNTRY FOR PROHIBITION
IBTS.
(From the Overland Monthly.)
Nobody in Germany makes any moral dis
tinctions on beer. Clergymen, theological stu
dents, monks, and whatever may be better or
worse than these, are in no wise exceptions to
the general rule, but are often known for the
quantities they drink. I once asked a man in
Berlin it there was anybody in the city who did
not drink beer. He thought there was not; and
another whom I asked whether there was any
water drank in Germany, saw nothing strange
in the question, but answered naively: “ Yes,
there is considerable drunk,” and told me of a
woman in Stolp (in Pomerania), who never
drinks beer. I was amused recently in looking
over a list of drinks in a German dictionary,
when far down the list I saw water, which was
put in the same category with the several kinds
of wine and beer.
In a field where peasants are working, you
will always see beer bottles somewhere near at
hand ; or, if there are several working togeth
er, you wdl likely see a keg : or, if there "are
several more, a barrel. In the cities, in pass
ing a squad of laborers eating their dinners in
I the streets, you will see each one sitting with a
I sausage in his hand and a beer bottle between
his knees.
Who that has spent any time in Berlin does
not recall the coachman standing by ,liis cab
with his glass of white beer ? Or the shop girl
carrying a glass to some comrade who cannot
leave her place ? It is not uncommon, on enter
ing a store, to see the salesman with a glass of
beer at his side while measuring cloth, or the
professional man with a glass on his desk. On
the market stands may be seen, every few steps,
the half-filled Leer glass where the fruit women
and butchers are dealing out their wares.
An American friend of mine, eating at a Ger
man restaurant, was asked what kind of beer
he would have.
“ No beer,” he replied.
“ Will you have wine, then ?” was the next
question.
“ No, nothing but water.”
“ Water !” replied the waiter; “ that is to wash
with.”
I once heard a beggar, in recounting his
hardships, say:
“ I have drank nothing but water since yes
terday morning.”
Ihe beer saloonsand gardens are favorite
places for nearly all gatherings. Students have
their literary unions and scientific discussions
there, the members sitting around the tables
with their glasses. Drinking is often the chief
exercise, he being a leader among them who
can drink most. Musical associations invaria
bly meet in beer saloons; also benevolent and
even religious bodies. It would seem strange
to an American to attend a missionary meeting,
as I have done, in a lager beer saloon, and see
the grave evangelists proposing gospel meas
ures while Emptying their glasses. I have
heard announcements from the pulpit, of reli
gious meetings to be held in grog shops.
A SOCIAL LESSON.
AN INSOLENT GIRL JUSTLY RE
BUKED.
(from the Boston Courier.)
Tha lata Prof. Morren related once in our
hearing a rebuke which he gave to a high-atrung
Beacon Hill damsel, which is worth repeating
for the moral it carries. The young lady was
one of his pupils, and made herself particularly
obnoxious by her haughty and even insolent
bearing, displaying her contempt lor all about
her so markedly that it became at last unbeara
ble.
“ I know her mother in France,” said the
professor, whose broken English there is no
need of reproducing here, “ and she was a most
exquisitely modest and unassuming woman.
But the daughter was so insolent that she had
to have a lesson; so I said to her: ‘ Will you
be so good as to remain alter the lesson I 1
have something to tell you.’ She stays, and in
her haughtiest manner she says: ‘ You wish to
speak to me?”
•• ‘ Yes. You are Miss So-and-So ?’
“ ‘Yes.’
“ ‘ And you live at No. — Beacon street ?’
»< <Y es /
“ ■ And your father is Mr. So-and-So?’
- Yes.’
‘■•And your mother is the lovely and sweet
Mrs. So-and-So I have met in France ?’
“ ‘Well?’
“ ‘ Oh,' I said, ‘ you are sure there is no mis
take?’
‘“No mistake ? What do you mean?’
“ ‘ I arfi exceedingly surprised that you come
of such a family and so well born.'
“ ‘ Sir !’
“‘lam much surprised. I have been sure
you came of new-rich family, some parvenue
‘“Sir!’
“ ‘ You think, mademoiselle,’ I said, softening
my manner, ‘ that haughtiness is aristocratic.
Now will you pardon an old man if I remind
you that the contrary is true. I have known
your mother so long that I dare to be frank with
you. Yon have been very insolent in the class.’
“ ‘ Insolent, monsieur ?’
“‘Yes, mademoiselle. Yon have mistaken
this for a mark of aristocracy. So does the
daughter of the Jew money lender. You had
much better copy your mother, your gentle
lady mother.’ ”
“ And I made her my best bow and left her to
think about it. And she was a good girl after
ward; a very good girl.”
It is a pity this wise and shrewdly worded re
proof should not sink into the hearts of many a
young girl to-day who foolishly fancies she is
asserting the loftiness of her social position by
an insolence which only proves that she is not
sufficiently sure of her standing to cease to be
troubled about it. It takes a good many gener
ations to sot one socially so high that one does
not need to condescend to any human being.
The young man may not have had the cour
age to pop, but, all the same,
THE YOUNG WOMAN SCOOPED HIM IN.
I met him one night in the Summer;
A friend introduced him to me;
I thought he was rather good-looking,
But bashful, I plainly oould see.
He paid me a lot of attention,
And ere a month came to a close
He bashfully said that he loved me,
But made no attempt to propose.
Its all very well to be courted,
But not very nice, goodness knows
To be the sweetheart of a lover
Who will not or dare not propose.
And yet I must say he is pleasant,
And very attentive to me,
And always polite and respectful—
From every bad habit he’s free.
He's neither a drinker nor smoker.
But that just increases my woes,
For what is the use of his goodness,
Good lands I —if he will not propose*
I yesterday tried to entrap him
To make a proposal—l said :
A friend has just asked me the question
“When you and I are to be wed ?"
I told her concerning that matter
I really had nothing to do.
And that if sho wished intormation
'Twere better that she should ask you.
He blushed like a school-girl from Vassar,
That is, if the Vassar girls blush.
And I, too, was all in a tremble
And felt in my face quite a flush.
Said he : you may tell the young lady
That that is for you love to say,
For I am both ready and willing
That we should be married to-day.
“ Love’s young dream ” is too often destroyed
by absence, which seldom “ makes the heart
grow fonder.” Our sentimental young lady
readers may not believe the following incident,
in fact regard it as cynical, but we can assure
them that
SIGH IS LIFE.
A young man and a young woman loan over the
front gate. They are lovers. It is moonlight. He
is loth to leave, as the parting is the last. He is
about to go away. She is reluctant to see him de
part. They swing on the gate.
“ I’ll never forget you,” he says; “and if death
should claim me my last thought will be of you.”
“ I’ll never forget you,” she sobs. *• I’ll never
see anybody else or love them as long as I live.”
They part.
Six years later he returns. His sweatheart of for
mer years has married. They meet at a party. Be
tween the dances the recognition takes place.
“ Let me see,” she muses, with her fan beating a
tattoo on her pretty hand, “ was it you or your
brother who was my old sweetheart 1”
•• Really I don’t know,” he says. “ Probably my
brother.”
The conversation ends.
The heroine of thia brief sketch is a fair speci
men of
OUR SO-OALLED EDUCATED YOUNG WOMEN.
Arabel Blank is a dear, winsome little creature
who lives not many miles from either Girard avenue
or Fifteenth street. She is Philadelphia born, aud
has been educated in a very select school for yeung
ladies, where more attention is given to posing and
attitudes then to real study. Arabel is one of those
gushing, liquid-eyed girls who know nothing what
ever of country life, and is so charmingly ignorant
of cows, potato patches and the like that she actual
ly makes a man pity her.
Last week Arabel's dear papa took her to Cape
May Point, and while there pointed out to her a
flock of birds on the beach.
••There,” said the old gentleman, as the flock rose
in the air, “look at those birds, Arabel. They are
curlews.”
“Oh,” cooed the maiden, opening her big inno
cent blue eyas, “how lovely, how splendid! Just
to think, pal It was only yesterday that I was read
ing that dear, delightful poem of Mr. Gray’s, which
begins, ‘The curlew tolls the knell of parting day !’
Only imagine those tiny creatures, pa, tolling a
great bell. How very strange!’’
Then the old gentleman sat down on the damp,
damp sand and wept scalding tears, and howled un
til the people thought he had the cholera.
There is an old story called “ The Honest
Thief.” Here is one which can more justly be
called
AN HONEST TRAMP.
He was lying full length on the grass in the blaz
ing noonday sun, and everything about him en
couraged the impression that he was a tramp. His
clothes were ragged and unkempt, and samples of
real estate from a dozen States were exhibited on
various parts of his person. When a reporter ap
proached, anticipating a first-rate romance from
the perapetetic land agent, and took a seat on the
grass a lew feet away, Mr. Tramp just opened one
oye, and, after gazing at his visitor for awhile, sung
out the old chestnut: “Say, young feller, ain’t got
any tarbacco, have you ?”
The reporter passed over bis pouch and the tramp
took a very modest chew, and gave the rest back.
“Where did you come from?” asked the re
porter.
“Oh. been in the bridewell for a mouth. Just
got out. Afore that I come from Wisconsin. Been
sorter layin' round for a year or two.”
“Do you like tramping?”
“In course I does. Think I’d do it ef I didn’t?
It’s easier than workin’, ain’t it? I gits enough to
eat honestly, and occasionally I gits a drink of wins,
ky and some terbacco. That’s all I want. I kin al
ways count on ’em, and as for sleeping, it’s a pretty
cold kind of a night when I don’t sneak into some
snug place. When I'm in prison I gets warm meals
an’ a nice bed, and there ain’t much difference
atween that an’ being outside, only I has to hustle
a litlle more when 1 m out.”
“How about your early life?”
“Oh, that’s your lay. is it? Well, now, look here,
young feller, it you think I’m going to ring in a set
tale of woe about being rich once, and having my
home broken up by drink and a woman, you re dis
appointed. I ain’t that kind of.a tramp. I had a
home that wasn’t pleasant, because. 1 wouldn t
work, and so I took to trampin’, an* L’vo been at it
ever since. I ain’t done no work to speak of in
seven years, an' I ain’t agoin’ to. I don’t like work,
so I tramps. I’m much obliged fer that torbacco,
an’ I ain’t goin’ to brace you for the price of a
dram, but you can’t work me for any fairy tale, an*
I guess 111 finish my nap now.”
The Arkansaw Traveller has thia satiric skit
at a certain class of pretentious Bostonians that
think all other cities in the world are dreary,
and that the sun and moon are both composed
of Boston baked beans. The subject of the
skit is:
suggestions for writers of fiction.
When Grayson, the editor, called on the minister
he was shown into the library, where the minister
idled away most of his time. The minister greeted
him, not boistrously, but respectfully,
" Mr. Grayson, have you seen—”
“Ah, I know what you are going to say. You
want to know if I have seen your last book of ser
mons.”
“ Yes; have you ?”
“ I have.”
“ What do you think of the ideas ?”
“Good, but they will not be understood outside
of Boston.”
” True, but you must know that th -ire is no gos
pel outside of Boston.”
“ That is a fact.”
Thay sat for a time looking at each other. The
minister sneezed, excused himself and sneezed
again. "Tell me, Grayson, is not something on
your mind ?”
“ Well, not particularly.”
“Come, now, Grayson, you know there is.”
“ Well, lam bothered.”
“Tell me.”
“Not now.”
“Have you spoken to your wife?”
“Not directly.”
“Do you intend to tell her?”
“Perhaps.”
“What are you writing now?”
“ A treatise on the tricornigerous animals of the
third century.”
“Ah, a splendid idea. How fortunate it is that
all great writers live in Boston.”
“ Why so ?'•
“Because if they did not, they could not find
publishers for their works.”
“You are right. By the way, I read a novel the
other day in which a man was killed.”
"Preposterous I”
“Yes, and it had a plot.”
“How absurd 1”
“And, worse than all, the author made his char*
acters converse in an interesting way. ”
“The simpleton I Who wrote it ? ’
“A very old writer, now almost entirely forgot
ten. Let me see. His name was—was Dickens.”
“ I have heard of him. He was easy of expres
sion, but had no art.“
“Worse than that, his books contain a moral.”
“Foolish! Such books are not real. There are
no real books outside of this town.”
“ Now, lor instance, if a reporter were to take
down what we are saying and were to embody it in
a book, it would be art. and art is truth. 1 don't
believe that any of Dickens’ conversations ever oc
curred, consequently they are not art, but simply
imagination. Now. there is a fellow named Collins.
Do you know what his aim is ?”
“No.”
“ Ho wants to entertain people.”
“He must be crazy. Did you ever read any of
his books?”
“ I tried to read one which he absurdly calls
'Armadale,* but it became so thrilling that 1 had to
throw it down. Such writers are positively annoy
ing. I should think, or at least 1 don't see why
there is not real life enough in other cities to
furnish some man with material to writes book.”
“It does seem strange.”
The minister gently scratched his shoulder and
Grayson passed his hand over his lace. The milk
man stopped at the door and rang hi* bell. A serv
ant girl went out and got the milk. She smiled at
the milkman. She would marry the fellow, but she
does not like the idea of leaving the city.
Grayson arose and said that he must go.
“So soon ?”
“ I have been here quite a while.”
“ Oh. no; not very long.”
“ Yes, quite a while.”
“ What makes you think so ?”
“ Well, because I believe it.”
“ Can you not tell me what is on your mind ?”
“ No, not now.”
“ Wish you would.”
“ Cannot to-day.”
“ Coming to church Sunday ?”
“ Yes.”
Grayson walked slowly along the street. He could
have walked rapidly, but he did not. Why ? Be
didn’t want to. When he reached home, he opened
the door and went into the house. Why did he
open the door ? Because he did not care to go in
through one of the windows. When he entered his
wife’s room she spoke to him. He nodded and
passed on. He did not sleep any that night, and
the next day he sought the minister. He found the
reverend gentleman in the library engaged In blow
ing his nose on a silk handkerchief.
“ Sit down. How are you getting along ?”
“ Not very well.”
“ There is something still on your mind ?”
“ Yes.”
“ Can you not tell me ?”
“ You are my friend ?”
“ Yes.”
“ Then I will tell you. Listen 1 A New York
paper says that Boston is not the literary centre ol
this country.”
The two men looked at each other and sighed.
Under the present conditions of life in this
galorious country
WE DON’T THINK THE YOUNG LADY WAS
OVER CAUTIOUS.
“ Does it show, Mary ?”
“What show ?”
“Why, that steel plate I have under my back
hair.”
“ Good gracious, girl! Why are you wearing a
steel plate there ?”
“Don’t you know that I have a beau?”
“Yes; but what of that ?”
“ Well, 1 believe from what he said the other
night that he is going to pop the question this
evening. I shall refuse him, and he’ll probably
shoot. I see from ttm papers now that it is the fash
ion for a man to shoot the woman who rejects him.
"Well, I also notice that most of the victims are shot*
from the back. With the steel plate under my
switch and ma’s waffle-iron under the back of my
corset I feel pretty safe.
They had recently, in the San Francisco Reg
istrar’s office,
SOME QUIET FUN.
His German accent was undeniable, and, as he
floated into the Registrar’s office, the boys all stood
around to hear the fun.
“Name and residence?” asked the clerk, in a
peremptory $125-a-month tone of voice.
“ I liff in dot same blaces vhere I liff for twendy
year,”
“ Well, whore is that?”
“Don't you found dot in dos great rechister?”
“ What is your name, anyhow ? ’
“ Varrom you ask so many idkiristif guestions—
ain’t dot name mit der great rechister like der od
der, eh?”
“But, unless you give me your name and resi
dence, you cannot register.”
“Vy gand I rechister ? I haf poen a citizen four,
deen year, und my name is Ludwig Auerhausen,
don’d it?”
“Ob, Ludwig Auerhausen. Well, Mr. Auerhau
sen, where do you reside ?”
“Der Tuyfel I Don’t I already have told you dot
dree dimes. I von’t talk some more. I gome pack
here again und talk mit vour employer. For vy
you imbudent mit me ? If you gome to my house
somedimes 1 don’d tread you like dot.’*
“ Where is your house ?”
“On Lombard street, between Mason and Powell
of gourse. I haf always lived dere.”
“All right, here you are, Thirty-fourth District.
Take this slip and go over to the counter and give
it to the clerk.”
“ Vot I go ofer der for; don’t I shust have gome
away from dot blace ? I von’t rechister some more
at all. Ober, I'll haf you discharged mit incompe
tence, shust so soon as I gan !” and off he went in a
rage, neither turning around or stopping at the
registration counter.
The Jacksonville Herald relates the story of
A MARRIED MAN WHO WAS SUITED AT LAST.
It happened yesterday. On Ocean street is a sign
which sways in the morning breeze, and the sign
reads: “ Woman's Exchange.”
He was a Duval- county farmer, and as he left
the 1 urbridge grocery store he looked up the
street and saw the sign swinging as it usually
does.
Long and earnestly did he stare, and with a grunt
he turned to a passer-by and remarked:
“ Well, sir, I have diskivered it at last.”
“What?” asked the stranger in astonishment.
“Why, that ere place/’
“ What place ?”
“That Woman’s Exchange.”
“Well, what about it ?”
“What about it? I’ll be goll darned if I don’t
bring the old woman right up thar and swap her
right away. I hev been jest lookin’ for sech a place.
I tell you, stranger, this ere town is jess whoopin’
things, and don't you forget it neither/’ And then
be started up for the Exchange, but the stranger
stopped him.
SCINTILLATIO NS.
Alexander Selkirk has lived to be an
auctioneer at St. Louis.
One glance at politics proves that all
are not geysers that spout.
An equestrian never thinks of going
out to Saddle Rook oysters.
Young Hopeful (on seeing a negro
baby for the first time)—“Mamma, is that a spoiled
child ?”
“ Those who use our goods are very
much attached to them,” is what a porous-plaster
company advertises.
During these troubled times in Europe
we hope that Victoria remembers to look under the
bed before retiring.
Discussing Mr. Howells—She I
understand he is about fifty.” He—" Yes, but he
has all the passion of eighty.”
Photographer (mechanically)—“ Now,
look pleasant, please. (With agitation)—Oh. don’t
smile quite so much; I have only a small plate in.”
When Jones heard it remarked that
the less a man drank in warm weather the cooler he
was, he wanted to know now much drink he would
have to go without in order to freeze.
“ Liquor,” said the lecturer, “is re
sponsible for much of the misery in this world.”
"That’s so,” said an old toper in the audience.
“I am always unhappy when I can’t get it.”
The following terse note was recently
left behind by an eloping couple in one of Hamp
shire hill towns: " We’ve eloped. Forgive us if you
can, and if you can’t what will you do about it?”
Smith—“Do you know, Dumley, if
Robinson uses tobacco in any form ?” Dumley—
“ Well, I got a whiff of his cigar this morning, and,
judging from the smell of that, I am inclined to
think that he does not.”
First Banker—“ Do you know Jenks?”
Second Banker—“l met him the other day for the
first time.” First Banker—“ What sort ol a fellow
is he ? How did he strike you ?” Second Banker—
“ He struck me for five dollars !”
A Western editor says: “ If the party
who plays the accoydeon injthis vicinity at nights
will change his tune occasionally, or sit where we
can scald him when the engine has steam on, bo will
hear of some thing to bis advantage.”
Indian belles in Alaska wear a thick
coating of oil and soot on their faces when Dot in
full toilet. This is said to preserve the complex
ion, which, after a thorough scrubbing, looks as
fair and smooth as a good article of soft soap.
A youth of Holt County sent the fol
lowing note to his very best recently : “My daring
—My soul feels dark to-night because lam not noir
the idol who fills my whole heart and being with a
tender longing. lam aching to see my own sveot
Bella. Elmer.” This is the worst case of Bella*
ache on reeord.
A Georgia gentleman says that ha
asked an old darky what he would choose if he
could have any three things he might wish for.
“ Well, boss,” said he, "de fuss ting I’d take a fifty
dollar in money, don a fine suit ob clothes, an’ next
a barrel o’ rice. Den, boss,” he continued, “if you
let me make anudder wish, I’d take foah gallons o’
good whisky.”
An Irishman who was one of the pas
sengers on a horse-oar recently was relating »story
to a friend. Just at the critical moment the con
ductor rang his bell for a fare. The Irishman jump
ed from his seat, and, posing in a Sullivan attitude,
glared at every passenger as he said: “I don’t know
who it was, but I ken Tick the blackguard that rang
that chestnut bell on my joke.”
'1 he Boston Transcript gives a touch
ing illustration of the association of ideas. She and
he had been listening to the music of the insect
world. “Arthur,” she exclaimed, breaking the
noisy silence, “ how delightful, and yet how sad.
is the monotonous chorus of those toadstools ! ,s
" Toadstools, my dear ?" replied Arthur; "I think
you mean crickets.” “Yes, crickets; that’s what I
mean. I knew it was something to sit on.”
The maiden took her chewing gum
And placed on a chair.
For she bad heard her lover come
With swift feet up the stair.
Upon the chewing gum he sat,
The joyous hours flew past.
But whan he rose to take his hat,
He found himself stuck fast.
“ O! worse disaster never was,”
She cried as out she ran:
“ I ne’er can marry you because
You are a fast young man.”
A GREAT BEAR HUNT.
THE MAJOR AND THE JUDGE
HAVE SOME FINE SPORT.
(From the Arkansaw Traveller,)
Early in the morning we were slipping along
through the chaparrel. The major said that
was the way to lull bear—slip along through
the chaparrel. The slipping along involved a
great many scratches and slaps in the face from
branches, but we all knew it was the correct
thing and didn’t mind.
Presently the major, who was in advance,
halted. We baited. The major put his hand
behind him and enjoined silence. We didn’t
breathe. Then he turned toward us a face
blazing with excitement, and beckoned. We
stole up without a sound. We were on the open
—perhaps forty yards across.
Opposite, through a clett in the bushes, shone
about a square loot of reddish hide, and be
yond we saw a tip of an ear ot the bear to which
it belonged. He was evidently asleep. We
leveled our Winchesters and were about to
pull, when the judge excitedly called our atten
tion to- the fact that there was another not fifty
feet away, only a bit of him showing. This was
terrible, but wo did not flinch.
Wo consulted hurriedly in whispers. I was
to shoot the first as nearly as I could in the butt
of the oar, and the major and the judge were to
take the other. If the infuriated animals wero
only wounded and rushed at us, we were to
drop on one knee and fire rapidly, so as to sell
our lives as dearly as possible. This was un
derstood. We again took careful aim.
The major said “ Fire !” and we firod. There
was a tremendous thrashing around in the
bushes. Bear seemed to start up all around us.
We droppedon one knee and worked the Win
chesters desperately, and the ma or got out Ina
knife and prepared for close quarters. For half
a minute the volleying was incessant, and then
we thought we recognized a human voice. Wo
ceased firing and listened. It was a human
voice. The human voice seemed to be angry,
too, and other human voices appeared to be
trooping to its assistance. In a moment wo
were surrounded and the major was endeavor
ing to explain to an excited farmer and his three
grown sons how it was we had killed four ol his
best cattle within a dozen rods of the house.
It took SSO and a great deal of conversation to
smoothe matters as regarded the cattle,and then
the farmer wanted to know why in blank we had
come to Eel River bear-hunting, any way, when
every blankety-blanked fool in the whole
blanked region knew that there wasn’t but one
blanked bear in the whole county and he was in
a cage at Ukiah. He said he wished there were
bears around there; wished there were some of
the old-time grizzlies; he’d help-us find one and
then skin up a tree and watch him knock the
tar out of the whole blanked party. He added
that be didn’t care a blank if we had ’paid lor
the cattle, we couldn’t have a steak, as the ma
jor requested: he wasn’t keeping no blanked
butcher-shop for lunatics, anyhow. In fact, ho
seemed to be considerably annoyed, and so wo
returned to camp. A few minutes later a
deputy sheriff rode over from an adjoining
farm and requested us to move out of tho
county. We moved.
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