New York dispatch. [volume], March 27, 1887, Page 7, Image 7

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

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A PSALM OF LIFE.
Thro' the wiki Brtol of oor fever’d time
Tbo Bong of ifojuer comet b. grave and tarß »
With tidings from the world's Iresb, healthy prime—
Tidings which our worn, wearied age concern.
Unchanged, thro’ all the long unnumber’d years,
The voice o! Homer si Kgs the song divine,
Which (ells ol godii-Mo toils, of hero’s tears,
And of punishment of Friain’B line.
The battle in the plain is raging yet.
The w’atchSres blaze, the beak d ship# lint the
shore;
For us tbo too in gr m array is set—
Ah ! but do we light as they fought of yoro ?
For we, too. I'ke the heroes long ago.
Must wage slow wars and sail the bitter sea;
Fierce is the conflict, loud the trumpets blow,
And the waves roar and rage unceasingly.
St ill must we wander o’er the stormy main;
Twixt rooks and whirlpools a dead passage make;
Still id not the birrns mug to us in tfcin;
Still I: out the toils ol circe must we break,
Turn, then, to Hemer’s Psalm of Life, and see
How they endured whose pilgrimage is done;
And hear the message they have left for thee—•
Only by Patience is the victory won.
the usd wTianwD.
BY AN ENGLISH EX-DETEOTIVE.
I suppose meal people are willing to admit
that there are » great many rogues in the world.
Though all rogues do not succeed in getting
into their bands tlzousands of pound, of other
people’s money, they do not fail so much tor
lack of inclination as for want of opportunity.
That is a general statement,, you may say ; but
I am sure every man whose business causes
him to become well acquainted with the shady
aide of human nature will vouch for its correct
ness.
Members of the detective force have to become
very familiar with e ery kind of crime that the
law can punish. But they are oftenest em
ployed to trace ent the perpetrators of fraud,
and those whe make a system of thieving com
paratively small sums, often give them more
trouble than the man who carries on dishonest
operations on the largest scale.
.< I was once engaged iu a case of fraud that I
remember well, because some of the things I
learned interested me a great deal.
Two rather smartly-dressed and really fine
looking young ladies called at the office one
morning and asked to see the chief superin
tendent. They were taken to the head inspec
tor’s room. They stayed so long there that a
few of us who were about the office thought
there must be some very important business on
foot. Soon as they had gone, the inspector
came to the door and called out:
“ Orinly.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, and X stopped into
the room pretty briskly, because I was, jnst
then, wishing to bo put on something “ ape
dial.”
“I've a case here that I shall put in your
hands, Mr. Crinly,” lie said. “I suppose yon
saw the two young ladies who have just left the
office ?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ Well, they appear to have been fooled by
some smart young lellow, as young ladies often
are. They have teen swindled to what is, for
them, a very considerable extent. I want you
to.find the man and arrest him,”
“ Yes, sir. Any particulars ?” I said.
' “Very few, but enough for a detective who
knows his business, I daresay,” he replied.
“ They appear t® nave known very little about
him, though it seems both allowed him to go
aweethearting. They don't even know where
he lives. I think he’s one of the rolling-stones
who don’t stay long anywhere. Flo’s some sort
of a traveler or commfo’sion agent, and his name
is Herbert Clarke. Here is a description of his
appearance and the addresses of the complain
ants ; and now go and do the best you can with
the caso.”
The inspector handed me a sheet of paper,
on which the description of Herbert Clarke was
written, alter which 1 saluted and left the
room.
When I read the description, I found it would
apply to a dozen men one’ might meet in a walk
from Charing Cross to Temple Bar. But I was
on the case specialty, and 1 determined to work
it out in my owu fashion.
The complainants were Annie Bryce and Clara
Walton. They wore both in the sama line of
business, though one was called a dressmaker
and the other a la lies’costumer. Annie lived
at Battersea and Clara in the aristocratic neigh
borhood et Bayswater. My first step was to
call upon these ladies in the hope of gaining
more useful information than the written de
scription afforded. 1 first called on Annie Bryce,
and the story she had to tell was not very un
eommon.
Herbert Clarke was a fine-looking young fel
low, pleasing in his address, polite in his man
ners, and possessing that easy confidence in
himself which is usually ac mired by men who
ace a great deal of the world. He first called
upon Miss Bryce with some samples Of silk,
hoe and trimmings.
“Somehow, I took to him at once—he was so
nice and gentlemanly; and I gave him a small
order, though f really didn’t want the things I
ordered,” she said.
Mr. Clarke brought the goods himself, and
she paid for them at once, because it was one ot
the principles ol trade in the Nottingham house
ho represented t« sell good things at a fair
price and to give no credit. He called frequent
ly alter that, and ha became more like a friend
than merely a commercial traveler. He often
stayed half an hour, talking all the time, ** so
nice, like,” and in the course of these talks An
nie learned that he did business in a great many
things beside silk trimmings and laces. He
speculated in pictures, and land, and houses.
He had printed papers about these things.
They were to be gamed in a kind of lottery, and
he said it was the soundest and surest thing ol
the kind ho had ever heard of.
They became so intimate that Miss Bryce
once consented to spend a holiday with him, as
he said he had a day which he could spare from
business. She met him at Kew. He took her
into the Kew Gardeas Hotel and got her a glass
of wine and a biscuit Then he proposed to
take her fot a trip on the river. He had on a
loose jacket and a straw hat “ like what boat
ing gentleman wear,” and she consented.
When he had soalled the boat a long way
from where they Had started they were near
the bank, and ebe thought the shining river
and the green bank with the trees a little dis
tance upon it were quite charming.
“ Isn’t this deliglitml i” she said, waving her
hand toward the side of the river they were
passing very slowly. The ladies who live in
such a place and own so much that is lovely
■ ought to bo happy.”
“ Yes, they ought, and I suppose they are as
happy as the day is long,” he replied. “But
there is no reason why the ladies who live here
should have all the grandeur and all the hapni
ness. A few pounds wisely invested in the
scheme I have told yon about will secure for
poorer peoples place as beautiful as this. I
am sure of it; and I have put every shilling I
can spare into what I know to be a real good
thing. Why do you not try to be as rich as X
shall be ?”
Mr. Clarke saw that the mere mention of such
good fortune exeited Annie’s interest, and he
dilated on the advantages of the speculation in
Which ho had engaged until she appeared to be
convinced that thirty, or even filty pounds,
could not possibly be used in a more remuner
ative way.
Alter the trip on the river they took a little
plain dinner together. A glass of wine followed,
and before they left Kew, the idea of attainable
wealth and luxury and leisure, had taken pos
session of Annie e mind. Mr. Clarke accompa
nied her home to Battersea, and when be felt
her that evening he was in possession of fifty
pounds—half her fortune—with instructions to
ask for any more that might bo required to
make the favorable result ol her venture in the
land speculation absolutely secure. In place of
her fifty pounds she held a piece of crisp paper,
with much reading and a queer hieroglyphic
upon it, which was to serve as the title-deed to
an estate.
Mr. Clarke called on the following day to an
nounce that he bad forwarded the money to
the proper quarter. Three days later ho called
and produced a slip of paper, partially printed,
to notify that ton pounds more was required
an Annie’s coupon to entitle the holder s claim
to early consideration.
Miss Bryce parted with the second sum rather
unwillingly, and when a fortnight passed with
out a call trom Mr. Clarke, she began to think
neither the man nor the speculation were so
brilliant as they bad once appeared.
Ono Sunday Miss Bryce was walking in the
grounds ol the Crystal Palace, when, on cross
ing a grassy angle of the lawn, she suddenly en
countered Mr. Clarke. He took off his hat and
bent his head politely, but it was not difficult
to perceive the meeting did not give him real
pleasure.
“I have often thought of you during the last
few weeks, Mr. Clarke,” she said, when the
usual greeting hart passed between them. ’• I
wonder you did not call. The day on which I
was to know the result of my speculation in
your land scheme has passed. Perhaps yon
will now tell me what I have gained far the sixty
pounds you took Irom me.”
“ I did not like to be too hasty in conveying
disagreeable news, Miss Bryce. We were not
fortunate in the . ret attempt, I am sorry to say.
A few pounds will ensure a better result in a
few days.”
“ A few more pounds, sir ! I shall give no
more pounds. lam sorry that I wss induced to
give a shilling. lam afraid the whole thing you
are connected with is a swindle.”
“ No, no, Miss Bryce. I cannot control For
tune, you know; and your money is not lost.
It may yet return to you, increase in away
you little expect. The result of another dis
tribution of property will be known next Thurs
day. Think bettor of it, and secure your claim
to consideration by paying the supplemental
tee. May I walk with you, and talk the matter
aver ?” he said, with one of his most engaging
smiles.
- “ I don’t want any more talking ever, sir.
But 1 will trouble you for your address, so that
I may write to you a ter Thursday.”
“It will not be eeeessary to write. I will call
upon you. lam eorry you appear to have lost
faith in the speculation, and to find that you
blame me as if X could govern the whole affair ’’
“From the way you spoke to me, X was bound
to believe that yon had a great deal to do with
it, and I think you have. It I have been swin
dled, I must look to you or satisfaction. You
took my money, Mr. Clarke.”
“ You are angry, Miss Biyoe. This scene is
aot jieaaaut to me, I wtat leave you, but lam
sure you will treat mo more like a gentleman
when I bring you the good news I promised.”
Mr. Clarks seemed deeply hurt. He bowed
politely and walked on, leaving Annie in doubt
lor a few minutes as to whether she had not
been un ust to one who was “ so nice.”
My call on Clara Dalton procured me a story
very like that told by Annie Bryce in many of
its particulars.
Clara Dalton differed from Miss Bryce in char
acter and appearance. She was not, perhaps, a
year older, but she looked more womanly. She
was more cultured and dressed in superior
style, though ill-natured friends might suggest
that in the latter circumstance she only adver
tised her business as a ladies’ customer.
But that which surprised me most had no
connection with her appearance or her business.
I soon learned that this rather imperious-look
ing young lady had been much more deeply im
pressed by the handsome young traveler in lace
and trimmings than her bumbler sister at Bat
tersea. Like her, she had first made his ac
quaintance in the transaction ot business, but
sne had known him longer, and had early ad
mitted him to all the intimacy ot the closest
friendship. At different times she had lent him
sums ot money. Once, whan he represented
that a speculation had turned out unfortunately,
and that probable ruin stared him in the face,
her heart had been deeply stirred in his behalf.
He was about to leave the room despondently—
almost despairingly—when she softly seized his
wrist, and laid one hand upon his arm.
“ Herbert,” she said, “you must not bo ruined
if I can prevent it. I am not rich, but 1 can
command a hundred pounds. If that will en
able you to avert the ruin you fear, I will lend
it to you, and you may repay me when the
trouble that presses you now has been con
quered.
Herbert Clarke was nearly overcome by this
proof ot high regard, trust, and generosity. He
declared that such a loan on such conditions
would save Ids name Irom disgrace. He was
very unwitling to take the money he protested.
Ho did not think he could so much impose on
Mies Dalton’s generous nature—no, he could
not really take the money—but ho did take it,
notwithstanding all his painful scruples. He
gave a note ol hand o: it, but ho had not repaid
one penny, because he did not so soon recover
from the effects of his indiscretion.
The fact that Herbert Clarke owed Miss Dal
ton a hundred pounds iu addition to several
smaller sums she had previously lent him, did
not cause any decrease in the warmth of the
friendship she entertained for him. On the con
trary, they appeared to be drawn more closely
together as creditor and debtor than they might
have been had uot such a bond existed between
them. Miss Dalton knew of the great land
speculation in which he was interested. He had
represented the prospect of certain enrichment
by that speculation in the most glowing colors,
snd he appeared so confident ot success that ho
almost induced her to believe all ho said, in
spite of the teachings ot her more practical
worldly sense. He begged her to return his
note for the hundred pounds, and to let him
wisely invest the money tor her in the specula
tion. But she would not consent to that. She
gave him ten pounds, for which she received a
coupon, and declared she would not put more
money in the concern, however promising it
might appear to him. She thought he seemed
disappointed and vexed because she would not
invest, more heavily in the coupons he had.
There was a change in bis manner which sur
prised and pained her. Bhe thought he was
uot, after all, exactly such a man as she had
pictured him in her own mind.
When he left the house Miss Dalton fell into
what is often described as “a brown study,”
and after reviewing the past few months very
closely, she woke up with the suspicion that
Herbert Clarke had been all the time much
more anxious to get her money than to give any
pleasure to herself.
Mr. Clarke called on Miss Dalton the next
day. He found her in a stern, unbending mood,
which revealed some traits of her character
which he had not before discovered.
“ I wish to speak to you seriously this morn
ing, Mr. Clarke,” she said, turning toward him
when they bad entered the sitting-room to
gether. “I have need of more money than 1
can conveniently get just now, and I must ask
you to repay the sum I lent you two months
ago.”
“But, Miss Dalton, you surprise me! This
demand is so sudden ! You must know I have
not a hundred pounds at my command, or I
should have repaid the sum without putting
you to the pain of asking for it,” Mr. Clarke
said, in a great measnre preserving his compos
ure by a strong effort.
“Yes, I make this request with some pain,
Mr. Olarke ; but let that pass. You owe me
other sums, borrowed at different times, and 1
must ask you to return me the ten pounds I
gave to that land scheme you are so fond of.”
“How unfortunate I ami .1 sent away tbo
money tor your coupon in less than two hours
after you gave it me,” exclaimed Mr. Clarke,
with every appearance of annoyance,
“I wish you had been as prompt in paying
me, sir. But I want money now. The time at
which you promised to pay the hundred pounds
has long passed. I want to know bow’ much
you can let me have in three hours?”
“ Tlireo hours ! I assure you I have not two
pounds in my possession, Miss Dalton, and
there is no place in London whore I could get
five pounds in that time.”
“ I believe you are not telling me truth, Mr.
Clarke,” responded Clara, standing bold and
erect in her indignation. “ I believe you have
money, and I believe, too, that the papers you
carry in your pocket there, represent only a
fraud and a swindle. You start, sir, and clench
your hand as if you would strike me. But be
ware I 1 know you at last. I will give you un
til three o’clock to-morrow to repay the money
I ask. It Ido not hear from you then, you may
hear from me.”
Mr. Clarke saw that expostulation, explana
tion, or wheedling would be equally powerless
on this angry woman in her present mood, so
be took up his hat and went hie way without
speaking a word.
A young woman who had once worked with
Annie Bryce in a large establishment at the
West find of London was in the employ of Miss
Dalton, costumier, at the time these events oc
curred. Annie chanced to meet her in Oxford
street one day, and in the coarse of a long and
somewhat rambling chat Miss Bryce learnd that
the handsome traveler in lace and trimmings
often called on Miss Dalton, and they wore on
such very friendly terms that the women
thought Miss Dalton was quite willing to be
come Mrs. Clarke as soon as it could be made
convenient. Annie heard this bit of gossip with
the keenest interest imaginable, and with no
small share of surprise and anger. The next
day she called at Miss Dalton’s to learn Herbert
Clarke’s address. The women soon exchanged
confidences, and the result ot the interview
was the joint visit to tbo detective office and
the commencement of the ease iu which I was
engaged.
Though the facta I learned in connection
with Mr. Herbert Clarke were interesting
enough, they were not of a nature to render my
discovery of that gentleman an easy task. I
scrutinized all the young gentlemen I saw
going in or out of milliners’ and dressmakers’
places during the next lew days, but I failed to
see one on whom I could fix as fully answering
the description 1 bad received.
I was passing the Post Office one morning
when I saw a gentleman ascending the steps
whom I thought I had met somewhere before.
I looked at him closely a minute, and only when
he disappeared within the “Lelt Letters ” office
it occurred to me that I recognized him from
the close description of Clara Dalton. He came
out again almost immediately, and walked to
ward Alderegate street reading the letter I sup
posed he had received. When he had pro
ceeded but a short distance he tore the letter in
four pieces, and threw the fragments, together
with the envelope, into the street, where the
wheels of the ever-passing vehicles would soon
convert them into London mud.
I rescued the bits of paper from the ignoble
fate to which they were exposed. Hastily pick
ing them up, 1 found the envelope addressed to
“ James Harkness, London," and the words
“To be trft till called for ” clearly written across
the top. The postal mark proved that the letter
had been posted at Beading.
There was not much in all this. I did not
want James Harkness, yet as he waa so like the
man 1 did want, I at once resolved to learn all
I could about him.
He went into the telegraph office, and I fol
lowed him. He took a form and began to write.
I also took a form, but did not begin to write
immediately. I stood behind him tumbling in
my vest pockets as if in search of something,
and in the lew seconds I stood there I read
that the telegram was tor Loading. I could dis
tinguish only a lew words of the message. They
were “at once » * * churchyard » * »
Three.” I stooped and wrote while Mr. Hark
ness handed in his telegram and paid for it; but
when he leit the office I followed him without
waiting to eend any message.
I attended Mr. Harkness closely but not ob
trusively during the next few hours. At two
o’clock he took train for Beading, and I was a
passenger in the same train, but not in the same
carriage. Arrived at Beading, I hastened Irom
the station before him, and, going to the police
office there, made known my business, and pro
cured a plain-clothes constable to attend me
and obey any directions I might give.
It is hardly necessary to say the churchyard
was my point ot interest. When I entered the
place it was almost deserted. The silence
which pervades the resting-place of the dead
waa broken only by the twitter ot birds that
flittled among the trees. Beside an unusually
large old tree that stood among graves within
view of the church porch, I noticed a woman,
young, yet eorrowlul-looking, slowly pacing up
and down. I concluded she was Mrs. Hark
ness, the writer of the letter I had contrived to
read in the train, and advancing to the tree, X
would have spoken to her, but that I saw Mr.
Harkness enter the gate as the clock waa strik
ing three.
Very quickly and very noiselessly I succeeded
iu gaining a position on the other side of the
tree, where 1 could stand yet no be seen by
either of the persons whose meeting I desired
to witness.
“ Well, Sarah, I am punctual, you see,” Mr.
Harkness said, when he came up.
“ Because you dared not refuse to coma,
James,” she replied, bitterly. “ I gave only
hints in my letter, but you understood them, it
seems. You know that 1 have lound the name
st the people who employ you, and I may tell
you I know that you go under the false name
ot Herbert Clarke in London.”
“ And if I do, it is only because I find it nec
essary in the way ot business. Others do that.
But yon will never understand me, Sarah. You
think I ha' e no honor. You put the worst mean
ing on everything 1 say and do, while I nm
working ail the time to be in a posliiou to make
tor what you may have suffered.”
NEW YORK DISPATCH, MARCH 27, 1887.
“Do not talk of what I may have suffered,
I James. A wife who has been deserted for more
I than two years, and has been left to work or
starve while her husband was earning money
and spending it among others, must suffer
something. I tell you now, I must have some
support from you. I do not want you, but I
must have the money to which lam entitled. I
give you this chance. If you do not take it, I
shall go to London and expose you, as I said I
would/’ she said, with unmistakable earnest
ness.
“You cannot harm me, Sarah, but you can
ruin all my plans for your good and mine.
Though 1 am Herbert Clarke in Londan, I am
still James Harkness to you. Do nothing rash.
If I’m not interfered with for a few months more
in London, I can make money. Then I can take
you to a house that I shall think worthy ot my
wife. Be reasonable, Sarah. I feel the long
separation as keenly as you. But I must be left
alone until I can provide a fitting home for you.
I beg of you to believe in me yet. Put aside
your resolution, and do not seek me iu London,
or ruin must attend all my plans.”
Mr. Harkness extended his clasped hands to
his wife, and spoke with every appearance of
passionate pleading. But she loaned against
the tree, and held out one arm to keep him off.
“No more, James. You are false ! You have
broken my heart, and you must take the pun
ishment you deserve,” she said in tones which
expressed the agony she suffered.
“By Heaven, you shall not go to London I”
he exclaimed savagely. “ I will throttle you
where you stand 1 ’
“Not yet,” 1 said, stepping out and seizing
him firmly by the collar as ha appeared on the
point ot fulfilling his threat.
I cannot describe the sensation ray appear
ance caused. A whistle brought the plain
clothes man to the spot, and betv/een us -jamas
Harkness, a/ias Herbert Clarke, was taken to
the station in Beading and lodged in prison.
I returoed to town that evening and reported
my capture, with all the additional circum
stances I had learned. When the trial came on,
the prisoner could not make any defense
against the different charges. He was proved
to have swindled a great many people with the
coupons, of which he appeared to be the sole
proprietor, and he was sentenced to a term of
imprisonment which afforded him plenty ot time
to reflect on the result of “The Land Lottery
Fraud.” •
TALES OUT OF SCHOOL.
EVIDENTLY THE WORK OF A
TEACHER.
(irom Chambers’s Journal.}
A teacher's troubles are legion. Without a
certain average attendance, his scholars are in
eligible for the government grant tnless, ac
cording to age, they are able topass the various
standards and have presented themselves the
necessary number of times, be would rather be
without them. When the inspector comes
round, his skin or parchment will suffer for
their shortcomings. This is an article to which
he attaches the greatest importance, because
his future depends upon its condition. It may
be called his professional character. From
year to year the result of each examination is
marked thereon, and black marks count against
his future prospects. In the nature ot things,
he must suffer tor born dunces. They are in
evitable, and, therefore, like bad weather or
other disagreeable contingencies, they must be
tolerated. But the thoughtlessness ot parents
who keep their children from school, with little
or no reason, is a different matter. When the
teacher is paid out or the grant, they rob him
of money as well as reputation. It is, of
course, to his interest to keep a watchful eye on
those defaulters. As a rule, they are too many
for him. They excuse themselves in the most
extraordinary epistles sometimes, of which the
following is a specimen : “ Please excuse May.
She caught a cold through getting her feet wet
and 1 must get her another pair before she can
come to school.” YVhen Jessie Black returned,
after a long absence, she also bore a note from
her mother. This lady, according to her owu
statement, had been laid up with “information
in the back,” which necessitated the girl’s pres
ence at home. When, on reading the letter, the
teacher, with the best intention, no doubt,
hoped Bessie would take the same disease in
her bead, he did not consider the consequences.
Next day, Bessie rose before the whole school,
and, on her mother’s authority, informed him
ot that lady’s opinion of him. which was far
from flattering. As he had little to say in self
defense, or at least failed to clear himself of
the charge, the other children went home with
the idea that he must be a very malevolent- per
son indeed.
The wonderful diseases which afflict school
children often take the teacher down, as in the
following instance: Maggie Keen stayed away
frequently with neuralgia. On her appearance,
alter a few days’ absence, the teacher greeted
her with:
“ What, Maggie 1 neuralgia again 1”
“No, sir.” she replied, rather indignantly,
“it was not new ralger, but the old ralger, that
never went away.”
In scartaintown rumors went abroad that
an epidemic had broken out there. Lizzio
White lived in the street where it was said to
have appeared. Lizz a was away for a week,
out one morning she entered the school with
her eyes swollen. YYhen the teacher wont to as
certain the cause of her trouble, she began cry
ing, and said:
“ We have got something in our house, sir.”
“Indeed!” said the teacher, drawing back to
avoid infection. “ Are any or you laid up with
it?”
“Yes, sir, my mother.”
“ Sorry to hear that. You must go home at
once.”
Lizzie was on the point of obeying, when the
teacher asked:
“ Has the doctor been ?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“And did he say what it was 1"
“ Oh, it’s a boy 1"
It turned out that Lizzie had got a week’s
holiday in honor of the baby, and her whole
trouble was having to come and leave it at the
end ot that time.
The gamekeeper’s son who excused himself,
with a bold faoe, because he had been watching
game, nearly escaped undetected. At certain
seasons the game molested farmers, and he was
employed., along with his father, in protecting
crops. Considering the time of year, the teach
er was at a loss to understand what crop re
quired the services of Augus.
“Are you sure you have been watching
game ?” he said.
“ Quite sure of that.”
The emphasis on “that” aroused suspicion.
“ What game ?” he asked,
Angus looked crestfallen and confounded m
a moment.
“ What game, sir?”
Somebody whispered, “ Marblee,” and Angus
was obliged to admit the impeachment.
A boy, whose parents had just come to live
in the neighborhood, arriving late one morning,
was called up to give an account of himselt.
“ Where have you been until thia time?’ said
the teacher, severely.
“Please, sir, I had to call at my uncle’s.”
” What, you young rascal 1 You can have no
uncle in this town,” said the teacher, with still
greater severity. “ I have oaught you in the lie,
and I’ll thrash you to within an’inch of your
life.”
“Please, sir, it’s not the uncle you mean,” re
plied the boy, wiping his eyes ; “it s the uncle
1 have in every town.”
Need it be said he meant the pawnbroker ?
Want of clothes is one of the most common
excuses that parents give for keeping their chil
dren from school. A schoolmaster in a rural
district received the following :
“ You must excuse Nellie, for it’s not her
fault—it’s the call's. Her only dress was out
drying, and the calf ate it. But I will got a new
one out of the caff for it.
“N. B Leanne Carter has promised to buy
him.”
The step-mother who sent her husband’s
children to school almost naked, and when re
monstrated, said she “ didn’t see no good in
eddioafion, what did nought for people’s out
sides,” belonged to a class that harass the
teacher more than any other. To them, inward
benefits and possibilities go tor nothing. A
child attends school day after day, yet what is
there to show ? It is a sheer waste of time, they
will inform the teacher. They regard him with
contempt, and the School Board officer with de
testation. The whole system is a fraud, to
their minds, with no ultimate objoct beyond
the annoyance of poor people. The children
themselves imbibe these views. When a match
boy was asked how he accounted for his ab
sence, he replied, proudly:
"Business ; and there is no fooling there I”
He evidently participated in what is a too
eommon idea-that anything would be more
manly than attending school.
“ JAMES AND JOHN.”
A LITTLE RAILROAD INCIDENT.
The other day a number of passengers sat in
the waiting room of the Detroit, Grand Haven
A Milwaukee Railway depot, and side by sido
was a dumpy old man with a shiny bald'head
and his leit hand in a sling, and a tall, long
waisted man who had benevolence written all
over his hatchet face. After looking around for
awhile, the tall man drew a book trom his pocket
and began to read aloud:
“James and John were two brothers who
thought everything of each other. Wherever
James went John wanted to go, and vice versa.
One day their mother sent them .”
“ Oh 1 bosh I” exclaimed the dumpy man.
“ What’s that, sir ?"
“ 1 say bosh 1 If you are going to read, read
to yourself 1 Nobody wants to hear any such
trash as that 1”
“ They don’t, eh ? I’ll read any way I like,
and I don’t keer who listens or who don 11”
And ho continued:
“ One day their mother sent them to the vil
lage store to buy some sugar and tea. It was a
mile or so from the house, and the sun was hot.
As they walked along they cams
“They camo to the idiot asylum!” interrupted
the dumpy man.
“ Mebbe you was right there and seed ’em 1”
retorted the tall man.
“ Seed ’em 1 I should think you’d get a
grammar and study it 1”
“ And you orter git a book on manners.
You don’t know no more about etikette than a
hog 1”
“ Look out, sir ! If I hadn't this lame hand
I'd knock that hen-coop off your body I"
“ You would, eh I If it wasn’t for your fam’ly
I’d mop thia.fioor with your carcass 1 I don’t
allow r.o pork. Lots! on legs to rati over mo. I
wasn't Vrung up that way.”
“ Brung up 1 What ignorance I”
“ It’s no more ignorance than bringed up,
and I know it I If you’ve picked me up for a
' fule you’d better let go I I’m going to read the
rest of that story.”
“ You won t read it here 1”
“ Yos, I will 1”
Some one went out for the depot polioeman,
and he came in and told them what was what.
“ I’ll lay for that old pumpkin-seed some day
and make hie heels break his nook t” growled
the dumpy man as he went off to another seat.
“ Oh, I’ll stop readin’ aloud,” replied the tall
man to the officer, ’ but if I ever git bold ol that
villain out in tha country where nobody kin in
terfere down comes his’ cupalow with a crash 1
I’ll go outside now and gin him a dollar to spit
ou my butes 1”
FATE OF A* MORMON GIRL
THE STORY OF MARY LEE AND
OF HER TWO LOVERS.
Sixteen years ago Samuel Bates, a Mormon,
then the possessor of two wives, Ann and Jane,
the latter being childless, took Mary Lee, an
orphan, to bring up according to the rites
ot the Chnroh of the Latter Day Saints.
As Ann had many children to comfort her, the
babe was placed in the charge of Jane, a decent
Mormon, hcrselt born in the faith. Mary Lee’s
parents wore Irom England. Her mother was
a delicate little woman, well remembered by
many here as a tearful and unhappy person.
Times were hard with them when they first ap
peared here, and they grew harder for some
reason. Just as her husband was about to take
a second wife, evidently against the wishes of
the companion of his youth, be was killed in a
snowlide, and three months after that his widow
died, some said ot a broken heart, leaving little
Mary alone in the world. Samuel Bates was
something of a man among the Mormons. He
was called Broiher Bates. His first wife was a
hard, coarse woman, but Jane, to whom the lit
tle orphan wont, was tender, rather good-look
ing, and filled with a stern and unbending faith
in the divinity of her religion and a determina
tion to “ live” it to the end. The child which thus
fell to her partook of her dead mother’s disposi
tion. As she grew to womanhood she became
fair to a degree not olten seen in these parts,
bnt in spirit she waa gloomy, sad and reticent.
Surrounded by Mormons and taught by the
pious Jane, she became almost a fanatic on the
subfoot of religion herself, and readily accepted
all that was instilted into her mind as the inspi
ration of the Lord.
A year or two ago Mary Lee became ac
quainted with a yonug man living in a mining
camp not far from bore, a Gentile, ot course, as
no Mormon delves for gold and silver. The
yonth, Seth Bentley by name, rarely lost an op
portunity to pay the girl little attentions, and at
length it became the rumor that he was her ac
cepted lover. She would stroll away to the foot
hilis*to meet him, of evenings they would ba
seen by the mountain brook which winds
through the town, and on Sunday afternoons,
particularly when Brother Bates waa away trom
home, they would be riding or walking together
J sue made no opposition to the intimacy, but
when Brother Bates’s attention was called to the
matter, he felt that it was his duty to interfere.
Little by little Jane’s mind was won over to bis
way ol thinking, though at first she had been
unsuspecting. Bentley was forbidden the house,
and the girl was told that she must never meet
him again. But they met after this, not as a re
sult of Mary’s disobedience, out by reason ol
Bentley’s persistence. He found her one day
last Summer down by the brook, and when she
would have run from him be caught her, and,
holding her closely, he told her of his affection
for her, and entreated her to become his wife,
and in return received some encouragement.
From that time on they met occasionally, un
known to Brother Bates or to Jane.
In September Brother Bates went to Now
Mexico ou an exhortation tour, and when he re
turned in October he brought back with him a
Mormon elder named Cratty, who, seeing Mary
I.ee, bethought him that he would like to take
another wile, his fifth, and he accordingly
broached the subject to her on the second day
alter his arrival. The girl repelled him with
horror, but ho pressed his suit, and at length
brought Brother Bates to his assistance. At first
Jane opposed the proposition. She was a sin
cere Mormon, but her affection for her foster
child got the better of her faith for a time, and
until she could be placated Elder Cratty had to
hang his harp on the willow.
The means resorted to to bring Jane to see
the error of her ways are familiar to all who
have had intercourse with the strange people
who inhabit these valleys. Brother Bates had a
vision. Then Elder Cratty had a vision. Then
a bishop who was passing through Jericho Val
ley had a vision. Then the Sunday-school su
perintendent, the Suhday-school teachers and
the local elders and missionaries had visions.
By a singular concensus ot opinion all had seen
the same thing. Mary fec was God’s choice for
Elder Cratty’s wife. Still the girl, now most ol
the timem tears, like her unhappy mother,
dead sixteen years, shrank from the proffer of
the visitor and her foster mother, the kindly
but superstitious Jane, still demurred, though
growing weaker and weaker in her opposition.
Tha visions failing of the desired effect, Elder
Cratty and Brother Bates wont up into the
mountains some time last mouth, and, fasting
for fourteen days and nights, they wrestled
with the Lord, and at the end of their vigil they
were rewarded by seeing a great light and hear
ing a voice from heaven saying that Elder Crat
ty should take Mary Lee to wife, and that fur
ther delay would be both unseemly and dis
pleasing to the Lord. With this revelation and
the further assurance that a spirit had appear
ed unto Cratty in a vision saying that if Mary
Lee would marry him she would receive the re
quisite affection lor her husband by praying lor
it in the temple, the two wended their way
homeward and commuuic ited to Jane the result
of their prayers and fastings. In the face ot
such undoubted evidence ot the I.ord’s approval
that good woman could say no more, and taking
the girl to one side she advised her to give up
her Gentile lover and cling to the husband se
lected for her by God, who had promised his
servant that if she did not lovo him now the
spirits would confer great and surpassing affec
tion upon her at her nuptials.
Mary Lee's own faith was strong, and her in
clination to follow the teachings of her religion
was great; but it took many more interviews to
bring her to admit that she had decided to obey
the command. When she at last gave her con
sent there was much joy in Jericho Valley, and
a great company was made up to go along with
lhe wedding party to the temple. They were
to start by wagons on a Monday morning.
When the enn came up over the mountain
range that morning it saw Mary Lee down by
the brook, revolver in hand, stone dead. She
had risen during the night, and having sought
a secluded spot where she and Bentley often
met, she had taken her appeal at once’ to the
Judge of all the earth. Her religion would not
permit her to marry the man of her choice, and
her womanhood revolted against the alliance
which, according to earthly interpretation, the
unseen powers had arranged lor her.
FIENDS OF THE COMMUNE.
THE SHOOTING OF ARCHBISHOP
DARBOY.
(By E. B. Wastiburne, in Scribner’s Monthly.)
The days ot Tuesday and Wednesday, the
28d and 24th of May, were anxious days at
La Boqnette, but there were no very striking
incidents. About six o’clock on Wednesday
evening a detachment of forty of the National
Guard, belonging to the “ Vengeura of the Re
public,” as they ware called, arrrlved jat the
prison with a captain, first and second lieuten
ants, a commissaire ot police, and two oivil
delegatee. They all wore bright red scarfs.
Entering the office of the jailer, these oivil dele
gates demauded of the director of the prison
the release 01 the hostages, Buying that they
were commanded to shoot them. The director
at first refused to deliver up the prisoners, say
ing that he would not consent to such a mas
sacre of men confided to bis care without more
formal orders. A long dispute thereupon
arose, which finally ended by the director giv
ing consent to deliver up six certain victims
who had been designated. The men awaited
the decision impatiently in the court, and as
soon as the delegates bad got the consent of the
director to give up the prisoners they all
mounted the staircase pell-mell to the first
story, where the hostages were then confined.
In the presence of such a contemplated crime
a silence came over these assassins, who await
ed the call ot the names of the victims. The
names ot the six martyrs were called. The
President Bonjean, occupying cell No. 1, was
first; then the Abbe Deguerry, occupying cell
No. 4, was the second; and the lust called was
Monsiegneur Daiboy, Archbishop of Paris, who
occupied cell No. 23. The doors of the cells
were then opened by the officer of the prison,
and the victims were all ordered to leave. They
descended, going to the loot of the staircase,
where they embraced each other, and had a few
words, the last on •earth. Never was there a
more mournful cortege, nor one calculated to
awaken sadder emotions. Monseigneur Darboy,
though weak and enfeebled by disease,, gave his
arm to Chief Justice Bonjean, and the venerable
man, so well known in all Paris, Abbe Deguerry,
leaned upon the arms of the two priests. A
good many straggling National Guards and
others bad gathered around the door of the
prison as the victims went out, and they heaped
upon them the vilest epithets, and to an extent
that aroused the indignation of a sub-lieutenant,
who commanded silence, saying to them, ” that
which comes to these persons to-day, who
knows but what the same will come to us to-mor
row?” And a man in a blouse added, “Men
who go to meet ought not to bo insulted;
none but cowards will insult the unfortunate.”
Arriving in the court of La Roquette, darkness
had already come on, and it was necessary to
get lanterns to conduct the victims between the
high walls which surrounded the court. Noth
ing shook the firmness of these men when they
were thus leing marched to assassination.
The Archbishop was the coolest and firmest,
because the greatest. Ho shook each one by
the hand aud gave him his last benediction.
When they arrived at the place where ther
were to bo shof, the victims were all placeci
against the walls which enclosed the sombre
edifice of the prison of La Roquette. The Arch
bishop was placed at the head of the line, and
the fiends who murdered him scratched with
their knives a cross upon the stone in tn# wa R
at ths very place where his head must have
touched it at the moment they fired their fatal
allots. Ho did uot fall at the first volley, but
stood erect, calm and immovable, and before
the other discharges came which launched him
Into eternity, he crossed hifnssl! throa times !
upon bis forehead, |
The other victims all fell together. The
marks of the bullets after they had passed
through their bodies were distinctly visible.
The Archbishop was afterward mutilated and
his abdomen cut open. All the bodies were
then put in a cart and removed to Per© La
chaise, which was but a few squares off, where
they were thrown into a common ditch—-from
which, however, they were happily rescued be
fore decomposition had taken place.
a westoOycwne.
BY WILL HUBBARD-KERNAN.
“It isn't far -only aaven miles—and I know
you'll like my place. I’ve a pretty cottage, the
best of wines and just the loveliest little boy
you over saw.”
The young farmer stood on the threshold of
my office at Northwood, Dakota. Ho was on
his way to Grand Forks, and wanted me to ride
home with him on his return the following day.
“ Well, I'll go,” I said, “ but it will put the
paper behind, and •”
“ Ob, Ned can taka care of the paper, and
we'll have a pleasent week of it, hunting and
fishing.”
With that he started off at a swinging pace.
“ Hello, Ben,” 1 called, “ I didn’t promise a
week.”
He looked around, his handsome face ra
diant with smiles. Tossing me a kiss, ho cried
back:
“ I’m bossing this business, old fellow 1”
It was one of those bright, blythe incidents
that sweep across our lives at times and recon
cile us to the dark, the passion and the storm.
Later in the day I sat down and tried to write,
but I wasn tin the mood. I felt uneasy, op
pressed, unlike myself. It seemed as if there
was a strange, electrical influence in the air that
strung the nerves to the highest tension, caus
ing me to throw down my pen, spring from my
desk and walk quickly to and fro.
I went to the door. How still the air was !
How sultry I How intense 1 I could hardly
breathe; and away off to the north was a green,
flying, hideous cloud that suddenly darkened
the sun till we had to light our lamp.
Ned his stick, came over to me and
said: “ I feel so-so queer.”
“The cloud—the cloud, Ned!” I cried, for
while he was speaking it had taken the shape
of a balloon, and out of it flashed a light that
seemed to whirl and leap and dance and rise as
if it possessed a conscious lite.
There is no other light in all the universe like
that which leads the unutterable horrors of hell,
the cloud of a cyclone.
Ned caught my hands.
There was a roar—low, louder, intenser, until
it seemed as it the endless end had come, and
the earth was smiting the planets in mad, Titanio
terror as it flew out of its orbit lorever.
The hand-ptanted trees in front of our office
shook, quivered, beat the green ground with
their branches, broke, and away wont the
boughs to the uttermost limits of sight. Terri
ble flashes of lightning splintered the low-lying
clouds in the horizon into fire, and tbs earth
seemed to send electric.ty to the heavens, that
thundered with unceasing crash upon crash, till
tbe devilish diapason left me stunned and half
Ned clasped my hands closer, closer, silent,
awed, in the awful sublimity of that tremendous
hour.
The office rocked, rooked.
Flash !
Boom !
I caught Ned by the shoulders. He was white
as eternal death. In an instant it was all past
and we tottered to the lounge. I gasped for
breath. Ned lay beside me, gasping out un
consciously at the empty air.
We had been caught on the edge ot a cyclone.
Next day Ben drove up to my door.
“ Come on,” he said, jauntily.
There was a great gulp in my throat as he
spoke.
“You—you have heard of the cyclone ?"
“ No—no—where ?”
He tottered into the office—his great, beauti
lul, intelligent eyes taking in all that I meant.
“ Out there 1”
He looked and fainted dead away—dead away
—poor, poor boy I
We brought him to—Ned and I—and he lay
there for hours crying out:
“My wife—my little Bessie, and oh, my boy t
—my pet Harry—Harry I”
“ Ned,” I said, “ spring into his buggy, rid e
as quickly as you can to bis home, and return
to-night, it possible.”
And the hours—the awful hours that soma
inscrutable Bower intends us all to pass through
—went by as though they ware centuries.
Ned came back as the clock of the night
struck tbe hour ot eleven.
“Ned I”
He tore past me into the back room.
“Oh, I have seen—have seen things—let God
forever have me forget;” and he broke down in
a great sob. “His pretty home is a ruin, his
wife dead under its rafters, and his little boy
clasped in the arms of his mother.
There was a wild, unearthly cry, Ben had
followed us and listened.
“My Harry! Ob, my Harry I What of him?”
“ Saved by a miracle—unhurt I”
“ Now God be thanked 1 But Bessie I Oh,
darling, darling!” and he fell prone.
“ Ben,” I said, throwing my arms around him,
tor I loved him as a brother.
“ Ben, you have Harry yetl”
“ Yes,” he said, alter a long, long while. “ But
Bessie!” and he went out to the place that had
been his home.
And I turned to my desk and wrote the trage
edy, and said;
“ Yet the years troop on, with the immortal
beauty of the blue, sun-shotted sky laughing
down at us all. The years troop on, with the
carol and thrill and warble of the birds ringing
after us from the glad, green branches of our
maple trees. And the years troop on, with life
and color and song, to cheat us into a love of
lite, and sneer at us for surrendering to their
charms.”
What is the use of it all! I say—
Why are wa brought from tbe blank unknown ?
To laugh and weep through a little day.
That drifts us under a buri tl stone ?’*
negeTsupebstition.
HEATHEN FUNERAL RITES IN A
SOUTH CAROLINA GRAVEYARD.
(From the Atlanta Constitution.)
Not long since I rtas visiting one of the towns
in upper South Carolina. I and a friend were
taking an afternoon stroll into the adjoining
country. We had proceeded some distance
and were passing through a dense wood, when
suddenly my companion stopped and nervously
inquired:
“What’s that?”
I came to a halt and listened. A weird,
mournful sound floated through the trees and
reached our ears, it seemed to come only a
short distance; appeared to emanate Irom the
copse on the other side of the road. We
bad scarcely gained the opposite thicket We
crossed over and followed, bent upon investi
gating what it was, when we encroached unex
pectedly into one of those country burying
grounds which are to bo found near every ham
let in South Carolina.
It was a strange picture that met our sight,
and one that belonged more to heathen lands
than to our owu civilised country. There, around
a newly made grave, about twenty-five negroes
were collected. They all held hands and were
slowly moving to and fro, while they wailed
forth dirges, and at intervals would ejaculate
wild, incoherent words. In the midst of the
circle, at the head of the grave, an old woman
sat, who rooked backward and forward, her
eyes rolled wildly, and she moved in a mechan
ical way. This was the widow of the deceased,
and it was her required part in the ceremony to
loudly moan at appointed intervals during the
singing. Something in this way their hymn
sounded, as nearly as I could catch tbe words;
De white horse be rode,
Wid de sickle in hie hand.
And slew down our brudder,
From among our earthly band,
A moan I Sister, moau I
And here the widow would reintroduce her
heathenish incantations. These were kept up
lor some time, when suddenly they ceased and
the negroes prostrated themselves upon the
ground, while the minister, a tall, very dark
negro, stood and offered up a prayer. After
the “ Amen ” was uttered they rose; two of tbe
number took from ajbasket, near some articles,
with which they decorated the grave, as If thev
were placing upon the tomb floral offerings.
They then slowly formed in procession and si
lently marched out of the enclosure. My friend
and I, curious to decide what the peculiar mode
of grave decoration was, proceeded to the spot
where an old man was shouldering his spade to
quit the place.
“ Why, old man,” said I, “what are those
things they have left on the grave ? Boltlee,
shoes, a jug I Why, what does it all mean ?”
“ Well, boss,” said the ebony gravedigger,
with an air of importance, “you see, we puts
de articles dat de departed brudder use to use
on de grabe for to keep away de bad sperrits,
and I e’pose it is a sort ob ’special way ob
treating do memory ob de lost sister or brud
der. You see, dar’s de bottle dat he take the
medicine from when he be sick. And dar’s de
jug; It had de last dram be drank ’fore be j’ined
de temperance meetin’, and de boots, I s’pose
de v shoes, dat he gwine to change for de golden
slippers dat he but on when be j’ine de band np
yander,” a»d abeam of placid faith illumined
the old black face.
It certainly was a strange sight. Here were
numberless graves, all bearing tbe same pictur
esque decorations. Children’s graves were
covered with broken toys, tin horns, gaudily
colored clay cats, dogs and owls. One mound
was almost beaten to the ground with age, and
on it rested in dilapidation an old hat and the
remnants of a banjo, also a clay pipe and a coon
skin. Near by them was tbe grave of a black
smith, with the implements of bis craft wedged
in the gronnd, and rusty horsesboeg formed a
circle around the mound.
Looking around tbe strange scene, it was dif
ficult for me to realize that I was in a land of
advancement and civilization while surrounded
by such relics of superstition and of barbar
ism. I was forced to believe that the negro, in
stead of progressing in his religions views, is
daily evincing a tendency to fall back to feti
chism and voudofsm, bis original form of wor
ship. It prevails among the negroes, especially
on the islands in the lower portion of the State.
They do not, it is true, give adoration to ani
mals, trees and stones, as the fetich worshipers
did centuries ago, but tbe difference is very
slight from that idolatry.
The advance in knowledge and civilization
widens the horizon of tbe negro mind to some
extant, yst the tendency to look back and em-I
brace what savors ot superstition seems on
grafted in his nature.'
Their revival hymns and their various modes
of expressing religious enthusiasm, and the
“ going through,” as they express spiritual pro
gress and conversation, all evince a love tor the
weird and superstition.
This impulse does not spring from a primeval
revelation, but lv>s its deep foundation laid in
the very nature <rt the negro.
My mind has been impressed with the scene
which I have above described, and I am sure
my elegy in a negro churchyard will be a reve
lation to those who do not dream that within
our very midst is such a dark shadow of igno
rance and superstition.
elopersWrejnough.
NOT SO MUCH OF A JOKE AS A
SURPRISE.
(From the Lewiston, Me., Journal.)
“There had been an account of an elope
ment in the morning papers,” said the com
mercial traveler, “and I was thinking of it
when a couple drove up to the country hotel
and registered ‘Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So.’ I
winked at tbe boys and said, ‘Here a for a
joke.’ Tbe old hotel-keeper was a very dear
friend ot mine and took my word for gospel
truth, so whfen I said, ‘Look out for ’em! I
think I know ’em, and they are eloping and
they are not married,’ eto.‘ you ought to have
seen the old fellow. He scowled and lifted his
chin, and wagged it up and down halt a dozen
times, sort of as though he was thinking it over,
and then he walked off. All the other boys in
the house were put on to the joke, and we
agreed to watch the old man and see what ho
did.
“Supper rang, and the party of traveling
men took seats at one table and left the new ar
rivals to the sole occupancy of another. The
hotel proprietor, who helped serve at tbe table,
took his station as much as possible behind the
young couple, bis eye all the time watching
their every movement
“ • Will you have some sugar in your tea ?’
at length said the young man to his companion,
as he passed the saccharine lor her use.
“ ‘ No, thank you; I never use sugar in my
tea,’ was the sweet response.
“ We were watching the old man as he stood
near them and heard this answer. Ho grew
about a foot in a second. ‘ He’s got a clew,’ said
1 to myself. And it was a clow such as would
make the eye of a Pinkerton detective sparkle.
Tbe idea of a husband not knowing whether his
wife used sugar in her tea or not 1 The old
man didn’t linger Mug about coming to a deci
sion. He leaned over and said :
“ ‘ Young man, yon leave tbe table. That
woman is not your wedded wife.’
“The couple never whimpered. They called
for their team and drove on. The most sur
prised party in the affair was ours. We hadn't
dreamed that we were so near the truth. The
next day the same pair were arrested in a neigh
boring town and carried back to their homes.
If I should tell that landlord now that the
Methodist minister that boards with him was
Jesse James in disguise, he would believe me.”
gsEgaaawgMLwawiia
The poet here propounds the conundrum,
IS THIS WOMAN A MAGICIAN?
Did she magnetize.
Psychologize,
Or mesmerize me, which ?
Is she human.
And a woman,
Or, as I think, a witch ?
' Who can tell ma
What befell me
When I saw the siren first ?
What magnetic
Thrill prophetic
Filled mo till I thought I’d burst!
Is it magio ?
Is it tragic
That I do whate’er she says ?
That she found mo,
And has bound me
As her slave for all my days ?
Though we’re married,
Love has tarried
And my wife still works her spell;
A magician—
That's her mission—
If 'tig witchcraft, it is well.
We have here a somewhat sarcastic story of
HOW WOMEN FISH.
Did you ever see a woman fish ? I don’t mean a
female fish, but a woman in the act of fishing. If
she’s got to go out to buy a paper of pins or a yard
of ribbon when it is wet, she 11 load herself up with
a rubber and a pair of arctics and an umbrella and
a nock protector. She is too delicate for a drop of
rain to touch her. But she’ll go out in a boat alone
on a wet day and let tbe rain come down on her
and tbe waves dash over her, and stand soaking
like the hardest sailor man. There were four ladies
onco went fishing. They selected a very rainy day,
aud they had ail their waterproof cloaks and head
and foot covering. They were all by
when they took a boat and went to fish. It was in
Maine. With true feminine earnestness, they start
ed off without anything to put the fish in. They
had an elegant time until they caught a pickerel.
When they caught the pickerel thov didn’t know
what to do with it. It was alive aud flopping.
They had it in the bottom of the boat. They won
dered why it didn’t lie quiet. At last a happy aud
benign thought struck ono of thorn.
“Poor thing I It’s getting all wet lying in the
rain."
And sho whipped off her waterproof and wrapped
it up in it. Each of the four caught a pickerel, and
each of the four wrapped it up in her waterproof,
and the rain them through to the skin, but they
kept their fish dry all the same.
The Arkansaw Traveller gives ua thia speci
men of
PLANTATION PHILOSOPHY.
We I’arn ez much from de 'zample o’ de fool ez
we do from de words o' de wise man.
I'so seod men dat didn’t hab time ter eat nor ter
sleep, but I neber yit seod er man dat didn’t hab
time ter die.
Er man ken be aich er ole frion’ dat he thinks it
his right tor ’pose on yor; like er ole fam ly boss
what takes up de ideo dat he’s got er right ter kick
de chlllua.
Hopo is like er sassafras sprout. Yer mor tramn
on it; yer mer cut it down ur eben dig it up by de
roots, but de fust thing yer know er tender shoot
dun come up.
Er pussen will sometimes make de same mistake
twice, but I ain’t loan’ de man yit dat ebercrowded
one dese yere laung, hungry houn’ dogs up in da
condor o’ de fence do secou' time.
Our old friend “ Carl D under ” makes
HIS DISCOURSES ON SEVERAL LITTLE THINGS.
Sometimes somepody comes to me und says vhas
I Carl Dunder ! 1 vhas. All right, Mr. Dander, I
vhas going to trafcl und I like some advice of you.
Und I says to him:
••Keep sober, taka the middle car on a railroadt
train, und doan’ bet on some odder man’s game.’’
Sometimes a man mit a plug hat und a bland
ehmila comes into my saloon und says how you
yhaa, Mr. Dunder, und how vhas dot good wife of
yours, und how does Shake get along, und pless my
soul! but you vhas der fattest uud jolliest Dutch
mans in Detroit I Say, Mr. Dunder. I like to shpeak
a few words mit you in brivate. I vhas going to run
for office dis Fall, uud I like to count on you to
help mo through. I pring all der barty here to puy
beer, und I make Shake my deputy, eh ? How vhas
it, oldt friendt? Und I say to him:
•*Der man who depends upon bolitics vhas a
knave or a fool. Der man who depends upon boli
ticians vhas all foot If I help you und you vhas
elected you forget me. If I help you und you vhas
defeated dot odder gandidate vhas my enemy for
life.’’
Sometimes a man mit a sadt look on his face, slips
aroundt to me und says I like to talk to you, Mr,
Dunder. I vhas in some troubles mit my wife, und
I like to ask your advice* If you would be so kindt
as to tell toe .
Und I says to him:
••My dear frendt, vhen it is time for husband or
wife to go mit somepody else to complain of each
odder, it vhae time to go to der courts for a divorce.
Vhen family troubles can’t be kept in der family,
it vhas better dot you go off und drown yourself.”
Sometimes a young man comes in very softly
vhen nopody vhas aroundt. und says, "Hello, Mr.
Dunder. you und my ladder has been friendta a
good while, und I like to ask a leedle favor. I vhas
a leetla pehindt financially, uud I like to ask yon to
loan me twenty dollars." Und I say to him:
••Vhen a young man was pehindt financially,
something was wrong mit his way of living. Vhen
a young man has to go to bis ladder's friendt to
raise twenty dollar, it vhas a matter dot der ladder
can’t know too soon.”
This young woman was right in her opinion
that there was
A SLIGHT INCUMBRANCE.
She had gone up to visit a lady friend, with
whom her acquaintance was slight, and she wanted
to let her know something that is usually consid
ered among ladies rather important.
•‘ You know I am engaged to be married ?"
••Indeed ! He’s a nice fellow, of course."
••Yes, charming—a delightful gentleman.”
" And when is the ceremony to take place ?’*
" Well, I don't quite now.”
••There needn't be any delay about such a thing
as that. He e wealthy, is he?”
" Yes, he’s very well off. But you see—well,
there’s a slight incumbrance.”
” A slight incumbrance ?”
•• I mean—well, he’s not divorced yet.”
When house-hunting is the craze, women will
appreciate this story about
JUST THE HOUSE SHE WANTED.
Omaha House-hunter—" I thought you said this
house was a perfect gem ?”
Agent—“lndeed it is, mam."
•• Why, the ceilings have no bight at all.”
"That's so they’ll be easy to keep clean, mam."
"And the windows are dreadfully small.”
•• To keep the sun from fading the carpets,
mam.”
••And there is no bath*room.”
"That’s to save soap, mam.”
Th® latest outgiving of the President's court
journal (the Washington Critic,) relates
THE PRESIDENT’S FIRST AND ONLY JOKE.
••Daniel.” remarked the President this morning,
as he heard his worthy P. S. humming a soft, sweet
air to himself, whilo he sorted out his mail.
••Yes, sire,” roeponde£ Daniel, cutting tbe song
short off.
•• What was that you were singing ?”
*• Nothing much, sire; only a line, ‘My bark is on
the sea.* ”
Tbe President's face clouded with fhe shadow of
an unhappy memory.
"Daniel,” said he, "what is the difference be
tween you and Hector?”
••Why. sire,” replied Daniel, with a hurt look,
••I hope there are many points of difference.”
"Tut, tut, Daniel, don’t be superaensltivs* I
mean in what one particular ?”
"I give it up, siro. What is it?”
" Weil. Daniel, tbe difference is, that your bark is
on the sea and Hector’s is out in the back yard all
night." •»nd a profane aud ravougeful laugh fell
from tbe Praaident'a lif-a.
Shrewdness, tact, intelligence and versatility
are all valuable essentials in the mental make
up of the successful reporter ; but these are as
nothing if he is lacking in pure and undefiled,
gall. Lacking this, he has not the real journal
istic instinct that is the secret of success. Tha
heart of an editor beats high when he runs
across a reporter whose gall is like that of tho
man mentioned in the following
TOUCHING INCIDENT.
A funeral procession was winding its way slowly
and sadly toward a distant cemetery when an I
denly a man rushed forward from the sidewalk nn<*
motions the hearse to stop. Then he haetUy whip 4
out a note-book, puts one foot on a hub of tha
hearse wheel, lays the book ou his knee, and. ponef.
in hand, asks:
•♦ Name oi tho corpse ?”
•• What ?” soys the amazed driver.
•* Name of the corpse, please ?"
“Why, Johnson, I believe; B. G. Johnson,
but ”
••What did he die of?”
•• Typhoid fever.”
"Ahl Family?”
"Why, yes; but I ”
"How much family ?”
"Four children and—but lookoe here, you get out
of tho way, for I ’’
"Leave widow?"
"Yes; but what you ”
•‘Funeral from house ?”
"Yes; but, man adv®, if yon don't "
"Man of property?"
"Some—now you ’•
" Been sick long ?"
"Three weeks—but I—hero wo go.”
*• Wait. What cemetery ?”
" Riverside.”
•• Ah I Body in grave or vault ?”
"Vault—but now you *'
*' That’s all. Thanks. Reporter for tho Dart#
Gao, you know. Come around and get a copy of
paper. Here’s my card. Ta, ta.”
The Arkansaw Traveller gives a new defini
tion of
PETIT LARCENY DEFINED.
A man,, charged with running away with his
neighbor's wife, was arrested and arraigned before a
negro Justice of tbe Peace, a great black fellow, cele
brated among the negroes on account of his exten*
sive learning, having, during many years, been a
servant in the family of a college professor,
" Your Honor,” said a lawyer employed by tho
defense, ‘»ydu can not hold this man. Thore is no
law under which he can be punished.'*
"Wall, airter etudyin’ de statures I conclude that
I mus* hoi' him on de charge o’ petit larceny.
staalin' o' de lady wuz larcony, for all theft is dat,
an’ its petit larceny, ’case petit means little, an' d«
lady whut wuz stole is er little 'oman, so we’ll jea*
hoi’ de thief ter wait de action o’ de gran* jury.”
The terrible in hint, always in the shape oft
small boy, continually gives hia eldest sister
trouble. This infant
UNDOUBTEDLY KNEW BEANS.
Pater Families (who has invited his daughter’s
beau to have a little refreshment)—•• What 11 you
have, John ? A little, oold roast beef, cold chicken,
or ?"
John (a true Bostonian)—"Ain't those baked
beaus in that dish ?"
P. —•• They are ! Have some ?”
Daughter’s little brother (who has been permitted
to sit up & little while longer than usual)—" Ila,
Jennie, I’ve caught you. I thought you were toll
ing me a lie at the time.”
Jeunia " What do you mean, Johnnie ?”
Johnnie—•• He picked ’em out in a jiffy.”
Jennie —" Picked out what? Who?”
Johnnie—" Your beau. He picked out the beans
himself and you told me hedldn'tknow beans ."
Pater Families (iu a voice of thunder)— •* Johnnie,
go to bed.”
Johnnie (bursting into tears)—” She did, pa. she
did. She said he didn't kuow beans or lie would
have proposed long ago.” Tableau.
SOINTILLATIONd.
If handwriting is really an index of
character, there can be no doubt "that moat news*
paper men are inherently bad.
Edison is at work on a patent lever.
Ho says ho expects to be able to raise anything with
it except, possibly, the minister’s salary.
First Rag Picker—“ What luck this
morning, Raphael?" Second Rag Picker— "Diavolo!
I'f found nothing but wire boostles yet.”
In China old women instead of the
young are the belles of society. The mania for old
China seems not to be confined to America.
If Pobiedonostchieff succeeds De Giera
as Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs, war will b<
immediately declared between the compositors and
the proof readers.
“ And were you not afraid of being in
Marseilles ? Didn’t you dread the small-pox ?” Mrs.
Parvenue—•• ch, no, indeed I Ive already had ths
celluloid, you know.”
Smith (with effusion) —“Hello, Brown,
is that you? I heard you were drowned.” Brown
(with sadness)—"No, it was my brother.” Smith
fthoughtlessly)—" What a pity.”
“I hear that young Mr. Philkias
is quite ill,” said Mrs. Joggins. " Yes, poor fellow,”
replied Mrs. Snooper, '• ho loads such a sedimentary
life that his health is shattered.”
Now that we have had marriages by
telegraph, by telephone nnd by proxy, the next in*
novation upon the sacred ceremony to bo expected
is marriage ou the installment plan.
“The surplus women must be pro
vided for,” says Miss Kato Field. Bless your Inno
cent heart, Kato, that’s Just what poor old Brishan.
Young tried io ao, aua you are pitching laid him
like all possessed.
Spriggs—“ How much older is your
sister than you, Johnny?" Johnny— "I dunno.
Maud uster be twenty-five years, then she vm
twenty, and now sho ain’t only eighteen. I guoai
we'll soon be twins.*’
“ What is an affair du coeur, papa
said the small boy who had been endeavoring tt
read the daily paper. " That must be a new namt
for a dog fight.” said the old gentleman, as ha
reached for the paper.
Weary brainworker—“ My brain is s*
tirodl I wish I know of »omo vast solltuda, ia
which no living being intrudes, to which I might
retire for rest. Sympathetic friend— lean ohow
you an old skating rink.”
Little Maria Lewis, five years old, was
told by her teacher that'the Mississippi river was
called the Father of Waters. "How is that. Miss
Mattle ?” she queried, •• if it is the Father of Watorg
it ought to be Mis ter-Si ppi."
Young Hobsonby—“ Have you tha
Rosa Perfecto Cabana Victoria cigar ?" Dealer (re
gretfully)—"N-no, sir; but we have the Cari»sima
Carambay Los Angelos Ypsilanti braid.’’ "How
much are they ?” "Two for five.”
A citizen, always believed to be a littla
"near,” bought a horse, and after a trial complain
ed to the seller, a neighbor, that the animal some
times "over-reached.” To which the other party
responded: "Well, they say the same of you."
Said a maid, “I will marry for lucre,”
Aud her scandalized ma almost ahucre.
But when the chance came,
And she told the good dame,
I notice she did not reb acre.
“ Here, waiter, wbat kind of water is
this 1" said a guest at a country hotel down
South. "Daf. spring watah, sab," replied tha
waiter, politely. "Oh, Is it? Well bring me soma
winter water. "This is warm enough to wash a
shirt in.”
Throe different waiters at a Southern
hotel a.ked a little, prim, precise Harvard professor
at dinner, in quick succession, if he would have
soup. A little annoyed he said to the last waiter
who asked. "Is it compulsory ? ’ •* No, sah,” an*
swerod our friend and brother, " no, sab, I think it
am mock turtle.”
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7