New York dispatch. [volume], September 25, 1887, Page 7, Image 7

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

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SALTING THE CATTLE.
“John, John I" I cried, for I spied the rover—
' •• Where are you going. John.'?" May 1 go. too?
Your voice came faintly up across the clover:
“To salt the cattle. Yes.” Away I flaw,
Down the dark lane, ’neath the drooping larches.
You wafting for me just beyond the corn
That opened in long lengths of gleaming arches,
■ And led me out into the dewy morn.
Then we sped on. Did our feet touch the grasses?
Or did we glide, as sometimes in dreams.
JVithout a motion save the thought that passes,
And wills us onward over fields and streams !
A brook's loud brawl called us from the valley,
Telling of pools where the minnows sleep;
And fragrant spruce trees w’ooed us long to dally
With hoards of spicy gum packed close and deep.
A ledge, high up, flashed a sign of treasure,
That lured us upward from the ferny glen;
We had not learned all pleasing things to measure,
And mica was as rich as silver then.
We tried to find the thrush that sang below us;
He led us through wild mazes In his flight;
But, oh, what wonders did the woodlands show us,
With shy, small creatures hurrying from sight!
We went so deep the outer world was banished,
Then shut our eyes, and, twirling round and
round,
£oon every trace of path and homo had vanished.
And we were lost in that enchanted ground.
hint from sun or pointing shadow heeding.
We went the way we found our faces set;
Which led us out to where the herd was feeding,
And brought to mind our task neglected yet.
When, at your call, they came with eager scurry,
You laughed aloud to see my look of fright;
But helped me climb where, free from childish
worry,
Hooked down calmly from a bowlder’s bight.
J watched the horned mass of living creatures
Surging about the base of my retreat.
And marveled at you, as, with tranquil features,
You dropped the salt close by the tramping ieet.
The sun had slipped behind the mountain fringes
Before we started on our homeward way,
And western skies were bright with sunset tinges.
Ah I our short task had filled the summer day 1
THREE MISSnufcTRLS.
BI AN ENGLISH EX-DETECTIVE.
PART I.
The local police having failed in tracing out
the whereabouts of a missing young lady, I was
selected—upon the application of the parents—
to solve the mystery.
Harriet Acton was the daughter of an inde
pendent gentleman living in the Trent Valley,
about equi-distant from two small towns which
we will call Thorneley and Curton Vale. She
had received an excellent education, and had
only just left a very superior boarding-school,
near Doncaster, a few months before her mys
terious disappearance.
Five days after the dispatch of mv colleague,
Mitcham, to the scone of the mystery, I was
riding up to town, when, on opening the
morning paper, I was astounded by seeing a
sensational heading like this:
•• AN9THEB MTSTKKIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.
A SECOND YOUNG LADY MISSING;”
and the brief paragraph went on to explain that
Miss Amelia Bennett went to visit a friend near
Hull, from the vicinity of Goole, three nights
before, with a view of returning next day. The
sudden illness of her mother rendered it neces
sary for her father, Captain Bennett, to recall
bis daughter by a telegram. Mrs. Willis—the
friend to whose house Miss Amelia had gone—
opened the yellow envelope, and immediately
replied that the young lady had left her house
to return at noon, Tuesday, the day alter her
arrival, and as arranged. Inquiries were set on
toot at ones, but no trace of the lost one could
be obtained, and Friday morning’s paper now
proclaimed the disappearance to the whole
World.
On reaching the office, the chief asked me into
Jiis room at once.
“ I’m glad you’ve come, Poynter,” he said.
«« You must go down to Thorueley at once. I’ve
been empowered to say to you • Act as you
please.’ You have seen that there is another
young lady missing?”
“Yes,” I returned.
The principals are highly impressed with
your objections to going down openly. Mitcham
was waylaid last night at Thorneley and nearly
murdered. We have just received a telegram
from the postmaster there. The poor fellow is
lying at the Leopard Inn, in the market-place.
Whan can you get ready ? Do you want assist
ance?”
It is unnecessary here to go into details. I
went down to Manchester by the mid-day ex
press. There is an old friend of mine there,
manager for a great firm of publishers, who sell
books in parts by means of a large army of can
vassers. That evening a largo box of books
were addressed to “Mr. James Pennyweather,
Traveling Agent for Messrs. Ventnor and Sons,
Publishers, London, Manchester, and Glasgow.
To be left at Leopard Inn, Thornely, until called
for.
Early next morning a ciosely-shaven, serious
looking man got out of the train at the station
next to Thorneley. In his right hand he carried
numerous specimens of quarto books, in one oi
those valises so long known in association with
book canvassing.
He did not seem to notice much, but I can
give you my word very little escaped his eyes—
for his eyes were mv eyes, since I was the limo
pent book-canvasser.
On the top of the elevation nearest Thorneley
there is a modest but old-fashioned looking
house, in spaci. us groends. As 1 came up to it
I saw a smart dogcart standing in front of the
furthest of the two gates. A remarkably fierce
looklng groom held the reins. Turning my eyes
upon the gate nearest me, I saw the words
“Servants’ Entrance,” and without a moment’s
hesitation turned into the secluded pathway
which lay between two high hedges, and evi
dently made a sweep round the rear of the
house. The centra was gravel, the sides long
■ west-grass. 1 chose to walk on the grass, and
was rewarded.
I was about to proceed to the servants’ quar
ters, when I heard a woman’s voice, raised in
anger, quite close to me:
“I tell yon, you are too reckless, and will ruin
all! By beating the man, you attract all Eng
land to you. You must be mad 1”
“Hush, Loo ! Don't be a toolI” returned a
man. “ Some one may hear. The servants—”
••Are in the upper part of the house, and can
not hear. I shall wash my hands ot the whole
business.”
“ Hush I” began the man. *
A faint breeze rustled through the foliage, and
this enabled me cautiously to push a few
branches aside without being heard. I beheld
a wonderfully handsome woman at an open lat
tice window, and an equally good-looking man
gazing up at her.
“I won’t ‘hush’!” cried the lady. “You’ll
have all Scotland Yard about your ears. You’re
not In India now, remember." My father is dis
fusted, and threatens to leave the place at once,
shall not see you until you make amends for
the stupidity of Thursday night,” and the beau
tiful creature pulled the window to with a crash.
Hearing the sound of footsteps crushing the
gravel, I hurried along on the grass, out into
the roadway, determined to have a better sight
of the gentleman. He was just getting up into
the dogcart when I reached it. He said some
thing with an oath to the groom, as he took the
Veins out of his hands and drove off.
I plodded on until I came to the Leopard Inn.
On entering I saw a great lobby and bar in front
of me, a well-filled taproom to the left, and a
coffee-room on the right, in which a few “su
perior ” persons were gathered.
Going to the landlord within the bar I asked
him for a “ mug o’ ale,’’ and retired to the tap
room, where I found the assault of poor Mitch
am the one great topic of interest. Presently
the man appeared with the ale. Paying him, I
»sked:
“Can I have a room here ?”
“I'm in’ up,” he returned. “ I have on’y got
two to let, an’ the chap what got nigh killed is
in one, an’ a bookman’s coming on to-neet, I
fancy.”
“I’m th’ bookman,” I replied. “ Has my box
toms, then ?”
“Ay, more than an hour sin’.”
“I’m glad o’ that, for 1 can get to work after
dinner.”
“ Oh, if yo’re t’ bookman,” cried the landlord,
Jollily, “ yo’ munnot stop i’ thie hoile. Come in
t’ parlor. We’ll ha’ dinner in t’ kitchen at
twelve sharp.”
After dinner I went up to see my room, and
was not a little pleased to find that the doctor
who was attending Mitcham had to pass through
my chamber to enter his.
Descending to the coffee-room, I found a
number of farmers there, who were dseuseing
detective officers principally, but thefts gener
ally, and the name of Captain Turton was men
tioned.
I went out to post a letter and commence
business. 1 wanted to think, too. The name
•of Captain Turton was familiar to me, but I
could not yet recall the circumstances with
which it was connected. During the aiternoon
I heard a good deal of Captain Turton and
Squire Turton, the father of the former. I soon
discovered that the squire lived at the Grange
in the valley below, and that he was a heavy
dealer in grain, and had long been a yeeat gov
ernment contractor for f rage, Ac.
That brought the matter back to my memory
at once. Captain Turton—who was adjutant of
a dragoon regiment_a riding-master named
Marsden, and a farrier-sergeant named Selby,
bad been tried by court-martial for conspiring
to defraud the government, in collusion with
certain forage contractors, including Turton’s
own father. All were proved guilty. The cap
tain was compelled to resign, Marsden was dis
missed the service, and the poor tool, Selby,
was imprisoned for two years. Later, the
“ captain ” lived the life of a man about town
got mixed up with a notorious so-called actress,
whose husband he murderously assaulted on
one occasion.
That night 1 walked to the Bawtree-lane, and
dispatched a cipher telegram to the box at the
post office belonging to our chief. I asked him
to get, if possible, Turton’s portrait from his
late regiment or club. One reached me next
Tuesday morning, and I recognized the gentle
man I had heard speaking to the lady of the
house on the hill. J
Before coming to that day, however, I must
k‘ ,°“ ‘ h ® “> sh ‘°l W arrival Mitcham
was nt to be loft without an attendant. I viaited
him after all were in bed and compared notes
Be showed me a note of warning he had receiv
ed before the assault. It was printed with pen
and ink on thick paper, end ran thus: L
‘•l'ou are not wanted here, and had better re-
tire. If you don’t in three days, yen may never
have the chance.”
I put that in my pocketbook, and then asked
for a description of Harriet Acton. There was
nothing very peculiar about that, I thought
then. On Sunday 1 walked in a leisurely way
out of town to Hawtree, and took train to Goole,
where I had an interview with Captain Bennett.
I got a portrait of the missing Amelia, but was
compelled to ask the color oi her hair and
eyes.
“My darling child,” sobbed Mrs. Bennett,
“ has the most beautiful golden hair and dark
blue eyes.”
“ Indeed I” I said, almost started, and re
ferring to the description of Harriet Acton got
from Mitcham.
The words there written were:
Hair of the richest natural yellow hue, with
large blue eyes.
It appeared to me that there lay some mean
ing in this resemblace between the girls, and
the mysterv of this I set to work out.
On Tuesday morning Captain Turton’s por
trait came; live valuable horse* were stolen in
the neighborhood; and the niece of Dr. Walton,
of Curton Vale, was reported missing. The doc
tor came over to see Mitcham, who was slowly
recovering, and gave a description of the miss
ing girl. She was also fair-haired and blue
eyed.
It seemed to me that I was becoming busy.
Begging Mitcham to get strong as soon as pos
sible, I set out for Doncaster one night at dusk.
At Hawtree Lane I loft the train and returned
back to the vicinity of the town. The tenants ot
the house on the hill had flown, and there was
a light in the old empty house taken by the
chemist, whom some supposed to be a detective.
That moonless night I made a strange discov
ery down at the old Grange.
PART 11.
Next day I really went to Doncaster, and by
the same train which conveyed Captain Turton.
Without being suspected or noticed in any way,
I watched him all over the town. He appeared
preoccupied and troubled in an unusual de
gree. After calling at a great many places he
finished up at the post-office. He stopped to
write a telegram, but evidently the wording did
not suit him, tor he spoiled at least three forms
before getting one to suit him. The spoiled
slips of paper he proceeded to crush into his
dust-coat pocket. One, however, did not reach
its intended destination. As ho left the office I
picked it up rapidly, and recovered my position
at a desk nearer the counter before he returned
—tor he did return to glance over the floor sus
piciously. As soon as he disappeared a second
time, I opened the form before me and read:
From Turnot, I To Mddle. Du Oornette,
Horleigh Grange. Ituo Pascalle, 174.
Trent Valley. I Paris.
The last item in the order has now been forward
fed, and the means of procuring the remainder ot the
needful secured. A few days will now see the end
of the transaction.
While at dinner, before leaving Doncaster, I
ran over my notes of all that had occurred since
I reached Thorneley. Once more I perused the
iull particulars regarding the missing girls. I
had not yet solved the mystery of the coinci
dence of the golden hair and blue eyes in each
ot them, and my amazement may be imagined
when I suddenly came upon another coinci
dence.
Harriet Acton and Amy or Amelia Bennett
had been educated at the same school—Wharn
cliffe House, near Doncaster.
I determined to visit that establishment. There
I received the additional, almost startling infor
mation that the third missing girl, Miss Katoy
Walton, was also educated there. Alter numer
ous questions regarding their most favored com
panions, I elicited that these three girls were in
separable, being wonderfully good musicians,
with three distinct voices. This lady principal
did not seem to care about pursuing this sub
ject, but I gently persisted, and discovered that
she had employed a certain teaoher of music
named Mlle. Carnot, an Englishwoman on the
mother's side. She had taught the girls all
kinds ot operatic airs, and the school autbonties
having found out that Miss Carnot had been
an actress ot opera-bouffe, dismissed her sans
ceremonie.
I referred to the spoiled form. Carnot and
Du Cornetts were doubtless one. The clouds
were being dispelled. However, I bad other
work to do before tracing the absent maidens—
more than I had anticipated.
Next morning, finding Mitcham well enough
to go out, I asked him to drive to the chief con
stable ot the county we were in. That was not
Yorkshire. Of course no one knew that we
communicated with each other at all. When he
had driven away, I took the train to Curton
Vale. I wished to see Dr. Walton. I iound bis
beautiful cottage door open, and was about to
knock, when the sound of voices arrested my
hand. The doctor had a companion, and that
companion was Captain Turton.
The snug parlor window was formed of three
latticed divisions. The one nearest the door
was open, and through the mass of Virginia
creeper I could see the late cavalryman twisting
his mustache like a condemned criminal, while
Dr. Walton stood towering above him, his left
hand extended, saying:
“ Dick Turton, we were boys at school to
gether, and afterward wo chummed at college.
Although you've gone wrong, I have no desire to
be hard upon you, for the world is full of temp
tations. I have only this morning discovered
from a patient who was injured by the detect
ive officer, that you set him and others on to
attack Mm.”
The captain resumed bis seat and twirled his
mustache.
“My heart is sore, Dick,” the doctor pro
ceeded. “Low as you have fallen, I would not
like to believe that you have been guilty of lur
ing the child my brother left in my care, away
from my roof. By the consonance of our old
friendship I ask you to tell me the truth—l’ll
believe you if you speak right out: Do you
know anything of where my poor lass has
gone ?”
There was a pause, and then Turton said
slowly and without raising bis eyes :
“I do not, Bob, and I’d give a thousand
pounds this minnte to see her enter that door.”
I wandered away until the doctor parted with
his visitor. Then I returned, and after a little
conversation, asked to be permitted to examine
the rooms generally used by Miss Walton.
There was nothing of significance to be seen, so
I was about to take my leave, when, noticing an
album lying on the table in the little parlor
from which the conservatory opened, I said :
“ I have sent the portrait you gave me ot the
young lady, to headquarters. Can you supply
me with another
He opened the album without saying a word,
and a number of papers flew out and fell to the
ground. I proceeded to pick them up while he
endeavored to find one ot the girl’s best like
nesses. Although I scarcely glanced at the
things I took from the ground, the touch of
one piece of paper seemed familiar to me.
Looking at it, I saw the words “ Dear Katey ”
Stinted by pen and ink, just as the warning to
itcham was printed. It is possible to be too
clever. The signature was simply “R. T.” It
was quite enough for ine, so 1 slipped the paper
into my pocket.
After retiring to bed, I had another consulta
tion with Mitcham. The chief constable had
promised me as many men as I wanted—mount
ed—on receipt of a telegram. They little knew,
those county constable authorities, that while I
was endeavoring to trace missing maidens, I
had not forgotten to have an eye after stolen
horses.
PART 111.
The people of Thorneley were startled by
something worse than stealing horses next
morning, and at an early hour, too. The poor
“chemist,” or supposed detective, was found
shot, and, to all appearances, dying.
Luckily the discovery was made by the brick
layer repairing the old house he had rented,
and the first person he saw upon finding the
body in an almost empty front room was Mitch
am, who was recommended early walks for the
sake of speedy recovery.
A crowd was soon gathered, but the invalid
detective would permit no one to enter until the
bricklayer called the “owld bookman” Irom the
Leopard.
I soon reached there, and, entering, discover
ed the victim of a most cowardly outrage lying
prostrate on the bare floor. I had brought a
constable with me. Of course I was compelled
to tell him who I was, or ho would not " have
obeyed me.
Alter glancing at the figure and through the
front window, I came out again, and ordered
the crowd back.
Re-entering the room, I proceeded to examine
the man more closely. He lay on his back be
fore the empty chimney, and in front of the
window. Beneath him was an old single-bar
relled pistol recently discharged, but it was
plain to any experienced person that this was
no suicide or attempt at self-destruction. His
wound was in the left shoulder, but the missile
was fired from some distance away to the left of
him, so that his right hand could not possibly
have done it.
Seeing some papers sticking out of his breast
pocket, I drew them out. The first that met
my eye I felt to be the completion of my case,
so I placed it carefully beside the slip that fell
from Dr. Walton’s album, beside the spoiled
telegraph form, and beside the warning sent to
my pal, Mitcham. That done, 1 placed my hand
on the poor fellow’s heart, and found, to my joy,
that he was still alive.
When the chairman of the local board and the
doctor arrived, I got Mitcham to act for me.
Then I told the local constable to say nothirig
of my identity while I proceeded to inspect the
£ remises. Within the enclosure I had formed,
had noticed drops of blood, but they did not
come from the direction of the house, nor go in
that way. On the contrary, they disappeared a
few yards up the hill. My eye caught some
thing else in the remains of the wet mortar left
by the br.oklayer the night before. I felt that
1 held the would-be murderer in my grasp.
The crowd followed the injured man to the
inn,'and then I pointed out to Mitcham how I
thought the outrage had been effected.
“ Then you suspect ”
“I suspect no one.” I returned. “I know
that Captain Turton fired the shot that laid this
man low. I know he set the men on who as
saulted you.”
“We ought to arrest the scoundrel at once,”
he cried.
“Not yet,” I returned. “The game is not yet
played out.”
When we reached High street I saw that same
large-footed groom dismount at the door ot the
post-office and take a telegram from his hat.
“ I’d give five pounds to know the contents of
that messagel” 1 cried.
“You’ll know it for loss thau that,” said
NEW YORK DISPATCH, SEPTEMBER 25, 1887.
Mitcham. " You know in my youth I was a'tel
egraph operator. I can read from the sounds
as easily as you can Irom sight. I know the
apparatus in there already."
He followed the groom inside, and, after that
worthy had left, he came out with the message
written down:
From Turton, I To Barnsley,
Trent Valley. Corn Dealer,
Sheffield.
Please forward skilled surgeon next train.
Accidental gunshot. Stranger preferred.
I smiled, and went to Doncaster at once,
where I found a new beginner I had noticed a
lew days before. We came back by the first
Sheffield through train in the morning, but as
we were the only two to alight, presumed the
Sheffield doctor would not arrive until ten
o’clock. The groom and the dogcart were in
waiting.
An hour later my young surgeon returned,
saying:
“ I was ushered into a plain, old-fashioned
bedroom, where I found an elderly gentleman in
bed. There was some fruit, a cooling draught,
and a book on the table beside him.”
“ Ah, Barnsley’s a brick,” he said—tor send
ing you so promptly 1 How d'ye do ?”
“I answered him courteously,” the young
surgeon went on, “and afterward succeeded in
extracting this Su/tel”—handing me one—“from
a somewhat superficial wound in the calf. Alter
dressing the wound I left.”
The bullet fitted the pistol exactly.
Another surgeon camo Irom Sheffield, but
luckily the Turtons thought that Barnsley in his
anxiety had applied to more than one prac
titioner.
It was now my policy to wait to see if Alfred
Brayley, the chemist, recovered. I had local
men (officers) to watch Horleigh Grange, and
had little anxiety of losing the Turions, as I had
another plan lor trapping them.
Telling Dr. Walton that I had a clew to hie
niece’s whereabouts, I asked him to give me
some token from him, in ease we found her, to
assure her that she was being treated with by
his friends. He gave me a ring that had been
her lather’s. Giving it to Mitcham, 1 dispatched
him at once to Paris, byway of London, armed
with Miss Carnot, or Du Cornette’s, address.
Four days later I received this telegram:
Wanderers traced, French. colleagues at work
with me.
In the afternoon the following laconic letter
arrived:
Twelve English girls—mostly professionals —
engaged as the “R< yal English Golden-Haired
Minstrels and Opera Bouffe Artists” at one of
the fastest of the Boulevard theatres. Chief at
traction our “ Missing Trio.” Had an interview
with Miss W., in a broken-down empty room at
tached to the building, while the Commissary of
Police was interrogating Carnot and her worthy
father. The latter says the spec, belongs to an
English milord ol rank named Turton. Have
taken precautions that neither lather nor
daughter may communicate with the captain.
Mies Walton betrayed much emotion at the
sight ot her father s ring. She would have
fainted, I believe, if I had not seized her hand.
P. 8 The ladies will be handed over to the
British Consul-General to-night for transmission
home. Forward Mrs. Acton and Mrs. Bennett
at onoe. Miss Du C., and father will be detained
in prison for prolonged inquiries, the father be
ing a French citizen, and decoying girls being a
serious crime according to the French Code.
* * * * * ♦ ♦
Five nights later a great "billy boy,” or
“keel,”lelt Horleigh Wharf—the Grange was
built on the Trent—on its way to the Humber.
No one ever saw such a large cargo of hay, al
though an old waterman remarked that the boat
lay light in the water. Three horsemen kept
the craft in view all the night, and at daybreak,
on arriving at the junction with the greater
river, the horsemen were joined by three other
men—your humble servant, the chiel constable,
and the inspector ot the district, while two
mounted policemen appeared on the right or
east bank of the river.
The men on board were ordered to “ haul
to,” but they refused, and, as they had a favor
able wind, immediately set all sail.
We had a boat in readiness, however, and
quickly boarded her—after a scuffle, in which
Captain Turton fired at the chiel constable and
leaped overboard. He was, however, promptly
captured, handcuffed, and brought on board
the “ keel,” to find his lather a prisoner also.
The five stolen horses were found on boird,
and their joint value was about three hundred
pounds. The cargo ot hay was only a dummy
—or partially real. The strange discovery made
during the moonless night night by me, and re
corded at the end of Part L, was this very
“ keel.” I prowled into a bath-house near the
Grange, and saw men loading bay over a
peculiar-looking construction built in the open
“hold” of the boat. When they retired I went
on board and explored this kind of cabin. It
was a regular stable for eight horses, and the
hay, being bnilt over and around it, deadened
all sound, while sufficient spaces were cunningly
left for ventilating this strange receptacle for
stolen horses. The long continued mysterious
losses of horses in the neighborhood was now
explained, and the gypsies exonerated.
When the squire and his son were brought
prisoners into Thorneley, Mitcham met me with
the news that the young ladies were all now at
their proper homee.JTbe Turtons were sentenced
to ten years’ penal servitude each for horse
stealing, and five years each for attempting to
murder the supposed detective, Bryley. The bul
let extracted from this man’s shoulder exactly
fitted the pistol found on Turton when captured
on the barge. The parents of the missing girls
were advised not to prosecute; but Monsieur
Achille Carnot was imprisoned for two years in
Paris, while his promising daughter passed
twelve months within the terrible walls ot St.
Lazare. That this remarkable story is true in
every detail can be attested by the three girls—
girls no longer—whose chief attractions were
Blue Eyes and Golden Hair.
A POSTHUMOUS BEARD.
An Undertaker Says That the Whole of
a Man Does Not Die at Onoe.
{From the San Francisco Examiner.)
“I read in a newspaper an article headed
‘Shaving Dead Men,’ copied from the Chicago
Inter-Ocean,” said an undertaker, who may be
said to have dug deeper into the mysteries of
his profession than most of his melancholy
brotherhood, “It describes a barber, who had
shaved many corpses, speaking in jeering words
of an English dude who cautioned him against
taking the stubble off the neck of his defunct
relative upward, instead of downward, because
the hair would afterward grow improperly. The
barber evidently supposed that the beard ceas
ed to grow after a man’s death, but that is not
the case at all. If the body is preserved Irom
decay by being buried in an iron, air-tight
casket, the beard will not die, but will go on
growing just so long as corruption is averted. I
do not think that the hair of the head ever in
creases in length, but, you know, even in life a
man s locks become scanty, and finally disap
pear altogether, as be grows old, while his age
usually only serves to make his beard thicker
and longer. 1 can vouch for the vitality of the
hair that sprouts from the chin.
“ When the war closed I was an undertaker
in Richmond, Va., and I was employed to direct
the funeral of a well-known Southern merchant
who had freely lavished his large fortune in
aiding the Confederates in their hopeless strug
gle. He died of something to which the doctors
could give no name, but which the family, who
were obliged to go to the North to enable the
sons to earn a livelihood, had no hesitation in
calling a broken heart, loyally sacrificed to the
lost cause. He was an elderly man, who had
always kept his face clean shaved, and after his
death his widow, who was many years younger
than her husband, desired that a barber should
remove the bristles that had grown upon his
skin while he was in the state of mental indiffer
ence to outward things that is the forerunner of
such a death as his.
“ His face, if I may use the expression, was
as smooth as a new-laid egg when be was
stretched in a cast-iron coffin, which was then
hermetically sealed, and placed in the family
vault, which, alter the custom of many Southern
people at that time, was on the plantation owned
by the family. The remains were the last de
posited there, for the estate passed into the
hands of strangers, who, as was nsual on such
occasions, pledged themselves to leave the
burial ground undisturbed, and to allow its
former owners access to it at all times.
“ Fifteen years passed away,'and the relatives
of the dead man, grown rich in the East, deter
mined to disinter the body, remove it to Long
Island and bury it in Greenwood Cemetery.
They came to Richmond, where I was still do
ing business in a wretchedly reduced way, and
commissioned me to take the remains from the
vault. I did so, and before they were shipped
for the East the widow expressed a desire to
look upon the face once more. I was satisfied
that the body was in good condition, so I re
moved the lid of the coffin as it lay in my shop.
The lady glanced at the contents, and then, in a
paroxysm of grief and anger, she declared that
I had made a blunder, and that the body was
not that of her late husband.
“Of course I knew I had not committed any
error, but I confess that at first I was consider
ably staggered myself. On the once smooth
chin was growing a snow-white beard that
reached almost to the feet, and flowed over the
sides of the corpse, filling nearly all the space
left in the coffin. The clothes and a score of
other evidences convinced the children that
they were looking at the remains ot their father,
but the widow refused to be comforted until the
posthumous beard had been shaved off, when
she at once recognized the face.
“ The body is now in a vault at Greenwood,
and I have no doubt that a luxuriant crop of
hair again adorns the face. I have seen many
cases of a similar kind, but none in which the
growth of the beard was so great as in this
one. ’
Gas a Nuisancb Sixty Yeabs Ago.—
Says the Scientific American: In 1827 there lived
in Washington county, Pennsylvania, a farmer
by the name of McCook, an uncle ot the famous
Gen. Anson G. McCook, the present secretary
of the United States Senate. McCook's farm
was situated on the old National pike, eight or
ten miles out of Brownville. In attempting to
dig a well a short distance back from the pike
he struck a large flow of natural gas. Thia by
accident became ignited, and the flame it gave
iorth scared the horses passing on the pike, and
many runaways occurred. Thia went on for
some time, until the authorities in that section
passed an ordinance stigmatizing it as a nuis
ance and compelled McCook to suppress it as
such, which he did. Thue what the citizens of
Pittsburg now consider the greatest discovery
of the nineteenth century, a little over half a
century ago the citizens of Washington county
considered the greatest nuisance.
OT JffIWAFS OFFER.
WHICH WAS NOT ACCEPTED, AND
WHY.
“ What is tho salary, Eben
“Salary? ’
“ Yes ; it may not be sufficient to meet tho
demands every woman has on her purse.”
This question, asked by a woman whose
years numbered thirty-five, was as much a rid
dle to the middle-aged man she addressed, as
was the Sphinx to the ancient Egyptians. For,
after long and careful deliberation, he had made
a proposal of marriage to Abby Austin, whose
accepted lover he had been, long years ago, and
her reply was a question altogether foreign to
the subject which interested him, to the exclu
sion of all others.
“ I think I spoke pretty plain, Abby, and it
isn’t a question of pay at all. I asked you to
marry me and come where there’s plenty to
keep house; now your father’s gone, you’ll
maybe find it hard getting along,” be remarked,
with tho happy self-consciousness of a success
ful man.”
“I require but little, being alone, as you say,
and that need not cause me anxiety at present.
Father did not leave me without friends, and
there is still a small amount of money, but if I
were going to accept a housekeeper’s position,
I naturally wanted to know about the salary.
What do you pay Mrs. Mudge, Eben?”
Eben Janeway, now thoroughly exasperated,
exclaimed in tones more emphatic than gentle:
“ I don’t want a housekeeper I I want a wife I
Are you dreaming, Abby, or what?”
“ I am not dreaming, Eben, nor am I more
stupid than usual. I understand you better
than I make myself understood,” was the reply
the graceful, fine-looking woman made to the
man who for the second time asked her hand in
marriage. His first wooing had been quite dif
ferent from this; he had wooed with soft words,
and loving looks, and she had answered then,
with low, sweet words, tbe question ha asked
to-day:
“ Yes, Eben, I love you, and God willing, will
be your wife,” were the words spoken years
ago; to-day she only noticed the same question
by asking another.
“ What is the salary, Eben?”
“I did think strange you couldn’t understand
English, Abby. I always was willing to allow you
was tho best scholar,” Eben remarked at length,
dimly recollecting the twilight hour when she
placed her hand in his with sweet trustfulness,
and conscious that she listened now with busy
hands and eyes which looked straight forward,
searching the secret places of his heart.
Who shall solvo the mystery of the Sphinx?
Who understand the change time effects in a
woman's heart ?
“ I do not understand you at all,” he said in
reply to her last remark. “I wish you would
explain yourself, Abby.”
“Well, Eben, you have a large farm and a
large family; you expect your wife to do a
servant’s work; what do you propose to pay her
as a weekly, monthly or quarterly salary ?”
“ So—that’s it—is it? I must say, that con
siderin’ we’re old lovers, you’re uncommon
cool I ’
“ Frosty, you think; may be you are right.
We are older than we were at the time you reler
to with so much sentiment.”
Mr. Janeway seemed disturbed. Miss Austin
waited for him to speak, her eyps meeting his
calmly, her fingers industriously at work with
ivory hook and scarlet wool. How white her
hands were; yet he had known of many hours
of hard labor those same hands had performed,
when it was a labor of love. What did the
woman moan ? Bo addressed her in an aggrieved
tone:
“ You might pay me the compliment of
listening to mo, at least. You’re uncommon
busy.”
“ No, I think not. I am usually employed
with something or other.”
“But the salary you asked about, Abby; who
ever heard of such a thing ? You never thought
of it when we were younger.”
“ No, Eben. Neither did Emily.” Out and
in among the threads of bright wool the ivory
hook pursued its way, guided by Miss Austin's
nimble fingers.
The name of the wife who had been his slave
called a flush to the sun-burned lace oi the
farmer.
“ No, she didn’t; she never wanted for any
thing to eat or to wear. You know that, Abby.”
Eben Janeway, trying to understand the
strange look on his listener’s face, added:
“ To be sure, she stayed at home mostly,
and it stands to reason didn’t need the fixings
you’ve had to have, going about so much.”
“ Yes, Eben, I am, as you say, tond of going
about. I enjoy going to church, visiting my
neighbors, attending the Dorcas Society, and
lectures and concerts break the monotony ot a
long Winter in tho country,” Miss Austin re
plied, while her listener fidgeted in his chair;
he had not forgotten that his wife had been
fond of these innocent amusements, and had
only given up going to church tho last year of
her lite.
Other things had been given up one by one,
as the children came, each claiming its individ
ual right to care and attention; so with wash
ing, ironing, sweeping and baking, and the
making ot butter and cheese, Emily Janeway
was busy from the time she left her bed, at an
early hour, until she returned to it, exhausted
physic illy and mentally. Lectures, concerts,
even the Dorcas Society, of which she had been
an active member, were to her things of the
past. It was not strange that she had, as Mr.
Janeway said, “ stayed at home, mostly.”
Through the years of her married life Abby
Austin had been her friend and counsellor;
ever ready to lend a helping hand in time of
trouble; no one else knew so well the daily
trial, the crushed hopes and vain aspirations of
the woman who had been Eben Janeway’s wile.
Once she said to him:
“Emily is breaking down. You should get
her a good girl, Ebon,” and he had answered:
“My mother never bad a girl, Abby. If she
could get along—-I don’t see why Emily can’t.”
Abby said no more, but even when the bur
den was heaviest lightened it with willing hands
and the sympathy of a loving heart.
Two years had passed since Emily’s tired
hands were folded for the last time, and Mr.
Janeway had come to the conclusion that the
reign of misrule must end. A paid housekeep
er was not to him an agreeable inmate; the
house seemed to him to have passed from his
hands into hers, and housekeeping bills accu
mulated faster than he could settle thorn. His
children were unruly and getting beyond his
control.
Alter long deliberation he decided that there
was one woman who could deftly unravel the
tangled threads of his domestic affairs—Abby
Austin. She had always come to Emily’s relief
and assistance when things got ahead of her,
and generally they straightened out under her
direction.
Yes, he had decided. Ho would offer her a
place of honor from which Emily had been re
moved.
In his beet suit, with his hair cut and face
clean shaven, he presented himself, a man well
to-do, as he would have expressed it, and in
tbe prime of life, before this woman of middle
age, with small means for her future support,
not for the sake of an old romance, but because
she was the one practical woman oi his acquain
tance whom he supposed capable of evolving
order oat of chaotic elements in the place he
called home.
“ I thought maybe you’d like to come, you’ve
been there so much late years ; when once
things get strengthened out, it won’t bo so bad,
tho children always did mind you, Abby.”
“You have not told me the s'alary, Ebon. To
be sure, I only asked out of curiosity, just to
see if you had found out how much Emily saved
while ehe did all tbe housework and took care of
the dairy. Her board and lodging did not cost
much. You must have saved money, Eben.”
“Well, yes, considerable. But as’ it looks to
me now, everything is going to ruin pretty
fast. The old place don’t look as it did when
mother was alive.”
“ Emily would hardly know it as the well
kept house she lived in. I am sorry for you.
Eben.”
“ Yes, my wife was a good housekeeper, but
mother—she seemed to get on without com
plaining so much.”
“ Did it ever occur to you that your mother
had but one child to care for, Ebon ?”
“ Well, yes ; I know my six are much more
trouble since Mrs. Mudge oame. I’ve been
thinking, Abby, that I wouldn’t mind if you got
a girl to help round—one that would work for
her board,” he added, with characteristic fore
thought. “Come, now, what say ?” he asked,
in tones which betrayed something of the anxi
ety he felt.
Miss Austin looked straight in her suitor’s
face with her brown eyes, which retained the
mellow softness of her youth, saying simplv :
“No, Eben, I told you I could provide for
myself. When father died I expected to do
so; but changes have occurred. I could not
now accept your offer, and would not if I could.
You may wish to know the reason ; as the friend
of a lifetime it is your right to know why I can
not. Our conversation may have informed you
why I would not. ’
She paused to adjust the wool which had in
some way got twisted around the ivory hook.
“it is because [ have accepted a similar
offer from Judge Gower, who is disposed to
think me capable of direotting the servants he
has retained since Mrs. Gower’s death, and of
being of great use in his family of girls. As his
wife, 1 shall have an allowance which will en
able me to gratify individual tastes, and dis
pense charities as may seem best to me. Under
such conditions, I leave the state of single bless
edness without regret.”
“Well, Abby, as I said before, you are
cool, you won’t quite forget ofd friends, will
you ?”
“ Certainly not, Eben,” Miss Austin replied.
“You can depend on me for advice concerning
the children. I will help you if I can.”
“ Thank you, yes; but I wish you will tell me
what I shall do about Miss Mudge. She is a
great trial to me, and now, you see, I can’t
send her away, as I hoped to.”
“Your question is a difficult one to answer.
Eben. For the present you must, 1 should
say, do the best you can, but having once
started in search of a wife, you will probably
continue the search. When you have found that
pearl of great prise—a good wife-strew her
path with some of the roses ot life, so shall she
repay you with love and tender care, when ad
vancing years bangs ills to which you are now
a stranger.”
The scarlet wool has given out, the hook se
curely fastening the work it has fashioned, lay
on the work stand. Mr. Janeway’s face still
wore a troubled expression. At length he ques
tioned :
“ Do you think ol any one, Abby ?”
•‘Excuse me, Eben, but I would not take the
responsibility. You will, no doubt, find wbat
you seek unaided, all in good time.”
“ Well, Abby, maybe so. I wish you joy,
anyhow.”
Ho extended his hand, roughened by hard
labor, for a last hand-shake with Abby Austin.
It would seem different to shake hands with
Judge Gower’s lady.
Time, it is said, rights ail wrongs.
Mrs. Gower, who seemed to have been born a
lady, graced the homo of her husband, while
Eben Janeway's second wife was a good house
keeper, yet not bound to the ever-turning wheel
of drudgery, which allows no repose of mind or
body.
IS IT NOT FOLLY ?
A MAN’S THOUGHTS ABOUT WO
MAN.
(Prof. Blackie in Cassell's Magazine.)
Those who are so zealous to break down the
wall of partition that by the precedent of ages
has established itself between the sexes should
observe, in the first place, that Nature seems to
be of a different opinion, for she has certainly,
in the physical presentation of the two creatures,
taken care to make them look as distinctively
different as a birch tree from an oak.
The structure of the woman is altogether more
slender, her stature as a rule less, her tissue
more fine, her nerve more delicate, and her mus
cular strength and capacity for bard work less.
Let a young man and a young woman of average
fibre set out on a pedestrian expedition, and it
will be found in ninety-nine cases out of a hund
red that the lady will be more fatigued after
walking ten miles than the gentleman after
walking twenty; and the lady who. in despite of
fatigue, out of a pure spirit of ambitious rivalry,
perseveres in vieing with the more robust ani
mal in his proper domain, will be sure to pay
the penalty of her abnormal ambition if she live
a few years, in more ways than one.
In close connection with this more delicate
physical constitution of the woman is the fact
that her emotional nature is more keen, her
sensibility more quick, her passions more vio
lent, her instincts more imperious, and less
submissive to necessary limitations, than in the
man. This strongly-rooted sensibility in women
is the cause of their characteristic persistency
in all matters that depend in any considerable
degree on sentiment. It is in vain to combat
sentiment with reasons.
A woman of strong passions and fine sensi
bility will hold by her instincts, and leave your
arguments to float, and in so doing may, in not
a few cases, be right; but, if the case is one in
which cool judgment, and not keen feeling, is
to decide, she will probably be wrong. Argu
ments in such cases are stronger with a man,
because he is either naturally less richly fur
nished with sentiment, or has trained himself
to keep his sentiment in subjection; but with
the woman it is omnipotent, as belonging radi
cally to the constitution of her nature. You
may bend the branches of a true, and force
them to grow, as we sometimes see, contrary to
nature, downward ; but if you tug at the roots
you kill it.
TUEKISIf JUSTICE.
ONE OF ITSPECULIARIfIE3.
(M-om the Leeant Herald.)
A week ago a drover taking oaitlo to market
lost two of his bullocks on the road. When bo
reached Rodoso he at once notified the munici
pal authorities ol the tact, who dispatched three
gendarmes in search of the missing beasts,
which it was thought might either have strayed
or have been stolen.
On the high road they met two mouhadjirs,
driving beiore them two stout oxen that bad a
suspicious resemblance to those they were in
search of. Putting, literally,two and two togeth
er, the couple of men and the couple of bul
locks, the gendarmes challenged the mouhad
jirs to halt and give up their booty. But these
had no iutention of parting with their compan
ions, they hurried on, believing the gendarmes
to be brigands in search of a dinner.
Finding their authority ignored the gen
darmes fired upon the fugitives, killing one of
them. The other mouhadjir took to his heels
and escaped, leaving the cattle there, of which
the gendarmes immediately took possession.
Having hastily buried their victim, these cour
ageous individuals came back to Bodosto,
bringing their bullocks with them. When
these latter, however, were shown to the driver,
he denied that they were those which be had
lost, being of quite another color and another
breed.
In the face of such a declaration as this it
was evident that the gendarmes had erred on
the side of professional zeal. Instead of find
ing the lost bullocks they had killed a man.
A scheme to save their dignity had thus to
be devised, and accordingly some one was
prompted to swear that the cattle they had cap
tured, belonged to him and had been stolon
from his farm but a little while before. By this
lie he became unlawfully possessed of the bul
locks while exonerating the brave gend’armes
from all excess of zeal in the discharge of their
duty and their carbines.
It would, however, appear that they were not
to escape altogether unpunished. For when
the story got about, the local authorities put
the gendarmes under arrest, not lor having
killed an innocent man, but because they had
buried him in such haste, without having first
washed the corpse in accordance with religious
law.
Hero is a case where
ONE HENRY GEORGE VOTE WAS LOST.
Omaha Man—“ Halloa. Fred, what brings you
hero?”
Eastern Actor—“ I have been to California and
am going back East."
“Do you intend to resume your Henry George
lectures against land monopoly ?"
“No; I got full of those notions when I lived in
New York city. I’m bravely over it now. Land ?
There’s no land monopoly. There's no end of laud,
too much land, hundreds and hundreds of miles too
much."
“You are on the other extreme now? What has
changed your ideas so completely ?"
“ I joined a snap theatrical company last Spring;
went as far as California, and am walking back."
Zonae Dane, in Tid-Bits t thus satirizes the
conversation of young ladies who meet in a
horse car. He calls it
• THE FUNNIEST THING.
They met on a horse car.
“O, Marne, I’ve the/unniesl thing to toll you."
“No," said Marne.
“ Yes, indeed; it’s just too awfully funny for any
thing.”
“ Do tell me."
“You’ll not tell if I do?"
“ Oh, no— never!"
“Oh, indeed, you mustn’t. Tom Delliker told it
to me."
“ He did ?”
“You know Tom?"
“Oh, yes—like a book."
“ Isn’t he splendid ?”
“Yes, I guess so—but what did he say ?"
“Well. I’ll tell you. We were going down Broad
way looking at the things in the windows, and—oh,
aren’t the windows just lovely now ? Did you ever
see anything lovelier than the new Fall hats ?"
“Oh, they’re just beautiful 1 I think I’ll get a
high-crowned—but what did Tom say ?"
“ Oh, it was the funniest thing. We’d got nearly
down to that lovely jewelry store, and—oh, did you
know that Belle Blank had a pair of perfectly elegant
new solitaire earrings as large as big peas?"
“ No— has she ?’’
“Yes, indeed; I saw them with my own eyes. I
just rave over diamonds. But what was I talking
about? Oh, about what Tom said. I declare.it
was the funniest thing. I’ve laughed about it ever
since. Isn’t he awfully jolly, anyhow ?"
"Oh, yes; I guess so—but what did he say ?"
‘‘Well, we had just met Sadie Meech—and did
you know that she was engaged to that elegant Mr.
Whyte we saw her with last Winter ?’’
••Is she ?’’
“They say it’s true. I never would have be
lieved it. And isn’t it funny that Kate Bartlett is
to marry Fred Masterson ? Tom said—oh, I was go
ing to tell you about Tom’s bit of fun."
“Yes, wbat was it?’’
“Well, after Belle passed we met the Stephenson
girls, and did you know that both of them became
engaged at Bar Harbor this Summer?"
“No-o-o-o 1"
“It’s true. I’ll tell you all about it; you see ’’
I rode five miles behind those girls, then one of
them left the oar, saying:
“Andhere I haven’t told you what Tom said yet.
I will next time I see you. It was the funniest
thing I"
The Custom-House man here told of
HAD BEEN PROBABLY THERE HIMSELF.
A passenger about to leave a steamer and pass
muster of the custom-house officers was asked what
he had in his satchel.
“Nothing but clothes," said he. “Look for
yourself."
The inspector examined his valise and found a
bottle wrapped up in some of his wearing apparel.
“ I thought you said you only had clothes in your
satchel," said the inspector.
“ So 1 have."
“ What’s iu that bottle, then ?"
“ Nightcaps."
“ Pass on."
It is only under the peculiar laws of Georgia
that there could take place the following
HOGGISH TRANSACTION.
Some distance below Macon, Ga., in a nofence
district, live Bill Jones and Frank Tomlinson, two
negro farmers. After the law went into effect,
allowing persons to take up and impound stock that
was running at large, Bill Jones had a spotted shoat,
of the razor-back variety, to escape from his nen
and wander off. *
The shoat came across the frontiers of Tomlinson's
domain, and that individual promptly arrested him
and placed him in a pen.
After a week had elapsed Jones became aware that
the shoat was held in durance by Tomlinson, and
he went over to see about it.
“W’atyo'shet up my spotted shoat fo’, hey,
Frank ?” he asked.
“Well, I s’pose de law 'lows me dat privilege, Bill,
an’ I can’t 'ford ter have yo’ spotted shoat er tromp
lin’ down my pea patch."
“Well, I reckin’ yo’ got de hitch on me. How
much hit gwine’ter cos’ ter git day hawg out’n you
pen?"
“Zactly fo’ dollahs, Bill."
“ Fo’ dollahs ? Humph 1 I reckin’ yo’ kin keep
de shoat, den. Ain’wot mo’n dollah an’er ha f"
and away he went, thinking how cruel was the law
on a poor man.
A few weeks afterward the shoat rooted under the
fence and took French leave of the Tomlinson es
tate, and then Frank grieved over the loss of what
would have made prime yearly meetin’ pork. In a
few days, however, he learned that Jones had the
hog shut up. So he marched over there and de
manded, “Bill, haint you got my hawg in you
pen ?’*
“I s got a spotted shoat in purty good order, ehet
up, dar, Frank. Ef yo’ kin prove it, of co’se hit’s yo’
hawg."
“ Well, I des kin, fo’ dar’s wey I changed de ma’k
Tom crop split to crop swaller fo’k an’ under hit.
Dat’s my ma’k, Bill."
“All right. De law’lows meter take up hawgs
w'at go pi’rantin' roun’ my premises."
'•Dat’s right, Bill; how much yo’ gwine cha’ge to
take ’em out ?’’
“ ’Zackly fo' dollars, Frank."
“Humph. A’ter I done fed dat hog free weeks ?
Keep yo' old shoat, but I tell yo’ right now, ef dat
hawg gits in my pea patch any mo’, he’s er dead
hawg, law or no law;” and he went away puzzled to
understand just who had come out at the smallest
end of the horn.
Defective hearing often makes trouble be
tween parties—especially of the fair sex. This
is an instance of
HOW LANGUAGE MAY BE DISTORTED.
“Mr. Seacook, you are no gentleman."
“What makes you think that?"
“ My wife called at your house last evening, didn’t
she?’’
“Yes, and was very welcome."
“And as she drove away she heard you say to your
wife that she had a mouth like a horse collar.’’
“Great Cesar 1 Why, man, all I said was that she
had a horse of a mouse color."
It is all very well to lay down theories about
methods and systems in life, but
THEY WON’T WIN AT FARO. 1
“ Have system about what you do; no man ever
failed who had a system and followed it in his work,"
said the lecturer.
“Naw, mabby not," said the Leadville man, in
the back part of the hall, as he got up and went
out. “I’ve heard all that kind of talk I want to.
Five years ago I had $20,000 and the best system for
beating faro ever tried in Colorado, and now I ain’t
got a cent, and I’m willing to trade my system for
a brindle pup."
Ths Arkansaw Traveller tells this story of
A MAN OF GREAT ABILITY.
Two men who had just arrived in the White Oak
••settlement’’ were speaking of some one named
Tompkins, when an old fellow who had been stand
ing near advanced and said:
“You air talkin’ about young Tobe Tompkins, I
reckon?"
“Yes," one of the men replied. “Are you ac
quainted with him?"
“ I reckon I oughter be, when he used to be my
step-son, before his mammy got a divorce frum me,
like she dun frum his father an' married another
feller. Tobe has got the brightest mind o' any man
in this here community. You may talk 'bout Steve
Parker, that’s gone to Congress, and Ab Joyner,
that belongs to the Legislatur’, but lobe, he's jest
nachully got the mind."
“ Smart, is ho?"
/Smart! W’y, he Jest nachully lays over any
thing in this community; an’ when it comes to
sense, w’y thar ain’t nobody in the State that ken
touch those here folks. Smart w’y lemme tell you,
if Tobe ain’t the Gov’ner o’ this yore State befo’ the
next six years, thar’ll be a slatherin' sight o’ folks
in this part o’ the country that will be goin’ 'round
axin’ the reason why. Smart—w’y, lemme tell you
what he done. He had a old one-eyed stumblin’
sway-back hoes, a rope bridle, an’ a saddle made out
a sheep-skin an’ some bar’l staves. The folks
laughed at him fur riggin* up sich a lay-out, ‘ but,
never mind,' says he, ‘ Old Marster has made big
room in this here community for a feller to snatch
np ability an* swing it around by the tail;’ an' gen
tlemen. let me tell you that he done it. He started
out with that disgustin' rig, an’ befo* the end o’ two
weeks he had as high a steppin* hose as you ever
seed, a saddle that made a noise like a year-old
baby a-cryin', an* a bridle that looked purty enough
to take bolter an’ chaw."
“He was lucky," said one of the men.
“Lucky I Why, I tell you that he’s not the bright
est mind in the State. Lucky ? Step out in the
road an'make a boss, bridle and saddle. Smart!
W’y, let me tell you. He had a ole cow that you
couldn't a squuz more’n ten drape o' milk outen
with a cider press. What did he do ? Let her die
on his han’s, like many a smart man woulder
done ? No, sir. He started out. and in less than a
week he came back drivln' a great big fine cow that
laid the dust with milk as she walked."
“ He is unquestionably a skillful trader."
“A skillful trader I You have hearn o’ genius, I
reckon. Well, Tobe’s a genius, a plum, flat-footed
genius,"
! ’ Aud you think he will be Governor of this Slate,
eh ?"
“Just as shore as you live this minit. W’y, sir,
lemme tell you; with bis genius he ken take the
office o’ Justice o’ the Peace an' keep a tradin’ fur
lust one office an* then another till the fust thing
you know he’ll land slam bang in the Governor's
cheer. Smart I W’y, some time ago, befo’ the folks
acknowledged his genius, he fell in love with a gal
so ugly that the green persimmons fell offen the
trees as she wont along the road. What did he do?
Did ho marry her ? Well, no. He started out
tradin', an’ now he's engaged to be married to the
purttiest woman in the State. Oh, thar ain’t hardly
nothin* that's beyond the reach o* his ability. He’s
jest nachully bright, an* as I say, If he ain’t the
Governor of this here State you ken skim the aston
ishment offen this community with a spoon.*' '
SCINTILLATIONS.
“ Bow to be happy, though married ”
—Get along without a hired girl.
A stock broker can not expect to feel
bully when he has more trouble than he can bear.
Superfluous tools are a disadvantage,
as, for instance, when a member of an orchestra has
a horn too many.
Massachusetts has a train called the
“ Flying Dude." It probably tries to be fast, but
doesn’t know how.
The man who has a cold and takes
patent cough medicines for it, usually takes to
coffin soon afterward.
The senior deadhead of the world has
just been taken out of a stone coffin in Sidon, where
he had been 2,800 years.
The little King of Spain is cutting
bis teeth, Here’s hoping that there is a wisdom
tooth as big as a hammer-hoad in the lot.
If you Want to get a good idea of tu
multuous motion, you want to watch the agitation
of the bustles of two women dancing a hop waltz.
“ Procrastination” may be, as the poets
Insist/the “thiefof time," but certain it is, it is
one of tho few friends that Mr. Jacob Sharp has now
left.
A chemist says wood can be made
palatable and nourishing. It will not startle many
to announce that good board can be made out of
sawlogs.
A traveler called for mint sauce in a
hotel the other day, and the waiter said they had
none, adding: “Our cook makes all the mince into
pies, not sauce."
Lady of the House (urging company
to eat)—Please help yourselves. Do just as you
would in your own house. I am always so glad
when my friends are at home.
After all has been said, we must still
contend that the real secret of the success of our
friends of iGsesar gaud N. Bonaparte is the fact
that they had plenty of Gaul.
He had evidently studied history.
She—Freddie, how often have I told you not to
play with your soldiers on Sunday? He—Yes; but,
mamma, this is a religious war.
Clerk—“ Shall you want to use the
private elevator while you are here ?’’ Guest—
“ Bet cher life I will 1 I’ve got my own applejack
right in my carpet-sack, mister."
“ ’Tig more blessed to give
Than it is to receive;"
Of advice and of physic
This is true, we believe.
Overheard in Rotten Row: English
Girl—They don't allow the hansom in the Bow
you know. American Girl—l noticed that particu.
lary of the women, donoherknow, you know.”
Joggs thinks his girl the pride of earth:
He pictures ner in glowing colors.
And loves her for her modest worth—
Said to be thirty thousand dollars.
A celebrated wit was asked whv he
did not marry a young lady to whom he was very
much attached. “I know of no reason," replied
he, “except the great regard we have for each
other."
Ward Tough (who is “goin’ ter have
some fun wid der dude fellye)—” You see dat arm ?"
Reporter—” Yes.” Tough—•• What d you do t yer
had a maul like dat?” Beporter—l think I'd
wash it.”
During a recent heavy rain the State
of Rhode Island was washed over into Connecticut,
but the Governor hired a couple of Italian laborers
for half a day, and the State has been shoveled back
to the old site.
“ Her vacation didn’t seem to do vour
wife much good. Perhaps she didn’t take enough
exercise ?" “Ob, yes she did. She sat on the piazza
and talked continuously for three hours every day
on-the stretch."
Missourians are the hardest people in
the world to satisfy. A Missouri farmer found an
egg the other day with a clock face and the hours
clearly marked on it. Now he is kicking because it
doesn’t keep time.
Mr. Adolph Parent, an old man of
ninety-six years, who has been acting as bailiff at
Pierreville for the last fifty years, has just left for
the United States with a view, he says, to perfect
his knowledge of the English language. —Montreal
Witness.
Law Professor—What constitutes bur
glary ? Student—There must be a breaking. Pro.
lessor—Then, if a man enters your door and takos
$5 from your vest pocket in the hall, would that be
burglary? Student—Yes, sir; because that would
break me.
“Oh, no, ma’am,” pleaded the tramp,
“you may think my life all sunshine, but it ain’t.
Wherever Igol am beset by dangers. In short,
ma’am, I carry my life in my hands." “Ah, I see,"
exclaimed the temporary “that accounts
for your not washing your hands. You don’t dare
do it for fear you’ll drown yourself."
Countryman (to bookseller) —“ My
wife wants me to get her a Testament." Bookseller
—“ Yes, sir. New Testament, I suppose?" Coun
tryman—“ Well, I dunno. It you’ve one that ain’t
too much used up, I reckon a second-hand one
would suit her just as well."
The Chinese method of curing hydro
phobia is perhaps a little odd, but it certainly must
ae effective. The Shanghai Celestial Empire reports
that a man of Tching Liang who had been attacked
with the disease was, according to custom in such
cases, kept hanging by the feet and hands until re
lieved—by death.
“John,” said the broken-hearted lady
to her sick husband, “ the minister is down stairs;
would you like to see him ?" “ I think it would be
advisable," responded John, feebly. “ And John,
he may suggest that you endow a chapel or some
thing of that sort?" “Don’t be alarmed," responded
the invalid, reassuringly, “ I’m not sick enough for :
that yet." j
SINGING SANDS.
A TRAVELER’S EXPERIENCE IN
THE SOUTH SEAS.
“ I think if ever an earthly paradise existed it
was chopped up into lots, as I understand they
are dividing ranch property in boom sections,
and distributed among the many islands that
dot the surface of the South Pacific Ocean,” said
Elliott J. Brooks, a recent arrival from the anti
podes, to a San Francisco reporter in the
Baldwin Hot°>l last evening.
“ Yes,” went on Mr. Brooks, “ I have traveled
through many countries, but for climate, beauty
and a place to while away my existence in a sort
of elyeian luxury, give me a South Sea Island.
Before I went to Sydney, Australia, I spent eight
years in Tahiti, tho Samoan and the Fiji Islands,
and I never expect to pass such happy year©
again.”
“ What are the peculiar attractions ?” queried
the reporter, gently.
“ They are too manifold to enumerate. I tell
you that some of the islands are veritable Edens
and bowers of enchantment. The missionary
hymn which says that ‘ only man is vile,’ is
about correct when it refers to those garden
spots of the ocean.
"Th© strangest and weirdest thing that 1 ever
met with happened to me when I was in the Is
land of Vauna Levu, called the Great Island of the
Fiji group. Several miles of low, sandy beach
surround the Bay of Nasavusavu. It is a very
pretty locality, and much frequented by the na
tives, as well as by foreign sOjOurners on th©
island. Her© are what the natives call ths
magic sands. I had heard of them, aud certain
mysterious powers which were said to linger
around th© place. Fringing the edge of the Band
belt landward are numerous cocoanut trees, and
seaward is the broad stretch of blue water ex
tending for miles.
“It was a sultry Summer day that I visited
the place with a native guide, and glad indeed
were we to reach the cooling shad© of th©
cocoanut trees and escape from the blazing rays
ot the sfin. As we lay stretched at the roots of
the cocoanuts, the trade wind set in, cool and
refreshing, from the ocean. Notwithstanding
the heat, and our wearied condition, there was
an enchanment about the situation that was
charming and soothing. I began to feel a
soft touch of slumber, and all at once I heard a
faint musical tinkling as if troops of fairies were
coming to greet us as they had a habit ol doing
in olden times when enchanted princes were
cruising around.
“I tried to locate the melodious sounds. In
th© directions toward the sea there was noth
ing but the glowing sands. I looked up and
saw nothing but the beautiful tropical sky and
th© tremulous atmosphere. Still louder sound
ed the music; it was all around us; it filled th©
air. I gazed toward the ocean, and there, ap
parently a short distance away, was a beautiful
lake with its waves dashing upon moss-covered
stones. It was not there when we first arrived
at the place, and I became halt convinced that
it was the work of enchantment. I gave my
self up temporarily to the raptures of the occa
sion. The melody which was around us was
strange to me, yet, oh ! so sweet; it seemed to
touch responsive chords in my nature. My
native guide had fallen asleep, and while gaz
ing at the lake and listening to the music in
the air, I rested my head against the rough
bark of a tree.
“As I did so 1 heard the distant gurgle of ft
brook. I could plainly hear the water splash
ing over the glistening stones and dying away
in quiet eddies. I was charmed, yet bewildered.
At last the latter feeling overcame me and I
sprang up to awake my guide. As 1 did so
the lake vanished, aud when I stood upright I
could only bear a faint echo of the melodious
music. When I aroused my guide he told mo
the place was enchanted, and beautiful spirits
haunted it.” “ Did you form any conclusion
regarding thecause of all this seeming enchant
ment?” asked tho reporter. “Of course. Com
mon sense told me that the lake was a mirage,
and that the sound of gurgling waters came
from an underground stream, and also that the
music was caused by the stirring of the flinty
sand by the wind. Altogether it was a delight
ful experience, and ono that I would willingly
go through again.”
Removing an Objector.
IT WAS DONE BY A MEXICAN.
(From the San Francisco Chronicle.)
But there’s an old man in Mexico who very geni
ally deplores the decadence of the age in matters
1 generally considered reprehensible Ho is 100 years
1 old, he says. This is probably a lie, but he’s old
enough’t'o be excused for lying about his age. Ha
speaks c*f the good old times of his youth, and re
lates with lively satisfaction his part in several ex
citing murders, for which it does not seem to occur
► to him he ought to have been hung. But the ad
venture ha is fondest of relating is how be obtained
his wife.
He may, perhaps be believed when he states that
L the mother of the senorita he loved objected to him
as a son-in-law. It was natural, if his methods of
amusing himself were truly stated. She absolutely
1 forbade the marriage.
3 “But," said the old man, genially, " we removed
her objections."
“How?"
3 “Very simply. She was taking a siesta one day.
and I stole up behind her and dropped a big rock
on her head, and she never objected at all."
“I should say not. She was too late to object, I
’ suppose.”
> “Ab, it was fun. We had the wedding and the
funeral on the same day."
And the wicked old man chuckled. The story wM
3 confirmed by other people, too.
, | Status of the Japanf«"
; xue social status of the Japandsd player is paiM
adoxical. It is higher than that of hie Chinead
brother and yet it is not. He is often m troll*
• ble, usually deep in debt; despised in private,
i adored in public. Maidens are taken little to
the theatre, lest they should love unwisely.
Previous to the Restoration, society was divid-
* ed into eight classes, Actors, with courtezans
’ and genteel beggars, occupied the seventh, the
only class below them being that ot the etas—
pariahs, social outcasts, who tanned leather t
j dug graves, killed animals, executed criminals,
r Even the rough, ignorant wrestlers stood high,
f er in the scale than the most refined cotnediana
—than the most power ul exponents of the
tragic art, who at will could stir the soul with
l joy or Borrow. Wrestlers were admitted on th#
l outskirts of good society, much as Tom Cribb
■ was in the days of the prince regent; comedians
never. “ Clothed in embroideries, living in
plenty—yet a beggar ! ’ was the sad soliloquy of
a famous player who, stricken well nigh to
! death, found himself debarred from claiming
the assistance ot the court physician,
A Scientific Truth,— The idea that
human beings should always sleep with theii
heads to the north, is generally regarded as a
baseless superstition or one of those fanciful
theories for which no reasonable or substantial
1 foundation can be assigned. French scientists,
however, maintain that the idea is supported by
a positive scientific truth. They affirm that
, every human system is in itself an electric bat.
tery, the head being ono of the electrodes, tha
feet the other. Their proof was discovered
from experiments which the Academy of Sci
ence was allowed to make on the body of a man
who was guillotined. This was taken the in
stant it fell and placed upon a pivot free to
move as it might. The head part, alter a little
vacillation, turned to the north, and the bod,
then remained stationary. It was turned half,
way round by one of the professors, and again
the head end of the trunk moved slowly to the
cardinal point due north, the same results be
ing repeated until the final cessation of organla
movement.
INVAI.UABLE FOB
BURNS, SUNBURNS, BIABKHtEA, CHAFINGS.
STINGS OF INSECTS, PILES, SORE
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THE WONDER OF HEALING!
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All Inflammations and Hemorrhages
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For Ulcers, Old Sores, or Open
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CThae hem M.
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trade-mark on surrounding buff’ wrapper. None
071
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Prices, 50c., sl, $1.75. Sold everywhere.
(U’Our New Pamphlet with History of ovb
Preparations Sent FREE on Application tq
PONS’S EXTRACT CO., 76 sth Ave., N.V.
Mathey-Ca/tus*
CAPSULES.
This wonderful discovery has been used for 30
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DR. YOUNG’S ELECTRIC
BELTS, as they are worn round the bodyi
a sure cure for Nervous Debility, Weak*
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/?Tl •. I p Loss of Manhood, Weak Back, Kidney
IVI • /£■ A a °d Spinal Diseases, Rheumatism. There
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\ most shattered constitution. Bands for
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'h'/M IV Manly Vigor, free. DR. W. YOUNG,
Uli * r-' 260 Hudson street, near Canal.
New York City. Office hours from 10 A. M. til 7 B.
and by appointment. Call and examine before purcUft*
iiitf elsewhere.
7