New York dispatch. [volume], October 09, 1887, Page 7, Image 7

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

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UNREVEALED.
Life’s good gifts come.
And, Io I unheeded under .foot we tread
The bloom that for us sweetness might have shed—
Before whose blessing wo are blind and dumb.
Broad highways lead
Up from the feus of darkness and despair;
Xet our poor falt«r*ng feet must stumble there.
And groping ’mid the thorns our brows must
bleed.
Our true friends roach
Strong bands to help us o’er the bights of pain;
Yet to our alien enrs their cries are vain—
We own them uot—by glance, or touch or speech.
Ah, me I when from our eyes
Some swift day rends the vail, yet all too late,
Jlow shall we stand and mourn without the gate*
Wringing frail hands in impotent surprise I
SPOTTING 1 GH’TLHM.
BY FREDERICK L. VULTE.*
(From the old Knickerbocker Magazine.)
•“Say, Mr. Sheriff,” inquired “Old Thison”
Ot mo, “ be you good at liggera ?”
"Good at figures?” I asked, responsively;
“ what do you mean by that question ?”
And I looked at the old man in astonishment.
seemed lost at the apparent harshness ob
qßervablo in my manner of addressing him ; and
apprehensive that I was offended, he asked my
forgiveness, and declared, “ He didn’t mean no
Offense.”
"Oh, as for that, Tiso,” I replied, “I am sat
as<ed you meant nothing wrong. But why do
you ask if I am good at figures ? ’
" Because ’’—and he primped up his mouth,
And swelled out his cheeks, looking, for all the
world, like an antiquated cupid (as he is), and
with a cunning and gay twinkle of his eye,
drawing his hands irom out of his side pockets,
and covering one with the other, so as to make
a hollow ot them, he raised them up, gently at
first, and then quickly, gayly swinging them to
and fro before my eyes and ears—a jingling,
chinking sound was heard—“because if you be,
how much is twice five ?”
“ Twice five is ten.”
“Dat’s it, and dere dey be*;” and he ceased
-the movement of his hands at the instant he
Ahowed me two half eagles, which he held be
tween the fore-finger and thumb ot each hand.
I “They are a pair of spectacles, ain’t they, Mr.
' Sheriff .” and he continued holding them as
before; " and I aimed them with a pair of spec
tacles, and gold ones they be, and gold ones
they was. Yes—yes I twice five fsten,” said he,
chuckling, “and half-eagles don’t roost on every
tree, if whole ones does fiy above my head. Y’
ain t ’fended, be you ?”
“ Heaven bless you, Tise, no I But how about
this affair? I can’t comprehend you. What
means this about the half-eagles and specta
cles ?”
“Well, you see, Mr. Sheriff,” replied he, “I
was a-goin’ down town yesterday, and got as
tar as Wall street by old Trinity when I see Mr.
Wilton, the lawyer, and he bowed very purlitely
to me, and he come to me and says:
“ ‘ Good morning, Mr. Thison.’
“ And I says, * Footy well, I thank you.’ And
then he says again:
“ ‘ Mr. r l hison, I’m worry glad to see you. I
Want you to serve a paper lor me on a man who
lives not far irom here, but who I’ve been try
ing to serve for the last year; all of my clerks,
from the errand-boy to the confidential man,
have tried it; even 1 myself have tried it; have
employed men and boys imiliar with that busi
ness; have lodged it in the sheriff's office; and I
the paper has been in the hands of ev
fcry one engaged in the office. I have also given
it to a score or more of constables—all, all of
them have failed to serve it, and I almost now,
in looking at it, scarcely recognize it as a thing
of the present age, it looks so greasy and dirty.
Have you a mind to try it ?’
“‘Try it,’ said I.’ And I looked at him in
wonder. ‘Try it? T never failed in nothing I
,go at right earnestly. Try it?—guess 1 will.
Who is the party, Mr. Wilton ?’ said I.
“ ‘The plaintiff is a woman.’
“‘A woman! and you know, Mr. Sheriff,
how willin’ I am to serve the women.’
“ ‘Yes but, Tise, Mr. Wilton didn’t want you
to serve a woman.’
" ‘Now, why will you bother me, Mr. Sheriff?
Why won’t you let me tell my story without
stopping me ?’
“ ‘ Well, well, go on. I only interrupted you
When I supposed you were off the track.’
“ ‘ I wasn’t off de track : I was going on at a
food rate. Let me see—let me see ; where was
? Yes, I was always willing to oblige the
women.’
“ Well, Mr. Wilton says to me, says he :
“ ‘Do you think, Mr. Thison, you can serve
the man ? The suit grows up this way : Kitty
Doolittle, my client, was housekeeper for
Mr, Greenhope, an old gentleman, a retired
grocer and widower, who, becoming old, was
subject to rheumatics, or gout, or some other
fclmilar ailment; Kitty was in his service
for two or three years at small wages ; and
all went on very nicely when, one day, the
cook an Irish girl, told Kitty, my client, to
go; that she didn’t want her any more
about the house; that she had married Mr.
Greenhope, and had become, by the law of the
land, the mistress of the house herself ; that
Mr. Greenhope told Kitty it w. s as the cook
said; he had married her, and begged Kitty to
come again, and he would settle with her. Well,
Kitty lelt the house at once; and, after a few
went to see Mr. Greenhope to get a set
tlement with him, but she was denied admit
tance. She went again, and again, and always
was refused admission into the house; and she
never could see the old gentleman his wile
would not permit her to come in and see him.
At length, alter repeated efforts to see him, she
came to me, and told me of her affairs. I wrote
to him, and no answer was sent to me. I final
ly determined to sue him; and you know of the
difficulties I am laboring under to procure a
service ot the process upon him. His wife, who
is fearful of an influence detrimental to her in
terests, which might be exercised in the mak
ing of his last will and testament, prevents the
admission of any one into the house, and keeps
the old man a pr aoner, in fact. There, you
have the whole story; and my client, Kitty, al
though I might commence proceedings against
him under attachment as a ‘ concealed debtor,’
Will notallow me to do so, as she says it would
give too much publicity to the matter; and be
side, it would be exposing the old gentleman to
*.oo much pain, in case ho should see his name
in print as~a concealed debtor. And yet again,
Kitty knows that the moment Mr. Greenhope is
made aware of the claim, he will pay her to the
last fraction. But the difficulty, Mr. Thison, is
to see him; and yet I believe, although so many
have tried it, if any one can accomplish a serv
ice, you are the gentleman.”
" Well, I couldn’t help Mr. Sheriff, when he
said 1 was the gentleman, taking my hat off;
and 1 gin him the lowest bow I could make.
“ ‘ Well, what do you say, Mr. Thison,’ said
he ; ‘ will you try it ?’
“ ‘Try it ? to be sure I will,’ said T.
“ ‘He don't live far from here ; only around
the corner ; and if you succeed in serving him,
I will give you ten dollars.’
“ ‘ Ten dollars 1’ said I.
“ Massy me ! that’s a round sum for a small
job like that, I thought. But you didn’t catch
me expressing my thoughts to him, less he
might haul in, and offer me less.
“ ‘Yes; ten dollars. You've got to be cau
tious and cunning,’ said he ; ‘and look out that
Mrs. Greenhope don't come the chain on you.
Let me hear from you, Thison, to-day or to
morrow. Good-by.’
" And he le t me. ‘ Come de chain on me !’—
what did he mean, said I; and 1 was dumb
foundered; I was in a fog, and I couldn’t tell
what he did moan ; but I found out afterward,
when 1 tried the service; and I’ll tell you, bime
by, about the chain.
“ See, Mr. Sheriff, I never failed to serve a
paper in my life but once, and I’ll tell you o!
that another time., But I’ll tell you once I had
a ‘declaration’ agin a man by the name of Bur
rows, who bothered me a good deal; he shyed
me everywhere and every place; he had his
dodgers always ’bout him; and I never seed
him without he rid a horse, a black horse.
When I went to the door of his house to see
him, I’m blamed if he didn't go through to
the stable in de rear of his house, and git on,
and ride pass me in de front of his place, so
I could see him. And when I went de next
day, thinking dat I would git him sure at the
stable, blamed if ho didn’t come right past me
on dat old black horse ag’in; he got on at the
front of the house this time; he was too wide
awake for me; I tried this a good many times;
fust at de front door, at de basement, at de sta
ble, in de rear, and at every p’int I thought 1
oould make something at. But I was deceived;
he was always burrowing jist like a rabbit, out
of one hole into another. I couldn’t catch him;
I seed him, though, a good many times on that
black horse of his’n; he knowed mo jist as well
as I knowed him; and sometimes I thought it
was werry aggerwatm’ in him; he used to stop
wid his horse by de corner of de streets (1
think he must a knowed 1 was about); and den,
when I kim up, thinking I had it all right, and
was jist a going to blamed if he didn’t pull
off his hat, and ‘ wish me a werry good morn
in’;’ and off went de old black horse at a good
trot.”
“ Well, I stood at dat corner, and I began to
think; and I said to mysel, ‘ Tise 1 old gentle
man, this won’t do; dat air feller must be come
up to. if he does ride a horse. Now what shall
Ido? what shall I do? 1 can’t keep pace wid
this nag; and bless me, if I think I can wid his
rider; ’t won’t do to be nonplushed in this way.’
And I was thinking some time, and wondering
what I should do next; and 1 looked up, and
tden I seen him ag’in, still on dat black nag; he
passed me, and he said ‘ He wished me a werry
pleasant time of it.’ I couldn’t help it, but I
cussed some, I tell you; and I shuck my finger
at him; and I hollered out to him that I’d git
him yet afore de devil would, and he must
make a note of that,
“ Now you see, Mr. Sheriff, that last part was
the aggerwatinist of all, to wish me a werry
pleasant time; and I wowed then, as my dan
der was riz, ef I could get him by any means,
’ my fe ®nn’s was hurt; and 1 thought
it he burrowed, I would burrow, too. Well,
I was determined, after that, to catch him ; and
1 went to work airnestly ; I went to his house,
to his stable, at daybreak, at sunset. He
had gone out; he had gone in ; I was never in
time ; I was before him; I was after him ■ he
was in his castle, and I was denied admittance
as all ol his servants, waiters, and all, knowed
me.
“ Bimeby, a thought struck me; if it could
only be, thought I.”
x *Thig gentleman, between thirty-five and fortv vpm
z afio, was sheriff of New York county. y years
“ What was it, Tise ?” By this time, becoming
fairly interested, I could not resist the inclina
tion to check the old man in his very particular
and close narration o every incident, and yet I
wanted him to close it up speedily, so garrulous
had he become. “Wh it was it, Tise ?”
“ Well, I begin to think,” continued he, “after
going a good many times ’bout de house whore
de man lived, dat if I ooulk on’y catch a boy, or
a man, or a woman, or anybody, who went for
to carry something rog’lar to the house, I might
succeed. I seed a butcher-boy, a good many
times, go to de door in de basement; and I tried
to get him once to let me carry in the meet and
marketing, so as to get in the house, but he
talked shy at me, and put his thumb and fingers
to his nose, and as he moved them backward
and forards, be said :
“ ‘Gammon ain’t what we deals in; nothin’
but de best of beef comes from our stall.”
“And he shyed at me ag’in. Well, I went ag’in
at night; and after staying ’bout an hour or
so, I seed a woman, a great, big, tall woman,
going up do stoop with a big clothes-basket.
‘Hallo!’I said to myself, ‘here’s my chance.’
And I waited for her to come out, and when she
did come, I follerod her a little way, and when
I got out of the way of bein’ seen, I walked up
to her and asked her if she did washing. She
said yes. And I got from her the name and
number of de street where she lived, and told
her I might call on her one otidese days. And
den I asked her if she washed for de gentleman
in de house where she coma out of, and she
told me she did ; dat she was in a great hurry,
and couldn’t stay talking with me just then;
she had some other places to call at, and that
she would have to stop ag’in, when she came
back, at the gentleman’s for the dirty clothes,
and she said ‘ Good by ’ to me and left me.
“After she had left me, Mr. Sheriff, I knowed
I had to work sharp and quick if I intended to
carry out my plan, bekase the washer-woman
would be back afore long; so that, without wait
in’ a ro'nute, I run into a second-hand clothing
shop in an avenue close by, and I bought a
woman’s hat, and then I run to a grocery store
and got a big basket, and I put some things in
the basket and kivered it up with a red han
kercher, and I put on the bonnet and with my
old black cloak on, I think I made somewhat of
a figger, and I was then all ready to commence
operations.
“So 1 hobbled up the stoop and I ringed
the bell, and I stooped a little, so as not to
appear too big for tho washer-woman,‘though
she was a large woman, and I curshoyed to
the gal who opened the door and let me in,
and widout my sayin’ a word nor nothin’*
she told mo to get along up stairs as quick
as I could. She didn’t know me from de
woman; an’ 1 went up stairs: and I didn’t know
what to do; and I was wonderin’ what
I should do; and when I got to the landing
above, and was tbinkin’ what next, I’m blamed
if my customer hisself didn't come out of a
room; and eeein’ me he called me Nancy; and
he begin to complain about his linen bein' not
so well done; and then I ris. up strut, bekase
my work was near done; and dropped mj* bas
ket; and I pulled out my paper and shook my
self, and then I handed it to him. But bless i
you, Mr. Sheriff, you oughter seen him then. I
thought he’d a eat me up, he was so put out; <
and he said sumthin’ about an old man ought
to be ashamed of hisself, going round dressin’
hisself up as a female, imposin’on people. But
I was so happy I didn’t say nothin’ to him, on’y i
dat de dignity of de office must be kep’ up, and
we couldn’t afford to let such rabbits as he was, <
burrow as much as be pleases; outwit old foxes; <
and den 1 left him, wishin’ him, as he did me i
once, ‘ a werry pleasant time.’
“Now, don’t you think, Mr. Sheriff, that was
werry good for me ? Wasn't it well done ?” f
“ Very good, Tise -better than good,” said I. i
“It was superlative; nothing could be bettor. <
But how did you feel when you were going up 1
stairs without any plan or excuse in your head ? I
Should you be discovered and your disguise 1
penetrated, what would you have done then, ’
eh? Come, tell me, Tise ! ’ <
“ Public justice ! hem! I don’t know noth- 1
ing better than public justice;’ and ths old £
man kept repeating public justice, rabbits. (
loxes, burrowiags, cunning, dignity, Jwasher- 1
woman, bonnet, foxes, baskets, giggling and 1
laughing the while, and between the exclama- i
tions smoothing, and rubbing, and playing, and 1
feeling his cheeks and mouth, evidently coaxing i
himself intojthe luxuryiof fancying himself the f
chief of spotters, the best at the game of bur- i
rowing. ' c
“Now, Tise, as you've got through this little
interruption of the incident of the half-eagles >
and spectacles, let me hear about the service of t
the paper you had against old Mr. Greenhope, c
and let it be very short, for I want you to ac- i
company mo on an expedition of a very difficult t
character, which is now in preparation by the t
attorney, in which all your natural and acquired g
faculties of archness and perception will be i
called into requisition. You will be ready to
go with me, won’t you i” i
“Go ! Bless you, yes, any time and all times.
You know, Mr. Sheriff, I never refuse you. But r
what is this business? What is de writ ?” n
“Ne exeat f 1 ’ 1 replied, solemnly.
“No exeout 1” echoed he, aententiously and a
gloomily.
“ Now about the spectacles, Tise.” I
“ Yes, bout de spectacles. Well, Mr. Sheriff, ‘
I took de writ from Mr. Wilton and I on’y had a
little way to go, jist behind de big stores on de £
corner of Broadway and Rector street, and I j
went along and I come up to de house where s
Mr. Greenhope lived, and I got on de stoop, v
and I heerd de blinds in de windows of the a
second story of his house go flipper-flopper, t
as if some body was looking out to see who
it was as had come on de stoop ; and t
I looked up, and it was an old man; he f
waa looking troo de blinds at me, right above 1
my bead, and I ’spect be got partickler anxious; i
and all at oust I feel something strike my hat c
and bounce off, and den it fell on de pavement; a
and I picked it up, and it was a pair of goold e
spectacles; and den I felt good; and I run up t
on de stoop ag in; and I pulled de bell good f
and strong, for den I knowed I had it all right,
and that the old man was mine.” ]
"That was a capital hit, Tise.” £
“ Well, it was, Mr. Sheriff; that is, it was a hit >
on my caput, as de lawyers say, and that means ■)
a capital hit.” i
And the old follow screamed out a ha, ha, ha ! <
at his capital hit.
“ Well, den, de door was opened on’y a little, }
’bout six inches or so; and I heerd a clankin’ of £
chains; and I’m blessed if there wasn’t a chain }
fastened on de inside ot de door-post and de in
side of de door; and den I knowed about de ‘
chain-game; and he door couldn’t be opened any (
lurder; and a woman stuck her face troo de ]
openin’; and she looked awful savage at me; j
and she wanted to know my business; and then
I put on the innocentest look I could, and told i
her I was passing by de house, and the old gen- t
tieman up stairs dropt his spectacles out of de i
window, and dat it was fortuuate I was so near j
to pick them up; and if she would allow me to ]
hand de specs to de old gentleman hisself I j
would be so happy.”
“You old /’interrupted I, at which he i
started, and I hesitated. No ! I could not apply (
any opprobrious or censorious epithet to my old ;
assistant; and I lapsed down into a complimen- ]
tary allusion to his politeness. “ You are the j
soul and body ot politeness. Of course the lady |
let you in at once ?” (
“ Not zactly right away; she looked at me i
pooty tight, and werry partickler; and den she
asked me to gin her the specs, and she would
take them to Mr. Greenhope.” (
“But you didn’t do it?”
“No I no ! she might aeep me and other folks <
out by the chain, but I knowed that 1 had that ]
in me that would loosen de chain. Why, you
know, Mr. Sheriff, I allers look like an innocent
child; no body would think any wrong of me;
and then I asked her ag’in if she would allow
me de pleasure ot presenting the specs to Mr.
Greenhope hisself.
“ Well, she opened de door at last, with a ,
good deal of reluctance, and down come de
chain, and in I went; and when I got in, I seed
de ole gentleman standin’ on de first landin’ of
de sta rs, on de fust flight; and 1 went up and
told him it was werry lucky dat I happened to
pick dem up; and I give him the spectacles, and
he thanked me a good deal; and then 1 took the
paper out of my pocket and handed it to him;
and I told him ag’in that it was werry lucky 1
found his specs, as he couldn’t see to read de
paper widout’em, ‘onless,’ and I said onless
• werry loud; ‘ this here lady,’ and his wile, the .
woman of the chain-game, come up then, ‘ could ’
read it for him.’ ”
“ What did she say to that hit you gave her,
Tise ?” said I.
“ Oh I nothin’ out of de way werry hash; she
said 1 was an old sinner, and de like; and she
di in’t suspect my innercent looks, and so on;
yel she looked more'n she said. ’
"That was a lucky incident, Tise, of your
finding the spectacles; it procured your admis
sion into the house,” said I to him.
“ Yes, yes, it was lucky,” replied he, drawl
ing! y; “ but dat didn’t do it.”
“ Well, what was it, then?” I asked.
“ My purliteness,” said he gravely, and mak
ing very graceful bow, with his hand placed
aero is his breast. “Yes, yes, my purliteness
done de business,*’ and he smirked archly.
“She couldn’t resist me; I knew I was capti
watin’ then—werry oaptiwatin’.”
“Yes, Tise,” said I, “I know you were on a
captivating expedition just then.”
And then old Tise rumbled out a vigorous
“ ha, ha, ha I he, he, he I hi, hi, hi i” and end
ing with a slight reference that, in that respect,
I was frequently in the same boat with him.
“And dat’s de way ’bout the spectacles and
the half eagles: but, gracious me, Mr. Sheriff,
wasn’t data lucky hit ? 1
“ Yes, it was, and I suppose Mr. Wilton
thought it was very surprising, didn’t he ?”
“To be sure he did; and more’n ’at, he told
me it wasn’t more’n three or four hours after
he gav® the paper to me, his client had got all
her money, and I got two half eagles for that
job, and plenty compliments, too.”
“And you deserved all you got, my old
friend, and I am always rejoiced to see and hear
that aptness, such as yours, is well rewarded.
But now, Tise, as I have my own business to
attend to, and that which, at present, engrosses
all my thoughs, let us forget, for the time, your
achievements, and proceed on our voyage of
observation with my writ,of *ne exeat; 1 and
mayhap you may figure more extensively than
ever. But if you fail to observe my directions
to the letter in this matter, doubtless the whole
thing will end in a manner not very agreeable
to me, I assure you.” And for the purpose of
reassuring the old man, I said, “ I expected
nothing but a favorable turn, so far as such
things could be termed favorable. ‘ What’s my
meat is another’s poison;’ ” and recounted to
him that I had a writ of "ne excat republica ”
against John Stoplord, who, it was intimated,
had received from government an appointment
of cousul for one of the Carribbean islands, and
(who was then busily engaged in preparing for
his departure, but that the writ, if it struck him,
NEW YORK DISPATCH, OCTOBER 9, 1887.
would prevent that “consummation devoutly to
be wished,” an entire exemption or freedom
from arrest, by being beyoud the reach of his
creditors.
“ Stopford,” said Thison, meditating; “ ’pears
to me I heerd of him afore. Stopford—who is
he, Mr. Sheriff? ain’t he one of the twin-broth
ers? I think 1 got it.”
“ Yes, my old friend, he is one of the twin
brothers, and therein consists the difficulty; you
know they resemble each other so closely that
one is not distinguishable from the other, their
dress, their actions, their manners, speech, in
fact, their tottf enseoible— and I am at a loss
how to proceed; I might, and I might not arrest
John; and then in dase I arrested the wrong
one, how can I be assured that I have not got
the right one, the veritable John? Full of
difficulties, can’t you perceive ?”
“Oh, yes, I perceive. I kin see as clear as
though my eyes were fifty year younger than
they am. I can manage dat part of it, on’y you
leave it to me. But dere’s something ’bout it I
can’t see so very clear. S’pose, Mr. Sheriff, you
find dem both together when you go alter John?
Den I’m blamed if wo ain’t gone, for you won’t
know John from William, nor, the t’other from
John, an’ if you should ask for John, nary one
of 'em would answer, bekase they both would
know, if you asked for either, dat John was
wanted. Now we must work together, and this
is my plan: I'll scoot roun’ and play shy, keep
ing, of course, my eyes wide open to see if I kin
find them; 1 won't say nothing nor do nothing,
but keep a good lookout. I know where they
drop in, and it I should find any one of ’em
alone, you must be at some partickler place
cl ns by, where I kin find you easy, so as to git
him nice and sure. How do you like it ?—ain’t
it a good plan ?”
I assented at once to the plan of operations 1
laid out by so experienced a hand, and I bade
him, without delay, proceed to carry his plan
into effect, giving him notice at what place I
would be found, and at the same time 1 en
joined him to a strict performance, on his part,
of the detail of attack and final capture.
We parted, and scazce an hour had passed—
the time passing wearily and heavily with me,
for I must admit my mind was so intent in this
affair, lest my assistant should fail, that time
and cir umstances wore almost heavily, lazily,
languidly; I was, nevertheless, watching eagerly
for a signal from Thison, and busily observing
the hand of old Time on the dial ot t‘ e clock ot
St. Paul’s as he moved on steadily, surely,
slowly, and as it would only appear to move to
one watching for the end; yet the end did come,
and with it old Tise (not old Time), who ap
peared all a-glow with success on his brow,
written with as sure a hand as Nature could im
press; and the old man said, in a slow, solemn
manner:
“ Come ! come I—all right!—come !
I accompanied him; and as wo went, Tise in
formed me of what had transpired since I last
parted with him.
“I started, ’ said he, “fust to adrinkin’-shop,
where the brothers is generally ’bout from ’leven
to twelve o’clock; but they wasn’t there; then I
went to the corner of Wall and Nassau street,
and shyed about, thinkin’ I might meet ’em
there; then ag’in I went—run—down to the Ex
change; and they wasn’t there, nuther; and then
I felt as though I wouldn’t see ’em at all; and 1
felt ugly, bekase I thought [ shouldn’t see ’em
at all; and then thinkin’ ’bout the confectioner’s
shop in Broadway, just below Cedar street,
where so many gentlemen go to get their 'leven
o'clocker, may bo dey might be there; I posted
dat way; and aforo I got there, bless you, Mr.
Sheriff, I seed ’em cornin’.”
“Both of them?” said I, interrupting him.
“Yes, Mr. Sheriff, both; and den says I to my
self, dats onlucky; but howsomover, I said
nothing, and let ’em pass; and den, ag’in, I
didn’t know nothin'; and I tailored ’em, but I
wasn't clus by, on’y l was there; and dey went
lust to one place and den to another place; and
1 kop my eyes on ’em all de time; and one of
’em left; and I den begin for to feel good; and
den I wanted to soe you, Mr. Sheriff, for I didn’t
know which one to go after; but says 1 to my
self, I can’t toiler both, and ary one of ’em will
do; so I kep on de track of one: and I went after
him; and I tailored on; and he stopped; and den
he went on ag’in: and den he stopped once
more; and he talked a little while with some one
he met; and he pushed on; and bimeby he went
in a house where there is lots of offices; and I
tailored him worry near then, but he didn’t know
nothin’ ’bout it; and he went in de back office on
de fust floor, and I guess he’s in there now.”
By thia time, we had reached the place where
I had hoped Tise had caged the bird; and so
thinking, we opened the door, and, true enough,
one of the twins was there, but which one, and
whether he was the one I wanted, I could not
tell. But Tise, on whom I relied in this vexa
tious emergency, solved the problem at once by
going up to him, and announcing in his peculiar
manner, that “ he had a writ tar his arrest.”
“ My arrest I arrest me ! what for ?” said he,
in amazement. " You must bo mistaken, sir I”
“ Ain’t mistaken, sir,” replied Thison. “Your
name is William Stopford; and I guess I got a
writ ag’in you—ain’t mistaken, sir.”
“But you are mistaken, sir. You say you have
a writ against William Stopford ?” ,
“Yes, sir!” and be mumbled out “ sir,” that
I thought I nover should hear the end of it.
“ Yes, sir I ag’in William Stopford.”
“ Well, then, my ancient Theban,” replied
Stoptard, with a great deal of assurance, “ If
you have got a writ against William Stopford,
all [ have to say is, that lam not he; and you
will hftve to go a little farther to find him, for I
am not William Stoptard; so you see you are
mistaken.”
“ Well, I might be, but I guess I ain’t,” re
torted Tise; “ let's see;” and he drew the writ
from his pocket, quietly put on his spectacles,
looked at the writ with all the seriousness usual
in bis composition when about a work of this
character; looked at me, and then at Stoptard;
and then he seemed pleased, and gayly observ
ed to Stopford “that ’twasn’t often he was mis
taken, but he was in this case.” And then ad
dressing me, he said:
"Mr. Sheriff, I’m blamed if I ain’t mistaken.
I thought all the time I had a writ ag’in William
Stoplord; but it’s John I want, and not William.
Why, how in nature could I be so mistaken ?
Yes, yes; I want John, and not William. Bless
my soul 1 bless my soul! I believe I’m gittin’
old I”
“Let me see your writ!” cried Stopford, in
horror; “let me see it! perhaps”—and there was
a very weak hope in that “perhaps ’—“you may
be mistaken again.”
“ I can’t be mistaken twice,” replied Thison,
“where there be on’y two people consarned;
once is enough; but it’s excusable in me now;
1 m gittin’ old.” And he handed the writ to
him.
Stopford looked at it; read it; re-read: exam
ined it thoroughly; and then, being satisfied
that it was all right in fact, but wrong to him,
intimated to Thison “that he would at once fur
nish the required security as soon as his
brother, whom he momently expected, came
in.”
At this announcement, I feared that all the dif
ficulties I had conjured up in my mind, and
which, of necessity, by the brothers being
brought together, must exist, so closely did they
resemble, “ the one so like the other as could
not be distinguished but by names,” that I
should most likely then meet with my greatest
extreme in keeping them distinguished; and in
this great extremity I called upon my assistant
to advise me.
“Never mind, Mr. Sheriff,” said he, with the
off-hand manner usual to him when perplexi
ties, doubts, and troubles, had all been master
ed by him; “ leave th:.t to me; I’m all right; 11l
keep posted; now I tell you, never you mind;
I’ve got him right, and I’ll have him Tighter
bimeby.”
“But, Tise,” observed I, " you know they are
dressed alike in every particular, even their
white pants, shoes, and coat, and hat; ay, the hat
with the crape-band on each. Tise”—and I
spoke to him with some alarm; “ should they
desire, when the other brother comes, to retire
to a room to confer together privately, when
they come out again, you cannot tell which is
your prisoner. Have you thought ot that,
and of the uncertainty o’ finding your man?”
“Yes, I have; but I’ll fix it; you kin’pend on
me,” ho answered; and 1 was somewhat relieved
when the old man announced to me, in so de
termined a manner, that he would “fix it,” and
I might " depend on him.”
Stoplord—John, I mean—came toward me,
and observed “ that his brother was expected
every minute, and hoped that I would
extend a little courtesy to him by waiting ; and
he doubted not that the busisess would be
arranged speedily and satisfactorily to me in
the way of sureties. But, Sheriff, your old
friend here, Mr. Thison, doesn’t make such
mistakes as in my case frequently, does he ?”
And I thought there was a bitter sneer in his
manner.
“ Mr. Stopford,” I replied, “such mistakes
are sometimes very necessary, as in this matter,
for example; but, coming directly to your
question, he does very frequently make such
mistakes, and takes, too, under them; he very
rarely misses h : s man and his object; he has a
keen perception, also, as you have already wit
nessed.”
At this point of our conversation, the other
brother, William, came in, and, seeing Thison
and myself, concluded there was “something
out,” and addressed John with the question : n
“ Who is the plaintiff, and what amount of
bail is required ?”
" Will you allow me, Mr. Sheriff,” said John
to me, “to have a few minutes’ conversation
with my brother ? We will retire in this room
adjoining tar a few minutes.”
The question thus frankly put was about be
ing answered in the negative by me, as that was
a state of things I desired most to avoid because
of my inability to distinguish my prisoner: and
I was about answering it in as delicate a denial
as I could give, when I observed Thison mak
ing all sorts of motions with his head and hands;
and he, fearing doubtless, that I was going
to grant the request, interposed his objections
until the bail bond was signed, and he begged
me, in a whisper, to make out the bond and he
would let me “ know, bimeby,” the reason why
he insisted on this being executed at once.
At Thison’s suggestion, though I ctfuld not
tell what was passing in the old man’s mind, I
sat down and prepared the bond; that conclud
ed, I intimated to my prisoner that all was
ready, and he had better sign at once, particu
larly as it was a darling object of my assistant,
and I rarely crossed him in anything.
“Yes, sir,” said he, seating himself alongside
of the table at which i sat, and 1 handed him my
pen, and he wrote his name in a bold, dashing
hand.
“Perhaps,” he continued, "my ancient The
ban here would like to witness the bond. How
is it—would you ?”
“I’m going to do dat,” said Thison, and he
moved toward me, and 1 vacated my chair and
gave it to him.
“Thank ’ee, Mr. Sheriff; much obliged. I’m
gittin’ old. Ohl oh I that rheumatiz—how it
) bothers me !” and Tise took the pen and dipped
i it in the inkstand, and he tried to write his
i name. Ho couldn't: something was the matter
with the pen; no, it was the ink—it was too
J thick. He tried it again: a hair had “got on de
j pint.” He picked it ofi; he guessed it was right
- now, and he dipped it in the ink again: he
couldn’t write with “ eich ” a pen, and be dip-
- ped it in the ink again, and then he tried to
i write again: and then he thought he had too
i much ii.k in his pen; and he held the bond
: pressed with the left hand as it lay on the table,
i and seemed intensely interested in reading its
i contents, and the pen still in his right hand.
; He tried again, and he found he had his pen too
highly charged, so giving it a double motion
j downward, and a repeater, and still another
Why—why, what the devil are you about ?”
cried John Stopford. “What do you mean,
eh ?” What the devil are you about?”
Tise, thus interrupted in so abrupt a manner,
affected entire innocence of what was charged
upon him.
" You blasted old heathen ; look at my white
pantaloons ! See what you have done ! You
have shaken all the ink out of your pen on my
pantaloons. What do you mean, eh ? You
blasted old heathen !”
“Didn’t mean to do it. 1 ask your pardon,
sir. You see, sir, I wasn’t thinking of anything
but the bond ; and I hope you’ll excuse me.”
And I looked, and beheld tho blackness of
darkness on the white trousers ; and great was
the area ot the dark spot tho old gentleman had
cast on John Stopford’s pantaloons.
“ Sheriff,” observed Stoptard, “I will procure
bail immediately. I don’t like this black busi
ness. I have sent my brother, and ho will be
here with good and sufficient bail in a lew min
utes. lam exceedingly anxious to get rid of
the company of that old friend of youra as soon
as I can—blast him ! —ink-spot I”
Thison—although I could scarcely keep my
gravity—l was satisfied, had done this thing in
tentionally— put on the best face ho possibly
could, and took the denunciations of Stopford
very coolly; and, coming up to me, he whis
pered :
“Didn’t I tell you, Mr. Sheriff, I’d make him
Tighter bimeby ? And I spotted him fust-rate.
Now let de twins git mixed up so dat an old man
can’t tell ’em apart! Old Teban ! old heathen !
eh? I’ll let him know he ain’t going to come
any of his games of hit and miss with me. No !
no! no ! he s spotted for all day, anyhow, and
dat’s what I call spottin’ a gentleman. He ! he !
he !” and he smothered his laugh lest Stoptard
should hear him.
The sureties soon after appeared, and having
executed the bond, I took my departure with
“ Old Tise,” and we left the twins to the enjoy
ment of that sort of feeling consequent upon an
attempt to tail an officer of the law “ by getting
themselves mixed up,” as Tise said, and to the
contemplation of his system of spotting a gen
tleman.
THE AVERAGE TURK.
How He Accounts for the Sun’s Dis
appearance at Night.
CFi'om the St. Janies Gazette.)
No Turk would be bold enough to enter a
now house or undertake a journey on unpropi
tious days when the Sheytaus or devils are
abroad, much less consider seriously a question
of politics. It goes without saying that the
average Turk thoroughly indorses the patholo
gical eccentricities of the Peculiar People and
the cosmic heresies of Mr. John Hampden. In
severe cases of sickness the services of the ha
kim are dispensed with, and the prayers of a
sheik or holy man are requisitioned. As for
the globular shape of the earth and its alleged
revolutions, the intelligent Mohammedan
laughs such tallies to scorn. The disappear
ance of the sun at night is accounted for by
the practical retirement of that pious lumi
nary tar prayer and religious reflection.
Tremendous stones are sometimes related
with the utmost naivete by the Moslem news
papers. Not long ago the Bassiret announced
that a Kurdish sheikh in Central Asia possessed
a “ nalin,” or wooden golosh, that had belonged
to the Prophet Mohammed. Straightway the
sheikh was commanded to bring his precious
relic to Stamboul and deposit it in tho imperial
treasury. The holy golosh was brought over
land to Samsun under imposing escort, and
thence by special steamer transported to Con
stantinople, where it was received by the Grand
Vizier and the whole Ministry, and carried by
them to the old Serai, followed by a brilliant
procession.
The only evidence of the genuineness of the
golosh were a few stories told of it by the news
papers. These related principally to the jour
ney from Central Asia to Europe, and described
how the stormiest waters became still when
the golosh embarked upon them, and how
troops of the wildest animals surrounded the
horse which carried it during the overland
journey, reverently guarding and escorting it
certain distances. It is not surprising that
these tales were firmly believed by the general
public, seing that within very recent times
similar legends have obtained extensive evi
dence in the enlightened Occident
Nor is this credulity confined to the common
people or even the middle class. It is, for ex
ample, popularly believed that the Jews possess
the evil eye; and when in 187 T the village of Ka
dikoi was destroyed by an earthquake, a poor
Israelite named Bohor Levi was arrested on
suspicion ot having predicted the catastrophe,
and a pasha ol education seriously examined
him on the charge. Still more recently an as
tounding example of superstition displayed it
self in the Constantinople Municipal Council.
Near the Adrainople gate is a large open field
belonging to Raoul Pasha. The owner applied
to the authorities for permission to build on it,
and was refused, on the ground that, according
to an ancient tradition, there is a subterranean
and submarine road running from the field in
question to the Vatican at Rome, and that the
Pope travels through it to Constantinople every
New Year’s eve.
Consequently, argued the civic sages, if the
field were built over the field might be stooped
up, and there would then be a quarrel with the
unbelieving Pontiff, which might end in a se
rious struggle between Islam and Christendom.
This decision was given by the President of the
Municipal Council, Edhem Pasha—not the V izier
of that name, but a brother-in-law to the late
Sultan—and it was soberly recorded in the min
utes of the Council and in the orthodox press of
the country.
UNIQUE HOSPITALITY.
A Boston Woman who Compelled a
Caller to Take a Bath.
Mrs. Y. is a brilliant Boston woman of abun
dant exeoutivs ability, shrewd wit and delight
lul hospitality. The exigencies ot her hus
band’s business led to tho keeping up of an es
tablishment in the West, where Mrs. Y. passes
some months of the year, and where she enter
tains a great many people.
One day there was brought to Mrs. Y. the
card of an English gentleman, accompanied by
a letter of introduction from Iriends of the Y.’s
abroad. The hostess went down stairs and
greeted the guest cordially.
“ We are so accustomed to travelers here,”
she said, “that we Know just what to do with
them. We expect everybody to arrive travel
stained and exhausted, and we let everybody
take a bath the first thing. I spoke to the
servant before I came down, and everything is
all ready.”
“ But,” stammered the stranger, “ I cannot
think of putting you to so much trouble.
I ”
“ Oh, I know just how yon feel,” interrupted
Mrs. Y. “A bath is the only thing that re
stores me to my normal condition when I’ve
been traveling, sad you have coma right
through from Boston.’’
The guest demurred, but Mrs. Y. was too ex
ecutive and too truly hospitable to allow his
scruples to prevent the carrying out of her
kindly intent. The Englishman was shown up
stairs te the bathroom, where it is to be pre
sumed he combined with the j regress ot hie
toilet reflections upon the originality and prac
ticability of American hospitality.
In due time the guest descended to the par
lor, where Mrs. Y. awaited him.
“I hope you found everything to your mind,”
she said.
“Oh, yes,” he replied. “I have had a de
lightful bath; and now I must bid you good af
ternoon, as I have to catch a train.”
“What?” cried his hostess aghast. “You are
not going ?”
“ Unfortunately, I must. I only stopped over
a train to call on you.”
“Mercy!” she exclaimed, in dismay. “I
thought you had come to remain. You cer
tainly cannot go away when I haven’t seen you
at all?”
“ I really must,” was the reply, “ but I assure
you I have had a most refreshing bath, and I
shall always remember with sincere pleasure
your unique hospitality.”
The etory was too good to keep, and Mrs. Y.
told it at her own expanse, greatly to the enter
tainment of her friends, who declared that this
fashion of entertaining callers was one which
deserved to he widely introduced, as it would
solve many a perplexing question of the proper
method of disposing of guests who were not
easy to amuse.
SHE IsYeOOL.
THE SLANGY, LOLLING GIRL OF
THE PERIOD.
(From, the Troy Telegrvm,)
The sad thing about it is that the girl of the
period Is making a fool of herself. “Every
thing carried to its extreme becomes its contra
ry,” says Hegel, and the girl beginning with the
masculino’costumo goes on to please men more
and more by adopting their slang and even their
freedom of manner. The girl does not see that.
Although men are amused by it, they are not
made more respectful and courteous thereby,
bhe only sees she is a favorite with men, that
she always has partners and escorts and is in
vited everywhere.
Men are at their ease with her, but, ye gods
and little fishes ! there is a mighty difference
between tho girl one loafs and smokes with, and
the girl one prefers for a wife or a mother. The
very fashion that in moderation was charming,
in excess is disagreeable. The slangy, lolling,
sprawling men-hunters—and some girls of the
period are little more than that—have spoiled
the liberty which it was delighttul to-see women
accepting in moderation.
There is a liberty that makes us free and a
liberty that makes us slaves, and the girls who
take liberties with modesty of speech and man
ner, and who cross well over the border into
maeculine territory, are not more free, but more
slavish than before, and the approbation of
men, which is the end in view, is lost by the
very means taken to gain it. There is one
young woman in Boston who has been a belle
for two winters. One day she remarked to the
writer that now she was obliged to do the mark
eting ; that her mother had always done it, but
“ at last ma kicked.”
When the writer said to a friend of that young
woman that she would not get married for sev
eral years unless she changed her manners, he
was told that she received more attention than
any girl in Boston. Nevertheless, that young
woman has had two seasons and is still disen
gaged. She is a type of the short-sightedness
of some of her sex. She has men about her in
plenty, and “ she shall have musio wherever
she goes, ’ but men are better than they appear.
At bottom, men love kindliness, gentleness,
modesty, purity in act and thought in women.
NELSON’S THREE ARMS.
His Aversion to the Allusion of His
Having Only One.
{From the Leeds Mercury}
Ono was Sir Thomas Trowbridge and the
other was Sir Alexander Ball. The story goes
that on one occasion, at a party, at which the
three were present, Nelson, hearing a remark
made about the loss of his arm, said :
“ Who shall dare tell me that I want an arm,
when I have three right arms—this one left to
me and Ball and Trowbridge.”
These two men were all this to Nelson. They
were devotedly attached to him, and they were
brave and skillful commanders. Sir Alexan
der Ball was a hero in the truest sense. There
was an anecdote about him which will please
the readers of this column. He became gov
ernor of Malta, and he acted in away that
gained for him the affection and trust of the
people of the island. Hearing of this, a naval
officer once said:
“ That I can well believe ; for to Sir Alexan
der Ball I owe that which is dearer to mo than
life,” and then he went on to explain how,
when a midshipman and only in his fourteenth
year, he accompanied Sir Alexander, who was
then a lieutenant, in an expedition.
“ It was my first engagement,” said the officer,
“ and, as amid a discharge of musketry, wo
were moving up to the vessel we were ordered
to attack, I was overpowered by fear, my knees
trembled under me, and 1 seemed on the point
of fainting away. Then it was that Lieutenant
Ball came quietly to my side, and, keeping his
face toward the enemy, whispered, ‘Courage,
my dear lad. Don t be afraid of yourself.
You will be all right in a minute or so. I was
just the same myself when I first went out in
this way. ”
These kindly words strengthened the mid
shipman.
“ it was,” he said, “ as if a new soul had been
put into me. From that moment I was as for
ward and fearless as the oldest of the boat's
crew.”
Ball once rendered Nelson a great service. Tt
was when they were both working their way
upward and were captains in the fleet. They
were lying off Minorca one night when a storm
arose and disabled Nelson’s vessels. It
was about all that Ball could do to ride out the
storm, but he took Nelson’s ship in tow. Often
it seemed as if both ships would be lost, and
Nelson repeatedly asked to be left alone rather
than the two should suffer. Ball still stuck to
the disabled ship. Nelson got angry, and made
use of passionate words. Ball spoke back
through his trumpet, clearly and solemnly:
“ I feel sure I can bring you in safe. I there
fore must not, and, with God’s help, I will not,
leave you!”
The words were made good, and when the
two vessels lay safely at anchor in the port at
Port Mahon, Nelson came on board his friend’s
ship and embraced him. Sir Alexander Ball
was Governor of Malta at the time of his death,
which happened on the 25th of October, 1809, in
his fifty-third year. Sir Thomas Trowbridge,
Nelson’s “third right arm,” was once taken
prisoner by the French, under Admiral Neuilly.
He was taken on board the admiral’s ship, the
“ Sans Pareille,” and he was there when a great
naval battle took place between the “Sans Pa
reille” and other French ships and a part of the
English fleet under Lord Howe. Lord Howe
appeared to be in no hurry to begin the fight.
He formed his vessels into line and then gave
the signal for breakfast This led the French
admiral to say to his prisoner that he thought
the English did not care to begin.
“ Don’t they,” said Trowbridge; “you just
wait till they have had their belly full and you’ll
catch it.” And so it turned out. The English
carried everything before them, and Trowbridge
had the satisfaction of bringing the Sans Pareille'
into port as a bad a share, like Sir
Alexander B: v *'"/»n’B great
victories. It ‘
on an expedi
accidents, ar
had to put it
however, w
he met a sa
with all on
February,
Nelson was iu...
LUCK iTgAMBLINU.
FOOLS FALL INTO THE MAEL
STROM.
(From the Cosmopolitan,)
The great mistake made by the majority of
players is, that of supposing, or, by their mode
of playing, appearing to suppose, that because
they have been exceedingly lucky for a time,
that luck is likely io continue. A lady, on one
occasion, walked up to the table as the ball was
spinning, and threw down a note, telling the
croupier to put “ all that was possible ” on 32.
The croupier had just time to call out, “ Cava,
madame,” when the ball rolled into 32, and she
bad won the maximum. As she was gathering
up her notes and gold, and while the ball was
again spinning, she threw another on 17. She
had hardly done so before that number made
its appearance—another maximum I The same
evening, at different tables, she placed six louis
on 32 and won 210 louis, and the next morning
she won another very largp stake on that num
ber again.
But she did not appear to understand that
such luck was uncommon, or that the betting
was, after all, 36 to 1 against her ; for she went
on persistently for several days backing 32,
while this number as persistently refused to
appear, and that is how she got rid of her win
nings.
Before the tables had been banished from
Germany a student from Frankfort, who had
just received a parental visit and a tip for
1,000 f., rushed over to Hamburg as soon as his
lond parent had left him and hurried to the
tables. He was very lucky, and before dinner
had won a considerable sum. Encouraged by
the best of dinners and plenty of champagne, he
returned to the attack, and before eleven o’clock
had won no less than $50,000, but the proprie
tor, aware of what was going on, and knowing
that such luck was unlikely to last, engaged a
special train back to Frankfort, and just before
eleven o’clock informed the players that the
tables would remain, open till twelve o’clock.
Before that time the tide turned, and the
student had lost all he had won, which was no
doubt a very good thing for him, if he only
could have looked at it in the proper light.
Now, if ha had been playing on oven chances
and won largely on the red, he would not in all
probability have insisted on continuing to back
that color after black had began to assert itself,
because the latter color was as likely to win as
the former, and had, so to speak, arrears to
make up; and yet after being enormously suc
cessful at first, he continued to back himself
after luck had departed, quite forgetting that a
player loses, in the long run, as often as he
wins, and that no had arrears of losses, to make
a , t T w
CART. ISAIAH BOND.
BY NEMO.
(From the Portland, Ate.. Transcript.)
In the year 1778 there came to Vassalborough
a young man from Barnstable, on Capo Cod. It
was just eight years after the town was incor
porated, and many settlers came to make their
homes on the beautiful fertile land, allured by
tales which sound strangely to our oars, one of
which was that there was a lake of tallow, rival
ing the famous pitch lake in another part of our
continent, from which one could dip an unlim
ited supply of candles. This is a fact, and one
anoiont lady, the wife of a retired captain of a
whiler, inquired where that pond was, saying
that she heard that a woman went in to dtp
.candles, and it cooled around her neck, killing
her 1 It it was a Cape Cod yarn, it is worth
telling.
The young man o', whom we are writing was
called, or rather we will call him, Capt. Isaiah
Bond. Where he got his title we cannot say.
but captain he was from the first moment he
set his loot on Vassalborough soil until he was
laid to rest in the neglected graveyard whoso
headstones lie in such a dilapidated state.
This is a true and authentic sketch of one of
the most singular residents of that section of
the country. Buying one of the best farms in
town, ho built a large frame house on the, then,
most convenient plan. It stood stately and tall,
fronting the west, and there for years he kept
bachelor’s hall.
Cordial and generous to all, his peenliar ways
somewhat shocked his mors Puritanic neigh
bors. Ha always dressed in homespun, desti
tute of dye in his earlier days, and his hat was
on his head when ha came out of his room in
the morning and when he entered it again. Not
even at the table did he remove it.
As the years rolled on he increased in wealth
and began to look around for a wife. A certain
young lady became the object of his affections
for a year, but bis visits suddenly ceased and
he remained a bachelor to the end of his days.
The only reason he ever gave was that “Jemima
stirred her bread with a spoon, while he always
used a knife.”
He was an adept in coining by-words, or as
near an approach to oath as possible. “ Judas
Jock” and “ Judgment Scott” were favorite ex
pletives, while under a state of great excitement
he might cry out, “ Chrietly Hall!”
His Jemima married a poor and dissipated
man, and he secretly sent her many valuable
gifts of money to provide the necessaries oflile
for her suffering children. When the oldest was
sixteen, he harnessed up bis horse, which he al
ways drove with a goad-stick, and brought her
to his homo as his young housekeeper. His only
injunction to the girl was that if she ever forgot
to put the cat to bed in the oven and the dog in
the ash-hole, he should carry her straight home.
If neighbors came in, he would tell them they
were welcome as “thunder in dog days;” but
if they stayed too long, he plainly intimated that
it was time they left.
With all his peculiarities he was a fine man,
and left, his impress on those who grew up
around him.
He had a great aversion to salt, and the last
time the writer ever saw him he was screaming
loudly to a niece that her little boy had salt,
when in reality the child was sucking a lump of
sugar.
Quaint old man, he did a great deal of good
with his hard earnings, and left his property
where it was appreciated, both for its monetary
value and for the love of the donor.
Few childless men have as sincere mourners
as gathered around hie dying bed.
HIDDEN INSPIRATION.
A STORY OF OXFORD SCHOOLS.
{From Temple Bar,)
An oxaminer who prided himself on his
shrewdness was determined that he would
make it impossible for any copying to take
place under his supervision. Accordingly, he
not only kept a very sharp and constant watch
upon the candidates, but peered at them from
time to time between the fingers of his hands
spead before his lace.
At last he thought he detected a man in some
thing which looked very suspicious. Looking
from side to side to satisfy himselt that no one
observed him, the man plunged his hand into
his breast pocket, and drawing something out,
regarded it long and steadfastly, and then, has
tily replacing it, resumed his pen and wrote
with obviously increased energy.
The examiner pretended not to notice this,
but after a time he rose from his seat, and with
bis hands in bis pockets strolled round the
room with an appearance of negligence and in
difference to what was going on. By this means
he succeeded in disarming suspicion, and, get
ting to windward of his prey, stole upon him
from behind gradually and unperceived. Then,
waiting patiently, hie strategy was rewarded by
observing that the man once more turned hfe
head from side to side to side, yet not quite far
enough to see him, and once more put his hand
into his breast pocket. Then the examiner
sprang forward in elation, and seized the hand
in the very act of grasping the suspected ob
j ect.
“Sir,” said he, “ this is the fourth time I
have watched you doing this. What have you
in your hand ?”
The man hesitated to reply, and this, coupled
with his evident confusion, confirmed the sus
picion of the examiner.
“ 1 must insist, sir, on seeing what it is you
have in your hand. ’
The man reluctantly complied, and, drawing
his hand from the pocket, presented to the dis
mayed examiner the photograph of a young
lady 1 This it was which had been his hidden
source of inspiration. This had been the secret
of his ever freshened energy. Very humbly and
sincerely did the examiner offer his apologies,
as he returned crestfallen to bls seat; and it
gives the finishing touch to the story to learn
that the candidate married that young lady in
due time, and that they are now living happily
together in the enjoyment of the blessings of
their faithful love, so rudely tested and discov
ered.
That of the small boy was
A SERIOUS PIECE OF ILL LUCK.
First Omaha Boy—“ Come on. What are you
waiting for?"
Second Omaha Boy—“Mamma won’t let me go."
“ She won’t ? My mamma lets me go most every
where. Yours is awful strict, ain’t she ?"
“Yes, she used to be principal of a seminary."
“Was she?"
“Yes. I guess pop didn’t think about the trou
ble ho was makia* for me when he married a school
teacher.’’
The bank in this instance haff
SECURITY BETTER THAN BONDS.
“I see that you have a new cashier,” remaked
the president of one bank to another.
“Yes, we set him to work yesterday.
“Had any experience?"
“ Lots of it."
“Under heavy bonds, I suppose? Our man is
under $150,000/’
“ Well,.no; we did not require big bonds."
“Great heavens, man, he’ll run off in two weeks
with the whole bank.
"We have every confidence in him."
“ Well, you’ll pay dearly enough, for it. He’ll be
in Canada inside of a month/’
“I think not. You see, he has just runaway
from a Canadian bank with s2oo*ooo. I think he is
safe enough/*
Francisco Chronicle publishes this
thing ana uo ... . ■ s g . . r '
ho did not like the app«. _
she was on with another fellow, anu i..
ly pumping to find out how things stood.
“ He seems very fond of you,’* ha said.
*'O, y® s ; rather likes me."
“it looks very serious."
“O. uo; its not very serious."
“ But there is something ?"
“ Nothing out of the ordinary."
“ Perhaps he is a relation,"
“Yes, he’s a relation.”
“ Brother or cousin ?"
“Neither. He's only a relation by marriage. He’s
my husband.”
The Omaha World tells this story about
A FOOLISH QUEEN.
Omaha Man (in England)—•• That’s a pretty fair
sort of a house. I believe I’ll take that for the sea
son.”
Englishman—“’Ouse ? ’Ouse? That’s no'ouse.
sir.’’
“No house, eh ? What is it, then, a stable ?”
“ That’s one of the Queen’s palaces.”
“Oh! I see it's empty.”
“ Yes, it stands hempty most of the time.”
“ I wonder what rent she wants for it ? ’
“ Rent? You couldn't get that tor a million pun,
sir.”
“ A million pounds ! Great Scott! I wonder if
she thinks this is Los Angeles?”
He did not comprehend tho fact that Maine is
a Prohibition State, and that Neal Dow lived in
it; yet, all the same?.
HE FOUND OUT HOW TO GET HIS DRINKS.
A Chicago man, who did not realize that Maine
was a Prohibition stronghold until he and his fam
ily arrived at one of the quieter sort of a Bar Har
bor hotels, was struck aghast when the clerk in
formed him that there wasn't a drop of anything to
drink in the house stronger than Worcestershire
sauce. Tho stranger's rage was awful, and he ex
pressed his opinion of Prohibition laws, people and
towns in the most sulphurous sort of language.
Finally he came down to the hotel and declared
that he told not think much of a house that did not
provide refreshments for its guests. The clerk
then bogan to get frightened, for tho Westerner was
paying something like S2OO a week for himself and
family.
“Well,” he said, “I can’t give you anything,
“but I have a friend, and perhaps he can; I’ll give
you a line to him.”
A moment after the Chicago man went out, bear
ing a. card with this inscription:
“Dear Mr. Parsons: Please save this.man’s life.
“J. B. K. ’
The bit of pasteboard worked like a charm, and
later in the day the Western man had the clerk in
the corner of the office hard at work writing the
magic words on a stack of cards.
SCINTILLATIONS.
Small ideas and big words make a
painful combination.
If told to take a “ back seat,” one will
invariably take affront.
The flower of the family you often
find becomes college bred.
Parsons, the Anarchist, will be able to
see a better world than this by stretching his neck
a little.
Good advice is worth more than mo
ney, but somehow we can’t make our creditors see
that way.
The Peck family held a reunion last
week at Corro Gordo, Illinois, There were several
bushels present
When flour goes down, a flve-cent
loaf of bread costs as muoh as it did before, and by
the weight, it is no bigger.
An Illinois farmer has made a cheese
in the shape of a man. It is said to look like a thing
of life—and very likely it is.
Bob Garrett ~iF censured for paying
S3OO a day for a sleeping-oar; but who knows how
much of this went to the porter?
Delia—“ How is Mrs. Grenadine late
ly ? Is sho perfectly reconciled to the loss of her
husband?” Belle—“ Yes, I think so; her mourn
ing fits beautifully."
" There is one paper that will destroy
the polish of any one it may oome in contact with?’
••Bless me, my good man, what is its name?”
“Sand-paper, madam.”
A religious contemporary asks: “How
shall we get young men to church ?” Well, if the
horse cars are not running, we think a pony phae
ton or a dog cart, with two horses driven tandem,
could do it.
Great actress—“O, Mr. De Sago, we
can’t play to-night,” Traveling manager—“ Why
not ?’’ “ Our trunks haven’t arrived and we haven’t
a thing to wear.” “ That’s all right; I’ll put on a
burlesque."
A piece of court-plaster on a pretty
girl’s cheek, is very much out of place, but it
doesn’t improve matters much when her beau goes
home at two o’clock in the morning with it on the
end of his nose.
Mrs. William Wright, of Newcastle,
Ind., recently gave birth to four children, making
in all a family of fourteen children, including five
pairs of twins. Let’s see, who was it said that he’d
rathor be Wright than be President ? We wouldn’t.
She kissed her pug—with haste arose
And rained upon that creature’s nose
A storm of osculations sweet;
The swell reclining at her feet
Remarked, as ha looked sideways up,
“1 wish that I’d been born a pup I”
Then smiling coldly from her throne.
She said, “And were you born ftUl*grQWlU N
Grandpa Jay Gould is paying nina
cents a quart for milk for that baby. This is an ex
tra cent a quart, but he is determined not to have
any more watered stock in the family if any effort
of his will prevent it.
Wife—“l see by this paper that the
Daily Bazoo is by all odds the brightest and most
enterprisingjournal published in the world.” Hus
band— “ What paper are you reading?" Wife—
“ The Daily Bazoo.”
Omaha Man —“ Live in Arizona, eh?”
Arizona Man—“ Yes; been there for years ?” “How's
business in Arizona i” “Well, we are doin’pretty
well with coaches.” •< Coaches ?” “Yes; but train
robbin’s rather dull.”
This is the composition a new teacher
had the pleasure of hearing read in a school not far
from Concord: “ Going to School—l like to go to
school when we have a good teacher. I don’t like
to go to school this term."
Sunday school scholar to teacher of a
colored Sunday school class, who has related the
parable of the prodigal son—“ Well, 1 don’t think b<
was very smart to eat husks when hungry. Whj
didn’t he kill one ob dem pigs ?’’
“ Did you think of me very often
while I was away this Summer, Alberta? - ’ “Indeed,
myown Ethelred, I did hardly anything else; the
weather was so beastly hot it was utterly imiiossi
ble for me to make the slightest exertion."
“ Can you and Johnny run to the
grocer’s for me, Frank, and remember to ask foe
three pounds of cocoa ?" “Well, I guess lean re
member three pounds," answered Master Frank,
deliberately, “if Johnny will remember cocoa."
Freddy had .been repeatedly told ha
must not ask people for money. Ono day he mot
Mr. Williams, who could never resist an appeal from
the small boy. •» Mr. Williams/' said Freddy, “do
you evor give five cents to little boys what don’t ask
for 'em ?” He got the monoy.
Theatre Usher—“l’m afraid I'll h-hava
to g-ggive up mv p-position, Mr. Wings.” Man
ager—“ What’s the matter ?” Usher—“ I s-s-stutter
so I yell ‘ f-f-fire’quick enough if the
t-theatre should c-catch.” Manager—“ Stay whore
you are; you’re just the man we want.”
A rich man of well-known penurious
habits, one day mot a friend. “Can’t you come
and dine with me next Tuesday ?” “Withall tha
pleasure in the world.” The miser seemed disap
pointed at this prompt acceptance, and replied:
“Why, I thought you always dined with tho Du
rands Tuesdays?” “Ohl they > ve changed their
day I"
“Sam, how is Tallier getting along
now?” “Oh, so-sa. He’s putting on too much stylo
now to please me.” “How is that?” “Well, he’s
got a mild attack of dyspepsia and he calls it
* Bright’s disease ’ —tryin’ to make it appear as if
ho is a distinguished person. It makes me sick to
sea a fellow puttin’ on so much style.”
DlEl)”wilffijrSHßlEK.
THE STARTLING END OF A CON
NECTICUT CATALEPTIC.
(From the New Haven CorSt, Louis Globe-. De
mocrat.)
Word has been received in this city that the
wife of Indian Dave, the cataleptic, died at the
hut whore she lived, on the outskirts of Say
brook. The actual time she was in an impas
sive condition was 192 days. She had worn away
to a skeleton.
The sleeper partially awoke just before her
death, in the presence of Dr. Grannis, who was
watching at tho bedside. It was ea/ly thia af
ternoon. that the woman first showed signs of
life. Liquid food has been forced down her
throat to keep her alive.
Tho doctor describes her waking as something
terrible. He said: “ I will never forget the
sight. She was never a very prepossessing
person, and in her wasted condition she was a
sickening sight. Together with her husband I
sat for three hours at her bedside to-day, know
ing that the end was near. There was*a nerv
ous twitching of ths muscles of her body, fol
lowed by a long-drawn sigh. Suddenly she
opened her eyes slowly, and uttered a piercing,
unearthly and blood-curdling shriek, and fell
back on the bed. I never before hoard such an
unnotural yell, sad never desire to again. I
can tell you I was thoroughly frightened. When
1 recovered myself I approached, and saw at a
glance she was dead. Her long, unnatural
sleep has ended as I all along predicted it would.
It couldn’t end otherwise than in death, as her
physical constitution had become so weak. It
is one of the most remarkable cases on record.
The hall-breed tells me that his wife was hall
Indian and half African. It is true that in this
class of half-breeds cataleptics are oftener found
than in negro blood if mixed with the Cauca
sian.”
Tho hal'-breed’s hut is quite as primitive as
was Father Adam’s. On a stool at the side of
one of the most ghastly corpses imaginable sat
tho dead cataleptic’s husband, moaning and
calling upon the Good Man to. bring his spouss
* to life.
” dead woman was of a greenish
- --v, v physical J y until
“ ’—“Ad was
an v-
medical
OLD “ROUGhTnB READY.
THE UNYIELDING SOLDIER AND
UNASSUMING CITIZEN,
(From the Boston Budget.)
President. Taylor waa probably the . only
President to yrhom the Presidency waa nn un
coveted and anaought-for boon. Mrs. Taylor
was ao averse to public life, that it was said
she prayed every night during his candidacy
for hia defeat; and when told of his election,
said :
“ Why could they not let us alone ? We ar«
ao happy here. Why do they want to drag us
to Wasliiagton ?”
Who that ever saw General Taylor at a levee
could forget him 1 He grasped every new
comer cordially by the hand, and saluted *ll,
high and low, old maids, brides,' young girls,
all, with the words :
“ Glad to see you ! Glad to see you ! How’s
your family ? Hope the children are all well.”
His greeting was almost equil to Rip’s toast:
‘• Here’s to you and your family. May you
live long and prosper !”
He hardly 'ever opened his mouth without
making a mistake, and peop> laughed heartily.
Still they loved him, trusted his judgment, and
knew his heart and hand were true as steel;
and when he died the whole nation was a
mourner at his grave. When Major Donelson
returned from Europe, he introduced him at a
dinner party as “ My friend Donelson, just from
Berlin, Austria.” During his candidacy, Colonel
W., a State elector, alter discussing several
public topics, asked.- him what were his view,
on the tariff.
“ The tariff, Jack,” said General Taylor, who
stuttered dreadfully.
“The tariff, General,’' said Colonel W.
“ Why, what’s that?”
“It’s * sine qua non,” said Colonel W., who
was one of ths greatest wags that ever lived,
“ that tho people are much excited about now.”
“ A sine qua non,” said General Taylor,
slowly, “ i believe, Jack, I saw one in Mexico,
but I forget what it looks like; and I’ll be blamed
if I have any views on the. tariff.”
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