Newspaper Page Text
-f* ifa'l. ^1^1
I "l 1 -"ISFEIIK^"":-— Where is the promised^ &y years, Oncewrittenonmybro ... Ere errors, Agonies, and fears Brought with them all that speak in tears, Ere lhad sunk "beneath my peers—'" Of Sorrow and Deceit. I look along the columned years, And see Life's riven fane Just where it fell—amid the jeers Of scornful lips, whose moaning sneers Forever hiss within my ears To break the sleep of pain. I can but own my life Is vain, A desert void of peace I missed the goal I sought to gain— I missed the measure of the strain That lull's fame's fever in the brain, And bids earth's tumult cease. Myaelf? Alas, for theme so poor— •A theme but rich in fear I stand a wreck on error's shore, A specter not within the door, A homeless shadow evermore, An exile lingering here! THE LILLY OF SOXORA. A Tale of the Days of Gold. The Golden Pocket was the one principal saloon in Sonora, and the resort of all the miners within a radius of twenty miles around, but besides being the resort of these diamonds in the rough it was also the hanging out place of a crowd of thieves and gamblers, who lay in wait there to relieve ihe lucky miner of his hard earned dust. Spanish monte flourished within its walls, and faro found numerous votaries beneath its low black ceiling, for the miners as a class were not averse to tempting the fickle goddess Fortune again at the gaming table when once she had smiled upon them in the mines. The proprietor of the "hell" was one Jack Cummings, a tall, finely proportioned specimen of physical manhood, whom on first acquaintance you would think to be so far above trickery and meanness as to be the soul of honor, but whose smiling face and courteous manner was nothing but a coating of varnish rubbed in and polished by long practice that served to conceal frcm the world the devilish nature slum beiing beneath, much as a thin coating of veneering in furniture serves to conceal from the purchasers the worthless quality of the wood below. Low in his tastes, and hardened by the business in which he was engaged, he was respected by none and feared of all who came in contact with him. In his belief the end justified the means, and to accomplish this end he "would stop at nothing, not even murder itself. Indeed common report credited him with having caused the death of several men before his advent as the proprietor of the Golden Pocket in Sonora. It was a night in the early part of Sep tember, 1852, when the play was at its height in Jack's saloon, and the hour a late one, as was indicated by the hands of the little bronzed clock that stood perched among the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, when the door opened and there entered a brace of characters so strange as to attract the attention of every person in the room, for it was but seldom that the "Pocket" was troubled with such visitors. One of them was an old man, so old that he tottered as he walked with unsteady steps across the floor and sank with an almost inarticulate moan into a vacant chair by the faro table, while a kind-hearted miner, standing near, reached out a flask with the pitying remark, "Take it, stranger you need it a durn sight more'n I do," a kindness the old man seem ed to appreciate greatly,for with a murmur ed "thank you" he nearly finished the flask at a draught. His face looked pinched and careworn, and his threadbare clothing be tokened an intimate acquaintance with that wolf Poverty, which is popularly supposed to wait just outside the doorways of those cottages whose inmates are not rich in this world's goeds. His companion was a girl of not more than fifteen summers, with a wealth of auburn hair that escaped in clus tering ringlets from the dark blue hood that confined them, and lay on the low white forehead and snowy neck like lings of massive gold. Her blue eyes might at some far-ay?ay time have had a laugh hidden beneath their mar ble lids, kut how there was a far-away look in them, that told of trouble and des olation. In figure she would have served lor an artist's model, and the short calico dress that she wore revealed to the eye a dainty.footjandanjankle of faultless symme try. A woman, save for the presence of the fallen angels, who follow gold where it it is to be found, was a rarity in the mines, and Sonora, though it boasted of several Camilles, was not a whit better off than any of its sister camps in the possession of a true woman, and therefore the advent of this one and at such a time created a sen sation. The gaming tables were deserted, and the room that a few moments before had echoed the hoarsest cry of the croupier and the iron-clad oaths of the miners now grew strangely silent as the rough men gathered about the new comers. It was a strange tableau they made as they stood there in the flickering candle light, the girl with her white hand resting lightly on the old man's shoulder and her pale lips slightly parted as if in prayer the old man with his grey head bent down and resting on the table, and the miners in their red shirts and rough clothing grouped about the two central figures, gazing with admiring eyes at the girl who seemed to them an angel straight from Heaven. The girl was the first to break the silence. "Gentlemen,'' she said, "'I beg*pardon for the intrusion. We have traveled a long distance to-day, Grandfather and I, and we are very tired. Seeinga light here we entered and, after grandfather has rested a moment, we will go." "Go," said Sandy, the miner who had passed the old man his flask for the second time. "Go, did ye say? Whar are ye goin miss? Thar ain't a hotel in Sonora open at this time o' night—not one." "It would make but little difference to us if there were," answered the girl sadly. "We have no money to pay for lodgings. Last night we slept at the side of the road under the overhanging branches of an oak, where the starlight, as it flickered through the leaves, fell about us like a patchwork quilt of God's own making, and to night we shall do the same." "Not if we know it," said Sandy. "Will she boys?" and not waiting for an answer he added, taking off his broad brimmed sombrero and passing it around: "Shell out, come down wi' the dust. The gal'6 got ter have money, an' she's goin' ter hev it, too, sures my name's Sandy Poster." "That's so," echoed a dozen voices, "the gal's got ter hev money," and the clinking of coin as it fell into Sandy's hat, attested the generosity of the rough men to whom the sight of a petticoat was a novelty. "Thar, little woman," Sandy remarked as he emptied the hat full of glittering coins on the table, "thar's the dust, an' you jest take it fer to please the boys." "Oh, indeed I can't," sobbed the girl. "It is too much for you to give. Please don't ask me." "Yaas, yer kin, little one. Why, Lord bless yonr pretty face1, thar's lots more whar that kim from, ez the boys kin tell yer, an' then yer see, Miss," Sandy continued wanning to liis subject, 1 Where sleeps-that promise now? Naught lingers to redeem those hoars, Still, still to memory sweet The flowers that bloomed in sonny bowers, Are withered alL and Evil towers Supreme above her sister powers tfwe miners don see a pretty face like yours rmy .often. Some o' the boys Tike me has mothers and sisters back in the states, an' when we sees a woman that is a woman, we think them an' wonders' what they're doin\ Mebby they ain't got no friends, an' no money an' mebbe some one's a loekin' arter them who knows? Now, you jest take the money, 'cause you needs it an' we don't. Ef ye don't take it, Cummins will, an' you needs it a durn sight mor'n him. Its wuth the hull pile jest to look at ye. Ain't it, boys?" Apqin the miners gave a ready assent of Sandy's question, and, continuing, he said, "Now let's see hotel's closed, an' aint'at good place fer ye nohow, but my cabin ain fur away and ye can sleep thar. Come on, and not waiting for a reply he slipped the coins in the old man's pockets, and looking back to see that they followed, he strode out through the open door and down the road to his cabin, that stood just under the edge of the hill. Arriving here he lita can dle and showed them the two rooms of which it boasted, and then he said: "Now jest make yourselves home-like and comfort'ble. In the mornin' I'll come down an see ye bright an' airly, an' then mebbe I'll ask ye questions, but ve're tired now an' ye want rest." Then seeing the girl was about to speak, he added: "No thanks necessary, ma'am. It's all right, Sandy Foster says it's all right, an' thar ain't a man in the mines that doubts Sandy Foster's word. Jest you go right to bed an' to sleep. Ez for me, I'm agoin' bask ter the Pocket," and before the girl could utter a word, he had closed the door behind him and was gone. The boys were still discussing the arri val of the strangers when Sandy returned to the saloon, and walking up to the bar he asked all hands to "take suthin," an in vitation that was responded to by all with alacrity. Then after the noise made by the clinking of the glasses had subsided he said "Boys, the gal's seed trouble and I know it. Now, I'm goin' ter make ye a proposition. Let's see ef we can't get the gal an'her grandfather to stay here. We can build 'em a cabin and make 'em com fortable by chippin' in a little all 'round. It's worth tryin'. She'd be just like a sun beam stealin' 'round this ere camp just like a wild flower peepin' out among a lot o' rough old oaks, and we'll call her the Lilly o' Sonora. What d'ye say. b©ys." "You're a talkin' Sandy," said a little fel low who stood leaning against the bar, and playing with his empty glass, "it 'uld be just the ticket and you can put me down for a hundred ter start the paper," and putting his hand in the pocket of his buck skin,. breeches, he took out four double ea glesj an' flung them down upon the top of the bar. Twenty minutes tLereafter over two thousand dollars had been subscribed, and all that remained to be done to insure the success of the project was to get the con sent of the old man and his grandchild to remain. By acclamation this task was left to Sandy, and how well he succeeded may be inferred from the fact that the next eve ning, when the boys had again assembled at the Pofket, he made the following an nouncement: "Boys, the gal'll stay, and the fust man that insults her hez ter answer Sandy Foster fer the deed." This intelli gence was received by the boys with a yell of delight and an invitation to "liquor all round," that came from at least fifty diff erent throats. Two years had drifted by since the camp at Sonora had adopted the old man and his grandchild two years had brought with them but little in the way of change, save increased prosperity and a large number of new comers. The old man had from the first wandered aimlessly around the camp, doing nothing in particular, but keeping a jealous guard over the girl whom he seemed to regard as "the apple of his eye." His mind wandered at times, and though he but rarely visited the "Pocket" whenever he met Cummings, he would look at him in a strange way, as though he was trying to make out where and when they had met before, and this in tent look seemed to annoy the proprietor of the "Pocket," for he would avert his face from the old man's gaze and leave his com panyfas soon as he found it possible to do so. The strange action on the part of Cum mings, had often been commented on by the miners, but as nothing was known of the past life of the "camp's children." it was set down to the fact that "nuther one cared much for the 'tother," as one of the boys expressed it. Saudy's opinion differed, however, from the rest, for when asked what he thought regarding it, he shook his head thoughtfully for a moment, and then answered: "Them two's met afore. It's a little hazy yet, in the old man's mind, but he'll place him by and by, an'—" he added, in lowe, tones, "when he do, boys, I'm afraid thar'll be murder." It was one night in June when the star light lay like a silver mantle on the shoul ders of the hills, and the shadows danced phantom quadrilles beneath the overhang ing branches of the oaks, that the "Lilly" (for the boys knew her by no other name) came slowly down the street that led by the "Pocket," with her grandfather leaning on her arm. She was a tall, keautifttl girl now, as slender and graceful as the flower whose name she bore, and there was a nameless something about her that caused even the outcasts of the camp, the social pirates who prey upon the passions of mankind, to breathe her name in a whisper, and to call down blessings on her head as she passed them by. In front of the "Pocket" a group of men. among whom were Sandy and Jack Cum mings, stood conversing in the star-light in loud and angry tones that betokened the breaking out of a quarrel. Drawing near them, the old man withdrew his arm from that of the girl and again fixed his intent gaze on the face of Cummings, whose clear cut features, with the silver light falling up on them, stood out in bold relief from the dark back-ground of the "Pocket's" wall behind him. Cummings fidgeted about uneasily for a moment, and then with a sneer on his lips and agleam of the devil in his eyes, he yelled, with an oath, "What the h—11 are ye lookin' at me fer?" The old man's bent frame seemed to shiv er for a moment with the waves of a return ing memory that swept over his brain and brushed away the cobwebs that had so long obscured it. Then dashing away the mists from before his eyes with the back of his hand, he straightened up and, shaking his clenched hand at the gambler, said intones of suppressed passion: "Ah, I've found you at last have I, Mart Mix"—the sentence and the name both remained unfinished. The sharp crack of Cummings'revolver rang out twice on the night air, and down on the narrow path almost at Sandy's feet sank the old man and his grandchild, while Cum mings, with a muttered curse, dashed away up the starlit street followed by a bullet from Sandy's pistol, which never missed its mark. The flying gambler stageered for a moment, and then throwing up both arms he fell in on a heap the roadway. The double murder had been avenged. The old man was dead when the miners lifted him up, but "the Lilly"' still lived, although the wound that she had received was a mortal one. Tenderly they lifted her from the ground and bearing her in their strong arms fashioned as a cradle, they car ried her down to the cabin they had built for her more than two years before, and there in the dainty room made beautiful by the hands of a woman, they laid her on the snowy bed to rest. The doctor came and after looHngfat tEe~ wourid, lie shook liis head' mournfully and said, "Thereis nohppe." Outside in the starlight the miners stood and waited eagerly for news from "the Lil ly," and when the doctor's verdict was an nounced tears rolled down the bronzed cheeks of the rough men whose strong frames shook with the emotion that they did not care to conceal. The long night drew on toward the morning, and still they waited. Inside the cabin the randies burned dim, and now and then the shadowy form of one of the camp's fallen angels flitted before the window casting a fantastic shadow on the white curtain as she passed with noiseless steps to minister to the sufferer. Then the morning dawned cold and gray, at first like the shadow of the death angel's wing that waited at the doorway. It was then that the woman came to the door weeping bitterly and told the watchers that "the Lilly" was dying and wished to bid them all good-bye. One by one the miners entered the little room on tiptoe, and for each she had a dainty smile and a whispered word of blessing. The rough men sobbed like children as they left her bedside, and from many a lip unused to praying there went forth a whispered prayer to the Almighty to spare the life of the camp's pet. At last she had bidden them all good-bye but Sandy, and for him she asked in wistful tones and begged they would hurry and bring him. They found him laying on the grass be hind the cottage, with his face buried in his hands and sobbing as though his heart would break. Telling hi» of the Lilly's wish, he entered the room and the door was closed behind him. Staggering like a drunk en man to the bedside, he knelt down and buried his bronzed face in the pillows, while the Lilly's hand strayed out from beneath the coverlet and rested among the soft brown curls that covered his head. "Sandy," she said in a whisper, "Sandy, don't grieve so. It is all for the best. I wish again to thank you for your kindness, and "Don't do it," sobbed the man, "'don't do it. I can't bear it now." "But I must," persisted the girl softly, "for you have made me very happy since I came here, and now," she continued, "I want you to promise me Sandy, that you will try and be abetter man, better to your self, Sandy, for you were always good to others, and I am dying—it is no harm to tell yen now. I love you, Sandv, and you must promise for my sake." "Oh, if I had know'd that," whispered the man brokenly, "ef I had only know'd that, but it is too late now, too late. I ha' lov'd ye, little girl, since the first night ye came inter the "Pocket," an' stood thar wi' yer white hand restin' on the old man's shoulder, while the candle-light turned yer hfl.ir into gold a thousand times brighter than that we Was a flndin' in the mines, but I never dared to tell ye, fer I know'd ye was too good for a rough miner like me—a durn sight to good. Ye were the camps good angel, little one, an' I nuthin but a rough man, I'm glad ye ha' told me now. It will be suthin' to think o' when I set in my lonely cabin nights wi' the darkness layin' all around me on the mountains. I'll promise what ye want, little gal, an,"he ad ded, with an air cf conscious pride, "ye know Sandy Foster never goes back on his word." "I know it," said the girl, smiling, "and I am, oh, so glad. Now let me tell you the story of the past. A good many years ago we lived in—how dark it grows, Sandy. Open the window, please. Hark! I hear the angels. Listen! Kiss me, Sandy." The man bent down and pressed his lips to her's for a moment. She smiled at him through the mists Death drew about her, and then drawing his head down beside her's on the pillow, her soul went out through the open window and winged its way back toward the golden gates from which it had come. The morning dawned with a golden splen dor on the mountains, that lifted their sil ver spears like giant sentinels above the si lent camp, and the sunbeams crept with golden sandals along the streets, until steal ing in at the cabin window they rested like a blessing on the face of the sleeper. The day drew toward noon and the camp was still sleeping. It drifted on into the dark ness, and then the stars came peeping out like brilliant eyes, fashioned by the Creator to watch the world below, and still it slum bered, while Sandy watched alorie beside the dead. .With the dawning of the second day they buried her beside her grandsire in a sunny spot on the hillside, and with her all the mystery of the past. The story of the camp's children was never revealed. Above the sleepers the boys reared a mar ble shaft with this inscription carved upon it: Here lies the body of "THE T.TT.T.y OF SONOI5A," who Died June 23, 1855, Together With that of her Grandsire. "An angel lent to earth awhile, Then taken back to Heaven." Satire on War Reminisenees. From the Free Lance. "Them war reminisences of youm is mighty interesting, "piped a little man from behind the stove, as a sort of silence fell on the rest of the loungers. "They remind me of when I was in command of the con federate forces at Vicksburg." The crowd unhinged itself, and glanced admiringly at the little man. "And were you in the reb—confederate service?" asked a one-legged man. "I was," modestly conceded the man be hind the stove. Don't you remember when the One Hundred and Fourth Florida cav airy charged your outworks on the second slope, and you all took your rifle-pits to the rear?" They all admitted th*»y had been in the army of the Potomac. "It seems to me," said the little man to the one-legged man, "that your face is fam iliar to me. Don't you remember when the Second Georgia broke your left at Cold Harbor? Wasn't you acting aid-de-camp for General Reynolds?" "No," hesitated the one-legged man, po king the fire with unnecessary vigor. "But," continued the little man, "you must have been at Gettysburg, and you must have seen me when I charged your right and turned you back toward the cem etery." "Let me see," figetted the one-legged man, "was that the first or second day "That was the second day," responded the little man, quivering with excitement. "I wasn't in the second day's fight," said the one-legged man, helplessly. "Then vou must recollect my artillery charge on the first day, when I broke your centre!" shouted the little man, clutching nervously at the others coat. "No, I—I was on a furlough. I wasn't there," shrieked the one-legged man. "Where'd you lose your leg?" howled the little man, "what battle was you in?" "I wasn't in any," moanedtho one-legged man. I lost my leg on a buzz-saw," and out he went precipitately. "Strange," muttered the little man, as he filled his pipe. "When you come to fig ure down these war reminiscences they all didn't happen," The Canada Pacific railway organized by the appointment of Geo. Stephen president. Mr. Stephen is also president of the St. Paul and Manitoba road. AKlSSDEFINEa as thsy touch— That's a kiss in the abstract It does not seem much But where is the language on rightly express it? What letter* can sound it to help yon to guess What simile suggest, or what fancy reveal The mysterious bliss it can cause you to -eel? Here Nature assuredly won a diploma For fragrance of flavor and perfect aroma. A kiss is electrical—comes with a start That tingles a delicate shock to the heart, And sets the eyes twinkling with rapturous de light, like stars in the sky of a clear frosty night When 'tis over the estasy clings to you yet 'Tis a joy to remember and never forget, All pleasure condensed in an instant of bliss Can but partly describe what's contained in a kiss. THE STORI OF A STATUTE. From the New York Sunday World. I. There is a story attached to the monument which covers the ashes of Marco Bozzaris al Missolonghi—the young Greek girl half reclin ing on the tomb and tracing with her finger the name of the hero. n. David of Angers was the artist. It was at the period when the heroic struggle of Greece for her liberty fired the hearts of all the gentle and enthusiastic of Western Europe that that sculDtor resolved to erect oyer the ashes of Bozzaris a worthy monument As one day he was loitering in a cemetery, his eye fell upon a strange picture—a girl, almost a child, kneel ing upon a tomb and spelling out letter by_let ter, tracing each with her finger, the inscrip tion on the stone. "I have the composition," said the artist to himself, "now for the model." He found the model one day as he and Victor Hugo were walking down Rue du Montparnasse —a ragged girl of fourteen, slight, frail, but with a face and figure of classic beauty—a waif of the streets picked up by an old woman who sold fried potatoes at the street corner and lent out her protegee Jo pose in the studios. WTT. The girl visited David's* atelier, Rue de FleuruB, frequently, sometimes accompanied by her "mother." On the wall there hung a medallion head of Christ in bronze, ^mounted on velvet and set off by a handsome gill frame, on which the old' woman often cast an admiring eye. One day as at the conclusion of her hour the child was drawing on her tattered clothing, she said to the artist: That Christ yonder, M. David—my mother often speakB about it. If you wished to let us have it, in our attic it would be so grand! And it would console me—uphold me—strengthen me, perhaps. Could I have it? If I could I would pay you little by little as your model for as many statues as you liked." David took down the medallion and gave it to the child. "You really want it he said. "Here it is, and whenever yon are tempted to go astray— to do wrong—fix your eye upon it. And do not forget the artist who made it, and who gives it to you, your own, for nothing." IV. In one of his curious fragments, "TJne Nuit d'Atelier," David records his passion for this creation of his chisel, paternal—not amorous like that of Pygmalion. "Behold, at last it is finished," he wrote "thou, .my dear child, must leave our France for that fair land of Greece, I have so loved thee, as a tender father lover his child, in spite of the faults he knows so well. Soon shalt thou quit our country of noble inspirations and great works for that in which all these had their germ and beginning. The sun of Attica, not our pale sun, shall warm tbee with its glow, and when the night star rises the blue, like a thought of the Lord, one ray will fall upon thy melancholy brow, for thou art very sad, my child, my poor child!" The statue was sent to Missolonghi and in new labors the artist forgot it—or, at least, ceased to remember its model, the half-starved child of the Bue de Montparnassa. •. One night some time afterwards as David was passing along the Rue Childebert he was at tacked from behind by an assailant who struck ?m flmrn. lavine his hpad oren with two blows that well-nigh "proved fatal. The would-be assassin was never known, though the artist had good reason to suspect that it was another sculptor, a man provoked by David's having voted for a rival in a prize competition, and subject to fits of positive insanity. Some years later, when he had ceased to think of the attempt on his life, David, always an ardent Republican, received a note bidding him be, between midnight and 1 o'clock, at a house in the Faubourg Saint Jacques. There was no signature appended to the invitation, but upon the page was traced a symbol with which, as a member of one of the patriotic secret societies, the artist was familiar. There was no janitor, said the unknown writer, and the halls were unlighted, so the visitor was to furnish himself with a dark lantern, ascend to the fourth floor and knock at a door indicated by across chalked on the panel. David kept his strange tryst punctually—too punctually, for it was not yet quite midnight when he reached the Rue Saint Jacques. vr. At the door bearing the chalked cross he knocked—first gently, then loudly, but receiv ing no answer he, fancying that he had been made the victim of a practical joke, was about to quit the house when the door of the adjoin ing room was opened and a girl appeared at it with a light in her hand. She glanced at him for an instant, turned pale and stammered: "What, M. David, is it you?" The sculptor was not less surprised to recog nize in the startled, handsome woman his model of so many years before. "Go! hurry away from here!" she whispered, breathlessly. "Away, or you area dead man! Go! ask me nothing do not betray me and my Mother only fly! I never thought it was you!" David understood from her earnestness that he was in no ordinary peril, and swiftly and noiselessly left the house, but curious to solve the mystery connected with the whole matter, concealed "himself in a doorway near by, and as it struck 12 saw two men glide stealthily up the Btreet, look cautiously around them, and enter the building. "I have always fancied," he used to say, when telling the story, "that I recognized in one of them 'my murderer.'" •m. Some years later, when he chanced to be in that quarter of Paris, David resolved to visit the house, and ascending to the fourth floor knocked at the door of the room formerly oc cupied by his model. He found it tenanted by an artisan who had never heard of her, nor were her name and description familiar to any one in the house. When the artiBt at last saw her it was in August, 1843, while following to the grave the remains of his brother Bculptor, Cortos. A woman of thirty, handsome though thin, pallid and haggard and meanly clad, she was hurry ing along the street bearing under her arm the bronze medallion he had given her in 1827. For a moment he was tempted to leave the ranks of the funeral procession and follow the woman often he regretted that he did not obey his inlpulse, for, though he made a diligent, search of all the dealers' shops, he never came on the tracks of the bronze Christ. Subse quently, from time to time he caught a glimpse of the woman, sunk to the lowest depths of Parisian vice, prematurely decrepit, gray, shameless, but always retaining marked traces of the classic beauty which many years before had so impressed Hugo and himself. When he last saw "her it was in July, 1847, when a squalid and toriibly disfigured woman ac costed him, in the Bue des Boucheries. "You do not recognize me, M. David?" Bhe said. "I do not wonder, for I was handsomer when you knew me. Look here—a jealous lover, who used to rob and beat me, gave me this scar, and this, and this, and almost mur dered me. I couldn't go now and pose for the •Young Greek' as I used to do in the Bue de Fleurus." Shuddering at the despairing laughter with which she uttered these words, the artist gave the miserable creature what small coins were in his purse and passed on. As he turned the corner he saw her arrested for mendicancy by the police, and borne away toward the Abbaye. ym. After the coup d'etat David found himself one of the proscribed, thanks in part to his known Republicanism and thanks possibly in put to his refusal to finish tho tomb of Queen "HortenBQaffeFher son*! expedition"tcTTFou logne. Accompanied.by his daughter the old artist sailed for Greece.- He was possessed of a consumingdesire for the sigbt of his master piece ofa generationbefore. -From afar, when he reached Missolonghi, he beheld at the foot of the bastion where Boz zaris fell the MKnulna erected to .the memory of the hero and his followers. From afar he saw his "Young Greek GirL" "It seemed to me," he wrote, "that I beheld her tremble and trillattheapproaohof her creator of thirty years syna" But when he drew near he gave vent to a passionate cry of indignation and grief. Tho statue's right hand was broken* off the finger with which it traced the hero's name was shat tered the ears had been broken from the shapely head one foot had been dashed to pieces the head was scarred as terribly as the model's face. Pailkars had used it as the tar get for their guns, and Cockney travelers had penciled their names thickly upon the fair mar- What a chapter in the artist's life? The child-model grown to womanhood, and such a womanhood! The statue a ruin! The sculp tor old, and an exile. rx. The statue has since been restored, but David, sick at heart, could not then bear its sight, but fled from Missolonghi "I knew," he wrote, "that Byron had been laid near the fortifications of the town, but all our endeavors to discover the place of his sepulture were fruitless. I wished to see the house where he died: it has been destroyed. Thankless forgetfulness is ingrained in our na ture. This morning I said good-bye to my poor, wounded little girL The ship was pass ing Cephalonia and Ithaca. On the horizon I see the tumulus, the ramparts of Missolonghi, and one little white speck—my 'Young Greek Girl.' My heart breaks when I think that 1 leave her exposed to the injury of the elements, and—worse! to the outrages of the barbarianc "hat have destroyed her in part." The "barbarians" were Greeks. JLMOUS MEN OF MUSCLE. How Atheletes Were Honored in the Brave Dnys of Old. From Erenton's Monthly.' Among the Greeks the successful athlete was crowned with laurels, and loaded down with wealth and honors. When Egenetas, in the ninety-second Olympiad, entered Agrigentum, his native home, he was atten ded by an escort of 300 chariots,each drawn by two white horses, and followed by the populace, cheering and waving banners. Milo six times won the palm at both the Olympia and Pythian games. He is said to have run a mile with a four-year-old ox upon his shoulders, and afterwards killed the animal with one blow of the fist, and ate the entire carcass in one day. So great was the muscular power that he would bind a cord around his neck and break it by the swelling pressure of the veins. An ordin ary meal for Milo was twenty pounds of meat, as much bread, and fifteen pints of wine. Polydamus, of Tuessana, was of colos sal height and prodigious strength, and, it is said, alone and without weapons killed an enormous enraged lion. One day, it is re corded, he seized a bull by its hind feet, and the animal escaped only by leaving the hoof in the hand of the athlete. The Roman Emperor Maximums was up ward of eight feet in height, and like Milo of Crotona, could squeeze to powder the hardest stone with his fingers and break the leg of a horse with a kick. His wife's bracelet served him as a ring and his every day repast was sixty pounds of meat and an mphora of wine. While a prisoner in Germany, Richard I. accepted an invitation to a boxing-match with the son of his jailor. He received the first blow, which made him stagger, but re covering, with a blow of his fist he killed his antagonist on the spot. Topham, an Englishman, born in 1710, was possessed of astonishing strength. His arm-pits, hollow in the case of ordinary men, were with him full of muscles and tendons. He would take a bar of iron, with its two ends held in his hands, place the middle of the bar behind his neck, and bend the extremities by main force until they met together, and bend back the iron straight again. One night, seeing the watchman asleep in his box, he carried the man and his shell to a great distance, and put them on the wall of a churchyard. Owing to domestic troubles he committed suicide in the prime of life. The famous Scandenberg, King of Alba nia, who was born in 1414, was a man of great stature, and his feats of sword exer cise has never been equaled. On one oc casion, with his 6cimeter, he btruck his antagonist such a blow that its force cleaved him^o the waist. He is said to have clo ven in two men who were clad in armor from head to foot. On one occasion the brother and nephew of a certain Ballaban, who had been convicted of cruelties to the Albanians, were brought to him bound to gether. Transported with rage, he cut them in two with one stroke of his weapon. Maurice, count of Saxony, the hero of Fontenoy, inherited the physical vigor of his father, and was especially noted for the surprising muscular power or "grip" of his hands. On one occasion, needing a corkscrew, he twisted a large iron nail round in the required shape with his fin gers, and opened half a dozen bottles of wine with it. Another time, stopping at a blacksmith shop to have his horse shod, he picked up a number of horse-shoes, and with his hands snapped them in two. as readily as if made of glass, much to the disgust of the Smith. If history is to be believed, Phatylius, of Crotona, could jump a distance of fifty-six feet. The exercise was practiced at the Olympic games, and formed part of the course of the Penthalon. Stutt, an English authority on games and amusements, speaks of a Yorkshire jumper named Ireland, whose powers were marvel ous. He was six feet high, and at the age of eighteen leaped, without the aid of a spring board, over nine horses ranged side by side. He cleared a cord extended four teen feet from the ground with one bound, crushed with his foot a bladder suspended at a height of sixteen feet, and on another occasion lightly cleared a large wagon cov ered with an awning. Col. Ironside, who lived in India early in this century, related that he met in his trav els an old white-haired man, who, with one leap, sprang over the back of an enourmous elephant flanked by six camels of the largest breed. A curious French work, published Paris in 1745, entitled, "The Tracts Toward the History of Wonders Performed at Fairs," mentioned an Englishman who, at the fair of St. German, 1724, leaped over forty peo ple without touching one of them. A Haunted School House. Fi om the Dubuque Herald. iA weired and startling story comes from Sherrill's Mound, Dubuque county, to the effect that one of the schools in that well known vicinity has been dismissed on ac count of the building being haunted. It appears that one of the scholars, a girl about 14 years old, is the especial "butt" of the spirit that haunts the building. She fre quently exclaims, "There he is!" pointing to an invisible object in the room, which she says is a man. "He has hit me again!" she cries out, "right here on my elbow and on my ribs." The teacher being constantly nnoved, sent for a pastor to unravel the mystery if possible. When he arrived, the little girl whose name is withheld, said she saw a running about the school-house jumping over desks, seats and the heads of scholars, and cutting up all sorts of antics, even to pinching and striking her. The mystery was increased when the word mpm ... ^wmm "Ten^ef'" suddenly ^Appeared on the Slack board apparently written byan invisible hand. This, somewhat startled au present, and. the school-teacher, it is said, exclaimed: "That's too much: we must close the house." Ib is stated that the spirit has followed the little girl to her home and there annoys her and her people. THEBES. It Monuments—Its Palaces and its Temples —Its Twin Giants That Keep Watch Over the Relics of the Fast. "Hundred-Grated!"—the pupulous "No" of the prophet—is a history in itself. It was a great city when Abraham led his flocks to drink of the waters of the Nile. A thous and years had rolled over its monuments and palaces when the Greek warriors en camped before the walls of Troy. Homer sang of it as the richest city in the world, through each of whose hundred gates two hundred heroes poured forth to battle and to victory. On reaching this venerable city of the dead, writes a correspondent to the Roches ter Express, the traveler first visits the "Colossi," the "twin-giants" which setting alone amid the wide sea of verdure, seem to keep vigilant though silent watch over the relics of the past. They are called by the natives "Tama" and "Chama." There they sit, keeping watch, hands on knees, gazing straight forward seeming, though so much of the faces is gone, to be looking over to the monumental piles on the other side of the river, which became gor geous temples after these throne-seats were placed here—the most immovable thrones that have ever been established on this earth. He who is popularly called the Mem nonis much delapidated. The injury is due either to Cambyses, or, as Strabo says, to an earthquake. One would likely think that nature, rather than man, had done it but how came the earthquake to leave the mass of the throne and body unhurt, while shattering the shoulders and head? On the pedestal is represented old Nilus, the river god, once more busy, as in all times, wreath ing the royal throne with the lotus and his water-plants. Alas, that his lineaments should be effaced that a dull blank pre vails where the sculptor, as we can fancy, had carved an expression of sublime intel ligence and conscious power. The old stories tell us that from this stat ue, when the sun rose over the purple mountains of Araby, and flushed its solemn lips with light, there poured forth a respon sive strain: 'Morn from Memnon drew Rivers of melody :1' a soft, sad song, like that of a breaking lutestring: "Soft as Memnon's harp at morning, Touched with light by heavenly warning. The Greeks called it Memnon's statue, and fabled that his matin-music was his greeting to his mother Aurora—thus identi fying the colossal monument of the great Egyptian king -with their own mystic hero, the son of Tithonus and Aurora, who was slain by Achilles in the Trojan war. When the Nile overflows these statues rise above the watery expanse like islrtnds of stones. The Colossi now tower about fifty-three feet above the soil, and are sunk seven feet in the burning sands. From the elbow to the finger-ends, each colossal arm measures seventeen feet nine inches and from the knee to the plant of the foot,nine teen feet and eight inches. The foot was nineteen feet ten inches. Still keeping on the western bank of the river, we next direct -our steps to the mag nificent palace, of Rameses the Great, the Rameseum, or",as it is more commonly,- but erroneously called, .the Memnonium. If it were possible for the spirits of the dead to revisit the glinlp'ses of the moon, and haunt the scenes most dear to them during their earthly existence, surely the old Egyptain kings would nightly roam among these hoary ruins, and lament the vanished splendors of their creed and dj nasty. The. Rameseum was both a palace and a temple I the residence of the sovereign and his gods. It was unworthy of neither, for never did even Egyptian architecture create a more splendr id pile. What art "inconceivable- to us.! has erected, violence "inconceivable to ,us," has overthrown and the heaped-up stones of the Rameseum area more powerful com mentary on the nothingness of human am bition than the homilies of a thousand moralists. At the entrance lie the remains of the largest statue ever fashioned by Egyptian sculptor. It was a fitting ornament for a city of giants such an effigy as would have adorned a palace built and inhabited by Ti tans. When entire it must have weighed about 887 tons, 5,1-2 cwt.! It is composed of STene granite. The second court is di vided by pillars ihto aisles or avenues, fit entrances to the splendor of the Grand Hall, which seemed like some stately forest petrified into stone with the lotus, the papy rus and the river plants all suddenly frozen in the midst of their budding life. The sculptures that cover the walls are all de voted to the glorification of Rameses. Everywhere we see him honored with the priceless gifts of life and power or he is intrusted with the sword and scepter, to smite his foes with the one, and to rule his subjects with the other. An inscription dedicates the hall to the king's father, who says: "It, is my will that your edifice be as stablS as the sky." Alas!" time has painfully falsified the boast. The sculptures of the exterior walls breathe only of battle and strife—the pride, pomp and circumstance of victorious .war."' Rame ses is represented as standing aloft in his war chariot, drawing his huge*'bow, the reins tied round his waist and his quiver at his side. The conqueror drives head long over prostrate and bound captives, while his enemies fall all round him in all the attitudes of despair and degradation. Such was the Romeseum, but faintly and feebly described. It leoked toward the east, facing the magnificent temple at Kar nac. Its propylon, in the days of its glory, was in itself a structure of the highest arch itectural grandeur, and the portion still ex tant measures 234 feet in length. The prin cipal edifice was about 600 feet iong, and 200 feet broad, containing six courts and chambers, with about 100 columns thirty feet high, Did the Eygrytians build for time or eter- Albert Pike's Duel in Arkansas. Letter to the Memphis Avalanche. After the Mexican war, in which Pike took an active part, he came back to Van Buren opposite Fort Smith and there had a difficulty with John S. Roane, Esq., which resulted in a duel, fought in the Cherokee nation, just across the river from this place. Pike was a Whig and Roane a Democrat. The difficulty grew out of politics. The duel was fought with the old-fashioned duelling pistols. A large crowd assembled to witness it. For some days it was known that trouble was a brewing, and as soon as it was known that they would fight, the friends of both parties made haste to be present. Men rode all the way from Little Rock on horseback, making the trip in little less than two days—165 miles. At the time appointed the men came upon the ground, both tall muscular men, magnificent speci mens. Pike was very deliberately smoking a cigar. Two shots were fired, without effect, when friends interfered and adjusted the matter amicably. Roane was afterward elected governor of Arkansas. Maj. Ellis rector, "the fine old Arkansas gentleman, close to the Choctaw line," a great friend of Pike's was on the ground also.