SATURDAY .p..v - <-_. , w 0. :,W,_ ‘- w}; ~ w wsfi“. 4. '-"vemx-w<~r-w-v‘j j «I a, JOURNAL. A GENTLE KISS. BY Jon JO'I‘, JR. I lingered at the door that night A long farewell to say, For I was not to see her face For nearly a whole day— For fourteen hundred minutes ! oh, How long a time to lose! The moonbeams fell in radiance on My patent-leather shoes. And archly looking at the moon, “ How strange it is,” said she, “ Those moonbeams are the only things That ever have kissed me.” I almost half-imagined there Might be a hint in this, And tremblingly upon her lips I pressed a gentle kiss. And as I could not say a word, There fell a sudden calm, And then her father‘s voice we heard, “ Who gave that door a slam 1’" Her mother raised her window up And poked her nightcap out, ‘ For mercy sake, who smashed the glass 3 There must be rogues about." I softly stayed to hear no more, But homeward gently strayed, “ I kissed her ! come along, ye ghosts, I am not now afraid ! That kiss it burned upon my lip And lit the lonely road, I thought I walked on flowers while I Was walking in the inn . . And when I called on her again, More happy than before, Her father said, “ Now folks, to-night, Be careful of the door." An Affair of Honor. A TRUE TALE OF THE “GOOD OLD TIMES.” BY LAUNCE POYNTZ. A HORSEMAN, whose foam-covered and mud-bespattered animal showed that he had ridden furiously over muddy ways, pulled up at the door of the “Royal Charles ” Inn, one gloomy day in Novem- ber, 1532, and shouted in a commanding tone: “ House ! there!" As he spoke, the rider, a tall and noble- looking gentleman, whose rich dress be- spoke. him a person of distinction, swung himself off the animal and entered the inn, just as a humpbacked dwarf came running out of the “ Royal Arms,” and took the an- imal. The dwarf was a queer—looking, but merry little fellow, with twinkling black eyes, a flat nose, and bushy, frowzy—looking hair and board. He seemed to know the rider well, for he bobbed his head and grinned from ear to car, saying : ” Give ye good-day, Sir Everard.” The other nodded abscntly, and entered the tavern. He seemed to be gloomy and preoccupied, as he entered the sanded tap— room, now almost deserted, and called to the burly host: “A private chamber, and a flask of Mal- voisie, host. Has any one been here for me, to-day “B” “ No, Sir Everard, not a soul. Be pleased to enter by this door, and your worship shall have the best glass of Malvoisie in the countryside, if I do say it, that shouldn‘t say it.” And the obscquious host, bowing to the ground before his distinguished visitor, ushered him into the room indicated, and made haste to set a decanter and glasses on ihc heavy, solid-looking table at which the bxonet had taken his seat. Sir Everard Huntley took off his high- plzuned hat, with its. broad, shadowy brim, and laid it on the table above his rapier. Then he gloomily filled his glass, and toss- ed off two brimming goblets in succession, without seeming to relish either, for he looked more silent and abstracted than ever, despite the timid attempt of mine host to engage him in conversation. After some minutes, during which the cavalier was engaged in thought, to all ap- pearance, he abruptly said : “ Tell Merlin to let me know the instant a gentleman comes in sight from London. I expect a visitor.” “ Certainly, Sir Everard." And mine host disappeared, in his soft list shoes, treading like a cat. In a little while he returned, and resumed his station behind the baronet’s chair, where he waited in silence. Sir Everard looked thoughtfully out of the window at the gray sky. Presently the clutter of boots was heard, and Merlin the dwarf entered the room, with a big stick in his hand, which he used to hang up the horse-furniture that. his short body was unable to lift to the proper pegs by other means. He set it down against the wainscoting, and addressed Sir Ev- erard with a freedom the thoughtful cava- lier seemed not to notice, though mine host kept winking at the deformed hostlcr to be more civil. Sir Everard listened, with a thoughtful, half-absent stare. “ Look a~here, Sir Everard,” said Merlin, “ methinks you should have had enough of fighting duels by this time. There was Captain Howard, of His Majesty’s Guards, and young Lord Scoresby, both sent to kingdom come, and all about a drunken frolic, and now here’s another one com— ing.“ “ Who’s coming, Merlin ?” demanded the baronet, stcrnly, compressing his lips under his black mustache. “ The French count, or murky, what d‘ye call him ‘8” said Merlin,boldly; “ and what's more, Sir Everard, you‘d better be careful this time, for the French marky’s a better fencer than ever you met before.” “ How far off is he? demanded Huntley, quietly. “ He‘ll be here in two minutes,” said the. dwarf, sulkily; for the baronet did not seem to notice his free tone any more than the barking of a distant dog. Sir Everard rose and put on his hat and rapier, threw a piece of money on the table, and stalked out without a word. “ There he goes, proud as ever,” o‘rumv bled the dwarf. “I hate to see hiiio get killed, but they say that French marky’s a devil to fence. Halloa! they ain‘t a-fro- ing even to stop here.” D From where they were, they could see Sir Everard mount his horse, ride out into the road, and gravely but courteously sa- lute a second cavalier, after which the two rode away together. “ They’re bound to have the funeral of one of them here; that’s one comfort!" observed mine host, with a sigh of relief, “ and there’s allch pickings out of the pockets. What made you so ot’ficious, Mer- tin‘? You’ll drive away trade, you fool." .“ It‘s a bad trade,” said the dwarf, sulk- ily, “ and I don’t care how soon it breaks up. Ever since the king made the ordinance House! Take my horse, about fighting inside of Middlcsex, we’ve, had naught but dead men here, because we're on the county line of Hcrtfordshire.” “ Mind thy business, and attend to the tap,” said the host, angrily. “ ’Tis not for the likes of thee to meddle with nobility and gentry. Go thy ways. ‘ "Fits all grist that comes to our mill. Ha ! yonder go the seconds. We shall have a. rare feast to- night.” And the host rubbed his hands, as a party of young gentlemen rode byon the same track as Sir Everard and the French mar- quis, toward the duelingground known as “ Dead Man’s Close,” about a quarter of a mile from the “Royal Arms." Many a party had the inn entertained before in those “good old days,” as they are fondly called. Meanwhile the party of horsemen rode rapidly on the muddy road till they came to the celebrated field, into which they all turned, dismounting and tying up their horses. Then followed a series of ceremonious introductions between all parties, the bows being most profound, the smiles of the sweetest. The Marquis de Marigny, Sir Everard’s antagonist, was a person of punc- tilio, who had killed his man ten or twelve times already, in the most gentlemanly way. There were six seconds, three for each principal, and, according to the amiable custom of the day, every one of these gen- tlemen, only just introduced to each other, was bound to engage an antagonist with whom he had no e-irthly quarrel, and kill or disable him if possible. As for Sir Everard and De Marigny, they had quarreled on the subject of the beauty of their respective countrywomen, and the difference between them had bred consider- able feeling. “Come, gentlemen,” said the English baronet, politely, “if you are all read let us begin. There is no time to lose,i we hope to get back to supper.” ' “ I entirely agree with Sir Huntley,” said \. de Marigny, with a sweet smile. “Let us begin by all means, for the air is chilly.” Then the whole of the eight gentlemen, one after another, threw off their doublets, drew their swords, and at the signal of the principals crossing swords, all engaged simultaneously. To a person in our nineteenth century it seems equally strange and brutal that eight men should be found trying to kill each other about such a trifle ; but at the time we write of, when every gentleman wore a sword, and vied with his neighbor in readi- ness and skill to use it, such scenes were common. Clash ! clash ! went the long rapiers, striking fire from each other ; and the com- batants, at first slow and cautious in their motions, speedily warmed up under the ex-' citemcnt of the conflict, and thrust and parry followed one another with furious ra— pidity. In ten minutes two of the Frenchman’s seconds were wounded, while one of the Eu lishmen was run clear through the boc y. Then, as if by mutual consent, all three of the unwounded seconds drew back and leaned on their swords, to watch the fiercer combat between the principals. Sir Everard and the marquis were evenly matched, both being good fenccrs and strong, active men. The Frenchman was more adroit and artful, but the superior strength and coolness of the Englishman Compensated for the difference; and many a gliding pass, which would have forced the guard of another man, was turned aside with such force that the Frenchman was almost disarmed. At last Sir Everard in his turn forced the guards of his antagonist, and rushing in, buried his blade in de Marigny’s body. \Vith a fierce groan of agony the French- man lifted his own blade, wounded to death as he was, and stabbed Sir Everard to the heart. “ Les James Planer/ism sent [cs plus belles I“ he muttered, as he sunk back. rat/ecu." * And do Marigny died. “Well, my gay masters,” said hump- backed Merlin, snecringly, as the three bodies were. laid out in the inn parlor ; “ ye have. had a gay time, and enjoyed your‘sechs finely. Three dead men, and two nigh dead, about the. color of a. lass‘s check, and this, heaven save the mark l—is what you gallants call AN AFFAIR or HONOR." * The French ladies are the most beautiful. I have conquered him. THE Piiisficld and North Adams railroad, in Massachusetts, is not remark— able for speed. As a train on it recently came to a dead halt, a passenger exclaimed: “ Well, I wonder what we’ve stopped for now ‘3“ “ \Vhy,” explains a fellow-traveler, “ it‘s to take the cow-catcher off the. engine and put it on behind, to keep the cows from running over us.” “ Je I’m? DEATH AT THE PALACE GATE. BY '1‘. ‘G. HARBAUGH. Monarch, with the snowy hair, Writhing on the bed of pain, Gaze upon thy kingdom fair, Gaze upon it once again, Ere it be fore’er too late— Death is at the palace gate. Loud he raps with bony hand, And his summons, dread and dire, Ringing through the trampled land, Tells that tyrannies expire. Subjects smile with hearts elate, Death is at the palace gate. What will crowns avail thee. now 2 Will be for the scepter stay? No! before him thou must bow: Kings, like beggars, have their day. Now dismiss the cares of state, Death is at the palace gate. Meet the monster like a man ! He’s confronted thee before; Thou hast led his army‘s van O‘er the crimson fields of war. Now he dares invade thy state, And has reached the palace gate. What! hast than a craven grown ? Shamer of thy ancestry! Shirk behind th gilded throne, Death comes n his majesty. Ah, he. will no longer wait J ust beyond the palace gate! $ t 1: * * Draw the par le curtains close, With your irges now attend ; He who conquered many foes, Has been conquered in the end. Turmoil now Will rule the State, Death has forced the palace gate. A Planoijgne Story. BY MATTIE DYER BRITTS. N or many years ago society was much excited over the movements of a Certain mysterious little imp christened “ Plan- chette.” As to the truth or falsity of the deposi- tions of said little imp, the writer does not here certify, but it found a great many be- AN AFFAIR OF HONOR. lievers. Lovers were almost invariably firm in the faith ; for, being a very accom— modating little imp, Planchette nearly al- ways says just what they want to hear. Lost articles—especially when somebody has any idea where they are—have often been found by its means. And the writer has heard of a talented Western lawyer who was cured of his hitherto—incurable vice of drinking by its influence. As soon as he entered the room, Planchette began to race violently across the paper, writing over and over, “ Lawyer Harrison ! Delirium tremens !” Which so afi‘righted him that he has not tasted a drop since. And it is a pity his family did not think to present. the acute young lady whose hands were on Plan- chette with a testimonial of their grati- tude. But now for the story. It chanced that a Certain gentleman and his wife sat one evening in their cosy par- lor, discussing this same mysterious little imp. “ I wish we had one,’ said the lady. “ I do believe I could make it move if I had my hands on it." “No doubt, my love,” responded the husband, ainiably; “women are generally capable of ‘ raising the devil.’ ” “ Now, William Brown, you hush,” said the lady ; “ you are always trying to slan— der the women. I wonder who would sew your buttons on if there weren’t any ?" “ Perhaps Planchetic could tell me,” slyly said \Villiam. “Nonsense! Behave yourself, William. Don’t you believe in Planchettc ‘3" “Certainly; believe it to be a very amusing little contrivancc." “ But don’t you believe it can write ‘3” “Something or somebody appeared to write with it at Mr. Cook‘s." “Yes, just so. And now, V’ill, I have an idea in my head.” “Indeed? IV ell, that is a remarkable occurrence! Pray give me the benefit of it,” said the provoking William. "Well, then,” returned the lady. not taking notice of his speech, "" I believe I’ll send Bridget over to borrow Mr. Cook’s Planchette, so we can try it. What do you say ‘7?” “Not supposing that I shall ever have any dealings with his Satanship, I don't know that I am anxious to become acquainted with one of his familiar spirits; but I shall be delighted to witness your performances.” “ William, you are hateful !” “ My love, you are angelic !” “I won’t talk to you," said she, rising, with a. pout on her pretty mouth. “ I can't- get any sense out of you, so I’ll just. send Bridget on my own responsibility, and if it doesn’t say you are a humbug, I will own it is one.” Bridget, then, being duly instructed, and invested with a. clean white apron, present- ed herself at Mr. Cook’s door, and made known her errand. , “ Plazc, sur, Missis Brown sint me to ax w’u'd ye lind her the loan 0’ y'ur Plain- shirt a little while ?” “ My what .5?” asked Mr. Cook, looking puzzled, while Mrs. Cook stood in the door, a silent locker-on. “ Y’ur plain shirt, sur, plaze.” “ My plain shirt! I never have any but plain ones. Wouldn’t wear any other kind. Neither would Brown. Is it a pattern she wants, Bridget ?” “ Faix, it’s meself doesn’t know, sur.” “ What did she say, Bridget ?" “ She said would I go over and ax the loan 0’ y’ur plain shirt, sur, an’ that‘s all, so help me Moses.” “ Why, what the deuce docs the woman mean ‘3” said Mr. Cook, in a. complete puz- zle. “ I know what she means,” cried Mrs. Cook, stepping forward : “she means to be impudent, that’s what she means. Bridget, go back and tell your mistress—3’ “ Hold on, Susan,” at in Mr. Cook. “ Maybe there is a mista 8 made.” ‘ “ Yes, I should think there was a mistake made! Sending such a message as that here ! I’ll teach her not to make mistakes hereafter. Bridget, tell your mistress———” “Hold on,” cried Mr. Cook again, burst- ing into a. loud laugh. “ I believe I know what she wants! It s the Planchette!” “ The Planchette i” cried Mrs. Cook. “ Yes, Bridget hasn’t got the word. Ain’t that it, Bridget— the little board that writes ?” “ Yis ! yis i” cried Bridget, a smile of satisfaction breaking all over her broad, Irish face. “ That’s it to be be sure ! That‘s it—the bit of a booard wid the divil in i” By this discovery peace was restored to the irate bosom of Mrs. Cook, and Bridget, having received the “ bit of a board wih the divil in,” went on her way rejoicing. Now I ought to be able to write that Planchette as soon as it reached the white hands of Mrs. Brown, began to race over the paper, writing, excitedly: “ Plain shirt! Bridget! Mrs. Cook! Learn you better!” and so on, and raised a general rumpus among the Cooks and Browns. But, being an exact historian, I am com- pelled to say Planchette did no such thing. Mrs. Brown, having placed both the afore- said white hands upon the magic board, waited eagerly for the spirit to move. But the spirit wasn’t there. Or else Planchette, being a stupid and unaccommo- dating little imp, refused to acknowledge its presence. Nor could it be coaxed to say William was a humbug. Therefore, I sup- pose Mrs. Brown, like a truthful little we— man, had to acknowledge it was one—in which conclusion the writer hereof willing- ly concurs. By way of conclusion the writer wishes to say she has observed that most authori~ tics put Planchette in the feminine gender, using the pronoun “she.” Not knowing the reasons therefor, perhaps she should not offer her opinion. ' But, if it was done as a mild insinuation that the fair sex in general are a perfect hoax, she merely suggests that it be imme- diately and appropriately changed to the masculine, and allowed to remain so hence- forth. Foreoastie Yarns. BY 0. D. CLARK. VIII—THE HikRPOONER‘S PROPHECY. A DEAD calm ! Most landsmen, unless they have lived near the sea, are apt to take this term too literally, for the open sea is never utterly at rest. The long swell rises and falls through a long summer calm, with the same stead- fast monotony; and the sailor, loitering about the decks aimlessly, tells yarns in the forecastle and in the tops, or spends his time in carving fanciful figures upon whalebone or walrus tooth. Sailors do not like “still weather;n their life is monoto- nous enough without that, and they prefer the freshest gale which ever blew to the dreary death in life of the calm. If the seamen are anxious. the officers are doubly so. They know that every day thus wasted is eating into the. profits of the voy- age ; they look hopelessly over the rail, and curse the tardy wind which will not rise. So it was with the officers and crew of the ship Madeline, as she lay rolling in the heavy ground-SWell off the rugged shores of Newfoundland. They were not alone, for the “sheen of the ever-flashing sea ” revealed a dozen other craft in the same situation, “ whistling" for a wind. The Madeline, Captain John Fenton, was engaged in the Greenland whale-fish- ery. As part owner of the noble craft, the captain felt the delay keenly, and his anxious glances were cast out across the water to the westward, from which he hoped the wind would come. “ What do you say, Ned Fitchett?” he cried, addressing an old harpOOner who sat in the shadow of the foremast, whittling at a walrus/tooth. “ Are we going to have any wind to-night ‘9” “ You may thank old Davy if you don’t get more of it than you want,” replied Fitchett. “You’ll find it blowing great guns afore nine o’clock this here blessed night, and I wish that whalin’ fleet wasn't quite so thick around here—that’s all.” “ I'Vhy, Ned ‘9” “We‘ll be foul of some of ’em afore morning, captain. See here; I don’t want to scare anybody, but seine one aboard this ship ’has got to die before we see another sun ! ’ “Nonsense, Ned; you ought to know better than to talk such stuff as that before the crew.” “ I can’t help it,” replied Fitchett, dog- gedly. “ I’ve seen signs and heerd warn— ings that ain’t to be mistaken. Why, when I was asleep in my bunk, this very morn- ing, I dreamed of a coffin and a living death. I saw a. white face look up at me out of the sea, and it cried, ‘ Come 1’ Cap- tain, there is death in the air to-day.” Two or three of the crew, who were loitering near, stopped to listen, and the captain sternly ordered the man to be si- lent. “I never knew that you were a. coward before, Ne .” “Coward l” The man was on his feet, 4 wild with passion, his brown hand upon his sheath-knife ; but a. moment’s reflection calmed him. ‘ “ No, captain, no; I won’t mutiny at my time of life, but I thought you knew the old man better than that.” “ I beg . your pardon, Ned,” said the cap- tain, extending his hand. “I do know you better, but you ought not to talk in that way before the men.” “I won’t, captain—J won’t,” said Ned; “but”——lowering his voice and speaking almost in a whisper—J1 tell you that I’ve had warnings, and there’ll be a death in the ship- before morning.” It is useless to attempt to reason an old sailor out of his superstitious ideas, than which none knew better than Captain Fen- ton. He turned away with an impatient gesture and walked aft, scanning the hori- zon for some sign of a wind. He could make out none, and went below to look at the barometer, but it gave no sign. Hour- after hour passed; night was coming on,, and still no wind. After the evening meal,_ as the captain was going on deck, he- , glanced at the barometer, and started back . quickly as he saw that it was falling rapid- ly. Hurrying on deck, he glanced to the- westward, and though there was no ap- parent change to a landsman, his experi- enced eye detected the signs of the coming storm. His orders were prompt and to the point. In a wonderfully short space of time the ship was stripped of all her super- fluous canvas, and lying-to under close rcefed foresail, storm-jib, jib and staysail, while two of the best men in the ship were at the wheel. The wind was now coming in fitful gusts and the helm was put. over, bringing her dead before the wind. Scarce- ly was this done when, with a whoop and rush like that of discnihrallcd demons, the squall struck her, and the stout ship bent before its mighty rush like a reed to a sum~ mer wind. All hands were on deck and at their sta- tions, for they knew that they had no boy‘s play before them now, but (lead, sober, earnest work. For a moment the ship seemed about to be thrown on hcrbeam- ends, but the quartermasters “ touched her up ” at the right moment, and she was away like a race-horse, flying before the mighty gale. A minute before and it had been a clear, mellow twilight, but, in a mo- ment, a gloomy pall had fallen upon the sea, and they dashed on in almost utter darkness. . “ Hang out the lights, there,” cried Fen- ton. “Quick, men, or we shall be foul of something.” Ned Fitchett ran forward with the light- ed lantern to hang over the port-bow, and leaned out to put it in its place. As he did so, a block, torn from its fastenings, came down by the run and struck the lantern from his hand, and it fell into the sea. He sprung for another and ran back, this time stepping upon the rail and holding on by the ratlins. As he did so there came a loud hail, close aboard, and they had an in- distinct vision of a mighty mass of wood and iron bearing down upon them, and something like a giant beak darted in over the rail. Two egg-shells had crashed together on the pathlcss ocean ! Staggering back from the shock, the Madeline receded from her course; the stranger did the same, and for a. moment. the two ran parallel with each other. A strange, hoarse cry was heard above the howling of the storm, and the lantern which Ned Fitchctt had held was seen swaying upon the bowsprit of the- stranger. “Hang out. the lights again,” cried the captain. “Set the pumps going. Ned Fitchctt! \Vhere is he 7?” The call was taken up, and passed from mouth to mouth, but'tney spoke to dead ears. Torn from the rail by the bowsprit of the stranger, he had been hurled far out into the sea, and perished in the night and storm. Ned Fitchett’s prophecy had been veri- fled; he was the victim. Beat Tings Notes. ALWAYS speak well of everybody. If you consider yourself everybody, so much the better. I SAVED fifteen thousand dollars this year by not having it to put in the bank that suspended the other day. I always was lucky. THE fellow who had a strain in his back, a quavcr in his voico, a slur on his character, and time on his bills, was thought afloat and looked like a swell, fond of a rest, and fol- lowed the downward bem, has gone into the musical business, and is doing well—so I am told. A WORD to the wise ismsuperfluous. CUT your coat according to~the prevaib iug style. A POETICAL friend of mine, who occupies a high position in a f our-story house, has been arrested for being a gay-reflex A KICK will often quiet a noisy man; hot water will put out a fire.