any». . z; r 

 

 

TOTAL DEPRAVITY.

3! JOE JO‘I‘, JR.

 

 

Mike is filled with sor—i-ow.

y cad is filled with noise,

To see the great rantankerousness
Of sinful urchin boys.

Two boys were playing mar—bivels
As I came round t e .

And one was appellated Dick,
And one eoguomened Bill.

Now, in that wicked game of “keeps,”
As sadl I looked on, ' '

Bill said hat Richard hunched, and Dick
Called Bill another one.

And William quicker than two winks
Got 11 from of! his knees, '
Bestow ng upon Richard’s nose
A blow that made him sneeze.

Then Dick articulated “ Goshi”
And pitched in with a vim, ,

To demonstrate that bad old rule, '
To do as done by him.

My eyes were full of bitter‘tears,
Such fighting for to. see, '
And I sat down to watch the fuss
Progressing rather free. -

Each grabbed the other tight, and both
Proceeded for to drop. ,

And rolled around so fast, it seemed
That both were on the top.

They hit and gouged, and pounded much; ,
Each other‘s clothes they tore;

The gravel flew for forty rods,
And then both ofthem swore.

I sighed and rose upon my feet.
a “ So much depraVity _ _ ,v ._
As those in all my circuit round,”
I said, “ I never see. ‘

“ If this here fight mustbe kept up,
I pray that you‘ll restrict
Yourselves to business—so don’t swear;
I want to. see both licked.

* “. To mix profanity with fight . ' J-‘ I ~
Is an awful thing indeed; -  .-
Don’t let me have to stop this fuss——
Children of‘sin, proceed I"

They stopped the fight, and said,.,“ Go to, ,
You venerable File,” ' f

And both: pitched into me with'rocks, '
And drove me quite a mile. ' , .

* My heart is filled with sor-i-ow,
 My head is filled with noise,
To see so much rambunktiousness
In sinful urchin boys.

 

LEAVES

From an Actor’s Life;

on,

Recollections of Plays and Players.

 

BY GEO. L. AIKEN.

 

IX.—-More about Old Drury—Creswick, Mur-
dock and Cunningham—Guy Mannering—
The Woods, Vocalists—Charlotte Cushman
-—Nicholas Nickleby—Mrs. Field as Smilce
——Mr. and Mrs. Charles Kean in Ion—
Their Merits C'ontrasted—E'dmund Kean—
A Theatrical Riot.

THOUGH I was frequently behind the scenes
of the Old Boston Theater (the New Boston
Theater is in an entirely different location,
and would haVe been considered out of town
in the time of the old'Federal street Theater,
as it was generally called,) I was more often
in the front of the house, among the audience,
and I witnessed some grand performances
there.

The remembrance of them is vivid in my
memory now. Every actor Of note, who
visited America, trod the boards of this time—
honored stage. Many young actors com-
menced their careers there who have since
become famous. _

There was Creswick, an Englishman, who
became very popular, returned to his own
country, and took a high position, which he
holds to this day. There was our own James
E. Murdock, since so distinguished as a reader
and elocutionist. , There Charlotte Cushman
gave her graphic’delineation of Meg Merrilies
in “ Guy Mannering,” founded upon Sir Wal-
ter Scott’s novel of that name; and an exCels
lent singer, a Mrs. WOOd—an English lady—é
appeared at the same time as “ Lucy'Bertram,”
and sung the music incidental to the play with
great sweetness. Her husband also appeared
in the play as “Henry Bertram.” He was a
fine vocalist. Peter Cunningham, if ‘I remem-
ber aright, was the “ Dominic Sampson.” He

was a great delineator of what are called;

dialect characters, Scotch, Irish 0r Welsh.
His Bailie Nicol Jarvis, in the play of “Rob
Roy ” (another dramatization from Sir,Walter
Scott) was considered his great character, but
he was very good in others. . . . . ’

I remember one character particularly in
which he made a very strong impression at
this time. Charles Dickens’ works had be-
come popular, and a. play was made out of
Nicholas Nickleby, in which Cunningham ap-
peared as Newman Noggs, the seedy individual
with the benevolent turn of mind, who asserts,

confidentially: - -

“ I was a gentleman once, sir—I was in-

deed!” ‘ '

~ The play, I think, was presented at the
Tremont Theater. My memory may be at
fault at times as to which theater was the 10-
cality of different events which are photo-
graphed, so to speak, upon my brain. In my
capacity as child-actor, I went through every
theater in Boston, from the Old Lion Thea-
ter to the Eagle in the North End, and as
there was so many of them, one closing aild
another opening, it is but natural that I should
get them mixed at that early period of my
stage career. A

In this same play of “ Nicholas Nickleby,”
Mrs. Field played Smike, and if I am not mis-
taken, was the mother of Kate Field, the loc-
turess, who so recently made her debut as an
actress. Mrs. Field was an excellent actress,
and if Kate ipherits her talent a successful
career is before her. . l » V

To return to the “Old Drury.” Here for

the first time I saw Mr. and Mrs. Charles
Kean. She impressed me very favorably, but
he did not. His acting was marred by man-
nerisms,>aud he sputtered in his speech in a
_ way that made his voice sound oddly to the
car. You liked him better, however, when
you grew accustomed to his peculiarities. He
was evidently a gentleman and a scholar, and
had been a close and patient student of his
art; but the genius of his father, Edmund
Kean, had not descended to him.

I have thought that he owed much of his
success in his theatrical life to his wife, who
had earned a proud reputation as Miss Ellen
Tree, before he married her. She possessed
every requisite for a. great actress. She had a
handsome face, with very expressive features,
a graceful and well-proportioned figure, and a
voice of much strength and sweetness, and
knew how to modulate it With singular skill.

Thus, she was always the chief attraction,
and her excellencies made amendsfor his de-
ficiencies. '

The play in which I first saw them, was,
Sergeant Noon Talford’s classic tragedy of
Ion. I have now before me an exquisite por-

trait of Mrs. Charles Kean, in the character

would give a better idea of her appearance
than any words that I can write. _

Mr. Kean personated ‘Adrastus, the King of
Argos, and was regally costumed; but his slight
figure, I thought, did not convey the idea of
one of those ancient merrier klngs. Whereas,»
Mrs. Kean looked to perfection the devoted
youth who gave ?hil life to free his country
from the pestilence. '

I have thought that Charles Kean owed

much to the great reputation which his father
acquired. There is-no brighter name in the
annals of the‘drama than that of Edmund
Kean. He was a theatrical comet, blazing
through his orbit with never-fading splendor.
His great success made him arrogant, at
times, and negligent of the duty he owed the
public. -

On this very stage he had received a lesson,
which, I think, he never forgot, or forgave
Boston for administering. ‘

He visited America, as many great actors
have done, and appeared in Boston in what he
considered one of his best characters. The
audience which assembled to witness his per—
formance, did not meet his expectations in
point of numbers. He did not think that his
ability was appreciated, (there have been many
actors with considerably less talent than Ed-
mund Kean, who have thought the same) and
he refused to play the second night although
he was duly advertised. -> i '

He left Boston in disgust, with a determina-
tion never to revisit that puritanical city; but,

A , some threeyears'afterward, he reconsidered

his determination, and accepted  engage."
merit in Boston.- The citizens, however, had

not forgotten the slight he had put upon them. -

1 The audience on the night of his reappear-
ance must have‘met v his "most-Sanguine expec-
tations, forthe theater was literally packed
With men; this was an ominous circumstance.
There was but one woman = in that dense
throng, and she had come, despite the well
known fact that there was going to be a
“row-rflh I “ .. . -,

The audience, however,
greatest decorum until Edmund Kean made
his appearance, and then boots, hisses and
groans arose in a wild roar that made the very
walls tremble. .

Kean struggled manfully to make himsclf
heard, but it was useless. Various missiles
were thrown at him, and it soon became evi—
dent that personal violence was intended. He
rushed from the stage in anger and dismay,
and the manager hurried him as speedily as
possible from the theater, and then announced
to the mob, who had scaled the stage from the
pit, that Mr. Kean had left the theater.

The excited throng vented their displeasure
on the scenery and fixtures of the theater,
and, after a scene of the wildest confusion,
they finally retired.

This is the only theatrical riot that I have
any recollectionof in Boston. It happened, I
need Scarcer say, before my time, but my
father witnessed it, to the great damage of
his overcoat in making his escape from the
theater. I often heard him speak of the
affair. ‘

But the memory of this transaction was
very faint when Charles Kean made his ap-
pearance in Boston, and his father’s sins were
not visited upon him.

Hiscareer was a successful and an honorable
one, and I think his visits to this country were
always pleasant and lucrative.

 

A Summer’s Episode. ,

BY MARY REED CROWELL.

 

 

THE‘ slanting May sunshine was shining
through the newly-budding branches of the
grand ’old trees in front of Farmer Weston’s
kitchen—door; and motherly Mrs. Weston, her
afternoon’s work “done up,” and her comfort.
able figure invested in a. clean gingham apron,
was sitting easily in the big, capacious rocking-
chair, just where the bright patch of sunshine
gilded the sweet, sanded floor. ’ - ’

It was a'charming place, the Weston farm,
and: homestead, that had been in the family for
generations. Broad stretching acres of pas~
ture land; wide belts of timber; big orchards;
extensive vegetable gardens; and right in the
middle of itall, like a king on his throne, was
the big, cool, cosy farmhouse. v

It was (a happy home;~and the Westons a
happy family. Contentment, industry and
full and-plenty were always theirs; and, ex‘
cept on rare occasions, when the housemother
would have a turn of homesickness to see her
one child—her boy Lee, oil? at a boys’ semin-
ary—all was delightfully serene. . . .

To-day—this queenly May day, with roots
swelling and grasses springing, sap flowing,
and buds bursting, Mrs. Weston had received
a letter—the news in which was fated to be of
greatest importance to her; but which, even
in her half-frowning amazement, she was not
conscious of. f .

On her big lap—just such a lap as grand-
children ought to have nestled in, and clamber-
ed over, lay the open letter; on her calm,
placid forehead, ordinarily calm, but just this
oment, the least bit expressive of puzzled in-

decision—on her forehead lay her steeLrimmed
glasses; and her thoughtful eyes were roaming
far ahead, as if in search for an answer to the
question in the letter, amid the warm sun’s
rays.  r

Ten minutes later, a cherry-faced, genial
man, in vest and shirt sleeves, came up from
the meadow land, and sat down on the wooden
stoop outside the door.

“ Well, mother, this is pretty warm for
May, isn’t it?”

“ Pretty warm, father. And see here—a
letter from your sister Susan, with a request
that you take her little girl for the summer,
while-she joins a party to Europe. Motherly,
isn’t she?”

“ Susan’s little girl, eh? She wasn’t bigger’n
a pint o’ cider when I saw her last. What’s
her name, now?”

Mrs. Weston put on 'her glasses again and
went slowly over the letter.

“ ‘Lilias’—‘ Lilies Iliflf.’ ‘She will be no
care or anxiety,’ Susan says. But I want to
know what the child will do with herself all
alone. She’ll be dreadful lonesome, I’m think-
ing.’ -

Mr. Weston wiped the sweat off his forehead
with a big bandanna. '

“No she won’t. Youngsters can find a

thousand ways to amuse themselves. Give her
some bright pieces of calico, and I’ll buy her a
doll, and Dave’ll make her a wagon—she’ll get
along. I’ll quite like a little youngster trottin’
around. I do like children, you know, mother,”
he added, half apologetically.
‘ “I know you do—so do I; only I was afraid
she’d be miserable and lonesome, and ‘I was
thinking it is a good thing, Lee will be home
soon—he’s a master hand with children, and
he- can teach Lilies to hunt eggs and climb
fences. m , . ‘

Then after the quiet, simple supper was over,

 

of Ion. If I could only preSent it here, it

and the hired men and the kitchen girl had

behaved with: the

been in to prayers, Farmer Weston sat down
and wrote to Susan to send the child along
and welcome. ' ’

 

The blossoms had eomo-a white and pink
glory, perfuming the soft air with their claim
ty, subtle sweetness, and then, their fragile
reign of beauty over, they had floated in silent
showers to the mother earth. The tender
leaflets were growing gladly, and it seemodto
mother Weston, a she stood in the open doors
way, her hand shading her eyes, and her plump
form attired in her best black silk, in honor of
the day, that surely all Nature was rejoicing
that her boy was coming home—~her Lee, man-
ly, roguish darling that he was. -
Happy tears were in her eyes as she remem~
bored the day, two years ago, when he had
gone away, his sachel crammed with dough—
nuts, and his cap swinging in boyish exuber—
ance as the stage carried him away. To-dayé
he came by the railroad, and father had gone
to meet him; and she stood there, in speechless
bliss, waiting for the first glimpse of the boy-
ish figure, and boyish face. ‘ -
Thenwsomebody came in at the other door;
a quick ‘footstep: behind her, and a pair of
strong arms caught her, and—yes wiles—actu-
ally, post'tiody, something like a monster kiss-
ed heri v r .
“Mother, aren’t you glad I’m home again?”
“ It’s never Le'e—«neveri Why, where’s my
boy?” . ' '

And yet her dear old face was full of proud-.

est delight, miggledgwithva-strange, wistful
surprise. ,,
Farmer Weston laughed in irrepressible

icy. ' ' 

' “ Sure enough, motherl‘ Where is our Lee?
Why, under this mustache, of course. Don't

,tyou suppose a "fellow’s going to grow up and

change considerable in a couple 0’ years? Why,
he’s twenty, ain’t he?”

He was'a fine, manly young fellow, so differ-
ent from the roguish lad that had left them.
Two years of hard study and commingling
with influences Outside the country—side, had
made him grave, thoughtful, refined—the de-
velopment of the germs of character that were
alwaysinhim. - ' '

So he came home—handsome Lee, with his
five feet six, his becoming city clothes, his ir—
resistible mustache, his stylish college aim. .

At supper that night, mother Weston sud-
denly laid down her fork, and began to laugh.

“ It seems so ridiculous,” she said, “ tothink
I intended our Lee to play with Lilies Iliif
when she comes! Why, the child will be ter-
rified by such a strapping fellow.”

‘ Lee swallowed a portion of cream pie, then
manifested his interest in the subject.

“ Who is Lilies Iliff?” '

“Your little cousinmaunt Susan’s girl.
She’s coming here to stay with us this summer
—and I calculated on . your amusing her,
Lee.”

Lee smiled magnanimously.

“ Well,yI will. There’s some candy in my
trunk I bought for you, mother, and the same
old picture books I took away. Children al-
ways like candy and pictures, don‘t they?”

“ I think we’ll manage to entertain her.
Poor little soul! to think her mother can be ofi‘
pleasuring and leave her behind! I’ve got
Dave to make a wagon for her to draw her
doll, and there's a bag full of bright patches
for he‘r to sew. I half persuaded your father
to have the little crib set up in our room——
she’ll cry at night, likely, but he seemed to
think the little room off it would be as well.
You must take the phaeton over to meet her

. on Tuesday, Lee, and be sure to be very kind

to her.”

 

A gentle western wind was blowing after a
heavy thunder-shower, and every blade of
grass sparkled as if hung with diamonds. The
sun shone goldenly in the western sky, while
in the east, were high piled huge banks of
black clouds, from which the passing shower
still fell and reverberated its distant peals. , .

It was a weird, grand scene, andLee Weston
enjoyed it immensely as he drove leisurely
over to the. village depot, where he arrived
just in timd to see the passengers for GNBIP:
ville alight on the station platform.

As usual, there were but few travelers for,
the quiet little nestling village; and Lee, stand—
ing where he commanded aview of every car
door, was not long counting the people the
train disgorged before it went pulling. on
again. '~: ‘ . .

A very stylish looking young gentleman,
with green glasses, andan aristocratic travel-
ing sachel; an elderly man, who asked no
questions of anybody,'but madestraight for
the one hotel on 'Main, street, as though he
knew the way; a young lady, dressed in light

gray silk, with the prettiest blue eyes Lee had .

ever seen, and an elegant, .citified air about
her, and from whom Lee turned his admiring
regards just the least reluctantly to wonderif
the elderly, shabby woman bustling toward
him, holding by the hand a bashful, gawky
girl of thirteen, was the one to whom bemust

pay his dutiful devoirs. ,

It must be confessed, a little feeling of dis-
gust trembled over the young fellow, at a
second survey of the frowsy girl he was ex:
poeted to help entertain all that long, dreary
summer. ‘

:The woman, still grasping the girl’s hand,
as though she labored under the alarmingly
ridiculous idea that people generally had de—
signs on the life of her charge, came familiarly
up to Lee. -

“Be youany. of the Weston folks?”

“ I am Lee Weston, madam. The
is waiting; we expected you.” .

“You did? I don’t see how that can be,
when I hadn’t made up my mind myself till
this morning. i’ ’

Lee didn’t listen particularly—he had stolen
another glance at the fair girl who was gather-
ing up her silken skirt preparatory to depart-
ing. Such a ravishing little high-heeled boo
the depraved fellow on thought. ,

“We may as well be going. I presume
thisismycousin, is it? Miss LiliasIlifl'? I
hope you will like the. country, Miss Lilies.
We live only a mile over yonder, see? A
straight, delightful walk, but I’ll drive you
over.” '

The girl stared, and hung back, blushing a
purple red; the woman gave her a jerk that
brought her upall standing.

“ Where‘s your manners? though I don’t
wonder you bemixed at Mr. Lee‘s gammon.
We don’t want no carr’age. We’re used to
walkin’, and Miss’ Weston ’11 be glad to see us
afoot. A-cleverer woman never did live.”

' A thrill of relief shot ovor Lee that the wo-
man refused to ride, somehow—and he re-
proved himself for it over and over again,but
he wouldn’t stay reproved; he hated to have
that bright-eyed, roguish—faced girl see him on
familiar terms with such .common looking
folks, if one of them was his cousin, with a
name’altogether too sweet for her. He was
mortified, because he might meet this girl
again at some of the neighbors’; he actually
made up his mindto inquire of the Leverett’s

carriage

 

and the Miller’s who she was. As he drove off

 

 

in his dainty little phacton, be cast a parting
glance at the girl, still standing carelessly at
the end-of the platform, with her skirts in her
hand, and her gray, pink~lined partial over

her face. She was giving directions to they

stationomastor, who served triple capacity as
such, ticket agent and general informant, re-
garding two immense trunks on the platform.
Her voice did- not reach him, but one laugh-
ingly provoking glance of her eyes did, and Les
thought as he drove briskly air, that she appre-
ciated his uncomfortable position; also, he
decided, there was a chance of seeing her again.
The baggagevmastor knew'where the trunks
went. He drove on. under the flaming sunset
sky, five miles to the nearest town, to execute
a’ long neglected commission, catching a
glimpse as he turned the curve, of the fair,
gray-robot} girl stopping of! the platform; and,
down the road, of the woman and girl, who
really had a good walk when free from our
barrassment. »

 

The summer sky was all softly alight with
stars, and the cool air made the night deli—
ciously refreshing. A light gleamed from the
kitchen window of the Weston farm-house,
and as Leo came in, after his long ride, he
thought how homelike it all was—his fat, oom~
fortable mother, rocking in her chair and talk.
ing to the woman he had seen at the depot;

the table arranged for one, with strawberries

and cream, sponge-cake, and salmon, bread and
butter and cottage cream. - '
His mother met him with an eager wel—
come. -
I “ Lilies has come!” r r
“I know it,” and he bowed to the woman.
“Tired out, too, :I suppose. ~Gone to bed!”
~ He sat vdowntoathe tempting little meal,
feeling just a little provoked at his mother’s
answer. '
“ Oh, no, she hasn‘t gone to bed. She’s out

on the side piazza; She’s delighted 'with the '

roses.”

Lee wondered where the fine taste for flow-
ers came from, to be developed under that
tbwzled hair, but he said nothing"; only, when
his mother went to the door, and called——
“ Come in, dear, and see my boy!” he felt like
assuring her there eves no such hurry.

He heard hasty footsteps, and, with a mouth
full of bread and butter,vturned to make his
devoirs to his mother’s guest. .

Shades of Confucius! A tall, dainty girl—
in gray silk~With mischievous blue eyes—-
with suggestiver sweet, saucy lips that were
dimpling with a series of mirthful smiles—the
girl he had seen at the depotl, '

“ Cousin Lee!”

“ Miss—madam—Iuthis is Lilies?” ‘

She laughed heartily.

“Of a truth, I am Lilies. I am so - impa-
tient for the dolls and the wagons and the
patchwork, and the little boy whom I- was led
to believe would torment the life out of me.”

Lee had recovered himself admirably.

‘.‘ I am he, waiting to be promoted to that
office. But I thought you were a little girl,
in short dresses and straw hats.”

And all this while, Mrs. Weston sat and

laughed till her plump figure quivered like

jelly; and even the innocent cause of the error

.--—-the gaunt woman in the corner, who came

every year with her child, to help gather peas
-—a fact of which Lee knew nothing—smiled
at the young folks. .

Yes, this was Lilies—this fair, dainty girl,
who took them all by such sweet surprise; and
Lee, in his c’ousin’s eyes, was a young demi-
god.

Is there any more to say? Need there be
aught told of that blissful summer, when
Lilias and Lee took such excellent care of each
other? Or of the after time~the three years
that Lilies wore Lee’s ring, while the proud
young lover prepared himself for the honored
position of her husband? «

It was a tender, charming episode—one .of
hundreds that might be chronicled of that same
summer-time. ~ r '

 

gfiHUW‘HB _\_N_t_1_n a we.

BY A. -GOULD PENN, ESQ.

 

, MY occupation as a “drummer,” for the
great wholesale notion house of Trinket & Co.,
of St. Louis, often took me far out among the
small frontier villages, and it was at the little
county town of Centreville I made the ac-
quaintance of Doctor Brooks. It was my usual
custom to spend a day or two with the hospi-
table doctor and his amiable wife; indeed, to
have neglected this, would have subjected me
to their great displeasure.

Doctor Brooks, although not an old man,
was yet an old settler in Centreville, having
struck that place in his searchfor a-good loca-
tion immediately after receiving his diploma.

Sitting in front of Marblazing hearth, one .

evening in early winter, enjoying our social
pipes, he told me many of his early experiences
on the frontier. Modest as well as brave, it
took my most admit questioning to get from
him the facts of the following story, which I
give in his own language:

“ You see, Charlie, this country was a great
deal wilder when ‘I first came, than what it is
now. Centreville was then a mere trading
post, and the wild‘Pawnees often made their
raids in this neighborhood; and many of the
half civilized savages infested the country, car-
rying on a system of cruelty and plunder in
organized bands like banditti.

1‘“ When I left college I made my way to St.
Joe, andnot finding a point to suit me, I de-
termined to push on further west, and being a
little fond of adventure, anyhow, I bought me
a mule and suitable traps and struck out.

“ I arrived at Centreville about dusk, one

evening, tired and hungry, and made my way
to that old log tavern you have seen up street
there. A man by the name of Joe Crooks kept
it then, and it was a \ general rendezvous for
hunters, trappers, settlers and drunken Paw-
flees. Well, I had my mule put up and got
some supper, and then went into the bar-room,
where were a lot of roughdooking fellows, and
adrunken Indian. I hadn‘tbeen in there but a
few moments, when I saw that there was a
disposition manifested by a few of the roughs
to impose on Big Snake, as the Indian was
named, while some, more peaceably disposed,
were trying to prevent their abusing him. But
a few drums more of the landlord’s vile whis-
ky made the rufilans uncontrollable, auduone
of them struck Big Snake with his brawny fist,
stretching him helpless on the floor, than, with
a drunken fury, he drew a long knife and was
about to follow up his evil dwign and murder
the now sobered savage, who was striving to
regain his feet. v . I -
. “This made me mad; I never could bear to
see any one imposed upon, so, without thinking
of the consequences, I whipped out my navy,
and sprung ‘before the infuriated wretch.

“ ‘ Halti’ says I, ‘stranger; this thing has
gone far enough.’ And the ruman stopped
short, and gazed at. ‘me like a tiger at bay.

“ ‘ Lookee' here, stranger, I don’t want any

of your gab in this matter; you jist git now,
or take the consequences) .

" With my revolver covering the million, all
my coolness and self-Mon came to my aid,
and I resolved to see the matter through, now
that it hadbeguu.

“ ‘ You shallnot impose on that poor Indian A

further,’ I said; ‘ this thing has gone far
enough; I can’t see anybody made the sport of
a bully. Put up and shut up, or mks the con-
sequences yourself. One step toward me and
you are a dead manl’ ~

“ I could see his eyes glaring like awildcat’s
upon me from beneath his grizzly eyebrows,
but, at this juncture, his friends pressed around
him and at length prevailed upon him to drop
the matter, to which he finally agreed. So, I
put away my shooter, and called for a treat
for the crowd, and soon I was hale fellow with
them all, though *I could still see that Bill
Dawson, as the roman was called, despite his
effort to keep the trace, eyed me with an occa-
sional glance that boded me no good. ..

“ Meanwhile, Big Snake had stood at my
back, with his arms folded in savage dignity,
and when the trouble was finally ended he start-
ed from the room, and I saw him no more that
evening. 4 ' '

“ It was near midnight when the crowd dis.
persed; the unusual excitement had made me
forget how tired and sleepy I was, but it began
to tell on me, so I signified my desire to go to
bed, whereupon the landlord stepped to the
door and called—‘ Jennie, ho, J enniei ’

“A light pattering step, and a girlish voice
in response answered his summoxxs. '

“ ‘ Here, Jennie, show this gintleman his
room.’ . . . a

‘ “ To say I was astonished at the appearance
of this girl Jennie,.will but faintly convey my
idea. ., Alovely: young woman she seemed to
me, and one too lovely and gobd to be found
in such a wild, godless place. But I followed
her to a room in the second story, and as she
left meat the-door, with her fingers on her
lips to enjoin” silence, she whispered to me:
‘ Stranger, look out when «you resume your
journey: « Bill Dawson is ,a lawless man and
may do you harm.’ . .- .

. “ Then she was gone, and I retired to the lit—
tle bed set apart for me,my brain in a perfect
whirl with the events of “rocky, and Jennie’s
sweet face and her words of caution, until at
last I sunk into aprofound slumber. It seemed
to me I had scarcely been asleep ten minutes,
when aloud knock on my door and the land-
lord’s call to breakfast aroused me. Having
partaken heartily of the rough fare set before
me, I paid my reckoning, and mounted my
mule, determined to make Fort H~—-—-— that day,
it being about fifty miles distant. My plan
was to go out as faras Fort H—-—~, and spend a
little time there, and either take the overland
route across the prairie, or return again to
Centreviile.

“ In fact, I was feeling entirely indifferent
in regard to my future actions; I could think
of nothing but J ennie’s sweet face, and I kissed
my hand to her as I rode off, to which she re«
sponded with a smile and a look as if of can-
tion, that haunted me continually. I had
ridden about five miles out toward the hills,
and was winding up the rugged path that led
to their summit, when a sudden shot from
some low trees and bushes caused my animal
to start and I nearly lost my balance. This
‘was immediately followed by another shot,
apparently from a revolver, and hastily dis-
mounting I drew my weapon and prepared to

 

‘ had met his death.

open fire on my unseen foe. I had not long
to wait; the dark form of the outlaw Dawson
appeamdabove the bushes, with a rifle leveled
at my head, and‘ he slowly advanced from his
covert, keeping me covered, and ordered me-
not to raise my pistol on pain of instant death.
I dared not move. I saw murder in the vii-
lian’s eye, and as he slowly-approached I gave
myself .up for lost, but resolved to die game.

“ ‘ Ha, my bantaml’ said the villain, ‘ whose
turn is it now?‘

“ The words had scarcely passed his lips when
a rifle cracked from the trees behind him; the
arm that held his gun dropped and he staggered
and turned. This was my chance, and quick
as a flash I sent a bullet through his head. He
fell without a groan, and at the: same instant a
savage form, which I at once ‘
that of Big Snake, sprung into the path.

“ ‘ White brother, how dol' was his greeting,
and he approached and offered to shake hands.
I shook hands with him, and in his broken
English he informed me that he believed Daw—
son meant to murder me, and as I had» saved
his‘life at the tavorn, he had resolved to keep
watch and render me any assistance I might
need. I was surprised, indeed, at such a dis-
play of gratitude from a drunken Indian, but
none the less thankful. that he had saved my
life. To my horror andisurprise, Big Snake
coolly proceeded to scalp the dead-milieu, and
waving the bloody trophy at me he disappear-
ed in the. forest. . ~ 

“ I at once decided to return to Centreville,
so, taking the rifle, pistols and knife of the
outlaw, I mounted my mule and turned his
head for town. On my arrival at Crooks’, I
was greeted with exclamations of surprise by
the landlord and a crowd of loafers that had

gathered in his bar-room. I told my story,

and all were rejoiced that the ruflian Dawson
A small party of settlers
went outto the hills and returned with the
body, which was hastilybnried the same day.

“ I staid in the village, and, as the county

became rapidly populous, I soon found myself
with all the practice I could attend to. » Now,
Charlie, I must tell you how Jennie had done
me a 'great service, but you must know that
by Jennie; I mean my wife, here, for she was
the greatest inducement to my remaining in
this place. ,
“ ell, she didn’t tell me of it, for some time
after we were married; but on the night I had
my quarrel with Dawson, she had been a
listener and key-hole spectator to that occur-
rence, and as she knew the rufilan might do me
harm, she quietly slipped out to the barn
where Dawson had left his rifle and pistols, and
extractedrall the bullets; that’s the reason he
did not drop me at the first shot, for he was
known as a capital marksman, and i: must
have surprised him when his second shot did
not have the demred’ effect.

“That is his gun now, hanging over the
door there.” '

I turned about to see the heroine who had
not only saved but captured the hand and
heart of my friend, when to my surprise she
was not present; she had quietly withdrawn
from the room during Doc’s recital of the
story. -

 

“ OH, yes, gimme ten cents worth of hair-
pins,” added an uprriver farmer, as he was
about to leave a store, and, while they were
being handed down, he continued: “ It’s ha’ -
pins to-day and ribbons to-morrow, and a tooth-
brush next day. The gel is always wanting
some flim~flam thing, and I shouldn’t be sur-
prised if she’d some day get up and want me
to bring home one of them combs with a brass

 

back.”

 

   

 

   

 

 
  

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