:ullinuuW'

 

 

 

 

WINDY.

BY JO KING.

 

 

It began in the morning at six
To blow with a teriib e force,
It went back to the end of the world
To get a good start in its course.
It came dow“ like the wolves on the fold
With incredible speed. I declare
Stone columns of buildings were bent
And cornealots blown out of square.

I‘m sure that there never was seen
So much wind in the Weather before!
It warped every well in the town.
And blew out your teeth by the score.
In walking down-street you wouldgo
At the rate of some miles in a minute;
’I‘was the thickest wind ever was known
With never a shower to thin it.

It blew the land off of the field,

And the country it filled with alarms.
And the farmers next day with sad hearts
Went hunting around for their farms.
it blew the dirt clean from your face,
But it shiveled it into your eyes;

In a minute it took off your freckles
In a way that occasioned surprise.

The sunshine was blown from the streets,
The small-pox was blown ou: of town,
Men’s words were carried much further
’l‘han eVer their words had been known.
It blew your ears clear from your head,
And your buttons clear of! of your vest,
The firmament darkened with hats,
And the point of the compass stood west.

It blew the day back quite a week,
Disarranging all bU\llleBS affairs,
And people grew mad at the way
The weather was putting on airs.
It blew your boots off of your feet,
And a whistle it made of your nose;
It blew your debts out of your mind,
And the grease-spots clear out of yourclothes.

You couldn't walk out without taking
A club to keep the wind off,

And you had to hold fast to your head
Or it would have gone, sure enough.

’Tis surely an ill-wind that blows
Nobody good fortune, they say—-

Five men are at work on my roof,
And are making four dollars a dayl

 

Condemned_ii_i be Shut.

RY RALPH RINGWOOD.

 

AT the close of the late war, I, like thousands
of others, found In self bankrupt, possessing not
a dollar that I con (1 call my own.

Mexico promised fair, and so gathering to-
gether what little money I could, through the
kindness of a few friends, I turned my face
thither, and, after awhile, located in the lovely
town of Parras, situated northward of Saltillo
on the great northwestern road.

Here I opened “ shop” in an unpretending
building, and hanging out my sign, resigned my—
self to await events.

At that time Maximilian was struggling to es-
tablish his empire, and though the French troops
had not yet penetrated into this secluded spot,
yet the country was greatly unsettled, and, as a
natural result, the guerrillas were in high
feather, the mountainous regions around being
infested with many different bands under as
many different leaders.

Under ordinary circumstances a physician is
regarded in Mexico with almost as much ven-
eration as are the priests, but, at the time of
which I speak, nobody was safe for an instant if
he ventured. over so little, outside the immedi-
ate limits of the town.

Of this I was made aware, and repeatedly cau-
tioned not, under any circumstances, to be r—
suaded to ride into the country. And so I deter-
mined not to be; “ but man proposes,” etc.

One evening some six months subsequent to
mg arrival in the place, I was seated in my
0 ce door, content with myself and all the
world, for business had been good, when I was
abruptly aroused from my reverie by the sound
of horse’s feet coming down the narrow street at
a rapid gait. I glanced up in time to see the
horseman pull up and dismount, and immedi-
ztelg after approach where I was seated, hat in

an .

He was a diminutive specimen of a lepero,
though with a countenance much more intelli-
gent than is usually found among that class.

To cut the matter short, he had come for me
to visit a neighboring hacienda, the property of
a rich‘planter, whose only child, a young girl,
was lying desperately ill with one of the terrible
fevers indigenous to that country. The place
was some three or perhaps four miles distant,
near the foot of the mountains, and consequently
under the nose of such gentry as Senior Cerval-
lio, a noted guerrilla chief, and his like.

I, at first, flatly refused to go, but finally over—
come by the messenger’s pathetic account of the
young girl’s suffering, the father’s grief and the
promise of a heavy fee, I gave in, and ordered
my horse out.

t was a risky venture, and as the reader will
see, had very nearly cost me my life before I
was through with it.

A brisk ride of an hour brought us in sight of
the long, low, white building, and as I rode up
I discovered standing upon the veranda —— as
though impatiently awaiting my coming—a fine-
looking old gentleman, who instantly seized upon
mg hand and dragged me within the house.

found the patient, a beautiful young girl,
just budding into womanhood, hovering between
life and death, the latter, I thought, slightly in
the ascendancy.

But, fortunately, I arrested his progress, and
before leaving the bedside, I announced to the
delighted father that his child would live, I
ho (1, many long years.

never saw such gratitude, such perfect hap-
piness expressed by any one, and when I turned
to depart. he would hear of no such movement.
The road was not safe, he said, and I must wait
until morning, when he would send two or three
of his people to town with me, as a body-guard.

The night passed quietly, nothing of an unusual
nature occurring, and after a magnificent break-
fast next morning, the old don permitted me to
depart, first exacting a promise that when more
quiet times should come, I would often come out
in fact, make his house my home as long as I
saw fit.

I finally got off—bearing with me a good round
sum as a reward for my successful treatment of
the invalid—but not by the same road by which
I had come.

Under guidance of the lepero who had come
for me the day before, and guarded by two well-
mounted Greasers, with hu e escopets in their
hands, we struck into a blind path leading along
the foot of the range, evidently with a view of
dodging any chance band of guerrillas who
mi ht happen to be in the neighborhood.

ut, if such was the old don’s calculation. he
made a woful mistake, for certainly not more
than three—quarters of a mile from the hacienda,
we were brought up all standing in the middle of
the trail by a harsh command to halt, proceeding
from the chaparral on the left of the road. Im-
mediately my cowardly guard threw down their
escopets and incontinently fled the field, yelling
at the top of their voices as they went.

. They were allowed to depart without molesta-
tion. I was the individual they were “laying
for," the others were not worth picking. A mo-
ment after I was surrounded by half a hundred
Wlld-IOOklIlg‘ fellows, the chief of whom, and the
most unmitigated scamp of them all, or else
there’s no judging by one’s countenance. rode up
to my Slde, and began plying me with questions.

These I cut short by pu ling out the heavy

purse the old don had given me, which I handed to

im saying, that I knew that that was the best
answer  could make. and as it was the onl 1/ one
of the kind I at present could use, I trusted they
would receive it and let me go my way.

~W’hat the reply to this reasonable request

might have been I cannot say. for at that instant
we were interrupted by, first, a loud hallo or

yell, then a crashing volley from half a hundred

or more muskets. which made sad havoc in the
ranks of the picturesque gentry, the whole fol-
lowed by the ringing notes of a bugle sounding
the charge, which was forthwith made.

For a few moments matters were decidedly
mixed, the predominating features in the lim-
ited landscape being rearing horses, With. shout-
in men on their backs, who were follovvlng the
Irishman’s injunction; and hitting at a head,
with heavy sabers, wherever they saw one, 
besides every now and then discharging, at paint
blank range, their pistols into whoever’s carcass
ha pened to be nearest at hand.

t proved to be a scouting party of French
cavalry, and in less time than have taken to
tell it, they had put the bandits to flight, killing
half a dozen or so, and capturing as many more,
among whom was myself.

A fortunate chan e, I thought at first, but I
soon had reason to t ink otherwise, and heartily
wish that I was safe back into the clutches
of the mountain robbers. In plain words, then,
I was judged to be one of the band they had just
di rsed, and as the war between these gentry
an the French troops was to the knife—in fact,
a war of extermination—it soon dawned upon
my somewhat bewildered brain that I was in a

x.

And so I was, and just the tightest one of my
life, which had been made up, pretty much, of
getting into and out of “ fixes.’

Not to dwell too long upon this of my
story, for it still makes me tingle to t ‘nk of it,
I will hasten to say, that a kind of drum-head
court—martial was held on the spot, and in less
than ten minutes the whole party, seven in all,
were condemned to be shot instanter.

In vain I plead, explained, swore, etc. It was
no use; not a man understood a word of English,
nor I French: and if there had been an inter-
preter, I would not have been believed. It was
the old story of Tray being caught in bad com-

anZa last resort, I got out my note—book and
drew upon a blank page a rude re resentation
of the American flag, and pointin rst to it and
then to myself, strove to make t e blockheads
understand that I was under its protection.
They only laughed, and in a sudden rage, I
dashed the book into the officer’s face, and took
In place in the condemned line.

They made short work of it.

A sergeant and twelve men were detailed, we
were led out into a little open space, and placed
with our backs toward the hill. the firing rty
took positions in front, and all was in r ’ 955
for the fearful tragedy.

I remember now how rapidl I thought, my
mind sometimes dwelling on t e most trivial
things, long forgotten, but now returned as fresh
as though they ad happened but yesterday.

I closed my eyes to murmur a brief prayer
learned in childhood, and with them still closed,
never, I supposed, to again open to things
earthly, I heard the first command, followed by
the click, click, click, as the carbines were
cocked.

But my strained ear caught another sound as
ell.

It was the faint hoof-strokes of a horse ridden
rapidly, and they drew nearer and with as—
tonishing swiftness. The sound was heard by
others as well, and a momentary pause in the
dreadful proceedings ensued.

They were now near at hand, and the next
instant a horse. panting with the exertion of his
swift race, and ridden y an old man with flow-
ing white hair, dashed into the opening, scatter-
ing the firing party right and left, andaltogether
producing the greatest excitement.

Lea. ing from the saddle as lightly as though
he had) been a youth of twenty, instead of a man
of sixty, he glanced eager] around, and discov-
ering me among the con emned, he uttered a
loud cry of alarm and anger, and rushing for-
ward threw both arms around my neck.

It was the old don, whose daughter I had
saved, and somehow or another I immediately

W

felt that it was now his turn to save me, and
that he would do it.

And he did.
In as few words as possible he explained

speaking French as fluently as a native, who I
was, and how I came to be in the hands of the
guerrillas, and then, drawing a large, 19 -look-
ing document from his bosom, he han ed it to
:13. French ofiicer, and calmly awaited its peru-

The paper, whatever it was, produced a re»
markable change in the man’s manner, who, in
returning it, begged to offer as many apologies
as I and he chose to accept.

hour or so after, all drawed up—his knees
touchin’ his chin, an’ his arms sort of before his

Well, I thus ot away from both guerrillas
and French, an , would you believe it! it made
such an impression upon my mind, that in just
as short a time as possmle I got away from the
country, perfectly satisfied to escape with a
whole skin, even though my pockets were in a
fearfully emaciated condition.

 

 

What Frighteflgg Bob Carter.

BY FRANK H. CONVERSE.

 

BOB CARTER was sixty-five years old and
wore spectacles—which latter institution is as
uncommon amon the seafaring fraternity as a
wooden leg woul be.

And yet the old man was always the first one
aloft, in “ shortening sail ”—could take as good
a trick at the wheel as any one on board—and,
to all appearances, was as smart and active as
any of our crew.

“ Rather a hard life for a man of your years.
Bob.” said I, one night, after four hours 0
shortening sail in a nor’wester on the Banks of
Newfoundland, in which it had seemed as
though the half-furled sails would have blown
from the yards before we could secure them,
so stiff and iced up were they with the frozen
sleet.

The old ship, cotton—loaded from Mobile for
Liverpool, was now lying to under close—reefed
main-topsail and fore-staysail, making very
good weather of it, as cotton ships generally
do when hove to, and seldom taking any water
on board, though a terrible sea was running,
and the wind was shrieking through the taut-
ened weather-rigging with a sound that one
never hears at any other time, and which will
make one think of home, if anything will.

We were stretched out on a spar lashed un-
der the weather—bulwarks, longing for our
Weary watch to come to an end, though there
were still three hours of exposure to cold and
darkness.

“Yes,” answered Bob, “it is a hard life,
’speciallg for any one who has known a better
one—as fancy you hawk”

“Never mind me, Bob,” said I, somewhat
hastily, for I seldom, in those days, spoke of
my pasc, “ but give us the yarn—how you hap-
ned to be here, at your age."

“It’s the old story; nothing very sing’lar or
strange—that part of it ain’t," answered the
old man, sorrOqully; “ though there’s b’en
enough in my life that was strange I‘ve b’en
in the ‘Sailors’ Snug Harbor,’ over to Staten
Island, for goin’ on ’leven year,” continued
Bob, “ untel six weeks ago. I was jest such an
01’ fool as to go over to New York with about
fourteen dollars that I’d made weavin’ basket-
wor .

“An’ of course I couldn’t keep away from
places where I should be like to find some of
my 01’ shi mates; an’ the most likel place to
find an 01 sailor lays down round ater and
Cherry streets, where a man ’u’d get ‘shook
down’ for a dollar, quicker’n he could say
‘knife.’

“ It was forty-two year that I hadn’t touched
a drop of whisky, an’ the way I happened to
leave cfi‘ is the strange thing that I’m goin’ to
tell you of. ’fore I get through.

“ An’ I ’lowed that it would take a smart man
to get a drop down my throat, an’ so I went
into Tommy H ’s Sailor Boardin'-H0use. an’
ran across Joe Howard an’ two or three other
chaps, that was in the ship Mogul with me a
couple of v’yages before.

“ \Vell—it ain‘t worth while tellin’ the rest
that went on while I was there. I woke up
next mornin’ an’ found myself in the fo’rastle
of the ol’ ship Mar Bangs, with a splittin’
headache, a bag of 0 ’ sailor duds, an’ bound to

 

 

Mobile.

“ I’ve b’en ‘ shangh‘ied ’ once before, an’ I no-
ver was so mad in all my born days! Men was
scarce then, an’ was havin’ thirty-five dollars
for the run to Mobile, so Tommy H— had
drugged m liquor got in advance, an’ shoved
me aboar the 'ary angs, de’d drunk—a
trick that he’s b’en playin’ on 01’ sailors for
twenty year, more or lcss, an’ theya always
threaten to kill him if ever they get ck—an’
never do.

“ That‘s how I come here; I stayed by in M0-
bile, 2111’ got enough shirts to las’ me across, an’
am makin’ the best of it.”

“ And how was it that you knocked off drink-
ing?” said I, as Bob heaved a 1011 sigh for the
comforts of the “ Sailors’ Snug arbor,” and
bit off a piece of tobacco.

“ Oh that’s another thing,” said the old man,
“ but don’t mind tellin’ you, seein’ it’s two
hours yet to eight bells,” and settling himself
anew on the spar, Bob commenced:

“ When I was twenty year old, I was jest the
most reckless chap that ever you heard of . An’
in them days, it’s fair to say that I didn’t care
for man, an’ I never thought of God, an’ so I
went from bad to wuss

“ What made me so is neither here nor there
—there was a woman to the bottom of it, as
there most gen’rally is to all deviltry, an’ so I
shipped ’fore the mast in a smuggler, an’ sauce
that time, up to the time I part y lost my eye-
sight through bein’ struck by li tenin’ on the
river Platte, I’ve sailed under ev’ry flag that
floats, ’cept the Chinese, an’ seen the world over
an’ over ’in.

“ In ’35, was to Barbaders, mate of a little
schooner, tradin’ for shells, mahogany, an’ palm
oil. an’ the like. out of New York, an’ the schoon-
er Phebe laid ’longside of us, owned by the same
owners, an’ in the same business.

“ ‘ Ever hear tell of the ‘ fiowerin’ cove,’ that
la s inside the lagoon to the west’ard of us?’
asked Bill Hunter, mate of the Phebe, as we sot
fightin’ sandfiies an’ smokin’, one evenin’, after
we’d knocked off work.

“ I’d heard the darkies say somethin’ about
it’s being an ‘ Obi’ place, as they call any
that seems like witchery to them, an’ so I tol
him, an’ we made up with a couple of the men,
and a darky or two to show us the way, to row
over there the next evening, before nightfall,
which. when the time came, we did.

“ We got inside the line of surf Without any
trouble, an’ rowed direck for the mouth of the
cove—a little land—locked piece of smooth water,
not more’n thirty rod or so square.

“ When we got within ten or twelve foot of
the mouth of the cove we eased our oars, as the
darkies bid us.

“ The top of the water was white with posies,
that looked for all the world like vi’lets, only
they was white. \

“ After we’d looked at ’em a spell, we rowed
into the cove,an’ whether you b’leeve me or not,
they disappeared like li’tenin’.

“ ‘ S’pose you lay still on car, you see ’em
’gain,’ said our darky cook, as we stared at one
another; an’ sure enough, as we kep’ still, first
one would shoot up, then another, then another,
till there was perhaps twenty of ’em in sight,
but not one within ten or twelve foot of the

t.
“ We fooled round for some time, ' ’ to get
hold of one, but the minnit ou’d ma e a speck
of noise, under they’d go, an as the surf was be-
‘nnin’ to break on the bar outside, an’ the dar-
Eies got scar’t, we had to leave.
“ l\ext night we was goin’ ashore nigh the
same place, an’ owin’ to not understandin’ how
to run a bOat throu h the surf . Sam Welch, who
was steerin‘, upsot er, an’ pitched us all inter
the water.
“ There was four of us—Sam, Bill Hunter,
Charley Decker, an’ a chap that called himself
Sullivan—a reg’lar desp’rado he was, too, an’
what was curi’s, he couldn’t swim, for all he’d
been oin’ to sea for twenty or thirty year.
“ c all got safe to shore but him: an’ I think
the boat must ’a’ knocked him on the head, for

we found him where the sea washed him up, an
most

face an’ a big bruise on his temple.

“ We carried him up to the only house there
was where an ole Scotch carpenter by the name
of ompson, who’d run away from a Whaler
thirty year before. an’ settled there, lived, an’
we tried to bring him to, but it warn’t no use.
Our boat was stove, so we couldn’t get back
aboard, an’ there was a storm comin’ up, sb we
laid Sullivan out in one of the two rooms on a
board, put across two chairs, an’ hopin’ that his
lim’s would come strai’t, so we could bury him
decent nex’ day, we lashed him to the

with some pieces of cord, an’ I went into the
next room.

“ Thom on was an 01’ reprobate anyway, an’
by his tal he’d done ’most everything that was
crooked, not leavin’ out piratin’, if what he said
was true, but as I said, I wasn’t none too
squeamish, an’ had seen some queer comp’ny in
my day; so when the old man brought out a
bottle of Santa Cruz rum. we took some all
round, an’ as it was rainin’ like cats and dogs,
with now an’ then a growl of thunder, some of
’em proposed a hand of cards to pass away the
time.

“ Well, it came on to thunder an’ lightnin’,
an’ blow, as it only can do in the tropics, but
we ke ’ at our cards, till on a sudden I heard a
noise in the room where Sullivan laid.

“‘ Hold on, boys,’ said I. ‘The cat has got
in the room ’———for cats is the master—hands to
know where anybody lays dead, an’ I’d seen one
round the house, an thought she might ’a’ got in
there.

“ ‘More like it‘s Sullivan wants to take a
hand,’ says Sam Welch, another reckless critter;
‘ but go ahead, Bob, if you ain’t frightened,’ an’
takin’ the candle in one hand an’ holdin’ his
cards with the other, we two started an’ the
others follered.

“We opened the door (the house was a little
one-story concern, built of bamboos, thatched
an’ wattled with cocoa-fibers, so as to let what
little air there was draw through it), an’ the
minnit we did so, a draught blowed the can-
dle out, an’ at the same time there came sech
a roar of thunder an’ blaze of reg’lar blue
lfigllitnin’ that it seemed as though the sky was
a] in’.

“And in that awful blue glare, that lit up
the room for as much as four or five seconds,
we see Bill Sullivan come up on end. with his
eyes starin’ horrible, an’ make jest as though
he was goin’ to spring in ’mongst us.

“ Sech another yell as I let out of me—an’ the
rest, too. for that matter—an’ the way we piled
out of that room wasn’t slow.

“ It was more’n half an hour ’fore I dared to
light the candle, for the rest of ’em had run
pell—mell out into the drivin’ rain, an’ I was
under the table. expectin’ every minnit that Bill
would grab me with his dead hands.

“ But. after we got over the scare a little, it
was all plain enough. The cords that we’d
lashed him down with was old an’ rotten, an’
the strain of his bent legs an’ arms, where his

breath left his body, was so great that they had
parted, jest as we happened to come into the
room.

“ We berried him next day, in a little place
fenced off, where there was two or three others
berried that had died of eller fever and the
like: but over his rave more off drinkin’.
an’ stuck to it for orty years, as I was tellin’
you, till six weeks or so ago.”

Just as Bob finished the welcome strokes of
the bell gave the signal to call the other watch,

£muscles an’ sinews had stiffened when the

story and my unpleasant surroundings in the
refreshing sleep of the sailor.

 

FIRST walking gentleman—“ Oh, yes, there
has been quite a revival in trade this fall.”
Second walking gentleman—“Ah, well, er— in
that case could yer advance me the loan of a
nickel?” First walking gentleman—“While
there has been a gratifying improvement, I
haienzt seen enough yet to justify me in taking
r15 5.

 

leaves from _i_i_ lawyer’s tilt.

at A. oounn run.
A Ghost on the Witness-Stand.

Ayres, one morning, as we sat In the office look—
ing-lover the usual morning mail.

8 handed me a delicate sheet of note—paper
on which was traced in a neat, lady’s hand the
following:

“ ILLIUI. February 12, 18—.
" Hussite. Suirn .5: Arm Amounts:—

“ (jsxruxssz—The writer hereof is desirous of
consulting with either or both of you in regard to a
legal matter of great importance. 8 rlct secrecy is
essential. Will you therefore, please call at No 27
Oak street this evening at nine o’clock promptly?
inquire at door for av ”

“ Humphl” I exclaimed, doubtfully, “secret
business, eh? It must be a strange business, in—
deed, if the lady cannot call at our omce. I
shall not go; you can do as you please about it,
Lewis.”

“ Twenty-seven Oak street is a highly respect-
able neighborh ,” said Ayres. “ If I recol-
lect rightly, Dr. Mason lives there. At any
rate, am just romantic enough to wish to
know what will come of it, so I will go,” and
Lewis laughed at my assumed look of indiffer-
ence.

“ All right,” I responded; “ keep a sharp look—
out, Lew, and remember, if she means business,
she will have money to pay a reasonable re-
tainer.”

And, thinking no more about the matter, I
proceeded with the current office business of the
day, and prepared some briefs for the next day’s
court.

The next morning I found Ayres at the office,
and as I entered, a smile full of meaning lit up
his face.

“ Well, tell us all about it,” I demanded.

“ Before I tell the story, let me show you this,”
he said, producing a roll of bills.

“ Retainer?”

“ Yes, sir, and a handsome fee to come,” he
said roudlg.

“ ell, w at is the case?” and I seated myself
leisurely, with my feet elevated upon a table,
lawyer fashion, and puffed away at my cigar,
while Ayres told me the result of his mysterious
visit.

“ I called promptly on time at No. 27, and my
ring was answered by a little ,mulatto girl, to
whom I stated my errand, and she conducted
me up—stairs, and into a fine waiting—room, and
then left me. I was growing impatient at
the delay, when a rear door opened and in step-
ped a lady, closel vailed.

“ ‘ Mr. Ayres, presume? she an.

“ ‘ Yes, madam. I have called in answer to
your note.‘

“ ‘ Ah! yes. I am obliged to you for the kind—
ness. Don’t think it strange, my dear air, if I
retain this .vail. The succea of my undertaking
requires that no one see my features until the
pro r time, which I hope will soon come.’

“ en she told me what she wanted in the
my of legal assistance, and her story is like

8:

“ Some five years ago she was living in a dis-
tant village with an uncle, a very eccentric and,

withal, penurious man, who was her legal
guardian. She at that time had a twm brot er

who had gone to the old diggings in California,

and these two were so 9 heirs toa large property.

At length a rumor came that the rother was

lost on his return voyage, and from that time

the guardian treated her with the utmost cru-

elty, and even attempted her life. As her uncle
he would be sole heir to her fortune if she was
out of the wa , and to accomplish this desired
end he plot against her life.

 

of

to the estate.
'An attorney from the city has been

and in ten minutes more I had forgotten Bob’s

The Villain at le succeeded, as he an
. Her body was ound horribly mutilated):
and the features defaced, and as the house was

robbed at thesametim 'itwaa un-
ammtmmhnumm

year-spamgdawa ,andthemin‘dol'w

has been gloating overhis f

in their pomesswn, as he supposed, gy the death

his wards.
“ But the lost boy now comes and lays claim
The case is already on for 

the case, but a sudden sickness prevents his at-
tondance, and by hissdvice this lady retoinsus
to attend the matter.”
“What attorney!” I asked.
‘ ‘ Your old friend—Martin Trench.”
“ Martin Trench l—so—so—well?”
" The case comes up this term for trial, and
this guardian—I forgot to tell on, his name is
Zach Weeks—has retained x & Brief to
defend im. The plaintifl, Mr. George Seldon.
will call and see us in a day or two, as he is now
in the city. and this mysterious lady will remain
incogéémtil she is called upon to testify.”

“ hary’yVeeks, you say, is the guardian!”

“ Y , Sir.
“ I’ve heard of him before. He is eithercrazy
or very eccentric. ”
Two days afterward, a tall bearded stranger
step into the ofiice and introduced himself
as rge Scldon, and gave us the full particu-
lars of this very singular case.
His story was in confirmation of that told to
Lewis Ayres by the vailed lady. He had been
suddenly stricken down, at the mines by a fever,
and hence the report of his death. On arriving
at San Francisco, chance threw him in the way
of his sister, who had gone thither in search of
him, and together they had returned to oust the
would-be murderer.
Her presence was to remain a secret until the
time of trial, when the murderer was to be ar—
raigned face to face with his supposed victim.
Ayres rubbed his hands in glee at the prospect
of defeating our old enemies, Leex & Brief. and
until the day of trial came, he was almost unfit
for any other business.
I noticed that by some means Ayres found it
necessary to visit No. 27 Oak street quite fre-
uently, and at length I questioned him about
t

pd

“ Have on seen beyond the veil. Lewis!” I
asked one ay, after he had spoken of the my
terious lady. -
A deep b ush mantled his cheeks at the very
pointed question.

“That is a leading question, Smith, and al—
ways overruled on direct examination.”

“ Well, you might as well answer it fully now,
as your cheeks ha ve impeached you.”

‘ Well, as you are the uestioner, I’ll not re
fuse. I have seen behin that vail. It is no
lon er worn now when I call. You understand.
Smith, even if you are a dried-up old bachelor,”
and laughin at his joke on me, he w more
confidential in relation to the lady, an I was sat-
isfied that the removal of that vail had been the
cause of Lewis Ayres losing his heart.

But I was not ‘ to chat! him further
about it, knowing 11 well that a short time
would reveal the whole story.

The returned Californian was a lion in the
society of Illium. He sported the best clothes,
drove the nicest team, and was at once taken
into best circles.

With Lewis Ayres he was a frequent compan—
ion and I even saw Lewis in a fine turn-out
with the vailed lady for company. She became
the subject of many strange surmises, and the
town was full of rumors as to her probable
identity, but no one could boast of having seen
her face.

On this subject Lewis was as close as an oyster,
and no amount of questioni by his associates
could induce him to speak of er.

So, by the time the day of trial came, public
interest was worked up to a high pitch, and the
court—room was filled with a curious crowd.

Leex and Brief were promptly on hand, and
were accompanied by their client, Zachary
Weeks.

A glance at Weeks would reveal to any ob-
server a singular character. He carriedin his
face a craven, cowardly look, and his bent form
and long, bony hands stamped him as a covetr
ous, miserly wretch. A wary, idiotic stare
lurked in his small eyes, and seemed to belie his
known propensity for shrewdnesa

 

“ WHAT do you think of that!” said Lewis

mass.
sun 'fromher

The day was consumed in preliminary auigu-
ments, and the impanneling of a jury, (1 ng
which I was surprised at the shrewdness and wit
of my young partner, Lewis Ayres. I felt a
pardonable pride in the young) man, and 1 saw
that he was creating a favora le impression on
the expectant public.

The next day, all being in readiness, the tak-
in of testimony for the claimant began.

‘ orge Seldon was put through a rigid cross-
exunination by Leex & Brief, but never waver-
ed from his story. Documents and witnesses
were produced to establish his identity, and the
case for the. plaintiff rested.

Zachary Weeks next testified, and told a very
creditable story. His manner showed that he
was a man of some natural talent, and, becom-
ing warmed up in the relation of his care and
love for the wards intrusted to him, and his elo-
quent lament over their unhapp fate, be
swayed the jury, until I began to ear_that he
would carry his case by his splendid acting.

I was amazed that a creature so abject in
every look could display such powers of lan-
gu e, and his relation of the sad death of his
walls by the foul assassin drew tears to the eyes
of jurors and spectators.

I feared for my young friend Lewis, when he
came to the cross—examination of this man.
But he seemed cool and collected, and his hand-
some face was lightened up by a smile of evident
satisfaction as he questioned the eloquent

ardian.

“ Do you believe that the spirits from the un-
known world ever visit those who have wronged
them here?” asked Lewis, standing in front of
the old hypocrite, and looking steadily into his

snaky eyes.

lVeeks ed visibly, and it was plain that the
question touched the superstitious side of
his nature.

- “ I have never seen anything of the kind,”
slowly answered the old man, as if trying to
make out Ayres’s intention.

“ Let me call to your mind a scene,” continued
Ayres. “ It is a large chamber in an old man-
sion house. The hour is midnight, but a feeble
light in the room shows a beauqu maiden sit-
tin in a chair. asleep, with the various articles
of ress lying near. The candle flickers and
burns low, as the chamber door is slowly opened
and the stealth form of a man enters and ap-
proaches the s eeping figure from behind. A
cruel knife litters in his hand, and he raises it
for the fata blow.”

At this the hush of death pervaded the crowd—
ed court—room, and all eyes were bent on Lewis,
and the wretched old man, who began to trem-
ble before him.

“The glittering blade descends: a convulsive
shudder, and all is o’er. The blood of that in-
nocent maiden dyes the rich carpet; the candle
gives its last feeble ray, and then all is dark—

“ look—old man, your victim has found you
at last i” [IO-111%“) the silent, white fifiixire of a
female that 8 near, with her cold, ed eyes
stariflf at the trembling old man.

A ' once even more intense reigned for a mo-
ment as all on this tableau.

Paler grew the blanched face of Weeks as his
eyes seemed fixed on the white figure that con-
fronted him. His jaw dropped.and 1:39 drops
of Perspiration stood out on his foreh .

‘ It is herl” he gasped, “Eva Seldon. arisen
from her ve to confront me. Back! Oh,
God help me!” as the white figure seemed to
glide toward him.

“ Ha, the curse of gold! I killed her. I
murdered her for her gold. It is mine! mine!
ah-ha—”. ‘

He was a raving maniac!

With dimculty the officers overpowered him;
thestrengthof adonenmenaeemedtolle inhia
bony arms, as, with frothing lips, he raved and

The ghostly figure of Eva Seldon sunk back
inaswoon,asLewisA rungtoheraid.
Thecommofionm, , inthecs‘owdot
excited peoplaand as themadman was ’ e
away, the room was soon emptiedof the g
A terribly  by *
Tl: murdered girl was her servant-maid,who
had borrowed some of her garments to attend
an evening party—and returning to her cham-
Eier, had been mistaken by the murderer for his
ece.
Lying in her bed, Eva Seldon had witnessed
the horrid deed, and had fled for her life, and
spent years in fruitless search for her brother.
The superstitious mind of Zac Weeks had
given way at sight of her face, an death found
1m in the mad-house.

The brother and sister took on of
their rightful inheritance, and Laws Ayres took
Mon of the ghostly witness, who is now

s m e.
“ Smith, your turn will come some day,” he
often says to me.
“ I hope I won’t marry a ghost,” is my feeble
retort.

tcbti tothesceneso

 

 

Telephone Echoes.

Starr music—ores.

“WON’T you turn over a new leaf!” “I will,
pa, in the spring. Can’t do it this time of year,
you know.’
PRINTERS, as a rule, are not fond of pi.
Whenever it is furnished by the foreman it is
always oust-’ard.

THE man who went to the country for “ rest
and change,” sa 3 the waiters got most of his
change and the dlord the rest.

“ I CAN always tell,” says Jenkins, “ when a
little boy has marriageable sisters by the atten-
tion which he receives from the young men.”
“As! Mr. Deidtrich, got a balg at your
house?” “ Yes, Mr. Murphy.” “ irl?” No,
sir-ee; not this time." “ It’s a boy, then!”
“ Oh, somebody’s been telling you.”

“TEACH your daughter,” says a reformer,
“ that a dollar is onl one hundred cents.”
That‘s ri ht. It would a very foolish parent
who wo d teach his daughter that it was worth
more than that.

CENTRAL PARK is to have a colossal bust of
Washington Irving, by Frederick Beer an Aus-
trian artist. It seems to us that Beer has been
more or less connected with various other colos-
sal busts heretofore.

E. P. Ron’s new story is entitled “ An Original
Belle.” It is inferred the belle assists her mother
to do the housework, instead of thrumming on
the piano and readin novels all day. That
would be something original for a belle.

WE never could make out why girls were so
interested in the reports of yacht races, until we
happened to catch one the other da with her
finger on this e: “ In making e turn the
Mattie h the buoy closest, and so secured
the lead.”

IN a murder trial in Ohio. a witnem swore that
the prisoner layed the banjo. The jury re-
turned a ve ict of murder in the first degree
without leaving their seats. If it had not been
for the banjo evidence it is believed they would
have been out two days and ' .

“ ON the top and surface. brethren,” said a min-
ister last Sunday, “ things are often clean and
right, but it is when we look bel0w and explore
the depths that we appreciate the meannem and
deceptions of our fellow-creatures.” He had
been buying a barrel of apples ev1dently.

“ I ATTENDED two theaters the first night I
was in New York,” wrote a rural buck to his
fond parents, “ and three balls the next. Had a
glorious time the first. and only got two dollars
on my watch the next.” _ The unsophisticated
old people are still wonderin g what he meant.

WE never like makm' g trouble at our board-
ing-house about the quality ohbutter served
but when it is strong enough to liftthe bread 0
the table and climb up on the ceiling With it we
have hard work to refrain from telling the mis-
tress that the guileless farmer has 1111pr upon

 

her innocence.

 

 

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