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COPYRIGHTED m 1882 as BEADLE AND ADAMS.

 

 

 

 

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Vol. I.  gums. NEW YORK, DECEMBER 2, 1882.    No. 3 '

 

 

 

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5

‘ Here comes the hearse: now for some lively

LION-HEARTED DICK;

OR,
THE GENTLEMAN ROAD-AGENT.

A WILD TALE OF CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE.

 

BY ALBERT “'. AIKEN,

AUTHOR or “OVERLAND KIT,” “TALBOT or CINNABAR,” “CAPTAIN mos TALBOT,” “THE
RED MAzanA," "LA MARMOSET,” “FRESH or mam," are, ETC.

CHAPTER I.
HELD UP.

Tin sun has one down behind the far Wcst—
ern hills; the usk of the evening is stealing
fast over hill and dale: the peak of Shasta looms
up like a white-sheeted ghost in the dim light,
looking down in silent majesty upon the lonely
trail windin like a curving snake by the banks
of S asta’s 8i ver river.

One living thing only is visible in all that wide
expanse of country, lorded over by the old
mountain, whose summit is forever crowned
with . diadem ( f everlasting snow.

In a little g'lade by the side of the trail stands
a man, roughly clad, and fully armed, a perfect
specimen Of manly exwllence. A revolver is in

 

his hand and he is trying the working of the

weapon, while his attention is eagerly fixed
upon the coming of a stage coach, just visible in
the distance, mounting the crest of a hill. A

clump of rocks, shaded by bushes, half-conceals
the watcher.

“ Here comes the hearse; now for some lively

music!” he cries.

’Tis plain there‘s mischief afoot!

 

Out from Cinnabar City. in the shadow of
great Shastu’s peak, rolled the coach, northward
gound to the mining-camp known as Shasta

ar.
Murdock, and his fair daughter, Carlotta, two
people who will play a prominent part in our

And in the coach went the banker, Allan

the extent of a foot or more.

 

tale.
scribe one of the oddest men in California who
handled the reins of the stage.

Indigo Jake, the stage-driver, was a most do-
cided character. He was a tall, lanky spcci-
men of humanity, very sparing of words, and
yet speaking with a culture that lainly sham d

e was a man of fine education. Vhat his right
name was no one in the Shasta region knew.
\Vhen he had first made his appearance, in an—
swer toinquiries, he had given his name as Jake,
and as his complexion had a peculiar blue tinge,
after the old fashion common to the mining re—
gion, a nickname was at once lw~towed upon
billltl, pnd Indigo Jake he had ever since been
ca .e( .

But of them more anon: first we will de~ '

l

He was a good driver, and a man thoroughly ,
to be depended upon. although well known to ‘
be a terribly hard drinker. and in regard to :

this a joke of his captured the town. When
somebody in his hearing made the remark that
he was a hard drinker, he indignantly denied
it, and said he drank easier than any other man
in thc camp, and he would bet ducats on it, too.

There were four passengers in the coach.
Murdock and his daughter, who sat on the
back seat, Colonel Wash Perkins, and Lee Sing,
an almondeyed son of the East, who occupied
the front one.

The colonel was one of the oldest inhabitants
of the Bar. He was a man of fifty. almost a

giant in size, with a noble, JackSon—like head,

the summit of which was quite bald, while an
iron-gray beard swept down over his chest to

 

He was the ex- .

music .

press-agent and postmaster of the camp—a man
universally liked, althou h be had one great
fault: he was an inveterate drinker; in fact,
the postmaster and the stage-driver were the
two champion “fire-water tossers” of the re-
gion, and it was an opcn question not only who
could drink the most liquior but who could show
it the least, for the Shasta-Barite did not exist
who could truthfully say that he had ever Seen
either one of the chain )lOHS in such a condition
that he could not staml up to the counter and
take his “ bug-juice" like a man.

Lee Sing, who was distinguished by the fact
that he was the only heathen in the town, ran
a flourishing washing establishment, and was
further renowned for being the most desperate
and dotermincd gamblcr in the upper country
—a lucky one, too, for he gcncrully Won, al-
thou h the envious miners said that in “short—
card ’games, poker, cucher, and the like, this
was due more to his superior skill as a cheat
than to fortune snnlin: upon him. Be this as
it may. the Chinaman had never been detected
in any foul play. He had been quite a while in
this country and spoke very good English, al-
thourh as a rule not much given to talking.

It was not a seciable party, for the banker
and the Colonel were not on the best of terms.
Thu cnlOncl was an outspoken man, particularly
whcn in liquor, and when Murdock had first
hung out his shingle in the Bar, the postmaster
immediately took an unaccountable dislike to
him, without any reason whatever, as he had
taken occasion to declare himself. when, at the
bar of the Quiet House, as the principal hotel

 

was called, he had ventilated his opinion of the
new—comer.

Murdock, though, never said a word against
the colonel, except that it was a pity so nice a
man should drink so much.

But without any reason there was a barrier
between the two, and though each was scrupu-
lously polite to the other whenever they met,
yet they did rot harmonize.

On the present occasion the colonel was very
much in ii nor as usual. He had happened to
meet the hinaman in Cinnabar City on the
previous evening, and, for the honor of the
“ Bar,” they had set out to astonish the nativm,
and succeeded in doing it, too. The colonel had
stood up to the bar of the principal hotcl nnti‘
every opponcnt who dared to dispute his title
of “chiet” had been carried oif on convenicnt
shutters, and then he had accompanied Lee Sing
on the “war-path” around town, and by the
time morning came the heathcn had “ b’usted 7’
four l'aro banks, skinned three “wheels of for--
tune,” troke up one monté game and cleaned
out the poker-players of the town of all their
loose cash. And now, with an honest five thou-
sand dollars in his ample pockets, the spoils of
the night. Lee Sing oozed away in the corner
with a contented mind, “ allee samee ’Mclican
maul”

The colonel, although his head was in a bad
condition, for he had not had an opportunity to
sleep off the night’s debauch, was attracte by
11:1urdock’s daughter the instant he got into the.

ack.

Murdock had expected, as a matter of course,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

,. ~.A..D‘F'" \

   

 

—¢.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 
 
  
 
    
 
  
  

 

 

 

 

 

  

.i

   

 

 

that he would have company on the journey,
but he was much annoyed when the colonel and
his companion entered the stage, and great as
was the command he had over his features it
was as much as he could do to avoid showing
his displeasure.

The colonel nodded to the banker when he
got in and then, after settling himself down
comfortably for the journey, fell to studying
the face of the girl. _

Murdock’s sharp eyes soon discovered this and
it did not tend to lessen the feeling of annoy-
ance which he already felt.

The stage rattled on its way for a good half-
hour before the silence was broken; then the
colonel, unable to content himself longer With
studying the face of the oung lady, spoke: _

“I beg your pardon, r. Murdock, {be said,
“ but I take it that you are escorting this young
lad ?”

C-Si’irlotta had noticed the steadfast gaze of the
old gentleman, but as it was entirely respect-
ful, although rather more earnest than the laws
of courtesy allow, it did not materially annoy
her.

“Yes, sir," replied the banker, shortly, as
thouoh he disliked the inquiry. _

“ tis very strange, but it seems to me as if
I have seen this young lady before, and yet for
the life of me I cannot remember where,” re—
marked the colonel, musingly, the words ad-
dressed more to himself than to his companions,
and as he spoke he allowed his head to fall for-
ward upon his breast.

Murdock fidgeted uneasily u )on his seat,
while the girl lookcd amazed. She knew that
she had never seen the gentleman before, for he
was far too different from the common run of
men to be easily forgotten, when once seen.

At this point the Chinaman, who had appar-
ently been fast asleep. opened his eyes for a
moment, took a good look at both Murdock and
the girl, as if he too was curious about her, then
he shut his orbs again and appeared to be totally
unconscious of all around him.

This movement did not escape the banker,
and it served to increase his uneasy feeling, for
he distrusted the smooth and oil heathen, be-
lieving him to be a deep a d subt e man.

“I do not thin'v‘, colone , that you have ever
seen this lady before,” Murdock remarked,
“ for she has just come from an Eastern'board-
ing-school where she has been ever since she
was a little girl.”

“And why on earth does she come to this
God forsaken region, fit only for savage beasts
and half civilized men worse even than the
beasts whom they supplanted?” cried the old
man. bluntly.

“She is my daughter, colonel, and the only
home she has is with me.”

“Your daughter!” and the colonel sat bolt
upright and stared as if he could hardly be-
lieve it. '

be ugly and rush things in too great a hurry,
for there’s a lady inside the hearse.” ,

“ Now, Jake, do you take us for a set of
know-nothing galoots?” responded the outlaw,
in an injured tone. “ Do ou think we don’t
know exactly who We are ‘ olding up’? Why,
vou make me blush for your ignorance! It_ Is
all on account of the lady that we are coming
so gentle at this matter, for our reg’lar way of
doing business is to plug the drivor and two or
three of the passengers at the furst of it so as to
avoid trouble. We always get along furst-rate
with a driver arter we put a bullet clean through
him. That is the kind of an introduction a man
never forgets.”

Despite his coolness, a shiver passed over the
driver’s frame as he listened to this announce-
ment.

Just open communication with your pards
in the hearse and see how they will have it,”
the man continued. “Ask them if they sur-
render, and come down gracefully, like Captain
Scott’s ’coon, or will they show fight?”

“ I reckon they’ll play ’coon this time,” re—
sponded Jake, dryly. Then he spoke to the pas-
sepgers: “ Gentlemen, the road-agents have got
us foul, and they want to know what game you
calculate to play ’5”

It was hardly necessar * for Jake to ask the
question, for every wor of his conversation
with the outlaw had been overheard by those in
the coach—that is, by those who were awake, for
the colonel was in a sleep so dense the stoppage
of the vehicle had not served to rouse him, nor
the urgent punches which the Chinaman, who
was only pretending- to sleep, had given him
slyly with his elbow.

“ We surrender, of course,” responded the
banker.

“ Ob, father, what does it mean ?" Carlotta
whis red hurriedly in her father’s ear. “ I am
sure know the voice of that man, although he
is speaking in a feigned tone in order to disguise
it ’7

“ Oh, nonsense, nonsense! It is only your
imagination,” Murdock replied, evidently much
astonished by this declaration.

“No, no! The voice is familiar to me, and I
have heard it very recently, too!”

During this whispered conversation the driver
had conveyed to the outlaw the intelligence of
the passengers’ surrender.

“ There is where they are sensible,” he re-
marked. “ It is always better to save trouble
and be agreeable when we can.”

Then the masked man came directly up to the
coach window.

“ Sorry to trouble you, good folks, but busi-
ness is business, you know. I am toll-gatherer
on this road, and I shall be obliged to trouble
you to get out and deliver. Not you, miss; la—
dies we always pass free.”

The banker and his daughter seemed to be the
only ones in the coach who were awake, for

will have the grand laugh on me cl‘ar from the
city to the Bar when this hyer thing looks out.”

Murdock _
seats; then Jake whipped up his horses and
drove on. When he came to the clump of
bushes where the suppOSed road agents lay
crouched, he saw that the bold foot-pad was
right. The men with the rifles were only a
pair of old coats and bats, dextrously arranged
on sticks, scarecrow fashion, with the sticks so
arranged as to look like rifles, stuck through
the shrubbery. . _

The driver halted by the dummies that his
passengers might admire the clever contrivance
which had answered the road-agent‘s purpose
so well.

“\Vell. sir, you can take me for a bootjuck
if this fellow hasn’t given us the cleverest deal
I ever heard tell of!” the driver exclaimed.

The Chinaman, who, since the departure of
the outlaw, had given up his retended_sleep,
and had been ocr-upying himse f by staring at
the banker in a manner highly disagreeable to
that gentleman, groaned aloud.

“ One man,” he muttered, “one man, and he
for us go, welly good; me hab pistol, too, and
no use ’um; oh, oh!”

Murdock’s face wore a puzzled expression as
he looked out upon the dummies.

“ I don’t understand it,” he murmured.

“ IVhat did you say, father?” Carlotta asked,
whose quick ears had partly caught the mut-
tered words.

“I said, I don’t understand it—I don’t under-
stand how we could all be stupid enough to be
caught by such a shallow trick. The idea! Four
of us here, all armed, and yet allowing ourselves
to be robbed by one man! Upon my word, it is
a most disgraceful thing!”

“ Five t’ousand dollcc, one lick, dam I” ejacu-
lated L=e Sing, with a bitter vim.

“Gentlemen. it is the biggest joke of the se '-
son!” Indigo Jake observed. “ I reckon the
boys at the Bar will give it to us hot and
heavy for our share in this hycr deal. I don’t
know how the rest of the funeral feels about it,
but as far as I am concerned, I would like to
sell out and I would do it cheap, too!” Then.
with a “ ghlang!” he whipped up his steeds and
again the coach went on its way.

Murdock laid back in his corner, his brows
contracted and an (ariest look upon his face:
he was evidently in a bl‘OWll stud y, and all the
while the heathen watched him from under his
half‘closed eyelids.

The colonel still slept on, and the girl as she
looked at his noble head thought what a pity
it was that such a man should be a slave to the
demon liquor.

For about an hour the stage proceeded, noth-
ing occurring to disturb the monotony of the
journey;

The moon which rose early bad now gained
sufficient hight to illuminate the face of the

and the Chinamnn resumed their!

' to the torture order to make him confess the
truth, and so he also watched eagerly.

But Murdock’s confidence that he would not
; be harmed was fully justified. The interview
5 barely lasted five minutes, and tbongb‘ both

men seemed to be earnest enough, yet they

Were pacific, but none of the watchers could

make out what the two were saying.
At the end of the conferencoihe outlaw leader
gave a thrill whistle; the men who “ held up.”
the stage cried, “So-long!” and rejoimd their
captain. He said a few words to them, then all
three waved their hands as a parting sulutation
to the coach, and plunging into the bushes, dis-
appeared.
“They are going for road-agent No. 1," the
banker explained, when he came up. “The
' chief of this gang thought the story was a sell,
' but I finally succeeded in convincing him that

it was the truth, and he swears he will get
leven with the other chap if it takes him a
! month.”

Murdock resumed his seat, the coach went on
iits way and in due time arrived at Shasta
' Bar.

The excitement produced in the town by the
recital of the coach’s adventures was great.
Never since the town was a town had the citi-
zens so much to talk about, and the more they
speculated upon the strange occurrence the
greater became their rage and bewilderment.

CHAPTER IV.
A I’ECULIAR \VOMAN.

ALL the t0wn looked forward earnestly to
the arrival of the stage on its next trip up from
! Yreka.

Although Shasta Bar had had a lccal “ habi-
tation and a name ” for a little over twrlve
months, yet such a thing as a roadeagent had
never been known in the neighborhood: in fact,
3 for a plac » on the outskirts of civilization. the
i camp held within its confines as few bad char-
acters as any town of its size in all California.

Singulzirly free, too, had it been from acts of
violence ever since the first pick entered the
’ ground at the Bar. Of course there had been
. little skirmishes at times. a personal quarrel or
’two, followed by a “shooting match ” in the

street, and once in a while a fisticnff encounter,
; but for all this, as California frontier towns go,
Shasta Bar was a regular Sunday-school sort of
a Settlement.

It was not to be wondered at. then, that the
irruption of two road agent gangs in one night
in its neighborhood should create an excite-
ment.

To this purport had Uncle Solomon Rotbs-
child spoken to the usual crowd of loungers
who assembled nightly in his store.

'Uncle Sol, as be was generally called, kept
the large general store at the Bar. where, it
was his boast could be found everything from
a needle to an anchor.

 

 

as he went along his fingers clutched it as if he
was afraid of losing the precious com.

Two bits meant an cyosopener to steady his
neives, and for which his abused stomach
yearned.

But as he stop id before the door of thc fe-
male barber’s a up a wild desire Seized "Ill n
him. He felt an insatiable impulse to go in and
get shaved.

"I hain‘t bad a razor scrape my face for a
dog’s age,” he muttered. “ Durn my cats! if i
ain’t a'most forgot how it feels to have a fellci
take yer by the nose and till yer mouth up with
lather. I reckon it won’t cost more than tWo
bits. Cuss the cocktail, anyhow! I’ll jest show
the durned p'isou that it don’t own the hull oi
Ule jest yit!’

And Bully advanced to the shop. He didn’t
walk straight up to it, like a man, but sidled to-
ward it, as though afraid tl at u hen he got m or
some one would jump out at l im.

But when he got close enough to the door to
prep in, he saw that the mistress of the estub
lishment was in the inner room, apparently en-
gaged in preparing her breakfast.

Dough small, the shanty was divided into
two apartments. The front one was arranged
for the barber’s shop, while the one ln'tbe rear
she had fitted up as a living room.

1’ course such a thing as a barber‘s chair
was not be had in Shasta Bar, but by afiixing
a headrest to the backs of some common chairs
a fair substitute had been provided.

Just on the thresho'd, with his hand on the
knob of the door, old Thompson’s courage failed
him, and he was about to retreat, when the lady
perceived him through the glass window in the
upper part of the door.

Thompson felt that he was caught, and with
the courage of despair, hardly knowing what-
he did. he turned the knob and entered the shop.

“Did you \Vl>ll to get shaved this morning,
sir?" ask: (1 the lady, in the rich. melodious voice
which more than one love-stricken swain, in the
fin-«if long ago, had sworn was the most per-
fect of music.

“ I was a-kindcr thinkin‘ ’bout it, marm,” rc-
plied Thompson, making the best bow of which
he was capable.

“ Walk in, sir, mid sitdown; I shall be pleased
to serve you. This is not exactly San Fran
cisco or New YOik style, but, of course, up in
this wild region we must do the best we can.”

“ Sart’in, marm, sart’in,” murmured the
miner, like a man in a dream, taking the prof-
fered chair.

“ I suppose, like all harbors, I ought to follow
the custom and suggest to you that you ought
to have your hair cut also,” she remarked,
with a smile upon her carewom face, and so
sweet that, as the miner said afterward, it
seemed to go right to the heart of a man.

“ Well. I reckon I would like it, warm, but.
the trouble is, I’m ’bout down to bed rock now.”

“ Yes; possibly you can detect a resem- neither the Chinaman nor the colonel stirred. country. Some one suggested that the first road-agent “I do not understand; I am not used to this
blame?” “I suppose there is no use of trying to beg About half he distance had been cov:red, could hardly be classed as a gang, seeing that mining country, norto the odd brases that I

“ Not a mite!” responded the other abruptly.
“ But, oh! how her face comes back to me from
the lapse of distant years, and what a flood of

inful memories it brings up! I thought I
Ella forgotten all my troubles long ago. I have
drank whisky enough to float a ship, and all to
keep me from thinking of the past. Ah! young
lady, if you are going to take up your quarters
in Shasta Bar I shall have to get out or else go
mad!”

Murdock affected to laugh.

“ You mustn’t give way to such ideas,
colonel; you are only out of sorts now. Will
you take a little brandy? It is good stuff; I
can recommend it.” And the banker drew a
flask from his pocket and proffered it to the
colonel.

The dull eyes of the old man sparkled, and
seizing the flask he took a good pull at it.

There was a strange expression in Murdock’s
0 es as he watched the liquor gurgling down
the throat of the other.

011’?" Murdock remarked, with a feeble attempt
at a smile, while Carlotta stared at the masked
man with all the eyes in her head, as if it was
possible to discover his identity through his dis-

ise. -
gu“ Not the slightest use, sir, and it would only
be wasting valuable time. I’m in no hurry, my-
self, you know, but my comrades out yonder are
deuced impatient fellows, and if I waste much
time hyer, talking with you, they will be apt to
let drive at the hearse, just for fun. So, you will
perceive, under the circumstances, there isn’t
anything for you to do but to get out and band
over your valuables as speedily as possible.”

“ ell, if we must, we must,” and the banker
alighted, took out his wallet and his watch and
handed them to the outlaw.

At the first glance at the watch, which was
only a plain silver one, worth perhaps ten dol-
fiirsd at the outside, the road-agent shook his

ea .
“Well, .really, Mr. Murdock,” he remarked,

and as the con. rolled out of a long defile into
a ragged. broken region three well-armed men
rose suddenly from amid the bushes. They were
all masked and threatened the driver with
their leveled weapons.

“ Halt, durn e!” cried the big, tall fellow in
the advance, W oseemed to be the leader of the
three.

“Halt it is!” responded the driver, pulling
up his steeds so abruptly that he forced the
horses back upon their bauncbes. “ Well,
upon my word if this ain’t the biggest kind of
a surprise—party l”

:‘gouibet it, is!” th to h fl

‘ ut taint any ing t 9 amp se- ty
that you’ll run into in a minute, ho, 113.21”
and the driver la bed, boarsely, for the joke
ap red to him to a most excellent one.

be masked men misunderstood his mean-

in .
g‘If you or any of the pilgrims inside offer
resistance it will be the worst ni ht’s work

he was all alone.

“You forget his men mid .der bushes. dcr
dummies,” the old Jew observed, shrewdly.
“Der dummies were der gang, and oh, Moses!
dey worked well. Mine fr’end, der first gang

‘ collared der plunder, and don’t you forget it!"

But when the stage got in that evening, on
time for a wonder, and the eager citiz ins sur-
rounded it anxious for news, ndigo Jake was
obliged to confess that the re wasn’t any.

“ Ain’t seen hoof nor hair of anything bigger
than a 'ack—rabbit this tri .”

Buti the stage hadn’t rcught any news of
the road—agents, it did convey into the Bar 9.
pamenger who was destined to be a subject of
much popular interest.

The new-comer was a woman, not young,
nor yet old; a woman who might be all the
way from thirtyfive to forty-five. She was
large in stature, splendidly formed, and possess-
ing a face which once evidently had been sur-
passineg beautiful, but which now was faded

 

hear. I suppose I am stupid, but really do not

 

 

 

know what you mean.”

“ Why, I am ’bout broke, marm. Two bits is
r’ally all I can chip in. and if you ante up any
more I sha’n’t be able to see the bank and sha l
haveto ass.”

“Oh, see; you do not care to spend more
than twenty-five cents.”

“ Gosh all hemlock! marm, I’d go a five-dollar
chunk if I had the dust!” cried Thompson, in a
sudden outburst of enthusiasm.

“ It is two bits for shaving and four hits for
hair-cutting.”

“ That is what I reckoned. I’m wealth
enough to stand being lathered and scrape ,.
but when you get beyond two bits I am over
my head and Will have to swim out.”

“Well, I will tell you what I will do. As
you are my first customer. and I want you to
give a good report of my Work, I will both
shave you and cut your hair for the two bits.”

‘i‘ Give the Chinaman a drink—that is if you “that isn’t the sort of time-piece a man like that you ever tackled!” cried the out w leader. by the effect of care and time. miner, eagerly.
think be 15 Christian enough toappreCiate good you ought to carry, you know. You ought to “Oh, you needn’t be skeered in regard to If one could jud e by her face she was a The lady proceeded to her task and never in
liquor.” ” ave a ig‘huntlng-case gold one, a ticker worth that,” Indigo Jake retorted. “ I’ve gottbe nicest woman who had ce inly seen much suffering all his life had the man been sha’ved better or
Biglearsrant ye! I d th 1 t d a cpluplepht hlpengiied slugs pt the leatst.” t ” ans mosif; peaceablliiar cfpwd aboa’fd ypu eveii saw, and many hardships. She was ladylike in her more expeditiously.
u so ingwasareayon eaer an tis e s can oor oua resen. an as ormse, mare ar amb, a l '. ' '
amending his hand for the bottle too , y y g in appearance nd manners, ap rently one who Then the hair cutting began, and a hard job

k a good
swi at it, and et Murdock, who was watch-
ing im, fancied, that it was all retense, and
that the heathen had not in rea ity tasted a
drop of the liquor. He did not say anything,

“ Oh, I‘ll take it, so that you will ave to get
the proper article, for, bonestl , it isn’t treat-
ing us gentlemen of the road right for men of
your stamp to be cartin round such trumpery
time-pieces, but as watc es were made to go—

Why, I wouldn’t hurt a fly! Oh, you can’t
scare up any fight in this crowd. any more than
you could in a Quaker meeting!”

talking ’bout a

“ W’ot do you mean then by
surprise-party?” growled the road agent cap-

had been we 1 brought up an finely educated.
She stopped at the Quiet House, Doctor J obn-
ny Allcash 3 hotel. the only decent inn the Bar
to , and after supper she sent for the

00 r.

it was, too, for Bully Thompson’s locks had not
been troubled by the barber’s shears for many
a long day. In fact, the bowie-knife is the
miners tool for hair-cutting, a trick borrowed
from the red men.

though, but pretended to takeadrink from the hey, presto! disappear!” And the man slid tain, suspiciously. Jobnn was a little round ros —faced ' ll ' ° ‘
flask when it came back to him and then put it both watch and wallet into his ca acious “Why, my gentle galoot, you are a daytoo soul, tug medical mlm of ’the ydistfict—nghz theA cliialifllfdwifigfiulgfiglfiissxla’ilagoedulfgoilg
awa . ket. “By the way,” he continued, “ never late that’s a l. ’ “clean white article” and no mistake, as all could have a view of 2

Y

“ e shall be late in getting in,” he re-
marked, “and I sulppOTe we ma as well make
ourselves comforta lo; a nap w be in order,
and, thank goodness, we are not likelyto be
disturbed on this route by road-agents or any
such cattle.”

“ Oh, no,” observed the colonel, beginning to

bought to examine but I take it the ten thou-
sand dollars which (you are carrying up for the
’H'lt Mining mpany is not in the wal-
e

The banker started.
“I don’t understand what you mean!” he
stammered.

“ in» late?”

“ That is what I said; nary rime will you
make to-night. There has been a party ahead
gt Iypu who has cleaned out the hearse, ho, ho,

0

An oath came from the lips of the leader, and

a chorus of exclamations from his satellites.

the town declared.
To the doctor, the lady, who gave her name
as Mngary Ashford, made known what she
r u .
‘ I think of startin

in business in this place,”
she announced, “an

I would like to rent a

the proceeding, and the
change which the shaving and the hair-cutting
made in his personal appearance was quite as-
tonishing;

As if y magic a half-score of years were
lifted from the miner’s shoulders and “Old
Bully Thompson” looked his title no more; on

. . . . 8 if ' scan ' '

triage are: dairies? “regs; .uth’ a. arms; a? asserts“  -. “masts. ..‘.t“....“*”’.rm“°d ewes:  the-m is "y m" m v t m “"3 33m”? hefmm’md 1‘“ a WWW"

_ _ ' - . y s mes, on 1 won 0 e aweara u , an a doctor reflected for u l - - ° i
this route in in life, and I reckon ’m about know, or you Will surely go to the bad pilm if you swear you won’t catch any fish. The town had been going ahead sgfilans‘tmllgtlecly dill huflilgeosill‘ grade"??? egglalifmgglsigmebxue
th‘e‘ oldest inhabitant of the Bar. . when you die.  want t 9 ten thousand dollars cuss went for us about six or seven miles back. there was hardly a vacant building to be had berant‘ lee at the chap e in his a a. 1106

No danger, and the banker settled back in on raised in Frisco from the sale of the stock [19 was all alone—did the trick single-handed, “ There isn’t anything that amounts  “ wé l ou do look like anotheg $01828” .

his corner as_if to compose himself to slee . ntrusted to Iyou by the Old Hat Mipiug Com- and it was as neat a job as ever was worked in much,” he remarked, after explaining to her “Ya ,ajhd somehow I d ’t ‘ tl . d

Twenty minutes went by; the gray o the y, and w ich, with a laudable down to save California.” Then the driver re‘ated how the that Shasta Bar was “booming” just then. 8' ' on "C y un er-

twilight was be 'nning to deepen into the
shades of night w on the coach came to a sad-
den stoppage in obedience to the command of a

e Old Hat folks the cost of the expressage,
you are bringing up yourself. Possibly you
are not aware of it but I am deeply interested

road-agent had fooled his
men in the bushes.
The outlaws were astounded; they came to-

prey by the dummy

“A very small one will do,

even if it is no
more than ten or twelve feet .

square. ”

stand it myself, but I feel different; if it wasn’t
for this ’tarqal shakine: s I believe I shouldn’t
feel as if I was more than twenty-five”

. . . . . The doctor had it 0 hi ’ i are .
h‘ilrfiill?'c%ufilflf,hofir§ii‘21::adead man,” 333’; $33,353 figfigugggflkeigust asth fifthetrh atlld dhek‘lw'a whigpgfii oonfell‘lence, and her what kind of a stgre fhfilfi‘ééfiffir soul‘s: tblt‘iigmudxgggiézim “marked, “News
.' . _ as ouan- en eeaer _ -. . ‘ _

Indigo Jake just took one (1 look at the edit over to the other fellers; so for out and “See hyer, how‘igllslieis thingef’oggcdegliuifiloevd, :‘iiigglgtfdlifihad a dignified way With her “Yas’ it,“ under Of a way 1 ve got mtO'”

glistening barrels of the rifles eveled full at his
cart and then pulled up his beasts with
prompt celerity. '

“Pardner, I pass, and you kin rake in the
pile!” he ejaculated.

“What’s the matter?” demanded Murdock,
in alarm.

A masked man, roughly dressed, came out of
the bushes.

* CHAPTER II.
A HIGELHANDED PROCEEDING.

THE newcomer was a stalwart, powerfully
built fellow, dresSed after the miner fashion in
big boots, rough pantaloons, and red shirt, but
in lieu of a hat he had a sort of a black bag
drawn over his head, extending to his shoulders,
with holes cut for eyes and mouth. so that his
identity was most effectually disguised. In his
hand he held a cocked revolver, and a couple
more were belted to his waist.

He came out of the bushes at a point just
gbpbiétatbirty yards from where the coach had

a .

 

In this same clump of bushes
two more men could be
ing down, rifle in hand.

“The. top of the evening to you, Jake, old fel-
ler,” said the road-agent, as be advanced lei-
surely toward the back. He spoke in a loud,

the figures of
distinguished, crouch-

don’t keep me waiting!” and the footpad flour-
ished his revolver in a menacing sort of way.

With a deep sigh Murdock pulled out a large
envelo securer sealed, from a secret pocket
in the roast of h 3 coat and handed it over.

“ I’m very much afraid if the Old Hat Com-
pany don’t get this money it will embarrass
them considerably,” be remarked.

“ Well, if the Mining Compan goes bu’st you
will have a chance to buy t e property in
cheap," the road -agent responded, pocketing the
valuable package. “ The colonel seems to be
asleep,” be said, turning his attention to the old
man. “ Just Wake him 11 , please.”

But this was easier sai than done, for Mur-
dock’s repeated shaking did not produce the
slightest effect.

“Been up all night, probably, with the boys
at Cinnabar. Have the kindness to ‘ go through ’
him, Mr. Murdock; that will do just as well.”

The banker murmureda little at this but the
leveled revolver enforced obedience.

The colonel did not “ an out” well, five dol-
lars in change being all the wealth he had upon
his person.

“ It is evident the colonel did not expect to
run across me or he would have journeyed bet-
ter ‘heeled.’ ” the man remarked. “ But mv
almond-eyed friend yonder will doubtless make
up for it. I heard that be cleaned out the

addressin his conversation to the banker.
“ What a at this yarn of the driver! [sit a
sure enough fact that we are a leetle late, and
that that ain’t no divy left for us?"

“ Yes, sir. it’s the truth ” responded Murdock,
showing by his face that he was sorely troubled.
“We were stopped by a masked man about an
hour or more ago, and he made a rich haul, too.”

Again a bitter oath escaped from the lips of
the baffled robber.

“And a nice set of pilgrims you are, to let a
single man hang you up,” he cried.

“ We were deceived by his cunning trick, and
thought there were three men altogether.”

“IVell, I ain’t satisfied exactly in my mind
about this, and I reckon I’ll have to ask you
to get out and walk a little way with us until
we get at the rights of the matter. This may
be some sort of a skin game on the part of you
pilgrims to get rid of paying us our money.”

Carlotta was alarmed in an instant for the
safety of her father.

“Oh, I assure you, sir, it is the truth!” she
protested, “ and I implore you not to hurt my
father.”

“Don’t you worry, miss; if this byer racket
has been given to us straight, we won’t do any
damage to anybody. I’Ve never shed blood if
we kin help it.”

“I’m quite willing to go with you, sir, and

damper to curiosit .

“Well, there’s a sort of a little shanty that
Rothschild built out from the right-hand side
of his store; be calculated to run a little saloon
therenand in fact did opgn the place, but the
first_nigh_t some of the ys kicked up such a
ruction, Just to worry the old man, and broke
somuch stuff, that be shut it up instanter, in
disgust at the hull business.”

. The doctor did not think it n to men-
tion that he and the other saloon keepers of the
town were interested in putting the “ boys ” up
to playing a racket on the old Jew as a g
joke, and thus adroitly disposed of what threat—
ened to be a dangerous rival.

Before she slept that night the lady had seen
the Hebrew and secured a lease of the store, but
Rothschild was careful to learn what kind of
busmesa she intended to carry on, for, despite
her.respectable appearance, with the usual sus-
picion of his race, the store-keeper jumped to
the conclusion that she wanted to start “ a
dance-house with saloon trimmings,” as be ex-
pressed it, and that would damage his store
next door materially.

Next day. the lady took possession and all day
long was bnSllV engaged in putting it in order.
but With closed doors, sothat the good people of
the Bar, who made it a point of honor to gaze
With open mouths every time they passed the

The scamp was ashamed to confess that his ner-
vousness arose from a too ardent desire to try
conclusions with King Barleycorn and his kin-
dred in sin le fight.

“ I m 1’ am very nervous sometimes, but I
haven medicine that generally does me good.
You can try some of it if you like; it is va-
lerian.”

The miner mumbled something about gen~
erally h’isting in a cocktail or two every three
or four hours, but after he had taken the mix-
ture which Mrs. Ash ford prepared, he was
amazed at the instant relief it afforded.

“Wa-al if that don’t beat anything I ever
did get hold of l" he exclaimed.

“The scent from it is rather unpleasant—it is
so sxckish. Take a swallow of coffee; that will
remove it.”

Then with her own fair bands she prepared
and brought him a cup of coffee, and the miner,
utter] _bew1!dered by these unexpected eyents,
gulpc it down almost at a draught.

“ There, now; you will be all right.”

_ “You bet!” he cried, emphaticall , recover-
ing the use of his tongue at last. “ urn me if
I don’t feel jist hunky, and I ain’t felt so afore
for many a year!”

Mrs. Ashford gazed at him, astonished at the
speech.

“ Marm, you have treated me jest as if I was

hoggiedzfgfiz iggggslfidisngsuéfi'dto the mum . lsE;rp}s;;$Cinnabar City in a way they despised give yog all tbgeinflormation in my pOWer, and 5111:0121?” nOt able to satiSfy their curiosny in gbwhfite mall, I“Old”. Sylllbe'l‘nan 1 Win hbe mtg
_ ‘ _- _ you nee not a armed Carlotta; tb - ‘ ' ' ~ - ls “Y on ' u y hompson t 93' use

Spategetliizd gigglggduigttagtehtoo longte to (1:881:11 The Chinaman was. apparently sleeping fully tlemen will not harm me’witbout I giveesetfiggi diallgglatdcame and sun the secret remamed Im- to can me ,m’md this “yer town’ but the game"

h. h p g a 0 ese mas rs o t e as soundly as the colonel, but when the road- cause, and you may rest assured I shall be care- Old Uncle Sol w 1 that dares to can me so hereafter will get
1!! way. agent took deliberate aim at him with the pis- ful not to do that.” as as c 088 montbed about the kDOCked into the middle

“ You see my pards up yonder,
remarked the road-agent.

“ Oh, yes, I am squinting at them.”

“They are a right nice lot of fellers; they
wouldn’t like to hurt you for the world.”

_ “ Well, if that is so, just caution ’em to bear
light on those triggers. Better-lookin men
than I am have been drilled clean throng , just
by carelessness.”

“Oh. they are the most careful critters that

I suppose?”

to], be opened his eyes sudden] and ‘um d
out, while his face turned a sick!y yellogv. p8
. “No savvey!” he muttered, his hand thrust
in the breast of his jacket.

“Don’t attempt to pull that revolver you
have just cocked,” continued the road-agent,
sternly, “or I’ll send your soul to join Con-
fucxus in the Happy Land of the Flowery King-
dom. Down With your dust, quick, and no
nonsense about it 1” and the outlaw, at the muz-

. So_ the banker got down from the coach and
signified to the outlaw that he was at his ser-
Vice.

“Just keep an eye On this hyer hearse,” the
road-agent leader commanded, addressing his
companions, “and if you see any signs of any
gum game, plug the bull durned thing full 0’

holes.
responded the others, in a breath.

“ You bet!”
“You won’t get ary chance to make a

matter as though he had been born deaf and
d‘i‘Pfi be
ay you potter wait and on fin ”
he suggested to all inquiries. y v d (mt,
ext morning the mystery was solved, for
the early birds, on their way to get their morn-
ing hitters. about six o’clock, were amazed to
find that the lady had transformed the little
shanty into a barbcr's shop I
The regulation pole with its red and white

of next week! See
the two~bit piece, but I
don’t want you to rt with that cre: I want
you to_ keep it, an ’fore the week is out I’ll re-
deem it With a fivedollar gold piece. I want
to have that ’ere coin made into a breast~pin,
and I want to make you a present of it, and
you must wear it for me, marm, jest for luck,
and don’t you forget it!”

And tbeminer strode out into the street,
astonishing the community

hyer, marm; hyer’s

you ever saw! There ain’t the least danger, zle of the revolver compelled him to dis or b ” ' pep- sFripes was smek outsme’ and a small painted and “1 01d H ' by his up 9mm»,
provided you don’t try any gum___ameS.” the ,under which, be h d _ _ 8 38 pet” ox out of me! Indigo Jake declared Sign in the window read: 3 at u-‘me Chaps by re rtm for
“ My game! I don’t take any stock in this on t e previous night. a “mined by 1119 raid 8“ lle- dUty' 3“" and eh‘pper as ‘3 squirm and t to

deal at all; it’s none of my funeral.”

“ Ta ta! See you again some time!” and the

To a secluded spot, a couple of hundred feet

away, the outlaw conducted

“ MRS. MARY ASHFORD.

fight for a man’s life!” as be declared.
The account of how Old Bully Thom on had

“ J k ‘ the banker and “SHAVING AND Ham-corn "
hard :02; 8:03;, 3:3: 31(85): ygfigamdogté 5:331; nggglgegll‘lggzgrqgfig‘stouthigiushes. ‘ Gr; alcilead, there the two held an earnest conference. , The first old toper whose eyegemitlggj ' been transmOgfified by the female bar r soon
than any other driver who ever pulled a fine in P era are on v um- The Chinaman, no longer assuming to be glared at it as though he had never seenslg: Spread abroad’ and the rem“ was a high on the

California. But I say. just warn the pilgrims
in your hearse that this is business—old busi-
ness every time! and that if they attempt to
cut up any monkey-shines. their blood will be
upon their own heads. We are the nicest gen—
tlemen in the wOrld if yr 11 give us our Own Way
and don’t vex us, but if you rub our ba’r in the
wrong direction we turn into the worst set of
tiger—cats that was ever seen in this country.”
“ I’ll talk to ’em, but I reckon there ain’t any
one of them hungry for blood.” the driver re-
marked. “ But. I say, my gentle friend, don’t

mics. I’ve done the trick single-handed!”

 

“ CHAPTER III.

ANOTHER moan POTENT THAN rim FIRST.”

“ HA, ha, ho, hol” and with a burst of laugh-
ter. the outlaw disappeared.

Indigo J ake sat for a moment like one stupe-
fled; never in all his experience had such a
trick been played upon him.

“ Held'up by one man, and three able-bodied
galoots in the hearse. too not counting the
Chmaman!” he muttered. 3‘ Hang me! if this

 

J don’t just beat the deck!

 

I reckon the bost

asleep, peered out of the coach WindOw, strain-
ing botp eyes and ears to the utmost. so as to
ascertain the meaning of this mysterious inter-
VleW.

The girl was equally anxious. for, despite the
assurance of the outlaw. and the confidence of
her father, she was afraid that danger might
come to her parent.

The driver. too. was a little nervous. Being
an old Californian and used to tbe fiendish
methods of the mountain outlaws. be bad a sus~
picion that the road»agents, doubting the story
of the robbery, had resolved to put the banker

ingnouncement of a barber shop before in his
i e.

Old Bully Thompson be was called and h
bad on a beard that was at least of twb years;3
gmwtb and With a shock of hair in proportion.

Bully was one of the bard cases of the town;
he was as good a miner as ever handled pick
and cradle, but not a stroke of work would be
do as long as he had a cent in his pocket, and
Sign aftetrha night-11s debaucb, be was crawling

ng W]! unseat v nerves to at '
to brace himself up for the day. g a COthal]

 

part of the citizens to the new she so at
that the place wasn’t big enough topaccogilneio-
date a tenth part of the In.

All day long the female barber did a rousing
bus-ness, and Shasta Bar soberly asked itself
how on earth it had managed to exist so long
a time Without a first class shaving-shop.

At night the opposition of the saloons began
to tell and the customers gradually diminished.

At last _the sole remaining customer was
shaved. paid his coin and deported, and the
plucky woman sat down, thoroughly tired out
after her day’s work

 

A solitary two-bit piece was in his pocket, and]

“ Thank goodness, .the toil is over!” she said

 

 

“That’s a bargain, mar-m; sail in l” cried the'

 

 

J " 

 

  

 

 

  
 
    

 

 

 

mask: .:.-;  .

 

   

       

         

ll. .4 mulmnu
C9

‘1 -'|lll!.‘.'llll.illlll'

'“|MM!lllullrlM“I-,.i‘

 

 

 

 

 

an.“ a.» r'az a? any: m-ru; ‘1.
~—

v

i

i .
l”;

l

:I



z,

. ,,.,,,...., ,

 

 

 

 

 

  

But, just then the door opzned and in stalked
another customer——a bi), burly, brutal-looking
fellow with a fierce [inc beard—a regular
walking arsenal as far as weapons were con.
cerned.
ou're the gel that shaves the town, eh?”
he exc aimed, the bully sticking out in evsry
word. “ Waal, on km try your hand on me.
I want my beardy trimmed and ’iled and fixed
up in furst-class Frisco fashion, and I reckon I
need a little shavin’, too." .

“ What! I shave you?” the woman_ cried,
springing to her feet, trembling with agitation,
for the recognized the man instantly, although
many years had elapsed since she had met him.
“You would beer-any to trust yourself in my
power. If I had you under my hands, the ra-
aor at your throat, no power on earth could save
your worthless life.”

“ W'ot‘s that! You wouldn't cut my throat!”

the fellow, in amazement.

“ would, so be! me heaven! I could not
resist the impulse, though Iknew tint I would
be hung for it the next minute.”

“Say, you can’t give me any such blufl as
that!” growled the man; “ I won’t have it! It’s
entirely too thin! It won’t go down! I have
come to be fixed and, blame me, if you don’t
attend to me I will know the reason why 1"

“Go away! Donot tempt me into a crime
which I should be sure to repent, although

ur worthless life has been justly forfeited a
doom times at the least i"

“ Will you shave me!"

6‘

“Take care; I’m u ly!”

“Depart and troub e me not!”

The rudian drew one of his revolvers. cocked
itand took deliberate aim at the woman, who
faced him. undaunfedl y. ' ‘

“'You eifigfihavlliakme or ldie!" he cried, with
an angry og‘ e snar

’ (To be continued.)

 

MA BELLE.

I! CLINTON soonunn.

Ila hem, when southward swallows fly
With biithesome twitter through the sky,
When gold and crimson burn
Upon the woodland‘s waving boughs
And dreamil the cattle browse
Amid the rooping fern—

Then let us wander, you and I,

Hand joined in hand right merrily
Across the sunny world,

To where, in fitful Autumn breeze,

The to 0st banner of the trees
Are tinting crimson. gold.

And there, where o the woolland way,
U nagiant bowl er gray,
th moss and lichen hu ,
Let us awhile recline and tel
The olden story, sweet ma bella,
And sing the songs they sung—

Two lovers, so the nd goes,
Who, where a blimfierlver flows
Through ficwerful realms and fair.
Were ever wont to wander by
Its banks and sin for aye
T love so faithful t ere.

Would thou and I, ma belle, might be
In thatso sweet and bright country
To wander there awhile;
Might live a day in that old time ,
When gay words set themselves to rhyme
As ruby lips to smile.

But only for a day, ma belle,
However bright t e honeyed spell,
Would there i care to stray;
Content am I with any spot
If thou wilt on share my lot,
Lot that be w at it may.

So when the swallows southward fly,
And swift the olden months flit by
And winter rouds the dell,
My heart, like Autumn, gay and glad,
Will never know of sorrows sad,
If thou are there, ma (mile.

 

 

immediate speech, but he drew the usurper’s
hand lovingly through his arm, and led the
way up the steps to the grand entrance, where
a dozen or so of the servants were grouped,
who cheered lou lly as the son and heir came
across the home threshold again. Shirley
bowed right and left in acknowledgment of
the warmth of his reception, his nervousness
all vanished now, and he looked about him
with c~ :0], critical eyes, able, even at the
threshold, to gain an idea of the splendid lux—
ury of the establishment.

‘And this is what Stelle Dudley has lost—-
what I have gained!” he thought, exultantly,
as Dr. Dudley ed him through the magnificent
hall and into the parlor, where they wore alone,
and where he embraced him again and again,
with lad, tender fervor.

“ y dear, dear boy, I can never suficiently
thank God for this day! I do not think I could
have endured your absence a day longer. But

on are changed, Stelle: these six years have
eft their .mark upon you. Stand back, my
bo§. and let me look at you 1”

e gently put Shirley away from him, a
keen, scrutinizin look in his eyes at which
Shirley grew col and sick at heart. It was a
terrible ordeal indeed, and in spite of himself,
he felt a pallor creep coldly over his face, and
he remembered so keenly the actual points of
(fifierence as well as resemblance between him—
self and Stella Dudley, that he could not lift
his eyes to meet Dr. Dudley’s, for he felt, if he
did, the secret would be read;then.

But, wholly unsuspicious of the monstrous
fraud that was being imposed upon him, Shir-
ley’s paleness and trembling were supposed,
most naturally, by Dr. Dudley, to be caused
By the excitement and agitation of coming
ome.
“ You are changed, certainlv, Stelle, but still
not so much as I expected. You have, at_ mo-
ments, a look of your mother, I fancy. But
how selfish I am to kee you here all to myself,
even for a moment, w en another is waiting,
all impatience to see you—little Maud, you
know, Stelle. I know you are equally anxious
to see her, and I will bring her to you at once,
my boy.”
He immediately went in search of Maud.
“Ali’s well so far,” Shirley said to himself,
exultantly. “I have succeeded perfect! in
cheating the father, and now comes the tee of
similarly imposing upon this wonderful ‘ golden-
haired Maud.’ Will she be as uususpicious as
he? Hark! I hear them coming! Now for it!”
He had scarcely composed his evilly-smiling
features when Dr. Dudley reéntered the par-
lors, accompanied by a young girl, and Shirley
instantly arose, advanced a few steps, and as
suddenly halted, a strange, great agitation, the
like of which he never had experienced in all
his life, assailing him as, rapt in admiration,
he looked upon her, the sweetest, most beauti-
to! girl he ever had seen, with her pure, spir-
ituelle loveliness of face and lissom grace of
figure. Maud went unhesitatingl toward him,
a faint flush on her cheeks, her b no eyes lifted
frankly, gladly to his face, with an expression
of conscious appeal in them that could not have
failed to go strai ht to any man’s heart.

“ She is the liv ng ideal of all the most impos—
sible dreams of my life: this is indeed a glori-
ously grand coming home!” he thought, in that
one instant when, amazed and overwhelmed at
sight of her, he hesitated before her. Then he
stepped up to her, extending his hand, while a
strange glow deepened on his face.

“ This is the Maud of whom I have dreamed!
And now I see her in reality.”

He made a motion to iss her, but, with
maiden modesty, she instinctively evaded it,

 

and he lifted her slender hand to his lips, while
even that caress made her drop her eyes,
while in the very sacredest depths of her heart
she thought how splendid, how handsome he
was, and that it would be no difiicnlt matter to
teach herself to love him.

“ 1 am so glad to welcome
Dudley,” she said, Withdrawing
Shirley interrupted her reproachfully.

“ ‘ Mr. Dudley !’ Surely you do not mean me
to understand I have outgrown the name by
which you used to call mef’

you home, Mr.

 

The Counterfeit Sun;
on,
m: ENEMY In one DARK.

BY MRS. MARY REED CROWELL.
AUTHOR or “ Han AWFUL DANGER." “ WITHOUT
a NAME,” “DID sun srm” "cwunnn
IN urs'rznv." arc, mo.

CHAPTER v ll.
BECOMING ACQUAINTED.

A DAY or s D after the eVeuin-g in the librar
at Rose-Terrace, a telegram reached Dr. Du -
ley, announcing that “Stelle Dudley ” would
come home at an hour appointcd that same
day, and should expect the carriage to meet
him at the station.

The telegram caused the most delightful ex-
citement at Rose-Terrace, as soon as the joy-
in! news was made known that the son of the
house was so nearly home, and in every depart-
ment amon the house-servants. outdoor ser-
vants, as we 1 as in the small household, 5. flut-
ter of expectation and welcome was plainly
visible. '

Maud hadtaken especial charge of the par-
lors, and made them a rfect wilderness of
flowery bloom and bean y, and herself, in a
creamy white dress, all lace and ribb ms, looked
the queen of the festival.

At noon the carriage drove to the station,
and Maud watched i. away with a faint flush
on her cheeks, and a warm light in her blue

e as.

y“ When it comes back Stelle will be in it! I
wonder if he wrl! like me, or will I seem only a
simple country girl in comparison with all the
be'iutiful ladies e has seen while abroad ‘1”

She did not express her thoughts to any one,
however, but, just before it was time for the
carriage to return, she went down to the par.
lors, where Dr. Dudley was pacing impa-
tiently to and fro.

 

 

“Will he nevsr come? I told Walter not to ,

spare the horses; look, Maud, do you see them
coming?”

With all his restless eagerness which Maud
had never kn0wn him to betray before, Dr.
Dudley could not restrain a thrill of passionate
pain at s ht of the young girl, so pure and fair
and swee with the expectant light in her eyesé
the soft, glad smile on her 1i 8 as she want on
on the paaza to look for t e comin of him
who was so sure to win the heart waiting to be

won.

Maud’s
sient in

“O , doctorl—I see the carriage! He is
coming—be is coming 1"

And then. a moment later, when the carriage
swept rapid! y up to the door, she stole awn y
and son t the ibrary, while the father an
son shou (1 meet alone.

With his heart beating faster than usual, his
grave face all alight with thankful emotion,
Dr. Dudley hastened out on the wide piazza,
with arms outstretched to greet his boy: and
the carriage stopped, the door was hurriedly
Opened from with n before the footman could
spring down to render the service, and-Kathe
Shirley sprung out—fair, handsome, faultlesst
dressed, aristocratic and gentlemen-11y, and no
one would have dreamed ow wildly his heart
was heating, or how his very eyes twitched
with supreme nervousness.

It was a fateful moment for him, for he did
not know whether the gentleman on the piazza
was Dr. Dudley or not. He had not expected
to see so oung, so splendid a man, but the
Fate that oes not desert those who sell their
souls to Satan until the supreme moment
comes, helped him then, as it had done before,
for Dr. Dudley rushed toward him, almost sob-
bll.‘ in his joy.

“ 1y soul . my. son!” he exclaimed, as he
clasped him in is arms, while Shirley replied
with equal delight:

“ My dear father—this indeed repays me for
all my ion absence!”

glad, eager voice dispelled the tran-
s felt.

 

“ Oh, no, not at all.” she laughed, alittle con-
fusedly. “If Mr. Dudley sounds too formal,
of course I will call you Stelle—and you will
call me Maud, just as w e used to do.”

“ A compact," Shirley answered, ardently,

. and jiht then Dr. Dudley, who had walked to

a distant part of the room while the greetings
were being exchanged, returned.-

“I think you wish to go to your room, my
boy; shall I tear you away from Maud and
take y’pu up myself ‘5 Your trunks are already
t ere.

Shirley assented, and Dr. Dudley linking the
young man’s arm in his own, conducted him

mm the parlors into the great hall and up the
grand staircase, to a suite of apartments at the
western side of the mansion, where many win-
dows commanded a beautiful and extensive
view both south and west.

“Your own old room, my boy.” the doctor
said, as he ushered Shirley in the first room of
the suite, as daintin and superbly furnished as
it intended for a lady‘s use. ‘You will see
they are newly fitted up—Maud’s doings. She
spent two wl.o!e days in the city selecting the
furniture and decorations. Come down when
you are ready, Stelle, you will find us in the
parlor.”

Left to himself. Shirley walked through the
magnificent apartments, surveying the appoint-
ments of parlor, bedroom, dressing-room,
5 smoking-room and bath-room, with critical
satisfaction.

“The golden-haired Maud could not have
im roved upon her selections,” he decided.
“ royal berth I’ve fallen into, and no going
back on it! A lucky chance it was that put
me here in poor Stelle Dudley’s place, and I
flatter myself I acted m part well. At any
rate, i am the acknow! son and heir of
the house of Dudley. At ast—at last I have
a uired a name, a positiOn, a fortune!”

e hastened to make his toilette, and then,

filming in his pocket the gift he had bought for

and, he went down to the parlors, and later,

to the stately dining-room, where, schoolei to

perform every duty however trifliu , he shook
Y

 

hands warm with the gray-h ed butler
Ferris, and salda word or two that delighted
the faithful old servitor’s soul, and well pleased
Dr. Dudley and Maud.

Luncheon over, the little party adjourned to
the parlors again, where Shirle excused him-
self a moment and went to is room and
brou ht back the books he had purchased for
Dr. udley, presentin them in affectionate
kindness that touched t e doctor’s heart.

While he was carefully and delightedly look-
ing over them, Shirley sought Maud, sitting a
little apart, beaming a look of most intense
admiration upon her, and yet so exquisitely
delicate and respectful that she could not pos-
siny help being flattered and pleased by it.

“I have not forgotten on, Maud,” he said,
inn low voice. that in itsel was almost a caress.
“ Itis what I fancied you would like, and i:
came from Ital -—the country you dream of
one day seeing, remember. on will Wear
it, Maud! Let me fasten it around your neck,
little Maud.”

He opened the casket and took therefrom the
locket, the diamonds of which glittered and
blazed like living stars. She uttered a little
exclamation of g rlish ecstasy.

“How beautiful! Oh, Stelle, how good of
you to think of me!”

She drooped her head while he clasped the
wide velvet about her neck, his touch seeming so

 

like a caress, then when she lifted her face
again it was warm with rosy blushes.

“ I thank you very much for it; I shall treas-
ure it alwa 5," she said, slowlg.
“And th , as well, I hope,” e supplemented,
drawing forth the gift Stelle Dudley had him-
self purchased in L0 don for her—a solitaire
diamond ring, setdeegn a plain gold band—one
of the many things that Kethe Shirley had
stolen from his friend in his helplessness.
“ You will wear it, Maud ?” he said, tenderly

 

er hand, while

kn ‘nw, perhaps he did not remember that cus~
tom declared a maiden shun.d wear her be-

fin er he sli ped Stelle Dudley’s rin .
While M p g

mean, and her girlish heart beat a trifle faster
as she bent admiringly over the blazing stone.

At that moment Dr. Dudley came forward,
and a pleasant general Conversation ensued,
which gradually turned until the name of Mrs.
Star, the worthy housekeeper at Rose-Terrace,
was mentioned.

“ I am quite sure Mrs. Star is impatient for a
visit from you, Stelle. No doubt Ferris has re-
galed her with an account of our looks and
manner, and it would be a gratifyin thing to
her if you would pay her a visit in er parlor
—although I cannot spare you very long out of
my sight. I would send for her, only I am sure
it would please both Mrs. Star and yourself to
visit a few minutes alone.”

Shirley listened to what was Coptic, so far as
he understood, and looked blankly at Dr. Dud-
ley, but instantly recovered himself, and arose,
smiling, declaring he would pay the old house-
keeper a visit at once, and lei t the room, since,
beyond doubt, it was Dr. Dudley’s desire he
should so do. -

Out in the hall his face darkened.

“Curse it all! How am I to find the old wo-
man’s room, I’d like to know? I’m in a pre«
dicament, with a vengeance l”

CHAPTER VIII.
mm “GUARDIAN nation’s” WORK.

AT her usual hour, upon the morning follow-
ing her diabolical decision, Mrs. Ollivan de—
sconded to the breakfast parlor. The judge was
there before her, and greeted her with his cus-
tomary tender affection, yet the smile on his
face was a trifle more grave than usual.

Breakfast was yet in progress, and Mrs. Olli-
van was all bewitching sweetness, her dark eyes
wearing a. strange, deep glow as she realized
that, by this time, Mrs. Alexander was on her
way to perform part of her ghastly errand,
when the footman brought in the morning mail,
and the judge distributed it—several unimport~
ant letters for Mrs. Ollivan, two orIthree busi-
ness communications for himself, and one, in an
entirely unfamiliar hand, bearing a foreign
postmark, and dated over a week back.

The 'udge opened it, in sudden agitation, and
his wi 0 could see how his hand trembled.

“ Can anything have happened to Olive-that
some stranger must have written 1”

He eagerly opened the folded sheet, to find
his fears not realized, but to learn other neWs
that was exceedingly painful to him. In a few
words, (penned by a kindly stranger’s hand,
Judge llivan was informed that the dearest
friend of his life, of his youth and later age, lay
dying in Italy, and his beseeching prayer was
that e might once more see Warren Ollivan—
onmatters business and personal.

“ I must go to him; there is no question about
it. I must go to poor Bl the’s dying bed, as he
would have come to no no if so besought; he
must not die alone, friendless, in a foreign land.
We will go at once, Rosamond—a steamer sails
for Liverpool today. Tell Alexander to have
your trunks packed without a moment’s de—”

A surprised stare in her eyes, that he did not
understand, made him pause.

“ You seem to belaboring under a very great
mistake, Warren, if you suppose, for one mo‘
ment, I have the slightest intention of accom‘
panying you on such a preposterous errand. If
you consrder it our duty to obey the whim of
your friend, go y all means, but do not expect
me to travel all the way to Italy simply to see a
man die whose name 1 barely know. ’

Her cold, almost sarcastic tones brought a
sudden bitter contraction to the judge’s lips.

“ I surely did not mean to be so selfish, dear
-—yes, it is asking too much of you, and I do not
wonder you protest. But I cannot endure the
thought of separation from you;—that must be
my excuse. will go alone, and without delay.
You will excuse me, Rosamond?"

He left the room, his breakfast unfinished,
while Mrs. Ollivan leisurely sipped her chm-,0—
late and ate her French rolls and egg with un-
troubled appetite.

Judge Ollivan found her there reading the
morning papers an hour later, when he re~
turned. dressed for his journey. The carriage
stood at the door, and his portmanteau had been
packed and taken out.

“ I have considerable important business to
arrange before the Arizona sails, which necessi-
fates my sayin good-by, now,” he said, in an-

 

,swer to her 100 of surprise. Then he went up

to her, putting his arms around her.
“My darling, it breaks my heart to leave
on. Only think what a change one little hour
as made in our lives! I will write you by
every mail, and return at the earliest possible
moment. Be good to my little Olive when she
comes home for her Easter; love her for my
sake as well as her own, as you would were she
really your own !”

He em brac: d her passionately, speaking words
of anguished f rewell, kissing her beautiful
face, her luscious lips, and then forcibly tore
himself away, only to return—a sudden hush
of most serious gravity on his face—a look she
never had seen him wear before.

“Rosamond,” he said, and there was in his

“I came back to tell you of a sudden, strange
foreboding that has just come over me—a sud-
den horror, as if the very chill of death were
upon me. It may be I shall neversee you again
-—-I may die away from home, as well as poor
Blythe—you may not live till I return—if—if
anything happens to me, promise me, promise
me to be good to my little motherless Olive.
Promise me, Rosamond!”

“ Your presentiments are merely nervous fan-
cies, Warren. It is not necessary to bind me to
my sacred duty by a promise, but, to please
you I will promise.”

“ f I should die, you will be my daughter’s
sole guardian; she would have no one in all the
world to look to but you. I trust you—abso-
lutely, my darling wife, and may God do unto
you as you do to my child !"

lie snatched her to his breast again, kissed
her, anguishfully, and went away, his last
words rngin in her ears. as they rung for
many along ay afterward!

From the window she watched the carriage
down the avenue, her dark eyes bright and tear-

ess.

“If only his presentiment proves true! If
only he never comes home alive! It will save
suc dreadful doings when he does return. Of
course I could do nothing toward the desired
end this morning—Leal will easily understand
that. We must wait a little longer—a little
longer!"

Judge Ollivan sailed at noon that day by the
Arizona, and immediately upon his arrival,

don he wrote her, saying he had an hour to
spare before continuing his journey, and writ-
ing her a long, afl’ect onate letter, as well as
one to his daughter Olive, whom
take time to stop and see.

In his letter to Olive, he begged her to do all
in her power to win her beautiful young step-
mother’s love, and besought her. in case any-
thing hap ned him. to obey his wife in all
thin , an re rd whatever she said as though
be h mself h s ken it.

Meanwhile Ollivan had definitely ar-
ranged her plans during her husband‘s absence.
She withdrew very much from society, and be-
haved with such rare discretion that she was
the subject of universal commendation, and al-
though young, handsome and admired, with no
one to guide or movements, or thwart her ac-
tions, the most censorious tongue could
gage found no possible fault with anything she

l .

One day every week she spent from home
but as Mrs. Alexander invariably accompanied
her, no comment was made, even by the ser-
vants of her own ho"""“";1'~avd thus the re-
maining days of reoruary and all of March
passed by, letters coming and goin between
New York and the little Italian vi lage with

 

trotha! ring on her fol. e—flnger, but, on her fore- .

and knew what it was supposed to -

tones a. solemnity she never had heard before— ‘
l the music of which just laria long enough to
E boil an egg properly.

l

l of marriage.

I tion of health during the period named.
. large cities the wives and daughters of the rich
i are kept in a state of chronic invalidism, often
v by the family carriage.

I Higginson.
cabled his safe trip to Mrs. Ollivan. At Lon— ‘

he did not '

P._______...__._.-.__ -___—- .._.__..—

l
: limits deemed possible, but that as death was !

absolute! y near at hand, he should remain until
all was over.

About this time, so near the Easter holidays,
Mrs. Ollivan cabled to Olive Ollivan, : t Paris,
ordering her to remain at school, saying it was
not desirable or convenient that she should
come home (lurir g her father‘s abscnce.

By the next mail came the announcement of
poor Blythe E‘mer’s death, and J :dge Ollivan
said in his letter that in consequence of his be-
ing so worn out with his constant attendance
at the sick-bed, he would take a week to re-
cu rate before starting for home.

rs. Ollivan read the letter with sullen dis-
content.

“ I wish he would come at once!
sick of such an existence.
of my chains as soon as
free to marry Leal.”

“ A week after his return you may be free-
in April you will be free,”Mrs. Alexander said,
suggestively.

“ A widow—with ten thousand a ear!” Mrs.
Ollivan said, her eyes shining. “ t is worth
the long waiting, the clever conspiracy, is it
not? If only my guardian demon would bring
about the closin scene in the drama, leaving
my hands free 0 blood!” _

And her “guardian demon,” who must sure-
lgxlmve been the Prince of Satyrs, did bring
a ut the closing scene in the pitiful drama,
for, the next mail from abroad instead of
bringing, as Mrs. Ollivan confidently expected,
the announcement of her husband’s immediate
departure for home, there came a letter ad-
dressedto her in an unfamiliar hand, and the
letttr contained the astounding information
that Judge Ollivan was dead !

All particulars were carefully given. The
death had resulted from accident—Judge Olli-
van had been thrown from a horse, and so
cruelly crushed and mangled, that of his re-
mains nothing, scarcely, was capable ot burial.

Mrs. Ollivan was sitting alone in the sweet
April dusk when this letter was brought her—
this answer to her fierce prayer. and she read
it, incredulous, amazd, but with a thrill of
speechless ecstasy quivering from her head to
her feet as she learned the sickening fate that
had overtaken the noble, splendid man who
had made her wicked life the grand success it
was—the great true nature that had throned
her its queen.

As she finished reading it for the third time,
Mrs. Alexander entered the room, and one
glance from Mrs. Ollivan’s eyes assured her that
something had indeed happened.

“Alexander! You cannot guess the glorious
news! Judge Ollivan J's—actually dead—dead 1”

Mrs. Alexander repeated the solemn word
as incredulously as Mrs. Ollivan had accepted it.

“ Dead!”

“Yes, dead! and I am a widow! What
could be more glorious? A widow, well pro-
vided for, and free to marry again—glorious,
isn’t it? Have the sad news blazoned abroad,
Alexander, without delay! Send it to the
newspapers, break it to the household—for the
desolate widow and heiress of “The Olives ” is
too utterly bowed down with grief to be seen
or s ken to! Order the crépe, Alexander—
let it be deep and wide—the mourning of a
widow for her other self! Write to Olive, the
daughter, and tell her of my painful bereave-
ment—but, Alexander, do not tell her she is in
my hands, absolutel in my ower, and I shall
do as I please wit her. X fate her dotin
father never dreamed of is in store for her, an
1 shall be heir 53 of “The Olivcs”—not she!
And write to Lea], Alexander, and then come
to me and congratulate me that 1 am a widow
-a. widow without the stain of blood on my
hands. Congratulate me, for at last I stand on
the topmost round of the ladder of shocess!”

(To be continued—commenced in No. 1.)

I am heart-
I want to rid myself
possible, and be free-

 

Telephone Echoes.

 

birthday more than mine i” asked a teacher.
goBecause he neVer told a lie!” shouted a little

y.

THE daughter of a Texas cattle-king has just
I returned from Paris, where she says she walked
through the Tooraloorals, and visited a shotto
where she saw the statutes of Physic and Cathe-
rine (1’ Medical.

FRANK JAMES, the Missouri bandit, is going
on the stage. if he thinks the stage should be
elevated. we agree with him; but he ought to be
elevated with it—and then let drop, with a rope
around his neck to break the fall.

THE Post office Department has ruled that a
husband has no control over the correspondence

l of his wife. But this decision will not prevent
l a man from carrying his wife’s letter in his
inside coat pocket three weeks before mailing

 

 

t.
g “ LITTLE girl, do you know whose house this
I is?" asked a solemn-looking old man of a bright
' child seated on the church steps. “Yes, sir;
I it‘s God’s, but He ain’t in,” she added, as the

. old gentleman was about to walk up the steps,

“ and His agent‘s gone to Europe.”
AN egg polka has been composed in Berlin,

We now expect to hear
of a veal cutlet waltz and a porterhouse steak
' lancers; lut, to cook the average boarding-
: house spring chicken, we fear that nothin less
than a performance of “ Pursifal " will in icate
i the time necessary to prepare it sufficiently.

AN insane girl at Rochester gets out ofbed

at midni ht and goes to sawing wood in the
, back yarg. Now, if she was to get out of bed
, at daylight, and build the fires in addition to
sawing the wood, she would be considered a
very good girl, and would receive many offers
A man doesn’t care to be roused
up at midnight by his wife getting up and saw-

. ing wood in the back yard.

THE great trouble with American women is

, that they do not take enough outdoor exercise.
I At least that is the opinion of many experts.
l They do no field labor, not much walking and

no running—not even for office. Miss Bertha
Von Hillern, the somewhat famous pedestrian

l says that if she could have the personal, control
‘of a hundred delicate women for a year she

could bring at least ninety of them to a condi-
In our

THERE are, no doubt, cases where a man
earns a great fortune, while his wife’s exist-
ence is that of a butterfly, writes Colonel T. W.
These cases are rare; taking one
family with another, the wife works as hard as
the husband, and the fact that his share in-

! volws the handling of the mone does not make

it his money. It belongs to bot , and what he
pays over to her is not a gift, but a matter of
ri ht. “This was a present to me from my
Wife,” said a rich man, showin an ornament.
“Bought with our money," sa d a friend, jo~
cosely. “ No!’ said be, “out of her hard earn-

! ings. She keeps house for a man of your ac—

quaiu tance. "

Tm: so-called marriage insurance companies
that were started in Pennsylvania two years
ago are having their run in the Southwestern
States. The seem to get wilder and more ex-
travagant t e further they travel. Some of
the names of these com nies show the great
elasticity of the Englis language. One is
known as the “ Southern Confederac of Bene~
diets and Brides ;" another as the “ lden E g
Buy Marriage Association :” another as t e
“ Superior Daily Nuptial Guild°” another as the
“ Heart and Hand Marriage C ub;” another as
the “ Daily Marriage Bell Association,” and so
on. Kentucky and Missouri have commenced
a vigorous war on the companies of this class,
and the newspapers of Mississippi, Tennessee
and Arkansas are daily recording the explosion
v: some of the bubbles and the disappearance of

 

“WHY should you celebrate Washington’s"

You know

 

 

Popular Poems.

Mme-‘0» A
A LULLABY.

Sleep little precious one! Darling, ob, sleep!

Shut little eyelids that mammn may weep,
Snow on 6 ground and frost in the air;

Stars in the heavens thy vigilets keep—

Moon climbing up in the fair Eastern steep-
Rockatzy, hushaby, mushaby there—

Sleep, in J precious one! Darling one, sleep:

Papa is out with the gang for a lark,

He will come home in the snow and the dark:
Mamma will meet him anon at the door—-

Mamma will meet him and flippet flop

Baby will awaken and hear somet ing drop—
Hushab , slushahy—drop on the floor—

Sleep, lit e angel—’t will only be pop.

 

 

 

:0:
SPERO.

BY 6. A. BAKER, J8.

 

Ragged and rough is the angry sea,
Dark is the stormy night,

Over the wave the vwsel goes,

Under her hows the witch-fire glows
With blue and ghastly light.

Clutching the tiller her helmsman stands,
Anxiousl‘y gazing afar—

He nears t e reef, and he fears a wreck,

Unless he may see from his spray-swept deck,
The light on the harbor bar.

Now he catches its golden gleam
Over the whitening foam—
“ Hard-a-pcrt!"—and with fiutt’ring sail,
Like sea-fowl driven before the gale,
The vessel seeks her home.

Over the storm-swept ocoan of life

I’m drifting, I know not where,
With the heartfelt ho that a light may rise
In the depths of some (I ’s honest eyes,

To save me from wrec and despair.

 

:01

 

WHAT IS A GENTLEIVIAN ‘?

 

What is a gentleman? Is it a thing

Decked with a scarf-pin, a chain, and a ring?
Dressed in a suit of immaculate style,
Sporting an eye-glass, a lisp, and a smile?
Talking of races of concerts, and balls.
Evoning assemblies, and afternoon calls?
Sunning himself at “ homes ” and bazars,
Whistling mazurkas and smoking cigars?

What is a. gentleman? Say, is it one

Boasting of con nests and deeds he has done?
One who unblus in '!y glories to speak

Things which shoul call up a blush on his cheek?
One who, while railing at actions unjust,

Robs some young heart of its pureness and trust,
Scorns to steal money, or jewels, or wealth
Thinks it not wrong to take honor by stealth?

What is a gentleman? Is it not one

Knowing instinctively what he should shun,
Sneaking no word which could injure or pain,
Spreadin no scandal, deepening no stain?
One who news how to put each at his case,
Striving successfully always to please?

One who can tell by a glance at your cheek
When to be silent and when he should speak!

What is a gentleman? Is it not one
Honestly eating the bread he has won,
Walking in nprightncss, fearing his God,
Leaving no stain on the path he has trod,
Caring not whether his coat may be old,
Prizing sincerity far above gold,

Rocking not whether his hand may be hard,
Stretching it boldly to grasp its reward?

What is a gentleman? Say, is it birth

Makes a man noble or adds to his worth!

Is there a famin tree to be had

Shady enough to conceal what is bad?

Seek out the man who hos Truth for his guide,
Nothing to tremble at, nothing to hide;

Be he a noble or be he in trade,

This is a gentleman Nature has made.

 

:0:

 

THE FATE OF TOMATO KHAN.

Old Ragbag Bey. a venerable man,

Arose one mom and to his servant said:

" Send hither, slave, my son Tomato Khan-—

If, by the prophets beard, he‘s out of bed."
Tomato Khan responded in all haste

And kneeling on the earth before his sire,
Kissed thrice his feet and clinging to his waist,

“ Why hast thou called i" p0 ite ' did inquire. .

“ Mush Allah l” cried the old rran in a breath,

“Our country is in dire complaint, I see,

On ever hand is desolation, death,
And s e demands a sacrifice of me.

From Ame! Teiba unto Bogbar’s wall,
From Batna‘s palms to Oudig's sandy plain,

I hear the stirring trumpet sound its ca ,
The clash of arms and war‘s intense refrain.

“ Bind on this clmeter, my son, and go
This day to Moghar on thy dauntless steed;
Join thou the army of the Faithful; show
Thy zeal for Allah in thy country‘s need!"
Tc mato Khan then bound on Ragbag‘s sword;
His love, the fair Aminie, begged im stay;
In vain the maiden wept, in vain lm lored,
Tomato Khan strode on his venge ul way.

He did not die as Ragbag hoped he might,
Nor as Aminie thought a warrior should;
He did not rish on the field in figh
No Christian hands are rocking wit his blood.
Kicked by a mule he fell at Sneez el Snuf,
A cheap Arabian mule, a vulgar beast;
He faintly murmured, “ Allah, this is rough I"
- And “123 the throbbings of his sick heart
ceas .

So for his country died Tomato Khan,

A youth equipped for great, chivalric scenes;
Den by a mule, a martyred glorious man,

A patriot; the end doth glorif the means.
A mausoleum hath 01d Ragbag uilt

As tribute to Tomato Khan’s brave deeds;
At morn, at night his bitter tears are split,

While fair Aminie wears a widow’s weeds.

 

 

:0!

 

A FATHER’S ADVICE.‘

 

“I don't like to discourage you, but latelyI have
been filled

With certain strong misgivings, son, that somehow
won’t be stilled:

There‘s something tells me plain as words that you,

with all your wit,
Have erred in marking out your course, and you'll
repent of it.

“ The time will come when you will sigh ‘Had I but
only known

What I do now, the good old farm, with all its hills
and stone,

Would not have driven me away to find, when hope
is dead

That Fame does not bestow her crown on any sort

of head.‘

“I’m talking plainly, that I know, but, Reuben,
mark you this,

That Fame is a far-off target theta million marlm~

men miss;

Then, some fine day. ad shot is heard that rings

throughout the lan .
And Genius dpops the bull’s-eye square with steady
eye an hand.

“ You may itlurn out a genius, Rube; I r‘ally hope
on w ;

y Fame's temple crowns the top of an enor-
mous ill. .

And tens (f thousands bound that way, With resolu-
tions stiff,

Have found their way completely blocked with a
tremendous ‘ if.‘

“This ‘if’ is very hard to climb: it seems to touch
the moon

Mantgolfier went Over in his primeval balloon:

But all along the way this side you‘ll hear the dreary

moans '
0f the ‘ rising ‘ Smith and Jenkins, and the ' gifted '
Brown and Jones. ‘

“ Now, Reuben, when you reach that ‘ if ' you‘ll show
good judgment, son,

By striking ‘cross lots for the farm and home-folks
on a run;

Stay there and toil as I have done, and you may get
to

e .
A deacon in the church, perhaps; or, may be, a

school trustee.

“ ‘ All that be blowed !‘ Well, go your way, you'll
have my earnest prayers:

We‘ll givivays keep in order, son, your coeey bed up»
s a rs,

For you may yet return, convinced that wreaths of
Fame are rare,

 

and her fair little head drooped as her hand every foreign mail. Judge Ollivan’s friend the man-‘gers with the money of the silly dupes And that your old straw has best suits the color of
Dr. Dud ey’s heart was too full for further fluttered toward his, and—perhaps he did not grew worst, is illness protracted beyond the who have trusted them. your hair." -
‘K ,1” 

 

 

  

9-mss. .

 

 

 

 

 

 
    
  

 

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H

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
  
   
  
  
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Em Wtklll

Published every Monday morning at nine oclwlc.
NEW YORK, DECEMBER 2, 1882.

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BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM Sr, NEW YORK.

 

 

 

Take Notice.

Serials appearing in this lVEEKLYwi'lI not
be republished in Lzbrai-y or book form.

 

NEXT!
SOON TO BE GIVEN!

A SPlENDID DETECTIVE SIGN!

OF HO“' THE

Gelehraled Jack Simuns

Run to the Ground

AWhole Bevy of Fashionable Wolves

AND BIRDS 0P PREY,

In the Homes of the Capital City!

AND IN WHICH

A Beautiful Woman “Shadow”

TAKES A HAND IN
A Very Strange and Startling Drama!
A STORY FULL OF

Personal Interest and Powerful
Portraiture.

It Will Be Read With Unbounded Delight.

 

The Wide bugle Papers.

NO?

VANITY is a purely feminine frailty, is it?
Men are never vain? You think that, do you,
my dear sirs? Well, then, let me tell you that
you are laboring under a marvelous delusion,
and that your very comfortable assurance con-
cerning your utter freedom from any such weak-
ness is one of the strongest evidences of vour
bondage to it. Men not vain, indeed! Why,
the very idea makes me smilihas it would make
any man’s valet laugh for a week. Men are as
vain as peacocks—those birds of the masculine
gender which, by some wonderfully faulty anal-
ogy, the world at large has been fond of com-
paring to women. If the human race is to be
compared at all to peafowls, it is certainly but
reason as well as justice to compare men to the
egotistical, consequential, lordly, and unabashed
peacock, and women to his shy, timid, domestic,
dependent, affectionate mate, the peahen. The
vain bird is the masculine one, the quiet, unas-
smning and retiring bird is the female. -

Yes, men are vain as peacocks, say what you
will, my gentle sirs, to the contrary. They al-
ways think themselves just about perfection.
You cannot convince a man that he has a fault.
If you tell him of one he begins to argue with
you directly, and to prove that he is utterly
guiltless of what you condemn in him or that it
is one of his most eminent virtues. If you at-
tempt to improve his manners you find hiui ut-
terly unable to comprehend the fact that there
can be anything in his manners open to improve-
ment. If you suggest a change in his dress, or
the wearing of a more becoming hat and less
hideous necktie, he stares at you in stony
surprise and pity—surprise that you can dare
to criticise him, and pity for your lack of taste.
As for looksl—well, I have met an occasional
woman who thought herself homely and even
some who were so morbidly conscious of the
fact as to find life burdensome to them on that
account; but I never saw a man who thought
himself homely—never! And if he has a modi-
cum Of good looks he invariably carries a con-
sciousness ofit in his face or manners. Many
extremely ugly men are wonderful dandies and
act as though they just walked the streets as a
favor to the rest of the human race, ladies in
particular.

Men not vain, indeed! They are the vainest
creatures in the universe, 1) )t excepting their
prototypes, the birds previously mentioned.

Vhy the ugliest men, the most repulsive, the
most terribly deformed, flatter themselves they
can marry any woman they choose, and Idoubt
if there is the man living who could ever cone
ceive of a reason why a woman whom he hon-
ored with his admiration failed to regard him
with equal admiration. He always lays it to
her imbecxlity or Coquetrv, and comforts him-
selr‘ with the thought that she will see her mis-
take in time and regret it to the end of her life.
Perhaps you think I like handsome men, be-
came I have referred particularly to the vanity
of the homely ones. 1 do not. Handsome men
—r. gularly handsome ones—are the vainest of
theyain. It is too much of a tax upon one’s
amiability to put up with their insufferable self-
conscmusness. Tncre is far more manliness and
“go ”—as a rule—about a homely man than
about a handsome one, because the former
knows he must depend for his attractions upon
his manners, accomplishments, and charms of
mind. To be sure he will be vain, but women
expect men to be vain, and learn to endure, ac-
cept, and minister to a certain amount of mas~
culine vanity, just as they put up with, and
even smile at, a certain amount of follv in a
child; it is only the “ too utterly utter” vain
mbeln that some women find absolutely intoler-
a e.

Balil men not vain! There is the Reverend
D. D. D. —if I should tell you his name you
would recognize it immediately—who has a cer-
tain set of pulpit gestures and attitudes for the
display of a beautiful foot always incased in

the nobbiest socks and the costliest shoes and a

handsome!

 

hand lovely as any a sculptor ever modeled,

and who arranges his wavy brown hair in a
peculiarly graceful sweep across his white brow
to which he draws attention a score of times
an hour by a pretty touch of his fipe hand.
He is as vain as any simpering school-girl: And
there is General A. A. A. who Bits for pictures
as a model of manly beauty, and walks the
street with a benevolent air of haying come
out to give the world a treat. And there
was Con ressmen B. B. B. who could not con-
ceive a igher glory than that he enjoyed in
being popularly known as “the handsomest
man in the House.” And Senator C. C. C. whose
normal atmosphere is one of flattery—who gets
drunk on flattery—the most patent and indeli-
cute—as other men get drunk on wine, and fan-
cies himself the mOst charming and seductive
personage the present generation has ever
known. And Doctor E. E. E. who strokes his
side—whiskers with the air of a conscmus
cha. mer, and steps from his carriage to the
stoop with a general manner of feeling that
he is being gazed upon by adoring eyes. And
President F. F. F. who moves amid a throng
like a Chieftain used to slaughter of hearts.

And so it goes; from the men of the highest
spheres in life to the men of the lowest, vanity
will be found a prominent masculine character-
istic. If it is not of their fine eyes, then‘ Dun-
dreary whiskers, their curling mustaches, their
gleaming teeth, their white hands, their immac-
ulately booted feet, their fine phySiqtie or their
fine linen, their diamond studs, their link sleeve-
lluttons, their new scarf. their elegant chain
(watches do not count, because there need not
always be a watch at the end of a chain) theu'
tight trowsers, their seal ring, their high hat,
their dainty cane, their glasses in their eyes,
that they are vain, it will be of their horses,
their puns, their learning, their efi‘rontery, their
business success, their latest mash! _Oh! they
will find something to be vain of, if it is only of
their wives and children—just because they had
the taste to pick out those particular Wives. and
those particular children are the images of their
adorable papas!

A man not vain! Oh, my!

BELLE BRIGHT.

 

Mosaics.

ARRANGED BY B. ARUNDEL SIMPSON, LL. D.

III.—CEI_HAGH.

“ FEAR ye not; stand still, and see the salva-
tion of the Lord, which he will show to you to-
day.” —Ex0DUs xiv. 13.

“ An'l when Phineas, the son of Eleazar, the
son of Aaron, the priest, saw it, he rose up from
among the congregation, and took a javelm in
his hand; .

“And he went after the man of Israel into
the tent, and thrust both of them through. So
the plague was stayed from the children of
Israel.” —NUMBEBS xxv. 7, 8.

“And he gave Joshua the son of Nun a
charge, and said, Be strong and of a good
courage.” , —DEUTERONOMY xxxn 23.

“ And David said to Saul, Let no man’s heart
fail because of him; thy servant will go and
fight with this Philistine.” "

—— I SAMUEL xvu. 32.

“ I go the way of all the earth; be thou
strong therefore, and shew thyself a man.”

-—I KINGS ii. 2.

“I will go in unto the king, which is not ac—
cording to the law; and if I perish, I perish.”

—ESTHER iv. 16.

“Fear not, for I am with thee; be not dis-
mayed.” ——-ISAIAH xl. 10.

“ As an adamant harder than flint have I
made thy forehead; fear them not, neither be
dismayed at their looks.” —EZEKIEL iii. 9.

“Be it known unto thee, 0 King, that we
will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden
image which thou hast set up.”

—-DANIEL iii. 18.

“ Fear not them which kill the body, but are
not able to kill the soul.”

—ST. MATTHEW x. 28.

“If I should die with thee, I will not deny
thee in any wise.” -—-ST. MARK xiv. 31.

“ He saith unto them, It is I: be not afraid.”

—ST. JOHN vi. 20.

“ And now I exhort you to be of good cheer;
for there shall be no loss of any man’s life
among you.” —ACTs xxvii. 22.

“For rulers are not a terror to good works,
but to the evil. Wilt thou then not be afraid
of the power? Do that which is good, and thou
shalt have praise of the same.”

—ROMANS xiii. 3.

“Take unto you the whole armor of God,
that ye may be able to withstand in the evil
day, and having done all, to stand.”

-—EPHESIANS vi. 13.

“ In nothing terrified by your adversaries.”

PHILIPPIANS i. 23.

“ I have fought a good fight, I have finished
my course, I have kept the faith.”

II TIMOTHY iv. 7.

“ Whom resist, steadfast in the faith.”

I ST. PETER v. 9.

“Fear not: I am the first and the last.”

REVELATION i. 17.

 

 

ADVERTISEMENTS.

 

LET us go on a tour. We will not go far—just
through one of the columns of a daily paper,
stop at just the stations we wish to, look about
and see what we shall see. Maybe we can learn
something from the somewhat prosaic “ Wants ”
that may come under our eye.

Here is one requiring a lady to wait in a store:
but the advertisement distinctly states that the
“ applicant must be of prepossessing appear-
ance.” That will have lots of answers; for, you
know, that almost every female from six to
sixty deems herself to be very prepossessing:
each has her own peculiar style of attraction—
some of it is peculiar, much is undiscoverable by
any save by the owner herself. Perhaps some
may say, “I don’t know as I can be called hand-
some; but then, I’m not homely, certame not
a fright, as some will be who are applicants.
Strange how some, who are as uglyas a bowlder
fence, will think themselves so handsome, and
believe others will think as they do!

Well, really, there’s‘uo criterion. Tastes do dif-
fer so much, and no two people judge looks by
the same standard. Why, some might call me
I’m not one of the pinky white
kind, but I don’t lack expression and I know I
must be premssessing, for I was told so as much
as twenty years ago. I shall certainly apply.

And here is one wanting work, but it must be
‘i light and genteel.” There are more p ‘ople de-
SIring such situations than there are places for
the applicants, because all the easy places are
snapped up at once; and employers, as a rule,
seem to want those whom they employ to work
and not dawdle, and to earn what is paid. The
advertisements containing places offered for
farm hands and kitchen girls will remain stand-
1ng longer than those for gentlemen clerks and
genteel salesladies, because there will be one ap-
plicant for the formsr to twenty for the latter.
So many want “light and genteel ”emplo_vmentl
I did not know but every one did, until I came
across the following:

_“I wont work. Ihave two strong arms and am
Willing to use them in any hornet capacity. What
pay is given me I will strive to earn.”

Now, all that may not be very elegantly ex-
pressed, but I like it; it seems to have the true
ring to it, as though the advertiser meant busi-
ness. Such a man will take off his coat and
roll up his sleeves and work. He doesn’t care
102‘ the gentilizy or his labor, but it must be hon-
csf. If the man is true in his statements, he
v. m. employ: ‘J‘im will not begrudge him the
Vi r. ges he earns, feeling well assured that he
does earn them.

“ Fortune Telling!" Ali, me!

 

 

 

The fools are ,

not all dead yet if people are so silly as to be-
lieve in such things, in this nineteenth century of
ours. And the fool-makers still continue to re-
main with us, if one may judge by the numer-
ous advertisers in this employment, which must
be light work, whatever may be said as to its
gentility. The advertisers may not all style
themselves “ Fortune Tellers,” but under what-
ever name it is just the same thing—ands hum-
bug and cheat, sometimes far worse, for all
that.

Fortune must be very unkind to some of her
own ministers else she would not compel them
to live in such miserable and shabby apart-
ments as they do. If, by chance, some are
wealthy, it is to the discredit of. those who have
enriched them by being their Willing dupes. If
there were no victims to be had this wholesale
trade in all that is good, true, moral, manly
and womanly would soon be ended.

And when all the fools are dead or changed
into wise persons, then you will not come across
these obnoxious advertisementm—but not till
then .’ POLLY PARLEY.

 

Gusts of Wind at Lake Tahoe.

LAKE TAHOE, in California, is subject to tre-
mendous gusts of wind, which rush down the
surrounding gorges of the mountains.

Not long Since a party, were fishing from a
pier in the lake when their attention was ate
tracted by a great roaring, and they descried a
regular cyclone approaching. Before the hur-
ricane came a long, unbroken wave, at least
fifteen feet in hight. Knowing that this would
sweep the whole line of the pier, all present
beat a hasty retreat to the shore.

then _at a safe distance they turned to gaze
upon the scene. While thus employed they
Were startled by a tremendous roaring to the
northward, and a moment afterward a cyclone
from that direction struck the lake. This sent
before it a huge wave, which had soon attained
the hight of that coming from the southward.

In a few minutes the two waves came to—
gether. When they struck, a column of_ water
and spray was sent into the air to the hight of
at least 100 feet. The collision of the two
waves was followed by a report that sounded
like a heavy clap of thunder. A moment after
this grand shock of the waters five or Six huge
waterspouts made their appearance, all Within
an area of three or four miles, and carried great
columns of water and spray to the hight of
several hundred feet. After about fifteen min-
utes of the elemental warfare the lake became
calm.

 

Mining Town Life.

A VISITOR to the new mining region of the
Organ mountains in New Mexico gives us this
picture of life in the town Las Cruces adjacent
to the mines:-— ‘

“ There was a sound of revelry that night in
the bar-room of the hotel. Some prospectors
who had “struck it rich,” and two or three
local capitalists who had purchased promising
claims, were indulging in a celebration with a
crowd of admiring satellites. One man sung
a. Dutch dialect song. another improvised some
verses full of very personal allusions to mem-
bers of the company, and the bronzed, bearded
miners, pictures ue despite themselves, with
their broad hats, annels, to boots and belts of
weapons, were swayed like t e veriest children
from stentorian laughter almost to tears at the
words of some doggerel ballad. Across the
street hovered the contrasLa tattered, blear-
cyed, trembling wreck of a man who had gone
through all the startling vicissitudes of a min-
er’s life, had made rich strikes like the men in-
side, and, like most miners, lost his money in
further ventures and in dissipation; who was
among the first on Salmon river and in Bnn~
nock City; who camped on the Comstocks be—
fore any work had been done, and refused an
offer of one-third of the Savage for sinking a
shaft fifty feet, and who that night shook and
trembled in the street without a friend and
without money enough to buy him bread, the
grey of whisky and disease. Lazarus and

ives yet in the Whirligig of the mining gam-
ble change places every day.”

 

A Brave Boy’s Act.

A BRAVE boy who kept twenty Indians at
bay ,died of his wounds, recently, at Denver,
CO]. Three days after the battle of White
river, in which the gallant Thornburgh lost his
life, Freeman Z. “fray, who was in charge of
cattle forty-five miles north of White River
Agency, was attacked by a band of savages.
He contrived to get his rifle and to make so
good a defense that they beth themselves to a
ravine and besieged him at their leisure.

After awhile he got out of ammunition, and
was forced to climb into a wagon to get a. new
supply. While executing this movement, a bul-
let struck him in the calf of the leg, passing di-
rectly through. In another instant another ball
caught him at the hip and knocked him down.
With a whoop and a yell the savages ran to-
ward the spot, expecting to take th ir plucky
foe prisoner. But they were again foiled, for
Wray was only down temporarily, and, getting
to his feet again, scrambled into the wagon,
where lay his ammunition. He pulled a sack of
flour in front of him and piled a bag of beans
on top of that, and took hold of such other ar—
ticles within reach as made for him a barricade
against the shower of balls that was promised.

Rapidly cutting a hole in the canvas wagon-
eover he saw the Indians approaching. Level-
ing his rifle he fired at the foremost of his pur-
suers, without the ball taking effect. This threw
the Indians into confusion, and they retreated
to the walls of the ravine. They threw a. hail-
storm of bullets into the side of the wagon where
the plucky boy lay intrenched. One of those
leaden messengers caught young Wray in the
right eye, crashing through his brain. The In-
dians finally retreated.

After protracted delay the boy’s wounds were
dressed and the balls extracted, and after five
months’ nursing he seemed to be entirely well,
although he had lost the use of one eye. One of
his wounds broke out afresh eighteen months
after the fight, and caused his death.

 

White Men With Indian Brides.

. AMONG the Northwestern tribes of Indians
innocence is as marked among the girls as their
color. Educated in the faith that she was or-
dained to work, she trains herself to hard labor,
and at sixteen years of age is sturdy and strong,
brave agaiusz fatigue, and a. perfect housewife.
She may not possess New England notions of
cleanliness, but she takes not a little pride in
her personal appearance, and in the arrange-
ment of her lodge she displays some crude ideas
of taste and a certain amount of neatness. If
she marries a white man she makes him a good
wife as long as she lives with him. Her home
is her sole comfort, and his comfort her solo am-
bition. She thinks of him and for him, and
makes it her study to please him and make him
respect and love her. She recognizes in him one
of a superior race, and by her dignity and de-
votion endears herself to him, and struggles to
make him happy. At the agencies of the upper
frontier thousands of men are employed, and it
is not an exag eration to say that the majority
of them have ndian wives and live ha pily.

_ The aspiring bridegroom must be we 1 known
in the tribe before he can hope to win a wife;
her people want to thoroughly understand
him, and know if he can support not only her,
but all of her relatives in the event of a pinch.
He must be a warm~hearted man, with a tem-
per warranted to keep in any domestic climax,
and he must have a good lodge, and at least a
half-dozen horses. If he be, and have, all these,
he can a-Wooing go. Then, selecting a lady, he
makes application to the mother, and at a coun-
cil the price is fixed upon. If the girl is espe-
Cially pretty the mother will demand a gun,
tWo horses, and a lot of provi=ions, blankets,
and cloth. A gun is valued at $50, and he must

 

furnish the material to bring the amount up to
from $100 to $1 Then he tries to beat the
dame down, and he succeeds he knows there
is some reason for her letting the girl so, if not
he understands he is making a good cliOice. The
Courtship is left entirely to the mother.

 

A Movable Mountain in Nevada.

IN the eastern part of Churchill county, on
the mad from WudSworth to Grantsville, and

about sixty-five miles from the former place, is ;

a sand dune, which is remarkable alike {units
peculiar formation and moving propensities.
As far around as the eye can reach is a vast
wilderness of greasewood and s unted sage-
brush, with here and there abru t mountain
ridges, or a sharp, rocky peak. he dune, or
sand mountain i'i'lge, which is about four miles
in length, and covers probably a mile of gr- ase-
wood in width, was, peihaps, fOimed by the
heavy winds which ievail in that section,
blowing across these eserts through a natural
opening in a small range of mountains, and de-
positing the small particles of sand that were
picked up in a heap where the Wind’s course is
disturbed and an eddy formed.

In the whole dune, which is from 100 to
400 feet in hight, and CODtains millions of tons
of sand, it is impossible to find a article much
larger than a pin-head. It is so no that if an
ordinary barley sack be filled and placed in a
moving wagon, the joltin 0f the vehicle would
empty the sack, and yet it has no form of dust
in it, and is as clean as any sea-beach sand.
The mountain is so solid as to give it a musical
sound when trod upon, and oftentimes a bird
lighting on it, or a large lizard running acress
the bottom, will start a large quantity of the
sand to sliding, which makes a noise resembling
the vibration of telegraph wires with a hard
wind blowing, but so much louder that it is
often heard at a distance of six or seven miles,
and is deafening to a person Standing within a
short distance of the sliding sand.

A peculiar feature of the dune is that it is
not stationary, but rolls slowly eastward, the
wind gathering it up on the west end, and car-
rying it along the ridge until it is again do
posited at the eastern end. Mr. Monroe, the
well-known surveyor, having heard of the ram-
bling habits of this mammoth sand heap, quite
a number of years ago took careful beatings on
it while Set‘IIOIlllelg Government lands in that
vicinity. Several years later he visited the
place, and found that the dune had moved
something over a mile.

 

Incredible Rifle Shooting.

Or Dr. Frank Powell’s marvelous shooting
Wi‘ have this further mention, in the La Crosse,
IVis” Leader :—

“ The doctor seated himself in a dark room,
one of a range about forty feet awa from the
target, and shot through the open oors, all of
which are in range. An attendant had a match
between his thumb and first finger. The bulle
which is no larger than a pen, one of those sho
number twenty-two cartridges, grazed it in the
center the first shot and broke it in two [the
second. The match was then held a ainst the
target with the brimstone end up. fter one
or two shots the match was struck on the point
and lighted. The ashes of a cigar held in the
smoker‘ s teeth were neatly clipped off the first
shot. The doctor’s finger ring was held up, a
paper being placed over it. Two bullets were
sent through it in quick succession without a
failure. A cork two inches long and a quarter
of an inch in diameter was poised on the head
of an attendant a la William Tell. The first
shot failed, but the second sent a ball through
its side.

“ One of the most interesting tests was this:—
A pin was stuck up in the target so that it was
parallel with the surface of the wood. A bullet
was shot against the center of the pin, bending
the latter around it and imbedding both in the
plank behind it.

This experiment was repeated several times.
There were failures of course but it was a close
call for the pin every time. Another test was
to stretch a fine thread across a iece of white
paper and endeavor to cut the t read with the
builet. This is a difficult feat, because if the
thread is long and not drawn tightly the bullet
will cut the paper away from under it without
cutting the thread. Several shots Were made
before this feet was accomplished. A cigar was
too big an ob'ect. A small-sized cartridge shell
was a. doome target every time. “ The weapon
used was a Winchester rifle, and the small
cartridges made no more noise or smoke than
would be made in striking one of these flash
matches. Dr. Powell shoots equally well with
a revolver, at comparative distances.”

 

Training Savage Ammals' .

A CURIOUS history, and one that sheds many
gleams of light upon the character of beasts in
the menagerie, is that of Henri Martin, the lion-
ta her, who died recently in Baltimore, ninety
years old, quietly at his home, “ among his collec-
tions of butterflies and his books of botany.”

Mai tin, according to his own letters, began to
cultivate his gift of control over animals in the
days when he was connected with a circus, by
acquiring an extraordinary power over horses,
which he taught every trick known to the pros
fession, and some which have hardly been ex-
actly paralleled. From this he went on to tam-
ing wild beasts, and soon after he had started
business as part proprietonof a menagerie he
had labored eight months in training a royal
tiger and had taught a spotted hyena to pick up
his gloves. He was never seen with a whip in
his hand; but he cromed his arms and gave his
animals the word of command to leap on and
off his shoulders, and he considered his method
infinitely superior to that of the trainers who
go through their business chiefly by the terror-
ism of a heavy whip and a revolver. Their
beasts obey them, but, he said, “they are not
tamed as mine Were, and when one of them re-
bels you can 'udge the tragic result from the
tragical end of ucas.” One day Martin told his
wife that be anticipated trouble with his lion
Cobourg, who was then in a dangerous state of
excitement. She begged him to put off the per-
formance; he said: “No; for if I should do it-
once I should have to do it every time the ani-
mals have caprices.”

The nextm'ght his forebodings were fulfilled.
Instead of performing his not properly, C0—
bourg crouched low and dust is talous into the
stage and his eyes flared. Martin had no wea—
pon at command, except a dagger in his belt—“ I
have said never a whip.” Instead of obeying or-
ders the lion leaped at Martin and a combat oc-
curred, in the course of which the lion took Mar-
tin up in his mouth and shook him in the air.
Martin struck the animal over the nose for a sec-
ond time, and then, feeling his strength cx-
hausted, gave himself up for lost, and turned his
back to the beast, so that at the next spring it
might attack the back of his neck. and so “ make
an end of the business. * * * But two
seconds passed two seconds that seemed to me
an eternity. Iturned around; the lion’s mood
had changed. He looked at the audience, he
looked at_me. I gave the sign to go. He went
away as if nothing had happened.” It was
fourteen weeks before Martin could perform
again, but then the lion worked as well as
usual, and continued to do so for four years
Without any more caprices. In taming one
of his tigers, Martin began by taking the
brute’s attention of! the door of the cage,
and then, armed with a dagger, he went rapidly
into the cage, and stood looking at the tiger,
which for some minutes lay motionless, staring
at him. Then, feeling a shiver, and kn0win
that if the tiger saw it all would be over wit
him, he went swiftly out. At the end of a fort-
night he Went again into the cage, and this
time stayed there half an hour. A third time
he paid the tiger a visit, staying three-quarters
a; an hpufii'. f“lThedfourth tifme the tiger, trem-

inga cm, it own beorethe i m w o
braved him.” y “ p g y b

 

 

Correspondents Column.

[This column is Open to all correspondents. In-
quiries answered as fully and as promptly as circum-
stances will permit. Contributions not entered as
“ declined ” may be considered accepted. No MSS.
returned unless stamps are incloscd.]

Declined: “ A Rosaiy;" “ The Lost Moom“ “ Old
an;" “ Jim Burlcson‘s Bridef‘ “ llbcrto‘s Wrath;"
“ Too Many at llomc;" “ One Country Cousin;"
“ A Deferred Ride” " Love‘s Rcward;" “ Why and
When rnd the Widowerf‘ “ Bolstei'ed Up; ‘ ‘.‘ A
Square Success,“ “ November Kiiccks;" “ Marrying
the Elder;" “Reserved Rights;" “ A Nice Arrange-
Eleni) ;" “A Way Out of the Tioublc ;" “ Nata

one."

KEGAN. The premium on gold in April, 1871, rose
from 110% to 111%; in April, 1872, it rose from 109};
to 113).,1—Thcre is no law «amp [(1720 the reception
of trade dollars, which are not a legal tender.

READER. The author named writes exclusively
for us —I’apcr is dampened because it takes the in '
IEC‘IICI' from the typo—“'rite to American News Co.
ILI‘ their wholesale rates for our publications.

GAMGEE. There is no such ublication and the

only way of ascertaining the va ue of the 'onds at
the criods named is by consulting the files of New
Yor ' daily papers, which may be found in any of the
libraries.
' A. IV. S. We cannot supply numbers of the paper
below 500. but can furnish all from that number up
to 601. The “ “'olf Demon “ common-ed in 486. The
story “ IJivoi-ccil but not Divided,“ is No. 80 of our
" Fireside Library."

H. ARLINGTON. Crockett was killed in the defense
of the Alamo fort (San Antonio. Texas). See
Beadle’s Dlinc “ Life of (Tockctt."—\Vritc to Hitch-
cock, music dealer, lull Nassau 81., N. Y., for the
songs. ‘

ABNER Classes. The " Dime Dialogues " will ive
your school and "nniuti-ur lht‘SpillllS " :ill the little
dramas and funny pieces you want, They are for
all kinds i f characters and many Very nice dress
dramas.

MERLE MONTE. JR. MS. returned. The author‘s
)rcss name is his own.—~Chas. Bruno, Jr., No. 4 Court-
au it 81., is the address. “'in. A.’ Pond & 00., 25
Union Square. and Chas. H. Ditson & 00.. 813 Broad-
way, are leading music dealers and publishers.

MAME. It is commendable to " ut in the eve-
nings “ as you suggest. Young ladies who stand so
much upon their “ dignitv " and "propricties ” are
their own worst friends. To act as your own best
interests demand certainly is yourright, so go ahead
as you propose, would be our advice.

JOHN, THE JUDGES Sex. There are so many nie-
thods of computing (or " casting up ") interest that
we cannot give them. Almost any arithmetic will
give you the most up )i-oved processes. Counting—
rooms use “Interest ables "—wherein computa-
tions are already made at any 1): r cent. and for any
number of days or weeks. etc. These tables are
great labor-savers.

BELLIGERENT. The fiist duel fought in the United
States occurred at Plymouth. Mass., on the 18th of
June.1621. The principals were Edward Leicester
and Edward Doty, two servants. They were both
wounded-Caesar fought one hundred and fifty
battles. and his armies killed 1,192.000 Gums—There
are no Chinamen in Vermont. It is said to be the
only State in the Union in which there are none.

BANQIIO. Banquo was a Scottish thane [an Anglo-
Saxon or Danish dignitary] and warrior of the 11th
century. He was the pmgenltor of the royal house
of Stuart. Shakes are immortalized him in the
tragedy of Macbet , where, at the instigation of
lllacbe h. Banquo was murdered. He appears as a
ghost to his murderer, iii the ban uct scene, in the

bird act, and again in the witc es‘ cave in the
fourth act.

J. H. D. asks who it was that said the character
and fate of the child was determined by its mother.
Also the origin of the expression “forever and a
day; ' and if we can tell him how much the Astor's
are worth?———Na icon—“'e do not know the origin
of “forever an a day.“ It is an extravagant ex‘
pression ulinrly common to schoolgirls—The
wealth of he Astor family is estimated at one hun-
dred millions of dollars.

SETH TEMPLE. A water bottle is a lass bottle in
the shape of a claret or liquor jug, tit without a
handle or stopper. The French name for them is
carafe. and by this they are more usually called.
They are not only largely used at. restaurants and
hotels, but by private families. One or two bottles
suffice for a small table. The should be filled with
fresh water. A large lump 0 ice is then placed in
each goblet, and water is poured upon this, as need-
ed, from the bottles.

Summons. Of course if you are very much
“ smitten " with the lady there is no impropriety in
your showing attentions to her, even hough she
seem indifferent; and in time you may win her
liking. But we would not advise you to expose
yourself to any embarrassment by perseverlng in
unappreciated attentions too 10 . If the attrac
tion roves mutual you will soon ome aware of
the act; if not, we would advise you to try and turn
you affections into a different channel.

MARCUS. If you would have your children always
address you in a polite manner you must take care
to address them politely. Children swiftly and nat-
urally imitate the manners of their elders; and little
ones who are invariably treated with gentleness,
courtesy and unfailing politeness, will grow up to
treat every one in this way—There is but one thing
to say in regard to your flirtatious with the ladies
you knew before you were married. They ought to
cease. They may be harmless, but an uncharitable
world will never judge them so. And for the sake
of your wife and children you should avoid men the
appearance of evil.

CHARLIE DRAPER asks, if we think lovers who have
once quarreled can make up and be as good friends
as ever? And whether he should propose to the
lady’s father before formally proposing to her?—
You must have entirely forgotten the old adage that
“ the course of true love never runs smooth.”
Lovers sometimes have many quarrels which they
make up to their own satisfaction, becoming devoted
husban s and wives. Indeed. it is almost impossible
that two people of any individuality of character
and strength of will, should learn to adapt them-
selves com letely to each other without more or less
quarrels. o bear and forbear is a maxim which
lovers and married couples should ceaselessly keep
in mind.— It is certainly more proper to speak to the
parents first, although in this country, in the present
day, this observance is “ honored more in the breach
than in the observance."

BOTEBRSOME. On the contrary we are glad to
give you all the information we can. Guel h is the
surname of the present royal family of ngland.
The name is pronounced as if spelled “ morlf.” The
original name was Guelfo, p‘ronounced gawk/'0.
And the original Guclphs, or 'elf were Italians.
Their history can be traced back to t e 9th centurv.
In the 11th century this ancient and princely fami y
migrated to Germany where they acquired posses-
sion of Bavaria, in 1070, and in 1107 of Hanover,
and in 1126 of Brunswick. The ancestors of the
direct German branch of the family were
Albert A220 11., ‘l .. ve of Este, who was
born about 906, and who married the Guelphic
princess, Kunigunde, or Cuncgonda. Their son
Guelph IV“ became the first truly Gucl iii-3 duke oi
Bavaria. And from him Guelph IV“ cscended in
a direct line the houses of Brunswick, Hanover, and
the present royal family of England.

ADAH D. R The “City of Churches,” is Brooklyn,
N. Y.; the “ City of Elms,” New Haven, Ct.‘ the
" City of Magnificent Distances," Washington.  C.:
the “City of Brotherly Love,” also the " Quaker
City," Philadelphia, Pa; “City of Rock ” Nash-
vxllc, Tomi; "City of Spindles.” Low Mass:
“City of the Straits,“ Detroit, Mich.‘ “Athens of
America,“ also “City of Notions.” a so “Puritan
City,” also “ The Hub,” Boston, Mass: "Blufi'City."
Hannibal. Mo: “Monumental City " Baltimore,
Md: “Crescent City,” New Orleans, .' “Empire

 

City." also Gotham." New York, N. ’Y.; “Fall
City.” Louisville, Ky; "Flour City," Rochester,
I\ Y ' “Flower City," Springfield, Ill.; "Forest

City," Cleveland 0., and Portland, Mo; “Garden
City,” Chicago. Ill: "Gate City," Keokuk, Iowa;
“Iron Citv." also “Smoky City," Pittsburg, Pm:
“Mound City,” St. Louis. 310.: "Queen City,” also
“ Queen of the “'cst.” Cincinnati, 0.: “ Queen City
of the lakes,” Buflalo, N. Y.; “ Railroad City,"
Indianapolis, Ind.

Fm PLAY asks: “ 1. Do you think a lady has any
more right to sue for damages when a gentleman
Jilts her than a. gentleman has when a lady jilts him?
2. What are the principal characters in the opera of
‘La Traviata?’ 3. What musical personage has
received the highest pay for singing? 4. Would it
be out of the way for me to ask a lady whom I have
only known for a week to go to an eve ' enter-
tainment with me?" In some cases, no. ut you
must remember that the existing views of soacty
aimsuch that a your: man with hOwever many
fa its is smiled upon, w ile a lady with the slightest
suspicion of a sin or a foible about her is frowned
upon. Now when agentleman ljilts a lady, eminent-
ly just Societv says there must ave been something
wrong about , and her reputation stiff to adr-
greé; while agentleman may be jilted v twmt)‘
girls Without his reputation suffering at all' so that
in many cases a lady may sue for damages done her
re i.itation, while the gentleman has no such excuse.
— ioletta, Flora, Anina, Alfred, Germond and the
Doctor.-.—Patti has received as high as 3 500 11 night
for singing—No, not if you have met er several
times and are well acquainted with some of. her
friends, and she is willing to go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

        
  

 

 

 

 

 

 
  
 
  
   

 

 

 

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fireside Ballads. .

rim rmsotogicat norm

3! E. B. masses.

0
Last night I attended a lecture,
The subject was strange and unique;
The s er was old an bald-headed,
his n seemed totte ‘
But when e stepped out on the cm,
And placidly ‘round the place
And common to deliver his lecture,
Asmile lit hisold wrinkled face.

He said that the brain of all creatures

Is the seat and the throne of the mind,
And the skull which covers it over,

Tells whether ’tis coarse or refined.
The brain isall made up of rtions

organs, each one with a name;

Each perform some particular office-

No other performing the same.

One organ, he said. is called lime;
It gives us the wer of speech,
Which, taken wi Veneration,
Will give inclination .
There’s an organ whhh makes us combative
ely stand up for the right,
With another denoting Destruction
Inclines usqiiite strongly to fight.

Another, he said, is called Firmness.
Lomted at top of the head:

And another, ‘ to Marriage,
Inclmes us quite strongly to wed.

There’s an organ by which we love others
Who belong to the opposite sex;

And another which makes us love children
And fondle them rather than vex.

There’s another which makes us musicians,
And gives us the power of song:
WThile another makes ufitcfonsdezrfitious
0 mm 'nguish' e ri rom e wrong.
Then another he callefi it Construction,
Which te to plan and to build;
And another he named Acquisition
Which keeps all our purses well filled.

There’s another he named Calculation,
Inclines us to add and subtract:
And another is called Observation,
Inclines us to note every fact.
Another he called Human Nature,
Which fies knowledge to us of our kind,
Which, on with others he mentioned,
Makes our words and our actions refined.

Benevolence makes us large-hearted

And willing to give to the poor;
Causality makes us reflective,

And makes all our reasoning sure.
Then those who have large Imitation,
Wage fated for mimics :nd cllowns:

e ope lifts us up rom esponding
 In the midst of adversity’s frowns.

 

   

‘ , gideality gives us fine feelings,
 Sublimity raises their tone,
Self-Esteem makes us proud and conceited,
As if all the world were our own.
Continuity fixes attention
On one thing until it is done.
Adhesiveness makes us love friendship,

,—

 

And Mirthfulness makes us love fun.

He told us likewise, that big noses
Show character, massive and strong;
And a longipper h denotes firmness
To hold he right or the wro .
Pouting lips indicate strong aflect ous,
Large mouths denote large open hearts;
Black lacs denote smartness and cunning
Togo er with mischievous arts.

Roman noses, he said, denote courage;

Grecian ones denote feelings refined;
Peaked noses show had dispositions,

Pug noses denote lack of mind.
130% noses will advertise misers.

o'll carefully heard u their store,

While thin ones show plain y the ndthrift,
‘ Who‘ll spend all their money an more.

Thus he said that our thoughts and our feelings
Are written in characters bold
Alli 0E! our head'se and our
11 “811880 '11 may
I declare l wasqalmost converted
To this doctrine so strange and so new;
1 am almost afraid it's a humbug,
Yet I’d like to believe it is true.

But when. after lecture was over
He went to examining

And made out of old deacon Tanner
A saint by benevolence led,

And out of fool Skinner, a statesman
Whose future would be of renown,

I reckoned I‘d wait awhile longer
Before I’d acknowledge the corn.

 

 

John Armstrong. Mechanic;

Praia theBottoin tothe'l‘opof’the
Ladder.

ASteryofKowalancanBiseinAmsrloa.

BY CAPT. FRED. WHITTAKER,
amazon or “sniro, KING or ran rmrs,”
“m m nun,” “om: an. rm: can—
soxsna,” me, are.

CHAPTER VII.
N o '1‘ D o w N Y E 1‘ .

MB. ABEL HANDY proved to be a good judge
of human nature, for his short address to t 0
men worked wonders in favor of Armstrong.
No reputation wins for itself among workmen
so inth respectas that of being a quiet man
but a dangerous fighter. and the very men who
would have bothered our hero the most had the
not heard his prowess so highly spoken o ,
jumped nervously to obey his slightest order
after Handy’s s h, and worked as they had
never done he ore in the Vulcan Company’s
shop—as well as they did at the Excelsmr
Works, in fact.

In the evening Mr. Handy came round to in—
spect things, and nodded as one well pleased at
the riveters’ department, from which he st ' ht-
way went over t) the filers, and proceed to
blow up their foreman, sky-high, holding up
the example of Armstrong. much to the poor
fellow’s confusion; for he knew the jealousy
that would ensue.

Then, when the mercurial manager had done
all he could to set the two departments by the
ears. he vanished, with a threat to disch all
the filers if next day were not better, and rm~
strong saw that war was declared between him
and the other foreman, a big man with afine
black beard and a good opinion of his own pow-
ers in every respect.

Hostilities broke out as soon as the manager
vanished, by the fi‘er, in loud tones, calling out:

“ Darned if I like these suckers. Getting
round old Gimlet, and setting a whole shop by
the ears. I sa they’d better go back where they

{Vs don’t want no country bosses

 

 

here.”

The riveters looked at John, but he went on
with his washing with a calmness that nothing
disturbed, and drew on his coat to go home
without noticing the other, who took courage at
his silence, thinking him afraid, and treated
him to a volley of indirect abuse, to which Arm-
strong gave no Word of answer till the filer
cried:

“ Here, you, foreman sucker—you riveter
foreman, I mean—what’s your name, darn ye?”

Armstrong turned round with a smile that
was 2rfectly easy, saying:

“ ynamei John Armstrong. What’s yours,
friend?” . '

“My name’s Fi htin’ Mike Hennessy,” cried
the other, “and can whip you out of your
skin, you dirty sucker, undermining better men
with the boss—d’ye hear?” .

Armstrong co ored slightly, While all the
workmen within hearing stopped dressing to
stare: but it was with perfect good temper that
he re lied:

“ ebbe you kin, Mr. chnessy, but I don’t
see why you should. I ain’t on the fight now-
ndays.

“ Maybe you used to be, then,” sneered Hen-
nessy, elaborately. “I’ve heard lots of coun-
try greenies come here and talk fight, till I got
at ’em.”

John Armstrong smiled slightly.

“ It’s a bad biz. fi’tin’, Mr. Hennessy,” was all
he ,r’eplied. “I don’t wanter fight. Goodevo-
nin . ’

And he turned his back and walked away,
when ‘Hennessy yelled out:

“That’s it. Run, ye coward. Any one can
see you’re the son of a coward.”

Armstrong was near the door as the words
reached him, and heard a low hiss from the riv-
eters. He s short, wheeled round, and
came back to ennessy, taking of! his cent as
he came but halting within ten feet of the
other. Then, amid dead silence, he said:

“My father fit in the war, sir. He warn’t
we; called a coward, and he never run in his

Hennemy laughed sneeringly.

“ Fit in the war, count ! Druv’ a wagon,
on man. There was lots 0 skulks and bounty-
jugipers as tells how they fought, and lie about
1

John had turned very white now, and his eyes
were blazing, as he replied:

“ Mr. Hennessy, I don’t want no trouble with
e. We’re feller- workers in the same sho , and
’ve told ye I ain’t on the fight new. war,
ons’t, and sorry 1 am fur it. My father were
shot through the lungs at Gettysburg, and he
draws a pension fur it. Kin you say as much
fur yourn?”

The question seemed, for some reason, to irri-
tate Hennessy, for he snarled:
“ Go to blazes and find out. I'll mash you in
the jaw, I will, if you say any more about my
father.”
John drew back a little. with a start.
“ No. no,” he said, earbestly, “ don’t mistake
me. I love my poor old dad too much to speak
ill of any other man’s father. ’Tam’t that, Hen-
ness , ’tain’t that—”
“ don’t care what the biases it is,” the other
interrupted, brutally, taking the countryman’s
scruple for a sign of yielding. “ You’re a com
sarned 00ward, that’s what you are and you’ve
got to take the name. Wait till I ketch you
outside. I’ll get uare with on for sucking
round the boss. 1’ tan your hide for ye.”
And, so saying, with a triumphant laugh, he
flung away, leaving John standing b an anvil
alone with his old chum, Steve Bar er, while
the riveters passed out by him, with a sneer on
ever face, and one said, audibli:
“ ighting Mike’s cowed him, y osh!”
Armstrong started as if a bee h stung him.
and looked around at Steve with a face like
ashes, tears in his eyes. .
“ By heavens l” he cried out, with a roar like a
wounded lion. “1 can’t—I can’t stand it! Hev
I t to fight again tonight?”
en came a jeering laugh from the men at
the door, and one called back:

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“ Ye would have

“ Fight! Oh, blazes! You ain’t worth shocks
to fight, no more nor yer darned old daddy.”

Armstrong knew the voice of the black-
bearded Fighting Mike Hennessy, and he picked
up his coat from the anvil where it lay, handing
it to Barker, and saying:

“ You see. He will have it. I kin stand any-
thing but that. Come with me.”

Barker nodded with a grin, and the young
workman strode out into the crowd. throttling
the men right and left like so many kittens, till
he came to Hennessy, on whose shoulder he laid
the grip of a giant, and fiung him back several
feet. utterly amazed.

“Now,” he said. in a whis r through white
lips, glaring at Hennessy, ‘you’ll take back
what you said about my father or fight at once.”

Hennemy had felt the grip and saw the face
before him, and for the first time began to real-
ize that he had a dangerous customer to deal
with. He backed away, crying out:

“ Fiil' play! You’ve got your coat off—I
hain’t. I didn’t say nothing against your fa-
ther. that I know of.”

“You lie!” hissed John, now at last fairly
lashed into frenzy. “ You cursed him. You
called me the son of a coward. D’ye take it
back?”

Hennessy began to drop his coat ofl', and
Armstrong fell back a pace to let him do it.
When he had done so, one might have seen that
“ Fighting Mike ” was rather pale, and that his
lips were trembling.

“Are ye ready i" growled Armstrong, while
the men gathered round with anxious faces.
“D’ve take it back or no?"

“Come on 1” answered Hennessy, who could
not retreat now, had he wished.

The words were not out of his lips ere the
countryman advanced with a sudden springlike
a tiger, and gave him a single ri lit-hand blow
under the chin that lifted “Fighting Mike"
clear of! his feet, and dropped him on the pave-
ment with a thump. In another moment Arm-
strong was on him as he lay, his eyes glaring,
his white teeth shinin , as he hissed:

“ D'ge take it back“ ’ his khuckles deep in the
other’s throat.

He had calculated the force of his blow coolly,
in all his anger, and knew that Hennessy was
not insensible.

In fact, the other gurgled out:

“ Yes, es, enough.”

Then rmstrong jum up in a moment,
and waved away the wor men.

“ Ye would have it,” he said, hoarsely. “ I
didn’t seek it, God knows: but arter this I give
ye all notice, any man that says a word ag’in’
my old dad I’ll lav him out so he’ll never do’t
again. Clear out!”

He was roused at last to the very depths of
his sim le nature; this strong, Self-controlled
man, w o be ndured patiently so much con-
tumely. The was a fierce look in his face,
even now, from which the stoutest workmen
shrunk back and he swung through the crowd,
followed by Steve Barker, who had a quiet grin
on his face, denoting intense satisfaction, and
who remarked audiny as he looked at Hen-

 

nessy, sitting ruefully up:

 

 

__..—_.u___.._._____..____ _.

“ ’E’s got his bellyful at last, ’as ’e. Tell ye
what, lads, these quiet chaps be main danger-
ous when ye work ’em oop too mucn. They’ll
stond spittin’, but ye mustn’t try to rub ’un in.
It ain’t allers safe. Good-night.’

Then he slouched down the street after John,
whom he found panting and glaring at the walls
as he strode on, and who greeted him as he took
his coat with:

“ Thankye, thankye, Steve, thankye. You’re
a good friend, a good friend. Say, did I look
bad, did It”

“ Bad?” echoed Steve, puzzled. “ Thou
look’dst like a born fouten man, that‘s all, lad.
Why, what‘s come over thee? Thou look’st
likewthou was ’fronted at summat. What is
us

“I am, I am.” returned Armstrong, with a
sort of nervous shiver. “I’m afeared of my-
self, Steve, myself. The minister told me
once, when I were a be , that if I didn’t con-
quer my temper, it won d end in murder some
day. And I fight it so hard. I fought it to-
night. as long as I could, but it got the best of
me at last. 0!], ain’t I glad he said he took it
back. Why, do you know, Steve—"

Here he stopped, drew a deep, breath, and
continued, with a face that had a tired sort of
look about it, curious to sse: i

“ Do you know I’m steered ef he hadn’t said
‘enough’ I mou’t hev taken hiscyes out. Oh,
ain’t l desprit wicked? l sha’n t have no peace
till I git that outer my head. S’pose I’d
blinded the poor critter? He didn’t know no
better. He war only coaxiu’ a fight. He
didn’t know my poor old dad. or he couldn’t
have said what he did. He couldn’t. Why,
wh , Steve, do you know I’m afeared I made a
foo of myself. I oughtu’ter noticed him at all.
He. didn’t mean nothiu’.”

And the anger faded out of his face, to be re-
placed by a look of simple sorrow, as he went
on with Steve, saying:

“ I met try to get rid of this temper of mine,
Steve, I must. It’s mean. It ain’t right,
’spesh’ly in me, when I know all the fightin’
tricks were ever beerd tell on. I’ll hev to make
it up with pore Hennessy in the morning, I
must. He thought I got the boss to give him a
layin’ out, and he were mad. I’ll try and make
it up to-morrow.”

And thus he rambled on in his simple, great-
hearted prattle, till Steve suddenly burst out:

“Odds mon, be thee a fule or a arson, or
what! If a was thou, and ’ad lic ed three

chaps like thou’st done, in three nights, just as
easy as kissin’ my ’and, the city wouldn’t ’old
me, ’twouldn’t! Swear I can’t make thee out,

 
    

 

 

 

 

morning, and she‘s sure to know. My mother
knows everything in the world, I really be
lieve.”

Artful Ella! __

CHAPTER VIII.

THE LADDER OF IDVE.

ARTFUL Ella, and yet so artless!
not exactly know how it was done, but no
more did the girl, for that matter. It just
came about naturally, without apparent inten-
tion on the part of either. She had said, care-

John did

lesslf':
“ suppose you’ve forgotten all about the
number of our house?”

Then he answered:

“No, indeed, miss; fur I put away the ad-
dress careful. It be in Ashley street, and that’s
jest five block away.”

To which she responded:

“Yes, and it’s quite a little walk with this
heavy bundle.”

And then John colored crimson, and dis-
covered that the girl had a. large bundle lying
on the sidewalk, hidden by her skirt, so that he
had not seen it before. And he s:ammercd:

“I beg parding, miss; indeed. I didn’t see
it. You’ll let me kerry it fur ye, I hope, if I
ain’t i strudin’?”

And Ella fairly laughed at his simple way of
speaking, and replied:

“ Why, of course, I should be very much
obliged if you’d see me home, for on knew I
have to pass by that house where hose young
men boaiC, and they might—”

John snatched up the bundle like a feather,
and said firmly:

“That settles it, miss. I‘ll do it, and glad of
the chance too, you bet.”

So it happened that they went down Ashley
street together, and pamed by No. 81, where
Munson, Wheeler and Jim Stryker sat smoking
on the steps, and Ella Morton got on the out-
side, keeping John between her and the house,
while the young man glanced menacingly at
the three friends as he passed, and all three
turned their heads the other way, and pretend—
ed not to see him.

It nevar occurred to John till after the whole
thing was over, that it took them a long time to
walk from No. 81 to 14.3, and that during the
journey he had done more talking than he had
believed it possible he could ever have done to
a lady, for he had never had a sister, and
looked on women in general. especially those
who spoke in the way that Ella Morton did, as
a sort of creature between men and angels, to

t   

 {ll

. _4éj€io,':. \_ r .

I  gala-j. w a ,
we  :v .

. fizz/£52, V fills ,

it.” he said, hoanely. “ I didn’t seek it, God knows.”

Jack Armstrong. Thou’rt a reg’lar divil one
moment, and a suckin’ babby next. Coom
along and ’ave thy supper like a sensible mon.
I’m proud 0’ thee, dang thee. Dost ’ear!”

And when he took John into supper, he burst
out to his wife:

" Hey, missus, what dost think? Danged if
that Jack Armstrong ain’t licked a man a
night every day he’s been in this blessed city.
’E’s a reg’lar bloody fighter ’6 is. Tom Sayers
bean’t nowhere to him. Give ’un a good sup-
per, less. and treat him well, for thou’rt board-
1n’ the foreman of the ring, and I’ll lay five
pound to one ’e’ll end in in’ ’ead of the shop
store he's done, for all ’e ain’t too much money
jest now. They won’t trouble ’un again.”

And as Seve had predicted so it came about.
Next day, not only was there no trouble in the
shop, but foreman chnessy made his appear-
ance, as quiet as a lamb, and hurried up all the
filers in their work so that Manager Handy
nodded his satisfaction next evening, and set to
work to 8 -old the foreman of another depart—
ment, with the ultimate result of hurrying: up
the Whole shop in every branch of work done
there. And so the week passed over quietly with
out fuither adventures, Saturday night came,
and John received twean dollars pay for four
days’ work, and said to himself, with a smile of
great thankfulness, going home:

“ Fifteen dollars for poor old dad, and mebbe
I kin bring him down next week to live here.
Oh, glory. how happy I be! How’ll I send it
safest? Wish I knowed some one in the city as
could tell me what to do. Pore S.‘cve ain’t no
gui 1e in sick matters.”

He was meandering along, lost in his own
thoughts, when he almost fell over some one,
much smaller than himself, and stirtiug back
to apologize, saw that it was a girl, who looked
up arcth in his face and said:

“Why, Mr. Armstrong, is it you? And you’ve
never been to see mother all this week.”

B or John, for a moment, blushed to his hair
and fall? dazed and confused. He had actually
forgotten, in his anxieties and work, all about
lilttllo Ella Morton, over whom he had just stum-
b 5.“ .

He stammered out:

“Yes—that is, miss—I would have come—
but—but I’ve been tired and—but I’m right
glad to see ye,” he pursued, his countenance
gradually warming up, “fur you kin maybe
help me a bit, bein’ used to city ways like.
Kin you tell me where’s the post-office, and
how 1 kin scnd mouev safest to my poor old
dad up in Painted Post, mi<sl Id take it
mighty kind, if ye could tell me.”

Ella pursed up her little mouth as if consider-
ing. and said doubtfully:

“ Well. now, I never had any money to send
through the post-office, nor any other way, but
I believe there is what they call a money-order
system-3’

“ Yes. yes,” said John, eagerly. “I’ve beerd
tell on it. but I never rizhtly knowed what it
were. Do you know, miss?"

"\Vell, not exactly.” she answered, “but I
tell you what. I can do. You come to see
mother, as you promised, to-morrow, in the

 

 

be worshiped and listened to, not familiarly
addressed. '

Yet, somehow, he found himself talking
away to Ella, telling her about Painted Post
and his invalid father, till she interrupted him
with:

“ Here We are, Mr. Armstrong, and I’m really
much indebted to you for your kindness. We
live in the basement, and mother will be very
happy to see you to—morrow morning. I sup-
pose you go to church. don’t you?”

“ Yes, miss,” answered John. getting very
bashful again of a sudden. “Dad allers told
me how—”

And he stopped short.

" Very well, " she said. “ Our church opens
at a quarter to eleven, and it’s just a block
away. If mother’s well enough, we’ll all go
to ether. Good-night."

hen she disappeared down the steps, and
John went home in akiml of dream, from which
the face of E la Morton, with its big brown
eyes, looked out in a. mist of glory, while he
could clearly see every window of the home she
lived in.

It was a small two-story brick, at the end of
a twenty—foot- garden, in a retired street which
the metropolis had dropped aside long ago, in
its hurried march to the H'irlem river—one of
those streets one stumbles on near the North and
East rivers in a day’s ramble, to be charmed by
their quiet amid the busiie and noise elsewhere.

From the hex. house, which was at the corner
of a still smaller 3' root, one could see the North
river, with the gray line of the Palisades be—
yond, and an old lumber yard and wharf, where
a few barges came in every Week without noise,
making work for four or five men at the most.

“ Seems to me,” thought John, “I’d kinder
like to live round thcre. It’s more like home
than them barricks where Steve and his wife
puts up. I must ax Miss Morton in the mornin’
’bout, rents in these parts.”

And when he had had his supper at Steve’s,
he was so unusually quiet and reticent that
Barker remarked it, and rallied him with:

“ Ods, mon, what ails thee? Looks likethou’d
be’n sparkln’, and were thinkin’ of a loss, thou
dost! Hi, th'oe, ’tis a tack. See Jock bloosh
up. Oils! but that‘s a good joak. Jock sparkin’
a less nfore ’e‘s a week in the city. ’00 says
country lads b not a match for City lads any
time! Sparkin’, by crikey.”

Armstrong knew he was very red in the face,
but he tried to answer quietly:

“ You’re a-barkin’ up the wron tree, Mister
B'irker. I ain’t denyiu’ I seen a lady this eve-
nin’; but she‘s a reel lady, she is, and I’d take it
kind if you‘d stop bringin’ her in. I would.”

Steve stared at him a moment, and then gave
a wink of intense meaning to his wife. while he
puffed volumes of smoke from his pipe ere re—
plying:

“ No offense. lad. no offense! Warn’t I crazed
mysel' ’bout thbe, there. when I were sparkin’?
’Tis the way 0’ the world, lad. No offense. Wish
thee joy, I do. and a good wife.”

John turned redder than ever.

“ I tell ye, ye’re hm‘kin’ up the wrong tree,
Steve. I ain’t sparkin’, nor like to be, till my

. business letter?

 

 

pore ole dad’s well again; and no one knows
when that’ll be, which ’uiinds me I must write
dad a letter to ons’t. Wonder where I kin do
1

Steve looked puzzled.

“Doan’t know, lad. Doan’t write mysel’, as
thou kuOWest. Mebbe Phoene can tell thee. She
used to make pot-’ooks and ’angers in National
School, she did, tho’f l misdoubt if she writes a
tidy ’and, yet.”

thbe, thus appealed to, replied:

" There’s the Christen Mission in Brown
Place. Mebbe thee can write there. Heard
tell they be main kird to workin’men. It’s
seven block ofi.”

And John accordingly repaired to the place
named, which turned out to be a branch of a
Church Mission School, expressly designed to
help workmen, with a library and club~room,
from which he had the happiness, that very
night, to send to his father at Painted Post a
draft for firteen dollars, at the same time mak-
ing the acquaintance of a man who was to in-
fluence his future life very powerfull .

This was Mr. Baldwin, teacher 0; the arti-
sans’ night class, who had once been a workman
himself, and who said to John, after he had as-
Sisted him in his business. and examined him by
the light of a long experience:

“ See here, young man. You’re too good a
man to stay a common laborer. Why don’t
you come to night school and study mathemat-
ics and grammar?”

John stared at him. He was a ray-haired
and bearded man, with a shrewd, kindly face
that enc;uraged an answer.

“Well, sir,” said John, slowly, “I don’t
’zactly know. What’s them, sir? I’ve b'en
through ’rithmetic up to profit and loss, but I
never found much use for’t, arter the four rules.
Grammar’s su’thin’ we didn’t used to study, up
in Painted Post, ’cep’ teachers.”

Mr. Baldwin smiled.

“I should imagine not. Well, I’ll tell you
why you ought to study grammar. In the first
place don’t you know some one, we’ll say a lady
perhaps, whom you respect and admire, who
speaks a very different language from what
you do, but which you understand perfectly?”

John blushed crimson and said:

- “Why, how’d you know that?”

Mr. Baldwin smiled.

" Never mind. Well, would you not like to
be able to speak to that lady in a manner that
would not perpetually shock her fine sense of
what is proper language? It is perfectly easy,
you know. You understand me, don’t you?”

“ Yes, sir. But—”

“ But what?”

“ But I don’t know nothen’ ’bout this here fine
way 0’ talkin’ as on calls grammar, sir: and I
don’t never hope wouldn’t be able to Peru it,
nohow.”

Mr. Baldwin could not help lau hing.

“Well, well, that’s a pretty bad speech of
yours to begin with. Do you read the papers,
Armstrong?”

“ Yes, sir. ’Spesh’ly round ’lection' times.
Dad allers said a man orter know why he votes
8 ticket and read both sides to find out.”

“ Well, suppose you were to read in the paper
that the editor didn’t know nothing about gram-
mar and didn't never hope he wouldn’t be able
to learn it, nohow, you would not have much
confidence in that paper—eh?”

John stared.

“ 1 don’t rightly see our meanin , sir.”

“There! Yes, you 0. You spo a good en-
ough English there save that on meant ‘ex-
actly’ for ‘rightly. I mean this: your educa—
tion new is enough to answer for the foreman
of a gang; but suppose lyou were promoted to
be head of a. shop, cos d you write a proper
_ Could you make the cal
culations for an estimate on an engine? Can
yo‘ugraw f” n J

‘ es, sir cs interru ted ohn ea er] .
“ I kin draw. yI’ve draw’d :fore now.”’ g y

Mr. Baldwin looked astonished.

“Well, you're a queer compound, I must say
of knowledge and ignorance, shrewd sense and
childlike innocence. I’ve no more to say. If
you want to join the night class it opens next
week, and I shall be happy to help you. That’s
all. Good-night.”

And he turned awn , leaving John in a state
of puzzlement which asted him all night, and
from which he had not fully emerged next
morning when he went, accordin to promise,
to call on Mrs. Morton ‘at 143 AshIey street.

He arrived there about ten o’clock in a bash-
ful mood. His hands and feet had never seemed
so large before, nor his clothes so ill made. Not
that they were dirty or shabby, for he had
spent a good deal of spare cash in smartening
up, and looked respectable enough, but; he had
noticed the difference between the cut of his
clothes and those of other men: and, as he
passad No. 81. had seen Jim Strykcr, in the
carelessly-elegant dress of a well-todo young
man, lounging on the steps, up arently recov-
ered from his drubbing of a wee before.

Jim looked so handsome and was attired so
faultlessly that John’s heart sunk within him as
he thought:

“I whipped him, to be sure, but he’s above
me fur all that ”

It was in this humble frame of mind that be
timidly rung at the basement door of No. 143,
and in another moment stood in a darken (1
room, hat in hand, nodding and smiling awk-
wardly, before some one he could hardly see
after the glare of the str: et.

But he heard a. very gentle voice which wel-
comed him kindly, found himself sitting on the
edge of a chair, nervously answering uestions
about his home, and at last made out t is figure
of a very handsome old lady, with snowy hair
and large brown eyes, who was talking to him
as if she had known him all his life, whilc Ella
Morton, in a plain, neat dress, was sitting by
her mother, smiling at him.

“Did you manage to arrange that little mat-
ter about sending on your money?” the old
lady was asking him. “Ella told me that you
were a stranger here and wanted some informa-
tion.”

“Yes, marm. thankye, marm,” stammered
John. “ A gentleman showed me—a very kind
gent, too, marm—one Mr. Beldwin—p’r‘aps
you might know him, marm, bein’ ’quaintcd
like here.”

When he began to speak the old lady’s face
had beeomo anxious for a moment, but as soon
as he mentioned the name she looked relieved,
and observed:

“ I’m so glad. Yes, I know Mr. Baldwin.
He’s a very worthy, good man. You could not
haves. better friend. In fact, he’s a friend to
every one who needs it. Poor Ella and I owe
him a. great deal. “[9 have been hard put to it,
at times, to live on the poor wages of a seam-
stress, but, thanks to Mr. Baldwin, Ella legins to
teach school here in September, as soon as \‘flCii-
tion is over. I’m very glad you've found Mr.
Baldwin.”

J ohn listened with open ears to every word,
and then said, timidlyz

“He secmed to be a kinder nice man, warm,
but I don’t rightly know in but he meant—su’thia’
he said to me last night. P’r’ups you mou'l tell
me, warm. ’Scuse me if I make too free, but
somehow I feel kinder like I were talkin’ to my
mother, mni‘m—leustwisc—thnt is—I nevcr had
{:0 mother, marm, not to say to remember her,

lit-—

“ I understand you, pcrfcctly,”she replicd,
very softly, as he stumit'ered in his agitation.

“Poor boy, poor boy. Yes, yes, think of me as
if I were a mother, Mr. Armstrong. I owe you
—-we both owe you so much. If We can soften
your hard lot, let us both do it. What did he

so ?”

Then John told her, as well as he could, what
Mr. Baldwin had said. Concluding:

" 1 put it to you. murm. pleam» tell me plain.
I ain’t got no feelin’s to lturt. Do it, make you
feel bad to hear me talkiu’ different to what
you do? Do you think 1 Could Peru to be the
some as Mr. Baldwin and you and the eddicated
folks?”

Thu old ladvcolorcd slightly, and looked at
Ella, who, on her part had her eyes full of tears,
and cried out:

" No, no, be as you are.

 

 

 

          

 

 

 

 

 

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Who cares for fine speech when the
heart’s all righi.’ Is it not true, mother? The
fine gentleni in insulted me, a r girl, and he
took up my cause like a knig't of old times.
Be just as you are; for yours is a noble, noble
heart.”

John flushed up and choked, but kept his eyes
fixed on the old lady, and said softly:

“Don’t mind her, marm. She’s_got a heart
like a dove. Tell me the thing straight, marm.
Don’t be afeared.”

Then the old lady; fixed her motherly eyes on
him and said ent : .

“ don’t likegto spyeak on a subject like this,
Mr. Armstrong. Itis extremely delicate ground.
But, if you insist, then I would say to you only
this: Take the advice Mr. Baldwm ve you.
He was once a common laborer on t 9 decks,
and you have far less to learn than he had.”

John Armstrong watched her hun rily, and
when she had finished he rose up, 100 mg very
pale, saying, in a choked voice:

“ Thank ye, thank ye. That’s mother’s talk.
I’ll do it, marm. Good-by.”

And he went out without another word.

CHAPTER IX.
ANOTHER ROUND UP. _

Two summers have passed away; tWIce 
the snow come and gone; the mud of March Is
in the streets, and the flower-girls are beginning
to hawk bunches of violets and pans1es about,
when we come once more on John Armstrong,
walking out of the door of the Vulcan Iron
Works. Out of the office door, too, not the gate
of the general hands. .

And what a transformation! It is the same
old John in the face, perhaps, yet not altogether
so, even there. He is clean shaven, all but a
thick blonde mustache, and his face has lost
much of the bronze Of former days, while the
fashionable cut of his hair gives it a different
look. He is dressed plainly, yet.in excellent
taste, like any business man coming from the
office, and his fine erect figure looks as stalwart
as ever in the big ulster he wears to fend off the
cold raw atmosphere of March.

As he comes out, he pauses at the door a mo
Inent to say something, in answer to Mr. Abel
Handy; and the. last words we catch are:

“Be back early on Monday, Armstrong, for
you know how we need you.”

“ All right, sir,” he responds, cheerfully, and
then away he strides down the street, humming
an air to himself, till he turns the corner and
comes almost on top of Mr. James Stryker, who
is walking from the Excelsior Works, and who
gives him a short business nod, saying:

“Ah, is it you, Armstrong? I see your peo-
ple got that steamer contract. Wish you joy
of it, but don’t see how you can make money at
those figures.”

Armstrong smiled slightly. Stryker is in
deep mourning, with a tall crape round his hat,
but looks the reverse of m0urnful.

“I might tell you how to do it,” replied the

oung man, quietly, “ but, as you told me once,
business is business. However, I’ll give you a
hint.
have got the contract.
in a hurr .”

And he bows slightly and strides away. The
same Armstrong1 in figure, the same shrewd
sense; the same oncst ring of the voice; but,

natural.

 

Had your uncle been alive, we might not
Good-day. I’m rather

besides all this, something that was not there 1

before: the quiet consciousness of wakened in-
tellect, powers of mind, as well as body; the
trained strength of a man who has read widely
and wisely: who has devoured knowledge wher-
ever he could get it. A man who knows his
own value ; who can swing a sledge or
clinch a rivet with the best workman in the
shop; who can calculate the power of an engine,
the speed of a ship before she has left the ways,
the strength of a suspension bridge, the battery
power for a deep sea. telegraph cable; an en-
gineer, in short.

Yes, it is the same man. John Armstrong,
mechanic. Proud of his calling, but not vain.
No vainer than the simple John of two years
before, perhaps, in his heart of hearts, more
modest than before, knowing, as he does, how
much is left to the wisest man to learn of the
hidden forces of nature.

But John Armstrong: mechanic and gentle-
man, iu manner as well as in heart, striding
down the street toward the North river, on the
most joyful errand his life has yet known.

As he nears the river, where a cold nor’-
wester is chasing away the clouds and drying
up the mud, with a promise of frost, he hears
the sharp boom of a brass gun out in the
stream, and says to himself, with a smile:

“There she comes! Oh, how lad I feel!
And to-morrow—to—morrow is Sungay. I won—
der if he has changed much!”

He hurries down to the dock, just as a
steamer, of the pattern half-way between
ocean and river boat, that denotes a Southern
coaster, rounds into the dock, and he sees on the
bridge a tall, erect old man, with long white
hair and heard, lookin anxiously at the dock.

John’s eyes are so fu l of happy tears he can
hardly see the figure, and he leans up against a
bulkhead, muttering:

“ It’s dad, it‘s my old dad, God bless him, all
right again, all right. Oh, glory, glory! I could
holler right out. Darn my—”

He is talking half-aloud in his excitement,
and lapsing into old provincialisms, but pulls
up in a moment and flushes slightly; then
laughs to himself:

“ How the heart will come back to old habits.
I must break myself of these vulgarisms. It
' on’t do, John, it won’t do. But I wonder if

dad will know me?”

The question will soon be settled for the head
and stern lines are fast, the gang-plank is low-
ered, and the white-headed old man comes
down on the dock, and looks round him in a
puzzled way. He is expecting some one.

John goes quietly forward, his heart beating
rapidly, and falters out:

‘ Father, don’t ye know me?”

Then the old man turns, stares at him in a be-
WIldered way, a moment, and at last cries out:

“ John!”

No word more, and father and son are in
each other’s arms as the old man falters

brgkfinly):
y oy! To thinkIdidn’t know e! Oh
John, John, God bless ye! God bless yzl” '

The same countrified accent with which
John Armstrong had first asked for work in
New York; but softened in the old man by a.
largerOexperience of other ways of speakin
than his son  once had, a certain proud, sel -
respecting air, caught from his war training
of a generation ago. Yet old John Armstrong
18 no_father to be ashamed of, and his son’s
face Is full of tender joy and exultation as he
says, holding the old man away from him to
look at him:

“ Why, dad, you dear old dad. How ye’ve
changed! I wouldn’t have known ye myself,
but for the hair and board. Is the cough all
gone, all gone?” he adds, with a searching,
anxious look.

“Every bit," is the cheerful answer.

“Seems to me I forgot I ever had lungs
down in Floridy, John. ’ Eh, it‘s a grand place
in winter. I gained fifty pound, boy, in the
first winter, and went out a-fishin’ with the
best of ’em. Why, I feel like I could wrastle
a boss, n0w, John. Eh, boy, eh? Well, well,
this do beat all. My John, assistant su rin-
tendent, and livin’ in fust-class style. lory
be to God, boy. we orter be thankful for our
marcies.”

“ I am indeed, father,” returns John, in a low
voice, “but seein you back safe and well is
the best of all. ere’s your trunk, or have
you more than one? here are plenty of

acks here.”

The old man laughs.

“Trunk! Ketch an old sojer with a trunk,
John. No, no, I travel light, boy, so I kin
break camp at a. moment’s notice. I’ve got my
old knapsack, and nary thing else. Don’t want
no back. The old boys used to march tWenty
mile. aday reg’lar in July, and now I’m well,
I don’t want no hack.”

Then he turns to the ship and calls:

“Hello, Charley! You, sailor man. Heave
me that ’ere knapsack on the rail.”

 

   
 

And forthwith cl mes fl) ing tliiouglrtlie air
a venerable black knapsack, all bulging out
with its contents, with tne number 198 on the
back.

Old Armstrong pats it affectionately.

“ That’s the reg’lar old thing. How we used
to hate it once, and carry nothen but a
blanket and a. an to save weight, but I tell e
there ain’t no iscount on it to hold somethin’
more all the time.” .

And be is about to adjust it, when his son
sa s gravely:

‘Not now, father. It’s not necessary. We
don’t use them in this city, and folks Will stare
at us. We’ll ride in the back, if you don’t ob-
ject, for we’ve two or three miles to drive to
our boarding-house.”

“All right, John; you know best,” says the
old man; “ but I’ve cost ye a heap of money
a’ready, and I thought we mou’t as well save
hack hire, novv I’m ell.”

His son makes no answer save a pressure of
the arm and a fond smile, as he carries the
knapsack himself and leads his fathr r to a car-
riage, when they are driven off rapidly up-
town to a boarding-house, very different from
the tenement in which John had lodged two
years before with old Steve Barker, and where
the old man is soon installed in a large room,
with all the modern conveniences. at which he

 

stares, in his simple wonder, and says, in a low
tone: ’

“ Oh, John, dfll’t it cost a heap to live in this
grand place?”

John smiles slightly, as he answers:

“ Not so much as you think. BeSIdes, I get a
very comfortable salar now, the ne to Mr.
Hand ; and they talk 0 electing him p ident.”

“ hat!” exclaims his father, “ President of
of the States? Why, boy, ’tain‘t ’lection year.”

John laughs.

“ N o, no. President of the Vulcan Company.
He can do better work outside than in, wastin
his time over details which I can attend to; an
I can tell you, father, that since he’s had me 
help him kee the men straight, the stock’s paid
a dividend o eight per cent. quarterly.”

The old man looks puzzled and awe . .

“I s’pose it’s all right,” he says, resrgnedlyi
“but it will take me time to git used to livm
this way. Didn’t it you?"

John colors slightly.

“ At first, yes, but when you’re used to it,
father, it’s pleasanter than the way we used to
do things at Painted Post. Not that we were
dirty, but I can see now that we were careless
in little things, rude Without meaning it, and
did a great deal that would have shocked ladies
who have been well brought up.”

The old man eyes him cenly, with a jealous
feeling at his heart.

“ I s‘pose then,” he says, slowly, “that you
want me to change my ways, or you’ll be
’shamed of yer Old dad .4”

John starts violently.

“ My God, no, father. What put such an
idea into your head? Ashamed of you? No,
by heavens, no! When I’m ashamed of you, I
deserve to be kicked around the city for a cur.”

The old man nods with glistenin eyes.

“ I thought not, boy. Glad on t, lad on’t.
D’you knOW, John, it would e’ena’m kill me
to have you ’shamed of me in this fine house. But
I don’t want to make folks laugh at ye, nuther,
boy, even if ye don’t let on ye’re ’shamed. You
jest tell me how folks does here, and I’ll try and
remember. When ye goin’ to supper?”

“ When the bell rings, father, and that’s the
only place people will notice you much, if you
make mistakes.”

“ What, do they eat and drink diff’rint from
what we does in Painted Post?” exclaims the
old man, in dismay. “ Lordy, boy, I’ll never
be able to change. Too old a dog to l’arn new
tricks.”

“ No, no,” says John, laughing, “ they eat
and drink just the same, but there are some
things they don’t do. It’s not hard to learn, fa-
ther. I can tell you all in less than a minute.”

“ Well,” says the old man, resignedlm “ Tell
me, boy. What is it fine folks don’t do?”

“ Well,” says John, thoughtfully, “ they
don’t reach across and help themselves, but
wait till the servants bring round the dishes.”

“ That’s easy, if there’s lots of help. Go on,
John.”

“ They don‘t cool their tea in a saucer.”

“Why not, John? ‘Tain’t a sin.”

“No, but-well, it shows
wait for it to cool, I suppose.

“ Reckon we hain’t, John, when we’ve got ter
go to work soon.”

“ Well, anyway they don’t do it. And they
never drink so much they have to puff and
blOW to get back their breath.”

“ That 3 easy, John. Auythin’ else?”

“Yes, father. They always look out for a
napkin, the first thing.”

“ A what?”

“ A napkin. father, a table na kin. It’s
used to wi the mouth and catch he crumbs
that may all and spoil one’s clothes.”

“ Never used one,” said the old man, dr ly.

“No more did I, father, till I learned: and
now I wouldn’t be without one for the world.
It’s cleanly, and the great secret of fine living
is to keep clean at all times.”

The old countryman shrugged his shoulders.

“Waal. Reckin I kin l’am to use ’em. Do
to wipe yer fingers on, arter blowin’ yer nose, 1
s‘pose.”

John smiled.

“ On no account. You must never use it for
your nose, and, above all, never blow your nose
wittiqyour fingers.”

“ 0t outer doors in the street?” asked the old
man, innocently. “What’s a body to do if he’s
got a cold, John?”

“ Use a pocket handkerchief, father.”

“ But of he hain’t got none, John, like me?”

John never smiled. '

“ Here’s a clean one, father. You’ll find the
bureau drawer full of all you need in dress.
That’s why I had you measured at the tailor’s.
I was just the same as you, two years ago, and
I have to watch myself even now to keep from
committing solecisms. ”

“ Committin’ what, John?” ‘

“Mistakes I mean, father.”

“Waal, John, I’ll try. But ain’t there noth-
en’ else I mustn’t do?”

you’ve no time to

‘f Yes, father. You must never put your
klilfek In” your mouth, nor pick your teeth with
a or —

“But I’ve got a holler tooth; and of a chunk

of meat gets stuck, John, how’n thunder’m I

goin’ to git it out?”

“ You’ll have to wait till dinner’s over, or use

a toothpick very secretly. It’s not allowed

generally till after dinner’s over. You’ll see
he toothpicks on the table.”

The old man looked gloomily at the floor.

“ I’ll never manage it,” he said. “You’ll see
me doin’ all them things, and folks ’11 Ian h at
me, and you’ll feel ’shamed of your old
fig: can t help it, boy—I won’t blame ye.

kInI’d better kinder git back to Painted
Post, where folks ain’t so fine, if they be honest.
You’re a-gom’ up, John, but I’m too old to fol-
ler. You jest better leave me behind.”

There was a mournful ring in the old man’s
veice as he spoke, and John came affectionately
to his Slde, saying:

“Father, I’ve just seen the dearest wish of
my heart gratified. I’ve earned enough money
to buy back your health. Now I’ve got some
other Wishes to iratify, and I ask you to help
me. Think of t e old Army of the Potomac,
father. How often I’ve heard you tell of the
way the enemydrove you, again and again, all
through Virginia, till it Seemedas if ill luck was
never to leave you. And then you came to
Gettysburg at last. Well, did you run? Did
you give in to them?”

The old man’s eye flashed.

“No, by gosh, boy. We giv’ it to ’em good
at last. They mou’t lick us: but, by gosh, the
old. boys was all there, ready for it, till we
whipped ’em at last. Give in? No!”

John ran his arm through his father’s, and
said with a radiant smile:

“ Then don’t let the fine folks whip you now,
father. Forward, march. There goes the din-
ner-bell. Steady in the ranks!”

 

(To be continued—commenced in No. I.)

HAVE FAITH IN YOUR KIND.

BY MAY LESTER.

 

Because there have been times, when wrong
Has worked you bitter woe——

Because some friend whom you have trusted
Has caused your tears to flow—-

Because, perchance, the tattlcr‘s malice
Has dared to soil your name,

Or othcr’s sins have caused you heart-pain,
And to shrink with dread and shame—

Don‘t lose faith in human nature
Nor deem all hearts untrue,

Don't think the world to all is somber,
Because ’tis so to you.

Don’t think, because the rogues and rascals
Are in plenty, all around,

That honesty as lost its birthright
And can no more be found. . .

Or that because ’nea'h friendship’s Visage
Deceit may often hide,

That you must scorn the friendly message
Of those who seek your Side. _

For truth and worth yet have their dwelling
Within the human breast, I

Good people everywhere are .fillin
God 3 granaries with what 15 bes .

The Leagigs of Three;

BUFFALO BILL’S PLEDGE.

A Story ofa Trail Followed to the Bitter
End by the Three Falnous Scouts,
Buffalo Bill, \Vlld Bill and
Texan Jack, the “ Prin-
ces of the Plains.”

BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM,

AUTHOR or “WILD BILL, THE PISTOL DEAD
SHOT,” “MERLE, THE MUTINEER,” “GOLD
"PLUME, THE BOY BANDIT.” “BISON
BILL, PRINCE on THE REINS,”
“CRIMSON KATE,” “LONE
STAR, THE COWBOY
CAPTAIN," ETC.

CHAPTER XII.
SEEDY SAM IN DANGER.

WHEN Seedy Szim went to make his prisoner
secure for the night, by tying him the more
firmly to a tree, and sleeping by his side, his
yell Of surprise alarmed the camp, and brought
all to the spot, excepting Madge and Miss DOO-
little.

The two ladies remained at their tent, the Old
maid chattering like a parrot with alarm, and
longing over and over again for the coming of
Mister Buffalo Bill.

“ \Vhat is it, Pepper!” she asked, excitedly,
as the lad came back from the scene, followed
by Coon and Phillis.

“Satan’s broke his chains, Miss Samantha,”
was t,.e reply.

“ You naughty bo , what do you mean
now?” asked the elder y maiden.

“I tole yer, Missy Sum’tha, do boy do mean
dPat de priz’ner hev gotted loose, so he hab,”said

liillis.

" Oh, catch me!” yelled Miss Samantha,
staggering backward toward Pep er.

But Pepper step ed aside and iss Doolittle
had a fall that ma e her false teeth rattle and
her “ store curls " quiver.

“ Lordy, chile, what fer yer let Missy Sam’—
tha take a tumble like dat?” cried Coon, spring-
ing forward and placin Miss Doolittle on her
feet again who said, faintly:

“ Have been in a faint ong?”

“ Not an instant, I assure you, Miss Doolittle,
as I also rromise lyou there is no cause for you
tolfaint, for I set t e prisoner free,” said Madge,

co dly.

“Madge. my child, what is this I hear?”
cried Mr. Markham, just then approaching the
tent.

“I mear, father, that Kiowa Carl ledged his
word that the scout accused him ofp treachery
through his hatred of him, and that to save a
life that might have to suffer innocently, I set
the guide free, and he is to come to your ranch
witlhin ’the month and prove that e was not
gui ty.'

“Oh, Madge, I fear you have committed a
great error, and I know not what to say,” said
Mr. Markham, wholly bewildered at the bold
act of his daughter.

“ Kiowa Carl will never prove his innocence,
Miss Madge.”

The remark came from Pepper, in low earn-
est tones, wholly different from his usual light
manner of speaking.

“ h, how romantic of you, Miss Madge. I
do wish that I—but, no, I don’t know as I
should, and I don’t know but what I should
have done the same, but—”

“Pepper, go and tell Seedy Sam to come
here,” said Mr. Markham, cutting Miss Doolit-
tle of! short.

In a moment the teamster appeared, followed
by his comrades who were crowding around

1m.

One glance at the group and Madge Mark-
ham realized how quickly was border justice
and injustice dealt out upon that far-away
prairie, for she saw around the neck of Seedy
Sam a lariat, and that his arms were pinioned
bepind hip]. h

nstant y s e sprun forward and d
the noose from his negck, and, with therasgigneig
pen-knife which had set free Kiowa Carl
fivered the lariat that bound his hands behind

m

“ What does this mean?”
while her eyes flashed fire, and her face, as seen
by the flrelight was flushed and angry.

“ He sot ther priz‘ner loose, miss, an’ we were
going ter string him up,” said one.

“It is no such thing, for I set Kiowa Carl
free, not wishir g to see a man die, who swore
he was innocent,” was the ringing response.

“ Pards, yer hears her talk, an’ I guesses yer
takes a back seat now, while Seedy Sam
shouts thankfulness ter this henr lady fer savin’
him from bein’ h’isted,” and that worth indi-
vidual, who in ten minutes more would, have

ped forward, doflfed
ore Madge, who an-

 

 

 

she asked, stern! y,

been innocently hanged, ste
his hat, and bowed low be
swered:

“ I am sorry my act should have so endan-
gered your life, and also that your comrades
areltso ready to kill upon a mere suspicion of

“ If any one must suffer, I am the one.”

“ An’ I eases ther pilgrim what says a word
ter you, gits choked with a bullit,” said Seedy
Sam, pic mg n his belt of arms, which one of
the crowd had ropped, and glowering around
upon those who had so nearl ended his life.

But the teamsters were a “shed at the mis-
take they had made and were only too glad to
skulk away, threatening to get Seedy Sam
drunk, as a way of asking his forgiveness for
the error they had committed.

As to Mr. Markham, he knew not what to so
or do, as Madge kissed him might, and s1-
lently entered her tent, whit or Miss Samantha
qtilnckly followed, leavin the father seated by
t e fire brooding over w at had occurred, and
wondering what motive could have prompted
his daughter to do as she had done.

“ Good )d! can she love him?” he groaned
aloud as the thought flashed through his mind.

CHAPTER XIII.
GUILTY.

THE members of the train went to their
blanket~beds, that night in camp, with some-
thing to nder over, from Seedy Sam, who
thought 0 his escape, and his comrades who
could not decide upon the motive of Madge in
releasmg the prisoner, down to her father, who
feared he had solved that motive, and Coon and
Phillis, who talked it over until they dropped
as eep.

The following morning, as the savory smell of
brOIling antelope steaks was wafted through the
timber, the teamster acting as sentinel called
out that a horseman was in sight.

 

after he cried:

“Thar is two of ’em.”

The excitement in the camp at once became
great, for they knew not what danger they had
to confront. .

But it was but ashort time before Madge,
looking through her 5535, cried:

“It is the guide coming back, and mounted
upon his own horse, while he leads another ani~
mal, upon the back of which isa heavy load,
up arently.”

er father took the glass and said, after glauc-
ing lhrough it:
‘ That is not the uide, Kiowa Carl, my
daughter, but Buffalo ill in his clothing.” .

“Oh, yes, I had fOIgotten that he disguised
himself to look like the guide, father.”

“ What, is it that elegant entleman, Mister
Buffalo Bill?” cried Miss Doolittle, primping up
her curls. .

“It certainly is, Miss Samantha,” answered
Mr. Markham.

“ Do tell! I am so glad, and I hope, Madge,
you will not be so rem ss as to fail to present
him to me. ” . _

“ I will not forget it, auntie: but, father, do
you observe anything strange about the burden
the led horse bears?” .

Mr. Markham looked attentively through his
glass for full a moment, and answered:

“ Yes, Madge.”

“ Well, sirl'

“ It is a human being.”

“ So I thought.”

“Laws sakes! and the poor critter is tied to

the horse?"
and he is either badly

“Yes, Miss Samantha,
wounded, or—”

“ Dead,” added Madge, as her father paused.

All who had heard the conversation now gazed
with interest upon the coming horseman, and as
he drew nearer they could distinctly see that
the led horse carried a human form, yet whether
dead or alive it was hard to tell.

Nearer and nearer the two horses came, until
presently Buffalo Bill drew rein near the tent,
and olitely raised his hat to the ladies, while
Mr. arkham said:

“ Glad to see you back, scout, and I hope you
bring us good news.”

risoner, sir, the
arl,” and Buffalo

“I bring you a wounded
companion in guilt of Kiowa
Bill threw aside the false beard he wore, sprung
to the ground and approached the led horse,
which was 8. spotted Indian pony.

Upon the back Of the pong, Buffalo Bill had
arranged blankets so as to form a kind of rest-
ing place for the wounded man, whose face
was white and pinched, as with the greatest
anguish.

His feet and arms had then been so bound as
to hold him in position, and though he had suf-
fered fearfull at every ste of his horse, he
had borne up raver throng the long night’s
ride.

The teamsters and all the camp had now
gathered around, and Buffalo Bill said:

“Make me up a bed for him as soon as pos-
sible.”

This was quickly done, and, aided by Seedy
Sam, the scout raised the wounded man from
the back of the pony. .

“Gent! , pard Bill, fer yer bullit hunted
deep, an’ Ihain’t no child ter groan at a trifle.”
he said, as his face became livid, when Buffalo
Bill laid him upon the hastily-constructed
couch.

“He is most severely wounded, I see,” said
Mr. Markham, in a s mpathetic tone.

“ He has his mortal’wound, sir,” was the calm

reply.
‘ an be not live?”

The question came timidly from Madge.

“ Not an hour longer, miss ”

“ Introdooce me, Mad e, for I wish to speak
to the famous scout an ask him a few ues-
tions,” said Miss Doolittle, driving her 5 arp
elbow into the side of the maiden.

But Madge was gazing sorrowfully upon the
dying man, and seeing that an introduction
was not to be had just then, Miss Doolittle
made a low courtesy, gave a smirk, and said:

“Pardon my speaking to you, great scout,
without a formal presentation, and let the cir—
cumstances under which we meet be my excuse
for m boldness, for I don’t know as I should,
and don’t know but what I should; hut—”
Here she gave the usual pause, and Mr. Mark-
ham cou bed, Madge turned away, and Coon
was bear to ea in a. low tone:

“Golly, but s e am a talker!”

“ But,” repeated Miss Doolittle, in a louder
tone, “will you kindiy inform me sir, if that
poor suflering mortal man was s 'n by the
aborigines

“Don’t toot yer horn too lively old gal, fer
I hain’t dead yet ” came from the wounded
man, and in spite o himself Buffalo Bill smiled;
but checking the laughter that was ready to
burst from his lips, he said:

1:310, miss, tLis man was wounded by my-

se . ’

“ You shot him?” and Miss Doolittle grew

faint.

“I did, madam.”

“He shouts truth, Old gal, and yer may set

him down as havin’ kilt me, fer I got it henr;

but I don’t blame him fer ef he hadn’t been

quicker then I were, bad ’a’ been out on ther

pararer now.”

All looked at the wounded man, and then at

Buffalo Bill, who stood calmly gazing down

upon the one wh “.m he had wounded unto

death.

“dCan nothing he done for him, sir?” asked
ge.

“ Nothing, miss.”

“ Who is he, sir?” "

The question came from Mr.

in response Buffalo Bill said:

“ He is— But ask him,'sir.”

The wounded man heard the query and reply,

and answered for himself:

“ Has yer ever heerd 0’ Salt Lake Saul,

pard ?"

All started, excepting Mr. Markham and the

ladies, while the former re joined:

“ I must confess I have not.”

“ Perhaps of I sling my t’other handle at yer,

yer’ll know it.

“ Has yer heerd o’ ther White Panther?"

“A renegade said to be an ally of the In-

dians?”

(6 Ya&”

“And do you claim to be

whom so much that is wicked

asked Mr. Markham, in a tone of horror, while

Mad shrunk back with a shudder, for she,

too, ad heard of the White Panther.

“No more dodgin’ ther truth, pard, fer But”—

ler thar knows me.

“ I are Salt Lake San], ther White Panther,”

and the dyin man cast his eyes around the

grou to see t e effect of his words.

Al remained silent, and he continued, while

his voice each moment grew weaker:

“Iam thet pilgrim; what Buf’ler hes left 0’

me, an’ as I axed him ter fetch me ter cam ter

see my old pard, Kiowa Carl, afore I die , he

patched up this hole in m side, and here I are

so trot out Kiowa, or I’ leave ther life-trai

afore he sees me.”

“ He wishes to see the prisoner, Kiowa Carl,

alone for a few minutes, sir, and I see no rea-

son why we should refuse the re nest of a dyin

[13:11,” saiéi Buffalo 13:11, as all (looked at one

0 or, an noone einrel to the re nest

of Salt Lake Saidspo p y q

Mr: Markham’s face flushed, and he looked
worried; but before he could reply, Madge step-
gd forward and said, in her clear, distinct

nes:

. “ The ide, Kiowa Carl, is no longer in camp,
811', for released him last night.”

Buffalo Bill was taken aback, it was evident
and he arched his finely-penciled brows and
looked at the maiden for an explanation, while
the dying man shouted forth:

. “ Are this 9. leetle game ter keep me from see-
in Kiowa?”

‘ I assure you, no.

“ Kiowa Carl swore to me that he was inno-
cent of the charge this gentleman made against
him, and, to save him from death, which he said
would be his fate, I set him free.”

Markham, and

that monsterz of
has u said .3”

 

“My dear young lady, you have made the

‘his bucks were

 

saddest mistake of your life, for, upon your
own track you have loosened a bloodhound that
knows no mercy to man or woman.’ _ _

Buffalo Bill spoke the words in an impressive
manner that caused eyery particle of _blood in
the face of Madge Markham to recede in a tor-
rent upon her heart, and for a moment she felt
as though she would faint. I

But recovering herself quickly, by a great
effort, she said in a low tonc: .

“ I believed him innocent from all he said to
me.”

“This man, if he will, can tell you if he is
guilty, or not.

“Will you speak. Salt Lake Saul?"

All waited breathless! y for the answer of the
dying man.

He professed to be the friend of Kiowa Carl,
and he had long been the pronounced foe of
Buffalo Bill.

lVould his hatred of the scout cause him to
protect Kiowa Carl with his last breath?

If he said the guide was innocent, then Madge
would feel that he had spoken the truth in speak-
ing against Buffalo Bill.

She wished to feel that she had not done
wrong, and yet she found it hard to believe that
such a man as Buffalo Bill’s face showed him to
be, could be playing a deep game against the

'de

Buffalo Bill seemed the most unconcerned of
allk present, and as Salt Lake Saul heSItated, he
as ed:

“ Will you answer, Salt Lake Saul, as to the
guilt of Kiowa C..rl?”

“ What does 151‘ wish ter know ?"

“ Is he not, li e yourself, a renegade?”

“ It are safer fer him ter live among Injuns
than white folks, an’ [bar are settlements he
don’t go in, onless be are disguised.”

“ Is that sL filcient, miss?” and the scout
turned to Madge, who, without glancing at him
addressed Salt Lake Saul:

“ Will you allow me a few questions, sir?"

“ Yas, cf I hes time ter answer ’em; but wim-
mens is awful an’ ungodly ciir’us, an’ maybe I
won’t die afore I kin answer ’em all.”

In spite of herself Madge smiled, but asked:

“Was it he intention of our guide to lead us
into the po er of the Indians?"

“It were.”

Madge started, and again asked:

“ He then was their ally 3”

“Fact, fer I were his pard, an’ he were ter
take ycu as his prTze, an’ me an’ Black Face au’
ter hev ther booty.”

“Oh! what have I not done!” cried poor
Madge, and turning to Buffalo Bill she said
pleadingly:

“ I humbly ask you to forgive me, sir."

“I have nothing to forgive, Miss Markham,
for myself, as it is yourself and those of the
train that will be ihe sufferers,” and Buffalo
Bill bent over the dying man, and said kindly:

“ Is there nothing 1 can do for you, pard, for
I will gladly execute any request you have to
make?’

Salt Lake Saul’s manner at once changed,
and a bright light seemed to come. over his face
while he dropped at once the border slang, an
said in a full voice:

“ Buffalo Bill, you are a true man and I will
trust you.

“ I have long been a villain, and from bad to
worse have I gone until I die now a renegade,
a thief and a murderer.

“ Could man be worse?”

“ Don’t speak of that now,” said Bnflalo Bill
in the same gentle, almost womanly softness of
manner that showed the great scout in a new
phase, by no means calculated to lessen him in
the esteem of those who saw and heard him.

“ You gave me my death—wound, Buffalo
Bill, and I thank you for it, for you have saved
me from the gallows, and I will prove my for-
giveness by leaving to you a duty to perform.

“ Around m waist, when I am dead, you
will find a leat er belt, in which are some val-
uable papers and a little money.

“ A confession there from me will tell
who I am, and what you are to do with the
papers.

“ Will Iyou do this for me?"

“ I wil .”

“Then I am content.
even if yours is honest
stained.”

Buffalo Bill gra

Give me your hand,
and mine is crime-

the hand of the dying
renegade, and knee ing by lim thus remained.
The eyes of Salt Lake Saul closed, a smile
even came upon his face, and soon the grip on
the scout’s hand relaxed and he was dead.

CHAPTER XIV. ‘
BUFFALO BILL’s LITTLE GAME.

IT was not long, after Salt Lake Saul died,
before Buffalo Bil transferred the leather belt
unexamined by him, to his own waist, and to]
Mr. Markham that it was necessary for him to
be at once on the march.

A grave was hastily dug. the body of the
rene de placed therein, and the train ulled
out or the Platte trail once more, But! 0 Bill
again in his own clothing, and mounted upon
his milk-white steed, while Madge rode Kiowa
Carl’s black, as the treacherous guide had, in
making his escape that night, very quietly
stolen the horse of the one who had set him
free in return for her kindness, for be well
knew the speed and bottom of the animal.

Having set Mr. Markham on the trail, with
full directions what to do and where to camp,
Buffalo Bill waved farewell to the ladies—a
salute Miss Doolittle took to be a kiss of the
hand to her, and returned it vigorously from
her finger-tips—and started off across the
prairie at a swinging gallop.

The noble animal seemed almost tireless, and
the rest he had bad while with the train
seemed to make him feel perfectly fresh so
that mile after mile was thrown behind 'm
with wonderful rapidity.

It was a long and hard ride, back to Fort
Kearney, but the noble white horse was fully
equal to it, and shortly after nightfall the light
0 the fort came in sight.

“ Halt! who comes!”

The challenge of the sentinel rung out clear
and stern, and Buflalo Bill drew rein while he
answered:

“Scout with important news for the com~
mandant.”

.“ Dismount, advance, and give the counter-
sign,” returned the sentry.

“ have no countersign, so call the cor ml
of the guard and have me taken to the come],
for I have no time to lose,” answered the scout
Impatiently, muttering to himself, as the sol-
dier obeyed:

“Military discipline and red tape are well
Ielnough at times but not when a fellow is in a

urry. ’

It was some moments before Buffalo Bill was
ushered into the presence of the commandant
of Fort Kearney, who gave him a hearty wel-
come.

“Well, Cody, you don‘t mean to so that
even yourself have ridden to Omaha back
Since on left here goin' g east?”

“ o colonel.”

“ Indians ran you back to the shelter of the
fort eh?"

“ Not exactly, sir, and yet they are the cause
of my coming.”

“Indeed! I knew of none being along the

trail east of here.’

“ or are there any, air, immediately upon
the trail; but I discovered a train trail, going
up the north fork of the Loop‘ and knowing
that it would lead directly into 0 (1 Black Face
country, and seeing how small was the force, I
took the libert of disobe ng orders, as I knew
the contents 0 the dispa ches, and that a few
days’ delay would do no great harm, and I fol-
lowed on.”

“ You take big chances in disobeying orders,
Cody, but I feel you deemed it, of greater im-
portance than to press on,” said the colonel.

“ Had I not, sir, I would have gone on.

“ But I overtook the train, and discovered it
to belonglto a Mr. Mabrey Markham, who, with
his dang ter and another lady, his servants and
cowboys, the latter acting as teamsters, was :0-
Ing to the Waller ranch, on the Platte, which
he has lately purchased.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“ I knew that Waller had been in correspond-
ence re ardin its sale.”

“ An Mr. L arkham bought it, fitted out his I
train fully, in Omaha. and employed as a guide
none other than Kiowa Carl.” '

“ Ha! that devilish renefiie and road-agent?”

“None other, sir, and had a pard, Salt
Lake Saul—”

“ Another precious sconndrel.”

“Yes, sir during his lifetime,” was the sig-
nificant rep y.

“ You hint that he is dead!”

it He is.”

“ What was the nature of his illness?” and
the colonel smiled.

“ I killed him, sir.”

“ I expected that much, Cody, for you gener-
ally distribute your bullets when and where
they are most needed.

“ But there is a cool ten thousand offered for
his head, dead or alive.

“ You are in luck."

“I don’t care for blood-money colonel; but,
asI was telling you, Salt Like Saul had gone
on ahead‘of Kiowa Carl and the train. to post
old Black Face, who was to be in ambush at a
certain timber motto.”

“ A rare lilot of deviltry.”

“ Which am glad to say I thwarted, for,
u u coming up with the train, I found Kiowa

rl had he on ahead to prepare camp, he
said, and told Mr. Markham he was being led
into a tra , ot him to set one for the guide, and
he came and fell into it.”

“Killed him, too, Bill?”

“No, sir.”

“ What a pity.”

“ I only wish I had, sir; but I only took his
rig, and starting the train on the back trail,
with him a prisoner, made up as Kiowa Carl, so
as to fool Black Face, and went on to the tim~
her where he lay in ambush with just fifty
braves, I afterward found out.”

“ You were foolhardy, Cody.”

“ Oh, no, colonel, onl alitt e risky; but I met
the old red-skin, pla Kiowa Carl on him and
fooled him well, an
Saul was back in the timber, told Black Face to
send him on after me, made up a tough yarn, ,
andgiit back after the train. i

t

a

 

t Lake Saul followed me, mistook me for ,

Kiowa Carl, his d, discovered his mistake ;
when I had the rop on him, but showed his!
panther claws, and I shot him.
“ But I did not kill him then, but carried the
lucky follow on to the camping-ground of the
in, and though he suflered untold agony he
did not utter a groan.

, “ To my horror I found that Kiowa Carl had
escaped, and, after burying Salt Lake Saul,
who died an hour after reaching camp, 1 put
the train on the right trail and came on ere.”

“You have done well, Cody; but.why did
you notgo on to Omaha with the dispatches,
and make this known upon your return?”

Buflalo Bill smiled, and answered:

“ Because, colonel, in little game is not yet
played-out to the wi cg point.”

' There is something else to tell, then!"

" No, sir, but to do. ’
“ How mean you?”
“I "made an appointment with old Black

Face.

6‘ Ah!”

“ I told him, in my then character of his rene-
gade ally1 Kiowa Carl, that the train was to be

at Lone at a certain time, and to there
creep upon it and attack it, while a uadron

of were then moving upon h m sup<
paw to be elsewhere than where he, then
was.

“I see.”

discovering that» Salt ke I

field he blurted out excitedly the information he

ore.
A satisfied grunt was uttered by the first
speaker, and echoed by a score of others, and

. then came the question:

“How many wheel-te s?"

The Indian courie in icated silently the num-
ber by holding up as any fingers as there were
wagons.

“ The pale-face spoke with a straight tongue.

“ Let my braves mount their ponies and be
ready.”

It was the same one who had before sp,ken
who gave the command, and as he rode out of
the shadow of the timber upon the open prairie,
the lingering light in the west revealed that it
was Black Face, the Sioux oriief.

As though he knew well the spot he held his
way directly toward the Lone Tree, as the place
was called where the Indian courier had seen
the train go into camp.

A ride at a slow walk brought the mounted
band to the place where the lookout had sat on
his horse, gazing upon the train, and here a halt
was made.

Dismounting, Black Face securely tied his

ny, and then looked to his arms, his txam;le

infkfollowed by the others of the band.

“ t Deer Foot and Eagle go forward and
see if the pale-faces are asleep.

“ We will wait their coming at the trail cross-

in .” -

The two braves, in obedience to the command
of their chief, sprung away on foot and disap-
p‘e soon after in the darkness, while Bl .ck-

ace and his braves, also leaving their ponies
bfihind them, under one guard, set off to follow
1 cm.

They had been gone but a short while, when
the thud of hoofs on the prairie attracted the
attention of the Indian sentinel over the po-
mes.

Attentively he listened, and soon discovered
that the sound grew more and more distinct,
and that whoever it was his course lay toward
the timber where the ponies were concealed.

There was but one horse, he knew from the
sound, and gliding to the edge of the timber
toward which he was approaching, the warrior
unsluug his rifle and waited with a courage and
calmness that it Would be well for our soldiers
to possess in times of danger when nerve is most
needed. .

(10 be continued—comrrwnced in No. 1.)

 

The llw_l_[apers.

Aunt Witherspoon Talks Temper-
ance.

“ Now, I tell you,” said Aunt Witherspoon,
as her visitors were making the fourth attempt
to go, “ I am exceedingly radical on this tum-
perance question, and I thank Robertsoe Cruson

or innogerating the gallant band of Crusoders
—the wo hen folks who 0 about from salon to
salon knockin in the y rum winders, and
upsettin the emi Johns and the demi Jacks,
and t ng the faucets of their tills and utterly
desmolishing everythin connected with the
vile terrific in this Inn in liquorice or other
demented s irits. -

“ I feel, ear friends, sometimes, as if I could
mount the nostrum and lecture on the all-dis-
sorbing subject until there was not left a bar-
tender or ton h in the land. The very perfume
of argeut spir ts is obnoxicuss to me, and when
I think how olcohol can be extracted from
everything that we use as viands and be made

 

“ The Lone Tree, as you know, is a rise in
the prairie where there is a good stream of wa-
ter, a thic”et of cottonwoods, and that one

larg .

“ Yes, I have camped there.”

“ The grass is deep surrounding it, and the In-
dians can readily creep up on the camp and sur-
pr‘ise it." ”

‘ rue.
“Well, sir, I thought it would be a good idea
to startout at once a couple of ambulances, a
few wgons and several mounted men, and send
them once to the Lone Tree.”

“To be surprised by the red—skins?”

it No, sir.”

“ What then?”

“ To surprise the red-skins.”

"I confess I am on a blind trail, Cody.”

“ The wagons and ambulances, si can be
full of soldiers, and the horses can be those he-

longwfi to the 

“ on they go to camp the horses can all
be saddled an ready for mounting, the soldiers
all 1 ing in ambush, and when Black Face and
his, raves rush on the encampment, expectln

to surprise a train with a few women and hal

a score of men, they can be met by half a bun—
dred cavalrymen.”

“Cod , you are a trump,” cried the enthusi-
aatic co onel.

“Then lay me at the game with old Black
Face, an from there I will go on to Omaha
with my dispatches, and only be about three
days late, for to-morrow night is the time I ap-
po nted with the chief.”

“But may not Kiowa Carl, who you say es-
caped from the train, have reached Black Face
and thus let the cat out of the bag?”

“No, sir, for I followed his trail, and it led
southward, and besides, as I started Black Face
away from his ambush in the timber, and have
ridden hard myself, Kiowa Carl cannot reach
the red-skins before they make their attack.”

“ Well Cody, this is a glorious plan of yours,
and I ' send Captain urr with you within
the hour.”

“ We must start soon as possible, sir.”

“You shall, for you wish to strike the trail
Markham’s train would be on, so as to deceive
the red-skins should they be on the watch.

“ But may not the Markham train come
along, too?”

“No, sir, for I told Mr. Markham my plan,
and digected him how to proceed, and where to
cam .

The; colonel touched a bell, an orderly ap-

ared, and he was sent after Captain Dan r-
figld Burr, a handsome, dashing young cava y
officer, who readin entered into the plot, and
used such dispatch in getting off that the sham
settlers’ train pulled out of Kearney in one
hour after the arrival of Buffalo Bill in the fort.

CHAPTER XV.
s. BLACK race ON THE TRAIL.

Sum upon his horse, gazing from a distant
point, and concealed in a clump of cottonwoods,
an Indian warrior was watching a small wagon-
train filing across the prairie.

His eyes sparkled as he obserVed its course,
and instinctively he dropped his hand upon his
swiping—knife, as though in antici tion of the
red deeds to be done, whei dar ess settled
d0wu upon the face of the earth.

Toward a rise in the prairie, where was one
large tree, and numerous small ones, looking
like a giant and his children, the train held iiS
way, and within its shelter came to a halt, just
as the sun touched the western horizon of the

lain.

p The Indian lookout still continued to gaze
upon the glimmering white tilts of the wagon :,
lighted up b the last rays of the setting sun,
and romaine like a statue of bronze, his eyes
riveted upon the scene, until he saw the rosy
hue of camp-fires cast their radiance out from
the thicket.

Then, wheeling his pony he urged him to full
mood, and for a few miles seemed to fly oVer

e darkening prairie.

After a ride of half an hour he came upon a
winding stream, the banks of which Were
fringed with cottonwoods, and down this he
turned until he rode into a dense timber grove,
where wore visible, like shadowy specters, the
forms'of half a dozen horses and their riders.

“ W but has Good Eye to say!” asked a deep
voice, as the Indian lookout sprung from his
panting pony.

“The whoel-tepees have camped in the sha-
dow of the Lone Tree,” was the calm reply, al-
though from the manner in which the savage
had ridden, it would have been more natural,

into tanglefoot I sometimes often think I will
subsist on nothing but the animal kingdom. I
feel that it is my duty to start around town
and disturb tem nee tracks broadcast and
give eve unebr ted fellow all the warning I
am culpa eof ving; and you can rest insured
that I can ta! to them whenever I have the
importunity.

“Only yesterday I saw a young sighun of a
noble house goin down street in a zigzagular
jugular way, an before I got to him he stepped
upon a bonanza peel an sat down to rest.
Says I: ‘Yonng man, do you drinki’ He got
up and said ‘he thanked me, that he do, and
had I my flask with mei’ I felt awfully in-
digent at his insolence and gave him such a
lecture there that he w ’t disremember to the
last day in the State ntiary, for I could see
that he was advan ng to that retreat. He
keenly felt my remarks, tee, and told me to
hire a hall, and he would come and hear me
when he had more time than money, and then
the crowd laughed, for they thought he would
never come to ear me if I did.

 

“ If the could only know how distolled stimu-
lsts parap rase the intelleck they would use less
stimulate or send for more intelleck or both, for
it saps the brain and makes the owner sapp as
anatural con- finance: they can’t walks ht
on the street wi a load of ii nor in' the head,
and you know what kind 0 a picture they
carve as the try to redcstinate along the

avement, fee ing as ric as Yonderbil t, and as
independent as a railroad brakeman with ques-
tions asked which he hasn’t any answer for.

“ If half the dry goods salesmen that I know
of would try to scent their handkerchiefs
as they try to scent their breaths, it would
he more comfortable for customers, and I know
of lots of fine houses and manshines in this
town where they keep a highly cornermental
asideboard on which are bottles of rare wines
of foreign mintage and liquors in fine Dick
Anters and gobblers to drink them out of, ready
beside of them, and the visitor is tompted to
partake of them whether they want them or
not, and they most general] y do. I

“ I say, beware 0 the temptator! More peo-
ple have gone down to d ustruction on account
of the overflowing bowl than from any other
epidemic that has contagioned the land.

“ The science of drinking rum is a rummag-
ing thing, and the hero generally dies in a fit of
the daleri'um nomens r t sequer advalorum. and
then he wishes he had never seen or tasted a
single barrel of the scuff. His finances run
short and are not balanced b his debts running
long: he eats cloves and thin s that he is living
in clover; his nose blushes when his check for-
gets to, and he wanders around like unto the

roblem Son with no place but the gutter to
lay his head down in while he gpes reeling
around downstreet, shunned by t o shunuers
who knew him when he did not feel half so rich,
in the days when he didn’t have a dime to spend
for a drink of the cursory distillation.

“ I abhor the sight of a habituary drunkard as
he goes mirandering along, and I ho my son
Zeb there will never contract the aw ul halib .t
of drinking. I would rather see him lying cold
with the chills than to see him come stoggering
into the house and set down on the kitchen stove
to pull off his boots before he goes to bed on the
wooibox. I say I would!

“There are no words in the Angelo-Sexton
lungwidge which can express or sic transit my
dislike to the drinking of serpentine spirits, for
it brings men on a level with Brutus, and amal-
gamates their sense of respect, completely ex-
honorates the kindness one may have for them
and totally unfits them for the various prevari-
cations of life.

“ The consolidated stuff! It is a vial thing! It
has reduccd thousands of men to provender. It
has made the widow husbandless and the or-
phants fatherless. You see it on the tables at
ever public dinner which is given to some
grea man who never did his country any good.

is is on the boards of the rich and in the left
breast pocket of the poor. The name shines on
the front of saloons in letters of gold, and those
who enter in are pitchers of silver according to
Scripture. They go in with 91 pty heads and
full pocket-books, and come out with empty
pocketbooks d full heads. They are snares
to their feet an snorcs to their heads.

“What if I had a husband, or a couple of
them, who Would fall up the st 3ps to the front
door every night and try to crawl through the
key-hole, and mistake me for his grandmother.
and swear he was in the wrong house—what
would I do? Lors-a-mercv, I would conglom-

 

erate him with the first fire-shovel I could lay

hands on. I wouldn’t tolerate it. It shouldn’t
come into my housa. Not many, Maiiar!

“ Young boys who are hardly out of their suits
in one pieCe think it is fine to stand before a bar
in a barber shop and Call for a sewer of beer.
It is perfectly scandageous—little snipes that if
they should fall into 0. glass of beer they would
drown, and the coroner would say j-istifi 1‘ le
mandamus. and bury him with a habms corpus
without any tediums from ihe band or the
village choir.

“ I woul i like to know where we are coming to
and where we are going to? I ask whither, or
if not, whether, or wheuCe?

“ Intemperance, the hydrogen-beaded men.
star, is stalking in our midst, and it is left to the
women to go forth and slay him since the men
rather side that way when a saloon door is
open and nobody is looking. It devolves upon
every woman to buckle on the sword of Tem-
perance, and go forth like Joan of Arkansas,
and free our land from the dreadful coils around
it. Let us see that it is done, and don’t you
think you would like to stay for tea? No?

‘ ‘ Well, much adoo!”

And she closes the door after the visitors,
regretting that they had failed to ask her to go
with them to the circus which was to be in town
next day. SOIDMON Sanian

 

Hernflary. \

BY OLL coonns.

 

ON the upper extremity of Grand Island
stood the cabin of Homer Bond. He was
among the very first to locate there after the
enactment of the homestead her, though he
did so in the very face of many dangeis from
Indians and outlaws. His family was com-
posed of himself. a son of fourteen, and a
daughter of seventeen.

In addition to the labor required on his home-
stead Mr. Bond kept a small herd of cattle
which, when he and his son were busy on the
farm, were herded by his daughter Mary, who
had become a skillful (questrienne, as Well as
a fine shot with both pistol and rifle.

The nearest neighbor was a homesteader
residing some twent miles down the river.
This isolation made i e Bonds’ situation rather
dangerous, for horse and cattle-thieves, out-
laws and Indians were numerous and trouble-
some although their operations had been con-
fined to other sections of the country.

In the course of a year Bond’s Ranch, as the
place became known, not to be a stepping place

or prairie scouts, tr .velers, hunters and trap-
pers going to or from their hunting ground, and
occasionally a band of Indians. All were kind
ly received and hcspitabl y entertained by Bond
and his son and daughter. It is true, the home-
steader had not a doubt but that some of his
callers were bad men, et he treated them with
the utmost civility, giving them no reason to
think they were suspected.

This generousness of spirit had, no doubt, been
a protection to him—the cause of his immunity
from danger, and so Homer Bond finally came
to regard his situation as perfectly secure and

e.

But alas! how vain were the good man’s con-
clusions, for one day he returned home after a
few hours’ absence to find his son lying dead in
the deer-yard, and his_daughter gone he knew
not where.

In a fit of sorrow, the old man fell upon his
dead boy’s body, and wept in bitter anguish.
For several minutes life was a blank to him.
His brain grew dizzy, and the earth seemed
slipping away beneath him. His sudden sorrow
seemed driving him mad. He staggered to his
feet, cryin aloud in wild. distracted tones the
name of h s daughter. But there was no an-
swer. Mary came not with flying feet and
smiling face to greet his return.

“ Oh God!” he cried, clasping his hands and
lifting is eyes toward heaven, “ am I childless
and alone?”

Scarcer had the words fallen from his lips
when the sound of hoof-strokes fell upon his
ears, and looking south ward he saw a horseman
approaching. A cry of joy burst from his lips,
for he recognized the horseman. It wasJudson
Kane, a young hunter, who had in the past been
a frequent visitor at the home of Bond. His
head-quarters were upon the upper waters of
the Loup.

“My God! what is the matter Mr. Bond?"
cried the hunter, as he approached, and his eyes
fell upon the form of the dead boy.

In as few words as possible Homer Bond told
him all he knew of the death of his boy and the
absence of Mary.

Kane was greatly affected by the old man’s
story. He dismounted and examined the he ’s
body and found that he had been shot. e

then examined the ground around and about
2‘0 cabin, and finally approaching Mr. Bond,

d.

“ I cannot tell whether it is the work of In-
dians or whites.”

“It’s not that of Indians, Judson,” replied
the distracted homesteader; “ Indians would
have scalpcd my poor boy and plundered, if not
burnt, my cabin. No, it has been the work of
outlaws who have carried my poor girl away
to a life worse than a thousand deaths. Oh,
Judson! can you not save her?”

“I can try, Mr. Bond,” said the young
hunter; “ 've me a good horse, for mine is
lame, and will follow the devils to the fur-
thermost end of earth but what Mary shall be
saved.”

“Take my horse, Caliph, Judson, and may
God speed you. There is no fieeter on all these
prairies, and by hard riding you may overtake
the murderers before they reach the hills. I
would go with you, but I must stay with my
dead boy.”

“ I don’t think there has been over two of the
murderers,” said Kane; “I can fi-‘d but the
tracks of two horses which crossed from the
island going northwest, and as I know all that
country I feel confident I can catch them on
Caliph.”

The horse was brought out and saddled. It
was a noble animal in whose veins coursed the
blood of the famous old Ecli 9. It was noted
for speed and endurance, aii Mr. Bond had en-
tertained no other idea all along but that it
would be stolen from him b some prairie free-
booter. In fact, it would oubtless have been
gaken that day had he not had the animal with

im.

But as Judson Kane crossed the river and
galloped away in too direction taken by the
murderers he offered a prayer for the success
and safety of the gallant young hunter.

Judson had been a frequent visitor at Bond’s
cabin. The old homesteader saw that Mary
was an attraction that made the hunter’s calls
more fre aent than they would otherwise have
been. I hether his regards for Mary were
reclprocated or not the father did not know for
he had never inquired into the secrets of his
daughter’s heart. But he now felt encouraged
in the fact of Kane’s love for Mary, for he knew
that that law would impel him forward to her
rescue with a desperate determination.

Homer Bond watched the young hunter until
he had disap ared in the distance, then be
turned to his end boy.

At this juncture his ear caught the sound of
voiCes and looking in the direction whence they
came he saw five armed horsemen crossing the
river to the island from the south.

The party soon came up. They were amateur
hunters, led by the noted California Joe, on
their way to the huntin grounds on the Loun.

The sight of the dead y startled them. Mr.
Bond at once told them of his mysterious be—
reavement, and of the recent departure of J ud-
son Kane in pursuit of the murderers.

Bond invited the hunters to remain with him
over night. They accepted the invitation, and
kindly assisted the old man in caring for his
dead child.

Night soon came on. Mr. Bond paced the
floor of his cabin talking of his bereavement-—
of his dead bov and absent Mary. His guests
were moved to sadness by his lamentations, and
so deep did their emotions become that each

 

.arose, and securing his revolver,

 

and all swore they would forego the pleasure
of their hunt and assist in the search for the
maiden.

Meanwhile Judson Kane was sweeping over
the plain a delighted expression on his bx onzed
face! The hours and the miles went by and
still he iode on-not like one following a trail
but as if anxious to reach a certain point.
Night finally settled around him, but the moon
came up and shone With unusual brightness.

Not until he had reached the first of a series
of bluff,- and wooded hills did he rein his horse
to a walk. His way was now overhung by
shadoivs, still he rode on at a walk with that
same apparent anxiety.

At length he turned aside and entered a nar-
r0wer way that led him to a dense thicket.
Here be halted and leaning forward in the
stirrups listened. He heard nothing. He ut-
tered a low whistle. He was answered from
the darkness to his right. He ulckly turned
hi; horse in that direction. Hg) had a little
patch of moonlight to cross to gain the shadows
beyond, but just as he emerged from the dark
ness in that light another horsemen rode out
from the opposite side.

The two met in the opening and drew rein.

A cry burst from the li s of Judson Kane;
and no wonder, for there efore him, Seated
upon a horse, her head bare, her face looking
unearthlv in the moonlight, a revolver in her
upraised hand, sat Mar Bond!

“ Murderer!” the gir fairly shrieked, “have
you slain my father?”

As the last word fell from her lips the revol-
ver in her hand rung out, a groan escaped the
lips of Judson Kane and the man, reeling in the
saddle, fell to the cart! as Caliph dashed away
with affriaht.

Mary Bond leaped from her horse as she saw
Kane struggling to rise, and leveling her re—
Volver at his breast said:

“Murderer, tell me if you have killed my
father?"

“ No, no,” he gasped; “for God’s sake spare
me. Mary Bond.”

“ Yes, I will spare you as I spared the wretch
whom you left to guard me while you went
back to slay my father, and steal his horse.
Because I rejected your love you shot down my
brother in cold blood and cxrried me away a
prisoner. But thank Gol, I have bad the
strength and courage to free myself of your
power and rid the earth of your presence!’

Kane sunk to the earth heavily. He breathed
hard. Mary could hear the blood trickling
from the wound in his breast. He was dying,
she thought, and as a vague fee.ing of horror
crept over her form she turned, mounted her
horse and rode away t0ward home—dreading
almost the very thought of returning there
through fear of finding her father dead.

But late in the night she rode up to the cabin
door to find her father alive.

Great was their joy when they stood face to
face again—deep was their sorrow as the stood
by Tom’s side and looked down into his co (1, life-
less face.

Mary finally told the story of their troubles.
Judson Kane and a companion had come there
that day. Kane had pro sed marriage to her,
and she had seen fit to reject his love. He flew
into a rage, shot Tom dead. and carried her off
a prisoner. In the hills he had left her with his
companion while he returned to secure Bond’s
noted horse, Caliph. While absent her guard
had hung his pistol belt on a bush, and then laid
down upon the round near where she sat,
apparently oblivnous to everything around.
The weather being warm, and the fellow
fatigued, he finally sunk into a doze, when Mary
ut a bullet
through his heart; then, with pe ect coolness
and determination, the little heroine awaited
the return of the villain Kane, that she might
avenge her brother’s death.

Her story of Kane’s murderous treachery
shocked her father, and be thanked the Lord that
his sacrifice had been no roster.

The next morning California Joe and one of
his companions rode over to the scene of Mary’s
daring deeds. To their surprise they found
Kane still living, though he died within two
hours after they found him. He spoke but a
few words in reply to old Joe’s questions, and
the last that he said was:

“Mv name’s not Judson Kane. I am White
Vuiture, the Road-agent.”

And thus died one of the worst men that ever
cursed the prairic~-.

Marvelousjemories.

OF all the inexplicable things that go to make
u man, the memor is recognized by ph si-
cgns and metaphysicmns to be susceptible of the
least satisfactory explanations. The power and
caprices of this faculty have always been a
puzzler. History is replete with exmples of
wonderful memories, and the loss of the same.

 

Tl‘hemistocles, a gentleman of Athens, had so re-

tentivo a memory that he could call by name
and inquire intelligently after the sisters, cou-
sins and aunts of the 20000 citizens of that
place. Gyms would call the name of every sol-
dier in his army. Hortensius was an antique
gentleman of whom history says that he could
attend a. second—hand store on a Saturday morn-
ing and without the aid of stylus or papyrus
could tell days afterward what each and every
article that was sold brought the auctioneer, who
was the purchaser, what price was paid, and
give an accurate description of the article it-
self. A friend of Voltaire’s memorized a whole
act of one of the infidel’s plays on being read to
him for the first time by the author.

Modern medical journals are full of instances
of wonderful memories, but if a St. Louis au—
thority is to be believed, that rival of Chicago
can just now supply examples that well may
challenge remark, as, for instance the case of
Howard, for many years stationed at the door
of the Lindcll Hotel dining-room in that city.
He had so trained his judgment and memory
that he could receive and distribu‘e 500 hats
without keeping any system of checks or places
whatever. A guest entering the dining-hall
handed his hat to the dusky door-keeper, who
obtained a view of the owner’s physioguomy.
He would then dispose of the tile among a bun-
dred others. and receive another befcre the
Owner of the but would return for his head-
gear. In a twinkling Howard would produce
the identical but from the heap, never handing
over the wrong property. Frequently, to test
his memory, the owner of a bat intrusth to the
darky’s care would deny his own property on
returning to the entrance, but without avail.
The face and but were photographed on the
man’s mind with all the truth of a camera, so
that he never made a mistake in attending to
the duties of his office. This wonderful negro
was presented with an elegant gold badge by a
number of gentlemen and the proprietors of the
hotel. He is now employed in Chicago.

Another phenomenal memory is that owned
b Milton Peters, or Black Pete, who was em-
plbycd at Fate’s keno house, but who is now
keeping door at Dock Strickland’s poker room
at the southeast corner of Eleventh and Olive
s'reets of that city. In the game of keno as
played in St. Louis and the Eastern cities, 192
cards numbered from 1 to 192 are required. On
each of these are fifteen numbeis arranged in
three r0ws and combinations of the numbers
betWeen 1 and 90. No two cards of the 192 or
no two rows of the 576 rows are alike. I’ete
had so trained his memor that he knew each
of these cards. If aske what combinations
were on card 37, he could, without a moment’s
hesitation, give the three combinations and the
numbers in their regular order. Before the in-
vention of the checkboard, which contains the
miniature of each keno card, Pete’s memory
was of invaluable service. The game is decided
by the first who covers any row of cards, the
man at the urn calling out the number of each
ball as it rolls out, and the players covering the
same if it appears on the card. A few years ago
a plan was gotten up by a sharp ambler to
“ wolf” the game. He carried with im a num-
ber of thin pieces of paper with various num-
bers on one side and mucilage on the other.

 

They were exactly the size of the little figure
square on the keno card. Ithn he covered four
numbers he listened for the next, and selectin
a paper with the next bad’s number he past
it owr the card and raked in the “pot.” He
was $1,200 ahead of the game by this stealing
operation, when he withdrew for a moment and
turned his card over to a friend. Just then
Pele turned his attention to the game, as the
man yelled “keno.” As was usual, he. called
the number of his card and the combination
which he had covered. He called out four num-
bers, but as he called the filth Pete laid hands
on the pot, announcing: “ There’s a mistake,
sah; I know there ain’t no card with forty and
those other four numbers in a line.” On exam-
ination at Pete’s suggestion the fraud which the
couple of blacklegs were practicing on the other
players was disgovered. The rest of Pete‘s edu-
cation lias been shamefully neglected. He ex-
periences considerable difficulty in outlining a
few hieroglyphics which are supposed to he
script for his name. W'hen asked about his
phenomenal memory he said: “ IVell, I swear I
don’t know how I came by such good recollec-
tion, but I’ve got it. I never forget a number
and I can tell you the number of some houses I
went to years and years ago.”

“ Can you recollect everything you see?”

“ Oh no! for some things I ain’t worth a cuss,
but some other things I don’t have no difficulty
in ierollecting.”

“ How did you come to learn the keno
cards?’

“Oh, that was my work. When no game
was going on I used to take the cards and look
over many of them. In that way I got to know
them all, and now I’m pretty well fixed on these
things and nobody can fool me on a set of keno
cards after I look over them a little.”

John and Charles Barker, two brothers who
dealt in a Sixth street (St. Louis) faro bank,
could keep track of the fifty-two cards in the
box, and, without consulting a card or any-
thing else, could announce just what cards were
left in the box after a certain number were
dealt. In the deal, when it came to the privi-
lege to “call the turn,” neither of the brothers,
who were equally endowed in this respect, ever
troubled those keeping track of the game, but
announced the number and denomina ion of
the cards left in the box. In playing against
the bank they displayed the same confidence in
their memories, and laughed at the idea of keep-
ing count of the cards.

The remarkable memory of a gambler known
as the New York Jew was so notorious that it
was with difficulty he could persuade a fare
dealer to allow him to buck against the bank.
He never discommoded himself kee ing a tally
on the cards with pencil, but at t e end of a
deal or at any stage of the game he could an-
nounce the action of any card called for, and
tell every bet and the amount of the same made
by half a dozen players about the board. A
week after a play he could‘tell to a certainty
how many times a. certain card won or lost,
and after a night’s play would sum up without
the assistance of the cards the winnings and
losses of any card for the previous four hours’
play. These facts caused the superstitious
dealers to refuse to allow him to put money on
the board.

It is now Chicago’s turn!

 

 

[3" A few Advertisements will be inserted
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—— -aunu—u—— —— -—-

omce in New York ""

  

 

 

 

 

 

   
 
 
  
  

.1 n xx," x. war-r3”

mama. sow-.-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

'Illlumumulllllmnmw"

l

  

 

ANOTHER vnasmn.
BY A. B. HAWBIOK.
h nkin,
    out

i h
The wood- ile short 0 ‘ fodder ,
The big ogs yet to “butt; '

And the horses in the stable
Still waiting for their meal,

The pigs and hogs impatient—
Each step they hear, they squeal!

And the cows are waiting sagely,
As, also, are the sheep—

But the frost is on the punkin,
And the hired man is asleep.

The turkey-cock is gobbling,
And the guinea's cacan oud,

The hen‘s a-hovering o’er her brood—
And the rooster‘s very proud;

The sun‘s t up above the trees;
Not a ch ck or child is fed,

The frost is on the punkm,
And the hired man is shed.

’Tis true there‘s something hearty
In the morning‘s atmosphere;

Of course we miss the flowers,
For the Autumn time is here;

But the air‘s so appetizing,
And the haze begins to creep,
The frost is on the punkin
And the hired man is asleep.

But why don‘t Tom, our hired man,
Arise and feed the swine,

The homes, cows and chickens!_
For it‘s past their breakfast time!

Why don't our servant-man and maid
Arise, earth's beauties to behold? _
’Tis, because the frost is on the (punkm,

And the weather's getting 00!

The kitchen‘s cold the fire is out,
That room is wit out charm,

And Bridget, if not fast asleep,
Well knows it is not warm.

The bed is warm, without is cold,
She hates now to attire,
The frost is on the unkin,
And—the “ boss ’ may make the fire.

The husky shocks of musty corn,
Are stil waiting in the field

To be relieved of all theirhusks—
Each “stock” a load will yield;

But Tommy knows there‘s work ahead.
Although the Summer’s fled,

The frost is on the punkin,
And Tom is still abed.

When the frost is on the unkin,
And the cornstalk‘r yet o‘cut, '
The wood-pile‘s short of “ kmdhn‘s ‘ —
No flre within the hut;

The horses, cows, and chickens,
The pigs, as well, unfed, _
The servant-man and servant-maid,

Will stay till noon abed.

 

 

 

The Chase in Assam.

Being Real Experiences of a British Oflicer.

 

EDITED BY CAPT. MAYNE REID.

III.-—A Rhinoceros Chase.

SATISFIED with our day’s pig-sticking we re-
solved to continue the same sport on the next—
going out in two parties as before, but with a
change of partners. This time it was a match
of even numbers; the police superintendent and
myself, against his brother and Edwards. Mr.
James, whose foot was inflamed from the bite
of the bear, thought it betterto lie up a day,
and so stayed in cam .

Having worked my Arab rather hard the day
before and wishing to give him arest, 1 bor-
rowed a horse from our host; who had several
spare ones with him.

Edwards and young B—— came upon a sounder
of igs soon after getting clear of the camp;
Whlge the superintendent and I had a roughish
ride before sighting a bristle. ‘

At length hOWever, we put up a solitary boar;
but, after chasing him a few hundred yards, we
struck intoa thick growth of jungle grass, where
he was lost to our sight. But as the waving of
the grass betrayed his whereabouts, we dashed
in after, both of us riding at reckless speed for
first spear.

All of a sudden I felt my horse come into vio-
lent collision with something solid, over which
he went right on his head, sending me a crapper
out of the saddle! A living object it was,
as told by aloud squeal accompanying the con-
cussion; but what, for the life 0 me I could
not yet tell. On regaining my feet, however, I
saw beside me a bulky animal as big as a donkey,
then recognising it as a young rhinoceros.

It was a calf about quarter grown, and its
presence admonished me there was danger near,
so I made all haste to get the old horse on his
legs again; but before I had succeeded there
came a sound of rushing through the reeds, and
instantly after the old cow herself was close up,
snorting and bellowing like a steam engine.

There was no time left to bother longer about
the horse, only just enough to save myself by a
quick scamper out of the way, when the mot ier
rhinoceros made a furious charge at the pros-
trate steed, catching the poor brute between the
ribs, and with one rip of her tasks tearing 0 on
its abdomen till its entrails protruded! The
horse never rose again, dving almost instantly;
and I might have shared his fate but for the
long grass in which I had ensconced myself,
and where I lay perdu, till the enraged mother
moved away from the ground. Luckily she did
so after moving the youngster to see if it was
hurt, then hurrying it off along with her. By
this time Mr. 8—, having killed the boar, came
riding back; and was greatly vexed to see what
had happened to his much-valued horse. A11 ry
also at the rhinoceros for causing him sucli a
loss, but as the huge pachyderm was still in
sight, hastening away with her calf, he cried

t;-

 

ou .
“ I’ll pay her off for it! You see if I don’t,
colonel.
And putting to the spurs he started in hot pur-
't

sui .

As he had no other weapon than his hogspear,
I was inclined to laugh at the idea of his “ pay-
ing her off.” At that time hunting the Indian
rhinoceros was new to me, and I had heard that
nothing of less force than a ten-pounder would
penetrate its coat of mail.

But Henry B. knew better, as I had evidence
soon after; being a witness to the chase with its
termination. As it chanced the spot where I
had been so unexpectedly set afoot was on high
ground, and commanded a view of the plain for
more than a mile around; which, savin the

atch of jungle grass, was bare and leve as a

illiard table. And though the Indian rhi-
noceros, notwithstanding its bulk and seeming
unwieldiness, can go at a wonderfully rapid
pace, the one now pursued, being incumbered
with her call. made comparatively slow pro-
gress. As a consequence, the pursuer on horse-
back soon overtook her, and reaching forward
drove his spear deep into her body; so deep he
could not withdraw it, and was forced to let go
the shaft! I saw this to my great astonishment;
for the spectacle was not so distant as to hinder
me from having a clear view of it—then
watched with interested eyes what came after.

The rhinoceros, soon as receiving the stub
stopped in her onward course. and spun round
upon herself, as a dog after its Own tail, appar‘
ently endea voring to reach the spot where she
had been thrust. She so far succeeded as to
hook either her tusk, or horn, upon the shaft of
the spear, which snapped and broke off within
a foot or so of the blade. But this was her last
effort. Now weak from the loss of blood, she
tottered a step or two, then fell heavily ownr on
her side, on the stump of the broken spear,
burying it still deeper in her body.

Knowing the dangerous brute now hel less, I
hastened orward to where she lay. Kliefore
reafhiug the spot to see she was dead
nal .

Bu how did you pierce

through its thick
hide

th a boar-spear?” I asked of my com-

asa door-'

panion on coming up to him. “I’ve always]

been under the belief such a thing was impossr
l)

bl?’ So most people think,” he rejoined, with a

derisive smile; “ they who only know our Indian

rhinoceros by what they read in books. And

indeed, so is it in places and at times. ”

“Places and times! What mean you, Harryi
I asked of my old college‘chum, puzzled by his
words.

“ ok at this!" he answered dropping from
his horse and drawing his shiicar knife, which
with a slight blow be buried to the hilt 1n the
body of the defunct rhinoceros. Then saying
in continuance: " There are three places where
the brute can be easily killed, either by spear
thrust or bullet; in the rear of the shoulder.
where, as you see, I settled the hash of this one;
behind the ear, and in the center of the shield.”

“ But you s ak of times? What has time to
do with it? hat puzzles me.” .

“ Ah! true. It has puzzled others unacquam-
ted with the animal’s habits—even learned nat-
uralists. But the thing is simple enou h; 'its
explanation being that the skin of the ndian
rhinoceros is not always of like hardness.
After wallowing for hours in mudnas it often
does to get rid of troublesome parasxtes, its hide
becomes soft as glove leather. Then a bullet
will pierce it anywhere. But it must be a con1~
cal, or one from an elephant I‘lfle,. that will
reach its vital-‘4, for besides the skin itself, nigh
two inches thick, there is a substratum of fat,
like the blubber of a whale, with muscles and
massive bones, in which a ball may be lodged
without materially affecting . the animal’s
health; certainly not depriving it of life. I’ve
known of an old bull rhinoceros getting half-a-
score of bullets into him, and carrying them for
years afterward; his death eventually brought
about by the prick of a boar-spear, just as With
this one.”

“What you tell me, Harry,” I said, “is all
new to me; and somehing besides you haven’t
spoken of.”

“ What something?” he asked. .

“ The way in which the old cow killed your
horse.”

“ that was there strange about that?”

“Her ripping him u with her tusks. I’ve
hunted the African r inoceros; that would
have used its horn: or if a keitloa i's horns.”

“ Ah! I see. But with our sort it is dlflerent.
They only make use of the born to dig up
roots and tubers for food. Their weapon of
war and offense is the tusk, a formidable one as
you’ve seen, and as I have good reason to re-

, ,4)!"

gret. I wouldn’t have taken a hundred pounds
for that horse.”

During all the time occupied in our dialogue
the calf rhinoceros stayed close by; though
neither silent, nor at rest. Instead, it kept
coursing around the dead body of its dam, giv-
ing utterance to laintive cries, now and then
bunting her with 1ts snout, as if to say, “There
are enemies beside us—why don’t you get up
and come away?”

“ Are we to kill it, too?” I asked.

“ Certainly not; why should we ?” was the
su rintendent’s ready rejoinder. “Alive it
Will be worth a good hundred pounds. Jam-
rach has an agent in Calcutta, who will no
doubt give that much for it, and it will be
some compensation for the horse its mother has
robbed me of.”

This economic idea saved the creature’s life;
and the next thought was how to get hold of it.
No easy thing, we could see; for young as it
was, the tusks of the little brute were grown
long and strong enough to tear. In fact it was
raging around in a furious manner, ready to
charge at anything that might approach it,'man
or horse.

Luckily we were not a great ways from the
camp, and one of our attendants now up was
sent thither for assistance.

Soon returning with a score or so of
people. but none willing to risk life or limb by
venturing near the dangerous creature. So for
a time we seemed helpless as ever.

one of them, however, a Cacharee who had ex-
perience with these animals from having caught
and tamed them as calves, suggested an expe
dient. In our boats, which were in the river near
by the camp, were seVeral strong nets: Fishing
had been part of our programme, the Burram-
pootcr tee-mine,r with fish of many species. By
the Cacharee’s advice the nets were brought
up, several of them joined together at the ends,
and then extended in a curve were drawn
around the rhinoceros till the creature was
thoroughly entangled, as the lion of the fable.
For all it kept struggling and s uealing like a
Siuck pig, using every effort to disengage itself.

Twelve men were required to carry it to the
boats, in one of which it was taken to a. village
that lav on our route homeward, there to be re-
tained till we had finished our hunt. The Cacha—
, ree was left in charge of it, and at once entered
‘ upon the taming process.

The treatment adopted by him was as fol-
lows: A pit Wis was dug about the hight of the
animal when standing on his feet. Into this it
was lowered. tethered leg to leg, front and rear,

or It was vic:ous as ever, and made open~
mouthed at all who ware around, gnashing its
teeth in the most spiteful and furious manner.

Left alone in the pit for twenty-four hours,

the camp

 

neither fo..d nor drink giVen. it became hungry
and thirsty. Then the Cacharee commenced
the taming rocess, by pouring water upon it,
or rather allowing a small stream to trickle
down upon its head, and filter around the'cor-
ners of its mouth. At first it seemed surprised;
showing anger, also, by a loud sniff and curl of
the upper lip. But as the cool liqmd entering
its mouth came in contact with the tongue, a
sudden change was observable; and holding up
its head it allowed the water to run down its
throat in a copious stream.

Later on, in the same day, the process was re-
peated; but in addition to water some milk was
given it. There was plenty of this in the v11-
lage, which was surrounded by_sheds full of
milch kine—the Assamese being given to cattle-
rajsing as one of their chief industries.

Next day mashed plantains were added to
the milk diet, which the young rhinoceros rel-
ished exceedin 1y. .

In fine, so n%urished and petted,1ts natural
ferocity gradually gave way; and in less than
a week it became so tame that it would follow
the Cacharee, its keeper, about like a dog!

Soon after the superintendent sold 1t.to an
Afghan trader for $110. Eventually it wa,s
taken to Calcutta and disposed of lo amhch s
agent, no doubt at a higher figure, and likely
in the end found its way to London, or other
European city, to be exhibited in some zoological

arden or mena erie.

g Nor was the circass of the mother left to the
wolves, jackals, and vultures. Instead, every
scrap of it was appropriated to human use; the
Assamese eating rhinoceros beef _as they would
that of common cattle. The skin, usually two
inches in thickness, is consideredby them the
“tit-bit.” This they cut into pieces of con
venient size and roast them_ over the fire, pro-
ducing a viand of the consistency, and some—
what the taste of ig’s “ crackhngs.” _

Even Hindoos o the strictest sect, otherwise
confining themselves to a vegetable d1et,_ W111
eat the flesh of the rhinoceros, hehevmg it to
possess some beneficial charm. Its horns, too,
which the sportsman deems valueless as chase
trophies, are eagerly sought after by the vote-
ries of Brahma and Vishnu, who pay large
prices for them, to be kept in their main_ghurs,
or temples. There they are used as drinking-
cups; the hollow in their base holding water,
which the Hindoo queffs off in full 'faith of its
being a sure preventive againstwwtchcraft—a
superstition encouraged by his priest—to whom
it is all profit.

 

urn mfg—uh.

 

The mother rhinoceros takes her revenge.

Saved By a Child.

BY C. DUNNING CLARK.

 

 

TOM COLLINS was a man with a history, and
the story was told in a single word—grog. He
had started in life as a cabin—boy and worked 3
his way up through the different grades to that ‘
of captain, and then he began to travel down
hill and struck the bottom again, and was glad
to ship before the mast, all because he loved
grog. He was on the upgrade again, and let
the sailors drink as much as they might, Tom
Collins would not touch a drop now. He
straightened up when Jed Coffin had finished
and said:

“I’m going to give you the story of a sailor
who had one evil habit which nearly ruined
him for this world and endangered his chance
f:r the next. He started in life as fair as a man
could, and before he was twenty-eight he was 4
captain of a smart brig, and the owners thought i
the world of him, and there was nothing too
good for their pet captain. They had him up
to their houses when he was in port, and he!
drank wine there. At first he didn t like it, and '
only drank so as not to be singular, but after
a while he hankered after it. Ina year wine
wouldn’t do him and he wanted something
stronger; in another year he couldn’t see liquor
but he must drink to madness, and in the end,
while drunk, he ran his brig on a well-known
shoal, and she went to pieces in half an hour.
The owners had been gettin angry at him for
some time, and that settled it for good. He
didn’t get another ship and he was glad to take
a position as first mate. But the love of liquor
clung to him still and be nearly lost the ship by
a collision with another boat on a rk night,
when he was too drunk to know w at he was
about. He was sent to the fo’k’sel, and there
he brooded over the wrong the captain had done
him until he almost made up his mind to com-
mita crime for vengeance’ sake, and one day he

0

 

Spaniards, and when he was drunk one day he
proposed to take the ship, run her to the South
Sea Islands, and live a reckless life there, among
the heathen islanders. The wild crew were
ready, and when their plan had been laid he
said to one of the Lascars:

" ‘ What shall we do with the officers?

“ ‘Cnt their throats,’ was the savage reply.
‘ Deed men tell no tales.’

.” The thought of murder had never been in
his heart, and he told the men to wait, as he
could not yet decide whether they had better
make the attempt or not. He went on deck

 

 

 

thought it over.

now, and wonderechvhat ha

in a tes.

of a mutin .

lashed himself into fury with the thought that

himself to think that he had degraded himself
by his love of rum. _ . .

“As he stood there alone bis ev11 genius, a
dark- faced Spaniard, a man with a cruel heart,
who had been the one to incite him to rebellion,
came softly on deck and stepped Silently to his
side. . .

“ ‘ Have you ever thought,’ he. whispered,
‘what a life we might lead if this ship were
ours? None of your azy life in the South Sea
Islands, but at guns somehow and make a cor-
sair of her. hat’s the kind of hfe for men!’

“ ‘Why, curse you, Pedro,’ said the tem ted
mun, ‘ you are worse than I ever thought 0 
ing. No, Pedro, I’m no pirate and never Will
be. It’s hard enough to turn mutineer after
what I’ve been.’ .

“‘But have you made up your mind? he
asked, eagerly. ‘ The boys are anxious. to
know, because of course they won’t go on With-
out ou, and it’s only fair to let them under-
stan what to expect.’ _

“ ‘ You let me be,’ replied the disgraced man,
in an angry tone. ‘ If you think to make any-
thing of me, better leave me_ to myself; my own
thoughts will drive me to it faster than any-
thin else.’ . .

“ he Spaniard gave him one quick, savage
glance and went away as quiet] as he had
come, laughing softly to himself, or the fiend
thought he had the poor fellow in the tolls.
Just then the ca tain came on deck, and seeing
him standing t ere, made a motion as if he
would speak, and then changed his mind and
WPnt aft. If he had spoken kindly then, eVery
thought of mutiny would have passed forever

 

 

the fresh breeze blowing in his face, and

 l‘ '3

viii, 1,“,-



i

from the sailor’s heart; but he didn’t, and he
became angry again. .

“‘ I’m too low for him to speak to, then,’ he
muttered. ‘Look out, Ca tain Phipps you
haven’t got the whole worl at your ack, and
even a man you despise as you do me may
chance to do you harm.’

“The captain went aft and paced the quar-
ter-deck, never looking at the sailor, and he
stood_there eating his own heart and wild with

that he could even think calmly of a horrible
Crime, and not blench. Just think it over,
This man had been a good sailor all his _
life and had even been in command of a Ship. 8 Pedro was inclined to
He ’had never done a wrongi to znyrman, ltmolw- ’ and
' hiaiwasmaeoeienceous ‘.
Liigg'ioargi vali‘tue; agrd now he was on the verge ‘ same sauce to two or three others, insnde of a

 

He ran rapidly ovgr thfi i t
' If f mthe do he shippe unt . wo years _
events 0f ms 1 e m' changed him so ! dicky’s place again.’

1

the captain had degraded him; he never allowed to be at the same time.

l

l

 

' blank statement we is now corrsidcrin’.

 

 

 

     

“‘No, sir, not till I‘ve earned it. I serve
fore the mast before I take a

“ 0 they shook hands on it, and he went
down into the fok’sel and told the men it
wouldn’t do, and the must drop it. Black
ick, and Tom turned to
gave the Spaniard an awful whipping,
right there in the fok’sel, and serVed out the

week. When they got to Honolulu he advised

“ ' - 11 around, and the sea whis cred the captain to send Black Pedro and two others
andItIlfelanllisgmg, but that which had bagel) a  ashore, and be_did it, and took on better men,
lcasure to him once wrs horrible music new. , and the rest d1d well enough. But from that
t was early evening and one of those calm “ day to this never a drop of grog has passed that
clear nights often seen in the tropics, a night ‘ all 1 man’s llps.
Spangled with stars,’and at any other time he . _ . .
would have felt its beauty. He stood there and sailor and my time of probation is over when

“Mates,” continued Tom Collins, ‘ I am that

we get into Honolulu, where Captain Phipps is
Ca tain Darrel knows
all about it, and Ca tain Phipps will change
officers with him, an I’m to be first mate of
the Flying Arrow. I’ll never lose the berth
again by means of grog. I‘m a man that dare
not touch it for my life, and besides, I promised
the boy, and I can’t break my promise to him.”

 

 

Ethiopian Ethics.

BY REV. JULIUS JOHNSING.

“ Their Lines Have Gone Out Through
All the Earth.”

“ WHEN do great Psalm slinger ’mong dc Jews
writ dat line, what he intended, I reckon, fer
poetry, ’tain’t mo’ dan likely he had a realizin’
sense ob how much onmixed pulpit trufe dere
war comprised inter it.

“ Dar was mo’ dan one kine ob lines in dose
days, putty much as we sees it now; on! I

 

 

don’t reckon it war quite so much so. Fust, ar
war de lines what do poet war 'ttin’ OR at
de time, to ’muse hisself wid when e hadn’t no

better to do, one ob whom do one you’ve jest
hearn am which. Nex’ly, dey had de tender
lines. Iain’t a—meanin’ by dat, despooney, ’lasses
candy an’ gum-drap lines what some o’de young
folks sends ’ronnd on Voluntine day, an’ other
sich fool ’casions. I means de tender lines what
makes yer mouf water, only jest to hear ’em
spoke ’bout; an’ de same which King David
couldn’t ha’ bin ’ludin’ at, kese no part ob de
hog meat war ’lowed onto his table. Den dar
was clo’s lines, an’ surwayer’s lines, an’ lines
what do author hisself girded up mo’ den onc’t,
when be lit out from de presence ob Saul.

“ An’ ’sides all dese, dey had mail lines, as we-
’uns has at de present day. I doesn’t think
likely dat dey had female lines. Dey seems ter
be a modern inwention, what come in wid de
Civil Service Reform business. Mought ha’ had
somefin ob de kine in de nex’ reign, for Solomon
bragged putty steep dat dar war nuflin new un-
der de sun; so mebbe he fetch dem in, 'lon ob
de Mormon ussuasion. Dar ain’t no thee ogy
dese days w at kin keep track oh what dat ole
smarty didn’t either imitate or ’ri inate.

“ S akin’ ob de mail lines, it sin to be s’posed
dat ey was equil in all perticklers, in de time
what David refers to, to what we has now. Dat
would be crowdin’ de credulity ob our latter-
day skeprsticks a leetle too heavy, ’sides gibin’
ancient nations mo’ credit for rogress in de
arts an’ sciences ob civilized life an is due ’em.
Jest to ib a single instance. We don’t read ob
but one tar Route case. an' dat war de one what
do free wise men follered from Ingy’s coral
strand cl’ar to Palestine: an’ nobody seemed dis-
posed ter ’vestergate dat ’ceptin’ Herod, an’ it
didn’t pan out in‘ his case wo’th a cent. Fur as
that goes, dere doesn’t seem to be anybody axin’
for ’vestergatin’ cormittees on de subjec’ now;
leastways, not to no very ’larmin’ extent.

“But folks what reads dis, an’ a heap mo’
right smart t’ings dat de same party got off in
his day, an’ gits a leetle mixed when dey tries
to ’lucerdate do matter, is mighty apt to forgit
—if dey ever did know—dat dc writer had de
gift ob lprophercy. Dar is whar de p‘int am.
An’ we as to bar dat in mind, when we seeks
to ’rive at de full meanin’ ob hea s o’ pas<ages
dat we mought wrestle wid til? de trumpet
blows. ’Spesh’ly am dis de case wid de p’I‘qrt-

e
meets wid it in do only corrugated statement ob
fac’s, outside de daily papers. Dat bein’ de
case, we is ready to stake our indiwidawal
repertations on de trufe ob it. But when we
comes to ’splain it, we isn’t dar. Leestways,
you isn’t dar, an’ you has plenty ob company
whar you is. Den you comes to me, as one ob
de doctors ob de law—or if you doesn‘t, you’d
orter do it—an’ you has de full gl0w ob de ’lcc—
tric light ob do new reverlntion flung squar’
onto it. Dat’s what I’m a-gibin’ you now.

“ ‘ De lines am gone out into all do eurf.’ If
ye doesn’t believe it, any oh you. jest look
outen de sanctooary winders, whar dpy is clean
enough to ermit yer wision to have free cou’se
an’ be glorified, as de Scriptur’ says, an’ tell me
—but ye needn’t speak it cut—what kine ob
lines you‘sees. Dar am mo’ dat meets de eye
dan de long list what I jest ’numberafed. You
perceiyes a lot ob lines stretchin’ from one eend
ob de alley to de nex’, an’ from dis eend ob de
city to de furderest, an’ froo de hull State, an’
’cross de breadth, an’ up an’ down de len’th ob
de whole lan’, an’ I axes ye what dey am? De
youngest pickaninny what knows who his own
mammy am kin answer de question. Dey is de
polcgraph lines. An’ whar is dey gwine? Ye
hearn me just now t’ll de frufe on de suljic’,
but I didn’t tell de hull trufe. as bofe de law an’
de gospill rcq'iircs. I kep’ back de biggest part
till you was bettcrprcpar’d for de rcceibin’ ob
it. Dal’s de rule I ullers follers in corn unicnt-
lit): startlin’ intelligence ob ary kind whatsom-
e er.

“Dem lines goes. not only up an’ down, an’

; straight acrost, an’ slantindicklrr cb de bull

rage, and swearing to himself that he would do 1

it. And yet he knew Captain Phipps was a
'ust man, who never wronged a sailor, although

9 exacted obedience. In his secret heart this
man acknowledged that if he had been in the
captain’s place, and a mate had so nearly cast
away the ship as he had done, he would have
sent him to the fok’sel. It was often done, but
seldom without just cause.

“‘I must make up my mind,’ groaned the
tempted man. ‘My mates have a right to
know, because I started this ball rolling. What

heart is too bloody,
he may do if the ship comes into his hands. Ha!
what’s that i”

“ A vision had suddenly, appeared to him—a
vision which called back his youth. It was a
boy ten years old, with fair hair curling about
a high forehead, and an open, ingenuous face; a
boy after his Own heart, whom he had loved
from the moment he came [on board. It was
the captain’s son Ned, who had coaxed his
father to let him come with him this trip, and
perhaps it was the fact that the lad was on
board which brought down punishment upon
the drunken mate's head.

“ ‘I’m awful sorry,’ the boy says sliding his
little hand into the broad palm of the sailor.
‘I’d like to have you mate again, because I
love on, Tom.’

“ e caught the little fair-haired child in his
arms and kissed him, and from that moment he

l
l
l
l

| subjic’shill git to de lowest stratum ob

l

y to them? I don’t like Pedro; hisl

and there’s no telling what  present time oh axini

I take de full strength

 

was saved—saved by a little child. Turn mu- ,

tineer and rob that boy
set him adrift in an open
the waves! He would
headforemost into the heaving sea, never to
rise again. His heart felt lighter, and Captain
Phipps, who had been watching from the quar-
ter-deck, came forward quickly.

_ “ ‘ Let me speak first,’
ing his tarpaulin. ‘ I had evil thoughts against
you, Captain Phipps. but they are one. This
boy drove them away when he gill} is hand in

8y

of a kind father, and
boat at the mercy of
sooner have plunged

mine. And now hear me. the Lord
strike me down dead when another glass of
rum passes my lips.’
“ ‘That’s a
Phipps.
agam?’

resolution,’ said Ce tain

‘Wi you take the mate’s rth

said the sailor, touch- ‘

I street.

_ ve years.

i kenfry. but dey ’stends ’crost de Rockygany

Mount’ins, an’ under de great Atlastic ocean,
an’ to do very eend ob de universal world. But
makes ye open yer eyes. But I wants it to do
mo’ dan dat. I ’tends dat my treatin’ ob dis
yer un-
derstandin‘s, so dat ye may compel-bend de full
meanin’ ob de passage. On dat hangs all do
aw an’ de profits. An’ dat or am de covenant
’twixt do two parties to de case befo’ me to-
day. I gibs ye de law, I lays it down widout
cuttin’ de cloff—dat am my part ob de corn-
track. De part whet’volves on you is to see
dat I gits my full shar’ob de profits. At do
it looks like it mought
ob de law, ’fore dey is
fo’thcomin’.”

 

 

JIM Comma, who murdered the actor Ben
Porter, now holds the office of city marshal at
Coumercial, New Mexico.

_ THE heat in the Comstock mine’s lower level
IS 120 degrees Fahrenheit. It is evident that
the lower fires are not far off. The water that
pours out of the Sutro tunnel. which taps and
ventilates the several mines of the great lode is
scalding,r hot.

THERE are 12,000 head of Jersey cattle on the
Isle of Jersey, and 6,000 on the I~le of Guernsey.
The exportations from both are nearly three
thous-md head per year, of which fully one-half
come to this Country. The J~rsey stock has
gained a wide-spread celebrity here.

GOVERNOR-GENERAL Loam; of Canada comes
out flat-tomed t‘or prohibition. and N e tempor-
ance sentiment has taken a strong grip on the
people. Lorne is credited with saying:—"The
absolute prohibition of the sale of intoxicating
liquors throughout the whole Northwest has
5' cured the most perfect peace and order to
those infant territories.”

THE city of Texarkana, though small in com-
parison to some of the other cities of the Union,
1s the most phenomenal. It lies in two States—
Texas and Arkansas: hence its name. The
State line runs through the center of its chief
Its population is 6.000. It is considered
the gateway of the Southwest. It is only eight
_ ears old, but has the airs of a city of twenty-