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Poetical Selections.
OBATEM Or THE HEART.
BY D. C. ADDISOX.
I dreamed in the silence and stillness of night,
Whin the star* were obscured by the moon’a brighter
light,
iw .ndered forth with a glow, stealthly tread,
o visit a graveyard—the home of the dead.
No proud marble monument reared to the sky
Points out the dear spot where the sleeping ones lie;
No richly carved letters make known the dear names.
Or tell where they lived, when died, whence they
came;
No low bending willow, or whispering trees
Seem to murmur their names, as they sigh in th#
breeze;
No bright smiling flowers, strewed over the spot
Ever sj>cak for the dead, “I must not be forgot;”
No priest, in his robes, ever stood ’round the bier
And spoke of comfort, the mourners to cheer;
No voice ever said, ‘‘These beloved ones shall rise
Triumphant, immortal, again to the skies!”
Yet well do I know where each little grave lies,
Though hidden away from the gaze of the eye.
Though flowers nor stone mark the place wber®
they’ve laid,
Or grassy mound covers the form oi the dead.
Here affections that seemed too ardent to die,
Together with bright hopes, forever must lie!—
Cease! cease thy wild heatings, then fond-stricken
heart,
And bid those vain tears from thine eyes to depart!
All dav have I wreathed me in smiles all unfelt,
All day at the cold shrine of fashion have knelt,
And now. ye vain world, let me bid you depart,
That alone ! may weep o’er the graves of my heart.
— Quincy Modern Argo.
AT THE EA'^TICB.
flh vu waiting at the lattice,
Where the snowy-plumed clematis
Translated for her, gratis,
What the breezes sung and sighed.
And the dainty tendernesses
Of the sunbeams on her tresses
Left her tranced in the caresses
Of the golden morning tide.
The linnets were a-cooing.
And the dapper bees a-wooing.
And the dews were interviewing
All the flower-cozied fays.
While lightly from the dingle
The zephyr, lone and single,
Came up to intermingle
In the leaf-entangled maze,
She waits another coming,
Her heart Its riches summing.
Till suddenly a drumming
From the gravel walk arose.
A hope triumphant filled her,
And clear the words that thrilled her:
'* Look here, you Jane Matilda,
Come and knuckle them ar’ clothes 1 *
Stories and Sketches.
The Tyrant of Rimini.
A tall, somber-looking, middle-aged
man was haughtily walking down the
fuincipal street of Rimini, in Eastern
taly, at an early hour in the morning of
the 12th of May, 1501. All pedestrains
fled as if dismayed at his approach, and
well they might, for he was no other
than Sigismondo-Pandolfo-Malatesta, the
autocrat of Rimini, and one of the worst
tyrants of his terrible period.
Malatesta was followed by an escort of
archers, and as he turned around a corner
and directed his steps towards the court
house, an arrow, shot by an unknown
hand, fell at his feet. Malatesta picked
it up with a scornful smile. A parch
ment slip was fastened to the point of
the arrow. On this slip the following
terrible words were inscribed:
“Accursed Malatesta, thy end is draw
ing nigh. It will be both horrible and
ignominious.”
As Malatesta read these words he
turned slightly pale. But he quickly
recovered his equanimity. Casting a
sidelong glance at the house from which
the arrow seemed to have come, he mut
tered, with a terrible smile:
“That house shall be torn down to-day,
and on its site I will construct a gallery
of paintings and statuary. It shall be a
noble edifice, and it will add to my fame
as one of the best patrons of the fine
arts. As for the inmates of the house —
why, they shall be attended to this very
morning.”
The procession entered the court-house,
where Malatesta immediately descended
to the gloomy basement of the building.
In this basement were located the dun
geons where the prisoners of state were
confined; also the tortue chamber with
all its dread paraphernalia.
During the infamous reign of Malatesta
these dungeons were always filled with
the victims of the tyrant’s vindictive
ness, and xhe torture chamber resounded
day after day with the heart-rending
screams and profound groans of the un
fortunate persons whom Malatesta’s
hangman and his assistants tormented.
On the morning of the 12th of May,
15Q1, the torture-chamber was to be the
scene of a truly revolting spectacle.
When Malatesta entered the apartment,
over which two torches cast their lurid
light, he took his seat upon a stone
estrade. A secretary took his seat at
Have me prisoners Drought in,”
ordered Malatesta.
The secretary rang a bell. A minute
later a side door opened. The sound of
clanking chains was heard. At last a
mournful procession, headed by the
hangman and his assistants, entered.
There were ten heavily-ironed prisoners.
They were only half-clad in the coarsest
hempen garments. They looked pale
and emaciated. Their eyes were hardly
able to bear the Jglare of the torchlights.
V** Call their said Malatesta.
"The secretary* read off the following
Ames:
Palvicino Aesiello,. Enrico Aeriellq,
Michaele Aesiello, GuelielmoPallayicini,
Alfonso Stravera, Manfredo Biflbnini,
Andrea Borania, Carlo Borania, Marco
Tristany, Antonio Montani.
As soon as the name of a prisoner was
read he was rudely pushed one side by
the executioner. When the reading of
the names had been completed, the
secretary said:
“ They are all here, Principe.”
Malatesta rose to his feet, and said, in
a terrible voice:
“ You are all accused of being traitors
to the State of Rimini!”
“We are not,” firmly replied the pri
soners. “We have tried to save the Re
public of Rimini from your traitorous
machinations, Pandolfo Malatesta!”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the tyrant.
“Who elected you Prince of Rimini?”
cried the elder Aesiello, a venerable
man of seventy.
“No one!” said another prisoner.
“ He is a usurper and a tyrant/
Malatesta fairly foamed with rage.
“Maledetti!” he roared.
“You are accused by everybody in
this city except by your minions and
henchmen.”
“You will speedily die the death of a
dog!” gravely said old Aesiello.
“But first, you shall die; and the
ravens and hawks shall eat your rotting
carcasses, while I, after my death, shall
be remembered as the benefactor ol
Rimini—as he who adorned his city
with the most beautiful edifices and
monuments.”
“History does not lieT” said old
Aesiello, solemnly.
“A truce to all this nonsense!” shouted
Malatesta. “ Executioner, perform your
duty.” The scene that ensued beggars
description. For three solid hours the
unfortunate prisoners were tormented
Tdth all the devilish ingenuity chara
teristic of the cruel Italian tortures of
the Middle Ages. The objtn r. of this
torturing w T as to wrest from the sufferers
the confession that they were traitors to
the State of Rimini. Eight of the pris
oners remained firm. Two of them,
unable to bear the dreadful agony, said
all that Malatesta wanted. He was
delighted.
“Carlo Borania and Antonio Montani,”
he said, “are shrewd. They will get off
with simple decapitation. As for the
rest of you, this fate is in store for you
—you shall be knocked down with a
atone hammer, and then your hearts
shall be cut out by the executioner.
You shall meet your death at noon to
day on the market place.”
He rose from his seat and hurried
back to his palace. There several dis
tinguished artists from Rome awaited
him—artists, painters, sculptors. The
artists of Italy at that period, as a gen
eral thing, were wretched, time-serving
fellows. What did they care whether
the hand that patronized them wa*
stained with blood ? Malatesta’s infamies
were notonous. Still such noble architects
as Guglielmo Da Visto and Andrea Yasi
courted his favor. When he re-entered
his palace he immediately granted private
audiences to the artists.
A ; large concourse surrounded the
wagons conveying the prisoners. The
latter harapgued the vast crowd of peo
ple that witnessed their arrival in ring
ing tones.
“People of Rimini!” exclaimed the
venerable Aesiello, “ will you permit
the tyrant Malatesta to sacrifice your
best friends?”
A great commotion ensued in the vast
throng.
“Hear Aesiello!” cried some.
“ It’s a shame!” shouted others.
“Down with Malatesta!” roared a still
bolder citizen.
Malatesta had heard this last exclama
tion. He rose from his throne and
called out to the archers:
“ Kill that man!”
“Let’s kill Malatesta!” roared the
citizens back.
The mounted archers charged the
crowd in order to disperse it. But a
hailstorm of stones was showered down
upon them. Their horses were frightened,
strong arms tore them from their saddles,
and they were miserably brained with
heavy bludgeons. All this had been
done in a few moments. Malatesta had
turned deadly pale. He saw that he
was in imminent peril. “ Surround me,
archers!” he cried.
But the archers were as cowardly as
they were villainous. They deserted the
tyrant in this extremity. But the ex
asperated multitude caught all of them
and put them to death.
But now an extraordinary scene took
place. Malatesta h£d been thrown to
the ground by three citizens. The pris
oners, as a matter of course, had been
liberated. Aesiello approached the pros
trate tyrant. “ Now,” he said to Mala
testa, “ you shall suffer the death which
you had prepared for us. My friends,”
he added, turning to the citizens, “bring
the executioner here.”
The latter arrived, trembling with
fear. He willingly did as he was bidden.
He fastened the feet of Malatesta to the
ring in the scaffold. Then he dealt him
a terrible blow on the left temple with a
stone hammer. Malatesta dropped sud
denly. In a second the executioner was
on the breast of his victim. He then
ripped open his clothes with a sharp
knife, and then cut a horrible gash in
his left breast. Into this gash the
wretch inserted his right hand, and then
withdrew it, producing the still reeking
heart of the tyrant. The citizens greeted
the sickening spectacle with deafening
acclamations. In their blood-thirsty
frenzy they massacred every person in
Rimini that had supported Malatesta.
His palace was sacked and burned to the
ground. For a few years the small re
public flourished; then its fate, owing
to the wars of invasion, became as de
plorable as ever.
Kisses. —Two cups of sugar, three
eggs, butter the size of an egg, one cup
of sour cream, a teaspoonful each of
soda and cream-tartar, a little salt and
nutmeg, drop it on tins, and sprinkle
Bugar on before baking.
Eaten by His Starring Companions.
In 1869 Charles L. Smith left Carthage,
N. Y., having received the appointment
of American Consul to Russia, with
residence in a city on the Amoor River
in Siberia. He left in the summer, ac
companied by his wife, whom he left
with relatives in Chicago. Arriving in
San Francisco he learned that the last
of the trading boats had left for the
season. Being anxious to reach his
destination, as he iutended engaging in
the fur business, he took passage on a
ship bound for Hong Kong, China, where
he hoped to engage passage and reach
his destination quicker than by waiting
for the return of the traders.
Arriving at Hong Kong he became ac
quainted with a member of a New York
firm, who offered him a chance to engage
in business. He would not engage
then, but pushed on as fast as possible to
his destination, where he arrived in
the spring of 1870. He remained several
months, and, not being suited with the
business or country, be returned to
Hong Kong and accepted the offer be
fore made to him.
~ Five men, including Smith, went on a
trading expedition into the interior of
the southern part of China, where they
were successful, amassing large fortunes.
They returned to the coast on their
homeward journey and engaged a
Chinese junk to take them to Hong
Kong. When far out from the mainland
the crew of the junk mutinied, robbed
their passengers and placed them on
a desert island, with neither food nor
drink. It was not long before starvation
stared the unfortunate men in the face.
For several days they had subsisted on a
few berries they found on the island.
Those were gone, and no ship had come
to the rescue. When at last they could
stand hunger and thirst no longer, they
cast lots to see who should die. The lot
fell on Smith, who, before being put to
death, requested that his companions
should never let his wife know of the
manner of his death if they were fortu
nate enough to return to America. He
was then put to death and eaten by his
companions. A short time thereafter
the men were rescued by a passing ship
and came to America, to New York,
where they reported Smith dead, none
at the time but the members of the firm
knowing the manner of his death. Two
years ago a gentleman who had -been in
correspondence with Smith during his
lifetime, called on the New York firm
and demanded the particulars. At ffrst
they refused, but afterward decided to
tell him providing he would keep it
from Mrs. Smith. The promise has been
kept. Mrs. Smith died in Chicage about
two weeks ago, ignorant of the manner
of her husband’s death. The story
comes to us direct, and from such good
authority that we are forced to believe it.
WliaFs In a Same.
[Dictionary of Slang.]
When Lord Dundreary gave his servant
half a crown to buy three “ tenpeimy
nails,” he displayed no more than a par
donable simplicity in accepting the
literal interpretation of the name ap
plied to the particular article which he
desired to purchase, and probably few
of those wfio have laughed at the famous
joke could correctly fix the origin of the
term “ tenpenny” as applied to nails. It
really means that the nails weigh ten
pounds to the thousand, the original
expression being “ ten-pound nails;” and
this in its turn corrupted into “ ten
penny nails;” “sixpenny” and “four
penny” nails are nails weighing six or
four pounds to the thousand. There are
many other similar terms, “ familiar as
household words,” which are in daily
use, and convey a very false impression
if accepted literally. A scientific con
temporary takes the trouble to give a
list of many household articles whose
names, when analyzed, go far to justify
the skeptical inquiry of the amorous
Juliet. Salad oil, for instance, is not oil
for making salads, but oil for cleaning sal
ades, i. e., hemlets; while an equally
familiar instance of incongruous ideas is
presented in the use of the term “ Ger
man silver,” this metal being neither
silver nor an alloy of silver and not hav
ing even been invented by a German.
Ladies who button up the dozen or
more buttons of the gloves probably never
pause to think that their “ kids” are
more likely made of the skins of lambs,
or even of rats, than of those of young
goats; and still less likely is the house
maid, or even the young housewife, to
reflect that the common “ blacklead” is
as innocent of lead as it is of gold, or
the knowing city clerk to consider that
his black-lead pencil contains a natural
composition of carbon and iron. In
stances of the misnaming of things might
be multiplied from among objects in
daily use, whose names are excepted and
passed from mouth to mouth with scarcely
a moment’s thought of their incon
gruity or their origin.
Josh Billings on Marriage.
Sum marry because they think wim
min will be scarce next year, and live to
wonder bow the crop holds out.
Some marry to get rid of themselves,
and discover that the game was one that
two could play at, and neither win.
Sum marry for love without a cent in
their pockets, nor a friend in the world,
nor a drop of pedigree. This looks des
perate, but it is the strength of the
game.
Sum marry in haste and then sit down
and think it carefully over.
Sum think it carefully fust, and then
sit down and marry.
No man kin tell exactly where he will
fetch up when he touches calico.
No man kin tell exactly what calico
has made up her mind to dew. Calico
don’t know herself. Dry goods of all
kinds is the child of circumstances.
Marriage is a safe way to gamble; if
you win, you win a pile, and if you loose
you don’t lose anything.
Mrs. Potts’ Walk from New York to
New Orleans and Return.
[Baltimore Americ.ut.l
Mrs. Mattie Potts, who left Baltimore
last May, has returned, looking as fed as
an autumn leaf. She has accomplished
her feat of walking to New Orleans and
back, and has only to walk to Philadel
phia to win the SIO,OOO she says is await
ing her there. Yesterday afternoon at
6:30 o’clock Mattie Potts appeared at
the city limits, walking at her usual gait
and wearing the same style of costume
that she die! when here before—in fact
she isfthe same “Pottsv,” as she delights
in calling herself. Her dress yesterday
was of delaine washed and rewaslied by
rain and perspiration. On her head
was a Hebe hat. She carried the cane
now made famous, but no Saratoga trunk
done up in brown paper did she carry,
for it had increased in size and traveled
.by rail. Mrs. Potts said she had never
paid a cent for expressage, save from
Ashville to Baltimore, and she had sent
it always ahead of her. In recalling her
travels she said she had “just had a
splendid time, and was a million times
healthier than when she passed through
un her travels.” She spoke in glowing
terms of the Piedmont air line—at least
the track, and said the people were
dearly beloved, and she had picked out
a home at High Point, North Carolina,
and intended to live there. All along
her route she would receive telegrams
and postal cards inviting her to stay at
hotels, which she accepted. In New
Orleans she had two grand dinners
given her—one by the editors of the
Times and the other by a railroad official,
blic wanted to walk there, but they
thought her two tired, She was not suc
cessful in her exhibitional walks in other
cities, for she cleared but fifteen cents.
In speaking about her accidents, she first
stated she was run over by a train and
squeezed to death by a bear, but
afterwards corrected herself and said
“nearly.” The first accident occurred as
she was crossing a river in Alabama. A
gravel train backed up while she was on
the bridge, and she jumped oil an iron
bridge support and swung herself over
the water, and there hung. The second
one was when a big black bear passed
within one hundred yards of her. Three
miles two laps further on she met a wild
cat, but it passed by. Then a thunder
storm came up and nearly blew her away.
That night she entered Mobile. A band
of music had been engaged to meet her,
but the rain drove their wind away. She
remained in New Orleans four days ana
five night3, and spoke at the City Hotel.
She said she had innumerable proposals
of marriage—the first one in South Bos
ton, on the Danville Railroad. She did
not know the man’s name. In fact, she
did not know the names of any of the
men who wanted to be the sharer of her
SIO,OOO that she says is awaiting her in
Philadelphia. Her average number of
miles per day (only walking in the day
time) was twenty-one miles; the greatest
number, thirty-six miles and ten laps.
This was accomplished on that “dearly
beloved Piedmont air line.” In Georgia
and Louisiana, Mrs. Potts said she did
not spend one cent; everything was
given her. In her trip she has worn out
five suits, while she was presented with
innumerable shoes,Jstoekings and hand
kerchiefs. She is happy, and says she
will walk a six day’s match with
O’Leary in New York or here, trim
talks of visiting the Academy to-day,
and told an American reporter that she
could outwalk any man on the track
there now, even Hart, though he had
been in-ithe belt contest. Hie
showed the reporter her note-book full
of scraps of paper closely written, which
she intends to rewrite into a book.
A Biscuit Race.
Among the countless forms of walking
and running matches now in vogue,
there is one which was a great favorite
at the sea in the day of long voyages,
and still frequently to be met with.
Thirty pieces of ship biscuit are laid
along the deck a yard apart, and the
man who can pick them up and bring
them back to the starting point, one by
one, and in the shortest time, wins the
day. Avery well-contested “biscuit
race ” of this kind lately took place on
board a South Atlantic steamer, between
two of the second-class stewards. The
first who started, a slim, active young
fellow of twenty-three, was the favorite
with the majority, but some of the
“knowing ones” shook their heads at
his commencing with the nearest pieces,
and thu3 leaving the hardest work to the
last. He made good time, however,
though showing visible signs of exhaus
tion towards the end; but his wary op
ponent, knowing himself to be the
weaker man, flew at once to the far end
of the line, thus making each successive
journeY shorter than the last. As the
race neared its close the excitement be
came intense. Many of the passengers
shouted and gesticulated as eagerly as
the sailors themselves; and the motley
crowd swaying to and fro in the lantern
light (night having already fallen), the
shouts of encouragement from one side
and outspoken ridicule from the other,
the loud and frequent appeals to the
timekeeper, and the flying figure of the
runner in his striped shirt and jaunty
white pantaloons, leaping, turning, and
darting backward and forward like a
snake, made a very picturesque scene.
The second man proved the conqueror,
but only after a hard struggle, his time
being 9 minutes 15 seconds, to his
an tagonist’s 9.26.
Ax exchange in a neighboring town
contains an account of a sad affair. It
says that a certain man in that town,
who has never advertised, was found
dead under his counter where he had
been lying for two days. He was ac
cidentally discovered by a small boy who
went to get a nickel changed. As he had
never advertised, people had forgotten
where his store was, and hence nobody
happened to discover the corpse until
decomposition set in.
Clipped Paragraphs.
Like a lobster, the best law has a cer
tain objectionable clause.
The phylloxera insect is inflicting
great injury in tb* vineyards of Lom
bardy.
In consequence of the non-delivery
of a telegraphic message, the first in
formation that a Solon (111.) family re
ceived of the death of a daughter was
the delivery of her coffined remains by
the express company.
The Norristown Herald tells a good
story about a ruralite who purchased an
alarm clock one day last week, and re
turned it the next afternoon. He said
that it made such an infernal racket
in the morning that he couldn’t sleep.
Anna Dickinson says * r that no man,
however gifted—not even Dante, Shaks
peare or Goethe—has ever drawn the
true portrait of a true woman, and that
this was the principal reason why she
wrote plays for herself.” She probably
thinks that none but a woman knows a
woman.
A. woman applied for a situation re
cently at Belfast, with Her clothes drip
ping like a water-spout. On being ques
tioned as to her condition, she said she
understood the lady of the house wanted
a wet nurse, and she had come ready for
service.
How shall we stop the strikes?” asks
a New England paper. Well, with your
right generally, and keep your left well
up in front of you. When you can’t
stop .; heavy one, it is allowable to
dodge it. But if you really don’t know
how to stop them, keep out of the riug.
—Burlington Hawkeye.
“ O, doctor,” said an anxious mother
to the family quarantine, “what can
you do for my son? He sets around the
house, and wants to eat chicken all the
time.” “There is nothing serious the
matter, madam. The boy has a fowl
stomach, that is all. Give him a few
eggs for a change.”
It will be interesting to lovers to
know exactly the difference between a
kiss and*a treading on the toe—as to the
time each demonstration takes, that is to
say, in making the lady aware of it.
Science has lately decided that the
nervous sensation travels one hundred
and ninety-five feet in a second, and
that a touch on the cheek, therefore, is
communicated to the brain one-thirtieth
of a second sooner than the pressure on
the toe.
A decent issue of the Louisville Pott,
contained the statement that all the hogs
in Elkton had been drunk the week be
fore. Thereupon a majority of the Post's
Elkton subscribers discontinued the
paper, and notified the editor of their in
tention to commence libel suits. The
unfortunate man came out in a two col
umn leader next day asserting that he
was willing to take his oath on a stack
of bibles that he only meant four-legged
hogs, and that brandied cherries thrown
into an alley had led to their downfall.
People in Lawrence, Kan., say that
the best farmer of that vicinity is a
woman. She was left a widow ten >eare
ago, with a bit of land and fourteen
children. She now owns three large
farms, two of which she has given her
bojfe/ Mrs/Mary McCutchen runs her
farm with the aid of her children and
without much hired help. This is a good
example of what has been done in the
midst of what are called hard times in
Kansas by a woman left with a family of
children and no resources.
“What is hell?” asked a Lutheran
Sunday-school teacher of a Limestone
street boy, in class, last Sabbath. “A
shirt with a button off, ma’am,” replied
the boy. “Explain yourself; what do
you mean, sir?” demanded the meek
spirited but surprised teacher. “Well, I
heard my pa say to my ma, the other
morning when he put on a shirt with the
neck-button oft) ‘Well, this is hell/
That’s all I know about it.”
The Burlington Hawkeye say that the
patent almanacs, mortised for the pub
lisher’s name, have already begun to
pour down for 1880, and that the de
signs are new and very different from
those of last year. The picture of the
boy skating in his bare feet, with one lit
tle brother on his back and six more on
his sled, being put on the January in
stead of on the December page, and then
the picture of Christmas Eve comes
along about the end of December instead
of in the middle of August, as was the
case last year. In fact, the almanac is
entirely rearranged.
ART AND NATURE.
Eliza Jane two lovers had—
The one was Nature, t’other Art—
They were so very near alike
She couldn’t tell the two apart.
At last, to test their qualities
And give to one the vantage place,
She proffered each a photograph
Of her ethereal, tempting face.
Art snatched the pretty paper prize
And pressed it to his heart, and then
He put it to his marble lips
And kissed it o’er and o’er again,
But Nature hurled the painted gift
Aside with haughty, calm disdain,
And, grappling her with strong embrace,
He kissed that plump Eliza Jane.
“Begone, O Art!” the maiden cried—
“ Let critics hymn your praise sublime.
But men are men and girls are girls—
And I’ll take Nature every time!”
Clerical Wit,
Dean Ramsay, in his “Reminiscences
of Scottish Life and Character,” says:
At one time when the crops were much
laid by continuous rains, and wind was
earnestly desired in order to restore them
to a fit condition for the sickle, “a
minister,” he says, “in his Sabbath ser
vices expressed their wants in prayer, a
follows: ‘O, Lord, we pray Thee to send
us wind, not a rantin’, tantin’ tearra’
wind, but a nookii/, soughin’, winnin’
wind.’ In like manner, I have heard of
a prayer preferred by a somewhat simple
New Englander, who was overheard of
fering his petition behind a stump of
bushes in the field: ‘O, Lord, I want a
new coat —good cloth—none of your
coarse, flimsy kind of stuff, but a good
peice of thick, warm, comfortable bro<L
clothr-such as Bill Hale wear.”