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THE STIPPLES FAMILY iN VENICE.
“TALES OF TEN TRAVELERS"* SERIES.
By EDGAR L. WAKEKAN.
•CCopvrlght. IW*4. A1 rights reserved.)
When Stillwater Stipple, Esq., with the
aid of his lively servant. Dennis Mc-
Cann, had rescued his luggage from the
lusty porters, boat-hookers and rival gon
doliers at the railway terminus in Venice,
ana saw this luggage with his family—
comprising his faithful wife, his son.
Master Weigh ton Stipples, destined for
the ministry without consultation with
the latter, his two daughters, Venetia
and Olive and their maid Rose—safely
within the huge omnibus gondola which
was to convey them to their lodgings,
midway between the Rio and St. Mark's
on the Grand canal, he sat down beside
his wife, who had a limp way of closing
her eyes and opening her viniagrette in
the face of unusual incidents of travel,
as sternly as a mute parlor clock.
“My dream is at last realized !” sighed
Venetia Stipples, crossing her hands and
rolling her eyes in seutimental exaltation.
“Oh. bother your dream!” replied
Olive Stipples, with a mingled snort and
giggle. "My! Those gondoliers' tees
spread just like andiron claws. Sis, just
look! Ones making eyes at you, as sure's
I'm alive!”
“The warm blood of the East!” mur
mured Venetia. ‘-Don’t mind it, Olive
dear. Think of the rapture of this balmy
air, this Xephrus breeze, these hyaline
waters, this tender, melting sky, these
storied associations. To think I am at
last in Venice—Bride of the Sea! Oh, I
just can’t lind words for utterance!”
“Don't tr.vsaid Olive with another
spiteful little giggle, cut short by the
lurching of the gondola, terminating her
laughter in a pretty "Ouch?” while Mas
ter Burr VVeighton Stipples glowered as
though no hap or scene should be permitted
to take his luminous intellect unawares;
Mrs. Stipples groaned softly and pressed
the viniagrette more closelv to her red
dening nose; Mr. Stipples compressed his
lips more tightly; Rose gave a timid little
start and looked appealingly at Dennis;
and Dennis McCann, ever ready for war
upon the male Italian of any age or sta
tion, half rising and introducing his pug
nacious intentions with, "By th’ five
Crasses!" began sundry violent head
jerkings at the grinning gondoliers, which
would have been followed by more than
menace had not Mr. Stipples at that mo
ment roared out;
“MoCann !—set down 1”
“1 set, sor;“ returned Dennis nimbly
but hotly, “tfut if had thim two dagos on
land, fur th’ wink o’ me eye, sor, I'd
tache them a chune not Va.ynayshun,
aythur!”
“Oh, Imrd. yes; so you would. Behave
yourself, or I’ll discharge you this min
ute 1”
“Divil a hap’orth I’d be carin’ thin, no
tice an’ wages an' all. if i had it fair out
wid th’ shamers they are. Hoo! ye j
molasses skinned haythen!”
“Mirandy, Mirandy!” groanod Mr.
Stipples to his apparently somnolent wife,
“that fellow'll git us all in some infernal
dungeon yit. At Bolon.v, he sassed the
church-keeper and got yanked in. Twen
tv-five dollars for that scrape. At Parry
the geusdarmy didn’t suit him. Counsil
gcneral and forty dollars there. At
Gibraltar the sunset salute shot all
the clothes offen him; s4ll more there.
AH ’long the Uiveery it was row and rum
pus and racket and buyin' him out the
clutches of one-hoss guv'ments; and here
we are, not fairly inside them pesky Ven
nus ditches, another row on, and all of us
likely to get stabbed with stilletters or
slit with daggers afore we kin get under
shelter. If this is doin’ Urup with a vally,
then Dennis McCann’s doin’ the doin’,
and Stillwater Stipple's doin’ the vally.
Fudge on Urup ennyhow! Wish we wus
to hum!”
“Oh, Stillwater.” plaintively re
turned poor little Mrs. Stipples, "do re
member we’re finishing Burr and the
girls!”
“‘Finishin’?’ I should think so. ]
They’re finishin' us. Mirandy. I didn’t
need any finishin’ to make my money.
You didn't need any finishin’ to git your
goodness. Rose didn't need any finishin'
to tend to her work. Dennis didn't
need Any finishin’ to drive my best
coal wagon on the East Side, New York
city. Vene got too much finishin’ at Vas
sar. And that boy of ours ought to be
shovelin’ coal, ’stead of studyin’ for the
ministry.”
“Don’t, Stillwater; don't.”
“That there Olive of ours and me and
you. Mirandy. and Rose, and she's Irish,
are the only oat and out. up and up, all
round Americans in the hull lot!”
Oh. Stillwater! Do think of New
York society!”
"I am thinkin’ of it," he retorted, giv
ing the gondola fondo a vicious jab with
his heels, "and I hnteit, bag and baggage.
No comfort in it. Laird! I'd give half I’m
worth to never seen it; and if this
1 i h art moonin',” here Mr Stipples
stole a furtive glance at Venetia, lost in
her gentle raptures and rhapsodies,
‘■and these theology cantrips,” here he
scowled at Master Burr Weighton Stip
ples, who sat clutching his kodak and
moodly lunching off his cane "and this
coal-cart vally business don't let up
pretty soon. I’ll—l’ll put Venetia in a
nunnery. Burr in a asylum, pitch Dennis
Alc( ann into a Vennus ditch, and start
for hum—By thunder, if I don’t!”
It was with such mingled and diverse
emotions that the Stiupies family and
their attendants glided with the yellow
rays of the afternoon Italian sun along
the Grand Canal, coming at last to one of
those decaying pa'aces whose sepulchral
interiors, separated into damp and mourn
ful apartments, are leased at fabulous
prices to adventurous tourists, while their
decaying noblemen owners are struggling
with the problems of Italian taxation,
cocoons and sour wine between the great
Venetian plain and themist.v Alps beyond.
An itni>osing house it had been in its
day, with huge columns, wondrously
carved spandre sand volutes, with bal
conies filmy as lace, but now like dirty
flecks of foam across its dingy facade;
with massive crumbling stairs leading
frern the water edge to the shadowy en
trance, forest like in uiultifoils of dingy
marble and handwrought iron and brass,
in ancient torch holders of bellying cu
pids. strange screens with emaciated
satyrs and much other dead-age demonol
ogy peering from bronze and brass and
stone.
But there was a true Venetian welcome
awaiting them at Casa Patrice. A half
dozen ancient gransieri, those "crab
catchers" ofi Venice, who scent one’s com
ing from afar and. boat hooks in hand,
wait with extended palms and hideous
smiles to draw ,tour craft to the traghetlo
or gondola landing, and light like beasts
lor iliu coppers you king to them, were
beckoning and grimacing on the stairs.
A score of poverinl or God forsaken*, of
all agesand i on.iitious,ducked llieirheads
and grinned and muttered blessings as me
gondola approached. Twice their num
ber of half naked, big eyed, curly headed
ehildred grinned in the chinks between.
Even the broken-nosed gargoyles of the
entrain leered and grinned ta iimd; and
in the center of though apart from all
•food strapping Elena, the serving
won, an ano chattel to the Slipfih s fan,
> Venetian |eyci, lowing and (lacking
ano pretending to smut the la/./aroni. site
bad congregated ns a test of her new
psirou 'or master liberality, away, and
griming I,er interi-stec welcome, while
aonwin/ the nost hashing set of tooth
tim w re o,r poLshcd on brittle Cbiog
gawi bread.
"What a glorious relic of a once glo
rious past!” gasped Venetia, as she
sprang with Dennis' assistance to the
palace landing.
“Which does she mane—these sassafras
tramps or th’Tombs we're in for!' mut
tered Dennis under his breath with a sly
wink at Rose.
"Don’t go on so, Vene!”sputtered Olive,
giving the swarthy ragamuffins back their
grins and giggles, while pinching one lit
tle urchin’s pink ear and telling him to go
home to his mommy and get some new
panties, there's a dear.
Rose bounded lightly out of the craft,
her blue eyes timidly searching the faces
of the strange throng ns if for friendly
look, and then began heroically upon tbo
lighter luggage.
“Come, mother,” said Mr. Stipples ten
derly enough. “Here we are. Cassy
Patrlssy. you know. Jess give mo the
vinegar bottle a minute, and cheer up. do,
till we git outen this pesky gondoler;”
with which the really kind hearted but
sadly travel badgered New York coal
dealer lifted his limp little wife to the
traghetto, set her upon her feet, where
upon her eyes and lips opened with a
chirpy "Oh, Stillwater!” while Master
Stipples, still adhesive to his cane and
Kodak, raised his eyes solemnly, plumped
the cane out of his mouth long enough to
murmur, “Wonderful! wonderful!”
plumped it in again, and in a funeral pro
cession of one strode silently after his
mother and sisters; leaving Rose and Mr.
Stipples, ably superintended as usual by
Dennis, in the intervals of threatened
sallies upon the oulookers, to pay the gon
doliers their hire, fling a little coin to the
rabble, and at last get the luggage stowed
within the gloomy entrata.
Then Stillwater Stipples, with sharper
injunctions to Dennis than he had ever
before given, lumbered up the slimy mar
ble stairs, wondering in his simple,
surd.v heart whatjhonest folk ever left
good homes to be bullied and discomfited
in Europe for, and thoroughly determined,
as he put it to his good wife, whom he
found deserted by the children and seated
patiently with closed eyes and open vinia
grette upon a bronze griffin in the balcony
entrance of a cheerless apartment above,
“to straighten things right out.”
Dennis McCann, after various on
slaughts upon the Venetian populace
below, had the luggage and the entrata
all to himself. While getting the former
to the loggia above, his eye fell on the
huge brass doorplate of the ancient palace
with its legend, Casa Patrice, and it wor
ried him.
“Thim Casoys wor always thramps,
thin,” he would mutter, eyeing the plate
askance. Then ho would shoulder an
other trunk or portmanteau, ascend with
it to the loggia, whistle softly and rum
inatively, walk gingerly back and forth in
front of the entrata plate, and stop before
it with "Casey Patrick? Patrick Casey?—
Pat Caaey?”
Another piece or two of the luggage
would disappear with Dennis. He would
return, peep outside again, mutter “Pat
Casey, is it?” return to his labor, and
finally when done, he planted himself
squarely in front of the obnoxious name
and metal, and burst forth with, "Tear
an’ ages, that me eyes ever opened on the
like o’that!” Here he cuffed the plate
soundly with his hat. “Pat Casey, is it,
thin? Swate bad luck to th’ shamcr o’
th’ auld sod, that ‘ll hide his name wid
Vaynayshum disguises! May the howly
innocents——”
"Dennis, Dennis, dear; what’s ailin’
ye?" whimpered Rose, suddenly appear
ing beside him. “Don’t be a gom, Den
nis, with th’ whole family goin’ mad
with this an’ with that, an’ trouble
brewin’ for you, Dennis, dear, upstairs.
Dennis, oh Dennis!” sobbed Rose, "th’
auld man's done with ye, Dennis. You're
—to —be—discharged! Och, aveo! what'll
I do all alone with 'em, mad an’ stormin’
like Kerry bailiffs, here in this Vaynus
bog!”
"Discharged is it? By th’ siven sinses.
I’ll not lave ye, suillish machree! I’ll go,
but I’ll stay. I’ll—”
But here a stentorian voice from the
dim upper regions of the palace sum
moned Rose, who with a tender, caution
ary, "Have an eye out, thin Deunis,
dear?” scampered up the stairs; while
Dennis McCann, somewhat crestfallen,
but with a parting kick at the Casey
family's Latinized doorplate, meekly
tiptoed after her.
He found the Stipples fafnily at lunch
eon, a cheery little luncheon of bread
and fruit, and wine, and savory stewed
meals, which the discreet Elena had pro
vided with daintiest skill, but the cun
ning eye of Dennis McCann detected the
gathering storm in Mr. Stipples’ red and
angzy lace Tho Stipples family were
munching their food in silence.
Suddenly Mr. Stipples pushed back his
chair. Three pai>‘s of eyes opened very
wide and one pair closed, while its own
er's hand sought the viniagrette.
“See here, folks I” Mr. Stipples never
said “folks" to his family, unless his in
tentions were imminent and decisive.
“Seehere, folks!” repeated Mr. Stipples
hotly: “things has gone on long enough.
I’m goin’ to straighten ’em out; right
now; here: this minute.”
"You, Venetia Stipples,”—Miss Stip
ples gave a gasp and a little start, folded
her hands like the martyrs in the pictures
and then closed her eyes like her mother.
“You. Venetia Stipples, have got to quit
your goin's on about art and ail that,
right straight. I’m tired on it; sick on
it. Go it like a lunatic when you are
alone by yourself, if you want to; but let
right up where mother 'n' me be. We
want peace We'ro agoin’ to have it.
We’re goin’ to begin to have it right here,
in Vennus, too!”
“Stillwater—please?” whimpored Mrs.
Stipples, as a solitary little tear trickled
from Miss Venetia’s nose, while her own
disengaged hand almost pathetically
crept over Mr. Stipples’ clenched and
trembling fist.
•‘Don’t ’please’ me, Mirandy. Things
has got to straighten rightout. And you.
you young Jackanapes,” said Mr. Stipples,
glaring at Burr Weighton Stipples, who
would have strangled on an orange from
the shock, but for Olive's timely hand
clapping in tho back of liis elongated
neck, “you that’s been pompered in col
lege, year in and year out, when your
betters was workin’ like niggers, so you
could shine in the ministry—Fudge, sir!
I've beam more felderol 'bout Paul and
tlii’ ’Postles, and ology this, and ology
that, and missions this and boards anil
‘calls.’and sneerin’ about what you'd do
with the pope, if you had your wav, and
other cantankerous jabs at what other
folks' heart is sot on. seuce bringin you
along, than I'll ever let ennybody stuff
me with ngin as long 1 live.
Mr. Stipples in the excess of his indig
nation here arose. He struck a whirling
blow with one huge fist into the other
huge palm, which turned him around
with a whizz, as Olive giggled under her
napkin, and sat dowu in his own chair
with a plump; all without once letting go
oi his eloquent subject.
"You vc been bull.vraggin’ me and
coinin' it o\er your poor moth, r and lord
in' it over the ga:s ever since the minister
itch struck tho Stipples family."
"Persecution is the life of the saints;”
ventured his hopeful son, with an owlish
rolling of Ins eyes and a groan of filial
forglv* ness
■•Don't you cant rae, sir; not a cant.
Don't ton quote Scripler on uie, sir. not
a quote (>it sense, sir. Git manhood,
sir. Git charily, sir. Every minister
livin' With the love of God in his heart,
‘U bear me out that them * the rock hot
tom thugs lo gi if you can l git ein.
quit If yea won l git cm, l'ii turn down
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 25. 1894.
one minister, and his name won’t he
Rev'rend Burr Weighton Stipples, neither
Straighten out, now, og when you git
back hum. you'll weigh coal!"
Stillwater Stipples’ grammar failed
him slightly in moments of emotion ; but
his words ever bore the impress of gen
uine lucidity and force. His family had
never known such an outburst be
fore. Even the saucy Olive, whose gig
gles had gradually subsided, sat op
posite him with her pouting lips puckered
into a round, pretty O of unfeigned aston
ishment.
•• You'd be exeused now,” said Mr. Stip
ples to his children, after an embarrass
ing pause.
Tho three left tne table and the room,
and Dennis attempted to follow them,
after o.tieiously showing them out.
“Come here. McCann !” Dennis at once
ambled back, his trepidation certainly re
vealing itself in his unsteady legs.
"Git somethin’ to eat,” blurted Mr.
Stipples.
"Where, sor?”
“Right here.” Mr. Stipples made a
place at his own table, and piling a plate
with food, said curtly', "Bet down!” Den
nis sat down. "Take hold!” Dennis took
hold.
“See, here, Dennis McCann, I’m
straightenin' things out ”
“That's right, sor.”
“Right here in Vennus.”
“Its a fine town, I’m told, sor.”
“You're the best driver I had?”
"Ail o' that, sor."
“You could hold a street car line longer,
nip another man's cart wheel neater,
and git more bushels outen a ton of
coal, than any other man in my yard?”
"Barrin’ yerself, sorr thank ye, sor.”
“And when we was gittin' ready for
this trip, you told me you’d learned Ital
yun enoucht to handle Urup, deliverin’
coil down in Mulberry Bend?”
"Try me on, sor.”
“That's what I’ve been a doin’, Dennis.
And you said vou'd been vally to Lord
Shannon, in Ireland, and wus just th’ boy
to show me the ropes, where the gals
couldn’t Dennis!”
Dennis McCann’s food was beginning to
stick in hi3 throat a little, but he bravely
answered, “All o’ that, sor.”
“Well, Dennis McCann, you're a great
driver, but you're no Italyun. You’re a
a fine liar, but you're no vally.
The food before him had now lost all its
savor to Dennis. As full of the exquisite
essence of blarney as he might be. he had
a genuine Irishman's genuine affection for
the sturdy master he has so long served.
And then—for he saw what was coming,
as Mr. Stipples dove into his pocket and
produced a great handful of sovereigns—
tho prospect of .leaving blue-e.ved
Ilo3e was well nigh breaking the poor
fellow's heart. He made a final venture
with,
“Don't ye mind th’ lashin’s of sad
scrapes I’ve got ye out of this trip, Mr.
Stipples, sor!”
Mr. Stipples wrote crampedly and
slowly on one of his business cards, while
replying: “ Yes—the—outside—of—’em,
Dennis. You was gen'ally inside of ’em,
though! Dennis,” he continued severely,
“I’m straightenin' things out—clean out,
Dennis. I'm goin’ outen the Italyun and
the vally business. Here's sixty sov'rins
—three hundred dollars; and here’s a
card to the yard boss. You’ll irit your
wagon back, if you want it. I’ll say good
by to you right now, Dennis!”
It was a kindly thing in them both that
Mr. Stipples reached out his hand and
that Dennis grasped it affectionately and
wrung it heartily. With a pass or two
at his eyes, Dennis left the room, but not
the Casa Patrice at once; for Olive Stip
ples, giggling, snorting, compassionating,
stamping her little feet spitefully and
making all mannerof melodramatic move
ments of a rebellious nature, with Rose
white-faced and trembling behind her,
had. throughout the latter part of the
parental storm, been listening furtively
at the apartment door.
Mrs. Stipples sat through the entire
“straightening out” process with open
viniagrette and tightly closed eyes. But
she now meekly arose us her husband
scrambled to his feet and stretched him
self, as though he had got a bad job well
off his hands at last. He drew her to the
balcony with the attentiveness of a young
lover; placed two low chairs together
within it; led her gently to one. and sat
down beside her in the other. Then he
lit a cigar and puffed at it thoughtfully
for awhile.
They could both look down the long
lane of light and of shadow; of weird, un
dulating stately facades, wondrously dap
pled in white and gray, and with puce
and purple and orange where the wizard
sunlight fell: with the blue, blue sky
above, the liquid-lava like waters be
neath ; and could hear the stroke of oar,
the sibilant greetings of passing gondo
liers and the half-hushed voices from the
gardens, the cainpos and tho shadowy
landings below. Beneficent indeed, was
all the witching spell; for Mr. Stillwater
Stipples then and there put his arm quite
around his little wife, viniagrette and all,
and spoke to her more tenderly, if less lo
quaciously, than countless lovers on that
very balcony had crooned and lisped be
fore.
“Mirandy, its kinder soothin’ t’ git
things straightened out, ’c&sionally, aint
it, Mirandy, dear!”
And Mrs. Sipples nestled closer to his
hard and hardy side and answered him
tenderly back again with,
Stillwater Stipples, you’re one in a
thousand, as I’ve always claimed and
held!”
Mr. Stillwater Stipples, being a man of
affairs, having once disposed of a matter
never gave it tho second thought; and
his entire mental and physical forces
were therefore always ready marshaled
for sternest use, for enjoyment or for
rest. Having also laid down the lines on
which the Stipples family should now
move forward in Venice, he gave it, in its
divisible parts and in concrete, none of
that nagging sort of concern often com
mon to the heads of families, and troubled
himself about nothing weightier than tho
payment of his weighty bills. In other
words, the Stipples family gave them
selves up to hearty enjoyment, appor
tioned nicely to each separate Stipples
ntelloct and inclination.
Master Burr Weigh ton Stipples’ mourn
ful eujoyment largely consisted in a
scowling and impressive silence in the
presence of his family, to whose occa
sional hilarity he deigned no intrusion of
gesture or speech; in morbid contempla
tions of the dread piombi aud pozzi of the
Venetian Inquisition, which he would
pace by the hour, requesting each sep
arate cell to provide him with additional
celestial fire with which to burn the
thankless oil of his future calling; in
poring over the Petrarch manuscripts in
the library in the great hall of the Grand
Cc incil of the Doges, which ho could no
more decipher than could Stillwater Stip
ples: or in standing upon St. Mark’s cam
panile and announcing in tones loud
enough to still tho buttering doves around
him: “Here I stand where once Galileo
stood!” But these were not altogether
vicious occupations. They employed the
young man's time fully. And they gave
the yeasty, college-befuddled gruy matter
of one member of the Stipples family in
Venice a certain grade of activity far bet
tcr than none at .el
Miss Venetia Stipples—Venetia slie had
roehrlstcned iiersll long ago within the
dim cloisters of Vassal- was for a time
as a crushed lily, clutched and swirled by
tne pitiless oldies of a spring-time
freshet of Unappreciative Ignornance. To
be deprived of the tyranny of raving
ai out Art and Medievalism and Mold to
enchanted sufferers around one, robs dilet
taiite.sm of its supremest zest. Bitter,
if lin.v and tri Tiling and few, were tho
tears she shed, as with guide book in one
hand, Ituskin's "Stones of Venice” in
another atnl a delicate lace handkerchief
between, she sat before her shrines, bath
ing hi r rapt soul m Venetian shafts of
Byzantine light in lime she regained her
spirits for there is a martyr likeeialts
lion which uaty come lead esthetic spirits
from self-consciousness of silent com
munion with the gods, transcending far
those thrills of triumph from the tem
porary badgering of mankind with the
bulls and bans of hooks. So, to Venetia
Stipples, the crumbling fountains whis
pered their secrets; every defaced gar
goyle, satyr or faun leered pagan lore;
the dazzling mosaics of St. Mark's had to
her a more precious setting than their
own beaten ground of gold; while the
color fiamincsof Paul Veronese, the gorge
ous eoaqiosites of Tintoretto, or tho
stupendous canvases and frescoes of
Titian were her painting fancy's mount
ing wings to her own Venetian heaven.
Olive Stipples—common, coarse, bar
barian. hoyden, gurgling, giggling, sun
shine-brinping Olive Stipples!—setting
all Venetian precedent at sacrilegious
defiance, the loggia in disorder, the gon
doliers at war, the iazz.aroni in laughter,
the kitchen in a whirlwind and grinning
Elena into housekeeping frenzies of im
potence and delight, never, never had so
jolly a time in all her merr.v life.
It began the very day. indeed the very
hour, when Stillwater Stipples had fin
ished "straightening things out,” and
Dennis McCann, laying aside his robes of
imperial guidance of the Stipples family,
had been rushed by Olive and Rose to the
shadowy kitchen depths, and there '‘Poor
Dennised!” and “Dear Dennised!” until
hilariously proud of his fallen state.
It began, too, with conspiracy; consir
acy as deft and deep against the dozing
Mr. Stipples in the balcony above a3 ever
was hatched in Venice against a dozing
Doge; a conspiracy inclusive of brazen
bribery, of ridiculous protests, of horrified
ejaculation, of peals of laughter, of chat
tering gondoliers, of the easily purchased
conscience of Elena; drawing into its
subtle folds the poverini from outlying
eampos. urchins from the traghetti,
pawnbrokers’ agents from the llialto.
grinning boatmakers, from the Squeri of
sant Rovase, old women with stains like
henna paste; until the kitchen swarmed
with going and coming corspirators, each
entering with tremendous gravity ;all leav
ing as though filled with the side-shaking
elixir of mirth; and Olive Stipples, arch
conspirator and queen of mis-rule. sup
erintending its minutest detail and be
coming so filled with its ecstatic impor
ance, that she now never left off giggling
and gurgling by day and hardly bv night.
So grave was its nature that Stillwater
Stipples begun to feel its secret hand. It
set him to quarreling with the gondoliers.
It haunted him with their half threaten
ing appeals for increased hire and added
gratuities. It stopped his gondola, silent
in the stream, at exasperating moments
of haste. It embroiled gondoliers in quar
rels over his own and his good wife's
head. It pitched the voice of his boat
men to unearthly key in endless and irri
tating songs. It took him to wrong land
ings. It provoked collisions. It bespat
tered him with brine, and befouled him
with vegetables and bark and fish and
lime. It finally nearly upset him
at his own traghetto, when his
patience ceased entirely and, removing
his coat, ne invited the “hull in
fernal crew of Vennus gondolers” to that
precise spot to get “licked,'’ instead of
which they floated tauntingly and gritu
acingly away; whereupon blue-eyed Rose,
big-eyed Elena and laughing-eyed Olive
soothingly lured him to the restful bal
cony, and there told him of a gondolier
they had found; a gentle, careful, kindly
gondolier; one who could read and hear
the English tongue, but who, more won
derful and blessed than all else to the ex
hausted Mr. Stipples aud his patient
wife—was dumb!
And with such a strange resemblance
to Dennis, too; so stalwart, agile, fine;
more curious than all. his name was
Denio, and Laßosa his fairy, feathery
Venetian craft.
So Denio and La Rosa eatne to their
new paron with the morn; the one grave
faced and mute, with as black and curly
beard and hair, blue ayes and glistening
teeth, as ever graced a Galway poacher’s
head; with brown, bare arms and neck
and chest and feet; with the red cap and
sash of the Castellani race: the other
with prow and ferri shining like burnished
silver; with the prettiest and snuggest
felze in Venice, bright with gay-colored
awnings, soft cushions and gleamings of
brass; and with a second gondolier, as
helper to the brawny Denio,picturesque as
the latter, but given to startling facial
changes, ns ho gazed upon the Stipule
family, which played over his swarthy
countenance every mask of fleeting ex
pression from fearful fright to bubbling,
explosive mirth.
Then came the perfect days; days on
the shadowy canals, when every face was
turned upon the Stipples family with
smiles as its gondola passed. Mornings,
too, of delight among the market boats
from the islands and the mainland—
barges laden with vegetables, with red
and blue, and yellow sails; barcas filled
with soldiers speeding to or from guard
changing posts; sandali, rowed by men
with tasseled caps where the tethered
goats were bleating as the peasant women
milked them there, between customer and
customer, above the gurgling waters of
the tides; boats with villagers, their fam
ilies, their huge flagons of milk and dimin
utive roils of butter, in last year’s corn
husks, sweet and white; again sandulo,
gondola and boat, with messengers with
the night’s telegrams, postmen with tho
morning’s letters, funeral corteges, water
carriers, with butchers, bakers, icemen,
erocerymen, and with fine, fat old friars
with fine, fat old baskets, making their
early morning rounds;—all like a marvel
lous dream to the Stipples family in
Venice, as to countless thousands of other
dreamers before their now uubrokenly
happy time.
And glorious, too, those other sunlit
days'—to far Chiogga with its sails and
reeds; to distant Burano with its lazy
fishermen and tows: to Malamoeco with
its weird Venetian myths; to St. Erasmo
with its gardens, pollards and dykes, like
a bit of Holland dropped beneath Italian
skies: or idly floating among the green
and glowing islets of Laguna Morta, with
the rich Eugancan hills fading into indis
tinguishable flecks of splendor in the
misty haze beyond.
C But t.iere was perfect peace upon these
broad lagoons; pence with Burr and
Venetia left wandering beneath tne domes
and towers that roso empurpled from tho
mystic sea; peace to Stillwater Stipples
as he closed his eyes and dozed, and to
good Mrs. Stipules, who opened her eyes
and dreamed: to Rose, as she stole tender
glances at their dumb gondolier; content
to tho irrepressible Olive, who caught the
vagrant seaweed floating by and with
half smothered giggling/ teased and tor
mented poor Deno's heels and *nes; and
entire peace and happiness at last to the
Stipples family in Venice, when, after
its rugged and sturdy head had
gathered them nil safely at the
station for the journey home, and he
had returned time and again from feeing
dumb Denio at the traghetto there, beg
ging him at last to name his own price to
exchange his gondola for the exalted scat
of a coal wagon in New York, the faith
ful goudolier sprang quickly from among
his grinning comrades, as they shouted
"Addins!” and blessings innumerable
after him, bundled the family into their
railway compartment with familir offici
ousness. followe i and closed the door be
hind him, sit down beside Rosa with
something of an air of cunning triumph,
and in his excitemeut roared in his old
familiar tones:
"Tear an' ages! Won’t I go? Go I
will, at th’ same old wages—barrin'
■straightenin’ onn'-God bless yez, Stip
ples, ivory wan!”
‘Billings, who is not expert with tho
cue. says the pool-table is like a woman's
dress. It Is so bard to find the pocket.—
Boston Trauscript.
She—You sa.v he is unpopular?
He-" Unpopular! He is *•> unpopular
that when he has a cold nobody offors
him a remedy fer H.” Brooklyn Lite
AT A GANDER-PI'LL.
Not a Nineteenth Century Kind of
Fun, Bnt Interesting.
Julian Ralph Attends an Old-Time
3port in Virginia—A Great Deal to
Kz-ep the Women Laughing—Misery
for the Gander.
Julian Ralph, In Harper's Weekly.
A gander-pull was once the only essen
tial for the making of a countryman's
Christmas in parts of Virginia. Nothing
more except a little "toddy” to develop
enthusiasm was needed a century or even
two centuries ago. The inroads of time
are slow on the western borders of Vir
ginia, where the mountains link the
mother of Presidents to West Virginia,
Kentucky, Tennessee and North Carolina.
Old customs die hard in those fastnesses
of the forest and hill, or else Mr. Reming
ton and I would never have seen the gan
der-pull from which we have Just re
turned. for it is a sport that is all but
dead. If ever there was an old-fashioned
sport, or one more redolent of primitive
conditions, it woul# be hard to name it
without going as far back as it goes itself
—away back to English greens, and to a
people simpler and more rude than the
great-grandfathers of Cromwell's soldiers.
Why the gander-pull should have sur
vived in the mountains of Virginia is part
of quite another story. But let the reader
be the judge of it, and as he reads let him
consider it a bit of social bric-a-brac, a
relic of our great-grandfathers’ rude and
primitive tastes.
For the invitations imagine a half sheet
of note paper tacked on the door of a
country store —a simple looking declara
tion that there was to be a free gander
pull at “the old Sweet” on such an after
noon; but only simple in appearance, for
in reality it was a clarion call to a whole
country side. For the scene (or seat of
war, as the gander might have called it),
fancy a lovely valley of farm land
hemmed all around by taU mountains,
some of which are wooded so thickly as
to look like mounds of fur. Set up in a
meadow is a gallows-frame of rough tim
ber sixteen feet high. Two upright poles
and a cross piece compose it. The coun
try folk are in groups when the hour
arrives; one group in front of
the general store, and another
before the barroom across the
road, and a third, mainly com
posed of boys, around the gallows-frame.
The horses that brought the men are in
evidence everywhere, for it is a horse
back country, a region of rough roads
and trails. There are a few vehicles, in
cluding a buggy and a surrey and a farm
wagon or two. and these have beeu set up
like impovisbed galleries along the front
edge of the field, without their horses.
The "gander,” which had been tied by
one leg to a wagon wheel in the yard of
the tavern, was in this instance a beauti
ful snowhite and fat goose, but a consum
mate fool after tho manner of her kind,
for it was said that she was 25 years old,
and yet she was waddling around at the
end of her tether looking for food q.n the
eve of a tremendous tragedy in which
she was to suffer the fate of Desdemonia.
Every now and then a group of men
would go into the yard and looked at the
gander, always approvingly, and after a
time the master of cermonies stalked up
to her, plucked her, screaming, from the
lawn, took her to the general store, and
with the help of several men got her into
a gunny bay. It is fair to her to say that
her folly and gluttony left her at this
stage, and she behaved like a tragedienne
of the first magnitude, protesting mightiy,
struggling like a Sabine girl, and inflict
ing wounds on every hand that dealt her
violence. Nevertheless, she was presently
done up in the bag with her long lithe
white neck, black eyes and red bill writh
ing like so much of a snake besond the
roselike pucker of the bag where it had
been tied in front of he breast and wings.
Her neck was left out, because the com
ing game was to see who could pull her
head off. The true and time-honored
plan was to pluck out all the neck feath
ers, and then grease the skin, and this
had been commanded of the woman
who sold this particular bird,
but she did not do it for some reason, and
now remained for one of the men to re
pair the omission. Two centuries, or one
century, or half a century ago no one
would have stopped short of this bar
barity; but now someone suggested that
it might be as well merely to grease the
feathers. The neck would be quite slip
pery enough, he said. There was no pro
test, no demand for a full observance of
the old ritual. At the suggestion a man
came out with a pailful of the most un
prepossessing-looking grease, the color of
a unit lumber and smeared it all over Des
demona s snow-white neck till it looked as
a barber-pole might if it had been painted
with water colors and left out in a rain
storm. The goose has as yet suffered no
physical harm, but it had evidently re
ceived a moral shock, for its supple neck
shot out whenever a citizen passed it on
the store porch, and it viciously nipped
the boots of the men. and the bare feet of
the luckless boy who stopped with his
back to it to converse with a chum.
It was long past the advertized hour for
the gander-pull, but no one was impatient.
We who lret if a curtain falls to rise at
sharp 8 o’clock, or a train rolls into a
depot live minutes later than it should,
could learn from these Virginians a lesson
that would prolong our lives aud make us
all happier. A 3 o'clock gander-pull got
off at 4:300r 5 o'clock is a great deal more
satisfactory to them than it would be if
it went oil on the minute, like a chiming
clock or a slave that has no will of his
own. Therefore in good and easy time
the master of ceremonies threw the bag
ful of “gander” into a rattletrap farm
wagon, whose quarrelsome parts formed
an orchestra or chorus that went with it.
and driving under the gallows-frame,
proceeded to tie the nag to the cross
piece of the gallows. And Desdeuiona did
better than merely declare her inooeenee
or wail her fate. She bit the man's hand
with fiashiike strokes that set the crowd
roaring witn laughter-that !, v->v pic
turesque crowd of long-limb* i r.tain
eers. at ease in their ben .. alley, and
forming a picture wor’. -auiingof
the purple aud blue a- : Allegha
nies.
The while the people laughed the “gan
der" squawked. Meantime the poor bird
was left hanging in the shapeless bag. and
tho managerial man took down a list of
the men who volunteered to ride, fast as
their horses could be made to run, from a
distance of 100 yards, aud to see which
could not merely grab the slippery,
elusive, spiteful head of the bird, but
could hold on to it and wrench it front the
neck.
It had been fair to presume that gan
der-pulling, if not frowned upon by the
tender sex. was at least by that sex re
garded as purely masculine, and a thing
apart from them, like a man's saddle.
But at the same time with the horses
came women—not all the women, for some
of the liner fiber vowed that the sport
was brutal, and that they did not want to
witness it. Those who did attend were
of two sorts A few fair and rosy maidens
and fur-clad matrons of the "quality fam
ilies" assembled in a knot, which was
broken when the young gallants improv
ised seats for them on the farm wagons
that stood in tho places most favorable
for a view of the sport. Apart, in
more than one group, the mountain
women collected in sunbonnets and
worsted hoods and funny short dresses
that allowed their ankles and ttieir red
wrists and hands Their hoods, in turn,
left hare their thin, drawn, brown facea.
Aud thru, in truly aoutbera order there
was a third class, the negroes in charge
of the children of the fortunate fami
lies. Over all the field, the road and the
general landscape the harum-scarum
boys of the mountain folk raged, as boys
will, shinning up the gallows post to
plague the roose, yelling at tag, playing
ball, (mainly with their lungs), and pos
sessing creation as the devils possessed
the herd of swine in the scriptures.
At last the sport began--the furious
riling, tho yelling and barking and laugh
ing, and the tense squawking of the en
raged gander who was the object of it all.
Horsemanship is always interesting and
generally pretty. These were good horse
men. these Virginians, and they rode like
Indians and cowboys—limber in their sad
dles naturally—in the way that is not
taught in the Central Park riding schools.
Tho horses were not so good, but they
were the best there were. One alone was
mettlesome and nervous, and perhaps it
was as well that the others were plebe
ian, for he would not go near the
pander. The physician whose horse
he was could not convince the
charger that the writhing, squawking
bag with a squirming goose neck issuing
from it was a fit thing to trifle with or to
approach. Better than all else that
happened was it to see the beautiful
horse squat so that his belly all but
touched the ground the while his muscles
shot to and fro under his velvety skin,
and he trembled like a loosened main
spring, and his bloodshot eyes strained
at their sockets. He had to be led away,
a creature too finely strung for mediaeval
holiday sport.
The other horses did their work me
chanically well, as a rule. Horses and
riders were all huddled together 100 yards
away, and with every thirty seconds a
horse shot outnf the bunch and charged
forward beneath the pendent bird. The
rider darted a hand at the goose, which
dar.ed a wide-open red beak at the hand.
For a time the bird had most of the
sport. It was as if the men were afraid
to seize her head. But there were two
brothers in the list who were old and
handy at the game, and after a few mis
spent dashes they began to grip the bird's
head each time they came to it. It
would not be pleasing to tell the story of
the bird’s fate in too complete detail. It
was less pleasing to witness. After a
few wrings at its neck it still squawked
and bit at all who came by, but
soon its injury became too great,
and its plight was such that a
kindly Virginian took a stick and
killed it. It was a tavernkeeper who did
this, and he gave no offense when he said
that the so-called fun was brutality, and
he was not going to stand by and see it.
After that the fun was none the less for
being rid of its cruel side. Man after
man clutched the smooth greased neek
and pulled sturdily, but without avail.
He was not in that valley who could <iull
off the "gander’s” head. The feat had
often been performed with other birds,
but this biped seemed created to discour
age the time-worn sport. One cavalier,
plucky and enthusiastic, roso in his stir
rups, locked both hands around tho
bird’s neck and pulled as Samson might
have tugged at a stone column. With
what effect ! His feet Hew up, his hands
slipped and he turned a back somersault
fearful to see. and landed on his neek on
the ground. A cry of alarm and horror
broke from the crowd, and tho men
rushed forward to offer a service that
they they feared was useless, but the
rider was unhurt.
“Ride as you please, without regard to
your numbers,” the manager shouted, and
then the fun waxed heartier. On and on
and on the horsemen galloped, their arms
pumping, their legs beating the ribs of
their steeds, their seats as loose as those
of the plainsfolk who are as good as bora
on horseback. There was a great deal to
keep the women laughing. Sometimes a
man missed the bird, sometimes one lost
his head and whacked at tho “gander”
with his hand, sometimes a horse shied
and ran across the gallows. But at last
one of the brothers who were cleverest
at the sport stopped his horse under
the gallows, gripped the dead bird’3
neck with both hands and then
hung by the stubborn head
without detaching it from the rest of tne
bird. The uselessness of all lesser ef
fort was apparent. The sport was aban
doned. It is safe to say that the popu
larity of gander-pulling will not be re
vived. It is not a nineteenth century
kind of fun, as we saw when the gentle
hearted tavern keeper released the bird
from its misery; it is discredited in its
former homo. And yet, rude as it is, it
was good to have seen it, because it
shows us how greatly we have progressed
since the days when such sports flour
ished ail over our country.
“PAUL JONES’ r COINING MONEY.
Charges for Handshake and Auto
graph, and Wins a Foot-race at At
tleboro.
From the New York World.
Providence, I{. 1., Feb. 15.—“ Paul
Jones,” who started penniless from Bos
ton to go around the world, and bring
back #6,090, turned up at the Park hotel,
Attleboro, Mass., to-day. To-night he
held a reception, charging for the privi
lege of shaking hands. lie sold his auto
graph to a great manj people. He wore
the $5 suit of clothes in which he left Bos
ton.
This afternoon ho challenged Lewis
Morse to a foot-race for #1 a side. They
ran 100 yards in the snow, anu the trav
eler won by 5 feet.
Boston, Fed. 15.—Now that “Paul
Jones” is on the way to New \ r ork, the
first lap in his journey around the world,
people are beginning to guess at his
identity. The most common guess is that
he is E. C. Pfeiffer, well known hire. A
few of his occupations are; Athiete, in
ventor, poet, teacher, hotel keeper, news
paper writer, critic, professional traveler,
amateur prestidigitateur.
He was a special student at Harvard in
1887. and was chosen captain in February,
before the race. He invented an attach
ment to a fountain pen and spent quite a
long time trying to perfect it, but finally
gave it up. He issued a volume of poems
while at Harvard, which was not particu
larly noticeable for quality, but was dedi
cated to liis friends. many of whom be
ginn ng with President Eliot, he men
tioned by name.
Pfeiffer shows his athletic training. He
is a good deal over ti feet, has a 45-inch
chest and a splendid physique generally.
Hi manners are such as to win confi
dence un.vwhere. He will be warmly wel
comed when he gets around the world
ana returns with *5,000 under his arm.
Ever Do This Sort of Thing Yourself?
From the New York Press. *
“Some men had rather look at them
selves than eat breakfast,” said the re
tired cab master, as he placidly puffed a
cigar in the Metropolitan hotel and gazed
across the street. “Right over the. way,"
he went on. “there used to boa picture
frame store. For years they put out
a double mirror on the street, so that peo
ple coming both ways could look into it.
Maybe it was agin the ordinances, but it
stayed right there, and you’ve no idoa
how many bi| men in this town tound
that looking glass a blessing. I used to
sit out on the sidewalk then, and many a
time I’ve seen men coming on this side,
stop and think, and then cross over at
Houston, so as to walk down in front of
that mirror Sometimes they’d fix their
hair; sometimes they'd pull out their
cutis or smooth down their s arf, hut
they always looked in, and they always
did someth:hg to make tiu-mselues look
prettier. Talk about women before a
looking glass; they ain’t in it with my
fellow men. It’s a blistering shame they
took that glass away. There's only one
left now on Broadway. That’s up near
Thirty-ninth street. Nobody gets a
chance to use it but the opera singers."
Alphonso, the little King of Spain si
though but a child, has bacheior apartment*
set fer his ewa use la the palace.
DADWAY’B
n PILLS,
Always Rsliable.
Purely Vegetable.
Possess properties the most extraordinary
in restoring health. They stimulate to
healthy action the various organs, the natural
conditions of which are so necessary for
health, grapple with and neutralize the im
purities, driving them completely out of th*
system.
RADY/AY’S PILLS
Have Long Been Acknowledged
as the Best Cure for
SICK HEADACHE,
FEMALE COMPLAINTS,
INDIGESTION,
SILIOUSNESS,
CONSTIPATION,
DYSPEP3IA,
AND
All Disorders of the Liver.
printed directions In esch box; Zk
cents a box Sold by all druggists.
KAOWAY At CO.. 32 Warren street. N. Y.
HARDWARE™
Bar, Band and Hoop Iron,
WAGON MATERIAL,
Navaf Stores Supplier
■ FOR SALE BY
EDWARD LOVELL’S SONS
156 BROUGHTON AND 138-140 STATE STS.
The Steamer 3£lpha,
E. F. DANIELS, Master,
On and after SUNDAY, Oct. 15, will
change her Schedule as foUows:
Leave Savannah. Tuesdav 9am
Leave Beaufort, Wednesday Bam
Leave Savannah, Thursday 11 a m
Leave Beaufort, Friday Bam
The steamer will stop at Bluffton on both
trips each way.
For further information apply to
C. H. MKgLOCK, Agent.
.f. l puk-7"7~7..
“A Penny
Saved is a
Penny Earned.”
But a penny saved in
buying a poor article of
food is a dollar lost to
the doctor.
BUY
SELF-RAISING
Buckwheat.
Saves
Health,’
Dollars
And Time.
U
WHEN OTHEIiSFAIL
CONSULT
Dr. Broadfoot.
1( sick and despondent, the best medical
help is none too good. Why not consult a
specialist of established reputation and un
questioned reliability, such as Dr. Broadfoot?
Whatever opinion is given by him you can
rely upon it as being true. He is a true genu
ine specialist In ail diseases peculiar to men
and women.
t Special at
the following
Nervous dis
eases and all
Its attending
ailments of
middle aged
ful effects of
and* improp
c ase s, pro
ness of body
and brain,
failing mem
ory, and
other dis
tress in g
symptoms,
unfitting one for study or business. Blood
and Skin Diseases, Sores, Tumor. Pimples,
Tetter, Eczema,Ulcers.Loss of Hair. Scrofula
and Blood poison of every nature, primary
and secondary, promptly and permanently
eradicated Unnatural discharges promptly
cured in a few days. Quick, sure and safe.
Mail treatment given by sending for symp
tom blanks. No 1 for men, No. 2 for women,
No. 3 for skin diseases. All correspondence
answered promptly. Business strictly con
fidential. Entire treatment sent free from
observation to all parts of the country. Ad
dress or call on
.1. IJROADFOOT, M. D.,
130 Broughton street (upstairs),
Savannah. Ga.
INSURANCE
CHARLES F.P R EN DERCAST
iSuccessor to K. H. Footman & Cos.)
file, Marine m Sim fens
100 BAY STREET,
tNext West of the Cotton Exchanged
Telephone call No. 34. SAVANNAH. GA
RAILROADS.
SCHEDULE FOR
isle oi Hope, MORigomery and mi way sianons
SUNDAY TIME.
CARS RUN AS FOLLOWS)
Leave Bolton street ir.O! a. ra.: leave Isle of
Hope 8:17 ,i. m.; leave Bay street 10, It a. m
12 noon. 1.2. 3. 4. 5. 0, 7 ands p. ra.. running
direct Iroui Hay street to Isle of Hope, and
connecting wllb the steam cars at bsndfir
Leave isle of Hope 11.15 a m . 12:15 1
2:15.3 15.4 15.5 15 (1: I.V 7 Ift. H. 15 awl V !> 11
Cars from Thunderbolt lo Isle of Hope every
hour after 2 ixi p. m. until o p- *u „
nope for thunderbolt at - m
and hourly afterwai.ls until 8:30 p. m.
CITY AND aUUCKUAN it Y CO.