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BLASTED BOFE.
He softly whispered In her ear
“Shall we to-the cafe
Meander now my Uttle dear?”
She never spoke him nay.
hen did he gently quoth;
“Wilt thou have cream or lemonade?”
She simply answered “both.”
The smiles that erstwhile wreathed hi s cheek
Now simply faded thence,
For tho’ each pocket he did seek,
He found hut twenty cents.
He said, “My dear, a man I see
Who owes me dollars seven,”
Then from the room he swift did flee
To breathe the air of Heaven.
The maiden she did sit and wait
Her nice young man’s returning,
But ne’er a waiter brought the plate
Of cream her heart was yearning.
And still she sits with ashen lip.
And neither sound nor motion,
As silent as a chromo ship
On a lithographic ocean.
CARKADINE’S LOVE.
Carradine sat alone at Ins easel paint,
ing; and as he painted lie thouglit-
Eight years before, when he was a poor,
struggling boy, just entering on that
race which must be run by every aspir
ant to art and its honors, there happened
to him something which neither time
nor toil had ever been able to efface
from his memory. As he was passing
along the streets a wreath of fragrant
roses suddenly fell on his head, and look
ing up in wonder he beheld, reaching
out from the embroidered draperies of
an overhanging window, a child, with
fairy-like proportions, with great dark
eyes and long, curling black locks, who
stood smiling and throwing him kisses
from her curved lips, colored like a
pomegranate. When she still gazed, a
nurse had come forward and drawn the
child away; the curtains were closed, and
he saw the little creature no more.
Such was the vision that the artist had
carried so long in his memory; in his
memory only, for he had no second
glimpse of the child. That very day an
accident occured which kept him a
prisoner in his room for several weeks,
and when next he went out the house
was empty, and a placard with greatflar-
ing letters announcing it for sale stared
him in the face, from the same window-
in which the little, white-robed elf had
stood waving her hand and smiling to
him. In course of time other faces ap
peared there, but they were strange
faces, and among them was never ti
one for which he looked.
Now, as Carradine sat painting alone,
he thought of all this: of the struggle
that had ended at length in success, of
his hard, unfriended boyhood, and of
the beautiful child with her fragrant
rose crown, which had seemed almost
like a prophecy. That rose wreath, diy
and withered now, was all that was left
to him of the fair vision; but when that
morning in turning over an old port
folio, he had come upon it by chance it
spoke to him of that by-gone day just as
eloquently as when its blossoms were
fresh and full.
“Eight years ago,” he said, thought
fully, letting the shriveled circles slip
through his fingers slowly. “She must
be 16 now—if she lives. If? No, I
do not doubt her living presence—some
where. I wonder where she is now,and
what she is like at 16?”
With that he placed the wreath beside
his easel and began to paint. The face,
as it grew on lus canvas, presented a
young girl in the dewy morning blush
of first youth, with shadows in the great
dark eyes and a half-smile about the
bright curled lips, like an embodied
summer sun-shower. It was thus that
the artist pictured his idea of the child-
woman, whose infantile look and smile
for eight long years had been his own
dream of love.
Carradine had not had an easy life.
An orphan from his earliest years, poor
and unfriended, he had studied hard for
the means to gratify that inherent idola
try for art which was always clamoring
to find expression in form and coloring,
lie had fought and he had won; but
now, at 26, he stood in the place which
he had gained for himself almost as
much alone at the very heart as he had
been eight years before, when the cliild’s
gift came to him as a prophecy.
It was not that he was friendless.
There were men who liked and sought
him, women who would gladly have
taught him to forget his loneliness in
their affection. But though his nature
responded rapidly to any kindness, there
was one chord, deeper than all, that re
mained untouched, and from the sweet
est glances his thoughts went back to
the unknown child that had smiled
down to him so long ago.
Tne ideal head became his great source
of enjoyment, and a dreamy softness
shaded his dark-grey eyes, as line by
line and tint by tint took him back into
the past, which all lifeless as it was,
seemed to him, in those moments, more
real than the busy present. Yet now, in
reviewing that one bright vision of his
memory, it was not so much the lovely
child that he saw- In fancy as the beau
tiful girl whose face, with fuller depth
and sweetness, looked out at him from
his own canvas.
Instinctively, he hardly knew why,
he disliked to work on this picture iu
any other presence, and he devoted to
it only his hours of solitude. So it
happened that it was nearly finished
when by some chance a friend dis
covered him bending over it, too ab
sorbed to hear any approach. As the
door opened Carradine rose hastily,
turning his easel to the wall, so as to
conceal the face upon it. This little
stratagem, however, was destined to be
of no avail. Having been marked by
the intruder, one of those cordial, well-
meaning people, good-natured to a de
gree, but with little delicacy of precep-
tion—the action at once aroused his'
curiosity.
“ Aha, master painter,” he said, with
a laugh, “ let. us see what it is that you
work at by yourself till it steals away
your eyes and ears. Only one peep!”
With that, he laid his hand on the
frame, and receiving no forbidding word
from Carradine, turned it round. The
next moment he was loud in praise.
“But who is it, Carradme? If it is
a portrait, tell me where to find the
original, and I will, if it is a seven days’
journey!”
Carradine smiled.
“If I myself kn?w where to find
such an original I should not be here to
tell you, my good friend.” he answered,
evasively.
“ Oh, a fancy sketch,” said the other:
misled, as the artist had desired. “ I
might have saved diyself the trouble of
asking. No real flesh and blood face
ever looked like that—more shame to
nature, I say. Of course you will ex
hibit it. Carradme?”
“ No!” answered the painter, quietly..
: “No!” repeated the other, in snr.'
prise. “ But my dear fellow, you iuust,
or I shall betray your secret, and you
will have a swarm of visitors, worse
than a plague in Egypt, let in upon
you.”
Carradine hesitated. A chance w r ord
in his friend’s speech had suggested a
possibility that made his heart leap in
spite of sober reason.
“ You are right,” he said. “ I shall
send the picture for exhibition. It will
be better so.”
After his visitor had left him alone
again, Carradine bent low over liis easel,
gazing into the lovely, upturned face,
until it began to fade into the gather
ing twilight.
“ It—it!” he murmured to himself,
half unconsciously. “ But it cannot
he. Yet I will send it—and perhaps—”
And so the picture was sent, in due
time; and it seemed almost as if Carra-
dine’s soul had gone with it and drawn
him to follow. Hour after hour, and
day after day, he sat in the gallery scru
tinizing eagerly every face and the
visitors whom. taste and fashion had
brought to look at the now celebrated
artist’s latest success. Every night he
went away unsatisfied, and every mom-
ning he returned with hope springing
afresh in his heart.
Still, toe object of Ills search, what
ever it nSf have been, does not appear;
and one day, discouraged at last, he re
solved to go no more on so fruitless an
errand. Shutting him-elf in his studio,
he began to paint, but strive as he
would he could command neither hand
nor fancy. Finally, tired of repeated
failure, he abandoned work, and yielded
to an impulse which drew his steps in
the customary direction.
When he entered the small side room
in which his picture hung he found but
two persons within, a young man and a
girl.
Carradine could not see the faces of
these two, but; with an earnestness for
which he was at a loss to account, he
followed their retreating figures as they
moved slowly toward his picture. But
the next moment an exclamation of
astonishment burst from the lips of the
young man.
Why, here is your portrait, Leilia!
What does it mean? Who can the
painter Ire?”
With that he hurried out to purchase
a catalogue. Carradine advanced quick
ly to the girl.
“ I am the painter,” he said.
She turned and looked at him with
one steady gaze from those glorious eyes
that had haunted his-visions for so many
years. Then she spoke:
“You painted that picture? and
how?”
“From remembrance,” he answered.
“ It was my only tribute to the little
unknown princess who crowned me
once with roses. Does she, too, re
member it?”
For a moment doubt was in her face;
but as he looked at her it vanished in
certainty.- A smile touched her bright
lips.
It was you, then, on whom I forced
my roses? A princess who gave away
honors unmasked. How often I have
wondered since ”
She stopped, turned to the canvass,
and added, abruptly,” -‘But I was a
child then, and here ”
“Here you are a woman,” said Carra
dine, completing the unspoken sentence.
“It is so hard to understand. The
same power that kept the child in my
heart showed me into what she would
ripen.”
She did not look at him now, but at
the picture, as she asked him in a low
voice, “ And whom am I to thank for
such an honor?”
“My name is Hubert Carradine,” he
answered, and saw at once that it was
no unfamiliar word to her. “And
yours? Through all these years your
face has haunted me always, but your
name I never knew.”
She hesitated a moment, then turned
to him.
You never knew my name? Then
think of me still as you have thought
of me through all these years,” she
said, a half smile lingering about her
mouth, but never lighting the great
dark that was shaded by some subtle
sadness. The look, the tone, trans
ported Carradine beyond all remem
brance of place or circumstance into
the unreal realm of imagination in
which his wish was supreme ruler.
I have thought of you always as
my life and my love,” he said, half con
sciously, his dreamy, deep gray eyas
glowing upon her face. She blushed
suddenly, and then paled in an instant.
Just then her former companion entered
the room.
I am Leilia Auveraay,” she said,
hastily, “and this is Cecil Wyndham—
my betrothed husband.”
Not another word was said. As the
young man approached, Carradine fell
hack a step and looked at the two. His
was a fair, handsome face, so little
marked as yet by time, that it would be
hard for an unpracticed eye to conjec
ture with what lines the shaping char
acter would yet stamp it. Neverthe
less, with one keen gaze Carradine esti
mated both present and future.
She said a few, low-spoken words to
her companion, who presently moved
toward Carradine, and addressed him:
“ I have the honor of speaking to
Mr. Carradme, the painter of this pic
ture?”
Carradine bowed without speaking.
“ Will you pardon me for asking if it
a fancy sketch?” continued Mr.
Wyndham.
‘ Partly so, hut suggested by the face
of a little girl,” answered the artist.
“But the likeness is so very strik
ing,” muttered the young gentleman.
I must have it at any rate. Of course
you will part with it—at your own
price?”
The picture is not for sale,” said
Carradine, quietly, still regarding the
young man with that cool, steady gaze
which had already caused him to be
tray » hesitation, almost confusion, very
unlike his usual easy confidence. He
seemed to have an instinctive knowl
edge that the artist was measuring him,
and to shrink from that measurement
withunconscious dread.
Carradine saw Leilia Auvernay once
mow before she returned to her home
in 4 distant town. Then he took his
piewre from the Academy walls and
huig it in his studio, where his eyes
cold find it whenever he looked away
fron his work, For he did not give up
wrfk; yet among themselves, his friends
pnbounced him an altered man, and
mjrveled what had caused so subtle a
djterence. Always silent, be now
turned to live in an ideal world of his
tin; and whatever he might occupy
gmself with, there was that in his
flanner which appeared to imply that
ft was only a temporary diversion until
he coming of some event tor which he
waiting.
So fussed half a year, at the end of
which there came a letter to Carradine.
It was very brief, but it was enough to
assure him of that which he had been
almost unconsciously expecting.
The letter was from Leilia Auvernay.
He went to her at once. She met him
with a laughing light in her eyes such
as he had not seen there when she stood
in the gallery beside her betrothed
husband—a light which recalled the
merry child who had smiled down on
him so long ago.
“Mr. Carradine,” she said, “ I told
you tliat my fortune was gone, but I did
not tell you how utterly it had been
swept away. I am nothing better than
a beggar. Will you take me as one of
your students, for charity’s sake?”
He looked searchingly into her smil
ing face.
“And Mr. Wyndlmm?” lie asked, in
a low voice.
She replied without so much as a
-flush of emotion:
“ Mr. Wyndham has gone with the
rest of my worldly possessions. Did I
not say that I had lost everything?
You see, Mr. Carradine, that I am not
of as much worth no\v as my picture.”
The words as she said them did not
seem bitter. He took her hands.
“Leilia,” he said, “does your loss
make you unhappy?”
“Do I look so?” she asked, gaily.
‘: As for the marriage, it was my
father’s wish, and to gratify his dying
request I consented—before I knew my
own heart .” Here a quick vivid
color shot into her cheek, but she went
There never was love on my side,
and on Iris—well, money is more than
love, with some natures. I do not wish
to blame him.”
Carradine’s grasp tightened on her
hands.
‘ Leilia, ” he said, “once your answer
put a bar between us when I spoke
words that were surprised out of my
heart. Would it be so now if I should
say them once more? My love, my
life, will you come to me?”
Will I come?” she repeated, look
ing up in his eyes and drawing nearer,
until his arms silently folded about her.
And so Carradine found his love at
last.
Hulwer Lytton'a Home.
Crook’s Success.
Ceil Crook seems to have finished
very thoroughly the work ot crushing
the Apaches, which he began some years
ago. By his former campaign they
were all subdued except a parcel of
Chiricahuas, and the work would doubt
less have been completed had not Gen.
Howard arrived on the ground, stopped
the lighting, and made a treaty with
the savages which proved very unfortu
nate. By its terms the Indians merely
undertook to keep the peace, and in re
turn government gave them the use of
a large tract of laud in Arizona, on the
Mexican line, with absolute freedom
upon it. Situated in this way, the In
dians broke their promise at the first
opportunity, almost as a matter of
course, and have since kept up a con
stant succession of bloody raids. They
could go-into Mexico, kill and burn and
rob until pursued, then return across
the line and scatter so as to make their
capture and identification practically
impossible, or commit depredations in
Arizona and New Mexico and flee to
the Sierra Mad re mountains in Mexico,
adjoining their reservation. Finally
the band was ordered to go to the San
Carlos reservation, which lies in Ari
zona further north, but only a few
obeyed. The others merely pretended
to move into Mexico, and have since
doged back and forth aitd carried on
their murdering and pillage with more
ferocity than ever
The war so fortunately ended began
with the murder of Judge McCoinas
and wife and the capture of their eight-
years-old son at Thompson’s Canon,
March 27. A pursuit at the time was
mnsuccessful, and Gen. Crook went to
tlie Mexican states of Sonora and Chi
huahua, consulted with the military
and civil authorities there, and then
organized a force to follow the savages
into the mountains, the Mexican troops
co-operating. The terms of oui treaty
with Mexico do not permit a crossing
of the line by troops except in actual
hot pursuit of Indians, of course Crook’s
expedition plainly overstepped this, and
there was consequently some worrying
by overanxious souls in both countries,
but it is no secret t hat both governments
knew all about the operation and were
glad to do the necessary winking. Al
though at last reports Juh, the most
mischievous of all the murdering horde,
was still at large with some of his band,
the capture then made was so large as
to be conclusive, and doubtless the
others will yet come in or be brought
Just what will be done with them
remains to be seen, but of course they
will hereafter be kept under some sort
of restraint. Merely as a matter of
money, the government could better
affort to keep the whole lot at first-
class hotels than to have them roving
at will again.
The statistics of Paris just published
establish the claims of the city to be
the most cosmopolitan in Europe.
Whether it be a thing to be proud of or
not, Parts is chiefly inhabited by a po
pulation who are not Parisians. Out
of one hundred residents only thirty are
horn within the limits of the town; the
remaining seventy are provincials and
foreigners, People come and make
their money or come and spend then-
money in the capital, or those who have
made it leave Paris and settle in the
country. True-born Parisians are the
exception, not the rule. The classifica
tion of the foreigners is unexpectedly
misleading. Neither political import
ance nor commercial prosperity seems
to regulate it. We might think the
English, as being neighoors, a trading
people, and a people fond of colonizing,
would be the best represented. But
they come rather near the end: much
after the Swiss and very much after the
Belgians. Only ten per cent, of the
strangers are English, while the sub
jects of King Leopold are nearly fifty
per cent. But it is in the ease of the
Germans that we meet the most sur
prising of the Parisian statistics. They
have always been very strong in Paris,
much stronger than the English and
the Americans combined. In numbers
they form thirty-one per cent, of the
strangers. But the curious incident of
their occupation of the city is that it
has been steadily on the increase, and
has taken a decided impulse since the
Franco-German war. In 1876 they
were only nineteen per cent, and now
they are more than thirty-one. On the
whole, it appears from the census re
turns that though the population of
Paris has increased since the last sta
tistics were published, the increase has
chiefly consisted in the foreign resi
dents.
The house itselt, picturesque enough
even at a distance, is doubly so when
seen close at hand, though the painted
cupolas and gilded spires suggest a Rus
sian church rather than an English
manor house, and the incongruous wing
lately run out from one end of it im
presses one like the half transformed
figures in Ovid, witli the horns of stags
or the claws of spiders projecting from
a human body. But the sternest critic
could find no fault in the ivy-wreathed
arch of the gateway, the vast cathedral
like windows, the clustering pinnacles
and the quaint semi-ecclesiastical archi
tecture, which gives it the look of some
grand old historical college in Oxford
or Cambridge.. Nor could Sir Walter
Scott himself have wished a finer stage
for one of his “striking situations” than
the great hall with its oak panels and its
stained glass windows, filled with the
“dim religious light” that Milton loved,
and hung with banners of every shape
and color, from the pennon bearing the
name of that Sir Turold who fought at
Hastings down to the Delhi Standard
whicli was borne in state before his hist
descendant as Viceroy of India.
In such a sanctuary of the past the
intrusion of the present seems almost a
sacrilege. You would hardly wonder
to see the two figures in armor that flank
the great fire-place spring up and extend
their spears to bar your way. A bold
man would be he who should watch here
alone till midnight on the last night of
the year, with the gloomy moon-light
turning the shadows of the banners into
threatening phantoms and bodying forth
weird, unearthly sliapes from the balus
trades of the vast oaken gallery which
overshadow s a .full third of the entire
hall. In such circumstances he might,
indeed, like an adventurous Irish friend
of mine who kept watch in a haunted
house, “expect every moment the ap
pearance of an invisible spirit.” But
amid all these ghostly associations, the
hearty, hospitable cheeriness oi “Merry
England” breaks forth unmistakably iu
the inscription which encircles tlie whole
chamber like a garland, in white letters
on a blue ground:
‘‘Read the rede of this old roof-tree :
Here be trout fast, opinion free,
Knightly right hand and Christiuu kuei
Worth in all, wit in some
Laughter open, slander dumb.
Hearth where rooted friendships grow.
Safe as altar, even to foe;
And the sparks that upward go
When the hearth flame dies below,
If thy sap in them may be,
Fear no Winter, old roof-tree I”
Even more interesting, though less
gloomily impressive, is the adjoining
chamber, with its projecting mantel
piece, its curved oak cabinets, and the
quaint mediaeval portraits that watch
us from tlie wall with sombre, unchang
ing eyes. Here shines Edward IV.,
brightest and basest of English sover
eigns, in all the fullness of his sleek,
tiger-like beauty, a marked contrast
indeed to the quiet, commanding face of
Henry V., (no longer bearing any trace
of the wild Prince Hal of Shakespeare,)
who looks down upon us with the same
stenreatmness werewilli he watched the
armed thousands of France surging up
around his little handful of starving
men through the cold white mist of
Agincourt. And at the far end of the
room stands a small glass case, brimful
of historical relics that would have
excited the envy of Horace Walpole him
self, foremost among which appear the
antique inkstand that figured in the
debates of the loug Parliament, ere
Cromwell came to “purge the floor,”
and a lock of hair clipped from Nelson’s
corpse on the night of that famous bat-
tle-Sabbath in Trafalgar Bay 78 years
ago.
The Library contains one curiosity, a
clock made at the Industrial School of
Jeypur, the capital of one of the native
States of Western India. It is a queer
affair altogether, to all appearance en
tirely without works, and looking very
much like a lamp chimney surmounted
by an eye-glass. Passing the foot of the
great staircase—which is sentineled by
a life-like oil painting of Lord Beacons-
field—we enter the portrait gallery, now
flooded with a series of glory by the sun
light which is streaming through the
crimson curtains, and giving added color
and beauty to the grand procession of
historical faces along either waff. Here,
belying her masculine dress by the vol
uptuous softness of the features that
enthralled Charles II., appears “wild
Lucy Walters,” mother of that ill-fated
Duke of Monmouth whose rash clutch
at a crown to which he had no claim,
brought down upon Western England
horrors worse than those of Cawnpore.
Here looks out from beneath his massive
forehead, the large, thoughtful, earnest
eye of Sir Thomas Moore, the noblest
man of his day in England, and, there
fore as a matter of course, sent out of
England and the world by tlie heads
man’s axe as speedily as possible. Here
stands Anne of Austria, Louis XIII’s
unfaithful Queen, imprisoned in a tight-
waisted scarlet dress, and showing little
of the beauty which captivated the vola
tile Duke of Buckingham, but much of
the haughtiness which she bequeathed
to her son Louis XIV. Here, in the
commanding attitude which dismayed
the fiercest Revolutionists of France,
towers the colossal ugliness of Mira beau,
half redeemed by the stem, daring,
dauntless spirit that looks through it.
And here, last and greatest of all, stands
brave Robert Blake, on the stem and
solemn beauty of whose noble face rests
the same look of calm and fearless self-
reliance with which he confronted the
pikes of Goring and the cannon of Van
Tromp, or sailed foremost into tlie heil-
fire of the Tunis corsairs at Goletta.
Beyond the portrait gallery Ues the
study where the late Lord Lytton used
to write, which is as simple as the im
mediate surroundings of famous men
should always be. A small room, a plain
central table, a bust of the Khedive, and
a cast of Michael Angelo’s Moses on the
mantel-piece—nothing more. But the
fine oriel window and the beautiful view
which it commands are a sufficient orna
ment in themselves. Light, airy, cheer
ful, this little sanctuary of art contrasts
very pleasantly with the gloomy grand
eur of the antique chambers and dim
corridors overhead. Had any one wished
to confer a priceless benefit upon the
late Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, it should
certainly have taken the form of a
month’s residence in one of these rooms
of state. How that truly great man
would have reveled in such an unexpect
ed supply of recesses, hangings, cabinets
and presses of carved oak, for the con
venience of the ghosts, demons, corpses
and other festive personages in which
he delighted. Heme, the Hunter, him
self would have found ample scope here
for that troublesome'gift of popping up
through the floor or coming flying down
the chimney with which he made him
self such a nuisance in Windsor Castle
in the days of jHenry VIII. What
material, too, would any adventurous
novelist find in the Latin inscription
which surmounts the fire-place in one of
the ghostliest of the upper rooms: “In
this chamber slept Queen Elizabeth,
after the defeat of the Armaria by
English amis in 1588.” It is true that
there is still reason to doubt whether
good Queen Bess ever visited Knebworth
at all; but this is a trifle to all true be
lievers iu the romantic, who may console
themselves with the assurance that this
is the chamber in which she would have
slept if she had.
In one of the ante-rooms a little fur
ther on is another relic which might
furnish Mr. Wilkie Collins with the plot
of a new “Moonstone.” Just in front
of the window stands a minature throne
curiously carved, all of solid silver. It
is flanked on either side by a flight of
steps of the same metal, guarded by a
group of silver figures in Eastern dress,
and is surmounted by a canopy, on
which sits a large binl, holding in its
beak a splendid emerald. Sucn an or
nament might Warren Hastings have
placed in the vestibule of Dalesford, or
Clive in the hall of his stately house at
Claremont; but its presence here is
equally appropriate, for it is the gift of
one of the Hindoo Princes to the man
who lately ruled them in the name of
the;Empress of India. Such souvenirs
are precious not merely from their in
trinsic worth but from the associations
entwined with them; and this throne
might fitly be placed beside the tattered
banner in tlie hall below, (to bear which
up the fatal hill-side of the Alma three
brave men died in succession,) as a token
that the race which holds Knebworth
has proved its mettle on other fields be
sides those of literature.
As we turn to depart the western sun,
now fast sinking and gathering clouds,
casts one pale and momentary gleam
upon the square, massive gray tower of
the ancient church of Knebworth as it
stands facing the hall. Such a back
ground is the fit adjunct to such a pic
ture. An old village church in England
is a striking and suggestive object at all
tunes, but doubly and trebly so when
filled with the silent eloquence of a con
trast like this. On one side all the dig
nity of rank, wealth, renown, • the
grandeur of an aucient name, the glory
of a world wide reputation; on the other
tills mute symbol of that power to which
all the might of man is nothing, and of
that grave in whicli man liimself lies as
low as the beasts tliat perish. Like the
skeleton at the Egyptian banquet, like
the black robe over the throne of Sala-
din, stands this sombre memento amid
the leafless woods opposing its stem
simplicity to the pomp and glitter of tlie
ancient mansion. Here must all the
paths of life, however diverse, meet at
last. To this goal tend alike the Nor
man noble whose bauner floated by Duke
William’s side at Hastings and the hob
nailed clown who hardly known his own
grandfather.
But when the dread siiadow has fallen
which makes all men equal, the deeds
that shine brightest through its gloom
are not always those which poets have
sunt and nations vaunted. Were Ull
exploit? of Walter -Scott's mighty
genius forgotten to-day, his memory
would still be held sacred in every Anglo-
Saxon heart on either side of the Atlan
tic as the simple, kindly, true-hearted
man who so warmly held out the right
hand of friendship to young Washington
Irving when the latter was still but a
private in the great literary army which
he was one day to command. More
precious by far than all the noisy praises
which rewarded Voltaire’s long war
against God and man were the unheard
blessings of the poor Swiss peasants
whom he saved from the tax that was
crushing them. The alms houses built
in Knebworth village by the late Lord
Lytton’s mother are a higher tribute to
her memory than even the graceful
monument and touching epitaph raised
to it by her famous son beneath the
shade of his ancestral woods. By these
tilings men live when the hollow ap
plauses of drawing rooms and the lying
eulogies of critics have returned to con
genial nothingness.
Lite At tlie Springfield Armory.
Two Venerable Women.
The people of San Gabriel, Texas, go
far towards immortality, and two ve
nerable ladies, aged one hundred and
two and one hundred and seventeen
years, as is proved by the church re
cords, are celebrities to whom the
stranger pays his respects and his silver
pieces. Driving in besides an adobe
hut, a buxom and swarthy lady smiled
at us from over her washtub, and ad
vanced with the sweet “Interns dins" of
these people. Crossing under her
clothes-lines, we found the ancient
Laura sitting on the ground, with a
faded bed quilt wrapped about her
shoulders. With all her one hundred
and two years, Senora Laura lias not
learned the ways of neatness, and sat
abjectly in the dirt, with more dirt and
dust on her straggling black locks. Se
nora Beujamina, who owns to one hun
dred and seventeen years, lay inside
her miserable hut, with a tattered bed
quilt wrapped about her, and her head
sunken in another dirty quilt. Chick
ens scratched and pecked the ground
beside her, hopped on her prostrate
form, and made the hut ring with their
clucking and crowing. At the sug
gestion of strangers and silver the poor
old wreck of humanity turned her
wrinkled face towards us, and the
skinny hands were stretched out for
coin. A more revolting and saddening
spectacle cannot he imagined than these
two forlorn and trembling old crea
tures, shriveled, wrinkled, and withered
as mummies, with bleared eyes, hooked
claws, and thin, trembling voices.
The soldier’s life in these piping
times of peace is not so full of excite
ment as he might wish, but is by no
means as unpleasant as has been
pictured. Many young men who enlist
are fascinated by the uniforms, tales of
the rebellion and a life of ease, as it
seems to them; and when they find that
they are expected to work nine hours
a day the enthusiasm is dampened, and
they want to get out. From the dis
satisfaction of this class has doubless
arisen the prejudice against peaceful
army life. But there is another side to
the question. The average soldier is
uneducated, has uo trade and would
have to work as a common laborer if
discharged. It is said, however, that
he would get more pay, and so it seems
at a glance, but there it really very
little difference between the remuner
ation of the soldier and laborer. The
former receives from the government
his board, clothes and from $13 to $25
a month. The average is not far from
$18, or $216 a year. The day laborer
working 300 days a year at $2 a day re
ceives $600. As good board and lodg
ing as the soldier has will cost at least
$5 a week, or $260 a year. Deducting
this and $100 for clothes from his full
pay, he has left $240, or $24 dollars a
year more than the soldier. But the
men are not all uneducated. One or
two iu the service here have been
through college and many are well-read.
Some men enlist to receive the restraint
which the soldier is necessarily held
under. And this is one way in which
army life does good, A man whose
l»assion for liquor is irresistible, cannot
devise a safer protection than that of
the army. The lives of many men have
unquestionably been prolonged by the
restriction under which they have been
placed. This restraint Is, of course,
irksome and disagreeable, but it is some
men’s only salvation. Dissatisfied sol
diers resort to all sorts of exiiedieuts to
get away. One German said tliat he
got “so drunk ash never vas” iu tlie
hope tliat he would be discharged, but
the scheme was too transparent. De
sertions have become so frequent tliat
Gen. Sherman argues that it would be
advisable to lessen the soldier's work;
but it is a strange fact that quite a large
percentage of deserters afterward give
themselves up. It is seldom that any
two give the same reason for coming
back. One could not overcome the fas
cination which had increased while he
served, another repented from consci
entious motives, and still another found
that his lot as a soldier wasn’t so very’
hard after all. But the prejudice
against army life has become so strong
that there are very few enlistments
nowadays, and men will probably have
to be transferred from line service to
till five places soon to be vacated here
by soldiers who liave served their time.
It is often wondered what mode of life
is chosen after five years in tlie army,
hut there is very seldom any difficulty
in a discharged soldier’s obtaining a
place. Some of them make the most
of their time wiien iu tlie service and
come out fitted for positions, which
Monongahels Shanty-Boats.
Along the shores of the Monongahela
where the hills of Soho cast a shadow
reaching across the river nearly to tho
sloping streets that run down from Car-
son street, Pittsburg, to the water’s edge
may be seen a style of habitation here
and there closely resembling the domicile
that so delighted David Copperfield at
Yarmouth. They are'of a nondescript
character, these shanty-boats that settle
heavily in the sludgy soil, or rock lazily
in the swell that sets them afloat as an
occasional steamer snorts noisily by.
They are boats that might almost be
called houses, and houses tliat might he
boats, and yet they have peculiarities of
their own that belong to neither class.
Sometimes there has been an attempt to
beautify them by daubing on coarse red
paint, picked out with dirty white. The
effect, while possibly satisfactory to the
inmates, has a rather dispiriting effect
upon the casual observer with a preten
sion to artistic taste. He is apt to won
der whether the crude pigments laid on
so lavishly have not a tendency to engen
der colicky troubles among the children
who revel in dirt and semi-nakedness in
and around tiiese amphibious dwellings,
For there are children, scores of them,
as it appears, who call these places
home, and doubtless could gaze without
envy upon the finest lawn-surrounded
mansion In the East End. Have they
not free access to water aud mud at all
hours of the day and night? Can any
thing lie more delightful than running
along the gangplanks to the coal barges
that are always being unloaded with a
great expenditure of labor, gruutuigs
and perspiration on the part of muscular
men who, lxith Caucasian and Ethiopian,
are all of the same grimy hue? What
if the sharp fragments of coal do sting
the little bare feet? It gives them a
dainty, tripping gait that is at once
graceful and unique, and may at somr
future time be useful if they liave to
act as nurses in a smallpox hospital,
where clumsy footsteps would disturb
the patients.
“What kind of people live in these
shanty-boats?” asked a Pittsburg re-
jHirter of a resident of Twenty-sixth
street.
Tlie resident gave an odd twist to his
features, whicli included the gentle clos
ing of one eye, and said, with a slight
smile: “All kinds. Just around here
you can bet they are pretty quiet, be
cause they liave to be. That one,”
pointing to an sosthetie-looking craft,
the cloudy windows of whicli were still
further obscured by crimson curtains,
while what was apparently tlie week’s
washing hung carelessly in the sun from
various projections, “is occupied by a
man who works in a mill. The family
are decent people, but poor, and they
live there rent free. Those on the
opposite side of tlie river, right opposite,
are also tlie homes of laborers. They
are well-behaved folks, because the
erryman leasing the wharf would not
let them stay ir they were not. But
in those a little lower down there are
some high old times occasionally. Men
and women are all huddled in together.
Their regular drink is old rye, and such
they were wholly unable to fill when , old rye. It costs about $1 a gallon, and
they enlisted. Many become police- there are a dozen fights in every pint of
men; aud almost invariably make good it, with mote quarrels and bad language
Anno I.’’ 11 Ilir nnn L.l 1 f fIw, lirnnLG.r# 1L __.11 i 1 ® “ .
ones. Fully one-half of the Washing
ton police force is composed of dis
charged soldiers, and one of Spring
field’s best officers lived 10 years within
tlie iron fence.
A Serpent in a Shaft.
Order on the f arm.
Many farmers fail in making tne farms
profitable for want of order. Whether cn
email farm where the work is all done
by the owner, or ou a large farm where
several hands are employed, there must be
an early and regular boor lor ruing In the
morning. Each band or man should know
the evening previous Just what he is to do
the morning, and if possible for the en
ure day. If chorea are his first employ
ment, then he can go at them without
waiting for orders. If he is to use a team,
then he can have it fed, curried and har
nessed ready. The wagon or implement
is to use can be oiled and in place ready
bitch ta The proprietor must make
stories abort to common callers, and yet be
courteous. He can also by a judicious
system and study of the situation encour
age any superior cr ambitious help to ex-
' in their labors.
cel
laborer and employer. Have Mated times
' rigidly enforce them, for milking, fur
mencugthe regular work and for re
tiring bam the field. Hake the farm pro
crops and rate the best
Stock of all kinds.
At this time of the year dangerous rep
tiles are mist frequently seen m New
Mexico, soil are most aggressive. Recent
ly two proepestors came into Socorro who
relate a strange experience they had with
a rattlesnake the-week before. The par
ticulars are downright “snakev,” and but
for the reputation these men bear for ver
acity, we would not publish them. Ir
prospecting about fifteen miles east of La
Joys they found copper float, and separa
ted to trace It to the lead. One of them,
Ed. Bennett, on reaching a small hill, dis
covered an old shaft. He fired a shot
to notify his partner and began explora
tions. The shaft looked to be about forty
feet deep, and about feet distant there was
an incline connecting with it He pre
pared to descend by this. When nearly
at the bottom the loose wash gave way,
anil he was precipitated downward. He
shouted out to his partner, and was pre
paring to look around, when to uis horror
he discovered that his descent had stirred
up a rattlesnake. The blood-curdling
warning was rattling hoiribly in the silent
hole and caused cold sweat to ooze from
the prospector’s forehead. The glistening
eyes of tue reptile shone upon him in the
gloom, but he was too unused to the piace
to distinguish further. He retreated to a
corner, and as the shaft was a large one—
about eight feet square—he had time to
seize a rock and prepare himself. The
serpent followed, and springing at him
struck its fangs into the top of his large
prospecting boots, and coiled about his
legs. At this rime he could see his sur
roundings, and with a desperation equal to
the occasion, and before tbe reptile had
time to withdraw its fangs, he grasped its
scaly neck and closed his hand with a vise-
like grasp. Then ensued a contest between
man and reptile, desperation and fury.
The huge serpent alternately tightened its
enemy’s leg till the blood ceased to circu
late, and shook itself in the vain endeavor
to wriggle from the iron grasp. Its horrid
rattling denoted its furious straggles. The
prospector heard tha hisses, could see the
bright greenish eyes flashing fire and feel
the wigglmg of the scales as he held the
snake, but whether standing or thrown to
the ground or lashed by the tail of his ag
gressor, he held his grip. He would occa
sionally yell in the hope ot reaching the
ears of his partner. For at least a quarter
of an hour the struggle continued, the
prospector the while growing weaker,
keeping th&ianga from his body, but feel
ing that his enemy was slowly choking to
death.* Its lashing became alow, it writhed
less, and finally, after one last struggle,
was dead.
Tbe prospector continued bis yells until
his partner came, being too weak to rise.
After some trouble he was raised to the
surface, still grasping the serpert with his
widely distended mouth and protruding
fangs. It was a long time before be could
renew circulation in lus leg. and he is
limping yet. Tbe snake measured twelve
feet, and had eighteen rattles.
than could be measured. Do any of
them work? Oh, yes, they work. Th
men are roustabouts and deckhands on
steamers. They work up and down the
river, and at the end of a trip tliey come
home for a good time, and 1 guess they
have it. At night you can hear then-
voices echoing over the water in ribald
songs to the accompaniment of a mouth
organ or accoideon, with an occasional
yell thrown in for a chorus. Why, they
even liave dances m those stifling little
places sometimes. I don’t know whether
they liave the fashionable waltzes or
whether one of them leads the others in
tlie ‘German,’ but I do know tliat they
shuffle through some kind of saltatory
exercise that seems as if it would shake
NEWS IN BRIEF.
—Padlocks are said to have been in
vented by Beecher of N nremburg, in
1540.
—Mre. General Rosecrans, who was
seriously ill two weeks ago, is now out
of danger.
It is estimated that Nebraska’s crop
of com for this year will reach 100,000 -
000 bushels.
—Gold coinage has just been resumed
m the English mint, after two years
without any.
—The jewelry presented to the Duch
ess of Genoa on her recent marriage is
valued at $59,200.
--With a bonded debt of over $8,000,-
000, Louisville has voted to expend $1 -
o00,000 on its streets,
—The late John Richard Green, the
English historian, only left a personal
estate of about $15,000.
—Among Atlanta’s latest industries
are two large knitting factories, both of
which are doing well.
— Tlie ra nge of all estimations of the
Penobscot River lumber cut is 140 000 -
000 to 160,000,000 feet. ’
—It is estimated that 160,000,000
pounds of wire fence were made in the
United States last year.
The first obelisk mentioned in his-
tory is that of Ramises, which was
erected about 1485 B. C.
-In Berlin the street cars do not stop
at the beck of would-be passengers, but
only at certain places along the line.
—Fitz-Stephen, a chronicler of the
time of Henry II., mentions the delight
which the English took in horse races.
—Captain James B. Eads and his
daughter, Mrs. Hazzan, will be among
this year’s cottage residents of Lon®
Branch. 6
the timbers of the shanty apart. Once
in a while the police make a raid when
An Old Composer.
Charles Gounoa, the composer, is
sixty-five years old. He is a man of
full medium size, stout and vigorous.
Be always at borne to His face is pale, his eyes large and
direct, aid aod counsel in ail departments luminous, his hair gray and the top of
Ducourage all csreles* and looee practices, his head entirely bald, as it has been
Strive to cultivate a good feeling between for many years. His broad forehead is
furrowed with many wrinkles, his eye
brows are heavy but well formed, bis
gray beard thick and long, and his lips
pale but heavy and sensual. He lives
in .the Palace Malesherbes, Paris, close
to the home of Bernhardt.
they get too bad, hut as a rule no one
interferes with them. Theyare isolated
from the rest of the world, and except
when an actual murder takes place, as
in the case of MeSteen, who killed his
wife in a riverside shanty at Hazelwood,
they are allowed to enjoy themselves in
their own way.”
“Who are the owners of the boats?”
asked the reporter.
■‘That would he hard to say. Some
of them belong to the parties who live
in them. Whon an old tug boat gets
all stove up, so that it is no more use on
the river, the machinery is taken out,
with everything else of any value, and
the shell Is sold for a mere song. Then
two or three will club together and
raise the few’ dollars required, thereby
getting a house rent free for the rest of
their lives. They have to get permission
from the wharf owner to squat on his
territory, and in return they keep an eye
on his loose property and prevent chains
aud sucli like being carried off by sneak
thieves. Tliey keep an eye on the coal,
too. There is a great deal of coal stolen
from the barges, as it is, but not so
much as there would be if these slnuity-
boat guardians did not exercise squatter
sovereignty over the flats. I guess they
help themselves to a lump of coal occas
ionally to keep their stoves going. It
d.iesn’t take much to warm up one of
those shanties, and the coal men can
stand the loss of what little they lose.
Yes, it seems a funny life to people ac
customed to a comfortable house on
dry land, but there are many of these
folks who couldn’t be paid to live any
where but in a shanty-boat.
Sofia Fact*.
A farmer came into a grocery store
in Chicago the other day aud exhibited
to the eyes of an admiring crowd an
enormous egg, about six inches long,
which he avowed to have been laid by
one of his own hens. He had it packed
in cotton and wouldn’t allow anyone to
handle it for fear of breaking the phe
nomenon. The grocery man examined
it with the rest, and, intending to chaff
the countryman, said:
■Pshaw! I’ve got something in the
egg line that will beat that.”
“I’ll bet you five dollars youhavn’t!”
said the countryman, getting excited.
“Take it up,” replied thegroceryman,
aud going behind the counter he brought
out a wire egg-beater. ‘ ‘There is some
thing in the egg line that will beat it, I
guess,” said he, reaching out for the
stakes.
“Hold on there,” said the farmer:
“let’s see you beat it,” and he handed
it to the grocer. The latter held out
his hand for it, but dropped it in sur
prise on the counter, where it broke two
soup plates and a platter. It was of
solid iron, painted white.
“Some, folks think they’re damation
cute,” murmured the termer as he pock
eted the stakes and lit out, “but ’taint
f» use buckin’ against,the solid facts.
Tlie Egyptians of to-day commence
the building of a house by tracing an
outline plan on the ground with the aid
of a sack of plaster.
— Tli e first work favoring the use of
Saturday as the Christian Sabbath was
published in 1628 by Theopliilus Bra-
boume, a clergyman.
—The studio occupied in Boston dur
ing the winter by Mr. Hubert Herkomer
has been taken for the summer by Mr.
Thomas Ball, the sculptor.
—The fashion of carrying fans was
brought from Italy in the time of Henrv
VIII., and the young men used them in
the 16th aud 17tb century.
,T. 1 ! 0 tabernacle was constructed
1491, B. C. Tiiat set up at Shiloh by
Joshua, 1444, B. C., was replaced bv
Solomon’s Temple, 1904, B. C.
—Tlie power of the town of Halifax to
put to death all criminals who stole any
thing wortli more than thirteen pence
halfpenny was used as late as 1650.
—The amount of paid notes of the
bank of England reaches the enormous
sum of £94,000,000, or 470,000,000. If
placed m a pile it would be eight mile"
high.
—Abdalla, the father of Mahomet
was a i>oor camel driver, but so hand
some that when he married, two hun
dred despairing maidens died broken
hearted.
—The leaves of the sunflower are em
ployed by the Chinese as a substitute
for, or for mixing with, tobacco. Its
fibre they use to adulterate and dye their
silken fabric*.
—The, Common Council of Hartford
has passed an ordinance forbidding tlie
sale of any cartridge, pistol, gun or other
explosive contrivance to any child under
16 years of age.
—It was said of the Prince of Wales
recently, by an Australian, that he never
makes any one remember his high rank,
although somehow he contrives not to
let any one forget it.
—The battle of Naseby was fought
Juue 14, 1645. King Charles, who com
manded the reserve, fled at the close of
the fight; losing his cannon, baggage and
nearly 5000 prisoners.
—Runrig is a term applied to a kind
of cultivation once common throughout
Scotland, in which the alternate patches
or ridges of a field belonged to different
proprietors or tenants.
—Rams of choice breed fetch from
$1,000 to $2,000 in Australia, while first-
class mutton sells in Adelaide and Syd
ney for thirty-seven cents the stout—
fourteen pounds.
—Mr. G. F. A. Healy, the American
artist, sends a fine portrait of M. de-
Lesseps to the Paris Salon, where it
hangs close by a portrait of Professor
Huxley by John Collier.
—Europe is beginning to recognize
the excellent quality of Indian wheat.
In 1881-82 the Punjab sent to France
six million cwt., and to Antwerp about
two-thirds of tliat quantity.
—The sword presented to General
Andrew Jackson by the General Assem
bly of Tennessee, in honor of his victory
at New Ooleans, is to be placed in trust
with the Tennessee Historical Society.
■ —The production of hooks and map*
in Germany, including new editions
during 1882 reached 14,794, as against
15,191 in 1881. Natural science, law,
and theology are all more weakly rep
resented. Mathematics, philosophy, and
modem languages increase.
—The ladies of Amite City, La., who
have gone into the silk-worm business,
instead of selling the cocoons, propose to
spin and sell their own silk, aud will
have woven fabrics on exhibition at the
New Orleans Exposition next year.
—Mr. Thomas Beaver, of Danville
Penn., has given to Dickinson College,
through its president, $30,000 for the
increase of its permanent endowment.
The fund will bear the name of his
father, in whose memory it is given.
—Stone mortars, throwing a missile
weighing twelve pounds are mentioned
as being employed in 757 A. D., and in
1232 A. D., it is incontestable that the
Chinese beseiged in Caifongfu used
cannon against their Mongol enemies.
—A pair of reins, bought at auction
for fifty cents gave rise to a replevin suit
in Massachusetts, in which over one
hundred witnesses were examined, and
the unsuccessful litigant, one Martin,
had a heavy bill of costs—about $500—
saddled upon him.
—Rapid as has been the increase of
the population of the United States, the
increase of the deal, dumb, blind, and
insane has been more rapid still The
number of all these thus afflicted is said -
to have risen from 68,151 in 1860 to 96,-
484 in 1870, and from that at a bound to
»*i «oq. 1880.
—The population of Mexico at the
present time is said to be 12,000,000, as
compared with 7,829,000 in 1856 and 6.-
000,000 in 1808. The hugest proportion
of the inhabitants are of the native race
Mexican Indian*. Although the national
language is Castilian, the natives still
speak the languages or dialects of their
ancestors.
