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THE ALL-GOLDBN.
i.
Thrmifrli every flippy lino I
1 foel the tonic of the spring 1 .
The day is like an old-time face
That gleams a< Home ift assy place—
An old-time fare-an old-timo cliwn,
AVbo riftofi from the grave to ©onto
And lure me back along tie* ways
Of Tiiue'8 alhgotden yesterdays,
f'weet I>ny! to tkiiB remind me of
The truant boy I i;«< m 2 to love —
To pet, once more, hi* Anger tips
Ayftiriht the blossom of his lips,
And fiijx* for me the fcSjrnal known
fly none but he and I alone!
n.
i across flie whool-room floor
The shadow <«f tit<* oj*<-u don .
And dancing dust and sunshine blent,
Slanting 1 the way the morning went,
And beckoning my thoughts afar
Where roods and mfining water# are;
Where n»nbor-eolored bayous class wisps of
The half-drowned weeds and
Where sj mv/Unrr fnrjrv, in lovck’flv key,
01 ng on and on incessantly.
Against the dim wood s green expanse
The eitPtail lilts its tufted lance,
While* f>n Its lip orm inight declare flicrcl
The white “mittko-foedor*' blo-;e»ined
I If
! catch my brf k atli, a* do
In woodland Hwlngr, when lib* h> new,
And fdl Hu* !> '-.j h warm * win
And ting'kH) wifli u Ihiik divine.
My Hf*u! Hoars up the atmosphere
And hiiijfH aloud where (»od e;iti hear,
And «!i m\ bein'. lea»is intent
To imult his Ktuilimr wonderment .
O, gracious dream and ter u’ion- time,
Ami pnici<Hi! theme, atul ktucIoU” i m mo
When l ii'b of Spring bonrin lo blow
In blosHoius that \v<? iihinI to know
And lure uh buck hJoiik tin* ways
Of 'firm ’» uU-tfoldmi vcHtonlayH!
—Jnmct Whilcnmh /turn, in Iwlidtintto'fA do tr¬
uck
MY IiOVi: STOICY.
** Ar<* th< vp ih> undfM'wrlU’Vff bo human
tiopfff*? for tli<* most precious of Interests Is
there no in un unee?”
1 had been tempted :ill dnV. sttimncrlong tempted
by fate and the devil. All
1 bail been trying to clasp hand- for a
life jotirne\ with a man 1 did not love;
a man noble of soul and horn to the
purple, who set up high lineage against
niy poor gifts of beauty and song. H"
threwsolnelovcintothe -eales, loo, bill 1,
God had heip me. had erawltile none |.ogivein whole return.
1 bartered mv | IS
sessions for a few glance* of :t chirk,
dark eye, and my nob* had gone to pro¬
test.
Gonhl I, eotthl I' 1 It kept folk.w'mv
mfi about with fateful persistency, for
to-night I was to give my answer to my
high-born l Ion ci\
tried to look things in the face, to
count the cost.
Money was in n winter good ami thing; delicious it insured cool¬
©no warmth
ness in summer, and prettine- ami
daintiness, and the entrem e into good
society. Yes, money was a good thing,
and position and power, and houses
and lands. So far, good; but mv soul
hungered and thirsted for g love com¬
mensurate with my own, which litis
man, who offered me purple and gold,
lurilttint I n 'lih'ir' iT T ' f gfd ■. <.i ; , lei
me qualify that, had it not in his nature
to give.
Tin i stars came out gulden and soft,
and tho fragrant summer dusk crept
around me where I sal inhaling the scout
of the roses. Ambition mid love tore
in, heart bv turn, and weariness, too,
tired, pul in I, poor tired. pitiful plea, for 1 was so
so
It was a brilliant .future that Reginald
Dacre. offered me, wherein toil and
weariness could never conic. 1 thought
of t he purple and line linen; the luv
urious rest; the emoluments! Then mv
dally life passed in review before me'
that of companion to a haughty, line
lady, and a singer in a fashionable
church, among fashionable saints mi l
sinners. I began to croon over the old
glitirv;
“,ln n i huixili which is leirnisiieii * till iiiniliim
him! cubit*.
. .. ,
ffniitn nntl subh*,
TMt pfnitDnis’ flnv-wos an* * • ilsHiii
TUv* oiiov ol Hiv.u'Vity'j* rim «U v oolo^ni'.
Hut surely G l,iifil«T it} iiiif tnuii Hu'Ites,
Could and giuo iwintH, nt this crowd, with ptiulors
m
lit* would iudios. siiv, looking ro\md ut (hr loi’ds mul
the*
'O whort? i* AU SlMU’1% tt’ tl»i is Alt
Saint*? 1 ”
1 had entered upon this life from an
tudovrd and unloviuy home, a home
doled 01,1 loinehy thetaniy justice of
inheritance. ngraml-unel 1 whohad thought roiihed me ol mv
at tirst 1 might
tiiul the 6ani»rval Munrwhoro m tins
«ew country, which seemed so fair, but
alas! I had not even heard tho swish
of wing-. it 'he
l thought of all fiera.nl the
- jV’“ • i i
u ',' v ,
, T t T ’ ' 11 ' j”
in;,,, , fft.cd t.nl. the lagging >'*’...s,
th'' awful pauses.
Thh or marriage; this or marriage,
It seemed written like « placard mi
earth and skv It seemed bound like
phvlaet'rv upon the brow - of the peo- '......
pic as the, pas-ed to and fro: if- and
the word liiMiTia.' U lost r.il siffiiiti
canee for me. as word- do ..ft. r oft re
pearing. Did it mean .......' miserx or happi
i " This
ness, I.r Woe. mam;: r»*
that rt: it*God-appointed? v ....iigos through Did my it brain moan
w s
God" blessing or His curse?
You know I did not love this man
w-lio offered me rest from my labors.
He had not power to evoke one thrill at
his call. But then love is only one
There reason why might one be should love marry plenty a man. of
aud
money, end vet one go hungry all one’s
life. 1 have known such things.
1 had tried to make my life straight
nnd fair. 1 had tried to keep clean
bands and a pure heart; Lied God
who knows the secrets of all hearts,
knows this—to tight despair. days.
Worn * • l-enir. jnvon sunshine; long calm
bare ot irrass amt
Bt|Ut
From which the silken sleeps were fretted
out-—
We see through shadows all our life
lone - . Woeotne into this world with
out our being given "out a choice os to our
advent ’ and go of it in the same mau
ne r. consulted to
Wo have not been as
birth or death. More and more the prayer
•of Epictetus haunts ine. “Lead me, Zeus
and Destiny, whithersoever \ am ap¬
pointed to go; l will follow without
wavering; even though I turn coward
d shrink, I shall have to follow all
!U1
the same.” Was he
Should I marry Mr. Dacre?
a «ood parti? as"the world said. lo»
good for me. as mv lady elegantly
phrased bad been it. born into the world , . amid . ,
1 anguish. My
fierce throes of mental
mother's heart was rent with the great
pain of ray father's sudden (bath
drowned off the Cornish coast, foi l was
horn at sea. She lived until I was ten
rears old, a life ot sorrow, ami died, poverty, lea
and renunciation. Then she v
ing to the care of a compassionate
world and my uncle, Of him I have
already My life spoken. dragged with clogged
on
wheels. I was always at war with
mv fttirrotindingH. had 'i hough realized too proud to
express it, 1 nexcr iny
ideal of womanhood, or in any way
grown iiji lo my aspira! ions anil dreams.
If I had grown at all it had been
through always pain and repression warm-hearted, a fatal
thing for a
earnest woman.
My uncle, Edward Earle, had pro¬
cured me the friendship of the lady
in w hose house i had passed n twelve¬
month- Mrs L ieien Granger, a distant
cousin of his own. 1 was an unsalaried
governess or companion, made our available remote
consulship being alw ays during resi¬
by my uncle, it was my
dence with that lady that my fate came
to me. A young nephew hall. Hews- of Mrs. Gran¬
ger’s wine to. the handsome, an ar¬
tist. voting and and fresh
from a four y< nr.-,' sojourn in Rome,
I need not weary you with the pro¬
logue or the epilogue of our Jove, for
word- are so poor to express the la art's
utterance. G golden day-! <) tender,
passionate nights' O princely heart,
come back to me!
Alan Leighton was the last sob of a
high-born family, and hecaus# of the
blue blood the united Wlood of all the
Howards flowing in Ids veins, llrs.
Granger interposed her fiat against our
love, dreading, doubtless, flic )d<"Wiau
admixture of mine.
It is a pity Ihntblood docs not ahvay*
tell. It v$as an inglorious triumph to
me yet still a triumph to bare my
white arms to the shoulder during our
gala nights to which my voice their was al
ways invited contrasting satiny
stnool hness and perfect contour with the
lean, brown appendages Mrs. Granger
felded over her aristocratic heart.
But a cloud crept into the sky, and
its shadow fell across our path.
Alan was called suddenly by telegram
to England, where his grand old father
lay dying. We had but a moment for
our farewells, for Alan’s heart was rent
witli sorrow, and 1 helped to expedite
hi> departure.
But one letter ever reached me. His
father was dead, and he was Sir Alan
now.
' My Vumui s Hulls: My father, whom I
lovfd and n'spccjDil above all men, died yes¬
terday. I need not toll you how desolate we
tool, and how tho liy ht seems to have died out
ol every nook and corner. M v dear mother if*
prostrated with tho blow which has taken
awa\ the lover of her youth, ami 1 shall not
be aide to return to you for some weeks. An¬
nounce our betrothal, dearest, to lutontlo,. iny ouijJy,Mid the
uiiekv^vhSeb; yoti know, was mv He to
VI *rv nhrht I was called away. true me,
v darliiuf Helen, as 1 shall be write true to length you.
Mood-nljtht, dear love. I shall nt
a h soon as my mother and 1 have lmitnred om*
plans for her lonely futim*. n«Hal-nl*rIit,aoed
niifht. May atiRels ffiiide you, and may the
frond Lather told about you His everlasting
amm. Your friend and lover.
••Alan Lkiohtov."
i wo years had dragged letter then slow and
length along since that came,
1 bad never heard from Alan, the prisoner though
craving his presence as
craves the sunshine. 1 lmd written him
cnee, and I had wedded regretted that, Earls ‘ lie
was soon to be to an
handsome aloud from daughter,” Mrs. letter Granger in her
read tut open
hand; “in fact, it was an old nfiair,
prior t** bis visit to th* 1 hall, etc., etc.
How I regretted 1 had written.though
the words had enabled been few. merely asking
If he had been to procure me a
certain book we hud made mention of
towel her, and the time was more than a
year ago when I had the right 1 hits to
mldivss him. Ami now! () pitiful
Christ! another woman was t ic his
wife, and now 1 must never think of
the old days, or the . >1 <1 dreams, or look
into his dark eyes, or feel his kisses
upon my .mkbsed lips! Never! and l
wevld’s million possibilities 1 hail only
the el.aneo of two either to wed Itegi
nald Dacre, a man old enough to be my
father, or to 1-e a coin,.anion to s.inm
haii<**bt\ woniMn. I hail uooui*'u upon
accenting Mr. 1 >aetv. The tinv note of
'/"'V' 1 »•**»
the leaves ot a book it was his nightly
o.tstom to tvad
Hut Alan! but Alan! , I nail , thought
him so true, so noble. 1 had called him
“mv • prince 1 " "im king.” alone in the
1 ‘.’l "l' ti ° 1 ,b v v ".th mi
- heart,
, , * h «' 1 "ht-pevd m im
U‘ * ,' ;, v 's. ’ r . hn ; ,t! “' >«>' * 1 ivy,it flown 1 to o the ''
«»’ l ^ r ' ! !
,
11 1 n V, ,nan 11 L '' ' ’ ll1 .
=u*es dead , under its waves: tff gold ,, :...« .
jewels lying on green beds of moss; of
argosies gone down, the wail of human
misery their requiem, i tried to re
member all this, so that mine might not
seem such a great thing amid a world of
sobbing and tears, It was a good thing and
to think of the sufferings of others,
try to ignore voitr own: a good of the thing. girl
But. mv misery ! the misery
called Helen Brest on!
This girl was somewhat of a genius,
the people said. She possessed handsome, the gift
of song and she was too.
men said. And she had two cl Minces in
the world, and if she had had money
enough to have utilized her gift of song
she might have had three.
But she had smirched her soul, for all
her beauty and gifts; had been false to
herself, to God and humanity; false.
too, to Reginald Dacre. for she kept her
love for Alan loeked in her heart.
“ 1 have sold nay soul for houses and
lands.” she said, “ and 1 am wretched,
Mea culpa! Mea culpaT’ with
■■ 1 have sold myself open eyos,"
she said, “knowingly, with roaliee pr t'
pense. I have no one to blame. That
Ahtn forgot his vows did not make it
right that 1 should forswear myself.” and
the sea. with its fuss fret,
made mv heart ache, and the turbulent
water seemed wooing me hitherward.
The chime* of our quaint 0 j,j church,
playing an old song, caused a choke in
grand iny throat. airs from I would the go k nt j invoke
1 should forget the sea’s organ, And mayhap
theite roa,,.
ft was my wont to go to prac¬
be tice. held and for I knew half the service hour. (would IT be lights not
a
wen- turned down to a semi-darkness,
anil the old sexton, with whom I was a
favorite, had left the key in] the door
for me. The moon shone S'-rose the
organ keys and across my facie; dreks and the
trailing folds of my white looked
almost church! ghastly O in quaint its light. old Chiracs! () quaint Too
old
soon I would be far away from you,
over the sea with to my suitor's heavier lordly heart home,
carrying me a than
my years should warrant.
But it was too late to look hack: ami
the fault was mine. I had ruined mv
own li e, and muff forbidden pay the pri thh >e. desire Be¬
cause 1 had been
of mine eyes, 1 had sealed my fate, I
had bound my hands, and had intoned
Phoebe Cary’s uriieff wailing the (food words: ariftsTl.y bounty
“I huvo t from
Hocauac supplied tlie me, which Thy wisilod denied
of one
me:
i have band send bound mine aye#—yea, qf.ne own
Immis have me; l Aht
I have made me ft darkness when was
Now I around ine. the wayaMo, O Lord, that t: X mlffht
cry by Hij^hi,” iJ
rf'-five buck my heifd \
“I’cccavi,” 1 cried, and my sank
upon tlii organ and tears stainhd the
red roses at my throat. I
“Helen!” and. my head waff lifted
gently and Alan Leighton’s tender cyr:3
in. f mine. “Alan!” was all my aston
i -hrnent could utter. ^
“My girl, you have stiff)'red,” he
ejaculated, in a tone of exquisite ten¬
derness. “Helen, my first, and, only
love, how learned, we have hour been wroBgeif. I] I
only an Ix'fore the false cm
barked, that you were not uV
woman you had been painted me.
Mrs. Granger wrote had roc ‘married) eighteen Mr.
months ago that you
Dacre. ami left with him for Cuba.’ A
subsequent letter, without date pearl or sig¬
nature, inclosing the tiny pin I
bad given your, left me no roon* for
doubt. I left England forever, and
have been on for the wing heart ever since, find¬
ing no rest my suffered on few sea or
shore. Helen, I as men
suffer because of losing you, aad bo
eauso of your apparent falseness. But
1 could not waste mv whole life be¬
cause of a woman's untruth, so 1 tied
up the broken threads and tried notvto
look back. It was by chance 1 met
Herman Sloan, and Sri tho midst of
mutual confidences he asked me why and
1 had never returned to America
to tl.o beautiful Helen Preston, who
had declined all suitors, and was stilt
unwed. Helen, 1 embarked that after¬
noon, and 1 am here, never to he part¬
ed from my darling. When will we be
married, sweet?”
“Married! Alan,” and the dreary
present recurring to me, 1 withdraw
myself from his arms, and almost un¬
consciously my lips framed the word):
“ I had died*for this last Who year to know fato?
You had loved me. shull turn oji
1 care not if tovo come or go
Now; though your love seek mine To - rn|*V,
‘ 'two U’.-vcf HriUsJrrTnv oiity
plain your moaning, for God’s sake.
Then came a broken, disjointed tale
of iny sorrow and temptation when I
heard of his handsome and blob-born
bride; of my weariness of the hall; of
Mrs. Granger: of myself, of Mr. Da
ore’s constant wooing, and a t last of the
little note only this night thrust be¬
tween the leaves of his book, making for
Alan's coming forever too late my
happiness. along the road, and
Rapid hoof-beafs in sight.
mv courtly lover came
"Saved! Alan,” and my words came
thick and fast.
Engage him in conversation, Alan,
regarding tho hall, Mi’s. Granger, 1 wifi tfye
weather, stocks, etc., etc. escape
by the vestry door, fly to the hall! se¬
cure the note! and then, O, Alan!!”
but “My I darling, my bright ofusr darling!”
broke from nis p and sped
away likv a chamois to the hail. 1 did
not need that the iv.»eo tell from itiy
throat, that a portion of iny . la e
flounce graced a Utt.rn-lmsh, ortiiHt 1 u»y
hair, unloosed from its fasteniusrs. htiiig
about ntv shoulders. I think if I I fad
possessed a piece of paper I should h»V©
held it aloft, and should have shouted a
note and hid It in mv bosom, of how 1
ran up-stairs and peeped for one mo
ment into the nurror, twisting up my
sliininff hair, and trving to hush the
Umu beating ut mv heart, ot riow I
rapidly traversed the path leading to
I' 1 ”, ‘'»‘urch. oodgmg behind an Dacre. sage
hedge to escape meeting Mr.
burry, tig on as soon as 1 was tree, to bo
tub lod closiMo A !an s hearts
“ And von will not laugh nt me Alan?”
wherefoTv!’” “Laugh at * von. mv * darling.
“Ort, . ,, formvn.au , flight , , for » ,, tec red ,
roses scattered all along th-road: for
“ V l, " U,,,ml ' u f >"'d iv!l ' nr ' K ‘. r
proposing to rut, and steal the note, :«nu.
^
For answer came tenth';- kisses pressed
l|pon brtnx ;lnd cl eyes,
Mr. Lord Level (Mr. Dacre) rodo
forth from the castle gates alone.—GA:
ac;jo Tribune.
liow to Be Nobody.
Tt is easy to be nobody, and we will
tell you how to do it. Go to the drink¬
ing saloon to spend your leisure time.
You need not drink much now- just a
little beer or some other drink. In the
meantime, play dominoes, or something
else to kill time, so that you will he sure
not to read any useful books. If you
anything, let it he the cheap novels
0 f the day; thus go on head keeping your aud
stomach full, and your empty,
yourself jn playing tune-killing be games, and
a few years yon will nobody, nn
Jess yon should turn out a drunkard, or
professional gambler, either of which
is worse than nobody. hanging There are around any
number of ‘just voting men
bar-parlors, ready to graduate and
be nobodies.
—Rev. John Hall, D. D.,of New Y'ork,
iu a recent lecture said Siberia was the
most fertile district of Russia, aad many
of the exiles sent there richest by the Gorcm
ment have become the and most
prosperous people in the Russia.i do
minion.
A Tn'e ta /\Struggling Yotjig Ports.
Mark Twain contributedpie following
amusing sketch to a publication in Buf¬
falo, printed in the intercut of the Ho
Bieop&'liic Well, sir, Fair : fel¬
once there was a young
low who believed lie v. a.s a poet; hut the
main difficulty witn him Many was to get any¬
body else to believe i*. that rock—if and many
a poet lias split on it is a
rock. Many and God. many The a poet will fellow split
on it yet, thank young
I speak of used all the cu.tomary de¬
vices—and with the customary results—
to-wit: He competed for prizes and
didn’t take any; he sent specimens of
poetry to famous people and asked for a
“candid opinion,” meaning a puff, and
didn’t get it; lie took advantage of deal
persons and obituaried them in oatensi
lil# poetry, bnt it made him no friends—
certainly none among the dead. But at
last he heard of another chance ; there
was going to be a homeopathic fair in
Buffalo, aecomi>anied the by the editor usual inof
fensive pa}>er, and of that
paper offered a prize of $2 for the best
original rioem on the usual topic of
“ Spring h —no poem to lie considered
unless it should possess positive value. he
Well, sir, he shook up his muse,
introduced into her arousing charge of
inspiration from his jug, and then sat
down and dashed off the following mad¬
rigal just as easy as lying :
HAIL! BEAUTEOUS. BOUNTEOUS, GLADSOME
SPRING.
A VO EM BT S. 1.. OLrYEXS.
: No, l.lGi, Ha»tfori>, Conn., Nov. 17,1880. :
GEO. P. BIKHKLL fc CO.,
HANKERS. ;
' Pay to Mr s. lhir i ’ <Sray , or order^
Eor IlameoiMitbic Fslr, ;
: ten...... ......Dollars. :
Motucthold Account.
8. L. Cl.EilEXB.
Did he take the prize ? Yes, he took
the prize. The poem and its title didn’t
seem to go together very well; but no
matter, that sort of thing has happened
before : it didn’t rhyme, blanks neither was all it
blank verse, for the xvere
filled—yet it took the prize for this
reason : no other poem offered was really
worth more than about $1.51), whereas
there was no getting around the petrified
fact that this one was worth $10. In
truth, there was not a banker in the whole
town who was willing to invest a cent in
those otlier poems, but every one of
them said this one was good, sound, sea¬
worthy poetry, and worth its face.
8uch is the way in which that strug¬
gling young poet achieved recognition at
last and got a start along the road that
leads to lyric eminence —whatever that
may mean.
Therefore, let other struggling young
poots he encouraged by this to go on
striving. Mark Twain.
Hartford. Conn.. Nor. 17, 2880.
Animal Lite Here anti Hereafter.
A lively writer propounds and answer:
a question thus: “Who say's animals d<
not have a future existence? Look at
the chicken, for instance, who dies and it
cooked, hut his feathers paradise.” on a lady's lie-t
become a bird of Aside fron.
the humor of the foregoing, there cornu
r question: Why should man arrogah
tt. liimsslf the sole right to live Lereaftoi
while blotted all the animal kingdom existence' is to Annum, be ut
icrJy oat ot
have mind of a certain order, and main
human ways, such as exhibiting then
love, hate, belligerency, fear, disgust
and tendencies to fun. That delicate ami
exquisitely organized little songster wh«
sprung from the warm clime of the Cans
ries, evinces intelligence the of certainties no mean tliai ot
dvr. and it is one of
its fair owner, with her sympathetic no
tore, does not believe in the annihilation
ef her pat. Human beings kill and de
vonr animals and generally thee* animals think hav* no
move of them. Yet
the same fear of death aud tho same low
of life as man, and upon that very fear
and love, in mau is based his hope of
another life. It is now generally agrciei
that what, has fitter, ealled instinct in aid
mals is mind, for many of them seem to
reason from cause to effect in providing
for themselves and their voting, and pro¬
tecting the lives of each from assault.
Naturalists are beginning to have some
naw ideas of criminal existence, and some
of them think that when the Creator en
flows anything with active animal life H*
do»s not raeau that it shall be utterly da
»troyed.— Exchange.
Soldiers radar Fire.
m vou CW i find a soldier who,
L v m ■ ‘ •
■
J ‘ ‘ scemmg to reason that the
^ive « tl . . _,:ii -i.—.n ,, r
tim ewAnd v«*t tliis nenmu s
.* ‘
. ^, *» i „ f * Y v
t ^ u K> (1 , ufe'and death.
^ Hitl seventeen rolclicrs
to an 0)no vepiment mwoml took
dfv ditch, which
admnft y 'V - *• L'.j a (in',,,
«’gmmnt charged ' tlus ' U ric , ",„,.,t 1 an th.e,
times, and w.re time h .n s ;.r:ven b. k
Tne tire was Ion and rapid, ana the loss
o{ th( . ir gWsS v;us than 190
killod iu ten minutes. Regiments losing have
been ^ engaged ^f for an hour without
rhi lh!lt lmmbi r. The fire of
these seventeen was so . . ntinuous that
McClellan forwarded a 1 u . cic t*> their
fcUp . N) , t , believing that «a entii
moat had hern cut oil.
Muscular Clergyman.
-
Rev. Phillips Brooks, D.D., of Boston,
is a man of gigantic appearance, weigh
ing more than three hundred pounds.
Last summer he and two other clergy
men of about his own size and weight,
traveling iu Europe, stopped fit a bathing
establishment where bathing suits are
provided for these who wish to enjoy
the luxury of the bath. Dr. Brooks
first presented himself to the astonished
bath propri tor, who said that it would
be impossible to fit him with a suit, ana
asked him where he came from. l r.
Brooks replied: “Oh, I am from Amer
iea. This is the kind of men we Amer
icans aie.” The next clergyman then
presented himself, with simi ar qneMion
astonishment ,ug and answer. of the 1 .gtb'man the thir 1
enormous brotherstepi dup oLd wanted
a suit— Enhanoe,
*
Ges Gambaldi’s health has beeneu
tirelvrestored bv his residence on the
uenocse coast, He froquentlv visits the
villages along the shore in
small boat. His friends l> ieve that lit
will live ten years longer, at least.
Tommy or Timmy.
Probably the most unique and intri¬
cate case that ever puzzled the minds of
any tribunal in this great republic has
been taxing for a week the judicial abil¬
ities of the Supreme Court of this State.
To the careless observer the learned
Justices have appeared much as usual;
but to the keen and profound student of
human nature it has been evident that
matter of the gravest import has been
pressing on the minds of those pure and
aide men. There was noticed a painful
slowness of gait as they passed to and
fro from the bench, an unmerited silence
at meals, a.'id their calm, austere coun¬
tenances, “sickbed o’er with the pale
otwt fathomless of thought,’’ cogitation all showing the almost
the going on within
mystic chambers of their great in¬
tellect*. I hose near and dear to them
have also been struck with the at¬
mosphere of intellectual preoccupation
which, night after night, has hung
about them, as in the solitude of their
respec'ive chambers they have been ob¬
served to bend their sternly-knitted
brows over musty tom 96 for hours at a
time, in the absorbing eearch for some
gem, tangled as it were, among the very
weeds which shoot up from the lost bot¬
tom of the vast ocean *f legal truth.
The simplest statement of the case of
the Manning against mind. Miteherson Island staggers
most astute On the of
Doboy, near the City of Savannah, live
two most estimable ladies, refined, cul¬
tured and comfortable—one Mrs.
Manning, the other Mrs. Miteherson.
Tbe-e excellent ladies and next-door
neighbors bird were the hanpy whose cheery owners chirp of a
■canary each,
tmd warbling song mads the daily lives
of their owners flow along as sweetly
and as smoothly as flows the lovely
Savannah, which softly biases the smil¬
ing shores near the mansions whereon
the cages gently swung. The names of
the precious warblers are not given, out
of consideration for the family prob¬
ably, but for identification one may bo
called Tommy and the other Timmy.
The reader, fancying he hears Tommy
singing in the porch of Mrs. Manning
and evoking strains responsive from
Timmy in the porch of Mrs. Mitciicrson,
may form a faint idea of the ineffable
bliss filling the heart of each lady as she
reflected how utterly harsh and dis¬
cordant were the notes of the bird she
did not iiave the misfortune to possess.
The birds were both of the top-knot
species, and were so much alike in size,
color and ensemble that it was impossi¬
ble to distinguish one from the other.
Indeed, as the worthy mini-ter of the
two families remarked: “They were so
much apart that you couldn’t* tell ’em
alike.” However, in the month of Oc¬
tober, 1881, Tommy got lost, and a
shadow.hung In December over the Manning man¬
sion. the following Tim¬
my got lost, and a cloud faong over the
Milcherson piazza. of Baton the male joyous
new year morning l*Si a in¬
habitant, name not, given, of the Island
of Doboy, while strolling on the strand
under the overhanging magnolias, cap¬
tured a canary bird which he at once
recognized as the long-lost Tommy,and
turned it over to Mrs. Manning. Learn¬
ing of this important happening, Mrs.
Mitobeiwm and convinced pro,'.lid upon that the it little C-Sllt !'.•<’■
was was n <n<
other than her own dear little lost Tim¬
my. This Mrs. Manning denied, and
when Mrs. Miteherson demanded the
bird Mrs. Manning refused to surrender
it, claiming it as her property, where
upon Mrs. Miteherson had recourse to
the majesty of the law and forthwith
sued out, a possessory warrant to recover
the alleged Timmy.
The ease was brought a
of tins peace and many witnesses were
introduced on both sides. The question
was one purely of identity, and the tes¬
timony was wonderfully conflicting, a
score swearing to the best of their belief
that Tommy was Timmy, and an epial
number attesting that Timmy was Tom
my. “But Timmy had his top-knot
parted asserted exactly in the middle,” triumph¬
antly Mrs. Miteherson. and the
Miteherson wing of the litigation was
about to take, possession of the bird
when the Manning faction came to the
rescue armed with a number of oaths
that Tommy also parted his hair exactly
in the middle. The justice, after a
night of mental agony, gave his deci -*
ion, and delivered the bird to
Mrs. Miteherson. Mrs. Manning's law¬
yer at once resorted to a certiorari, and
the case was appealed to the Superior
Court, in which, after an exciting con¬
test,, the decision of the justice’s court
was affirmed. But firm in the convic¬
tion that it was Tommy and not Timmy,
and in the belief that justice had been
thwarted, ,*he representatives of Mrs.
Manning and'the appealed to a still higher tri¬
bunal, ease of Manning against
Mitcher.-ox—Tommy and Timmy—
found its way to the Supreme Court,
the controlling question in the argument
being whether the bird was fera nalura al
(wild by nature). The case had
ready cost over SodO. Mrs. Miteherson,
it is true, had Timmy, or Tommy, but
she was obliged to give a bond for
double the value of Tommy, or Timmy,
to relinquish him If he was not hers.
The case v, as to have t een decided on
Saturday la-*, as appears from the sten¬
ographic report of its analysis by the
learned judge, vh ' said :
“In this cause it appears that two
i.-.ettes ot t-a van nan, Mrs. Mannerson and
Mrs. Mitching, had two canary birds,
that belonging to Mrs. Mammy being
named Tomruering, and the one belong- named
ing to Mrs. Tlmmering being her
Miteherson. Mrs. Tommerson loses
bird Mitching, and a short time after
Mrs. Timmerton loses her bird Man¬
uington. As I understand it, Mrs. Tom
m ing and Mrs. Timmington entered the
justice’s Court with one of the recovered
birds in dispute as to the ownership, the
j u5lice q e ,.i<bng Mrsfer-ker for Mrs. Timmyton,
thereupon Mizzes-er Tom
r j n _ Ahem! As I said, Mizzes
Vomytimmy. until This week, Court owing reserves to the its
decision next ~
l)re - so f oilier matters.”
* M ^ Miteherson wa« made
A c le ne d Judge having, by a
period of rest, recovered the use of his
faculties, re net rated the intricacies of
th(j ca - e „; ven a decision in her
avor . Lre this Timmy is probably
warbling sweetlv upon the Miteherson
porch in consonance with the happy
thoughts animating his mi-tress, while
no resoonsire strain comes from Tom
my's empty cage .—A f.mta Cor. Chicago
Times. ’
SCRAPS OP SCIENCE.
The Mormons raise carrots in order to
3raw the superabundance of alkali out of
the ground. of
Scientists have eauglit the skeleton
a mammoth reptile in t.ie‘ Rocky Moun¬
tains, and they now call him Stegosau
run.
Aboft 82,000 different species scientific of plants
have been distinguished number by dif¬
men, and 3,800 of this are
ferent forms of grass.
A new process for using old steel has
lately l>eeu patented in England. By it
a new metal of extraordinary strength
and ductility is alleged to be introduced,
which is expected to prove of great
value. Steel remade on this plan has
sold readily at $225 per ton.
The pachymeter, lately patented in
Vienna, which measuretfrhe thickness of
paper to the 1000th part of an inch, is
outdone by the micrometer caliper, which now
coming into use in this country,
determines the thickness of paper, or
anything else, to the 10,000th part of an
inch.
The genealogical tables of the reigning
and other princely families of Europe
have of late been examined to determine
the mean duration of the life of a gen¬
eration of the human race. The life of
princes does not appear to be anything, majority
if at all, longer than that of the the
of other people, for the data which
tables presented gave a period of thirty
years as the mean limit of a genera¬
tion.
Seveiiatj changes in the summit of
Mount .Etna have been observed by Prof.
Silvestri since the Inst display of volcanic
activity. The summit is now 3,300 tho
metres above the level of the sea,
height having decreased the twelve metres;
the interior edge of crater has in¬
creased from 1,500 metres to 1,800
metres, and the eruptive axis, which was,
before the eruption of 1879, on the west
side of the crater, is now right in tho
center.
A kemakkable instance of preservation
of the mental and bodily faculties to a
very advanced age is presented by tho
ease of M. Chevreul, professor of chem¬ in
istry and natural science, who is now
his ninety-fifth year. This more than
nonagenarian savant has just finished,
for the fiftieth time in his lengthened ex¬
istence, ills annual course of lectures on
“Chemistry Applied to the Study of Or
gnnized Beings,” at the Muneum of Nat¬
ural History, in Paris.
A comparative analysis of the statis¬
tics presented in the suicide records of
France and Sweden has been made by
M. Bertillon, of the Anthropological
Society, Paris, with the result of estab¬
lishing, on what he thinks quite satis¬
factory evidence, the two suicide following laws:
1. Widowers commit more fre¬
quently than married men. 2. Tho
presence aud influence of children in the
house diminish the inclination to suicide
in men and w oman.
A resident of Germantown has in his
possession an interesting relic of a pub¬
lic benefactor. This is a silver tankard
weighing 20 ounces, which was the prop¬
erty of Gabriel Wilkinson, tho first mar¬
ble mason of Philadelphia, who died 14S
y—' ;ie T 'S a go . He hung the marblo tankard yard from- for
t l ump in front of ins
the benfeav f thirsty passers bv. D
would not be sale to. <,••(■ b.mei
to hang that silver tankard in such «
conspicuous place—-even iu Philadel¬
phia.
The Robber and the Editor.
“Listen, mv children,” said a venera¬
ble man, “and I will tell you a story,
beautiful and true. Once upon a time
there was a bad, bold robber, who had
his haunt in the wilds of a mountain
At the foot of the mountain,in the valley,
was a village. It was not a very large
village, yet in it a newspaper wa.?
printed. The robber looked upon the
editor of the newspaper as being the
chief man of the village, and thought he
must be very rich. So one dark night the
he came down from his den in
mountain and stole into the dwelling of
the editor and then into tho room where
he slept. The editor, being a good man,
slept as soundly and sweetly as a child.
The robber searched all t he place, but
could not find the caskets of gold and
diamonds he had supposed to be stored
up in the room. He then put his hands
in all the pockets of the clothes of
the editor, but found no money in any
of them. The robber then stood for a
time as in a stupor. He was like one
awakened from a dream. He listened
for some moments to the deep, regular and
breathing of the sleeping editor, as
he stood so he began to feel sad. The
heart of the bold, bad man was
touched. Quietly betook from his purse
SI.75, placed tlie money in the panta¬
loons pocket of the editor, and softly
stole from the house. In the morning,
when the editor got up and put on his
pantaloons there was a jingle as fof
money. A look of astonishment came
into the face of the editor, lie put his
hand into his pocket and drew out the
money. When he saw this great wealth
the knees of the fainted, editor smote together;
he turned pale, and fell to the
floor, and there lay as one who is dead.”
“Oh! oh! grandfather, did they catch
the bad robber man and hang him on a
tree?”
“No, my dears, they did not catch the
bad, bold robber. He is still living.
From that day he reformed, big and got a
place as cashier in a bank, where
you will be glad to hear that he is doing
well church.” and is greatly respected by all in
his
“Aud the poor editor man, grantl
father! What became of him ?”
“Ab, yes, my darlings! 1 had almost
forgotten him. Well, when he came
out of his faint, aud his eyes again saw
all the money lying about the room
where it had fallen, he was sorely per
plexed. At last he felt sure it had been
quietly placed and in his pocket in the night
by a great rich neighbor, who owned
a tanyard, and was running and days for the Leg
Mature. So for days he printed
in his paper whole columns of praise of
the rich neighbor, who was elected to
j Hie oflice, and ever after the two men
- were the greatest friends. Thus, my
1 ! their dears, reward. do good actions, Virginia always meet with
City Enter -
l prise.
The Philadelphia manths Times regards lal of fifty one
j practical business e *s
pirilanthrophists. ;
