Newspaper Page Text
The City of tho Living.
In a long-vanished age, whoso varied story
No record has to-day
So long ago expired its grief and glory,
There flourished far away,
In a broad realm whose beauty passod all mea¬
sure,
A city fair and wide,
herein the dwellers live l in peace and plea¬
sure,
And never any died.
Disease, and pain, and death, those stern ma¬
rauders
That mar our world’s fair lace,
Never encroached upon the pleasant borders
Of this bright dwelling place.
No fear of parting and no dread of dying
Could ever enter there;
No mourning for the lost, no anguished crying,
Made any face less fair.
Without the city’s walls Death reigned as ever,
And graves rose side by side;
Within the people laughed at his endeavor,
And never any died.
O happiest of all Earth’s favored places •
O bliss to dwell therein !
To live in the sweet light of loving faces
And fear no grave between !
To feel no death-damp growing cold and colder,
Disputing Life’s warm truth;
To live on, never lonelier nor older,
Radiant in deathless youth.
And hurrying from the world’s remotest
quarters
A tide of pilgrims flowed
Across broad plains ami over mighty waters
To find that blest abode.
And there they lived in happiness and plea¬
sure,
And grew in power and pride,
And did great deeds and laid up stores of trea¬
sure,
And never any died.
And many years rolled on and saw them striv¬
ing
With unabatod breath;
And other years still found and left them living,
And gave no hope of death.
Yet listen, hapless soul, whom angels pity,
Craving a boon like this;
Mark how the dwellers of the wondrous city
Grew weary of their bliss.
One and another who had been concealing
The pain of life’s long thrall,
Forsook their pleasant places and came steal
ing
Outside the city's wall,
Craving with wish that brooked no more do
nying,
So long had it been crossed,
The blessed possibility of dying—
The treasure they had lost!
Daily the current of rest-seeking mortals
Swelled to a broader tide,
’Till none were left within the city’s portals,
And graves grew green outside.
Wo Id it be worth tho having or the giving,
The boon of endiess breath ?
Ah, for tho weariness that conies of living
There is no cure but death !
Cure were, in leed, a fate deserving pity
Were that sweet rest denied;
And few, methinks, would care to find the city
Where never any died !
— Elizabeth Akers Allen, Boston Transcript.
CALABASTA’S CREDITOR
The great clock of the court house
Ajaccio had struck 5. From the win¬
dows of an apartment devoted to the
use of the officers of the court, and in
which three of them were at the time,
lowering clouds could be seen, and the
low rumbling of distant thunder was
heard.
“A storm is coming,” said one. “We
can say good by to our promenade.”
“Let us play whist to pass the time
between this and dinner,” suggested
another.
“Will you make one of our party,
M. Calabasta?” asked the third of an
elderly lawyer who had just entered.
“No, I never play, never,” said the
newcomer in a solemn tone.
“What, have yon foresworn play? ’
“Yes, you have recalled to my mind
a gloomy incident in my career. Lis.
ten to me, young men. Perhaps you
will find a useful lesson in my story.”
Calabasta then began in a melo-dra
matic tone the following narrative:
“It was in 1860. I had completed
my law studies and was about to mar
ry a charming Parisienne, the niece of
one of the ministers of the govern
ment. I had been left a large fortune
by my parents, and had just placed
the sum of 10,000 francs with my law
yer who, since the death of my par
ents, has had charge of my affairs, for
the purpose of defraying the expenses
of my wedding. Wishing to end my
bachelorhood joyously, I had invited a
a number of my most intimate friends
to dine with me. The dinner was
very gay and was prolonged to a late
hour.
“At 3 o’clock in the morning, with
out knowing how I came there, I
found myself at a green table in a
gambling-house in the Latin quarter,
where a number of people were play
ing baccarat. I was a novice at the
game, but, being inflamed with wine,
I boldly attacked the bank. In a very
short time my pocketbook was sensi
bly depleted. Four thousand francs
had disappeared.
‘Play,’ said the croupier.
“As the players put down their
money I announced that I would play
against all the money in the bank,
The hanker distributed the cards, but
not without casting at me a sharp
glance from under his bushy eyebrow's,
I lost. After having settled with the
other players the banker counted all
the money before him, and then, turn
ing to me, said:
‘The play is dear—5,400 francs.’
“His count was correct, I took out
my pocketbook, which I found, to my
dismay, contained only 4,000 franc3, 1
searched my pocket. It was impossi
ble to make up the sum in the bank,
The friends who were with me had no
money left.
“Seeing my discomfiture, and believ¬
ing me to be an honest man, the bank
er ended my embarrassment by saying,
in a most courteous manner, that he
Would credit me with the 1,400 francs.
a i We meet often,’ he added with a
smile.
ii i I will pay you to-morrow,’ I re¬
plied, as I took my hat and cane.
“I took my loss lightly. It amount¬
ed to 10,000 francs, but that was not
much of a tax on my patrimony. Be¬
sides, I had ready money—the 10,000
francs deposited with my lawyer, and
intended for my tvedding expenses—
with which to discharge my debt of
honor. After having refreshed my¬
self with several hours sleep I hast¬
ened to my lawyer, who received me
with smiles, as he said: ‘I know you
have come for the money.’
“I obtained the money, and that
same evening, true to my word, I re¬
turned to the gaming-house. The
doors were closed. That morning the
police had made a descent on the place,
captured the gaming implements, and
dispersed the employes of the estab¬
lishment. There was no one to whom
I could pay the amount of ray debt,
and I had to depart without paying it.
“The time fixed for my marriage ap¬
proached, and my future uncle, the
minister, increased hi3 niece’s dower
in the form of a substantial wedding
present to make me deputy prosecut¬
ing attorney at Versailles.”
“Ah,imperial nepotism!” said laugh¬
ingly one of Calabasta’s auditors.
“Too much nepotism, indeed,” added
Calabasta, “for I was intrusted with
nearly all the celebrated cases, Ten
months after entering upon my duties
(I was then married) l was assigned
to take charge of the prosecution in a
case involving a frightful murder, in
which an old woman, after having
been robbed, had been cut to
“The crime of the line Mouffetaid,”
exclaimed one of the listeners.
“Precisely. The sentence condemn
ing the accused to death, pronounced
by the court at Paris, was reversed,
and the case was transferred for anew
trial to the Court of Assizes at Yer
sailles. The task was a trying one for
a person of my limited experience, and
many an anxious night I passed pre
vious to the trial. Often, half asleep,
I respectfully doffed my nightcap, say
ing: ‘Judges and gentlemen of the
jury;’often rising with a start would
I raise my voice and beat the coverlet
with my clenched hand, and often my
p 00r Adelaide (heaven rest her soul !)
as k e d if l were mad.”
a knowing smile was exchanged by
those who heard the recital,
“At length the great day arrived,*
continued Calabasta, quitting his seat,
“All Versailles was in the court-room.
After a crushing examination, to
which the accused responded only in
monosyllables, the presiding judge sig
nified to me that I might begin my ad
dress. 1 rose, and making a tragical
gesture with my right hand toward
the assassin, exclaimed: ‘Jean Beru
arp, lift up your head and look mo in
the face !’ At the sound of my voice
the accused turned toward me his
face, which assumed a strange look.
A hoarse ery escaped my lips. It was
not the first time those two eyes had
been fixed on mine. In a second the
memory of that unfortunate night in
the gambling-liouse came back to me,
and I fell senseless into the arms of
my clerk. The man upon whom I
was about to ask the court to pro
nounce sentence of death, the assassin
of the Hue Mouffetard, was no other
than the creditor whom I had sought
in vain to find. That is w hy I never
play.”
Calabasta dropped back into his
chair, and with his handkerchief
brushed the perspiration from his
brow. Ilis young friends no longer
laughed at him.
Effecls of the Electric Arc Light.
The electric arc light is very puz¬
zling in its effects upon the sight, even
when the eyes are protected by colored
glasses. It brightly illuminates every
thing on which it is flashed; but it
greatly intensifies the apparent dark
ness on both sides of the actual beam,
Seamen, too, who are using the light
become “night-blind.” Ordinarily
their night sight is very good, they
can at sea readily distinguish objects
which to a landsman’s unpracticed
gaze are invisible ; but when electric
arc lights have been flashing around
them for a few minutes, this valuable
gift temporarily deserts them. The
general feeling among officers and sig¬
nalmen seems, therefore, to be that, as
a rule, the electric light is rather a
nuisance than otherwise .—New York
Mail and Express.
How He Struck Them Both.
Mrs. De Boggs—Did you take
Johnny to school, Jeremiah ?
Air. De Boggs—I did. An excel
lent school it is, Matilda. The
scholars are models of deportment,
the curriculum is first-class and the
professor a man of ability. At least
that is the way he struck me.
Johnny (with a groan)—You ought
to have stayed about an hour and
seen how he struck me.— Call.
In the Firelight,
Tho firo upon the hearth «low
And thoro is stillneas everywhere—
bke troubled spirits, here and there
* ^ r^thol^dowr^^^me^orwp,
a child bh treble breaks the gloom
And softly from » further room
Comes: “Now I lay me down to sleep.’*
Antl som ohow, with that little pray'r
Ami that swoet treble in my ears,
My thought goes back to distant yoars
And lingers with a dear ouo there,
to me
crouched at her side I seem to bo,
And mother holds my hands again,
Gb> for an hoar in that doar p i aC e;
oh, for tho peace of that dear time;
oh, lor that childish trust sublimo;
Oh, for a glimpse of mother’s faoe !
\ ©t, as the shadows round me ereep,
Swe „ t mngio Tiny of tbnt troblo tono
<r’ow mo down to sleep !”
—Eugene Field.
HUMOROUS.
A coat of paint has no buttons
an it.
He is a miss-guided youth who does
everything his sweetheart asks him
to do.
Fresh oysters and roller skates are
much alike, because they both go
down rapidly.
Little Jack: “My mamma’s new fan
is hand-painted.” Little Dick: “Pooh!
who cares? Our whole fence is.”
The reason a miser can find no in¬
terest in poor people Is because they
have no principal.
A minister, having some of his old
sermons, was asked what he had in his
package. “Dried tongue,” was the
reply.
Nine hundred and fifty-five farms in
Iowa are owned by women. The rest
of the Iowa farms are only bossed by
women.
The man whose wife woke him up
In church by sticking a pin in him,
says he doesn’t like such pointed sug¬
gestions.
A Russian proverb—Before you go
to war,pray once; before you go to sea,
pray twice; before you take a wife,
pray thrice.
Eliza Mathilda—Have you ever read
any of Holmes’ works ? Charles Au¬
gustus—Oh, yes, I have read Holmes’
Sweet Home.
Bald-headed gentleman in the par
quet to young lady In dress-circle dur
ing an affectionate passage in the play:
“I respect your emotion, ma'am, but
you are shedding tears on my head.”
Seven hundred and flfty-dollar fans
are very common in New York, but
se nsibl©girls don’t look for such pre¬
sents. They take a fifty-cent fan and
$749.50 in oysters and and theatre
t.icketa.
“Smith, did you see my wife go
down this street ?” “Yes, she passed
about an hour ago.” Wonder what
piy chances are for overtaking her ?”
“Good. The sidewalk is just lined
with show-windows.”
A celebrated tragedian had a broken
nose. A lady once remarked to him:
“I like your acting, but to be frank
with you, I can’t get over your nose.”
“No wonder, madam,” replied the
tragedian. “The bridge is gone.”
One hundred and fifty inventions
relating to roller skates have been pa
tented since January 1, and yet it is
safe to predict that when a skater un
expectedly sits down with a dull, sick
ening thud, the language used or the
occasion will be the same as that em
ployed last year.