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The Montgomery Monitor.
£. C. SUTTON, Editor and Proprietor
JLZiUEL OR DEM OX.
Con call me i" angel of love ami of light,
A being of goodness ami heavenly lire,
Sent out from .God's kingdom to gnido you
aright
In paths where’your spirit may mount and
aspire.
Con say that I glo w like a star on its course,
hike a ray from t'. 10 altar, a spark from the
source.
Sow list to my answfcr: let all the world hear
it;
I speak unafraid w hat I know to be true:
\ pure, faithful love is the creativo spirit
That makes women: angels. I live but in
you,
,Ve are bound soul to boul by life’s holiest laws,
\nd if I am an angel, why, you ano the cause.
As my ship skims tlioisca I look up from her
deck,
Fair, firm at the wheel shines love's beauti
ful form;
And I shall scorn tho barque that last night
went to wreck,
Isy the pilot abandoned to darkness and
storm ?
My craft was no stancher; she too had been
lost
Had tho wheelman deserted or slept at his
post.
I laid down the wealth of my soul at your feet
(Some woman does this for some man every
day),
No desperate creature who walks in tho street
lias a wickeder heart tiliau I might havo, I
say.
Had you wantonly misused the treasures you
won,
Ami so many men with heart riches havo done.
This fire from God’s altar, this holy love flame
That burns like sweet incense forever for
you,
Might now boa wild conflagration of slfamo,
Had you tortured my heart or been baso or
untrue.
For angels and devils are cast in one mould,
Till love guides them upward or downward, I
hold.
I toll you, the women that make fervent wives
And sweet, tender mothers, had fato been
fair,
Ire tho women that might havo abandoned
their lives
To the madness that springs from and ends
in despair.
As tho lire on tho hearth which sheds bright
ness around,
Neglected may level the walls to tlio ground.
rho world makes grave errors in judging
these things,
Great good and great evil are born in ono
breast, ,
Love horns and hoofs US', or gives us our
wings,
And tho best eunld he worst, and tho worst
could he best.
you may thank your own worth for what I
grew to be,
Tor the demon lurked under tho angel in mo!
Ella Wheeleb Wilcox.
ZARAH, THE GYPSY.
BY AS ENGLISH EP-DETECTIVE.
“Will von take tin’s case up ? I con
fess that I am almost penniless, and I
must also confess that the accusation of
ty>t being quite so steady at college as I
might have been is true; but I did not
deserve this bitter blow, which it would
seem my father dealt me even on his
deathbed.
“He died abroad, and I find I am left
only fifty pounds a year, while my
brother Jack takes all the property, be
sides being rector of tho parish church,
which has almost always gone to the
youngest son. It’s true I was rusticated
at college, but I might have been or
dained for all that. The church living
alone is eight hundred a year. I don’t
believe my father made the will. If he
did, why did he not go to his old law
yers, Messrs. Palmer & dutch, and not
to the sneaking hound, Jasper Craw
ley ?”
The speaker was a handsome young
fellow about twenty-eight, with a face
which looked innocent enough. Still, I
doubted his story, which was as follows:
He (my visitor) was Charles (Jrantly,
younger son of the late Sir Graham
Grantly —a dashing fellow, who had
been so wild at Oxford that he was rus
ticated, much to the horror of Sir Gra
ham, who iu his old age had taken a
pious turn—although in his younger
days, if report spoke truly, lie was the
reverse of a saint. Sir Graham had died
while his younger son was in Italy, and
hud left a will, hastily drawn out by tho
lawyer of the county town, near which
Yorley Hall was situated—a will where
by the younger son inherited fifty pounds
a year, and his brother, the Row Gra
ham Grantly, the whole of his vast for
tune. An unfair will, truly; but Gra
ham had always been sternly and obse
quiously attentive to his father, while
the other . Rut there, the will had
been proved, and now I was employed
to find out if there had been any undue
pressure on the old man, or if tho will
was a forgery. It was one of those cases
I did not like, lmt things wore slack. I
had taken a fancy to the young fellow,
and I consented; and the next day saw
us traveling to the little town of Otter
burn, near which Vorley Hall stood.
Vorley Hall stood on a wood-covered
hill, and was a grand old place; while
down in the dell, not far from where the
stream or “bum” run, was the village
church, gray with lichens, save where
the ivy covered it with its rich green
foliage.
It had been arrranged that I should
appear not to know Charles Grantly, al
though we were to put up at the same
hotel, or inn—for the Flancton Arms
was little better than a public house.
We had arranged a code of signals, and
also made up a plot whereby we might
seem to become acquainted as if by uc
aident. That, of course, was to do away
with all suspicion as to the true nature
es my business.
The next day, at my suggestion, Mr.
Charles strolled with me into tho church
yard, where there were many old tombs
—placed carefully away from the spots
where “the rude forefathers of the ham
let sleep.” I was stooping down to ex
amine an epitaph, when Mr. Charles
said, quickly:
“Take care ! Here's my brother.”
“Don’t appear to notice me,” 1 said,
still keeping ihy eyes fixed upon tho
epitaph. “Speak to him, hut seem as
if you did not know me.”
lie took the hint in a minute, and ad
vancing to his brother, who was now at
the church door, held out his hand.
“Brother,” he said, “let us shake
hands. Ido believe you have done me
wrong, but let the past go by. Give me
but the smallest portion of what has al
pays been considered the due of the
younger son, and ”
“Stand hack !” said the elder brother.
“Do you think I will contaminate my
hand with touching yours ? Do not
force your presence on me.”
“1 do not wish to force my presence
jon you. If it wore not for the sake of
my wife and child——”
The very reverend gentleman warned
his brother off as if he were a leper, and
then mitered the church, carefully clos
ing the door behind him.
“There, what do you think of that ?”
cried Mr. Charles, as lie came up to me.
“I think that it does not prove much
in your favor, or say much in favor of
your brother’s Christianity. I must,
think this matter over. You must not
do anything rash. If your story be true
you have no ordinary man to deal with.
In this case the greatest caution must
be used, or hang me if 1 don’t think tho
parson will detect the detective. You
stop at the inn. I shall wander about
the country and pick up what news I
can.”
I silent that and many other days iu
wandering about the country, dropping
into country inns and low public houses,
picking up what news I could. I was
despairing of this doing any good when
it happened that I met a queer looking
old man—a fellow with long grev hair,
board and moustaches, and clad in a
long coat which reached down to his
heels. Seeing him enter a public house
I at once followed, taking care, however,
not to notice the fellow beyond giving
him one sharp glance.
He walked into tho bar, and, easting
a quick glance round, discovered a wo
man, dressed in a gaudy style, sitting in
i dark corner drinking what appeared
to be cold gin and water, and ho imme
diately went up to her, so that they pre
tended only to bo on speaking terms.
“Well,” said tho woman, “how’s tin;
gentleman? , Has ho got another wife?”
“Hold your tongue !” said tho man,
fiercely.
The'follow then sat down by tho wo
man’s side, and, calling for some nun
and water, began to talk the slang or
cant, language used by mendicants and
strollers.
I called for a cigar and listened atten
tively, although I appeared to be read
ing the newspaper. Having a slight
knowledge of the slang, I was able to
understand their conversation.
“Have you seen him ?” demanded tho
girl impatiently, as tho man filled and
lit his pipe.
“Yes. He is a parson up at the church
here. If you hold on right, wo may
make him bleed pretty freely.”
“Don’t fear! I’ll have no mercy on
him. He had no mercy on me, and I’ll
pay back tho ill with interest.”
“You would not be my daughter, Za
rah, if you did not,” replied the old
man, with a disagreeable chuckle that
made me shudder. “Now, the way you
must manage is this ”
But here the old ruffian spoke in a
slang which I could not make out. I
} leisurely strolled out of the house, hut
i kept iny eye upon it for some time, hop
j ing the man and woman might come
out. I watched in vain, and so went
hack to the inn, where I dined, and man
aged to make my news known to Charles
i Grantly. He would have conversed
j with me on the subject, but, as there
j were other people in the room, T sig
-1 nailed him to be silent. When I had
finished dinner I lit my cigar and stroll
ed out of the inn, motioning him to
follow me. He did so, and joined mo
| some quarter of a mile up the road.
“Now, do not he impatient,” I said,
I seeing how eager he was to begin, “but
answer me the questions I shall put as
j concisely as you can. In the first place
do you or your brother know anything
! about gypsy life'?”
“I do not. But my brother at one
time was almost an authority on their
manners and customs. You see, lie used
to pass his vacation mostly iu Spain,
| and I think he took a fancy to cultivate
the language of the gypsies there. I
know he can speak Romany, for I have
heard him do so.”
“Humph! There may be a clue
here,” T said. “But all will depend
upon you keeping things dark, and,
above all, you must not lose your tem
per.”
I then told him all I hud heard the
gypsies say, and had only just finished
when I discovered the Romanies coming
up the road.
“Hush ! Here comes her ladyship
and her father. IJo not notice them t<x>
closely. With these people, to have the
slightest suspicion that tin y are being
watched is to make them fold up their
baits, so to speak, and be off.”
i By this time the vagabonds had come
close up to us, and I noticed that both
the man and woman ha(l been drinking
heavily; for both were rather unsteady
on their feet, while the man now and
then sang snatches of gypsy songs. 'I he
' woman looked suspiciously at us, but
rlriuk hud made the man defiant. He
glanced at us and twirled his staff in a
somewhat threatening way.
Not wishing to have any dispute with
them, I drew Mr. Chari s through a
gate which led into a plantation by tho
side of the road.
“What do you think of these people ?”
• I asked. “They are the gypsies I told
you about.”
“There is something strange in all
MT. VERNON, MONTGOMERY CO.. GA., WEDNESDAY, JE.EY 27. ISS7.
this. I cannot moke it out.,’’ he said.
“I wonder whether tho Rev. Graham
Gnuitlv has not boon so pious and steady
as he would make out ? Tut I—that,1 —that, is
absurd! He was always far too cau
tious, if not too cold-blooded for that.
No, no; Graham would never do any
thing like that.”
I was not so curtain about this. How
ever, 1 said nothing; so we both strolled
on in silence until the sound of a child’s
merry laugh eauisod us both to halt, and
peeping over iu’.to a little doll wo saw the
Rev. Mr. Grantly rolling on the ground,
playing with a little girl some three or
four years of ago. A bright, merry lit
tle thing, with go lden hair, blue eyes, a
face full of little dimples, and a figure
light and graooC.il as a fairy s. Slio
alone could make her father break from
his cold, hard sternness—the asceticism,
real or pretended, which marked his
character.
It was a pretty scene—ono so full of
sunshine that no one could think that a
dark cloud was so close at hand. But
there it stood in the shape of Zurab, tho
Gypsy.
In an instant Mr. Grantlv was on lus
feet, his whole frame trembling, and hla
face pale as death.
“Zarah, you hero?” ho exclaimed, as
he put the child behind him, as if to pro
tect it from some dreadful danger.
“Yes, my own darling. Are you not
glad to see me? To think that you
should have come into all this wealth
and have forgotten your dear littlowife!”
“ Wife!" cried the man, with a trem
bling lip— “wife! It is false! I married
you ”
“By the Romany law, and afterward
was compelled to marry mo at the
church.”
“I was mad —drugged—drunk at tho
time I ”
“Tut! I have witnesses —the boys
and girls of my tribe —you have none.
Come! Whoso child is that which you
have there behind you?”
And the coarse, drunken woman ad
vanced as if she would seize the terrified
girl.
But Mr. Grantly was too quick for
her, and thrust her hack—not roughly,
but with the determination of a man m
despair.
“Btand back !” lie cried. “Touch on#
hair on that child’s head, and 1 will not
answer for the consequences. Zurab,
your story is false! How to prove it so,
Ido not know. lam not a rich man.
I am, for my station iu socioty, a poor
man.”
“Your station in society! And what
is mine ?” demanded the half-drunken
woman, fiercely. “I have always heard
that the wife is equal in rank to her hus
band. He raises her by marriage to his
rank. Then I am equal to you. You
shall not be master over tin’s beautiful
place unless I am mistress here. ”
At this moment the old gypsy, who
had been hidden behind a hedge, glided
forward, and said:
“Come, come, my llomee [woman],
don’t be too hard upon the Romm [man j.
He will make it all right with you, and
as you always did have a contempt for
him, a few thousands can settle the
matter, and we will leave him alone
with his new wife.”
Graham Grantly, still fearfully agi
tated, looked with horror at this new
arrival.
“You here !” ho cried. “I heard that
you were drowned on your passage to
New York, for which I paid the money.”
“Ah, you forget that those who are
horn to be hanged need not fear water.
I kept my word, and did go to New
York, and meant to go up the country;
but one day, as I was dozing on the
stern of a river steamer going up to New
York from a visit I had been paying,
some kind individual throw me into the
water. I did not see who did it, and
was so scared that I could not call out
for help. Luckily, I aru a good swim
nier; and managed to keep myself afloat
until picked up by a boat.”
“Anil what is all this to mo?,’
“What is it to you? It means that
yon are the would-be assassin—you, who
married my daughter. At first / thought
that I would give yon up to the clutches
of the law; but iiarah, hero, had some
affection for you, and I was ill—very ill.
Bo things were permitted to go on until
a proper time came for my daughter to
claim her rights. That time has come.
I demand that you acknowledge my
daughter the lawful mistress of Vorley
Hall.”
“Impossible ! The disgrace to my
wife and child ”
“Oh, you can think of her disgrace
can you, but not of mine ?” cried Zurab,
her gypsy blood sparkling in her eyes.
“Do you think I will spare her? No. I
have suffered long enough—now let it he
her turn. Answer me at once. Do you
mean to recognize me as your wife ?”
“Never.”
‘Then,” hissed the woman through her
teeth, “if, in wir U> the knife, !”
“Bo it so. If you will not lie bribed
“No bribe will satisfy me,” cried tho
woman, revengefully. “It is now your
honor against mine. You are willing
enough to destroy rne, and i will do the
same to you. In half an hour I claim
my place at tho Hall.”
With that the girl turned quickly away
and left the spot, disappearing in a
copse.
“What do yon think of that, rny boy?”
laughed the old gypsy, triumphantly.
“You will have ull you can do to get
ove r Zarah. I think you had better
come to terms. Own that you married
her, h ave her mistress here, and go
abroad with your other wife and child,
and v.e will sec that you have a good
allowance.”
Thin was said in such jeering tones
that Graham Grantly, who Inal up to the
present time shown a remarkable con
trol of his temper, could stand it no
longer. Springing forward, lie seized
the gypsy by the throat, and I do be
lieve would have strangled him, had I
not rushed forward and released the
scoundrel from his grasp.
I’ale, trembling, but calm, the Rev.
Mr. Grantly turned to thank me, when
“SUB DEO FACIO FORTITER.”
his eyes happened to meet flioso of his
brother, and in a moment his inspect
changed.
Starting hack, he exclaimed:
“You hero ! Then 1 suppose this is
some of your work. If you think to
make anything out of this you will bo
mistaken, you —”
“1 know nothing of this affair,” said
Charles, quickly. “Do not think that l
have a hand in this mutter. I would
scorn such an act. While I thought you
rich and prosperous, 1 own that I did
meditate something like revenge against
you. Now I know that you haveaseernt
gnawing in your heart, like some poi
sonous worm, all feelings of resentment
dio out, and those of brotherly love
come hack. Give me your hand, and I
will endeavor to clear up this mystery.
If you will not do it out of brotherly
love, at least for tho honor of the fam
ily.”
“Charles,” said the elder brother,
after a pause, “I feel that I ha ve done
vou wrong. Forgive me. When a man
has such t roubles around him us I have,
he needs every one’s forgiveness. There,
say no more. Come to tho Hull in an
hour. Then 1 will explain everything,
and make some reparation.”
The brothers, much to my delight,
grasped hands; and then the older one,
taking his little daughter, hurried away.
True to tho time appointed we were
at tho Hall, and were at once admitted
to the presence of Air. Grimily, who,
with his wife, was seated iu the library.
I saw in on instant that. Mr. Grantly had
told the lady all, for her beautiful fea
tures were stained with tears, although
before us stio kept her courage high.
After tho usual kind of introductions
had been gone through, Mr. Grantly at
once entered on the business. Os course
wo let him know my profession, and he
seemed pleased thereat.
The w hole story was quickly told, and
was us follows:
“While traveling in the United States
when a very young man, l foil in with a
number of gypsies. Always being in
terested in that most remarkable race, I
consented to travel with them, to mark
their manners and customs. Among
them was tho woman Zarah—a hand
some, bold, fascinating girl. She made
mo n great favorite, and protected mo
from much of the rough play of the
young men, who were jealous of me.
Blie iiad the pow er to do this, as she was
a bnurit i ranni, or queen. One day—l
think I must have been drugged, for it
was never in my mind to play so bad a
part I became perfectly wild. This
continued for a week, anil in that time i
was told that not only hud L married
Zaruli l*y the gypsy rules, but had also
gone through a kind of ceremony which
had been conducted by a kind of itiner
ant person—ono who, by the curious
laws of the States, is permit ted to marry
people. I repudiated the marriage, and
tho tribe threatened me with death. Bo
I bided my time, and, seizing a good
opportunity, managed to make my es
cape. For nearly a year I traveled from
place to place in hopesof avoiding them.
1 procured a declaration of nullity of tho
marriage in one. of tho Blades, and,
armed with that, I returned to England,
thinking myself quite safe. I married,
and—- You know the rest.”
“Oh, no—they don’t!” screamed a
defiant voice, and the gypsy woman ap
peared at the open window, with tho
evil face, of her father leering by her
side. “Oh, no- they don’t know tho
rest! We have to find that, out yet. In
the first plane let them all understand
that lam mistress hero. Who is that
woman ?”
Mr. Grantly turned pale as death, urnl
liis features became rigid. Turning to
his wife, he said:
“Believe, dear one, 1 am at least in
nocent in intention of this foul injury
to you.”
The wife end weed him tenderly.
“Charley, my brother, I cannot tell
yon how bitterly 1 repent the estrange
ment which lias been between us. B> n,
I have drawn you out a cheek which will
at, least add considerably to your income,
if you use. it well. I also wish you to
take charge of this sealed paper. If any
thing happens to me, open and read it,
—make it public if you will. The dis
grace of a deed is the committing it -not
the being found out, ns the Spartans
thought. Tell me, my dear wife, that
you forgive me.”
“Before Heaven I do !” cried the lady,
and the next minute she was iu his arms.
One longembruee and then lie put her
gently on one side and reeled like a
drunken man to t.lm deor. Zarah uml
her father, who had watched this scene
with cruel jibes and jeers, now burst out
into coarse laughter.
Mr. Grantly paused and turned to
look at them. Ay, sueli a look—such
as I hope never to see again; one full of
the deepest aiiguisli, and yet resigned.
He moved a step forward, as if to con
front the wretches; then wavered, us if
undecided; turned, held out his arms to
liis wife, anil then fell senseless on the
floor.
I took charge of the gypsy people,
while tin. others looked after Mr. Giant
ly. Doctors were fetched, and every
thing that could lx: done was done, hut
of no avail. Slowly lie sank, only just
regaining consciousness enough to em
brace the wife of liis heart, kits his
child, which had been brought to him;
one long shake of the hand with liis
brother, und the work of Zarah the
Gypsy was complete. Graham Grantly
was ih'.'id.
And the sealed paper? Well, it con
tained his will, and the written history
of what passed in America. Also a
d< iduration that lie lx lieved, and stiil
Indie veil the divorce obtained ill America
quite sound. Os course the estate, !«■-
ing entailed, went to Mr. Charles
Grant.!v. lmt he did not makeducks and
drakes of it, ns 1 thought lie would. The
lesson liis brother's fate Inid taught him
was never forgotten. The widow and
the orphan were most carefully tended,
ind I have In ard lie even saved from
absolute penury the broken-down and
Je.-olate “Zarah the Gypsy.”
M'KEE WOULDN’T IHE.
Lilly Ilrown Wanted to lie n Widow,
but Finds Herself Only a Wife.
[From tlio San Francisco Chronicled
Miss Lily F. Brown, of Oakland, on
coming of age last October, received a
fortune of (»0.000 from her father's es
tate. The possession of this money in
spired her with a desire to enjoy life
freed from the restraints imposed upon
voung spinsters by social conventional
ities. While living at the Brunswick
House in Oakland she proposed to a
friend, a widow, also stopping there,
that they take a pleasure trip to tho
Yosemite together. The widow assented,
suggesting that if they could both travel
as widows their enjoyment of the trip
would he greatly enhanced. “A widow,”
she slyly insinuated, “can go atxmt with
freedom, fiirt and have lets of fun; hut
a young girl bus to be careful.” Miss
Brown was greatly taken by the idea.
Black would certainly becomoher blond
beauty, she know. “If one could only
become n w idow without first being n
wife !” she sighed.
Another friend, Cupt. Richard Augur,
who lived with his wife at the hotel,was
taken into the Indies’ confidence. When
apprised of the ambition of the heiress,
he laughed and said:
“Why, nothingeould he easier. There
are hundreds of men dying in Bail Fran
cisco all the time. 111 timl you one.’
Tho would lie widow hailed the Cap
tain’s brilliant idea with deiight.i
proved as good as l;;s word. Going to
Dr. Anson A. Du Buy, a friend of his,
ho asked that physician if tie knew of
a man not likely to live more than a
couple of weeks who would lie willing
to marry a rich maiden, desirous of
changing her state to that of a charming
young widow.
“J have just the man,” said Dr. Du
Buy. “Frank McKee, a young printer,
whom l am treating for consumption is
afmost dying. Only your .young lady
will have to hurry the nuptials, for he
may not last two days.” Next day tho
marriage was jierforiiied at the Doctor's
office by a Justice of the Peace. After
the ceremony tlio almost unconscious
groom was t'lheu back homo and put to
bed.
Since then his bride lias been impa
tiently wait ing for him to die. She has
provided sums amounting to SI,OOO to
defray the expenses of liis supposedly
short, remaining spun of life, and of a
lirst-eliißs funeral when he died. Dr. Du
l’uy’s interesting patient., being provided
with all the luxuries and delicacies ho
craved out of the money, has evinced a
strange and persistent, inclination to dis
appoint all the expectations built, upon
tile strange marriage. Bo far from dy
ing, lie has grown stout and strong, and
evidently lias no intention of immediate
ly departing this videos tears.
Meeting liis bride on the streets a few
weeks ago, he assured her of liis abiding
love, and expressed n desire that liis
happiness would bo crowned by their
living together. To this Mrs. McKee
returned nil indignant refusal. Though
the unreasonable man insisted on living
in violation of the understanding that he
should die speedily, she did not dare to
resist liis appeal for funds. Tho secret
of the marriage was well kept, all this
time, though a blackmailer had tried to
I deed the heiress by threats of making
it public. On appealing to counsel, she
found that she could do nothing to ex
tricate herself from the dilemma. While
tier husband was living she was liis wife,
and, although she could refuse to live
with him, she could not obtain a di
vorce.
A reporter calling on Mrs. McKee to
day witnessed a strange scene. There
wiin a soft knock on the door, and tho
lady, rising to open it, much to her sur
prise, was confronted by her husband.
He slid into a chair with a weary, re
morseful look. Mis wife withdrew a few
feet, and surveying the intruder angrily,
demanded in icy tones:
“Wlrnt do you want, here, sir ?” Be
fore he could reply McKee was seized
with a violent fit. of coughing. At. tliin
Mrs. McKee’s face brightened. Hope
shone in her eyes. But the light died
out as McKee regained liis composure,
and it appeared that the spasms were
the consequence of tobacco having
lodged in his throat.
“i just wanted to let you know that f
bud nothing to do with putting it in the
papers,” lie said in a eon trite tone. With
an exclamation of disgust, Mrs. McKee
seated herself oil all ottoman, obviously
waiting for her unwelcome spouse to go.
His jet-black curls and pule, sad face,
tit by mournful eyes of teiideri st hazel,
evidently did not interest her. On liis
part, settling himself in his chair, McKee
continued to gaze for several minutes
with an expression of wrapt, but woful
devotion on tlio reed-like form of liis
young bride. Rising at, last, he held out
his bund and said: “Gixxl-by.”
“Good by,” she answered, coldly, and
without noticing iiis proffered hand. In
another moment lie was gone.
A Blew Up.
John Mardeti, a mechanic, of I’luenix,
R. 1., took home a piece of Ix’ef the
oth r day and Ids wife put it in the big
dinner-pot to boil, throwing a handful
lit rice in with it. A few minutes later
tlie pot exploded with great violence, in
juring John, who was sitting near the
stove smoking it pipe, and throwing the
steaming beef plump into his wife’s lap.
The explosion is supposed to have re
suited from the gas generated by the
rice, which was found to have been
burned on the bottom of the pot.
A Pirn: Indian near Camp Harney
Oregon, came very near paying a visit
to the happy hunting grounds recently.
He pniifted his gums a dark green and
his teeth a deeji red, and the paint
poisoned him. A rugged constitution
saved him.
VOL. 11. NO. 21.
Ol’T IN CHICAGO.
The Little Mini Failed to Turn tho
Other Cheek lie Apologized
and Then Fought.
“Look here, you can’t run against
mo iu tlmt kind of way 1” exclaimed a
large, reel-faced man, with bristling hair
ami w hiskers, to a mock-looking fellow
of average stature who had accidentally
brushed against him in hurrying across
West Madison street, near Moisted,
Saturday morning last at an early hour.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the
meek-looking man, in a deprecating
way; “if I ran against you it was aooi*
dental.”
“Well, it didn’t look like it to me,'
blustered the red-faced lailly, “and I
toll you right now you don’t want to do
it again.”
“1 have apologized to yon for it sir,”
wan the reply ; “ w hat more do you
want?”
“I don’t want any of your lip! That’s
what I don't want,” vociferated the bully
crowding the inoffensive and apologetic
man almost off the walk; “for two cents
I'd cling you one right now."
“I’m iii a hurry," pleaded the smaller
man ; “I have an engagement— ’’
“You'd better liavo an engagement. I
can tell you."
“I have to meet a person in ten min
utes,” persisted tin- meek looking man,
glancing at his watch, “but I think I
can make it in about eight, and unless I
am mistaken I can convince you in two
minutes that to take an apology is the
best and sometimes the safest way to
settle a matter of this kind.”
With this remark he shot out his
right list with the air of a man accus
tomed to gestures of that nature, and
landed it with precision and force on
the nose of the big bully.
“I can generally spare time from an
engagement,” he continued, as he plant
ed a blow with his left on the big man’s
jaw and adroitly dodged a heavy lunge
iu return, “to polish oil' a chap tlmt
needs it as badly as you seem to. I
think I'll give you another one right
there," said lie,'meditatively, as ho de
livered a crushing blow on the noso
again, “which will be accompanied by
the claret, not necessarily for publica
tion, but as a guarantee of good faith.”
The big fellow, taken by surprise, and
dazed by the vigor of the attack, struck
out awkwardly, but without effect.
“1 have less than a minute to spare. I
must hurry," said the smaller man, and
lie planted a blow under his burly nih
tagonist's ear, stretching him at full
length on the sidewalk. Then, looking
at his watch again, lie was oil before a
crowd had tinio to collect. The big man
slowly arose to bis feet and slunk away,
with a disposition to let the matter
drop.
The Women Odd Follows.
The Indianapolis Journal rays:—
Schuyler (lolfax was the author of
the degree of Rebekah. 11 in connection
with the order of Odd Fellows began
March 29, 1840, when he applied for
admission, and was afterward initiated
into South Rend (Iml.) Lodge No, 29,
and joined tho encampment branch of
the order soon after.
In September, 1851, he wrote from
liultimore: “We have been busy beyond
all measure this week, working about
eleven hours a day, and during every
moment of leisure electioneering stetuli
ly for my pet measure ‘the ladies’ de
gree.’ )l has been opposed most stren
uously; all sorts of objections have been
raised; all sorts of speeches against it
made; all sorts of attempts to stitle it.
You can judge, therefore, of my gratifi
cation, when nearly all of its friends
had given it up as hopeless, and when
its opponents were certain of victory,
when 1 toll you that at this moment we
have carried it by 47 to 27.”
(Jolfax conferred the degree of Re
lack ah upon thousands, and in Dash
away Hall, at San I'nincisco, is 1865, ho
conferred the degree on the wives and
widows of seventy five of his California
brethren, in the presence of over 1,200,
100 of whom were women. More than
70,000 women have taken the degree.
To-day the “ladies’ degree” occupies a
position by the side of the others of tho
order.
Schuyler Colfax always attended his
lodge when at home, no matter how
deeply he was engrossed in affairs
of state or business, and after his retire
ment from public life ho spent much
time in lecturing on tho lessons to bo
derived from the order.
The Volunteers Helped.
A good story is told hero upon two
old retired officers of the regular army
no.v laid up at Washington. These two
officers were well advanced in years
when the rebellion began, and although
in active service during the war, were
not specially di.-.tinguishod. They have
la in iiiciiilmts of the army colony for
many years, and liefore retirement man
aged tli continue on duty at and about
W, l .hinged as members of Hoards and
the like. At ohe of the monthly meet
ings uiul dinners of the Loyal Legion
last winter these two “Colmrgers” were
pn cut. Upon the occasion alluded to,
during tlm progress of the speeches and
songs, “The Volunteers" was proposed
hv a gentleman who had achieved dis
tine.l mu in the volunteer army. “What
ia proposed?” inquired one of the old
regulars of tin; other. “We are asked
to drink to the volunteers," w as the res
ponse. “Well,” replied tlie first speak
er, “we of tin- regular array can drink
tlmt. The volunteers helped u* out a
good deal.”
A Winnipeg photographer has put
himself in away to have a fine lot of li
bel suits. He recently exhibited a case
full of photographs of his debtors, each
being labeled with till' name, address
and indebtedness of the person repre
sented.