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THE MASSAGE TREATMENT
AN ancient art of healing that
IS WORTHY OF HODERN PRACTICE.
It DinM Be Plfd Intelligently end
AtrurSIng to Well Settled Principle*.
However—Shirley Here Chet# About
Who Are Proper Meeeeure end Pa¬
tient*.
Recent as massag* maybe to many
readers, neither name nor practice is new,
ranking among the primitive—one may
say instinctive—methods of cure. In any
pain the natural prompting to press the
hand upon the seat of suffering, to rubor
knead it for relief is common to civilized
man or savage. It is the effort to equal¬
ize circulation and draw the blood from
the injured part in congestion, and bring
back natural warmth in collapse, for fric¬
tion does both. Like all healing methods
in the hands of ignorant or unprincipled
practitioners, massage is over done till it
becomes charlatanry. At the same time,
in wise hands it is a blessed and signal
relief, often superseding the painful op¬
erations of surgery and drastic medicines.
Massage originally is from the Arabic
word “mass," meaning to press softly,
but now lnoludes all manual forms of re¬
lief, rubbing, stroking, kneading, and
beating the muscles.
The learned Professor Billroth, of Vi¬
enna, who drew modern attention to its
use about 1875, says that massage is as
old as surgery. Kneading, rubbing, and
working the muscles to relieve fatigue
was the practice of savage and heroic na¬
tions from the earliest times. Dr. Doug¬
las reminds us that Homer, in the “Odys¬
sey, " tells how beautiful women rubbed
and anointed warworn heroes to rest and
refresh them. In those days of heroic
simplicity it probably was no more for a
woman to rub and anoint a man worn
out with fighting men of liis own mettle
through days of fasting, heat, and watch¬
ings, than for a hospital nurso to tend a
man aching so from wounds he does not
know whether men, women, or demons
attend him.
In tho fifth century B. C., Herodicus,
ono of the masters of tho healing art,
pro’onged the lives of his patients by ex¬
ercise and rubbing, and so cured himself
of weakness and ill health that he lived
to be 100, as we read in Hufeland's “Art
of Prolonging Life." Herodotus speaks
of Egyptian massage and anointing.
Suitable massnge knits slack and rickety
joints by stimulating their circulation,
nutrition, and innervation, while with
proper friction a stiff joint becomes flexi¬
ble, The fact that rubbing can make
flesh and cause it to waste is often ob¬
served in massage, of which Dr. Graham
save: “People sometimes lose much
adipose tissue, to their detriment, by the
excessive use of massage. But this can
be used to advantage where fat is super¬
abundant, with want of tone and tension,
for in these it will bo found that hard
rubbing binds. Soft rubbing loosens not
only tough and matted conditions of
tikin, and superficial muscles, but also
involuntary tension of muscles found in
overtaxed and debilitated people. Hero
comes the necessity of careful discrimi¬
nation, for if a patient in such condition
reeeirw such vigorous rubbing as passes
igy. n Asage in these days the trouble
Multi probably lie aggravated, for
greater tension would bo excited by tho
pressure of friction and manipulation
upon terminal nerve filaments already in
a state of irritation. ”
It takes a certain amount of strength
to bear massage, and nervous, high
strung women are sometimes not at all
Improved by it, soothing as it may im¬
mediately seem.
Any one who has been under the hands
of a clever masseur will regret that the
lomi-kimi experts have not long since
been Imported to train a few thousand
men and women in an art so greatly
needed by our nervous and sedentary race.
Tho chiefs keep a number of lomi-lomi
people in their retinue, and Dr. Emerson
says the chiefs are 25 per cent larger and
taller than the subjects, because bettor
fed and m re constantly lomi-lomied. In
cases of stunted growth probably noth¬
ing would so effectually increase tha
stature as abundance of pure air, strong
food, and skillful dally massage.
It was proposed a few years since by
some projecting people to import a num¬
ber of Japanese masseurs, who are also
very skillful in the art, and introduce
eastern luxuries into New York city; but
like many other excellent schemes it
awaits some shrewd persons “of execu¬
tive ability” to carry it out.
To attempt a description of the mode
of applying massage physicians agree is
not an easy matter. For perfection it
requires a certain rapport of an intelli¬
gent, skillful hand with the feelings of
the patient—a rarity which any one can
imagine who has tried to have his hair
combed in exactly the right way.
French, German, and Scandinavian
physicians often apply massage them¬
selves without thought of compromising
their dignity. Drs. Brown Sequard,
Weir-Mitcliell, and Edward H. Clark
have tried their hands at it. But the
patient would probably prefer less valu¬
able time and feel more at ease with au
ordinary nurse.
Dr. Weir-Mitohell refers his first in¬
terest. in the subject to the remarkable
results obtained from its use by a charla¬
tan in a case of progressive paralysis.
Dr. Douglas thinks there is great room
for improvement in the training of mas¬
seurs, and most patients will agree with
him. His “shrewd, superannuated
auntie out of a job" who has learned the
meaning of the word massage and prints
it on her card, and continues her rabbin’
as she has always done, is a type of a
plentiful class of masseurs who can be
tolerated if they do not mix magnetism.
scientism, and spiritism with their
muscle, and can keep their hands off a
person’s trinkets and fine handkerchiefs
during a visit.
Ihe muscular middle aged trained
nurse, who smells rather strongly of per-
spiration and needs a dentifrice, who
chews gum during the operation and
talks just enough to break the soothing
effect of friction, whose touch would be
perfect if it were any where else, is not
likely to do much good to one who is any-
tiling of a sensitive patients A stout,
ruddy, «r plump person in not the best for
massage. Such people require a great
deal of exercise in the open air for the
proper oxygeneration of their blood, and
confining work, like massage, with its
stooping posture, wearies them and puts
them out of breath,"
Spare, enduring persons, with a gentle,
firm touch, absolutely without magnet-
lam, are far and away the best masseurs.
For magnetism is like any other hypnotic
—chloral, chloroform, and the rest-
prone to reactions which leave the pa¬
tient weaker for with its use. Sensitive peo¬
ple will agree me that the so caned
magnetic person absolutely repels and
antagonizes them; every bristle, so to
speak, stands erect at his or her approach,
and the whole system seems roused to
throw off an unwholesome power. Some
clean old colored auntie or spinster who
is thankful to earn her bread by honest
-rabbin’,* without a notion of “magnet¬
ism, " is vastly more desirable than tho
half trained masseur who has hurried
through a course under some pupil teacher
in haste to be earning (3 an hour. One
point must be taken, that the best physi¬
cians condemn the use of vaseline or any
salves or unctions in massage. Oil baths
for the thin and badly nourished are de¬
sirable, but they should never be given
by hand. The best way of gaining their
effects is by a hot air bath first—it may
be over a hot register or by a blazing fire
in one’s room—till the pores are well
open. A hot soap and water bath, quickly
applied and wiped dry, should leave the
skin free, when pure olive oil, almond, or
refined salad oil should be poured on tho
shoulders and rubbed over the person
with a sponge or absorbent silk. All the
better if the oil is perfumed—soothing
«nd refreshing more senses than one. At
least 15 minutes should be spent in the
hot air, allowing tho skin to absorb the
oil—it is nonsense to talk of rubbing it
in with any ordinary friction. Six table-
epoonsful of oil are quite enough for a
bath, as it is all the skin is likely to take
at once, and more is wasted. Care must
be taken to keep the person entirely warm
and in a glow during the bath. In 15 to
80 minutes, as one grows accustomed,
the remaining oil can be washed off with
warm, soapy water—no soap being ap¬
plied directly to tho skin or it will wash
•he oil from the pores.
Very weak persons may take an am¬
monia bath first—one tablespoonful of
liquid ammonia to three quarts of warm
water -in the forenoon, with oil after it,
and a second oil bath late in the day or
evening without a water bath. The oil
should be always as hot as is comforta¬
ble. It is said that oil baths are given in
connection with some of the public baths
In Chicago, but it is probably for tho
purpose of supplying the joints rather
than to nourish and strengthen invalids.
Thin dyspeptics, who can eat little,
persons in advanced consumption, and
patients recovering from fevers are nour¬
ished and strengthened by absorbing
nutrition in this way, when the stomach
is too weak to supply tho system.
As to the mooted point in facial
massage, whether the stroking is to be
given toward the eyes and nose or away
from them, the answer is always away
from the nose and eyes. As to whefchei
massage is given across wrinkles or in
their direction, the skin lfas its own con¬
tractile power when roused, atid there is
less danger of stretching it than is
imagined. Dr. Douglas tells us that
massage on other parts of the person
often has more effect in reaching organ.'
than rubbing the parts themselves. In
masseeing the face of a fat patient, the
tissues can be only roiled and stretched
under the lingers and palms, away from
the corners of the eyes and nose, toward
the angle of the lower jaw. If the
patient is thin or in moderate flesh, I he
cheeks can be grasped between tho
thumb and fingers ;md more thoroughly
squeezed and masseed iu the same direc¬
tion. The forefinger, covered with a
fold of thin cloth, may be put inside the
cheeks, and these softly squeezed, man¬
ipulated, and stretched between thumb
and finger.
But nowhere is more practice and skill
required than in massage of the face and
head. That it will relievo the dreadful
neuralgia of the fifth pair of nerves is of
far less interest to most women than that
the cheeks can recover plumpness iu tilts
way. Still massage is too much of an
art to be disposed of iu a newspaper
article. Shirley Dare.
Almost a Hint.
Business Manager—You are an appli¬
cant for the position of assistant cashier.
Are you married ?
, A pplicaut—No, I am a single man.
Business Manager—That’s awkward.
You see, the boss told not to hire any uu-
married man ns cashier.
Applicant—Then to get the place I’vo
got to marry.
Business Manager—That’s about the
size of it. You have got to marry somo
girl at once. Come around and take din-
Her with me and my daughter. 1 think
this thiug can be arranged.
Strotrcy.
Loving V\ ife—You have no idea how
well Mrs. Spenditall looks in her new
bonnet, dear?
Thoughtful Husband—She does not
took half as well in it as you do in your
old one.
By this simple but neat remark tho
"Thoughtful Husband” was enabled to
go to the races and lose $30 with the com¬
fortable belief that lie had quit even.—
Life.
The more one endeavors to sound the
depths of his ignorance, the deeper the
chasm appears.
The elegant villa at A lbany which
Emmet gave to liis wife at the time of
their separation a year ago was valued at
rented *150.000; and it is said that lie also We
her with a like amount in bonds.
Inc house was curiously designed within
and contained odd ’
some antiquities.
——- ...
Professor Nichols, of Cornell savs that
quite the humming distinct of an are spTutterW^lbW light’ which W
from the
to impure carbons, is caused bv the rapid
jierkxlic extinction and reestablishment
the current
THE 8WITCHIBNDEB.
A little white house seemed asleep
among the blossoming apple trees. It was
early morning, and all was light and
freshness. The door opened; a man ap-
peared at the threshold, a smile on his
face and an expectant look in his eyest
There was a movement behind the trunk
of an apple tree. The man’s smile grew
broader, and from the tree, like a dryad,
rushed a cliarming little flaxen haired
girl, who threw herself with a burst of
laughter into his anus.
“ May I take the little one, Celine ? ” said
the father.
“Again!” she said, with a shade of an¬
noyance.
“Oh, we share her very fairly,” said
the man, with the kindest and most pa¬
ternal smile. “If you knew," he re¬
sumed, “how quickly the hours pass
when she is down there with me."
“Don’t you think I know, when I find
them so long in her absence?”
It was embarrassing. Aimee herself
began to be troubled by this conversation,
and feeling that she could not please both
these beings that she loved so much, she
was ready to cry. Celine saw it at once
and yielded.
“Take her, Laurence; I would rather
have her go than feel badly about it."
“No,” said he in his turn, “keep her—
you deserve it; you love her best. ”
The discussion began again, but it was
this time a struggle of generosity. At
last the husband took his darling in his
arms, and a smile reappeared on tho
child’s lips.
Ono morning, without saying anything
to Celine, Laurence took the little girl’s
hand to lead her away, when her mother
suddenly appeared.
“What!” she said. “You would tal.o
her without tolling me?”
“Don’t think that,” said Laurence, in
some confusion. “We were in fun—wo
were going to hide behind the trees and
eee you look for us. ”
“Listen, Laurence," she continued.
“Aimee grows more restless and trouble¬
some every day. It is dangerous to let
li u go with you."
“What do you mean?" said the man,
turning pale.
“I mean that I am afraid of your rail¬
road, with its trains and locomotives."
“You are very foolish."
“ Leave 1 ier here. I can hardly breatho
•while my little girl is down there. It is
frightful to think of it, but she might get
away and be killed. ”
“Don’t talk so, O -line."
‘•She might run away while you are at
the switch, and if you left it to look after
her, yon would fail in your duty, and
might be the cause of a dreadful disaster. ”
The young woman did not insist. Tho
ewitchtonder gradually recovered him¬
self.
Celine smiled, and tho conversation
ended ns usual with these words from
Laurence:
“ You will come for her at noon."
Little by little tl.cir terrors faded away.
Laurence reasoned with himself.
“The child,” he said, “is familiar with
the passage of tr>*vs, it is true, but she is
old enough to ishw^ehend the danger,”
And his appreh/,?-*ion vanished.
One evening, however, when lie went
home ho found lie had been preceded by
the rumor of an accident which had < X • •
curred at a neighboring station. A brake-
man had been crashed by an express
train. Celine questioned her husband
while they were at supper.
“Is it true that Simon is killed?" sho
askqd.
“No," replied Laurence, “ho was in
great danger, but he escaped, thanks to
his wonderful coolness.”
“Then ho is not dead?” said Celine.
“No; aud yet the whole train went
over him. When Simon saw it was too
late to save himself, he laid flat down in
the middle of the track, and when tho
train passed by lie got up again safe and
sound. I saw him. I asked him hotv it
made him feel. At first, he said, when
the engine went over him, he was very
warm; after that the time seemed long.
That was all. You know Simon is not
easily frightened. He is ready to go to
work again,” added Laurence tran¬
quilly.
Some time after that the hours of serv¬
ice were changed and Laurence took tho
night section. He could no longer think
of taking Aimee with him.
One evening, however, a poor woman
in the village was taken very ill. Tho
doctor who camewr tea prescription and
said to the neighbor he found there:
“These medicines can only be had in
the town and you must not wait for
them. Let one of you go to the railway
station, where there is a portable
pharmacy, and ask the station master on
niv account for a little laudanum. That
will quiet the pains till you can have the
prescription. Which of you will go ?”
“CelineI Celine!” said several voices.
It was certain that the station master
would not hesitate to give her the medi¬
cine.
The young woman thought of leaving
Aimee, but, ns she had been particularly
restless all day, Celine concluded to take
her. They had to pass Laurence’s post
to go to the station. He saw them com¬
ing, and as soon as they were within
hearing, began to question them.
“Old Gertrude is very ill, and I am go¬
ing to the station for medicine. *
“That’s right. But let me have Aimee;
I will keep her till you come back. ”
Celine lifted the little girl over the
fence to her father, who took the precious
burden in liis arms and returned with
her to his box, before which a lamp was
burning. Darkness covered the tracks,
which crossed in every direction.
It would not take Celine more than 20
minutes to get to the station and back.
The child was in one of her most frolic¬
some moods; and she ran suddenly into
the garden ; Laurence ran laughing after
her.
“ You can’t catch me,” said she.
“Ye®, I can.”
But the little witch evaded Laurence's
pursuit, leaving laughter behind her.
“Here, here!” she said, and rushing to
the track began to cross it.
“Don’t go there, darling,” 6aid her
father.
It was very dark—th* switchtender
tould hardly see his daughter.
“You can’t catch me," repeated the
zhild.
“Come, come here." said her father.
“Look for me, * answered the child.
“ Airnee, Aimee, don’t play any more.
I shall be angry. Come here."
“Oh, you say that because you can’t
catch me!*
“Yes, I don’t want you to stay there.
The express train is coming."
“Oh! I shan’t let you catch me. The
train has gone by. *
“There is another."
Instead of replying the child said:
Rim after me. Dana. run. ”
Laurence saw there was nothing to he
done but to run after her, and take her
out of danger. He rushed toward the
place where he heard her voice. It was
dark, and Aimee escaped him stilL His
alarm increased. At any instant the
whistle of the oncoming train might bo
heard, and Laurence redoubled his ap¬
peals. His voice was hoarse with fright;
the fatal moment approached, and still
the child laughed and repeated:
“You can’t catch me."
Now the whistle sounded. The lugu¬
brious cal! paralyzed the poor man. and
he lost his head completely The train
would have two victims if lie did not re-
gam Ins composure. Two victims! It
would be a catastrophe with incalculable
consequences; for a train stopping at
the station a little way ahead, and if the
f xp ess ««t» no su i c e o u-re must
inevitably tea collision. Laurence shook
0 ,,rp ', > r '.
u A.meel , he cned . , m . thundering , .
Here papa * And . ,,, the child .... continued . .
to give sharp little calls, which mingled
m the roar of the approaching engine.
The instinct of duty rather than will
urged Laurence toward ,: tho switch. He
mu^iutnunent ■ , . which . ought , totum
.No, he exclaimed, “I mus save her.
Aimee Aimee l where are you f» and la*
i)i sbougi pierce le < ur mess.
The switchtender, with hair on end,
thought of throwing himself before the
iron monster. But one chance remained
-that Annee was not on the track over
which the tram must pass. He looked
ogam Ho saw her-he saw her. She
was there, standing on tho very track
the train mu st take if he altered tho
switch. If the iron tempest did not toko
its tiue course the child was saved. Tho
tram would go on to crash against tho
one a the station What matter? Aimeo
would be alive! AH this went through h,s
mind like lightning They would be
k.llcd and wounded twenty families
in despair, but Aimee would bo safe and
sound. There would be an ‘pTom'dte
would be condemned to
honored, ruined! But hia daughter, I 113
III. train cam. Unratotog * ra. ’ tat It
,, , , ° n U _ r
cur rn to lve save e Aimee, A^JTbnt road but GW the child would 8U ' ., tlm not ?
stir. It seemed to her father that she
waited for the train with an air of deli-
Bnce
“ Aimee,» he repeated, in a voice steam
gled bv fear, “Aimee, come here!”
Stiddenly the advancing lights of tho
stop, however, but teaveled^faster than
the train. He recalled in a second his
honorable soldier’s life, when he had sac-
rifleed everything to duty. He saw in
the station the frightful accident he would
have caused, and heard the cries of tho
wounded, the last gasps of the dying,
The problem was before him-his daugh-
ter or others ? There was no alternative
without a miracle.
With astonishing promptitude the sen-
timent of duty became most powerful,
and he seized mechanically the handle of
the iron bar. The stoical soldier at this
moment was upiiermost, and effaced knowing the
father. He pushed, hardly
what he did, and the express train crossed
the switch
On, on it went, and he could see it
passing before the Btiition, going f by as if
it were happy to escape danger, and
disappearing in the darkness. Duty had
been strongest. Stupefied, staggered,
speechless, Laurence was rooted to the
spot, holding still the cursed handle
which had helped him to kiU his child.
, Now „ . he said, oo . , it is . my turn to . die. ”
The other tram was about to pass. He
stepped forward, crossed Ins arms, and
awaited it. 1 he whistle sounded, the
heaving engine puffed.
‘ w, dered * thinking of nothing, there
l .
Bu „ that , ins - , ant . a . burst . of ,, laughter ,
sounded behind him. He turned, wild
* K>po ’
„ Oh, naughty w papal . , he wont , play
with Aimee, ” said the most beloved of
vo *‘i es -
Hie child was clinging . to him. Lau-
rence did not seek to know how the child
canie there alive. He seized her and lie.-
with Ins treasure into his little cabin.
Then he put her on the ground before tho
amp and looked at her He could not
kL IH C h to° y ’ aD fe ? falntm S be *
a side to his daughter, to , who, o m her turn,
6L “ d wlth terr ‘ )r -
At this moment Cebne arrived Sno
heard her child’s voice, and hastened her
St Then ’ bec0ming im i )atient ’ sUtJ
“lime ted -
ii«chiuhe,, !*
M mma, mamma, I am fnghtenedl”
NVliat is the matter?”
> pa has fallen down. ^
Celine rushed toward the sentry bos
and found her husband completely in-
fU to; P \ °1 the ‘r doctor, f° Um who ; f' had 9
not tofi left the i vfilage, ’-u came and restored
the poor man to consciousness The
liis former bright color he exhibited a
coc.cUlco pdlor. which cove, left hi,,,
to the end of his days. Laurence was
forced to tell his wife all. When ho had
finished, the poor father turned to Aimee,
and said ■
“ But, darling, why weren’t you killed?*
“Why,” said the child, “I did what
Simon *
BACK INTO THE CRYPT.
M. MATHIAS’S STRANGE RUSE TO TEST THE
FIDELITY OF HIS WIFE.
When they heard of the death of 31.
Mathias in the little city of Lyre-sur-Ys,
there was a feeling of great surprise. A
man scarcely 40 years old, robust, straight
as an arrow, married only two years to a
young and charming girl he adored, all
exclaimed, “ What a mischance!”
Naturally, now that M. Mathias was
dead, they only discussed his virtues
while living. He was no longer called a
6kinflint and miser. They even forgot
the story of his famous marriage, which
was not at all to his credit. Only a few
recalled the vague dislike this great man
had always inspired with his sly, treach¬
erous ways, or the strange stories that,
rich and retired from business, he em¬
ployed his leisure hours in concocting and
manipulating poisonous drugs, with
which he experimented upon dogs and
animals. But now these are idle tales,
lie is dead. Peace to his souL
In oirefu] , y reflecting upon hi. death,
was it so very extraordinary ? Evidently
M Mathias had a presentiment of his de¬
mise . H e had but lately constructed a
famUy chapel * 5n the cemetery, which
awaited hta remains. Moreover, fora
lonf? time h „ had appeared unquiet and
restless, wandering around his house as if
BUspicious of mysterious robbers. For
whole weeks he would shut himself up in
hia laboratory, and the chimney would
roar and flame cerebral all night. “Premonitory
} tom8 of excitement, ” said
I)r . Jabarre , “ whi. h will suddenly end
ic f , , awol)lexv Ti Z T, »
*> be brief. *»*,«.• M. Mathias , had , a
magnificent potion funeral. Scores of tho
attended him to his last
, vere dry leered eyes. When the great
oak into the crypt of
the funeral chapel it seemed truly mon-
, m ,outol. Two men of his size could
have slept in it easily,
(>n returning from the funeral, ev ei7 £ -
body , VM ^ «i wonder wbat tt
charming widow of M. Mathias will do?”
Now , t0 tel , the truth, M. Mathias was
not ^o dead teuf at all
after the ceremony you
could have witnessed a strange scene in
the underground vault, where the bier
llad bwa p ‘ i aced ,
A , iltle sha rp ROUnd was heard , Iiko
the click of a spring; tho coffin opened
l lki . a cupboard 4 M Mathias raised Jj up,
bt , et( . hil uke a mall just * awake
from sleep.
* th <
Al' ct^rTf W you o sec
had swallowed, after S” careful P measure- ”‘“
had produced the exact effect he
desired. They had believed him dead
had buried him . ’ BO far> fl0 good .
° n . t .. ?*• „ Math,as hart , , t8 *
. wnK ,me
cen
every pecaution , . preparing for this
m
" constructed v "f T h f with the the most wonderful bad been
m-
i** £ bCe "
% thi » «me M Mathias realized that
thing hollows the stomach more than
!? ng burle ?, : «> comfortably seating
1 . CM hk he complacently
a[ c bis rations . and drank , to tlie future,
"athias is six ’. 3 J feet 1 " 10 under to explain ground why of his M.
°" n tr T
As A aiwa -’ s ’ there , Is a woman in tho
case.
' at l 1 .^ 9 ’ forme Hy a druggist, en-
- a , . cataplasms,had fallen
M .'°' - v J’ * 3 the f the
" *"’ W1 ni< ““ “ «-ce,ver of
iTlu f tht 'He f
\ ' C ^ propose to the young gul. and
«be as quickly refusetl him, which ren-
d red aS maili V m /' ive as an
'
Ob'—pardon-as - T a man 40 years old who
Tre f ch f r *
* 18 l0Ues > nature, he m-
^ ° f mt0 a ^
eo ^llful the year, the knowing unhappy t*a man government at the end
templated suicide. n Then ‘l lL ’ M. Mathias 1X1 u '
ap-
'T “ a sa T ,or ’ im * J0S ° a h £ s h ‘« e co ’"
oitions, and , the sacrificed herself
niece
for the uncle who had always been as
r , father to her, although h she loved ani»
f , as )i:lncee to a you nota uf 3
neighboring city.
She, unhappy victim, submitted to ali
the consequences of this unfortunate
marriage. But M. Mathias had the con-
Tictioa tUat she Uated uim . from that it
vm easy to believe she deceived him:
and this suspicion soon degenerated into
positive monomania,
His wife never went out, no one ever
visited the house. No matter, M. Mathias
felt that only his own obtuseness, his
want of finesse, prevented him from dis-
covering her infidelity,
Then this luminous idea surged in his
onil , H e would similate a journey, not
1o Havre or Versailles, like the husband
in a comedy, but a longer journey, from
which it was far more difficult to return.
But he would return, safe and sound, ono
cf these nights and confound his unfaith-
t'ul soouse \
He 111 given himself three days to re-
main hl the grave - Thinking of his
s&srssasatrt itl his coffini s.
The third day was nearly ended. M.
Mathias was becoming restless, and impa-
tiently waited for the cemetery clock to
6t rike 11, the hour he had appointed.
His plot was well arranged. The w»Jb
M the cemetery adjoined his property,
H e would dress himself all in black a
speedral druggist, taRe his winding sheet
throueh the Irate ™ R traio-hi t * ^ f PaS *
,, „ JI; ithias . made _ , his . toilet; all things ,
, . n *?. r 3< } 1Ue *f’!^ e P^bed aside the
°
stone which v closed the vault, climbed to
the up f er chapel, opened the door, and
^ outside , with h.sivandmg sheet under
his arm. He unfolded the great white
cloth and tried to throw It about him; it
was heavy, he missed tie mark, and was
struggling to adjust it when he was
startled by a roice behind him saying:
“Let me assist you."
Now, to be found in a cemetery at rnid-
night trying to put on your own shroud
i- not a pi oasant position, so you can im-
agine how disagreeable the surprise was.
The one who spoke wes Father Grim-
!x>t. the guardian of the place, an old
original, welt kw»wn t(- all the surround¬
ing wineshop* He approached M. Math¬
ias, looking at him with a pleasant
“ Howl is that yon, M. Mathias, al¬
ready?” t
M. -Mathias, very much embarrassed,
tried to distort his features, thinking a
sinister appearance would rid him of this
troublesome fellow. But no. Grimbot
gave him a benevolent pat on the shoul¬
der, dexterously arranging his shroud.
“I have just come from my tomb,”
raid M. Mathias in a sepulchral voice.
“Ah, that is plainly to be seen," inter¬
rupted Grimbot; “ but you are in a greater
hurry than the others. ”
M. Mathias never stopped to listen, but
walked off with long strides on the tipis
of his toes, like a phantom. Grimbot,
marching by his side, continued: “Yes,
the others Bever came out soon—al¬
ways waited a month or two."
M. Mathias turned suddenly upon him,
waving his winding sheet in the air.
“Go,” he cried in a hollow voice; “leave
me: this is sacrilege. ”
“There now,” said Grimbot, becoming
fatherly, “I won’t worry you; you only
want to take a little promenade, like tho
others. ”
31. Mathias, very much annoyed, went
straight on, disdaining to reply. lie saw
the entrance to the cemetery just in front
of him. Being a man of precautions, ho
had some louis in his pocket. “Say no
more, ” said he, holding out tho pieces of
gold. “Give me the key. ”
Grimbot drew back a step. “The key—•
you warn the key. Well, that is a fancy. ”
“Four guineas,” groaned M. JIatliias,
extending more gold.
Grimbot pushed aside the proffered
handful, und laid:
“You know, now that you are out of
the chapel, I »31 not oppose your taking
a little walk like the others. ”
“The others? What others?”
Grimbot made a sweeping gesture.
“The dead."
“The dead 1 What dead are you talk¬
ing of? I am living, don’t you see?”
“Bless my soul, this is a good joke,
but I am a jolly fellow. Dome and take
a glass with me.” His hand fell liko
pinchers on the wrist of M. Mathias. Ho
dragged him to the little building where
he lodged, and pushed him into a room
on the ground floor.
31. ‘Mathias was actually dumfounded.
Grimbot closed the door, took a Ixittlo
from the table, filled two glasses, and
holding one up said, “Your health, 31.
Mathias.”
“Li-ten to me, my good man. Yon
love a joke; that’s all right'. Only there’s
a time for all things. For personal
reasons I allowed myself to be inferred,
but now I want to go out. It is a seri¬
ous affair. I will pay you well; you
shall not lose by it. ”
Whilst he spoke, Grimbot turned away
ft' ai the table and placed his hack
against the door.
“You talk well," he sneered. “Ah,
you are not the first one. I have heard
them talk like that before, you see. I
love my people. Every night one or two
of them come and take a glass with me
Yesterday it was the notary Randal-
yon know him well, he is your neighbor;
the one with the broken column on his
grave. Day before yesterday it was
Mme. Claudine, a beautiful woman. Ah!
1 am a good fellow. I allow them all to
come out and take the air."
M. Mathias turned pale. Grimbot spoko
with such perfect sang froid, the firm
responsibility of a functionary not to be ih-
lluenced. IIo was a broad shouldered,
thick set fellow, with the hands of a
guerrilla, his eyes burning with a smold¬
ering fire. M. Mathias shuddered. This
man was evidently mad, filled with
Strange hallucinations. He believed his
cemetery was peopled with returned
spirits, and held high carnival with those
phantom beings every night. He lived
in a fantastic world created by his
drunken imagination, and actually con¬
founded the living with the dead.
M. Mathias begged, prayed, protested,
finally became coaxing. How could the
intelligent Grimbot mistake him for a
dead man? It was absurd.
“Come, ” said Gambot in a decided tone.
“Enough of this. Be reasonable and re¬
turn. "
“Return where?”
“To your plaea in the angle of the third
division. ”
“What; to my tomb? Never!”
“You will not? Well, we will see.”
M. klathias looked at those enormous
hands and shook with fright. He glanced
around, seeking some way of escape;
only one, the door, and before it stood
Grimbot like si buttress. No matter, lie
must pass it, ut any price. He made a
rush.
Grimbot coolly stretched out his open
hand and seized the throat of his ag¬
gressor. M. Slathias, gasping and strug¬
gling to be free, hung from the end of
those sinewy arms, his legs dangling, hia
body writhing in convulsions. The clutch
of those enormous hands tightened—
a gurgling, sinister sound—then all was
still.
Grimbot, who had seen so many others,
threw him across his shoulders and car¬
ried him with the firm and dignified step
of the faithful guardian to the chapel,
cast him into the crypt, replaced the
stone with a turn of his foot, then con¬
tinued liis way across the tombs, mutter¬
ing:
“He will not come out of there again
soon. Not if. I im here. ”
And thus the charming widow of M.
Mathias was able to marry the one she
had always loved.—[Translated from the
French of Jules Lerniina by M. E. B.
The Corcoran Art Gallery, of Washing¬
ton has bought » large pastoral painting
! by G. S. Traesdell, called “Going to
.Pasture. ” It is 7 feet by 5, and shows a
* French peasant girl leading fleck of
a
sheep to pasture Sn autumn.