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GALUHER'S INDEPENDENT,
RuLiSHBD KYL'HT SATURDAY AT
QUITMAN, OA.,
by
J. C. GALLAHERi
terms OF SVBECRIPTIOSr i
TWO DOLLARS per Annum in Advance.
r {flop #:• Vert .Sunday Men-ary]
fiig Howhltf’w Wife.
BY HABIUKT OIVISO.
£,“Have a cab. mWJ Have a cab,
ma’am 1” vociferivted it score o£ voices, ns
H|iiiin Jtowkler uteppwl from lltu ferry
boat.
fc“All the hotelsr “Fifth Avenue!"
“Oraud Central!” “Two dollars !” “One
flfty !" amt nil the rest of it-such a wild
confusion of shouts that the t>oor little
woman was minded to grab basket, um
brella and traveling shawls, and ruu for
her life, leaving her trunk behind her on
the wjiarf.
“William Bowlder (Big Bowlder), of
is staying at the C House.
80 ran the announcement William
Bowlder’s wife had red in the I’ossumville
OiUeOe —an item oopitsl from New York
press, and slipped in betweeu the account
of a riderless horse that “was sceu madly
•earing up Market street, owner not yet
4McvrtuiutN\," aud miutbor itcui couccruins
the atrocious robbery of John Green's hen
coop.
The announcement started her upon a
daring enterprise. She had waited three
peeks for a k ttsr, and uow she knew where
her hnsbaud was. She concluded that he
must be sick, and that the editor had with
held the fact iu consideration of her feel
ings Nothing would do but that-she
must go seek him.
A pretty little creature was William
Jlowldec's wife, reminding one olwjiys of a
cloudless summer’s day, with the axnro in
her eye*, the sunshine iu her hair, aud
Rower-tints on her checks aud lips. II
accrued a wonder that any one haviug caged
such a bird in * lovely rural spot should
have gone wondering off into the great
cities, leaving it to pine iu solitude.
William Bowlder had explained it all
vwv satisfactorily, if Bessie only could
have understood him, yet that did not
aoothe the aching at her heart.
“I hope tlie train won't burnt," sin- bad
mid to her mother, as they parted at the
Oak town depot, “blit if it does. I know I
31111 doing h wife's duty, and 1 ve left my
JS.it>Hatli- school class ill better bauds than
luv own."
This last allusion referred not to Provi
dence, as might have been supposed by an
viiinformed bystander, blit to the kind of
fices of a piohs neighbor.
i Jessie ft* herself quite a heroine by the
time she entered New York, little glossing
that all her wisdom sml heroism was soon
obe cnfteil for, for the first time in her
life. The ferry bells juugled, the steam
weut whizzing and shrieking into air, and
Itessie stepped upon the wlmrf, no longer
aprxiee and rn-ot, as it the beginning of her
journey, her fresh traveling dress all
wriukled, lor golden hair dry and dusty,
and struggling for release, the smears of
smoke grim iu such corners and dimples as
e mjkljpot be replied by application of a
moist JiaiidLerebiof, her collar awry and
KbiloiC herself exhausted with fatigue and
excitement, hut pretty and smiling still,—
Wo* she not near her own dear William
now?
One of the clamorous cabmen, catching
a good glimpse of the frightened little face
and the blue eyes brimming with tears of
vexation and alarm, and being moreelever
witted than the rest, stepped forward and
addressed 1 Jessie with the air of a gentle-
manly prince.
“And where would you like to go, mad
am ?" said lie.
“I thank you, sir,” said Bessie, giviug |
the man a glance of earnest gratitude,
which made him swell with a triumph
quite alien to tlie matter of fares —“thank ;
yon a hundred times. Those men fright
ened mo so with their noises, I could not
think what they were saying. I am Mr. ;
Bowlder's wife.”
“Yea, ma’am. Happy to have the hon
or. Where is Mr. Bowling staying just at j
preseut?”
“Bowlder, sir,” corrected Bessie. “He j
wrote me that lie was coming to New York
on business, and I saw in the Possumville I
Gazette— that's our paper—that he was at
the C House. ”
The resnlt was that Mrs. Bowlder soon
found herself in the broad hallway of that
famous place of entertainment. There
was a stir among the waiters and other per
sons who liappeued to be lounging near,
and presently a pompous but affable gen
tleman came toward her, smiling.
Bessie explained her visit, whereat the
gentleman smiled still more decidedly.
“John,” said he to a waiter, “see if
Bowlder, William, is still upon theliooks.
It strikes me,” he added, turning to Bessie,
whose heart was thumping like a base drum,
“that he left some time since.”
And it had transpired that William
Bowlder had departed the C House a
few days before.,
Bessie was assured, with a broadening
smile from the affable gentleman, that her
husband’s health had at that time been ex
cellent.
“Then I'll stay here all night, if yon
please,” said she, quite contented, “for I’m
as tired as I can be.”
“Against the laws of the establishment.
I am sorry to say," replied the affable gen
tleman, perhaps a trifle more pompously
than affably.
“For me to be tired,” said Bessie, stu
pidly. J ‘You don’t mean,” she cried out
instantly after, “that I can't stay 1”
“Just so.” amid bc awu, brusquely, and
turned upon his heel, while the poor little
woujan put her handkerchief to her ejes,
(Eallaljcr's imVpemVnt
VOL. IL
and wondered how any one could be so
brutal, and insulting, aud whut William
would say if he knew it.
It happened then, as it might not have
happened once in a thousand such cases,
that a gentleman stood near who saw at a
glance the situation of affairs.
f “Madam," said this person, gently, "has
your husband provided you with money
iu the event of your missing him.”
“I drew money from the l’ossumville
Bank, sir," said Bessie with a sob. "Of
course I don’t want the landlord to let me
stay for nothing."
“Y’ou have it about yon?”
“Yes, sir; five hundred dollars, ’b said
Bessie, her tears already dried.
The kindest of gentlemen disappeared,
and Bessie save her trunk lifted from be
fore her eyes, aud escorted to an elevator,
uud landed iu a commodious aud elegant
apartment, before she well-know whether
she was a victim bound to execution or the
recipient of hospitality.
In her new quarter’s, the wife of the
missing Bowlder remained fer more thau
a week, subsisting on tea and toast for
economy's sake, and unconsciously adding
immense items to future bills, by modestly
agreeing to have her meals served in her
own room instead of troubling any one to
set a table for her down stairs.
Meanwhile where was her husband?—
Bcssio soon discovered that every one did
not know every one. else iu New York,
w hatever might be the case iu Possumville.
William’s letters hud told her that hemeaut
to settle iu the metropolis, to make a home
there and send for her, and he hud passed
mouths there at different times, yet no
one seemed to have heard of him, except
as one of the visitors at the hotel.
By dint of questioning waiters and other
persons whom she could suunnou the
courage to address, Bessie Bowlder ascer
tained that the best mear.s to find out her
husband was either to examine the books
at the principal hotels of the city or to ad
vertise, Any verb iu an unknown tongue
would have lmd as much meaning iu her
eyes as the English oue “to advertise," the
how und where and when of w hich was an
unsealed riddle.
It was her good fortune once more to
meet the gentleman who hod opened the
doors to her by some mysterious “open
sesame," and he put into her hand u regis
ister of the various hotels, and kindly sent
her a whole budget of evening papers. Ho
after haviug spent several days ill the
street-ears, milking herself ridiculous, as
she felt, iu the eyes of the knowing ones,
by uskiug ull sorts of importune aud im
pertinent questions, she sat down to the
perusal of the newspapers w ith a forlorn
hope gathering at her heart.
The small forefinger traveled down one
column and up an another in search of It’s.
Innumerable B’s were, hut suddenly Bes
sie lighted on the right one. Her heart
gave a great, frightened leap, and every
thing grew black foru moment.
Then she steadied herself, with an effort
and read:
"William Bowlder, better known as
The Big Bowlder of Tennessee,’ has been
dipping into New York politics, and will
probably run for office. This is the more
to be regretted as we have so many of his :
stamp already. He is all unscrupulous 1
villain; a man lost to all sense of honor, as
those who know his history best are well
aware. ’’
This was nu awful blow to Bessie, It
was very much the same to her as if she
hud read her husbuud's indictment for
high treason.
When the editor of the Possumville Ua- 1
zette made a statement concerning an in
habitant, he was ready to substantiate it
on demand. But what was this fearful ac- j
cusation? What was William Bowlder
supposed to have done? Of course it was j
some mistake. He never could have j
earned the title of unscrupulous villain. — |
But also, of course, whatever it was, they
would arrest him, perhaps had already
done so, and if that were the case, she i
could very well understand why she had j
had no letters.
It occurred to Bessio, while she was still
meditating upon the propriety of going to
the Tombs early in the morning to inquire
for William, thot she might possibly find
further information in some other paper.
She did after patient search, and blow
number two was stili worse than the first.
“Big Bowlder, of Tennessee, is about to
I be united in the holy bonds of matrimony
to Katherine Sands of our town. The
wedding breakfast will be held at the
■ hotel to-morrow morning.”
Aud iu another place:
“After jilting a blue-eyed beauty in Ten
nessee, and a bright brunette in Maryland,
Bill Bowlder has fixed his affections on our
i somewhat homely Katie. "May she long
■ l>e the last!”
Bessie laid her head on the table la-fore
her, and sobbed tdoud. She saw it all now.
j She had heard of wicked men who had
acted thus to other women, and now this
great calamity had fallen upon her. She
had been deceived by the handsome face
: and pleasant ways of a man whom she had
i only known a few short months before her
marriage, and now only two years had
passed, and he had actually forsaken her.
It was very, very terrible.
For a short time her horror of the sin
j overwhelmed all other ideas. Then the
! memory of the sinner grew strong upon
1 her. All her love and tenderness gathered
around his image. But the editor had
been just, only just, in calling him an un
scrupulous villain. Bessie wanted to lie
- jova aud die, and learned for the first
QUITMAN, (iA„ SATURDAY. OCTOBER 3, 1874.
I time that utmost anguish does not kill.
What was her duty? To save him, her
: lover, her bitterest enemy from the com
mission of a fearful crime.
After ft night of torture, Bessie went her
i way to the grand hotel where the wedding
breakfast was to la', leaving plans of action
to fomi’tl.emselves,braving insulthnd igtio
j miny if she. were again to meet with them
iu this strange inhospitable city. All other
i things were secondary, if only she could
gain access in any manner.
Her fueo was white uud wan, hut. she
| lmd dressed herself in her very daintiest,
and brushed her hair till it glistened, and
fitted on her new Parisian gloves, all with
the solemn care of preparing for u state
funeral, aud she felt—humanly speaking—
she should not disgrace her husband.
In quite a eompooed manner, without
the least tremor of voice, she asked if Wil
liam Bowlder w ere in.
“Not yet," said the person addressed,
smiling in an amused away, “hut if you
are one of the guests, perhaps you will
wait in the room. The fact is, you’re ex
tremely early, ma’am.”
“1 think I should like to wait,” faltered
Bessie, her fictitious courage almost desert
ing her, now that her point was gained,
and she was ushered into a small parlor,
w ith the information that the rest would bu
there iu about an hour.
This room had long moreen curtains at
its windows, almost entirely draping the
front wall, iuid n dozen chairs set two and
two along the sides. There was, besides a
long mirror betweeu the windows, draped
w ith a garland of sweetly-scented flowers,
and a square one over the mantel, similar
ly adorned, uud reflecting the crimson vel
vet mantel-cover and showy gilt vases
standing thereon, ns well as Bessie’s peer
ing eyes aud her unaccustomed surround
iug*.
How would it he she wondered. Perhaps
words would lie given her to speak; but
would there he a party of strange gentlemen
and ladies to come in first and stare at her
and wonder w by she was there? Just ns the
thought crossed her mind, she heard the
sound of approaching feet, and almost un
consciously fled to the shelter of the flow-
ing curtains.
Scarcely had she concealed lieiself when
a party of young men, dnzzingly-uttired
iu the jetty black and snowy limieu, en
tered two aud two. They were evidently
in holiday humor, lint Bessie suddenly dis
covered that -they were not guests, Hut
more of those gentlemanly waiters who
had so often already astonished her by
their dress aud bearitig.
Then succeeded a sort of march of the
Possumville Guards on parade, a clatter,
a jingle, the quiet closing of a door, and
Bessie emerged from her hiding-place to
find a table spread with snowy liiinen,
glistening china, glass, and silver-ware,
and crowned with blossoms.
Hlie began to realize the meaning of i(
all. The flowers helped her more than
anything. They were like the wreaths and
garlands that had sleeked the little Oak
town parlor at her wedding—like, only so
.much handsomer.
Then it occurred to her as strange that
the wedding ami the breakfast should take
place in the sumeroom. Gould it be possible
that the ceremony had already been per
formed? In any ease, she could do noth
ing now but wait. In her fancy she ar
ragned it all, first one way and then the
other. How the ' ride would come weep
ing in, in her vail and orange flowers, and
her William from the opposite door, and
she herself would go forward and kneel at
his feet—no, perhaps not kneel. It was
not to he a tableaux arranged for the eyes
of others. Something she would say or do
when the time came.
And what then? The clergyman would
rise in horror, and her William, the beau
tiful, dear love, who was so utterly lost to
her that he could never he beautiful or
, dear uny more, would turn pale and trem
: hie, and the bride —perhaps she would faint
—it never occurred to Bessie, gentle aud
j sweetas she was, to pity the bride—a mere
j lay figure iu her fancy as yet, and then—
i what then?
Could there ever he happiness or peace
on earth any more ? Could William come ;
hack to her aud love her as before ? j
Never. She must shrink forever from the
touch of his hand. Never. Even if the
other woman were dead. What did it
avail her that site had striven to do her
duty and hold fast her faith ? That even
in this bitterest trial of her life, that had
been her first thought. Was she to live
on, seventy long years, perhaps, without a
single joy or comfort, to travel a stony
road compassed about with clouds and
i darkness? Her warm young heart re
: belled.
It seemed to her that any other calamity
j would have been less than tuis, that
: through any other clouds she might have
caught a glimpse of Heaven, ever so faint
and distant, the pore bright place of rest
the white-haired minister had often told
| her of—through airy other clouds but
j tfyese. Despair had blackened life and
: death—she could not picture to herself
| the “shining streets.” Perhaps—a wild
I and awful thought had almost formed
I itself in words upon her Ups, but she
| fought it back.
And then her eye fell upon an object, a
! smaU, shining object among the showy
vuses on the mantel, an instrument of
death ready to her hand. Had Heaven
sent her relief ? Nay, it scarcely seemed
the work of Heaven. She shivered as if
su icy wind had struck her and grasped
the little pocket piatot fact, while her ey*t
! staring and white, and wild us any
j maniac’s, glared at her from the mirror
! u lining the gilded toys.
She could use it if she would. He had
taught her ouee, and she hod learned the
lesson between girlish shrieks of terror,
half feigned, half real. It was the very
weapon. His—with his name upon it,
the name she had been so proud to own.
For a moment she wondered how lie
would feel to find her lying there with
that clasped in her lifeless hand. They
hail conic at last. She watched them
from behind the curtain folds, her being
all dissolved into the sense of sight. 'Wil
liam, her William, handsome aud straight
aud tall, as when she suw him last; the
same sunny smile tne same frank eyes;
and which of that group of women wus
the one that he hud chosen in her place ?
There was no cine to the bride, no orange
flowers, no vail; ull were plainly dressed.
Amid a confusion of tongues, Bessie saw
him cross the room, and offer his arm to
one of them. There was a general move
ment tlieu. The waiters tiled iu, the
chairs were drawu, and someone rose to
otter an address. Then the little woman
glided from her couoenimeut, and stood
like a diminutive aud vengeful ghost, be
side the festal board.
Every one stand. William Bowlder’s
eyes, looked as if they might start from
their sockets with the smallest provoca
tion.
In the moment of real action, Bessie
had forgotten all the high tragedy that
seemed inseparable from the occasion.
She looked reproachfully iuto her hus
band’s face, and said, mournfully and
simply, human love struggling with a
deep sense of his wickedness iu her oouuJ
tenaucr:
"William, have you really mndo a
solemn promise to this lady ?”
William Bowlder's face began to crim
son. The fiery color rushed to the very
loots of his hair. He tried to speak,
spluttered shamefully, uud then came out
with a full roar:
“Great Heavens!" said he, “it's Bessie.
I thought it was a ghost.”
Aud then remembering his manners:
“Ladies and gentleman, this is Mrs. Bowl
der.”
At the wedding breakfast someone
whispered audibly, with a laugh that
sounded hideous at such a time, aud there
was a suppressed smile on almost every
face.
Thu Indy on whom Bessie’s eyes lind
fallen and to whom she lmd referred, rose
from her seat aud glanced down somewhat
scornfully from hor imposing height; a
grand-looking creature she undoubtedly i
was, with a splendid physique, fine in
tellectual eyes, and a mouth and chin
which would better have befitted a mascu
line face had beauty been the object of her
putting together.
“William, will you pleuse answer mo 1”
implored Bessie.
“I—l really don’t know what you mean,
Bhssic," stammered he, and she saw some
thing like a sunbeam struggling through
his mortified expression.
“Friends," said he, with n choking in
his voice, that was not more than three
fourths confusion. “You must excuse
this informality; hut I’m naturally glad to
see my wife, aud it’s so unexpected.”
He took her hand aud bent to kiss her
forehead tenderly.
“What did it moan,” she whispered “the
dreadful story about your —your wed
ding ?”
There was a spontaneous roar of laugh
ter that completely swallowed up Bessie’s
sobs.
“Bill” said one of the men, “she’s been
reading tlie papers.”
“Why, bless mo!” said the tall lady,
stooping and kissing her with the greatest
fervency. “I am Katherine Hands, and
I would not marry any man on earth. I
am devoted to tho cause of woman. In
deed, I couldn’t marry any one’s husband
if I wished.
“It's only a way the papers have, dear,
of insulting any woman who has a grain
of common sense and dares to express an
opinion. I beg your pardon if I seemed
a little nnnmiahle just now. I thought
you were objecting to your husband's
| sympathy with the cause, just when we
hoped to enlist him as an ally.”
“And he isn’t an unscrupulous villain 1”
cried Bessie, thankfully, whereat there
was more laughter, courteously subdued
this time.
“A mere statement of the press, mad
am,” said an elderly gentleman, pleasant
ly, as Bessie was handed to a seat beside
her husband.
“Nobody i* New York pays tbe least
attention to what the papers say. They
can’t affect a man’s character ill the least.”
A Htagoemno (ji'Kirv. —Two brothers
marry two sisters, who are cousins of the
brothers. The older brother lias several
children by his wife, and she dies. He
then marries a younger sister of his first
wife, and has several children by her.
lie and the wife of his brother die. A
few years thereafter the yqunger brother
marries the widow of the older brother,
and litis by her two children. What is the
relationship ?
There has just been manufactured in
England a grapnel rope of 10,000 fathoms
length without a splice—that is a little
over eleven miles aud a quarter- made for
Siemens’ Telegraph Company. The coil
formed by this monstrous object is five
feet higb, and its diameter is twenty-four
foet. The rope is three-straDd, six and a
half inohes in circumference, or two inches
thick. This should arouse the envy of ev
• cry ouuesge w-ito in tlj Waited Sifltee.
Laughing Photographs.
| We went up to got our photograph ta
ken the other day, so ninny subscribers to
the paper wanted it. After that job wus
j done, we fooled around, after the manner
|of reporters, looking into the “likeness
J machine” aud interfering in everything
| carrying on, iu the meanwhile, a conversa
| tiou with the photographer. Having ex
: hausted the weather, we tried the next i
] best thing, politics. “As for politics,”
; said the photographer, “I don't want the !
radicals, am sick of the democrats, dis- j
gusted with the liberals and hate the white !
leaguers, reformers and all others.”
“What ?" we exclaimed, “is business
had ?”
‘ ‘That’s just it. Who cares for polities '
when the people dou't have photographs j
\ taken ?It is not, the weather—that is had j
enough; but it is the times. True, times:
| are hard, crops are bad, banks are break-
I iug; we have too much taxation; everything j
lis going to the devil. But, with all this, j
can’t people put on a pleasant look when I
they come for their likenesses ? Why, [
they come up here looking as dismal ami:
as melancholy as if they were coming from j
a wedding or a christening. It is ruining j
my business. Look here, see these pho- |
tographs. They are worse than the rogues’ j
gallery; every oue looks as if he was about j
to be hung, draw n and quartered, or some- ,
thing worse. A lady came here the other ;
day. 1 did the best I could. So did my :
cuiueia-obscura—poor thing !—it can’t;
make ugly people handsome. When I I
showed her the negative, you ought to I
liaveheard her and her friends. ‘Atruci- I
ous I ‘Horrid 1’ ‘Awful!’ ‘Why, Muriar,
I you look as you as if you had the tooth
fioho ! It wus true; she looked us if she
luu.l tlio toofch-ftcfat), the eur-nche, and ev
ery other known ache. But that is the
way she looked when the picture was tak
en; that I’ll swear to. I took her again.
The sumo result. The picture was not
near as good as oue she had lmd taken
fifteen years ago in Baltimore.”
“Is this Brown ?” we exclaimed.
Yet it wus Brown, the festive Brown,
looking ill, miserable, sick, disgusted, for
lorn and played out.
“I shall be ruined,” continued the pho
tographer, unless peop'e take to laughing.
The only good picture I have taken in six
months was that of u baby, and this was
done by his father and mother making fa
ces at him. I asked my clients to smile,
to try and look pleasant and agreeable.—
Here is their idea of looking pleasant.—
They look much more like idiots than
anyth iug else. I soon gave that up. I
achieved a temporary success by hiring a
little negro boy to tickle my patients un
der the sole of their feet. But the Indies,
who are my best customers, would not al
low this. Oh, for a Quasimodo; oh, for a
‘Man who Laughs !’ What iu the world
can 1 do to make people laugh to restore
photographs.”
The conundrum was too much for us,
but any fwnuy umi, wl can
make others laugh tickling him, would
make quite a fortune now-a-days. Does
not our city possess one funny man ? — N.
0. Picayune.
————
KILLED BY RATTLESNAKES.
A House Full of the Reptiles Burned with
the Corpse of its Owner.
A distiller named .Smith, who lived with
his family near the lower bench of the Big
Smoky Mountain, Tennessee, hud been
annoyed a great deal liy the revenue ran
gers last fall, uud determined to remove
his location uud business to a more seclud
ed spot.
To carry out this purpose he selected
the head of a deep gorge some foqr miles
distant, walled iu with cliffs, where during
the winter, assisted by some of his friends,
lie erected a long building. As room us
the cold weather was over and the spring
fairly opeued, the still and other tilings
necessary were moved to the place, and
the work of violating the revenue law was
resumed. Several “runs” were mode,
and Smith bogifli to congratulate liiinself
that he hud found a refuge beyond the
prying eyes of the Government hirelings,
where lie could pursue his avocation iu
peace.
Tho still-house being some distance
from where his family lived, Smith rarely
visited them more than once in a fort
night. Everything went on well enough
until about four weeks ago, when he fail
ed to appear at the accustomed time.
Nothing was thought of this for a day
or two, but when another week elapsed
without the return of Smith, the family
became alarmed, and they thought that
he had been captured by revenue joy
lmwks aud carried to Knoxville or some
other place where violaters of the law are
occasionally convicted and punished. The
alarm was given through the sparsely set
tled neighborhood. A small number of
men gatliered, and, accompanied by Mrs.
Smith and her sou, u youth of ten or
twelve years of nge, they started up the
gorge iu the direction of the still-house.
On reaching the building tjiev found
the doors closed aud fastened, and no sign
of Smith or any one else could be seen.
Mrs. Smith called tlie name of her hus
band several times; no response, however,
came back to relievo her anxiety. But
upon attempting to force an entrance they
were greeted with those peculiar notes of
warning which the ear of the East Tennes
see mountaineer never fails to recognize,
j The door was at once broken down, and a
sight met them that caused all to start '
with fright and horror.
The form of tho distiller lay upon the j
floor, with eyes starting from their sock- ;
ets, the features horribly distorted, and i
body swollen to twice its usual propor
tions, while the whole interior of the ]
building was alive with rattlesnakes, some
in coil and ready for battle, but tlie larger ;
proportion stupid nd inert, as though j
they had been imbibing liberally of the j
i illicit fruit of the still. The nsfißlrtf and
S son fled horror stricken from the place.
A consultation was had, and it was irnpos
j sible to secure the body of poor Hiuith
without incurring fearful risk. It was
I determined to reclose the entrance and
! other apertures and fire the building,
: which was done. The party stayed until
! the house was entirely consumed, and
nothing remained but tlie now useless still
| and the calcined bones of tbe miserable
: distiller.
It is supposed that Smith had built his
manufactory close upon a den of the dead
ly reptiles in the overhanging cliff, and
that attracted by the lieut, or possibly the
fumes of the whisky, they found then
way into the building iu largo numbers
1 after he bad closed the door and Lid
, down to Elect.,
An Old Maid Badly Foiled.
A Phtniiixvillk maid, quite old, beoom
| ing anxious about her matrimonial ohuuc
le, recently concocted a pluu to deceive a
young fellow as to her age. This was the
way she tried it: The old family Bible
contained a faithful record of all births,
marriages and deaths. This volume the
luaiduu took to her chamber, and seloct
j ing the birth page she managed by dint of
scratching and writing to change the date
! ot her - birth to a period eleven years Inter
; than what it hud been legitimately record
I ed. Then the Bible was placed on the
sitting room table in a conspicuous man
' tier. That evening came along the lover,
jHe soon begun to finger with the Bible
I pages, und Anally reached the birth rec
| oril, where and when he discovered to his
surprise that iiis Augelina was just one
year younger than he. He thought it
strange, as she appeared older. Ho kept
his mouth shut and con tinned to fumble
over the pages. Next he hegau reading
tiie death list, and made the very astonish
ing discovery that the radiant maiden, ac
cording to the Bible, had actually been
born ten years after the deeeuae of her fa
ther. The young man arose and quietly
bid Angelina good-bye, aud now swears
tuat eternal vigilance is indeed the price
of liberty. —PottsviUe Miners' Journal.
Wliat They Took Us For.
On Saturday morning, an hour or two
before daybreak, Officer Conklin wus hail
ed at Grand street and the Bowery by two
brothers, who stood near a pile of paving
blocks ready for the railroad men's uOe m
repairing the track. Hard by, with a lan-
tern and club, was the open-eyed wuteh
man.
"What do you want ?" said Officer
! Conklin.
“We want our money," replied one of
the twins.
“Who lias your money ?”
“Nobody iiaiu’t got it,” answered tbe
stranger. “It’s into that 'ere pile o’ stun,
but this ’ere man that stands by that 'ore
pile won’t let us tech it. Naow, I wish
| you’d give us leave to stay here till raoru
| in’. Or maybe you’d order this ere man
Ito let us hunt into that 'ere stuu pile and
get our money. ”
The officer gave the desired permission
and the two men went to work at the stone j
j pile and soon drew from it u large pack
age of greenbacks.
“Is that your money ?" asked the offi
cer.
"Certainly it is,” said one of the men.
“Aud wlmt in the world induced you to
hide it there ?” asked the officer.
“Well,” said the stranger, "my name is
Charles Maypole, and this ere man is my
brother George. We thought we’d come
down to New York and see the town, you
| see; so we come. We’d read n good deal
|in the New York papers about strangers
j being took iu by banco men mid sick [
[ scamps, uud we concluded tic-* we i
> woiudu't kerry around with us any more
1 money than wo needed. Ho after cousult-
I iu’ a spell, and bavin’ come across this 'ere
i stun pile we thought we’d hide tho money
: into it, mid so we did. That was about If
j o’clock last night. When we come to get
j it tlmt ’ere mall, gaul darn him, wouldn’t
let us teeli it. That's why I called to you. ”
“How much money did you hide there,
j yo ninnies V” asked the officer.
“Jest an even $580,” answer the strou
ger.
Anil so it was. The simple Maypole
brothers, all tlie way from tlie Green
Mountain Htate, had actually mude a cache
of the paving stone pi e, believing it to be
a safer place than the vault of a bunk or a
fire-proof safe at “the tavern.”— Jf. l r .
Hull,
► —* •-
The Vagabond Sage.
An old man of very active physiognomy,
answering to the name of Jacob Wilmot,
was brought to the Police Court. His
clothes looked as tbongh they might have
j been bought second hand iu his youthful
: prime, for they hud suffered more from
i the rubs of the world than the proprietor
himself.
“What business ?”
“None; I’m a traveler.”
“A vagabond, perhaps ?”
“You are not fur wrong. Travelers and
vagabonds are about the same thing. The
difference is that the latter travels without
money and the former without brains ?”
“Where have you traveled ?”
“All over tho Continent.”
“For what, purpose ?”
“Observation.’
“Wlmt have yon observed ?”
“A little to commend, much to censure,
and a great deal to laugh at.”
“Hump ! what do you commend ?”
“A handsome woman that will stay at
home, an eloquent preacher who will
preach short sermons, a good w riter that
will not write too much, and a fool that has
sense enough to hold his tongue.”
“What do you censure ?”
“A man that marries a girl for her fine
clothing, a youth who studies medicine
while lie has the use of his hands, and the
people who will elect a drunkard to office.”
“What do you laugh at ?”
“I laugh at a man who expects his po
sition to command that respect which his
personal qualifications and qualities do
not merit.”
He was dismissed. Ex.
-
The World Without Sunday.
Think how the abstraction of Sunday
would enslave the working classes, with
whom we are identified. Think of labor
thus going on in one monotonous and
eternal rack, fingers forever straining, tbe
brow forever drooping, and the loins for
ever aching, the restless mind forever
scheming. Think of the beauty it would
efface, tlie uierry-heaftedness it would ex
tinguish the giant strength it would tame,
the resources of nature it would crush, the
sickness it would bring, of the projects it
would wreck, the groans it would extort,
the lives it immolate, and tlie cheerless
graves it would prematurely dig. Hee
them toiling and toiling and fretting and
grinding and hewing, and weaving ana
■ spinning, sowing aud gathering, mowing
I and reaping, raising and building, dig
: ging and planting, and striving and strug
gling, in tho garden and in tho field, in
i the granary and in tho bam, in the fne*
' tory and in the mill, in the warehouse and
’ in the shop, in the mountain aud in the
i ditch, on the roadside and in the country,
out at sea and nu shore, in the day of
| brightness and of bloom ! What a picture
i this world would present if we had no Hab
j bath 1
Lucy Stone doesn't believe that ladies
! ought to change their uuaaes because they
t marry.
MISCELLANEOUS iTJUiti:
Ship’s bread—Rolls.
A watch-word—Tick:
A nod follow— Morpheus
Leveling down—Going to bed.
Fee Simple!—A fee to a quack.
Light-headed—A street-lamp.'
Very hahl lines—The railwuys.
Drawing materials—Corkscrews.
Hop merchants- -Dancing-musters.
Men of the time—Chronometer-maker*:
Some men get their barrel ot beer off
tick.
The rondy-money systenii Dun, or be
done.
Spirits of #ine—After dinner excite
ment.
Is it bad grutarfier to say,’ ‘That Mr
gun?”
A liberal measure —Thirteen to the
doiou.
Mui-t-rhntinent—Retaking s mail a glass
of beer.
The Only industrious loafers atk fho ba
kors.
The knave of club*—The brutoT police-'
man.
DrsfrOmr with legs matorally have the best
run'.
Give a donkey thistle* if Jott want fo’
coax him.
NO. 22
The best commander —General disarma
ment.
Job boiled over when his patience gnvo'
way.
Seem 1 loss pants—ThosO that shrink upon 1
washing.
Real brain work—Parting one’s hair in 1
the middle.
The Educated Pig pliiys caWfe/ kud his 1
game is porker.
When is u balloon not a bal l lob'7‘ When'
it’s a-loft.
When is a boat like u pile of sncW*?—'
When it’s a-dxift.
When are fish a little crazy?—When 1
they get iu-seine.
Both watermen and wild Indians feather
their skulls.
You mav always recognize a champagne
maker by his fiz.
The earliest participants in the fall trade’
—Adam und Eve.
Erratum in college paper: For Alum’
Water, read Alma Mater.”
The oyster houses are now enlisting a 1
good many “raw ’ recruits.
An Indinnopolis voter lias hung olit a
sign reading "Well digen aud eelars."
Song for the town-tied sportsman—
“ How happy could I lie with heather:”
If W-o-r-c-e-a-t-e-r spells Wooator, wTiy
donesn’t R-o-o-h-e-s-t-e-r spells Rooster?
“So far, so good,” as the boy said when
he finished the first pot of his mother’s
jam.
There was no relationship between “My
May John” and Byron's “Man Fred."
“Lieut. I)., what arms do you regnri
host adapted for colored troops?" "Bn
zors, sir. ”
When does an infant evince a taste to/
a literary life? —When it tukes Itimlly to'
its squills.
“The stewed monkey that edits tlio
,” is the latest expression of jourmjl
astio courtesy. /
ivtuee LeOpuM i >ciy weux tti tkW
knees.
Madame Itistori’s mother died reoently
James Cork is tlie heaviest man iu Nthir
Orleans.
When Astor dies there will bo seventy’
millions to squabble over.
It seems that Mmo. Bazaiue disguised
her husband as her man servant.
Princess Frederika, of Hanover, will
marry the Duke of Brunswick.
Thackeray had an unknown nephew
who wrote as smartly as his uncle.
It is absurdly suggested that Barnurn 1
produces Hippodromeo and Juliet.
John ltevolver is one of the most peace
ably disposed residents of Natchez.
The Pope is having his jewels, prec
ious stouos, etc, catalogued and appraised.
Krupp, tho Prussian guuniuker, pays
SSO,(KM) tuxes this year, on an income of
*1,680,000.
Ida Greeley is spending the summer in*
tho “Sacred Heart" convent at Mauhut
tauville, N. Y.
They say that Mayor Havcmeyer de
pends entirely on dog-catchers letters for
light rending.
It isn’t *500.000, but only 860,000, after
all, that a deceased relative left to Sec
retary Bristow and his wife.
John Cotton, of Ohio, stole wool, ac
knowledged the corn, and Judge Bye sent
him to jail. —Detroit Free Pretie.
The Barones Burdett-Contts gave Mr."
Stanley a dog, valued at 82,500, which Ire' 1
has taken witii him to Africa.
Susan IJ. is cleared by acclamation. -
Every man in America held up both hniMs ;
and said. “Oh ! pshaw I" —Detroit Preen.
Charlie Boss, the kidnapped urchin, is
found farther and farther away from home
every time. Ho was last fonud in Cuba.
There is an American urtist iu Loudon
named Whistler. He. practiced on his
name for many years to keep his courage
up.
If yon want to corner a man, ask him
what lie thinks of Tyndall’s views on Ma
terialism. Two to one ho asks you whut ■
you think.
A Good Joke.
When I used to ftttend store in Syracuse
tlie old man came around one uny and
says:
“Boys, the one that sells the most twixt
now and Christmas, gets a vest pattern for
u present. ”
Maybe we didn’t work for that vest pat
tern. 1 tell you there were some tall sto
ries told in praise of goods ul>ont that
time. But the tallest talker and the one
who had more cheek than any of us, was a
certain Jonah Squires, who roomed with
me. He would take a dollar out of a
runn's pocket when he only meant tospeud -
sixpence; and the women—Lord bless yonl
—they just handed over their pocket-book* •
to him, and lot him lay out what he liked
for them.
One night Jonah woke me with :
“By Joe ! old fellow, if you think that
’re’s got any cotton in it, I’ll bring down
the sbeep it was etvk from, and make him
swear to iiis wooi 1 It will not wear out
either. Wore a pair of pants made out ot
that stuff for five years, uud they are us
good now as when I first put them on.—-
Take it at thirty cents and 1 11 say you owo
me nothing, l'ih V too dear ? Well, call
it twentv-eight cents. What do you say ?
Shall I tear it ? All right, it’s a bargain.”
I could feel Jonah’s hand playing with
! the bed-clothes for an instant, tiien rip E
' tear 1 went something, and I hid my head
! under the blanket, perfectly convulsed
i with laughter, and sure that Jonah baa
torn the sheet from top to bottom.
When I woke us in the morning I foupa
—alas ! uukindest out of all—that the hack
of my night shirt was split from t*ii Vi
collar-band.