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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.