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VOL. XIX.
WORGENILEMN?
By Wallace P. Reed.
For The c institution.
Undoubtedly he was a tramp.
The solitary marshal, whose business it was
to represent the majesty of the law in the little
village of Blue Rock, spotted the stranger as
Boon as he entered the place.
The visitor was shabbily dressed. His coat
was ragged, and his trousers were patched.
His hat was without a brim, and his shoes let
his fee touch the ground.
“I’ll shadow him,’’ said the marshal to him
self.
The tramp slouched along down the shady
side of the street until he reached the depot.
Here lie paused and took a seat on the plat
form.
‘■Hi*Jo. there V’ said the marshal as he came
up. ‘‘You must move on.”
The man thus rudely spoken to turned a
weary face toward the officer.
It was not a very clean face, and it bore
traces of care. But it was not a bad face, nor
a very o’.d face. On the contrary, it was rather
frank and youthful.
All this the marshal took in. but he had bis
order- and he had to carry them out. Blue
Rock had passed an ordinance subjecting all
tramp-i to thirty days’ imprisonment at hard
labor.
“What are you doing here?” asked the offi
cer roughly.
“I am looking for work.” was the reply.
“Who are you, and where are you from ?”
“I am a gentleman,” said the tramp, wea
rily.
“A gentleman!” shouted the marshal. “Yon
look like one. What is your name, and where
are you from?”
The wayfarer put his hand to his head, and
a puzzled look came over his face.
“I would give anything to be able to answer
your questions,” he said, “but I cau’t answer,
for 1 do not know.”
At this astounding reply the marshal raised
his ba■ -n.
“None of your chaff,” he growled. “Now,
I’ll give you" one chance. You must march
out of town or I’ll run you in.”
The stranger evidently understood the full
inean’mg of the threat. IFt* leaped from his
Seat with a frightened look, and without a
word walked off down the railroad track.
“He’s been arrested before,” said the
officer thoughtfully. “No doubt he has been
in ado en jails. Well, so he leaves here it is
all right.”
Two hours later the guardian of the peace
found hi? tramp occupying his former seat on
the depot platform.
“Now. you must come with me,” said the
Xnaishn’, angrily.
Ho seized the lounger by one arm and
jerked him up.
The prisoner made no resistance. He
looked reproachfully at his captor, and start
ed off with him without a word,
At Blue Rock justice was always swift,
although perhaps it was a little crude.
1 n les than an hour the tramp was convicted
and loci- M up in the stockade, where he was
set to work breaking rock.
Tim pi i’-ouor’s obstinacy in asserting that he
ii.ui . . --v*! his i.u v..G hl3 f.umcrpime
of abode made the petty village otticials very
mad. and the poor fellow was put to work at
harder tasks than usual.
As the. weeks rolled on it was noticed that
the prisoner displayed no resentment or impa
tience. He went about his work cheerfully
and without a complaint.
When the prisoner’s term was out the first
man he met after his release was the marshal.
“Get out of the town right away,” was the
officer's advice.
“But T want to stay here,” said the tranfp.
C ‘l want work, and I like the place.”
“You are a blank fool to want to stay in this
town.” replied the other, “and it will be my
duty to a:rest you again if you don’t leave. So
march!”
The- unfortunate wretch imide no further
appeal. He limped off slowly, and was soon
Out of ?»!ght.
Later in the day the marshal passed by the
depot and -aw a spectacle that made him open
his eyes.
The tramp was on the pintform, and the
Superintendent was talking to him.
“Conn* here,” said the superintendent to the
marshal, “and take this vagabond off!”
There was nothing to do b it to make the
arrest. A speedy conviction followed, and the
lucklc s victim was again sent to the stockade
for thirty days.
At !n.< the month came to an end and the
prison*t was turned out. This time the mar
shal tn arched him beyond the town limits and
left him.
lie ha - got too much sense to come back,”
reported the marshal to the mayor.
“We may have been too hard on him,” re
sponded th- mayor. “I sometimes think he is
wrong in the head.”
“Well, it is too late to talk about it,” said
the other, and the conversation ended.
The tramp did not turn up again that day,
nor the next.
The worthy marshal begen to be worried,
ami the mayor was a little uneasy. Blue Rock
■was such a small place that a sensation was
alw.i s welcome, and the unknown prisoner
had been the talk of the town for sixty days.
“He's hiding in the woods, and will slip in
here some night and burn the town,” said
one.
This id“a found great favor, ami that night
the vil ig-'u-s found it difficult to sleep.
On the following day there was a railway
excursion to a point of interest forty miles
away, and everybody of any consequence in
the t<>'\ n wont along. The mayor and council,
the u ’rintemient of the depot, and even the
inar.,l.-1. joined the party.
The r turn trip was made after dark, and the
train ,rd along a. a fearful rate of' need. The
exc mist. 4 were all in a jolly humor and
weio at the height of thc’*r festivities when the
frig . ?.i shrieking of the locomotive whistle
Startled everybody. The train came to a full
Stop, ami among those who rushed out were
the mayor and marshal of Blue Rock.
At the head of the train they found the en
gineer ;nd conductor talking with a man who
held one* hand to his side from which the blood
was streaming.
“Great God’ It is our tramp!” exclaimed
the mat dial.
“You are right,” said the mayor, “My poor
fellow, what is the matter?”
Tie tramp fell in a faintingfit before he
Could an. v.-er the question.
on see,” said the engineer, “this man
Was tramping through the. woods when lie
cam*? to the track and found two train wreck
ers tampering with the rails. Well, this
tramp, m-whatever he is. lumped <-n tlm two
bc< undr Is like a tiger. He disabled one of
th an, but the other stabbed him in the side
and ran .way. So he built a fire on the
track, and as soon as I sav it I stopped the
train.
J then several passengers came up with
the w ended wreck i , who Lail lx en serious
ly in J ’ i 1 the I’. amp.
The -. illain evidently thought that be was
mortal y wounded, for he made a full confer
Bi >n
“I th k,” said the Bh?p Rock mayor, “that
v • I • u.’ to <ut i >•• * r er.
Many i .-minbls fix would not have turned
O’ cr a h ind to save m.”
Tbo tramp opened his eyes and smiled
faintly.
“Hut you know wo wcro on the train?”
fisk< It’. C mar-I.al.
“Uh, yes, I saw you when you went up tbo
road this morning, and I hung about here be
cause I saw those two chaps acting suspi
ciously on the track.”
“Come, now, who arc you, and where is your
home?” asked the marshal.
“I am a gentlemen. I have forgotten my
name, and all about things that happened
years ago. 1 can tell you nothing more.”
“By George!” said the mayor, “1 believe he
tells the truth.”
“Wo must take him to Blue Rock and care
for him,” said one of the party. “He shall
have the freedom of the town, and the best
there is in it.”
“Thank you,” said the tramp, with a smile.
“I am satisfied now.”
A spasm of pain contracted his features.
A gasp, a fluttering of the breath, and the
unknown was dead!
Tramp or gentleman? Who was and
what lay back of his misfortunes?
These were the questions the Blue Rock ex
cursionists asked each other on their way
home.
Cigars and Cancer.
From the Washington Star:
“Is it true that smek’ng cigars causereftneer? ‘
“Hardly. Excessive sunk ng, as excessive eating,
drinking or any other dissipation will promote
cancer if the person is already predisposed to it.
There is no reason to suppose that smoking wil
cause cancer. Many people smoke at a frightful
rate and get uo cancer. Many never use tobacco
and die with cancer. Women have cancer of the
bieast and thn at. They are uot caused by.-mok
ing. If a person is predisjosod to cancer it may be
brought out by any sort of violence against nature.
‘•Late hours, too much eating, too much drinking,
irregular habits of any sort may develop it. It may
be developed by a hard blow. Sullivan might hit a
man in the neck and develop a cancer tor him. A
long continued sore throat, breathing bad air fora
I long time, anything irritating the throat, might de
velop a cancerthat vas trying to come into exist
ence. There is a theory that cancer is licriditary,
but the heriditary line is not strongly marked.
lh r.ditament in it cannot be traced with any cer
tainty. < ’ancers are not common.
“There arc many throat troubles not cancerous
that are very common and annoying. The throat
is affected by the climate and atmosphere. Pad air
will cause continuous throi t irritation. The bad air
in simc of* the public buildings here makes many
t’.r. H's suffer, jin-l might remotely as.-ist the devel
opment of cancer. The bureau of eivgraving and
printing and the printing office arc frightful on the
throats of those employed in them.’’
GARI 15A LDI AND ANIT A.
From life Forthcoming Autobiography.
1 had need of some human being who would
love mo. Without such a one near mo existence
was becoming insupportable. Although not old, I
knew,men well enough to know how diflkult it is to
find a real friend. But a woman! Yes, a woman: fori
had always considered tliem the most perfect ofbe
ingsand whatever men may say. it is infinitely easier
to find a really loving heart among them. J was walk
ing on the quarter deck of the Itaparica, wrapped in
my sad thoughts, and, having reasoned the matter
in all ways, finally concluded to seek a wife for my
self who would draw me out of this depressing and
insupportable state ol things.
My glance fell by chance upon the houses of the
Barra, a li tie hill thus called at the entrance of the
Laguna (of St. Catherine in B azii,) on which are
some simple but pictures*juc dwellings. With Hie
t'id of my glass, which I habitually hold in my
•tcrl >A- I saw a young girl*
1 o-dcred il - Vic L : m Mrc in that due?
lion, and aisembaX. \frtid made for the hcu<e
which cental: cd die or»/cct of my voyage; but could
not find it. when I encountered a person of the place
whom I had known on my first arrival. He invited
me to take coffee at his house. Wo entered, and the
first person on whom my gaze fell was the one who
had caused my coming on shore.
It was Anita; Ti e mother of my children. The
companion of my life in good and evil fortune. Ti e
woman whose courage I have so often desired. We
both icmained in an ecstatic silence, gazing at each
other like two persons who do not meet for the first
time, and who seek in each other s lineaments
something which shall revive remembrance. At
last I sainted her, ami I said: “You must be mine.’’
I spoke but.little Portuguese,and I spoke these auda
cious words iu Italian. However, 1 seemed to have
some magnetic power in my insolence. I bud tied
a knot which death alone could break.
A JAPANESE GENESIS.
From the Overland Monthly.
In the beginning all things were in chaos.
Heaven aud earth were not separated. 'J he world
| floated in the cosmic mass like a fish in the water,
l or the yelk in an egg. The ethereal matter sublimed
j ami formed the heavens, while the residuum fo:m
--| eJ the present earth, from the mould of which a
germ sprouted and began a self-aidmate being, from
which sprang all the gods.
On the floating b idge of heaven appeared a man
and woman of celestial origin. The male plunged
his jeweleil spear into tlie unstable waters beneath
them, and withdrawing it, the trickling drops
formed an island open which they dosccn led.
The creative pair, or divine man and woman,
de-igiiing to malke this island a pillar foraconli
n nt. se| aruted, the male lo the left, the fcm.de- to
the riglit, to make a journey around the island.
When they met the woman spake first, saying,
“How joyful to meet a lovely man’.”
The man, oflende 1 that the fir.-t use of the tongue
I bad been by a woman, demand'. <i that the journey
be repeated, after which he cried out exidtingly,
“How joyful to meet a lovely woman!"
Thus ensued the proper subjection; and this, ac
cording to the ancient lore of Japan, was the
origin of the human race and the art of love.
Homo Bible Fuels.
From Chambers’ {Journal.
Ver.-cs in the Old Testament, 21’,J11.
Verses in the New Te t. rnent, T/jS!).
The books of the Old 'les anient.
The Looks of the New Testament, 27.
Words in the Old 'I - t ment, YL*. jgo.
Lettcis in the Nev. i< lament, 83M20.
Wordsl th ! 1 inent, 181,253.
i C mpt in th-< * 'J tme 9».
Leiters in th'* < dd 'lc-tament,
1 f a;<ters in the New Testament, 2fX).
The word “Jehovah occurs 6.-o', times.
| 'J he middle Look of the Old Testament is Pro
i vxrbs.
Tne middle cbapterlof the Oi l Testament Is Job
' XXiX.
i 'J he middle vene of the New Testament is Acts
xxii. 17.
Ti e shortest verse in the New Testament Is John
j JI he longest verse in the Old Te 1 - ’ament Is Esther
1 . n. 1 lie book of the New Testament Is Second
Th< buionmns.
• The middle chapter and short-’A in the Bible Is
!• a m vxvil.
———— ———
A Tough btory.
1 io.:* tl.e Jacksonville News He aid.
We never saw the equal of the following
bit ol vivid end intricate mendacity:
Ja k Smith's old r >un I.* n luu e ontly developed
( • d*r..bh mercautilo ability. ’He ctlicr day
■ J i*le. 1 Yon.c n >! >. iu the chicken Lonsc, and
1 v. ui i wn to Investigate. In one corner of the
jar I toe roan lieu I * the was standing by a match
’ br. lull of bug-. H.cc she v.as peddling out to
Im tl.- r fov. h, ab i 5 lor four fiTahib of coin. 'I he
. b a r <s’-u Jim was stan«flng by ti c- fair
I p; iy. 'I i.c way th< rount was made was laughable.
; Th; ; • 1 h i • . g fowl would pia< ■ a g.ain of com
Lyt-.i hos Fettletoes. Bettie would examine it
' ( ih.uL, .r .’:' tto on* sh e and then pass out the
. bug. When Jack tot there she bad only two bugs
1 I.f' The corn lec.-ivcl would have filled a pint
lu ome from tl'.o columns of our c teemed con
| t*?:n;-orniy, the Eustis L ke Region, and suggests
i tl.e thought tbi t an enterprising Loy. small in
■ s u ’.i’-, but big in enterprise. Ux>k charge of things
j during the cdituFs Uiuporury ab.-.euce.
ATLANTA. GA., TUESDAY, EEyBITAIiY 14,1888.
FROIfI THE (WE.
From the Philadelphia News.
Traveling through Spain I never failed to
stop at the picturesque liille town of Palo. It
was there T first became interested in the inn
keeper’s daughter, Antonia, and her lover.
Pedro, who were engaged to marrietL On
my;return visit, when I asked about the pair,
the old innkeeper told me that they would
never marry now. Pedro was dead. Ho was
forced to become a soldier and theq fell in
battle. Since that day Antonin had done
nothing butWy and moan for her dead lover.
While the old man was telling me about the
unfortunate lovers his daughter entered. I
had left her a bright-eyed girl, bnt I found her
worn and wasted from sorrow.
“How do you feel Antonio?” her father
asked.
“Clara Portijo is dead, papa, and she was
only five years old. lam nineteen and am not
dead yet. Is it not strange?”
“And your father,” I said, “is more than
nineteen and still hopes to live a good while.”
“But why,” turning her eyes pathetically on
mo, “do some people have so little to endure
while others’ hearts break from sorrow ?”
“You musn’t talk so,” I said, gently. “We
all have our sorrows; they' arc given us by
God for a test.”
“Senor,” she said, “if you know how much
I have endeavored to overcome my grief and
banish the melancholy which overwhelms me.
you would not speak thus to me. For my dear
father’s sake, 1 should dearly love to live: but
it cannot be. Even the doctors say my heart
is weak, but they little know how reaily weak
it is. Perhaps even today, senor, the end may
come, I seem to feel it near me.”
“Antonia.” wailed her unhappy father, “do
not say that ! If you die I shall die also, for 1
cannot live when you are gone.”
“Do you really think you would die, father,”
said tlio young girl, fixing her bright eyes
upon the old man as he stood weeping before 1
her, “if 1 were to leave you and go to heaven
“Ayo; I should, Antonia! hi -iced 1 should.”
“Then, can you wonder at my dying, since
Pedro too is dead ?”
The young girl buried her face in her hands
and wept aloud. Her father turned and
quitted the room suddenly, whereupon Anto
nia. making a great effort, over herself, hastily
brushed her tears away and followed down.
Lawyer Herrera entered the house soon
after, and over our coffee 1 told him the story
of Antonia and her ]o\ er. To my surprise, my ’
companion seemed very much startled and
taken aback at hearing of the young man s
death. He called for the landlord to come in.
“Is it true,” ho asked, “that Pedro Alcazara.
the priest’s nephew, is dead? I called around
to the house, but the clergyyian was from
home.”
“It is too true, senor. He died in the Carlist
war, nearly eighteen months ago.”
“Poor lad—poor lad!” repeated the lawyer
several times. “And I was bringing him such
good news. .His uncle—a brother of his
mother’s—has just died, leaving him a very
handsome fortune. Ami he is really dea, ?”
“ \ve. Le|fe!" replied ?he old man. 1 u
it was when I^e w for 1 fear ILjat my •
poOi\ nltonia will soon ib.'low him.'
The ventero rose and left the room to hide I
the tears he was unable to restrain. About I
half an hour later, as the young men and boys |
were dancing on the green to the merry sound ;
of the guitar. Lawyer Herrera ami myself both
sat at tlie open window looking out upon that ;
scene of mirth and gaiety. Antonia sat apart .
from the rest with a piece of needlework in her
hands which she watered with tears.
But a new personage, unnoticed by ah’ except
the lawyer and myself, now appeared upon the
green. It was a young soldier, tall and hand
some, though his uniform was shabby and
covered with dust and his face was pale and
thin. He stood a little behind one of the oak
trees, gazing earnestly upon the dancers, as if
trying to recognize some one he was seeking,
it struck me that J hail seen his face before,
but I could not remember where or when.
However, the ventero happening to enter the
room just then, I asked him who the soldier
might be, al the same time pointing to where
lie stood concealed from the dancers behind
the tree. The old man looked, and then sud
denly screamed aloud :
“Good lieavens I It is Pedro Alcazara come
back to life!”
The young man, hearing himself called, and
seeing that lie had l>een recognized, came a lew
steps forward ami looked around him. Tho
dancing and music ceased, and Antonia, who
had heard her father cry, rose from her seat,
ami rushing forward flung her .elf with a wild
scream of joy into her lover’s arms.
“Thank heaven! My daughter will now
live, for Pedro has come back!” said the ven
tero, hurrying out to the green where, the
pe.asants, with the most lively manifestations
of joy. stood aiound the. youthful pair.
“Stand back, friends!” cried Pedro. “Anto
nia has fainted.”
My companion and I went out, for we scare I ;
this might bo something worse than a mere I
shock, remembering what the doctor had said I
about a sudden shock. Pedro had placed the ;
young girl upon the grass, and held her head
upon ins knee. Her father knelt by her side
ami rubbed herwusted hands between his own
'The first glam e at that pale, cold face showed
u.s instantly that Antonia was dead, wrecked,
as it were., in sight of shore; dead. nov. that
her lover Lad returned to bring her all tie* love
and joy her heart had so long craved for. The
old man saw our looks of pity and ;y.
“bhe is very ill, is she nol,senoi : iu .»->ked
me.
“Alas, yes’.” I answered; “very ill in
deed.”
Pedro seemed to understand the fearful ’
meaning of my words. He hunt <!o.vn and i
looked earnestly into the still, awfully pah? face i
of tho gill he loved, laid his hand upon her |
heart, am! then shrieked wildly:
“Great heavens, she is dead!”
“What?” cried the ventero. “What do •
you say, Pedro?”
And lie, in his turn, laid life band upon bis ;
i daughter’s heart. There was an awful silence
i fur a few seconds, and then the poor old man
I ro.-e slowly' from bis knees, and coming aci ->
i to m<! asked nu-calmly too calmly, for ih.it
| unnatural calmness startled me if I thought ’
■ it true that bis daughter was dead.
“Yes,” I answered; “1 feu- so.”
“Ami will she never more s< e the blue sky,
j nor the bright sun, nov the green trees V’
“No,” I answered.
“And shall I never more hear her sweet
voice, never more take her in my arms, never !
more kfes her loving lips?”
“No, never,” 1 umwered.
“Then,” said the ventero, turning round and
‘ gazing with a look of iearfiil hatied upon the ’
yu uig soldi'r, “Pedro Alcazara, you are the '
murderer of my unhappy daughter!”
The young man start' d to his feet, astoniih- .
' menl and horror depicted upon his handsome !
face
* What do you mean, Done .lose?” he < tied ;
‘1 the niurderei of Antonia?”
The old man did not ansv. rr, but ph king up ■
fi'im the ground the gun whu h tlu* -> ddi< r had
! h.d fall, he s\s ung it in the air, ami b‘ fore any .
one l.a i firm* to
heavily njion the inicovcred head of the uu- •
happy Pedro. The young man fell to the I
i ground beside the corpse of his betrothed. '
Without a sob, without a moan, he died. Be i
j had gone to join his lost bride in leaven, and i
I his murderer stood smiling grimly over the i
i bodies of the two he had loved.
1A policeman, who happened to have been a
witness of the scene, now stepped forward and J
laid his hand upon tbo murderer’s shdulder.
The imikyoper turned and quietly followed
him without once looking back or uttering a
single word. The belies of Antonia and Pedro
w ere brought into the inn.
While the villagers were still praying and
weeping, two little birds perched upon the oak
tree just outside the window and sang charm
ingly.
“Hush!” said a little girl, rising from her
knees. “They arc the souks of Pedro and An
tonia come to bid us rejoice, lor they are happy
in heaven.”
Not Jong ago I most unexpectedly met
Lawyer Herrera in the Grand opera bouse al
Paris, ami as we sat in the glittering foyer ho
related to me in a very few words the sequel of
the feariul tragedy wo had both witnessed in
the Venta dcl.Pcrro.
Pedro and Antonia were buried the day after
their death, in the same grave, over which a
splendid marble cross has been raised by tho
sorrowing villagers. Thu ventero was con
demned to death. After tho night of the
murder ho never uttered a word. Silently,
and with a calm look, lie heard his sentence;
but, before it could be carried into effect, he
was found dead in the prison. Ho had opened
a vein with a pin which he had kept concealed,
and thus, in tho silence of the night, and alone,
he went to meet, his Maker and answered tho
double crime of murder and suicide.
A STRANGE AFFLICTION.
One of tho Most Remarkable Cases of a I’e
culiar Disease.
From the C.'ncinnati Enquirer.
A large, middle aged lady, dressed in deep
black, stepped into central station about ten o'clock
ia>t night.
She seemed '<» b* suffering, and shook like n 1. as.
Lieut *niint SjhniitUrtoeing tier evident distress
and embarrassment, invited her into tbo office and
iii<]uii*cd what she wished.
• I want to know my name and where I live.”
vas the startling reply. “I know that my first
name is Louisa, and that 1 live somewhere on
Eighth street, near a bridge. For the life of mo I
can’t remember my husband’s name or the number
of the house.’*
The lady began to cry hysterically, and soon was
so far overcome by nervous prostration that the
wagon was called and took her to the city hospital.
It was thought at first that tho woman had been
drinking, and that Uquor had caused her lack of
memory. Such proved not to be the fact.
At the hospital she was attended b.\ Hr. Hussey
and the matron, who questioned her closely, and,
finally, got from her that during the evening she
had cal ed on a family named Behr, living at r»o’>
Vine street. She also said that the first two letters
of her hiiKi.aivl's name were Fr, but not another
E tter could she remember. Their young cnihl had
ded Saturday, and on this account s ie was in
mourning. The little ones name uus Eiminna, but
again she utterly broke down w hen she tried to re
call the last name.
She was sent to the ward and treated for nervous
prostration. Later inquiry at the residence of the
Behr ftunily, developed that the patient was Mrs.
Louisa Fries, whose husband, Joseph, is manager
of the Queen City Di-infccl iut company, 'ihey
live on Eighth street, near the Millcreek bridge.
■‘ I’hese cases.” sa d Dr. Hussey, ‘ arc very rare.
In several years there have been a few at tins hos
pital, probably two or three. MrX. I’ries’S affliction
is one of the most remarkable that has c m • ifp in
my experience. The medical twin for the /disease
>a^u.tic.aphasia, which meahs loss of memory
for words t>r date. It is caused by hemorrhage or
the p’nrging of an artery, and mo V often comes
from a sudden shock. Medically Hom Uni’, ills a
lOH'Aii of the third Irontal convolusion on the left
side of the brain and the Island of Keil or
fifth lolmj of the Ltain. Mrs. Fries, from
tho marks on her cl thing, seems tc have fallen,
and probi bly the shock has placed her in this con
dition. 11 i« state is most often found wh< n a per
sou is suffering from paralysis, and the renuirkuble
feature of Mrs. Fries’s case is that it is not attended
by this paralysis. It may come upon her, however,
tomorrow.
Mis. Fries’s husband calle<l at the central shortly
after one o’clock this morning, and was directed to
the hospital.
He thought that perhaps grief over the 10-s of
their child had ailc< ted his wife’s brain.
THE MAN UP A TREft.
Eccentric John Haywood and Jlis Unique
Washington Domicile.
From the Brooklyn Standard Union.
No ntoro nest, but live or six largo rooms up
a tall oak, is the way quiet John Haywood, the om*
armed veteran soldier, clerk in (lie tieasury depart
ment. credited from Vermont, hit a new thing ati-1
made himself famous. There is no mistake about
it, that his name is forever linked in the galaxy of
distinguished people of history, and, 100, quite as
accidental us they.
He has two hous a up in the (r.'Of, the one he I ’ t
built comisting of three large looms an I u balcony
us large us a roan, and in uuolher < lump *.! u»>s a
new and larger house higher up in the tree?, con
tain three jstoriis a dancing pavilion, a well
furni-.be 1 kl* hen. belrootn, lub ony library nil
w i •rni..h< d, ":«l even an upright j»iauo. Tin s •
hou e u.e i o’. I uilt upon or attache-1 to
lli* lijus; ti.iy j-tand on high trestles, so
that the topmost branches Os the tall ts- s pier* e
in their natural directions through all the room .
giving, in ail the dillurciit (Casons within the c .m
partmciJtß, the exact flora of nature. ’ unvus is
( io ely l it* *i m- und the liml s of th* se trees w I.ere
they pirns* the ruoftthd flooisaiul walls of the
room to make th-in water-tight and prevent the
sound ofabimion.
One cun sit iu his IP rar? or ki'x hcq and plrck
"ii.eii c ave ;or a-onia v, mi< liujri squhrds have
left them. Li lb ; dea lof w inter, while the limbs
ar * ' are without and the snows’are flying, Hay
wood can sit in his carp le I r rnn v ftb Ids l.ook«,
and feet at his oil stove, an l r l his head and arms
upon a limb sproiitiu ; with \<*f<lure, while without
that same Hee is denuded in tb»- rom.i of
winter. 'Deo ho*.-.* s are npj r-h hed by an
inclined plniiof plank from the higln r portions of
the hili up to the lower story, when- there is a door
securely locked and bo!l< , 'l and v h n »• lie mounts
by fguhir eucloscl stairways to the apartments.
There wore suvci.ri visitors, Indies and gentlemen,
w ;ri l-a i com** into the inclosure to see tho "mon
ster," and limy regarded him distantly, with curi
o-ity un i a • . He politely waved them away, say
ing he w:u “not receiving today;”
“IHiz/ard” in the Dictionary.
From li.e New York Sun.
The new Vhilogicabli ,‘ionary (the only Mnn
ilar«l dictionary m which the v.oi'l ‘ biizzaid ’ is
mem oa 'l/bays Part 111 pa“»
“Jiuzz.i;d. I S. [A nuxlciu wo:d prob, more or
’• oiiom dop -i- if"-*'-: ;ve . o.d ale blow, i-hi t
bi; ,t t, bit; ‘“i the Fr. bfi --cr, to wound has also
bumi conh cWiiu l. but thee - iioHnng to induatea
i’;ench urixiu. A-appii'd’Ou ‘snow s-piHil.’ the
wo -J becanie gemoai in the Am' i.c.ri i. i
during the sevo: • w nter of fXKj -I. but, hcum In
to the Milwaukee P.cpublu an, 1 March. Hsl, it iia *
Ix -'H so appib din the Kortbein Viiidica'o: iE aci
Vi'le, Hi., b IW '*'ii H.Oaul I -.70 ]
‘2. A fu.ioi - /a t of fro t, wind tui-l blinding
Mi >w. in ! i mini nn I b rtf- . ulv H
Hen ' tlha ■ '
A I lugulHtic I’.li/za <».
From tbo Mj -1, I bdio, Erdrrpi
Os all the Ix-aatJ, . oiitr iej ouH. . u tin '
unnat ral, de» ••;>< do, dean med, ol o ' u m
cou ' I' -i'l. unlawful, illegitimate, -!'ab-4'< ,d, iijpo,
cbondrhuai, iiic-mg, uo-.s, ena’u al, rion-c-n a!
hetero.O'ueous, heUTociiticul, *1 mgh h ,'adcd, braln
iipavitied, idiotic, unidfeh, IncomprcbunHibln con
glomeration of typography al bulla over perpetrated
ti|xm an inncccut aud unoffending jmi-Hclhe In
indew ribtibk ma.-s appealing in the F. ( !y p.u
pubheau of a rvceut dulc takes ’.bt%a »e
THE LITTLE DRUMMER.
MARIE B. V/1 Lf.l AMS.
From Youth’s Companion.
It was n scorching hot July day in AJgiors.
Under that fiery sky, where while dazzles,yel
low gleams like molten gold, and the reds blind
by exceas of light, a spot of shaile is a cool
oasis in this oven of beat and color.
Colonel Prosper Hautocourt thought this, as
he pasted groups of yawning Fnmch soldiers
on his way to a clump of tn»es growing on a
slight elevation, w here there was at least a
promise of some breeze. When he reached
the spot, he saw a lad laying asleep under the
trees, with his right arm thrown around a
drum which lay beside him.
“Ha, Jules, what dost thou here?” ciled tho
colonel.
The boy sprang up in-.tanilv. A delicato
stripling he was, with a pale face, but bright,
intelligent eyes.
“1 believe I was half sleep, mon colonel,”
ho said, with a laugh. “We had a sharp time
last night with the Arabs, yon know, and the •
men somehow suatted. I beat my drum till
my arms were numb. I lay down in camp, but,
ofl.f! it was a hot oven.”
Colonel ilautccom t. smiled kindly at the lad.
but the next moment his face clmidid,
“1 have wished to speak to thee, Jules, for
some time,” he said. “Sit down tlicHe and
answer me. Dost thou know 1 have heard
strange stories in camp about thee. The men
say that in action there is (me of them so
frightened that he almost loses liis.-enses.
that ho crou< lies I ehind his bru\e comrades
and when he bents tho drum, the strokes are
so tremulous that it .sounds more like a shame
ful retreat than a gallant (barge. Dost thou
know who the coward is. Jules’.”’
As the colonel spoke, tin* boy’s head had sunk
lower ami lower, till his face was bidden. As
he raised it ohicer, it was white
as duath, and his lips quivered.
“1 suppose they mean me, mon colonel,” he
answerid.
“Yes. they mean thee, my poor boy! Look
bore. Jules. I have known thee from an infant
in l.a Vendee. Thy good, lumust father would
die w'ith shame if thou slmuidost disgrace him.
ami a coward is a disgrace,not only to his lamily
but to his country. A Vendcan and a coward !
Bah! they do not go together. I warn thee that
till my influence cannot go far where any in
fraction of military discipline is concerned. I
have done my best, but thou art getting tube a
by-word among tho men.”
“Look here, num colonel!” the boy said, a
faint flush creeping into his pule check. “1
am not always afraid. Sometimes I helasbold
ns a lion; but then another time 1 don’t know
w hat comes to me. My hands and lent get ns
c,old as ice. 1 tremble, my eyes are dim, and
whc.n I see my comrades falling right ami left,
something tells *qe to run away I "if I have
.never run, no, never!” he added with spirit.
“Not yel," Colonel Haute* vurt
“but someo’ iy that cowardice, which
c itjest somei/pig. will lead thee to kticvd on
tlr ? votlin, ami have a tile of thy Zwtave com
raue.»> shoot thie through the heart A epward
is a traitor.”
The boy shuddered, but did not speak.
“Why didst thou beg so hard to be allowed
to b»*come a diumnu rin the army,if thy cour
age is so uncertain?” a ked the colonel mourn
iully.
“My father is poor, as you know, mon colo
nel—-bad harvest ami sickness in the family.
Ami I wanted to conn*; it was grand to light
lor i’Tam .0, and I could l»« at the drum well
even then. <), I love my drum!” car< dug it.
“li talks to me like a living voii u.”
“Let it tel! you. tl.en.’l’f bravo!’ my boy.
Don't yourself ami l.a Vomleu any
more,” the coioiu‘l said.
The boy started to his feet, ami his (ye
bi ightuned.
“Do not four, mon colonel! I l< ll you lum
nocoward, though ’ st em so sometimeH is
Ixxlilv weakness only, ami I will die In f .re it ■
shall conquer me again.”
But the colonel, as ho Walke d thoi'v.htfully
toward his t< nt, di«l not share in Il.e boy N « on
-li*l<*n< e. T’he father ol Jules was a farmer on
the BeaiiVi .r exiai , of which the Marquis
<F Haute* otirt. hi.> own fiither, w.i theowiur.
lie h:ul always !»••< n fond of .Jules, and his
t imidity ui a child us< d to aim -• him: but
v, bun he came under liis command a> a. <Mier,
{ lu*. found the boy’s weakness furn; hed occa
i sion lor tlu* gravest f*-ars,
i “I miu-l get' his di-cha.-go upon some pre
; (<•«:.” t lie colonel thought. “T lat lay. in one
i of his panics, is sure lo di-seit, and then no
j pow< r< an save him. It would be too cruel to
i see him shot in that way, ami a . .nn* as I am
heic, that will be his t.itc. But va dom with
nch tli<>". Til ' ll' i- today, gone ’ morrow ;
.ind, bc;oie Jiilci <h art 1 na y -i*- lying on
the desert, sands, spitted through and through
i by an A lab lance.”
1 It wa . sometime after Inal before the next
I engagement with the “Soin (it llu* D< oil.''
A portion <d tho French army ha-! move d <,n
I some iabstmigliold, ami ’ »k* nit .'in r a nay
i hard lighting. The man h had b< eu a Jud ami
toiJ.soin one,ami the soldicis weiu utierly ex- i
j handed.
“They mu j ha\ e rest ‘ o.i.- it," .mid ( -<*m ral
! B< iiipre. “Tim Arab--ure tluuo hl , routed,
| ami they wilJ not. venture to <<<me mar ns
| again lor many a day. T he dogs !:.u. *• got (lieir
j !uson now, from a to z, and lin yiellc.iN ion
i e.noiigli behind them to feed an army of buz-
I z.ards. <). mi danger from them!”
! CoJomd I! auto* omt shook his load.
i “i have been in tins country many’ years,”
I l.e nd. “and I have seen strange thiig s. You
,ha fought and wiiippcd the (-uumy. Yon
j look around tlie dcs**rt horizon, mid *> and miles
j distant. ami yon sec mit a spi’ck ; but tn a inin
-1 nt< , s ii it i oh* i roni tlio <*ai tit an army is upon
j you, ami you liear tliat shrill “Allah!’ from
nor-li, soiitli, cast ami west, till your cars are
deafened. ’
“TT.<‘ -.ofilier, ti.itsl i e t(.'<jj ral Beaupre !
repca-i il. “<)| roni-c there’s no prote< Hon left I
in these *lialt* r» , <l walls: but po t b* ntiie-, at 1
I every weak point, I have no fear of an attack '
tonight, or Indore, wo lea*, e lie:<
it v.a.t black, !• , iilght« The m
' of the wind as it swept over the divert .aml, !
and tlu 1 < 1 -u*b <1 ski*' , Leiol'.em-'l on ■ ol tLooj .
rar* 1 D*mp*'sls whu h ‘*>m "times visit the Aiti- j
* in <l< »-rs. Jules, with hi * love of the outer ;
;*ir. had laid himself down mar omi of tho I
bre uh* in the di'mantled wall, holme which 1
• a ini m l was monotonously pacing. T ic-cool
. -md was ph'.is.int to tlu? Loy's I *‘atc*l
chet.u and, a > h*" lay there, he thought over
th- * ■•nt of th*- day.
H*'ha*i Imcii frighum* *l, oh horribly fright-
, *'L <l. when the lig'ifin .• began, but Im rcmcni
lr ;*'*| what his edomd had ;..tid to him. about
Lit <li uni having a v oi> *•. Ami tlieii h arm
i gue.v trong* r. ami hi i drum sremc-t to ay to
• itini, •Beb’ a- *•, .1 i»l ■ ! Nhanm on a roward !”
AH it oiu e “ ii* 1 f- ii i-"ft him, und Im frit a i !
jI.M • - any of m > omi eh Aud it was hu J
dear drum’s doing
JiM Jules time 'lit that, he di* w bdrum to
v. ii*l him ami act: illy hugged and ki->,e«l it.
Perhaps th* ie wa-> a good spirit iu it. Tim
I Veiideiuis have mauvsupf i titions.find among
them the existem e <»i' good or evil tjplihfj in in
anhnate obje< ts, and ns far ai kuja rstitton
w< t Jules was a true p. a-aint 61 Lu Vendee.
i Then his thoughts Fu *k hjpi Luck Loiue. Ho
I saw the interior frt tho tu’.’.ago, Ida futhux
PRICE FIVE CENTS.
sneaking his pipe, his mother mending by the
firelight, his biother, “grand Jean,” coining
in from stable and cow-yard, and Pierro and
lit tle Louise playing on the wide hearth. Yea,
they wore all there but himself, ami he could
see his mother’s eyes full of sadness for her
[»oor little soldier boy.
!!•• closed hi.; eyes, for tears wcro streaming
down his cheeks.
lie was startled by a strange, muffl 'd sound
just outside the breach in the wall. He raised
himself on elbow and looked out. but he could
no longer distingush tho figure of the sentry
pacing his round. There was not much light,
though the clouds w ere dispersing, but, as ha
strained his eyes through tho gloom, ho could
make out several dusky figures stealing
through the breach, and with a quick heart*
tliiob he understood that the sentry bad been
killed, and the Arabs would surprise tho
camp.
If he uttered a cry it would be too feeble to
bo lieai<l by those heavy' sleepers, ami it would
bring the Arabs upon him in a second.
Again the old panic seized him, and ho
crouched down in the long grass ami weedo.
When the Arabs had passed him it would bo
<»asy enough to make his escape ami rejoin tho
main army, he thought: but then, rould he,
a !■ conch soldier, fly and leave his comrades to
bo ntasacreed without an attempt to warn
them ?
Numberless dark forms glided swiftly by
him. In a few moments th«'y would be upon
the sleepers
Suddenly his colonel’s word’s came back to
him. "A coward is a traitor!” Ah. never shall
he say that of Julos! lie must *Ue* Farewell
ntothvr. father, brothels and sisters, but ho
will notjdiu a cow-ard !
With a linn hand hejdrew his drum toward
liiin, and tin n upon tl.e silence of tin* night
p**;dud forth the warning roll. Ho heat hia
drum madly, fiercely, with the strength of ten
num, but all at unco it ccasj'd, for an Ar».b'«
lance had pierced the little drummer's heart.
But the work was done. T he alarm had been
given in time, and the Arabs found no sleeping
foo to iiuu , ;i( r»*. The fight was a fierce but a
short one, ami as usual the French were vic
torious.
“Where is Jules?” asked Colonel Haute
conrt oagoilv. “T hat boy has Ihhti our . niva
tion Bring him to me that I may thank him.
Ciel! how* the li. t • fellow did bunt that drum!
It . *>aml<*(l in my ars like the In■ t trump.”
“11 was the In iruinp to him, mon colonel,'*
said < no ol the soldiers, “though it did save us.
W e. found him dead mi one side of the breach
where the savages entered, his hand on his
dram. Il was easy to read, that story was. lift
s. the Arabs st*\d in, and tho only way to
wain was by the drum. He beat it thougri he
Knew he was beating his own dirge. Ah, he
was I raw. our little drummer!”
Colonel Ilaut< court turned asid, for. daring
soldier as he was, he did not choose his men
should sue tho tear.a in his eyes.
In his native village you may still hear the
story ho.v the little drummer saved the camp.
< olomd Hautccom t erected a memorial pillar
to him in the village square, telling, in few
words, how and where lie died: and, while
they lived, the old father and mother would
gaze at it with dim eyes; it seemed to them ft
nies-.nge from tho dead.
It was us if he said, “Weep not. for it is glo
rious to die as 1 did. to save others.”
INTER ESTENtj A<SE FOR WOMEN.
The J. ate st Fuel hi 1’0! ite Society in l*i»-
t
From the Buffalo News.
“The latest f:id,” said a shre W'd old maid,
wh«» k o- r n keen eye on nil that gees ou iipsocicty
and has (lie. eiitrea every when*, “i» for the young
men of twenty or twenty-five (o flirt with s me wo
man ol thirty-five or lorty. I don t think there w
anything wrong in Mie.se attachments—the friend
ship is j urely iTatoidc. I aske l for an explnnation
from my big brother, nu t i.e says a woman Is never
fnfi'ivstiig until she is thirty. ‘Girls say yes to
everything y<>u say,’ he said. ‘oreEs-- they arc so
smart there »*• noun luring them.’ A woman, when
she gets !o be twenty eight or thirty, finds out that
if she holds her own she mud have something be
yond a liHiidsome Ojcc, so she reads and trio • to l.e
well inform*?-!. They learn to be tolerant of other's
i lean and not to prefive every adjective with *s.‘
“Voiin : iiNtn of twenty to tiven’y live know more
than their seniors in iitv'ary nmltu.rs, an 1 more
i han th* y d.» tlu in-clve* later. TLey lire awfully
Look Lamed, J (<*il y<Ai, and is !• -s slang but s
reat d» nl more profi'.mty than we <!♦».' So 1 niipjmnw
that is why (hey ■TU-h on the old yuls. You juat
t. w ith a man of thirty five nnd you liml that all
!>** think-of is busiiie s. Oh, veri Yon j si talk
with u girl -one of our s•( mid it iMr-s-. dress,
jiirl nothing e!se. Ol uoins* the Loys don’t marry
the. c <»ld girb- M*'ii ei iii a'ra d ofa woman who
knows enough to be u:i but s(u Ii a woman
make- a very p ••a-m t companion f FfH tele a lete.’*
’I lie Lost K iss. 1
I put by the half v. .■ ;t'en po- in.
While the pen. idiy trailed in my baud.
Writes on, “Hivi I wonl to romj letc it,
Who'd r,'iul U, oi w Lo‘*l under,'-hind"’
But the li t e lure ie*?! • n tl.e htmrway.
Ami the rm'i.-i, -uh tocr* *! a '*;h in the hall
Ami the emie-low h-pon the silence,
< ry up to me over it all.
-» I gather it up w here was broken
I he loar fa<hd thtead on my theme,
'I • ling bow. n > <»;:*• nigl.t I hat writing,
A fid' v broke in on my -h am,
A little inquisitive faiiy -
M v own ilti!« gi ! w ith (he gold
Os (lie him in her hair, mid the dewy
Blue eyes of the fairies o; old.
‘j was li;** dear litric uul that I olded—
“For wash a mom-nt Ake thi',’’
1 ni<l, “when she knew ! w ■> bu y,
I o com romping in f-r it
Coin-- rowdyiDg up from her mother
And cjniuoring thereat my knee
J “*Hu itifij kiss ior my doily
Ami one ’it-le uzzer lot me.”'
G >1 p ly the heart that ict-eL* *1 her
A 'hi :!"• * old hum! that turrj' , l her awayt
Au » lake ftoin th*? lips :imt •fi nii 1 her
'I Ins am w* flc. s prayer of today'
Tiik*'. lo d from im*t:i iy foicver
'I imt pitiful sob of •!*•• pair,
An l 11 e patiei und tr.p e tl;*- bare ’ Hie feet
And the one piercing cry on the h a .
I put by the half written t>ouni.
While (he p*'ii. idly Hailed in niv Land,
Writes <>n, “Hr.d i v.' r<l- to compute it,
Who *1 lend it, or w Lo <1 i mlerrinnd
But the little Laic f*:ei on the stairway,
Ami th*- faiiil, sna thcicd l.iuyli in the hall.
Ami the eerie-low ln-p on the silence,
< ry up tu me over it all.
- Jana s Whitcomb Riley.
THE SEMMES .’MONUMENT.
From tho Mobile R< gist* r
What shall ye build to him oi; i.nd*
His life wan on the sees,
Hi‘i place wbe: or o*ir buttle th j
•(n firiic ! high ii|«on lie brec/e;
His vol*n wn- the lou I *nnnoii s peal
Flout ng the waters o'er.
And all the nations ouaked lo Lear
The thumler of its tour.
What shall vc build to him on land?
Wiio j»w?| t the ocean w file'.’
In glory wh*w: know n annuls Hirill
'i Im Southern heart with pride”
In ten, or twelve, or eighteen Let,
<an ye curio? r i i him-- ’
Ot < !uve in on*" ; inaU epit iph
The gr*. athc ■ ■ of h;-» name.’
Let <wran roar hi* re ttji- ni!
lx»l Hie grjml billows roll -
L' ( tii -■•)'(i:r %•*•!« the knightly deeds
O! thi hcroi Boni
Tl o i a’-li* i wroe./ht. t;r head that ruled.
Ti <■ genius that »"om < iv»»<l.
Lament, o wev * (hat *»i ?urh worth
The w >i Id Miuu! I t>c boteaved.
Yet biifld it • t hi- inatiiy form
Ason that veahei sd a k,
fit - «’e turn carve H-at l/nttle-flog
Whi* h fluttered o er h- r;wreck,
> And wr t upon th-‘gr::;- toot stone—
•in ait to glory dear,
i Who fought beii 'oth tho stat; and bM%
No biaver Imtlled forth" * am*e
Thau be Who ivakfih Uer<*
