vol. 1.111..
TBI WHIP-POOR-WILL
Wbws apfJe-hrancb**. flashed with bloom.
JiiiieV warm evening* with perfume.
And balmier grow* each perfect day.
And field* are sweet with new mown-hay.
' men. aansmC tma 1 hear thy note.
Tip from the past nre-t tucket* float -
Whq-poor-will!
Tbnr arc th hours to love endeared.
And ramwwec by* thy acoeuts weird
What w.ld regret* —what lender pain,
Heealls any youthful dream* avai 1.
A* Iwtmc down the s' adowy year*.
That old refrwiii fond memory h* are—
Whip-poor-will!
The cornd day mepire* thee not;
flat Ind it mm* dt**p-*haded rrot.
Them htee a oad recluse doe: wart
Tie whw bouiw mwlate.
VbM ever* lonwber oonnd is lon.
And grove* and glen* are thine alone.
Whip-poor-wid!
Than, wdien the rt A vofaptaon* night
PwsAs m Atw yormg moon's ten ier lighA
And and <4 ft*, and ahimmenng
Awe splendid in her argont beam-
How thrills the loverV heart to bear
Thy load wtoecato. liquid clear.
Whip-poor-w li!
Wtmmm ecwa thy itrfwed phrase.
That to the wondering ear convey*
Half-h -. taan sound*, yet chsth the sense
Witts Twgeeeoee of mtelkgeooe.
Avd Ids a wondering voice of air.
Haunt* the d,m fiesta, we know not where.
Whip-poor-will!
m First and Only Love.
It uus hern a matter off wonder to
tiw why 1 b red Elwyn Asm on as 1 did.
lit ww Twrt ?ve years my srnnw, and 1
<mh
1 TWMemher sdl how gloriously the sun
whom <m tha wmmv aflermwui w Inn we
st'wwi lojwthrt Oh tin lawn waiting for the
carrmgv lo arrive tlist afcoukt bring Aunt
lo spend W.MMC weeks al nir house,
i. r twotid off him. so happy *1 the pros
pert off seeing Aunt Eleanor's ad
iiiimtkvr. tor my noMe darling. so shy at
hi* minora: .wi for myself, so hopeful that
they wronM like cnch other and he friends.
"for she is very Wwutiiuk Elwyn. I
•ukL and only ten years older than 1 am." j
1 con see now the quiet laugh in his dark
ty-ea. and the piaylu. curve off the- lips, as
eff nm bumvnng a petted child—a strange
wife 1 should haw fwn fw him. after all.
And there was a sound of wheels. and
drawing my arm in be led me to the
frrwu entmncv to mile rent my Aunt.
1 ho not dearly letueuihcT when tiiat j
tns; feeling off jealousy si ok* into my mind.
1 think 1 scarcely undcrst.aai it when first !
Is die crane. He had never changed to me; I
1 ww* ever uppermost in his tnoughts ; all
hi* MHC p rarrfftii astentions wen-mine ; yet
1 saw plain ? y that he found in her a cotn
paniiniafliifi 1 was far from being able to
jrwt. for 1 ww* only a darling playmate, a
twdcsnsd and petted child.
vine evening I noted well how bright and
arsmatec he was. and the admiring look '
that hft hqwaig in hi* eyes, and the in-,
rreaiwc inters* off voice and manner as the j
c c vcma:i m pr grrcssed. until graitually the
hand 1 held became unconscious of mine,
and. win I l**ewd my bold, slipped j
away to extend itself for croater emphasis
t.wracrds hcv. And then I rose, pale ami
hean-akh <• say good-night.
"We have not had our usual talk to
rugttt. Birdie !" he said.
"Nx."* I ana 111 <1 laonaacally.
**i: is too t*u mom," looking at his
waadh
"Yea."
"What * the matter:* asked my Aunt : j
"Are you ii—til t"
"No."* acam.
Thea she kauf&ed. low and melodkmsly.
—You had lrtt<T go to led. child."*
iTtild! Suddenly, and with a quick,
sharp pain, as if struck by lightning, i felt
ail thai her words were intemkSi to convey
Mm —to him. though not to nie—and as
suddenly the child lcame aw oman.
—Walk dowT. the avenue with me, once
—iwdv ooce. Elwyn," i said; my head
With his <M caressing touch, ne adjusted
my shawl; then hesitated a moment, ami
said half trloctantlv, "Will vou ? Shall
i r
I knew what it im-ant. and turned with
all the dignity I could assume.
"Atrat Ekwnor, if you wislt to come too,
you maT.'**
"I may, may I :*" she answered, pettisli
h . "Thanka But if it's all the same to
you. 1 prefer noL"
"Eiwyn. " 1 said, when we were out of
her beating—for I felt that 1 must mention
the subject or die, almost—"Elwyn, my
aunt has been here more than a month now
how do you like her f"
"She is charniing." he saki, honestly :
*rtiarmrag.
"Ah.** 1 sai<l; "w> they all say xmeror
later." 1
* Tbev ?** Ik asked ; "wli< an* they I"
"Men. *"
He laughed and drew my arm through
his, and we finished ui? walk in silence.
Then, when we had reached the front door, ;
and I held up my lips for the usual kiss,
he mid "She is very charming, hut my
liahy is worth ten of her.*'
*Hlh !** I throw ing my self into
hi* arms, and clinging to him with passion
ate pain and sorrow, "do not say so, I am
a woman now—a woman, Elwyn; do not
call me that any more."
"Well, I will not if it hurts you."
And he took my face lan ween his liands,
and bent over me with his own bright smile.
But breaking from him, I ran upstairs, and
shut mvself in nay room.
What could Ido ? Nothing. I felt that
Ik* was daiiv, hourly, being drawn away
from me. and my weak power could avail
nothing against the more subtle will of that
older far superior woman of the world.
My mother, ah. hut not even to her could
I comptmin off Elwyn. And > the days
went on.
Owe afternoon, in the early autumn, I
won down to the shore alone, sitting list
teas and idle, though wearily. At last,
voices that I knew only too well—his and
hers—and I staid to listen. They grew
quicser as they approached and finally seat
ea themar-hres on the other side of the boat
house from where 1 sat and kept silence.
A fear moments and her voice broke the
'"iknew by the sudden start and quick
breathing that lie had turned towards her,
but lie said nothing. 1 stifled my now loud
gasps and leaned forwart! to bear more.
"Elwyn ?" Ami now the one was
changed. It was as if the words were
forced, wrung from her. "Have pity—l
love you. *
"Gracious heaven!" 1 know he had
started to his feet. "You tell me this?
You!"
"I do!" she answered, tremulously;
"and more—//on tore tnr
1 heard hint groan, and knew by instinct
that his hands were stretched towards her
as though to defend her from her own
words.
"You love me,** she continued, more
calmly, "and 1 love you. 1 have waited
for yon to speak, hut you would not ; so 1
have done it. You may imagine, if you
will, what it oists a woman to make such
a confession unsolicited. l>o you blame
inc. Klwyn
"Blame ?*' he said, "my lieaulifttl! my
dearest! And yet—-Oh, the traitor the
miserable traitor you have made of me,
Eleanor!"
"It is because I love you. Forgive me,
if too well, Elwyn.'*
loves me," lie said.
"That child f" she answered, with a
touch of sarcasm. "Her heart is*tooyoung
ha- any deep impression. Oh, Elwyn,
what is her love to mine ! # She is a pretty
toy, a plaything. Will you weigh her in
the balance against me ?"
"Eleanor," he pleaded, 'have mercy !
Take my life as you have my love hut leave
me at least, a little self-resjieot. We are
strong in our love, and can liear more than
she can. l>o not U cruel in your power."
"\\ hat ili* you want to do ?" she asked.
"To te true to tier." he said bitterly, yet,
oh, how grimly! "1 wish her never to
know that it is to a traitor her pure faith
has been given. For I will mam her and
anil cherish her as though you and I had
never met. So help me heaven !"
"And what is to liecome of me V
"Have mercy ! Why did you ever mine
I** ween us I"
"You say you love me. I ask, what is
to liemine of me < You say you love me,
Elwyn F*
"Ah, Utter than my own truth and
honor!"
1 Hi. how changed and broken his voice
smmded !
1 waited to hear no more. My resolve
was taken. His pride was humbled to the
dust—trampled beneath the feet of his
great passion. He should never knowingly
make me witness his humiliation. This
much 1 could and would do for him.
That evening 1 asked him to walk down
the avenue with me, for the lust time, and
then 1 said, Elwyn, this must end between
us. I will not tnarrv vou."
It was a strange start he gave—a strange
look, almost of joy, that flashed over his
face, only to lie gone again. And then I
gained strength to tell the falsehood, that
was to set him free.
"I do not love you, Elwyn."
Ii is needless to rei>eat his hurried words
of question and confused remonstrance.
But I saw that he believed my love wjis
gone from him. and therein I could lie
thankful.
A short month, aid thev were married.
1 never saw them again.
But long after they told me he was dead,
and that she was alniut to wed another
huslwmd, and they gave me the little packet
of hair that he had addressed with his own
hand to his "First and latest love."
His first and latest, forever.
Skull* of .Uurl*rers
One of the most curious collections in
the great Anthropological museum in the
Paris exhibition of last year was a collec
tion of thirty-six skulls of murderers who
have lieen guillotined in France. This
collection has been carefully studied by I)r.
Bonder, who has published the result of
his studies in the last number of JBrocas
Jit vu* d\\nthropol<jgie. The mist strik
ing result of his observations is the very
large cubic capacity of these crania. In
fact, the average volume of the thirty-six
skulls, measured with shot by Broca's
method, is as much as 1,547.91 cubic cen
timeters. Eliminating, however, one of
skulls, which is of unusual size (2.07<
cubic centimeters) ami is obviously abnor
mal, the average is reduced to 1,531 cubic
centimeters, But even this figure is con
siderably higher than the average of any
ordinary series of modern crania. In order
to find skulls of equal capacity it is neces
sary to go back to prehistoric times; thus
the capacity of f>olutre skulls is 1,515, and
that of the type from the cave of M'Hom
me Mort is 1,606.5 cubic centimetres. The
development of the murderers' skull is not
in the frontal but in the parietooccipital
region, aad it appears to indicate a low in
tellectual standard, with a strong tendency
jto powerful action. Most of the celebrated
characteristics presented by the skulls of
: these criminals are comparable with those
jof prehistoric races. A murderer may be
regarded as an anachronism, and his char
acter may he explained on the principle of
atavism, or reversion to an early type. If
a prehistoric savage could be introduced
into modern society he would probably be
' come a notorious criminal; on the other
1 hand, if one of the brutal murderers of
1 modern times had lived in prehistoric ages
he might have been a chief of his tribe,
j highly respected.
Many years ago, at Came farm house,
where relatives of mine were then living,
the household cat was observed to enter a
liedroom in course ot being spring-cleaned.
The looking glass being on the floor, the
cat, on entering, was confronted with its
own reflection, and naturally concluded
that he Saw before him a real intruder on
his domain. Hostile demonstrations were
the result, followed by a rush to the mirror
and then, meeting an obstacle to his ven
geance, a fruitless cut round to the rear.
This manoeuvre was more than once re
peated with, of course, e jual lack of suc
cess. Fiualiy, the cat was seen to deliber
ately walk up to the looking glass, keeping
its eyes on the image, and then, when near
enough to the edge, to feci carefully with
one paw behind, for the supposed intruder,
while with its head twisted round to the
front it assured itself of the persistence of
the reflection. The result of this experi
ment fully satisfied the cat that he iiad
been the victim of a delusoin, and never
after would he condescend to notice mere
reflections, though the trap was more than
once laid for him.
IT must be very warm weather that
will take the corn starch o ,t cf cheap
ice cream.
Cat and Looking-GlanM.
Ml LLIIKIM. PA., THURSDAY, OCTOBER 9, 1879.
Swell Tlikv In Siititmer
"Tell me something about the habits o
swell thieves in summer time t" said a re
porter to a detective.
"They devote the summer to recreative
and •prosiH.'ctive' work—that is, studying
the bearings and acquainting themselves
with the resources of the places which they
propose to attack when a favorable oppor
tunity presents itself. They seldom stop
long in one place. They can be met one
day at Saratoga and the next at Newport,
Long Branch, "ape May, or doing the
Canadian tour, all the time having their
eye to business and spending their leisure
moments in ttie gambling dens.
"The swell pickpockets migrate with
consistent regularity at the approach of
summer to the watering-places, put up at
the most fashionable hotels and carry on
business as opportunity alTords. The
swell pickjioeket seldom gets eaugnt. lie
generally travels with a companion to whom
he passes whatever he snatches, ami should
the linger of suspicion be pointed at him he
assumes an air of virtuous innocence and
wounded dignity which is amusing to be
hold, and oilers, it may be in the most
plausible manner possible, to 'show up' if
necessary. Kven if he is searched nothing
is found 011 him, and unless he is really
caught iu the act he cannot he htdd. The
light-fingered gentry are always in swarms
at horse races, fairs, conventions and camp
meetings, and indeed wherever there is a
big crowd. They ply their trade with a
persistency and and an energy worthy of a
better cause."
"What do they do with their spoils?"
"All property besides cash which they
manage to lay their hands on they send to
the city, where agents receive it and eon
vert it into cash the best way they can.
The hotel and boarding-house thieves who
make their headquarters in the city arc the
dread of every watering-place in the sum
mer. They live in grand style, drink the
most expensive wines, smoke the most ex
pensive cigars and drive in the gayest
available coaches. Groups of them may Iw*
seen nightly in the corridors of the Saratoga
hotels. They are easily recognized, but
not so easily gotten rid of. Their restless
manner gives them away, but the hotel de
tectives as long as they have nothing against
the.ll and they have no certainty beyond
appearances they are crooked, and cannot
very safely interfere with them. They are
watched. The detective forces at the ho
tels in watering-places have to he reinforced
in summer to watch these guests, and a
pretty hard time they have of it. in a day
the thieves And out all about the guests,
how much money or jewelry they are
likely to have in their rooms, and when
they go to*their meals they invade their
apartments and carry away whatever of
value they can lay their hands on. The
banco, faro or three-card-monte men spend
iheir summer traveling 011 the cars trying
to 'rope in' countrymen. They reap a
rich harvest, for the countryman is the eas
iest being in the world to impose upon.
The sneak-thieves remain in the city during
the summer and so do the low class of burg
lars, looking lor a favorable opi>ortuiiity to
get into a vacant house.
"Your swell thief is generally an edu
cated, well-dressed, respectable-looking,
high-toned 'gentleman.' He lives well,
speuds money lavishly when lie has it and
industriously cultivates the friendship of
the wealthy and refiued. His demeanor is
so pleasing, his outward code of morals so
apparently strict, and the dealing with his
fellow-men when it suits him so seemingly
straight-forward that to the uninitiated he
appears t .• be the very paragon of honesty
and the embodiment of all that is noble
and virtuous in manhood. That class of
thieves are the most dangerous in the com
munity. They are hardest to detect in the
act of committing a crime and their tracks
are so skilfully covered that after perpetra
tion of crime it is ditlicult either to catch
them or to trace any of the stolen property.
The swell thieves live in style during the
winter, doing an occasional job as their ne
cessities require. In tlie summer they go
to the watering places—every when* in fact
where there is a probability of there being a
crowd. They may be classified as follows;
Burglars,pickpockets, confidence-operators,
banco-steerers, faro and three-card-monte
men, hotel and boarding-house thieves and
sneak-thieves.
"Nearly all the first-class burglars belong
to the 'swell' elass. Education is neces
sary to make a really good, reliable, level
headed and effective burglar. Take the
most famous burglars now in prison and at
large in this country—the Hopes, Brady,
Dobbs, Leary, Irving and Porter, for in
stance. They are all men of brains, who
would have probably succeeded at any
trade or profession they might have chosen.
They are regarded as first-class men by the
thieving fraternity ; they are cool, daring
and merciless when any one crosses their
path while they are cracking a hank safe or
plundering a house. In the summer time
the swell burglars cease from active labor.
The darkness of night is an essential ele
ment of success 111 their professsion. It is
during the long, dark winter nights that
they prowl about with all their vigor and
misguided enthusiasm, and under cover of
night commit, their depredations.
A MtiilMter Kouglilv Handled.
A local preacher had been preaching in
the afternoon in a village not far from
Newcastle, England, and having accom
panied one of the chapel members to his
house, was ot course introduced to his
wife, who appeared very glad to see him,
and warmly pressed him for a full quarter
of an hour to stay to tea. He at last con
sented. While all this pressing was going
on, the husband was quietly standing by,
preparing to wash his hands and face. The
good lady then went to get the tea ready,
and it was not long before both the tea and
her temper were brewing ; for hearing, as
she thought, her dearly beloved washing,
she made for the little window which com
municated between the kitchen and pantry
where she was, and taking advantage of his
position, more quickly than one could say
"Jack Kobinson," she administered two or
three hard raps on Ins bald pate, accompan
ied with the exclamation "I'll learn ye to
bring them hungry preachers here to tea
every time they come to preach !"
As soon as the unfortunate individual
could get the soap-suds out of his eyes he
began to think what it all meant, but could
come to no other conclusion than that the
old lady had made a sad mistake which
she also found out, for upon returning to
the parlor, she saw her husband patiently
awaiting his turn to wash.
A hopeless person is one who deserts
himself*
I*ti'tiir>a of the l'raahl*ut
Hcaly's portraits of tl Presidents of the j
Fnitcd Staffs, recently added to tlie ('or- ;
coran Art Gallery, are mainly tlu: studies
from which, al>out thirty years ago, he ex- !
eciited a commission from Louis Philippe, j
then King of the French. Those of the
earlier Presidents are copies from Stuart
and 1 larding, the others tire from life, i
They were purchased of the artist by
Thomas 11. Bryan, F.sq , together with the j
portraits of Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, Bu
chanan and Lincoln, painted since the i
French royal order, and sold by him to the
gallery. They arc of various degrees of '
merit ; one or two are quite bad, a greater
number indilferently good, ami a few real
ly excellent. from some unexplained
cause the portrait <>t General Harrison is
not embraced in the collection. The three
tors are anxious to supply the ommission,
and two have already been forwarded them
for inspection, with a view to their sale,
but neither proved satisfactory. The bet
ter of these came from Louisville, ard is
the property of Mr. Oliver W. Lucas, Clerk
of the Board of Aldermen of that city. It is
by Mr. John it. Johnston, formerly of Cin
cinnati, hut now of Baltimore, and was
painted in 18H>, about the time of the j
General's election to the Presidency. It is
a tolerably correct likeness, but the colors
are much faded, and it was considerably,
though not irreparably, injured in its trans
port at ion hither. For these reasons and in
the hope of securing a less objectionable
picture, its purchase wus declined. Mr. .J.
11. Beard painted several portraits of the
General, which must still be in existence in
a good state of preservation. The portrait
of Mr. Lincoln was painted in 18tK, during
the pemleney of the Presidential election
or immediately thereafter, under an order
from Mr. Bryan, then a citizen of Chicago.
The face is unshaven, which gives it a
rather youthful look, without in the least
improving his native homeliness. Mr. !
Lincoln was in the habit of explaining that
be "turned his beard loose'' at the sugges
tion of a lady, whose knowledge of his JKT
sonul appearance was confined to newspaper
cuts, which fairly made him an ogre. She
wrote to him that in her woman's judgment,
whiskers would add much to his beauty, !
and if he could IK- persuaded to cultivate
them she would kiss him the tirst time they
ever met. The gallant rail-splitter at once
restricted his tonsorial operations to the up
per and nether lips, leaving them free for
the oscillatory reward, and in a few weeks
garnished his cheeks, chin and throut with
a hirsute adornment which puzzled Mrs.
Lincoln and surprised his acquaintances
without, as already intimated, enhancing
his personal pulchritude. As the necessary
conclusion to this "ower true tale,*' it
chanced that he ami the unknown lady met,
and the promised reward was claimed and
received. lie was never clcan-shaved
afterward. The next ugliest of the Presi
dents (counting Jefferson as "good-third")
is Zaclmry Taylor. His portrait somewhat
refines the plain features of the rough and
weather-beaten old soldier, but it very
correctly represents him "as lie lived."
His eye. which was black, keen and pier- ;
cing, greatly relieved his commonplace
countenance, and it fairly glows trom
llealy's canvas. Probably the most strik
ing picture in the lot is that of General
Jackson, who, too, in spite of his long life,
never grew to l>e a "marvelous proper man,"
although Ins appearance was very distin
guished. lie sat for Mr. Healy in the
spring of 18 Ll, and the picture was finished
only nine days before his death. The pic
ture is in marked contrast with the full
length portrait of the General painted by
Vanderlyn in 1819, which hangs in the
main gallery. The latter represents him in
uniform, but bare-headed, standing beside
a cannon, sword iu hand, with the smoke
of battle filling the background, and its
blaze tlaming from his eyes and illuminat
ing his face with martial glory. Healy's
is stripped of all this glamour, and affords
painful evidence of age and infirmity, of
disease and suffering; but the wonderful
head still bears its leonine aspect, while the
steel-blue eyes, undimmed by time or ap
plication, retain their former marvelous
power, and seem to look directly through
the holder. A duplicate of this picture
may be seen at the Hermitage, the pose is
slightly altered, and the effect rendered
more agreeable and impressive. Yet it is
sad to look upon, and one at bust turns from
it with a sigh of relief.
The Harvest in Russia.
A field stretching away for miles and
miles without a hedge, ditch or boundary
stone to relieve the sight offered by what
seems to be a very ocean of waving corn
tinged with red by millions of poppies. A
Jew is surveying this glorious crop, and as
he does so he turns to sniff the breeze
which is blowing gently from the Black i
Sea, about thirty versts off; then he lets
his eye wander complacently down a steep j
road up which a long procession of empty !
carts is toiling. The Jew is a merchant
from Odessa, who bought the crops before
him as far hack JUS three years ago from a
nobleman in difficulties, and he is pleased I
by the sight of those carts, because he j
knows now that he will be able to get his
wheat comfortably to Odessa before the j
September rains set in. The difficulty in j
Southern Russia is not to rear wheat, but <
to get it shipped; so when tfte aged Ben
judas was haggling with Prince Nokine,
J the straitened nobleman above-mentioned,
about the purchase of his harvests for three I
j years, he took care to mention that it would
j require more than a hundred carts to carry j
the wheat to Odessa, and that after that !
| there might be some trouble about getting
a barn in which to store the wheat until it
could be shipped. In fact, he described
the purchase of the corn as quite a gam
bling speculation; and so it often is. But
! not to dealers like Benjudas. He never
1 buys an acre of corn without being quite
1 sure about bis carts, his barn, his ship, and
j his reapers; for, behold! even as he stands
surveying that noble field at five in the
morning, on a promising August day, a
; hundred or so of Prince Nokine's tenants
come slouching out of their cottages with
scythes and sickles, while a more distant
group, coming from the Barine's castle, ap
pear pushing before them a giand steam
I mowing machine. Prince Nokine, like all
Russian landholders, invests largely in
i agricultural machinery, as a child wou'd in
toys if he had the money; and it was part
' of Bcnjudas's contract that he should have
1 the Prince's machine at his disposal. Not
1 one of the Russian peasants can work them,
but Benjudas has brought with him a
couple of sharp German slap-stokers, who
know how to do everything more or less,
and who soon light the lire under the engine
and set the mower snorting, moving, and
cutting. Presently this big machine is
strewing the corn around it as easily and
gracefully as a ship's keel slices the sea and
lays it out 111 foam; and the Muscovite
peasants, marvelling at the spectacle, rest
idly on their scythes and utter exclamations
of delight. But Bcnjudas lifts Isith his
hands indignantly and calls 011 them to do
their duty : " Vou lazy swine, do you think
it's for this I give you each your ten ko
pecks a day? There'll he no swans for you
ly and by if you don't bestir yourselves."
Now kwass is a very small beer which the
Russian peasants love. Prince Nokine's
tenant's set to with a will, and soon there
are 110 sounds heard hut their toilsome gasps
mingling with the swishing noise of their
blades us they sweep through the corn in
vigorous semicircles. Kven women and
children are at work with sickles; and as
fast an sheaves can lie made up little hands
of tottering hoys and girls carry them to
the carts, where some sturdy louts pack
them down tight till each cart holds u pyr
amid, which is covered with a tarpaulin.
Then the carts set olf, and old Benjudtis,
who has been surveying all the operations,
returns to the Held inwardly ckuckling but
outwardly morose. He never shows his
lalsirers that he is pleased with them, else
they might be asking for more kwass. Of
this liquor each reaper gets ;is much as can
make him glad, but no more ; and Bcnju
das as lie prowls uliout, notes every skulk
er who, after doing less than his share of
work, would like to secure more than his
allowance of beverage: "Now, then, you
hog, he olf; a few more of your sort would
ruin me. I shan't employ you to-morrow."
These are the be 111 sons which Bcnjudas
scatters about him as he stands in the
shadow of a roadside fir tree, carefully
protecting his venerable head from the sun's
rays
Advice tu a (tank.
A seedy individual, rural in his general
appearance and make-up, strolled into the
Third National bank, Cincinnati during
business hours,and observing Fail. Lawson,
receiving teller, counting a package of
money, nodded pleasantly, and said, "Still
a hand in' of it out ?*'
"Yes," replied Lawson, "still crowding
it on the people."
"Ain't you a leetle too handy here?"
continued the stranger.
"How so?" said Fub.
"Why, strangers passin' 'long on the
sidewalk and seem' your sign so conspicu
ous like, must berunnin' in every few min
utes to borrow money."
"Sothey do," returned lawson.
"Ain't it a good deal of bother waitiu' on
'em? Must take up a g<x>d deal of your
time."
"Yes, it is some Isitlier, that's a fact,
but we like to accommodate everybody,
you know. Can't turn away a stranger
just because we ain't uequainicd with
him."
"Lose some, I suppose ?" interrogated
the stranger.
"Oh, yes."
"Folks drop in and get what money they
want ami then forget all about it. Or per
haps they send it in a letter and misdirect
it. Awful eareless, some people are alxmt
borrowing money," said the man.
"Awful careless."
"Owin' a good deal to keepin' your bank
close on the sidewalk. Folks goin' by look
up and see you countin' money, and then
they suddenly recollect they hain't got
quite enough to see 'em through, and so
quite naturally, they steps In and borrows
some of you. You can't very well refuse —
hate to hurt their feelin's, and so they git
away with you. Some mean folks in this
world. Now, I wouldn't do it."
"No, you wouldn't do it."
"No, sir-ee. I never borrowed a cent of
110 hank that I didn't pay."
"I'll bet you didn't," said I>awson, with
emphasis.
"Now if I was runnin' a hank like y f ou
are continued the stranger. I'd keep it
hack in an alley where there wasn't so many
strangers passin*. 'Twouldn't make no dif
ference with me, 'cause I know liow banks
are pestered. I never bothers 'em. 'Tain't
n.y style. I could walk right past a mile
ou 'em and never even look in the winder.
But everybody' ain't that way. What, ten
cents ?"
"Yes," said Fab, "that's all I can let
you have to-day. You see there have been
so many strangers in ahead of you this
morning that our funds are running low.
Ta-ta. Don't trouble yourself to send it
back in a letter. When the hank wants it
the hank will notify you."
The stranger thanked hiin, and again
urging upon him the expediency of moving
the hank on to some back street or alley, so
as not to attract the attention of passing
strangers so readily, the seedy man took
his departure.
How Eels are Caught.
Many persons who cross the upper ferry, {
on the Hudson, may have noticed rows of
small wooden boxes, about the size of an j
soap box, placed a few yards
apart. These boxes have covers on top,
and wire screens on the bottom to admit
fresh water. These contain small eels
which, at this season ot the year, are 1
caught by thousands near the State dam in j
the following manner: The • agent of the
fish commissioner proceeds to some small
outlet or-mill-tail at ebb tide or Slack water
and with a small screen, similar to those
used for sifting flour, which he dips into
the eddies, sometimes gathering as many as
a thousand at a dip. It is nothing unusual
to gather a half million at one fishing.
When caught they are placed in these boxes
in running water, until enough are accum
ulated to make a shipment. They are then
placed in ordinary milk cans, which con
tain about two inches of sott sewer mud
with a packing swail of marsh grass, newly
cut, upon wlncli the eels are placed to work
their way gradually to the bottom. Then
another layer of grass is placed on this.
The whole is covered with a small piece of
ice to regulate the temperature, and then
they are ready for transportation. At the
present time they are being shipped to
Michigan under the supervision of Orin M.
Chase, who for the past six years has been
connected with the State Fish Commission
er, Seth Green, and has had entire control
of the catching and shipping of these im
mense numbers of small eels. et there
seems to be no decrease as each season
brings its millions to our water. Eels are
said to deposit their spawn in the same
manner as other fish and, according to the
best authorities, who have of late years
carefully investigated the matter, their
spawn is deposited in the mud in the
winter and incubated by the warm temper
ature of the water in JUD#.
Tho Jovial Judge,
The proelivLy to joking: In courts of
law Is a homage paid to u deep human
instinct. People like justice best when
it unbends a little, and injustice itself
may bo softened by ingenious judges
who conciliate the loser witli irresisti
ble jest. Even among a grave people
like the Turks, litis love ot humor often
overpowers complaint. There is a story
in lWe East of a Pasha w ho had receiv
ed a present ol two fat geese. These
succulent birds were very scarce at the
time, and the great man called a feast
of his intimates, where roast goose,
stalled with pistachios, was to form the
central dish, llut a rival magnate, who
greatly wanted goose lor dinner, had
offered the cook 500 piastres lor a bird,
whereupon the too venal oltlcer repaired
to the Cadi, and said : *'lf 1 give your
worship a goose, will you see me safe
supposing auyLo ly complains about the
other one?" The magistrate winked
and took his bird—the other also disap
peared—and at the banquet, when the
eagerly expected dish should have been
produced, there was an awful disap
pointment. The cook being summoned
protested with many protestations that
the geese had ''flown away." "Recov
er them," the infuriated Pasha cried,
"or 1 will have thee before our Cadi
for the bast'nado.,' The guilty cook
rushed madly along the high road,
wondering what to do, when lie was
asked by a donkey driver, "In the name
of Allah," to help him to lift his beast,
which had fallen, lie forth with pulled
at the donkey's tail with such thought
less fury that it came off in his baud,
and the cook then rushed on more fran
tically than ever, pursued by the cries
and curses of the driver. A little fur
ther he ran in his blundering haste
against a Christian, and knocked the
man's pipe-stick into his eye, destroy
ing it. Yet a little further, still wildly
hurrying, he came round the corner
full-tilt upon a very ugly Bulgarian
matron, who, being in an interesting
condition, was so upset that she then
and there suffered damage. Being
chased by the husband and some Zap
tiehs, the miserable man ran up the
steps of a minaret, and when the muez
zin would have seized him leaped down
to the earth in his desperation, from the
llrst platform, killing a Greek who
chanced to be sitting with his brother
below. Such a situation as that pre
sented in the above narrative, it must
be confessed, was embarrassing, even
to the humor and resources of a Tur
kish Judge. To the original sin of the
goose were now added four separate
misdemeanors, and the spectacle pre
st'uted shortly afterward before the
Cadi was one of terrific hubbub; though
the prisoner exhibited a strange confi
dence. which proved not unfounded.
First came the Pasiia, who told how
the sinful cook had pretended that
geese, plucked and drawn, could fly
away. "Dost thou, then, doubt, broth
er," said the Judge, "the power of Al
lah to call the dead to life? Let us not
limit the divine might by our foolish
misbelief—it may have been so! Go
in peace." Next, the donkey-man
held up the reft tail of his beast, and
cried for justice; but the Cadi said,
"Give him the donkey, my son, to feed
and use until the tail has grown again;
then he shall restore it to thee." The
Christian followed, pointed to the mis
sing orb, and clamored for punishment.
"It is written," said the Judge, "that
one eye to a beliver equals two of an
infidel. Do thou, therefore sutler nie
to put out thine other eye, and then it
will be nut right that I should order
restitution, by removing one from this
abominable cook." The Christian de
parted, and was succeeded by the in
jured husband, who told his woes. "By
the Prophet's beard," quoth the Cadi,
"1 see no way in this, save that thou
shouldst divorce the lady, and marry
her to the cook. Afterward, if it be
heaven's will that she come again unto
the same state, let him send her back
to thee, and all will be well." This
suitor also declined to proceed to execu
tion, and there was only left the Greek,
who vociferated for retaliation on the
slayer of his brother. "Inshallah!"
said the Judge, truly 'hurry is the de
vil,' as the wise say; the cook shall
suffer for it; this is but iust. Get
thou, therefore, to the top of the min
aret, and jump down on the ollender
whom I will place below, and it shall
be that if thou slayest him none shall
complain." Hereupon the Greek also
left the court like „tlie others, amid
acclimations from the bystanders, who
were loud in the praise ot the Cadi's
wonderful decrees; but that function
ary was presently heard to whisper to
the cook, as lie quitted the court,
"Never you send me 11113' more geese,
my friend."
I.oftt Children.
A mother one day lost one of her child
ren, a child of two years, and after a long
1 and anxious search found him in the kitcli
eu closet, in a huge iron pot, fast asleep.
He had been left in charge of a servent,
who had fulfilled her duties by taking the
child to the kitchen and then going off to
gossip. A Mrs. D of Barrington, af
ter a similar experience, found her missing
1 child in a bread-trough, sweetly sleeping on
the dough. The trough was a very large
' one, used for mixing bread for the ship
yard men, and when full of dough usually
stood oiv-a low settee near the fire, that the
bread might rise the quicker. The child
during the absence of his elders from the
kitchen, crept in and made himself com
fortable. But more amusing than this was
the case of a lady who lost her baby, and
after disturbing the whole community, and
crying herself nearly blind, found baby safe
in the cradle, with clothes heaped in so
disorderly a manner as to have defied pre
-1 vius search!
FOOD FOB THOUGHT.
Love, faitlcpatience—-the three essen
tials to a happy life.
Human life is everywhere a state iu
which much is to be endured.
To possess the gift of helpfulness Is
to be the mortgage of all who need.
Every child walks Into existence
through the golden gate of love.
People must discuss something—lt Is
tiie great preventive of insanity.
When one's heart is full, one is not
apt to drop a plummet Hue into it.
Great souls hold firmly to heaven and
let the earth roll on beneath tlieiu.
Low as the grave is, only faith can
climb high enough to see beyond it.
It is not life to live for one's self
alone. Let us help oue another.
Let your word be your bond. Good
credit is a fortune to begiu with.
Peace is such a precious jewel, that
I would give anything tor It but truth.
Act well ai the moment, and you have
performed a good deed to all eternity.
Death is the funeral of all sorrows
and evils, and the resurrectiou of all
joys.
Where one is fagged, hungry, and
depressed, the worst seems most proba
ble.
if you have good health you have
niiie-tenths of all the Lord ever gives
to any man.
He who has created us with a thirst
after knowledge will certainly satisfy
that thirst.
Certain sermons are more calculated
to weaken faith than to render men be
lievers.
Men show their character in nothing
more,clearly than by what they think
laughable.
The grandest o! heroic deeds are those
which are performed within four walls
and in domestic privacy.
He that does a base thing in zeal for
bis friend, burns the golden thread that
ties their hearts together.
They who respect themselves will tie
honored; but they who do not care for
character will be despised.
Be alweys on your guard against the
devices of wicked men, when you hap
pen to come hi contact with them.
Some people have softening of the
brain, but the world suffers more from
those who have hardening of the heart.
How great one's virtues best appears
by occasions of adversity; for occasions
do not make a man frail, butsbow what
lie is.
Rowland llill suid, when he ouce saw
a boy 011 a rocking horse, "Like some
Christians; motion enough, but no pro
gress.
Hard words are like hailstones iu
summer, beating down and destroying
what, if melted into drops, they wonld
nourish.
Those who disbelieve in virtue be
cause man has never been found per
fect, might as reasonably deny the sun,
because it <s not always noon.
It is not ull til the flower has fallen off
that the fruit begins to ripen. So in
life it is when the romance is past that
the practical useful begins.
The business of liie is to go forward;
he who seeks evil in prospect meets it
on the wa3'; but he who catches it by
retrospection, turns back to find it.
Goi demands an account of the past,
and that we must render hereafter; He
demands an improvement of the pre
sent, and this we must atteud to now.
The ordinary employment of artifice
is .the mark of a petty mind; and it* al
ways happens that ho who uses it to
cover hituseil in one place uncovers
himself in another.
So lar is it from being true that men
arc naturally equal, that no two people
can be half an hour together but one
shall acquire aii eviJeut superiority
over the other.
Time goes at its own gait, and you
cannot hasten it by using the "spur of
the momeiif," You may ask your
friend to "stop a minute," but neither
you nor he has the power to do it.
Speak well of the absent whenever
you have a suitable opportunity. Never
speak ill of them or of anybody, unless
you are sure they deserve it, ami unless
it is necessary for their amendment, or
for the safety and benefit of others.
He wno climbs above the cares of the
world and turns his face to his God has
found the funny side of life. The
world's side of the hill is chill and
freezing to a spiritual mind, but the
Lord's presence gives a warmth of joy
whicti turns winter into summer.
To live with our enemies as if they
might one day be our friends, to be
with our friends as if they might be
come our enemies, is neither according
to the nature of hatred, nor in accor
dance with the rules of friendship. It
is not a moral, but really a political
maxim.
The man who has an empty cup may
pray, and should pray that it may be
filled; but he who has a full cup ought
to pray that he may hold it firmly. It
needs prayer in prosperity that we may
have grace to use it, as truly as it needs
prayer in poverty that we may have
grace to bear it. •
Don't live in hope with your arms
folded. Fortune smiles on those whe
roll up their sleeves and put their
shoulder to the wheel that propels them
011 to wealth and happiness. Gut this
out and carry it about with you in your
vest pocket, ye who idle in bar-rooms
or at the corner of the streets.
A man of genius has always some
particular reason for adventuring upon
a certain work; he does not take a sub
ject by haphazard, but is moved to it
geuerall*' by circumstances over which
he has no control, invariably by circum
stances which require to be made known
to the reader beiore lie can thoroughly
comprehend and enjoy the work in ques
tion.
Character alone is immortal. Not
what we have, but what we are, is en
during. Not that work in which we
engage outside of us, but that which
we carry on within us, is everlasting.
As we pass from earth we shall leave
behind our property, our relationships,
our positions, our reputations, and we
shall enter the world with but our
characters that we can call our own.
We are making ourselves for eteru.ty.
Infinite will be the loss and disgrace if
we fcuiid after the wrong plan; eternal
be the gain and honor if we follow thq
right one.
NO. 40.