St 'ff ift
B. F. SCHWEIER,
THE CONSTITUTION THI UKIOS AND THI E5F0BCIM2NT OF THI LAWS.
Editor and Proprtstorw
VOL. XXXI.
MIFFLINTOWN, JUNIATA COUNTY PENXA.. WEDNESDAY, MAY 2. 1S77.
NO. IS.
i
i
IK
XOTEHL
The name of mother! sweetest name
That ever fell on mortal ear I
The lore of mother ! mightiest lovs
Which beaven permits to flourish bare,
Dixeert a mother's love and aea
The properties it doth contain
VThat pearls of love, what gems of hope
X mother's heart beats net in Tain.
A mother's love ! 'It never wanes ;
What if ber bo; an ingrate seems ?
The beauty of that wondrous lore
Around the tbaoklees offspring beams ;
Though in the path of shame he walks,
Thongh crime hath driven him to the bowl,
A mother's care can yet avail
A mother's prayers mar win his aooL
Love and Money.
My aunt, Cornelia Rushington had
written to tne to invite me to spend a
summer with ber, adding the informa
tion that
"Elizabeth has taken one of her
freaks, and gone to bury herself in
Maysvllle for the summer, and I want
some one to take her place in the mean
time."
Not exactly a complimentary Invita
tion, bat beingcompliuientary to her poor
relations was not one of Aunt Cornelia's
weaknesses. And I was a poor rela
tion, teaching German at a fashionable
seminary, and spending my vacations
with my Grandmother Rushington
upon her farm in Marysville. Since
Elizabeth had gone there I resolved to
go to Xewton.
Xow Elizabeth and I were both
named after the same grandmother.
Elizabeth Arnold Kushington. We
were both orphans with a difference oj
two years in my favor. We were both
blonde and tall, but she inherited a hun
dred thousand from her mother; I in-
herited nothing lrotn anybody.
When we were babies we were called
Lizzie and Bessie, to distinguish us
part, and it was only when aunt was
deeply offended, or, as Lizzie would
say, "very mad, indeed," that she
called either of us Elizabeth. There
was one drawback to my departure.
Mr. Herbert Worth, our music teacher.
had asked me to share his name and
poverty, and I I hesitated. He was a
man of sterling good worth -one of
those thoroughly good men who seem to
have no talent for money making, but
who win love by their own power of be
stowing it.
But 1 was horribly tired of poverty,
teaching and toiling, and saw no pros
pect of any luxury or eae as Herbert's
wife. I was not quite sure that I loved
him well enough to help to bear his
burdens or privations as well as my
own. , So I asked for time to consider,
and I took the vacation time I had de
cided to spend with auntie.
We secured a large, airy, front room
In a fashionable boarding-house, and
my aunt made me a present of a few
new dresses. "For really, child, you
are scarcely presentable," receiving in
return the valuable information that
my entire salary for a year would not
cover the expense of what she consid
ered a presentable outfit
However, althougn we nad a few
quarrels, and though I was told that I
was "forty times as saucy as Lizzie
with all her money," we jogged along
very comfortably on the whole, and
aunt was very generous, though she
was not rich only comfortably pro
vided for.
It was in August that Mr. Selwyn
Trafford came to board in the same
house where we were boarding.
"Somebody," that mysterious trranf
courier who precedes most watering
place arrivals, had told us that Mr.
Trafford was nephew and probable heir
of Erasmus Selwyn ; and when he came
. we found him lavish with his money,
dressing handsomely, driving splendid
horses in a faultless equipage, and sup
porting the idea of unlimited command
of his uncle's purse. He was very
handsome, well-read, full of society
grace, and, after our first introduction,
was very attentive to me.
Herbert Worth, with his heart full of
true love, had not said, in the two years
of our friendship, one-tenth part as
many pretty things to me as Selwyn
Trafford said in oue week. He invited
aunt and myself to drive with him
nearly every pleasant afteruoon, and
my venerable relative smiled grimly
and accepted the invitations, being es
pecially careful to select my freshest
costumes for the occasion, and lavish in
the matter of ruffles, neck-ribbons and
kid-gloves.
"You are not half bad looking when
you are well dressed," she said, "though
you are not nearly as pretty as your
Cousin Lizzie."
She fretted for her favorite niece, and
could not resist the temptation to give
me such little pin-thrusts as these.
Mr. Trafford was a fine German
scholar, and had visited Berlin, where
1 was educated in he days when my
father lived, ne could quote Goethe
and make pretty allusions to my flaxen
ocks in a language that was as familiar
to me as my own, and while aunt dozed
on a back seat in the handsome barouche,
he courted me in German on the front.
And I, wrapped in one of Lizzie's India
shawls, with a silk dress presented by
my aunt falling gracefully about my
French boots, dreamed of a continuance
of ease and luxury and a final farewell
to German teaching, the seminary and
Herbert Worth. Dreamed, for I had
waking hours when I despised Selwyn
Trafford, his idle, useless existence, and
his honeyed speeches. .
And yet when he came nearer and
nearer, at every interview, to that pro
posal to which his persUtent attentions
committed him, I gave him every en
couragement and aunt every opportu
nity. August was nearly over when I sat
one morning upon the wide, vine
wreathed porch of our cottage boarding-
house, alone. . I had on my prettiest
white morning dress, all ruffles and
embroideries, and crisp new blue rib
bon in tny hair and at my throat. For
Selwyn Traffjrd had requested a private
Interview, and Aunt Cornelia had
solemly charged me to avail myself of
It.
"The jnly good offer you are ever
likely to receive, my child."
Only aunt, Selwyn Trafford and my
self were at home, so that there was
little fear of interruption.
By the morning post I had received a
letter from Cousin Lizzie, with whom,
at all times, I kept up an irregular cor
respondence, for we were fond of one
another, though our lives ran in such
different grooves. She wrote a long,
gossiping aecunt of the farm th it was
my only real home, of grandmother's
failing eyesight, and such Items of in
terest. But on the very last page she
told me a piece of news.
"J will write by this post to Aunt
Bess that you may be prepared to re
ceive me in all my new dignity. I am
engaged to be married to a gentleman
who is here for the summer holiday. I
will not describe him tc you, for you
will see him when we ail meet next
week. Aunt Cornelia will not taint,
for be is a man of good family, good
business position and moderate fortune,
and he loves me. He loves me, Bess,
hut the cream of tny story is to come.
He believes I ant you. He thinks Miss
Elizabeth Rushington, the heiress, is at
Newton, and that I am the German
teacher. Nobody told him so, only lie
seems familiar with the family history,
and accepting my position here as evi
dence of my being the Elizabeth Ruh
ington who always spends her vacations
at Maysville. I have not told him the
truth yet ; it is so delicioious that he
cares nothing for my lortune, knows
nothing whatever of its existence. By
the way. Aunt Cornelia hints that you
will soon have a confidence to impart.
May you be as happy in your love as 1
am in mine."
A shadow fell across my paper, and a
voice said :
"What have you so absorbing to
read ?" and I looked up to see Selwyn
Trafford.
"A letter from my cousin In Mays
ville," I said, "with a pretty romance
in it."
"I am fond of romance," Selwyn
said.
"Then you shall hear this one " I
said, "if you will promise to keep it
secret till all the world hears of it."
"I will be silent as a sphynx."
I read Lizz'.e's confidence. When I
finished reading I looked np, and my
sharp lesson of mortification was
stricken upon my heart at one blow.
Selwyn Trafford had made the same
mistake.
It was the first time I ever suspected
that Selwyn Trafford thought I was the
heiress Elizabeth. But the blank cou
sterdation upon his face could not be
concealed by the forced smile upon his
handsome mustached lip. He was pale
as a ghost, and said, faintly:
"Quite a romance, indeed, Miss Rush
ington. Tour cousin seems very happy."
"She is happy," I said, bitterly, for
my mortification was deep and biting;
"she has found one true heart in a
world of false ones."
There was a moment of silence, then
Selwyn Trafford said, hoarsely:
"You despise me! I see it in your
face; I hear it In your voice. But bear
me. I am wholly dependent upon my
uncle. If I offend Erasmus Selwyn, I
am a beggar."
"Your family affairs do not interest
me," I said haughtily, rising as I spoke.
"You shall hear me," he cried, pas
sionately ; "you shall not condemn me
without defense."
"I have heard no accusation," I said.
"But you know my error. I was sent
here by my uncle to woo Elizabeth
Rushington. Somewhere he has met
your cousin, and it occurred to him that
she would make me a suitable wife,
with a suitable fortune. I came, as I
obey all commands laid upon me, to
please my uncle. I was in reality
wholly indifferent, expecting to find a
frivolous butterfly of fashion who
would waltz through society with ber
own fortune, and allow me perfect
liberty to do the same. I found a
woman who had a heart, a brain, a
disposition that might win the true,
loyal love of any man a woman full of
noble inspirations, winsome and digni
fied, and while I obeyed my uncle, I
loved Elizabeth Rushington. I have
been an empty-headed fop, but you
could have made me a man ! And with
the love strong in my heart, the hope
bright and clear, I came to ask you to
be my wife, and I flud I must tear my
self from you."
I smiled bitterly. .
"Not because you are poor, but be
cause I am ! Xot because you are not
the heiress, but because my uncle will
thrust me out to starve if 1 bring home
a wife other than the one that he has
chosen. And I love you too well to
drag you down to such poverty as an
utterly useless man, deprived of fortune,
must endure.
Without waiting for my reply, he
turned away and went into the house,
and I heard the door of the room close
sharply. -
A moment later my aunt stepped from
th low window of the parlor. Never
had her face been so womanly in its
tenderness as it was when she pressed
her lips upon mine, saying:
"Bessie, forgive me! It was all my
fault- But 1 thought it was such a
chance for you." ....
"You have heard ?" I said.
"Yes; I was dozing on the sofa when
your voice awakened me."
"You knew the mistake Selwyn was
making T"
"I guessed it! And really, child, I
could not be expected to set him right."
"No! It is a pity, though."
"You love him ? I did not think you
did."
"I don't! I might have married him,
as he might have married me, for
money, but I do not love him. Still, as
you heard, he loves me."
And when I heard six month later of
Selwyn TraTord'a engagement with a
real bona fide heiress, 1 endorsed my
aunt's opinion.
But 1 went back to the seminary a
sadder and wiser woman, having
learned the value of the true heart that
loved me.
Herbert Worth is my beloved and
honored husband, and we live upon his
salary in a modest, cozy fashion, but
very happy.
But I drive out no more wrapped in
India shawls, leaving all such luxries
to my cousin Elizabeth, the heiress,
who was married at the same time as
myself, our aunt insisting upon giving
a grand entertainment to celebrate the
double wedding of the Misses Elizabeth
Rushington.
Table-Wit mt DeaajUu Jerrald.
In repartee, Jerrold excelled most of
his contemporaries: he was a man of
cheerful nature, who loved to raise a
hearty laugh, though the means were
sometimes misunderstood and misrep
resented. A Jest's prosperity often
reaches sore places, and causes the
hearers to wince; although the jester
has not in his mind's eye the persons
who take to themselves the fitting cap.
Mr. Blanchard Jerrold, in his gracefully-written
life of his father, has re
corded the following instances of his
ready wit; they are full of point and
finish; still, in reading, they have not
the instantaneous effect the flash and
fire whicli none but those who heard
them could fully enjoy. The utter ab
sence of effort in their utteranee, or
conceit as to their worth, was their
great recommendation. Mr. Blanchard
Jerrold, loquitur:
"A dinner tedlscussed. Douglas Jer
rold listens quietly, possibly tired of
dinners, and declining pressing Invita
tation to be present. In a few minutes
he will chime in, 'If an earthquake
were to engulf England to-morrow, the
English would manage to meet and dine
somewhere among the rubbish, just to
celebrate the event.' "
"A friend drops in, and walks across
the smoking-room to Douglas Jerrold's
chair. The friend wants to enlist Mr.
Jerrold's sympathies in. behalf of a
mutual acquaintance who is in want of
a round sum of money. But this
mutual friend has already sent his hat
about among his literary brethren on
more than one occasion. Mr. 's hat
is becoming an institution, and friends
were grieved at the indelicacy of the
proceeding. On the occasion to which
I now refer, the bearer of the hat was
received by my father with evident dis
satisfaction. 'Well,' said Douglas Jer
rold, how much does want this
time?' 'Why, just a four and two
noughts will, I think, put kirn straight,'
the bearer of the hat replied. Jerrold
'Well, put me down for one of the
noughts.' "
"As an old gentleman, whom I will
call Pro'y Very, was in the habit of
meeting my father, and pouring long
pointless stories into bis Impatient ears.
On one occasion Prosy related a long
limp account of a stupid practical joke,
concluding with the information that
the effect of the joke was so potent, 'he
really thought be should have died
with laughter Jerrold I wish to
heaven you had.' "
"The Chain of Events,' playing at
the Lyceum Theatre, is mentioned:
Humph!' says Douglas Jerrold, 'I'm
afraid the manager will find it a door
chain strong enough to keep everybody
out of his house.' "
"Then some somewhat lack-a-dalslcal
young members drop in. They opine
that the club is not sufficiently West!
they hint at something near Pall Mall,
and a little more style. Douglas Jer
rold rebukes them. 'No, no, gentle
men; not near Pall Mall! we might
catch cornets.' "
"Another of these young gentlemen,
who has recently emerged from the
hnmblest fortune and position, and ex
ulting in the social consideration of bis
new elevation, puts aside his anteced
ents, having met Douglas Jerrold in
the morning, while on horseback, he
ostentatiously says to him, 'Well, you
see I'm all right at last!'. 'Yes,' is the
reply, 'I see yon now ride upon your
cat's-meat.' "
"A stormy discussion ensues, during
which a gentleman rises to settle the
matter in dispute. Waving his hand
majestically over the excited disput
ants, he begins; 'Gentlemen, all I want
is common sense 'Exactly, Doug
las Jerrold interrupts; 'that is pre
cisely what you do want, The discus
sion is lost in a burst of laughter.' "
Brown drops in. Brown is said, by
all his friend, to be the toady of Jones,
The appearance of Jones in a room is
the proof that Brown is in the passage.
When Jones has the influenza, Brown
dutifully catches a cold in the head. D.
J. to Brown 'Have you heard the
rumor that's flying about town ?' 'No.
Well, they say Jones pays the dog-tax
for you.' "
"Douglas Jerrold Is seriously disap
pointed with a certain book written by
one of his friends, and has expressed
his disappointment. Friend 'I hear
you said was the worst book 1
ever wrote.' Jerrold XJ, I didn't. I
said it was the worst book anybody ever
wrote.' "
' "Of Xelson he would talk by the
hour, and some of his more passionate
articles were written to scathe the gov
ernment that left Horatio Nelson's
legacy to his country in want, it was
difficult to persuade him, nevertheless,
that a man did wisely in sending bis
son to sea. A friend called on him one
day to introduce a youth, who, smit
ten with love for the salt, was about to
abandon a position he held fn a silk
manufacturer's establishment, for the
cockpit. 'Hump!' said the ex-mid
shipman of the Ernest, 'so you're going
to aea. To what department of in
dustry, may I inquire, do you now give
your exertions?' 'Silk, briefly re
sponded the youth. 'Well, go to sea,
and it will be worsted.' "
The spider is, wiser than the bee. The
former sucks poison from everytning,
and the latter honey. The former isn't
robbed and the latter is.
Mrs. Stowe says we never know how
much we love until we try to unlove.
To a man who has tried to quit smoking
this needs uo argument. Yonkert Oa-
sette.
When a man has no design but to
speak plain truth he may say a great
deal in a very narrow compass.
The Railway Detective Department.
"Well, yes," he said, "we've a good-
ish bit of work to do, of one kind or an
other. There are the waiting-room
loiterers, who walk of with passengers'
luggage that doesn't belong to them ;
and sometimes our own men go wrong,
and we have to 'run them In, or get a
'creep' (a warrant) to search their
bouses. There's one fellow now who
used to be in the company's service who
is'wanted.' And then there's the public
who make claims for goods they never
lost, and sometimes ask for compensa
tion for accidents they never were in
"And so you have a regular staff who
do the detective business t f your com
pany f"
"Not a very 'regular' staff," he re
plied, smiling; "for I'm afraid they
are rather irregular in their ways and
words, and even appearance. But they
do their work all the better for that,
you know." r
"Well, I suppose so," I answered.
"And I suppose your men find them
selves In rather odd circumstances some
times?" "Why, yes. We have had a man lie
under a heap of straw three days and
nights waiting to see who would come
and fetch away a roll of cloth that had
been hidden there. And we've had
another ride on a truck sheeted down
all the way from London to Glasgow ;
and what with the shunting and shak
ing he had rather a baddish time of it
before he had done. In fact, he suf
fered so much that we don't often do
tha, now; but we have had boles bored
in the front and back of the covered
goods trucks, so that men inside can
see forrard and aft, as the sailors say."
The existence of a ''detective depart
ment" in a railway company may seem
at first sight to the uninitiated a strange
and anomalous institution. Yet, when
we remember that there are twenty,
thirty or forty thousand servants in the
employment of a great railway; that
the property intrusted to their care Is
of every conceivable kind, of the value
of incalculable millions of money;
that a certain amount of police supervi
glon has to be exercised over the mil
lions of travelers, and that claims and
depredations of every kind are prac
ticed upon the companies by certain
classes of the public themselves, it is
not to be wondered at that the railways
have to adopt every precaution for
their own protection.
Perhaps the chief difficulty in the
prevention of offenses of this kind
arises from the false code of honor
which exists among railway workmen
a code, unhappily, found also else
where which hinders them from ac
tively repressing crimes which they
would not themselves commit, or even,
perhaps, countenance, but which they
will not expose.
"You'll do that once too often, mate,"
they will say to an offender; but be
yond a mild remonstrance they will
selJotn or ever go, and should inquiries
be made in regard to thefts which they
must have seen, their powers of obser
vation will be found to have been singu
larly circumscribed, and their men
ories singularly treacherous. The cul
prits are thus, if not encouraged, yet
connived at, and perhaps go on from
bad to worse, till they are ruined; their
companions are suspected and com
promised, anl perhaps demoralized;
their employers are robbed, and no one
is really benefited by acts which, if
the honest workman would simply re
solve at all costs should not be done,
would not be done.
Even when thieves have run all the
hazards of their craft, and have secu rely
possessed themselves of the property of
others, they are seldom really enriched.
It Is "easy come, easy go" with those
who rob railways. They prey upon
others; but others prey upon them.
Many an Illustration might be given,
but one will suffice. A certain railway
porter had stolen a roll of ribbed trouser
cloth, and fearing to keep it in his pos
session, resolved to dispose of it to a
Jew tailor, who was known not to be
unwilling to purchase such articles at
a low figure. On entering the shop
with his bundle he was cordially re
ceived by the clothier, who guessed the
nature f his errand. "And vaat can I
do for you my tear?'' the man of busi
ness tenderly inquired. "Well, you
see I'm a porter, and I've got a bit of
cloth, you know, that I came lucky by"
(a technical term). "Quite right, my
tear; and ow mootch have you ot?
and ow mootch do you want for it?"
"Well, I don't know," replied the
porter, "you see I haven't measured
it, but I want the most I can get for it."
"All right," said the Jew, and then
looking sideways through his shop
window down IV street, he suddenly
exclaimed: "I say, man, koot, koot!"
"What do you men?" urged the im
pressed vender. "Koot your stick,"
continued the Jew, "through my back
door, and run your hardest, the police
are coming," and he lifted up the
movable lid of his counter to facilitate
the escape of the porter, who, leaving
his ill-gotton wealth upon the counter,
was not slow to avail himself of the ad
vice given, and who felt considerable
relief when, having passed through the
kitchen and yard of the clothier, he
found himself in another street, safe
out of harm's way, and no policeman
Insight. '
Xext day, nothing doubting, the
the porter called again, and after pass
ing and repassing to make sure the Jew
was within, entered the shop.
"Good morning," said the porter.
"Good morning, young man," re
turned the Jew, with a little reserve of
manner, "Vaat can I do for you ?"
"Ob, I called about tbat bit of stuff,
you know."
"Bit of vaat?" Inquired the Jew.
"The bit of cloth I left here yester
dayyon remember I"
"Bit of cloth you left here yester
day?" returned the man of business.
with an air of what our French friends
call pre-occupation' and reserve, "Vaat
do you mean, young man?"
"Why, you know," continued the
porter, witn emphasis, "I brought a bit
of cloth yesterday to sell you a bit I'd
come lucky by."
"Vaat to ma haus you brought it
here? Vy, I never see you before in
ma life ! Tell me vaat you mean ?"
So the man repeated in emphatic
words, how that he had come the day
before with a roll of cloth, how that be
was going to sell it, and that they were
talking about the price when they were
interrupted by policeman passing along
the street, and "you know," he added,
"I left the cloth just here and went out
the back way through your, house and
yard." But so monstrous an imputa
tion upon his reputation the Jew could
no longer resist.
"Judith, my tear," he called out at
the top of his voice to his daughter.
"Judith, my tear, fetch a policeman;
here is a railway porter who has robbed
bis master, and wants to bring disgraee
upon a respectable tradesman!" And
Judith hied herself out into the street
in apparently hot pursuit of a minister
of justice. There was no time to be
lost. The terrified railway servant per
formed a strategic movement down the
street in the opposite direction, leaving
bfhiud him forever his ill-gotten spoils
in the possession of the tender-hearted,
scrupulous Israelite. London Paper.
Swallewlna; Battles mm a Tonic
Pulverized diamonds are in some
parts of India reputed to be the least
painful, but the most active and Infalli
ble of all poisons. Rubies, however,
reduced to powder, are, it seems, con
sidered to be rather beneficial to the
health than otherwise. At least such
is the opinion of the ex-Gaikwar of
Baroda, who, according to one of the
Indian papers, is now engaged in re
pairing his constitution, and, with this
view, is in the habit of eating rubies
in the form of a fine powder sprinkled
over cakes.
His Highness, it is stated, entertains
a very higl opinion of the medicinal
qualities ol rubies taken in this form,
and expends a considerable part of his
Income in buying these gems for con
version into physics, ne also takes
other precious stones not as pills, but
as powders to assist in the restoration
of his health, and has engaged a large
number of native cooks, who have or
ders to leave no stone unpowdered,
which, when eaten with confectionery,
may be eaten with advantage.
It is to be hoped that the cooks do not
abuse the confidence thus reposed in
them, by appropriating the gems to
their own tise; but the temptation must
be one which no British cook could
withstand, and it would hardly be pru
dent for any wealthy individual in tliij
country who adopts a jewel diet. In imi
tation of the unfortunate MulharKao,
t) allow the pulverizing process to be
carried on in the kitchen.
Ancient II jdrnnlics.
Father Secchi has written a letter to
the French Academy of Sciences on the
hydraulics of the ancients. The mon
uments he mentiens have, been mostly
discovered by him in the environ of
Rome. The first mentioned by him is
an aqnednct built at Ala'ri, 200 years
before tbeChristianera. Itisan inverted
syphon, its lowest point being 101 me
tres below the orifice from which the
water flowed into the town ; so that it
sustains at its bottom a weight of at
ieat eleven atmospheres. The pipes of
this aqueduct are of earthenware,
buried in a thick bed of concrete ; they
were very firmly joined together along
a length of seven and a half miles.
This work seros to have been the model
on which Vitruvias founded his de
scription of syphon 'aqueducts. The
second remarkable relic of antiquity
found at .the same place is a complete
system of drainage composed of enor
mous porous stoneware pipes, a metre
in length, fourteen centimetres in di
ameter, and only two in thickness. This
was done to dry npa plain intended for
military manoeuvres. Next come in
clined plaues expressly laid down on
substantial foundations and near the
top of a mountain, in order to collect
rain water on a large surface, with a
basin to purify it, and cisterns to pre
serve it. This was done to provide
the town of Segni with drinking water.
Then follow contrivances of the an
cients for running the water filtering
through porous ground into the aque
ducts, by turning the clayey strata to
account. They used also to rid water
of its carbonates of lime boiling, then
cooling it again, by applying mow to
the outside.
Fancied Ills.
I ean mention a score of women (and
men, too, for that matter ; bnt let them
go, for once,) who pride tnemselvea on
their ill-health ; according to their own
account, they are never well ; never in
robust health. The other evening, in
a crowded assembly, I was compelled
to listen to a long catalogue of the ills
to which flesh is heir, drearily enumer
ated by a lady for the entertainment of
a gentieman : "She never expected to
be well again. The doctor said her
nervous system was completely gone.
Carious to see s person who had loot
her nervous system, yet was able to en
dure with fortitude the heat and ex
citement of a ball-room,. I looked at
the speaker attentively. She was a
pretty little woman, with bright eyes,
black hair, rosy cheeks, and the coun
terfeit presentment, at leas', of excel
lent health. We concluded that she
thought it interesting to be a semi-invalid,
like the school-girls of the last
generation, who used to eat slate-pencils
and sip vinegar to make themselves
pale. While many ladies think that
sickness ia "interesting" and genteel,
thera is no doubt that a morbid desire
for sympathy is at the bottom of half
the useless complaints in the world. It
is sweet to be pitied, and the cheapest
way to get pity is to tell over your
troubles. So them are some who are
forever retailing ifflxtioos. Some of
them are real enough. But for all
human woes there are compensations,
unless we wilfully shut our eyes and
refuse to recognize them. One trial
may be ours, or two, or six, or seven,
yet we have joy and gladness to bal
ance it or them, and we are not crashed.
By needless iteration in the ears of the
kindest listener, we may double the ex
tent of our misfortune. If speech ia
silver, silence is golden, as regards the
inevitable vexations, defeats and calam
ities of life.
A fault confessed is half redressed.
MY BEST FBI EX D.
I was twenty one the possessor of
eighty thousand dollars in cash, and
owner of a handso:ne residence on one
of the stylish thoroughfares of a large
city.
Xo governor, no guardian, no maiden
aunt, no bachelor uncle to object to my
deposing of myself and means accord
ing to my fancy.
She who gave me being had departed
from this world of change and succes
sion ere I could remember. My re
maining parent, engrossed in merchan
dise and bank stock, had no time to
spare in looking after his heir; con
sequently I was placed in the hands of
a nurse, and as soon as my age would
permit, was bundled off to an institu
tion to be "crammed."
Before reaching my majority, I re
ceived a telegram to hasten home as my
father had received a shock which his
medical attendants had pronounced
fatal. I reached bonis just in time to
see him breathe his last. Having re
ceived no special marks of affection
from him, and having only seen him
during the many exciting intervals of
my vacations, my days- of mourning
were soon over. I returned to college
and remained there till I was twenty
one, at which time I came into posses,
sion of my fortune to use at my own
disposal.
I had no idea of following the wake
of father. I had a horror of business.
I cherished a recollection I had for the
yearning in youthful days lor an ex
hibition of the affection I bad seen
lavished on others of my own age. My
memory was still aliv with the remem
brance of how I had run to his knee,
longing to be clasped in his arms and
had my heart stung with a cold repulse.
"Why not enjoy life wnile 1 can?"
I said as I sat alone in my room, for
when youth has passed and manhood
is on the wane, it will be time enough
to clog independence with the encum
brance? of life.
I lifted the bank book from the table
before me, and lookingover it saw there
was no mistake, t'lere was eighty thou
sand dollars placed to my credit.
I joined a club. Inclosing my initia
tion speech I tendered a champagne
supper to my companions. They were
too polite, certainly, not to do me the
honor of accepting. At the supper I
was cheered and toasted, and was pro
nounced a merry good fellow.
Assuredly I must have a fancy team
and give my friends a turn around the
mat popular drives. Besides I must
visit the course and "stake on favor
ites," and engage in an occasional game
of poker in the club. If I lost I must
not wince, nor be heard to utter any
regrets. All this I did and kept it up
for a year. Then my eyes were opene d
but not in the same manner quite as the
deacon's kittens by knocking their
brains out. It happened this wise:
I met a young lady with whom I fell
deeply in love. Xo young lady I was
sure, as 1 surveyed myself in the glass
on the evening I intended to propose,
could resist my suit. A handsome
form, a reputation obtained through my
club of being a great deal wealthier
than I was (as if they didn't know my
fortune to a dime) and a standing in
society that any one might envy, in
deed, no sensible one would refuse was
my comment. But my vanity received
a mighty shock. I was refused, and so
decided was the refusal that I felt there
was no hope. I hastily left the scene of
my disappointment, went home, shut
myself up, walked the flooor until
morning lor I was desperately in love,
and even then was at home to no one. 1
remained all day, notwithstanding a
trot was to take place that afternoon,
on which I had staked a large amount.
I cared nothing about the result, and
entertained some serious thoughts about
making my will. While meditating on
the subject the thought entered my
mind that possibly I might have a rival.
I felt a curiosity to see how he looked,
and finally concluded not to make my
will yet.
The second forenoon I sauntered
forth. I displayed a negligent aspect
and haggard countenance which con
trasted sadly with my former scrupu
lously neat and happy appearance. I
saw a number of my club associates,
but they seemed to avoid me, as they
would cross the street before w met,
or, if on the opposite side, would be
deeply interested in viewing an object
in another direction. I returned from
my walk, anl after dinner ordered my
team for a drive. The programme of
the morning was re-enacted.
I passed several of my acquaintances,
and instead of receiving the usual polite
bow aud pleasaut smile, I got a cold
stare or no notice whatever.
"Were they all witnesses of my re
jection?" was the internal inquiry. I
knew of nothing else to effect so ob
vious a change iu their demeanor.
The mystery, however, was soon
solved. I was sitting alone at dusk in
my room, my mind in a vague, dreamy
state, when tne housekeeper entered.
inquiring whether she should not light
the gas. That meant there was a ring
ing of the bell.
"Yes," I replied, "and if that is any
one to see me conduct him in."
The quietness aud my solitary con
finement was becoming unbearable to
me. Instead of "him" conducted to
my presence, there stood before me a
woman closely veiled. I was taken by
surprise, my feminine visitor threw
her veil back, and 1 beheld the identi
cal lady who had so recently admin
istered such a scorching blow to my
vanity.
You will excuse this intrusion, Mr.
Morton, when I tell you that nothii g
but a desire for your welfare has caused
me to visit you. Ihave heard of your
misfortune, and attribute a good deal
of it to my refusal of your hand. I
knew that the life you were leading
would sooner or later effect your ruin,
but I had no idea it would come so soon.
I have a few thousand dollars at my
disposal, and if they can be of any ser
vice to you they are at your command,
and I will gladly advance them to you
'c your present circumstances, as I be
lieve you will refund the money.
I was now completely amazed, and
before I could recover my self-possession,
my visitor had departed. I started
up to stop her, but she was gone. I re
turned to my seat and stared at vacancy
where she had so recently stood. Part
of what she said had recurred to my
mind. "Ruin life you are leading!"
A light dawned upon my mind. I rang
the bell and called for the morning
paper, which I had not yet glanced at.
in the announcement of the race the
"favorite" had been beaten, and my
name was announced as a very heavy
loser. To me there was nothing very
startling in that. The reason I will ex
plain presently.
I commenced to look through the
paper. At last the mystery of the usage
of my friends was cleared. Before me
was a paragraph :
"We learn from one who knows that
Mr. Henry Morton has sunk within a
year over one hundred thousand
dollars. The result of the race yester
day was the finishing stroke. His mis
fortunes should be a warning to those
who have commenced a similar career."
"Whew!" said I In one prolonged
whistle. "Let me see If there is auy
truth in the report."
I took down the bank book and ran
over the columns. I had drawn out all
but eighteen dollars and twenty-five
cents. I knew where the rumor, "we
learn from one who knows," came
from. One of my club associates was
cashier of the bank.
The reason why I was not surprised
at this announcement of the race was
because I had not bet on the one that
had been beaten. After the race pre
vious to this one, my confreres of the
club, belonging to the turf, had some
how been flush with bank notes, while
my pockets were empty. It had hap
pened before. I began to suspect there
was something to account for such an
effect. So instead of betting on the
"favorite." I had bet on the other.
My suspicions were so well grounded
that I had staked largely and won.
"Since the play has begun let us have
It out," was my soliloquy.
The next morning I went to my law
yer and asked him to do me a favor.
I told him that I was willing to spend
a hundred or two to find out who were
my friends. I induced him to bring a
suit against me, under two fictitious
names.
There was a law in Xew York State
which was repealed a few years ago,
that the persons in whose favor a note
was drawn, could sue on and collect it,
without appearing in court so long as
the signature was proved to be genuine.
The same law U still in force in New
Jersey.
I confessed judgment, aud was sold
out by the sheriff. The night of the
sale I visited the club. When I entered
a number of persons were there who
had done me the honor to borrow a few
hundred dolls rs from my surplus funds.
Almost immediately after I entered they
were missing. I was soen made to feel
myself a useless appendage, and I took
my leave. When I reached home a let
ter was waiting for me. I opened it.
It contained a check for two thousand
dollars, bearing the brief line, "From
a friend." I presented it at the coun
ter of the bank on which It was drawn.
It was recognized aud cashed. The
most minute inquiries could gain no
clue from whence it came.
"Ah !" I thought what a fool I have
been. Here for the past year I have
been wheedled and flattered by a set of
human vampires. They believe my
blood is drained and leave me alone to
perish. How they will will cringe when
they find I am not the gull they took
me for.
My home was, not my own. I had a
mortgage for twenty thousand dollars
which I had taken some three months
before to accommodate a friend of my
father, ne gave me the money, and I
returned the document. I had thirty
thousand dollors of my eighty. I fore
swore clubs and the race-course, pro
cured a position in a mercantile house,
and in six months after became junior
partner.
I was now fully launched iu the bus
iness I had detested.
Reader, six years have passed since
then. Near me sits the lady who re
jected my suit, and first informed me
of my ruin, playing with a little blue
eyed boy, who climbs up to the win
dow, and, before I reach the door, claps
his tiny hands and cries out. "Papa !"
It was she who sent the check, and,
as I reflected on the past, and think of
the present, I feel thankful for the blow
she adminisered to my vanity.
ladla rJarbsrasd Its Betmen.
There is no place in the world more
cheerful than Cadiz, from the bright
ness of its blue sea, its sky never
flecked by a cloudlet passing, the snowy
whiteness of its houses, the beauty of
its squares, with all their wealth of
tropical trees and flowers. True, Mad
rid or Sevilla has more divertissements
of theatre and the like, but the climate
of the first ia simply abominable, and
the heat of the second in summer and
its cold in winter simply unbearable.
Neither Madrid nor Sevilla can be called
truly healthy, But at Cadiz one brea
thes health at every step; even to an
invalid spirits and appetite never flag
at Cadiz; colds and coughs are unheard
of; one lives in perpetual primarero, or
spring. When the stranger in Cadiz
tires of its tropical squares, of its beau
tiful paseoi, or sea walks, of which Las
Delicias bears off the palm, command
ing a wide view of the blue ocean, he
need only saunter down the Calle San
Francisco, pass through the Puerta del
Mar, or Sea-gate, on to the wharves
and fish and fruit markets, and be will
fini himself in a new world. It is mid
day, we will say, and a alight lerante,
or east wind, blowing; the sea ia bluer
than the sky; in front of him, stretch
ing from the edge of the wharf to about
half a mile oat into the harbor, he at
anchor about four hundred boats, all
heaving up and down in the bright sun
light, and all painted of the gayest
colors, red. white, yellow, blue, striped;
these are the passenger or smallest
boats, each of which carries two men
as crew, and has a small lateen sail; they
are used to take passengers off to the
larger vessels lying furthvr out to sea.
When a stiff leramte ia blowing, the
noise and motion of this little painted
flotilla form a most varied and pleasing
spectacle. These little crafts are called
"botes" and it is marvelous what an
amount of sea they will stand. The
other classes of boats and ships are
mostly for trading purposes. The trade
of Cadiz is of three kinds. Fist, the
large French, English and Portuguese
packets which bring passengers and
cargo, and depart with full cargoes of
lead from the Surra, oranges from the
Campo, and wine from the vineyards
of Jerez and Port St. Mary. Then
there are the sailing vessels from
America and Russia, which come in
ballaMt to load with salt from the salt
fields of San Fernande; this salt is the
finest in the world for salting fish in
Norway, Russia, Newfoundland; the
salt is nearly always stowed in bulk,
and forms a heavy and very dangerous
shifting load. Then, as regards larger
vessels of the steam class, they are
ever coming and going, the Havana
packets, carrying hands, passengers,
and cargo to the Havana. It is a
picturesque sight sometimes, in cross
ing the harbor in the grey of early
dawn, to see two or three falucas,
crowded with Cuban volunteers in
their light-blue checked shirts, shout
ing and hurrahing most vociferously,
standing cut in harbor for the Havana
packet. These volunteers are great
rascals. They receive as bounty fifty
dollars, spend it in debauchery in Cadiz
get invalided or desert, and come back
in a few months change their name, get
another bounty, and go off to Havana
again. Next in order to these larger
vessels come the laoul, the ruistico.aud
mistico de galleta. These are large,
heavy crafts built to stand any amount
of sea, and two masted. They are em
ployed in the coasting trade, bringing
potatoes from Valencia, wine from
Malaga, oranges from Sevilla, timber
from the north ef Spain. They vary in
tonnage from forty to eight tons, the
laoul has one mast amidship and one
in the stern, and carries enormous la
teen sails. The mistico has two masts
amidship, carrying two lateen sails and
a jib. These boats carry as crew from
five to nine men and the patron, or
Captain; the owner has always one
half of the profits of the voyage; and,
of the other halfthe pntron has two
thirds the rest being divided among
the sailors. The trade of Cadiz is fast
going down; the poor boatmen can
scarcely pick npa livelihood; nearly all
the large trading craft now go np the
river to Sevilla. But still, there they
are, thef e bronzed, clever, reckless sons
of the harbor, always suffering from
hunger, and want of clothing, yet ever
contented aud warm hearted. There is
plenty of wit on a Cadiz wharf, plenty
of deep pathos, plenty of fatalism,
plenty of strange kind of semi-Christian
morality, exemplified in the say
ings and doings of these men. Here is
the boatman's favorite proverb, one
forever on his lips: "Well, but do you
not consider me your friend P "Cu-
nyV (i. e. it.) "no: no hay mas
amigo que Pio,y mm iluro en lay bot
silla." (There is no friend but God,
and a dollar in pocket.') He has a su
preme, nay, the supreniest, contemj t
for the itch and the outwardly relig
ions. For himself he wears a charm,
blessed by some priest, Tonnd his neck;
but there all outward religion ends for
him. "Talk about rich men; earamba,
man; why, they go to church, yes to
please their wives when they are.
young; bnt one-half of them have very
poor relations wanting for a little help,
and they won't give it them, and then
dare to say their prayers ! Carajo, lot
riros, Jesu. que son animal's .'" (Curse
the rich what brutes they are!) These
two last sayings are, surely, replete
with truth; indeed, is not the last the
very echo of the Scriptural definition
of "pure religion and undenledP No
one must blame the hoatiuan for his
constantly having on his lips the word
"JetH," (Jesus;) it is no more than for
an Englishman to say "Good Lord," or
Lord bless me." Strangely enough, no
Andalusian man or woman of the lower
class will sneeze or hear another sneeze
without saying "t;t," and why, they
know not; but to omit it, they say, is
unlucky. I have fairly laughed out
right, having sneezed in company with
eight or nine peasants to hear as many
"Jesus"1 ntfered, in a tone of absolute
alarm. If you are out in a rough sea
with a Cadiz boatmen, he has only two
phrases to reassure you: So haceilauo
and So lewa. vsted euiaado that is,
There is no danger, and do not trouble
yourself. If he says this von may feel
safe; but if he says " Una cot amy fea,"
(an ugly look,) then be sure there is
mischief brewing; when the poniente,
or west wind, suddenly rises it tumbles
a fearful sea into the bay, while the
East wind meeting the tide, also raises
a nasty, though less dangerous sea'
The boatman's greeting to a stranger,
or on entering a shop or stall to buy
or sell, is always, "Alarailo se' Dios,"
(Praised be God!) to which the correct
answer is "i'or tiempre" (For ever!) a
more formal answer is ''For siempre
alavado y bendito.1'' His speech is in
terpolated.asisthatof every Andalusian
with oaths (which, however, have
long since lost all signiticance and po
tency) and religious phrases. lie says
L'aramba, Carajo, Maldito er, an oaths
and withthetn he intermingles the words
Vendito Dios, (blessed be God:) Dios
mio, mi alma, (my God, my soul;) Santa
Barbara, (a great patroness among the
seamen;) Jesu, Jesu.&nd ilanto Cristo.
The boatman's fare ia very simple; at
four in the morning light he takes his
cup of coffee and aguardiente, or. an
that spiiit is railed on Cadiz wharf.
caramon chel, with a biscuit; at eleven
he breakfasts on bread and fruit; at
six he sits down in his little painted
house outside the Lmd-gate, with his
wife and family, to bis savory stew and
the little rations of bacon, washed
down with red wine, either Catalan or
Val de Penas Temple Bar.
The stream Is the miller's friend as
well as servant, aud rushes gladly over
the w heel; what good is creeping Ust
lessnesa through tae valley.
r i'
r't'T'M"-- -