VOL. 3UV.
jSTEW BLOOMFIELD, IPA.., TUESDAY, JULY 27, 1880.
NO. 30
ft
THE TIMES.
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The Frenchman's Adventures.
BEING destined for a mercantile
profession, I was sent, when a youth
of fifteen or sixteen, to Bourdeaux, in
order to acquire the knowledge for my
proposed pursuits, In the counting-house
of one of the first establishments in that
ancient city. The head of this firm,
which was an extremely wealthy one,
was M. Durance, a gentleman who,
from an old friendship for my father,
took me into his own house, and was
most parentally kind to me. M. Dur
ance was well up in years, round and
ruddy in aspect, social in his habits,
and possessed of one of the very best of
hearts. He had one foible, however,
which made the good soul almost intol
erable to all mankind. Notwithstanding
the great extent of the business he had
conducted, he had seldom been out of
Bourdeaux. He had only once been at
Paris ; but that once was enough. On
that occasion he had met with two
adventures. Oh, those two adventures I
Tongue cannot tell, nor brain conceive,
the delight which the worthy man took
in narrating these inoidents. His
friends were kept thereby in a state of
perpetual alarm. They never heard the
words, " Did you ever hear me tell,"
or even, " Did you ever," come from
M. Durance's lips, without an internal
shudder, and an instant retreat, if possi
ble. " Did you," was enough to bring
out a cool perspiration. For If the good
old merchant once began, pause or rest
was out of the question for the succeed
ing cohple of hours. How often have I
been compelled, after dinner, to listen to
these two eternal adventures! It was not
that they were uninteresting in them
selves. On the contrary, they were of a
remarkable order,and still more remark
able as having occurred at one and the
same time. But who can listen even to
a good thing for ever I Nevertheless, as
it is not likely the reader can ever have
suffered from M. Durance's perpetuities,
we shall repeat them once more, with a
little more brevity than it was the hon
est man's practice to employ.
M. Durance had occasion to go to Paris
upon business. He had a carriage or
chariot in which he proposed to travel,
but at the time when he found it con
venient to set out, this vehicle required
a slight repair, and the merchant, then
comparatively young and actlve,thought
it best to ride slowly forward on horse
back for a oouple of stages, leaving bis
servant to bring the carriage after him.
M. Durance thus hoped to enjoy, for
some part of the way, a more leisurely
view of thj country, which he had
scarcely ever seen beyond a few miles'
distance from his own house. Accord
ingly, after giving full Instructions to
the servant, M. Durance set out respec
tably mounted, and well armed, for be
carried a large sum in bills and money.
To do him justice, he had a stout spirit
and a fair share of courage ; yet not
much of either was required to travel
alone at that period, owing to the ad
mirable degree of efficiency into which
the famous Foucbe had brought the
police of the country.
M. Durance's first day's travel was
unproductive of any wonderful vent
He stopped before nightfall at a village
inn, rested comfortably, and next morn
ing pursued his route. While riding
slowly along the border of a large wood,
in the forenoon of the second day, he
observed a party of men,' also on ' horse
back, a short way before him. ' He con
tinued his course, and they did the
same; but the merchant was uncom
fortably surprised In the end to observe
them frequently turning round, one
, after another, apparently to look at
him. M. Durance thought of his pistols,
and began to be very uneasy. The road
now struck into the wood already men
tioned, and when in the middle of it,
poor Durance was shocked to see the
men halt, and turn round to observe
him, as if simultaneously. The mer
chant was at this time but a short dis
tance from them, and could not help
drawing up his horse also for a moment.
While he was in this situation, one of
the men, after an apparent consultation
with the others, left them, and advanced
to our friend.
" Now is the time," thought Durance,
"here comes the demand for my purse!
What is to be done V" And the worthy
soul's heart sank within him, as he
thought of the heavy sum which he
bore.
When the man came up, however,
there was no demand of this kind made.
The stranger's first words to Durance
were : " What is your purpose here ?"
The merchant hesitated, and at length
stammered out, " I am come upon an
honest errand, I hope like yourselves."
"Ah, I thought so," replied the stran
ger. Then, after a moment's pause, he
continued. " Well, what will you take
to go away ? Will you take one hun
dred louis V"
Mystified thoroughly, Durance, almost
by accident bolted out a "Nol" The
man again spoke, and said, " I cannot
offer you more without speaking to my
companions." With which words he
turned away and rejoined his band.
M. Durance never was so much puz
zled in his life, but his spirits rose as he
saw no intention on the part of the men
to Injure him, and he waited quietly
till the stranger'sjreturn. That person
age was not long away, and when he
returned to the merchant, a bag of
money was In his hand. This bag he
held out to Durance, saying, " We have
come to the resolution of just offering
you three hundred louis here they are
if you choose to go away. Now do
take them," continued he ; "upon my
word we cannot offer more." Durance
sat more bewildered than ever, and was
about to speak, when the bag was thrust
into his hand by the stranger, who at
the same time said : " Now, do take it
without another word. It will be as
well for you, perhaps, as you are alone ;
and I can tell you there are some deter
mined fellows yonder, who would think
nothing to drive you off. But I was for
a compromise, and, upon my honor, we
cannot give more." With this the man
turned to move away. Part of his last
speech had made a wonderful impres
sion on Durance, who, though utterly
unable to tell the meaning of all this,
thought it wise to pocket the bag, and
ride onwards. He did so, and soon lost
sight of the strangely liberal party he
had met.
M. Durance continued his route peace
fully, till nightfall, pondering all the
way on what had passed, yet incapable
of coming to any conclusion on the
subject. On reaching the village where
he proposed to rest all night, he was
joined by his servant, Joseph Demaray,
with the chariot, and on the ensuing
day they pursued their journey in this
vehicle. Nothing of interest occurred
throughout their further progress, until
they reached the very gates of Paris.
But just as the vehicle was passing the
barrier, a gentlemanly looking person
came up to the carriage side, and thus
addressed M. Durance : " Sir, you will
have the goodness to go with me."
" What!" said the merchant,' "whither
must I go V and why f " In a low tone
of voice, and with the utmost civility,
the gentleman replied, "You will permit
me to have the honor of conducting you
toM. Fouche." "M. Fouche!" ejacu
lated M. Durance, in no small alarm at
the thought of what the famous head of
the police could want with him: "I
have committed no offense, I have bro
ken no law, and I cannot understand
why I should be sent for by" The
stranger cut short this speech by saying,
" I have been waiting for some time
upon you, Sir, being instructed that you
would arrive in a carriage like this ; and
your person, portmanteau, and every
thing about you, answer the description
given to me. I cannot, therefore, be
mistaken In the party, and you will
have the goodness to attend me to M,
Fouche, who will himself explain his
business with you, which is more than
I can do." There was no resisting this
peremptorily civil request. By the
stranger's directions, M. Durance sent
on his servant to the hotel where he
proposed to lodge, and seeing no alter
native, followed the messenger to the
office of the head of the police.
Fouche received our hero with the
utmost politeness, and after requesting
him be seated, entered Immediately on a
detail of certain matters, which made
the eyes of M Durance grow as round as
full moons, and led the good man to
the conclusion that Fouche and the gen
tleman In black were things synony
mous. " You are M. Durance, of Bourdeaux,
the head of the extensive mercantile
house that bears your name; you have
in your portmanteau the sum of
naming the exact number in specie, and
the sum of in bills; you are about
to reside at the hotel B. near the Boule
vards; and it is your custom to retire to
rest about eleven o'clock." These are
but a few of the particulars regarding
M. Durance's situation, purposes, and
habits, which the public functionary
seemed to be aware of. The merchant
sat in mute astonishment.
M. Fouche evidently enjoyed his vis
itor's wonder, and before any reply
could be made, the police functionary
continued in these rather startling
words: "Sir, are you a man of cour
age!" We have mentioned already that
M. Durance had a good deal of spirit
about him, and he was now roused to
make the reply, "that no one had ever
doubted his courage, and he begged to
know the cause of the question."
" Sir," answered M. Fouche, "you are
to be robbed and murdered this night."
"Robbed and murdered!" exclaimed
the thunderstruck merchant of Bour
deaux. " Gracious heaven ! can this be
true?"
" It is true," returned M. Fouche.
" You have seen how much of the truth
relative to your affairs, I am acquainted
with, and this also is the truth. My
reason for putting a question to you,
affecting you, affecting your courage, is
this : If you have enough of that quality
you will go to your hotel and retire at
the usual hour, placing your portman
teau, as usual, by your bedside, and
betraying no suspicion to those around
you. Only take care not to fall asleep
and leave the rest to me. It will be
unnecessary, and, indeed, improper, for
you to look into the closets or beneath
the bed. In short, do nothing, but go to
rest as you would do at home, and leave
the rest to me. Have you resolution to
do this?"
M. Durance meditated a little, as was
not unnatural, before giving an answer,
on which the head of the police address
ed him again. "If you do not feel
inclined to go through with this
affair, I will procure one to personate
you. This would render the affair more
difficult, and its success less certain, but
it might be done." " No, no," exclaim
ed our friend, " I will do it mysalf. I
will act precisely as you direct, leaving
my life in your hands." "You may do
so, sir," replied M. Fouche, "with per-,
feet confidence."
After a repetition of his instruction,
and receiving some further particulars
relative to the Intended attack on him,
the worthy merchant left M. Fouche,
and having procured a street vehicle,
was driven to the hotel whither he had
sent bis servant and carriage. The
evening was now pretty weU advanced,
and ere M. Durance had rested himself
and taken some refreshment it wanted
little more than two hours of bed-time.
The merchant felt himself incapable of
going out, and he therefore sought a
book and sat still. But with his usual
kindness of heart he did not wish to
confine others on his account. His
servant Demaray, who was a Parisian,
asked to go out and call upon his friends.
"By aU means, Joseph," said M. Du
rance ; "go to see your friends, but recol
lect to be here again by eleven." After
this, M. Durance attempted to read,
but, finding himself incapable of follow
ing the meaning of two lines together,
he laid down the book, and thought,
Joseph returned punctually a,t eleven,
and lighted bis master to bed. On being
left alone, the courage of the merchant
almost gave way. He looked around
him. At M. Foucbe bad stated, there
were two large closets In the room. The
thought that, at that instant, his intend
ed murderers might be there, came across
the mind of M. Durance, and be was
strongly tempted to satisfy himself
before he lay down. But be recollected
his promise he remembered how accur
ate the intelligence of M. Fouche had
been on other points and he resolved
to confide In what had been stated to
him, and to obey every direction.
Having come firmly to this conclusion
he put out the lights and lay down on
the bed. The counsel "not to sleep,"
proved most superfluous in the case of
the honest merchant. His mind and
senses were too much on the alert to per
mit him to slumber. Sometimes, with
in the first hour after he lay down he
thought he heard Btifled noises, but they
were not continuous, and led to nothing.
At length, however, about half-past
twelve, the door of his bedchamber was
opened, and a glimmer of light fell on
the opposite wall. Having purposely
arranged the bed-clothes about bis head
in such a way as to enable him to see
without being seen, M. Durance then
beheld three men enter, bearing a dark
lantern, and each armed with a dagger
and pistols. One of them advanced to
the bed-side and seized the portmanteau.
In this person's face, to his horror, the
merchant beheld the lineaments of his
own servant, Joseph Demaray 1 The
first act of the men was to rip up and
rifle the portmanteau ; but while they
were doing so together, each being una
ble, seemingly, to trust his companions,
M. Durance heard them agree upon the
necessity of his own immediate death.
Ignorant of the means prepared by M.
Fouche for his succor, M. Durance felt
the perspiration burst upon his body;
but he was not kept long in this state,
for ere the rifling of the portmanteau
could be completed, the closet doors
burst open, five or six men rushed out,
and in an Instant the surprised robbers
were in the hands of justice. On the
officers coming out, the bed-room door
at the Bame time was opened, and lights
brought in, showing that all had been
indeed thoroughly prepared for the relief
of the merchant and capture of the
offenders.
"Ah ha!" M. Durance would here
say, when narrating the story himself
" what think you of my second adven-.
ture ? More wonderful still than the
first, was it not ?"
Whatever may be thought on this
point, there is obviously less of mystery
in the last Incident than in the preceed
ing. The extraordinary degree of infor
mation displayed by M. Fouche, result
ed simply from the circumstance of the
villlan Demaray having written from
Bourdeaux to Paris, announcing to his
associates the prize which was coming in
their way. It may be thought that a
roundabout and dangerous mode for M.
Durance was adopted for the seizure of
the offenders, and this may be in part
true. But it is to be remembered that
the slightest symptom of preparation
would have awakened the suspicion of
Demaray and would thus have prevent
ed, in all probability, the capture of his
associates, who though old offenders,
had long escaped detection by the police.
As to other points, M. Fouche doubtless
had been afraid lest Durance, if inform
ed previously of the treachery of his
servants, and other particulars, might
have prematurely done something to be
tray the scheme.
The wretch of a servant and his asso
ciates were punished as they all merited.
M. Durance, grateful for his escape,
blessed the wonderful police of his coun
try, settled his bulsness to his satisfac
tion in Paris, and in due time returned
to Bourdeaux. It was not till after his
return, notwithstanding many inquir
ies, that he could get any rational ex
planation of the first of his two adven
tures. Finally, however, by dint of
local investigation, the mystery was
solved. And what does the reader think
was the cause of the three hundred, louis
being given to him with suoh strange
and apparently causelesB liberality.
The explanation is simple. In that
wood, on the afternoon in question,
there was to be a great sale of cut wood,
which the party of men had come from
a distance to buy in concert with one
another..- They looked for a great bar
gain, having reason to hope that nobody
would appear to bid against them. But
on seeing M. Durance on their track,
they at onoe conoluded that he was on
the same " errand" as themselves. On
consultation, they thought It worth
their while to endeavor to buy up his
opposition by the offer of a good round
sum. M. Durance's first words unin- .
tentlonatly confirmed the mistake as to
his purposes. The issue is known to
the reader. '
It is not exactly in our power to say .
to what extent M. Durance carried his
Inquiries, with the view of restoring the
three hundred louis. We believe he of
fered publicly to give it up on call, but
that It was never claimed from him.
Perhaps the parties were ashamed of
their extraordinary and slmple-wltted
self-deception.
Courting a Dootress.
MISS MARY FLYNN was studying
medicine and being courted at the
same time. Mr. William Budd was at
tending to the latter part of the business.
One evening while they were sitting In
the front parlor, Mr. Budd was thinking
how he should manage to propose. Miss
Flynn was explaining certain physio
logical facts to him.
" Do you know," . she said, " that
thousands of persons are actually ignor
ant that they smell with their olfactory
peduncle V"
'Millions of 'em," replied Mr. Budd.
"And Aunt Mary wouldn't believe
me when I told her she couldn't wink
without a sphincter muscle !"
"How unreasonable."
" Why, a person cannot kiss without
a sphincter!"
"Indeed!"
"I know it is so.'
"May I try if lean V"
"Oh, Mr. Budd, it is too bad for you
to make light of such a subject."
Mr. Budd seized her hand and kissed
it. She permitted it to remain in his
grasp.
" I didn't notice," he said, "whether
a a what you call it? a sphincter
helped me then or not. Let me try
again."
Then he tried again, and while he
held her band she explained to him
about the muscles of that portion of the
human body.
" It Is remarkable how much you
know about such things," said Mr. Budd
"really wonderful. Now, for exam
ple, what is the bone at the back of the
head called?"
" Why, the occipital bone, of course."
"And what are the names of the
muscles of the arm ?"
"The spiralis and the infra-splralis,
among others." ,
" Well, now let me show you what I
mean. When I put my lnfra-spiralls
around your waist, so, is it your occipital
bone that rests upon my Bhoulderblade, ,
in this way V"
"My back hair primarily, but the
occipital bone of course, afterward. But
oh, Mr. Budd, suppose pa should come
in and see us ?"
" Let him come 1 Who cares ?"' said
Mr. Budd, boldly. "I think I'll exer
cise a sphincter again and take a kiss."
"Mr. Budd, how can you?" said
Miss Flynn, after he had performed the
feat.
" Don't you call me Mr. Budd; call
me Wllle," he said, drawing her closer.
" You accept me, don't you ? I know
you do, darling."
"Willie," whispered Miss Flynn
faintly.
"What, darling?"
" I can hear your heart beat." -"
It beats only for you, my angel."
"And it sounds to me out of order.
The ventricular contraction is not uni
form." "Small wonder for that wlien it's
bursting for joy."
" You must put yourself under treat
ment for it I will give you some med
icine." " It's your own property, darling ; do
what you please with t. But somehow
the sphincter operation is the- one that
strikes me most favorably. Let us see
how it works again."
" But why proceed ? The old, old
story was told again, and the old, old
performance of the muscles of Mr!
Budd's mouth enacted again and again
and a wedding followed, of course."
O The best rules for a young man to
follow are to talk little, to hear much, to
reflect alone upon what has passed In
company, to .distrust one's own opin
ions, and value those of others that de
Serve it.
11