Chicago Daily Tribune Newspaper, December 15, 1872, Page 7

-THE CHICAGO DAILY TRIBUNE: SUNDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1872. 7 MANKTANISMS., Money-Borrowss:-The Advantage and Neesgy «f Casin The Metropolsy.s & Field for SWL!'%JETS. — The Number an Vagty of Social Highwagmn—1ttr Mode o Dupizg ! e Horace Greley as : Victim of Tozners: e The Downwari Cose of the i Fraudulen; Frarnity. From Our Gon Correjdent. New ¥, Dec. 11, 1872, Money is the motire-power cthe wo!%d. In exeontive capacity, it is an anj or_devil. By it, civilization must bo measurand :J.l accom- plishment wrought. A mater blessing, it is the parent, too, of such an arnt of spiritual comfort 28 may mot bo reckc. Money will Puy everything but health azffection; and, through its =id, the one is tected, and the other provoked. No marvelst men worship Imoney; it is the strongestseculer derties, the firmest of supporters, ame staunchest of friends. Nobody can live voutit; it is life itself. Every one must anéll nave it in cer- iain quantity, either by : meens or foul. Every community is compo/0f borrowers and Yenders, and the former exlwaysin stupen- dous majority. They who ' most lend least, and, consequently, borroware broughi to de- pend on tho class widelynoved from pros- perity. FINANCIAL PSITES. The number of men witbsist upon others by persistent fleccing carircely be estimated. They zbound in this cour, especially in this city, which may well b .08 the haven of ths ‘hard-up, and the blisefulst of the professional -¢ borrower. All roads le to Now Yorlk; all swindlers and adventuresourey hither in ex- ectation of ‘finding vics. Their anticipa- tions are generally realizq enthey bless the stars which have guide the) to monetary Manhattan. They comeby ©ry boat and train, from every State al nati, with devices, plans, and pretexts fc gentdy defranding that colosssl goose knorn as thPublic. Fortunes zre g0 muc} more dly and quickly ‘meade here than in any cther ci that the bor- rower, whatover his celling his clime, is tempted to visit us becanso nfident of his rewerd Europesns often wepr 2i the care- lessness of Arericans in respeto money, and are astounded when told that,n this Western land, the chief requirements Tprocaring lozns without secwity are falseho¢and effrontery. They cannos uaderstasd hose is_possible for ‘hundreds £nd thonsards of mto live by polite- 1y robbing othas, and yei kei up 2n assump- tion of honesty and respeciaity. Aware that =uch things could not be in + 01d World capi- ‘als, they aro earprised at thopposite order of affzirs over hem. THAE FTMRER OF BROWERS. It would be extremely i i =rnually, not coly by is owitizens and peo- le, but by foreigners of evegrade. I venture <0 afirm that tast theyo aremost always here from 20,000 to <6 whose principel business it is o filch from £ Puress of whom- 30ever they ca1. B: « (heir exclusive profession. Tacy hava redfd it {o a ecience, and arranged it 25 an ast. lex have & certein genius for impo:ition, & drsiic power of mis- Tepresentasion, a fecundity? inveution which would have intred to theinreat advantage in zoms honest cslling. Bat- Lonesty they will have none ; preferring io wodle, falsify, and plunder by the niceties of ivipulation and tha -3ubtleties of ion. [hesa professional borrawt%'s ugg‘f divers drees and caugtlesn ypes, thoug eir end ismticaously and per- A it ey THE DOREOWE MIND. The normsl mird worldupposs that borrow- ing is the hardest way to *t money; that ear- nest 2nd honest work of s kind would be much the easier of the two, Bithe mind of the pro- Zessional borrower is ajormsl. Having no ‘clear conceptions cf truf, justice, or advan- tage, it secs life et an eiremely obtuse angle. It moy hove been Lealthfi at first, but it be- _ ased by contined violation of integ- rity, and finally ceases toave cognizence of its OWD operstions. \ . Money is often called, +3 generally seems to be, & vulger commodity shich generous souls ought to be sbove considemg. ‘The mere pos- session of moncy may not b, and indeed it Yery rarely is, either refining or anobling; but to be without it bege:s unhappines, opens the door to “femptation, prevokes a tendacy to disesteem, if not to degradaton. Nothingis so demoralizing 88 ©0 be under maferial obligtions that cannot be_discharged, and when theo obligetions aro voluntarily and continually sssumed, he who assumes therr grows to be,ere long, a syco- ohant and & slave, - ““BEWARE OF prts!” is an excellns motto for secuar guidance, and ‘its conscienficus follower will,in the long run, his stus for its adoption. To owe 'is fo be owned, to surrender individuality, to lose in- dependence, to forfeit self-respect, The lebtor "s00n parts with his sensibility, and waxes cal- lous. His rcurse winds downward ; &t every sorn ke is faced to do greater violerce to his nsturel self 21d the canse of trnth. Eventually, he becomesn vores offender than thoee the laws ounish ; for Leis za enemy to fociety whom tociety hes 20power to confine. The Metrope s infested with 50 many and yuch differeat berrowers, end they are so much wpart of the communify, thet they may be iivided ard subdivided inio classes. 3 TEE FIBST CLASS ; 5 3s composel of those who, being in busi- diaw, h:ie]y on tho future at ' a vemtre, but with ihe evpecte- 1ion of paging m due season. They aro usually hopeful, cven sanguine, though loss prudeut 2nd conscienticus than they thould be, and more «considerate of themeelves {i2n of others. These zoen turn their confidence and audacity to profit, provided fortune favor thes ; but, if he be ad- erse, they go down, ani drag their lenders with them. They rise n, Lowever, in new fashions fo: borroving, and onco more challenge <iroumsteness to do their bebest. If thoy win at last, theF boast of their energy, perseverance, and cousage, acd despies men who kave been more coascientious and less lucky. ... THE SECOND CLASS have legitimate cellings, but substitute credit for capital. They borrow largely withont con- cerping themselves in regard to lLiquidstion. They zre not poeitively, thoagh ihey may be considered negatively, dishoness. They will” pay if theycan conveniently; if they cannot, they refuso to fret,—retigning their financiel burdens to thoxe compeiisd io.bear them. They have the support of =n easy selfishness, nd, when their creditors complain, thoy write thede to bo patlent, sud waii for the Day of Jndgment. THEE THIED CLASS ghift from one occupation to another, and in very shifting zre lisbleto deterioration. Half the time they uro out of business, but they are iwaye going into eomethingnew that promises pdmirably. They dwell in to-morrow, and defer the fulfiment of all their engagements to that \ancertain fragment of time. They borrow right #nd left, careless of whom, never reckoning the ount they have taken, or_the covenant they e made. Thoy will pay if they are dunned; ut, it not, they will gcatter their obliga: Aions with their breath. After a ceriain range <of experience in effecting private loans, they earn that many persons would rather suffer oes then ask for & return of money, and they i:n adantoge of this scnsibility, They fortify heir want of principle by aflirming thet a debt not due until demanded, 2ud iney always pre- Jead to forget what it wonid be unplessant to memember. They aro poor in performance. ey invariably Wané exteneions, and regard fo- g‘ ‘a8 if it were non-exietent. Catch them with & 7u purao, and roproseny your right fo s part f its conteuts, and you msy count upon pay- ‘ment long deforred. 7 THE FOURTI CLASS /ire constitationally dishonoiablo,—the imper- ponation of selfishness. They Lave no intention ? peying; even ct thoe time Of borrowing, and ever will pay 80 long as they can avoid it. They Jalk & good deal of their intogrity, for the express purpcse of ime ' posing upon their learers. They consider every man a potential creditor, and try to influence him to that end. They are good for what they pay cash for. Their word ranks with their bond, and both are worthless.” They can bo_depended upon to meet their obligations only when compulsion is employed. THE FIFTI CLASS ~ are still worsa ; for thoy not only regard borrow- ing a8 o virtue, but they deem’ payment a vice. To defrand anybody scems to give them o posi~ tive pleasure, and they never felicitate them- gelves so much a8 after o successful swindle. They are earnestly opposed to discharging any and every obligation, however sacred the cireum- stances nnder which it is contracted. They are among thevery few of their kind whowouldrather throw away money tha pay adebbwith it; 2nd & creditor, whom they have been obliged to sat~ isfy, they reckon ever after as an ememy. By somo perversion of understanding and derange- ment of morals, they have come to believe that the world’s goods belong to the most ingenious ewindlers, and that they are entitled to such dis- tinetion. . This olass seldom have any position, commercial or otherwise, but prey upon the pub- Tic without meroy. TEE SIXTH CLASS, 80 far a8 known, havo never dono anything but borrow. _They arothe most professional of pro- fessionals, Their mfl& idea of property is to got whatever they can without an equivalent. Work is hateful to them, and fraud _delightfnl. They struggle. herd for the reward of dishonesty, and receive it with a feeling_akin to enthusiasm. They have never had the slight- est credit; and how they contrive to dups their follows, year after year, is one of the mysteries of humanity. Physioghomy aud manners pro- claim against them; and yet they accomplish euch results through dishonesty s upright men would vainly strive for by honorable means. Continual practice renders them perfect in_the art of cozening. They are able to espy & loan in & face 28'a banker i8 to detect alloy in coin. They appecr to have an intuitive knowledge of the~ contents of sn unseen _pocket-book, and of its owner's special woakness, which they proceed at once to play upon; they can got money out of a hunks, and have been known to Taige the wind in the dead calm of a millionaire. Theeo principel classes include SUBDIVISIONS too numerous and diverse to mention. Borrow- ers change their grade as they advance in mesn- ness and recklessness, They mey begin in the first rank and fall to the lowest. They will do thia year what they would not have done last. They ure always liable to sink, even below the level they ocoupy. They require a broad field for operations, because the proper victims can- Dok be gathered twice by the seme hand. They droop their crest a8 they accumulate infamy, and exerciee mors and more hypocrisy and deeper and bolder falsehood as their carcer continues. THE ABMY OF OCCUPATION. Borrowers rosm the Island of Manhattan from morning to midnight, invading every place rad Penstrating every corner. They can no more be shut out than the Atlantic Ocean ; they are all- pervading, persistent, and resistless. will climb to the apex of Grace Charch, or walk to High Bridge in a driving storm, for the eake of s trivial loan, when they conldnot be hired to do honest work- for ten dollars an hour. They pever know dejection ; if they did, they would ‘o philanthropic enough to make a case for the Coroner. They rob the credulous and cajole the week with s zest and Cheerfulness which can oniy Bpnn€ from a serene consciousness of do- ing'evil. \While the good suffer and the deserv- ing starve, they enjoy themselves and grow round with plenty. ITS PECULIAR TALENT. Professional borrowers have a knowledgo of human nature equal to Shakspeare or Cervantes ; and, in physiognomy, they lsugh Lavater to scorn. They often 28k loans without getting accommodation; but this does not prove their insight at faulf,—only their love for experi- ment. The demnpds they make upon the un- willing ero_tentative efforis to bo treasured up a8 worning in the futire. They would never go to the wrong man were not the right ono absent. They cannot always have things as they want, tnd so they tako them as thoy must. The merest novice makes 1o spproachos to the Astors, or Stewarts, or Vanderbilts ; their Tepn- iation hss gone before them, and he can dis- cover at:a glance that mot a single dollar can be torn from their financial sonis. Such an absoluto incapacity for procuring money gleams from overy lineament of the rich that the rudest savage would recogmize it on in- stinet. If borrowers preyed upon the prosperous, they would do little karm: but, unfortunately, they find their victims smong thoso who have not locked up thkeir hearts and thrown away the key. The man who lends is primarily a good fellow, and that he should be driven into _ekepticiem end cynicism by deliberate swindles is deplorable indeed. BSuch shatter- ing of faith is a sin against the race, and, if & profeseional borrower did not aspire to tofal de- ravity, he woald hesitato before committing it. Bat Lo ‘stops ot nothing, except it be the vision of = debt discharged, or the ghost of &n unre- deemed due-bill. A FAUSTISG DREAD. Hundreds of our citizens, strange as it may appear, aro in perpetnal dreed of borrowers. ‘hey are aware that their countenances and their heerts are against them, and that, resolve s they will, they are in’ danger Of being wheedlod. They are angry with themselves whenever they succumb to the blandishments they have suffered so much by ; and still, when assailed by a direct petition for a loan, they yield without protest. Plausible swindlers seem to keep in memory every over-amiablo man who will open, his parse for tho telling of a pitcous tale of specious story. Theyare ever on the trail of such amem- ber of the tender-hearted tribe, and they invari- ably run him down. Go where he may, they in- variably find him out, and, with wheedling tongue, lick up his substance. A DISTINGUISHED EXAMPLE. The kind and gentle Horace Greeley was, until the last day of his life, the victim of impecunious cheats. He was opposed, on principle, to giving them nm’gc‘nny, and yet, in practice, he wasa serpetusl purvesor to their imsginary necds. }\‘ar many years, I doubt if any oner- petic applicant ~ for a loan ever left the presence of tho grest journalist vithout carrying bis point. Daring the last twenty-five years of his life, Mr. Greeley must Dbave lent to entirely irresponsible persons, withont the slightest expectation of getting any- thing back, not far from 50,000. Every week he would berate himself for his encouragement of such ‘“confounded loafers,” as he styled them, and oxpress his determination to reform his loose and lavish habit. But with the new week wonld be resumed’ the open-handed gen- erosity, from the imposibility of ssying “no” even t0 the most transparent impostor. While entering the ZTribune office, the editor would often motice & borrower i in ‘wait, 2nd tell him lying beforehand there was no use of asking for money; that he could not get ailother penny ander any circumstances. The cozoner, however, Imowing his man, would follow him into the sancium, and, in less than & minute, Mr. Gree- ley wonld be £een opening his pocket-book, and be heard to eay, * Now, take that, and don’t come here any more ; for I'm going to turn over 2 new leaf.” Of course, the new leaf was never turned over, unless in & backward dircction. The journalist’s reputation a8 & succorer of suckers was so firmly established that he drew them from every quarter, and conld not shake them off. THE LEECHES AND THE LEECHED, Hundreds of other New Yorkers have acquired much the game Lind of fame, and are exposed to the same sieges, with similar results. Fearing borrowers as Captain Cuttle feared his Iandlady, they seok their places of business furtively, an ocgome by back strests: Not infrequently they ock themselves in private rooms and hide in out-of-the-way corners to escape itinerant chev- aliers of industry. While honorable gentlemen are thus skwlking to avoid borrowers, un- scrupulons debtors walk composedly through the crowd, and stare their creditors out of-coun- tonance,—thus showing the outward advantoge that dishonesty possesses over uprightness and 1air dealing. DEVICES ADOPTED. Some persons have been victimized so often . that they have hung up placards in their offices like these ALL APPLICANTS FOR LOANS ARE EXPECE. :ED TO FURNISH MORTGAGES ON REAL ES-; TATE IN THE OITY. DESIROUS OF BORROWIN( THE ROTHSCHILDS, IN; GENTLEMEN ARE REFERRED TO AND FRANKFORT. 'LONDORN, P FIRST-CLASS COLLATTRALS REQUIRED OX ALT, LOANS, ¥ @ RATES OF LENDING TO-DAY, § PER 0] NUTE, AND NOTHING RECELV) CEPT DOUBLL-EAGLES, EN A MIN SECURITY 43 PERSONS WHO ARE HARD UP ARE POLITE-. I‘}E’ li]:,m FIRMLY, REQUESTED TO GO TO THE! DEVIL. The fiuo’{ of these announcements is repn[e.d tobe excellent. Innumerous instances they prevent professionals from revealing their chronic wants; in others, they abash fellows who had made up their minds to u'unfo for a loan ; 2nd, in others again, they cripple the hopes formed of & successful swindle, I heve Leen told by persons who tried the ex- periment, that these manifestoes have saved them thousands of dollars a year, and anin- finite amount of annoyance besides. Such cap- itals certainly have »_fino extinguishing effect upon the flaming ardor of the socizl highway- ‘men, 50 superabundant in Gotham. THE DIFFERENT DEMANDS. The length of time that & borrower (ontside of business) has been plyinihis vocation may be determined by the amount Le asks for. When ho is Tather new to tho trade, he wishes usually t0 be accommodated with & lonn of £500, and, it that sum be inconvenient, he thinks he can get elong with something less. He has been known to accept thirty or forty cents on the dollar of his original proposition, and genorally it is no safo to offer him any gort of compromise. After a year or two of genteel swindling, the borrower fixes his demend 2t from $100 to $50, but can be induced to take $25 as & sort of in- stalment on the obligation which he fancies the community has, in some mysterious manner, in- curre Ten-dollar swindlers have, for the most part, seen much dishonorablo_service, and are amon, e Somatons of thetr aefarions gail T Thay are to be found evarywhere, in the street, 2t the hotels, at the thentres, at the races ; even 26 private partios sometimes, where they make the stereotyped excuse that they have left their ortmonnaie in another coat, and that they would e profoundly obliged for a trivial loan until the day following. ! The_petty impostors, who solicit loans from $5 to 50 cents, have usually met with so many rebufls that thoy make their approaches with a difidence which nsuslly undoes them. They mention $5 with an infirmity of voice, evincing that they have no expectation of _obtain: ing_ it, snd drop down to $8, $2, or 31, with s precipitancy revealing their famili- arity with dmpommem. As o last test, they inquire dolefully for posta currency ropresentin; half a dollar ; and it 18 geldom they fail to gef it, through sheer commiseration, from the per- 50n besonght. TRANSLUCENT INDEED. One of the most transparent and impudent or- ders of swindlers are those who tell you they are in a certain straight, and could easily be helped if they would apply to their father, brother, or some other near relative. :But they are too prond—they tako pains to inform you-—to de- mean themaelves in that fashion, and, therefore, they have recourss to s stranger on whom they have not tho slightest claim. This mode of borrowing—an insult to the lowest intelligence—desorves to be answered with the boot ; and yet, as it involves a certain sort of flaitery, it frequently meets with a practical re- sponse. > THE ANNUAL SWINDLES. It is estimated that, indepondent of all regu- lar or mercantile transactions, the denizens of this city lose from $5,000,000 to 6,000,000 an- nually by swindlers, claiming to be philanthro- piots, roformors, scholars, business mon, and gentlemen, In temporary distress. These mis- cellancous’ borrowers have pretexts of every kind, all of them appealing to tho bost part of our common nature, if they were only true. The sole difference between professional bor- yowers and beggars is, that the former always promise to pay, and the latter never promise, though one can bo as much depended upon for sottloment gs the other. _ .., BUCH BECURRING CALAMITIES 28 visit_these unblushing negotiators of lonna might have' been gathered from the multitu- dinous woes of the Groek tragedies or the grand operas. The borrowers are very seldom unpro- vided with » dead mother, or an unbnried wife, of starving children, or a dishonest partner, or & ‘Btolen pocket-book, or & deferred remittance, or =n absolutely necessary fourney, or remarkabla mishap of some eort. They infest the principal botela at tho busy hours of the dsy, und employ their best encrgics in introducing themselves to tho pockets of the boarders. esrly every pub- -lic house appeara to Lave its special haunters, and one ingenious story will serve their purpose for o month or more, Borrowing has long been systematized here, and_every scason is marked by new inventions and pathetic fictions to de- Iudo the generous and unwary. THE AUDACITY of tho professional borrower is_grand and oxalted. Ho will stop your carrisgo in tho Park, and invite you to 8 pecuniary ombarrass- ment’; will make known his financial embarrase- ment 13 you are walking out of church with the present or future Mrs. on your arm ; seek & privata interview, with & monetary purpose, Tefore you are up in tho morning. 1f you wero to bo hanged,—of which there is no dingor hero, whatever crime you may com- ‘mit,~he would steal up behind tho Sheriif as the Ietter was drasing the black cap over your eyes, and a8k you if you couldn't spare £10, now fhat you_ were going to a country “where National Benk notes are not current. ® IOST NEW YORKERS understand so thoroughly tho trick of courteons cozening that, whenever any men they don't Inow intimatély scems anxious to see thom, they are convinced ha is in quest of s loan; an in nineteen cases out of twenty their convictions ere just. Neither friendship, nor love, nor detectives can trace a fellow_to his lair, or Acent out his sanctuary, liko a borrower. ' He will parsue his game round tho world, and shame & sleuth-hound from the start. “Lost in the great city” is often s sad truth ; ‘but it may be converted into a fiction if 8 man in need of money havo his attention called to_the ocket-book of tho person supposed to b lost. ‘ou cannot g0 bury yourself in this Babylon of & New World that tlie borrower will not bring you tolight. And,if you hnve had sxperience, whon a stranger flatters you, you will understand, from the degree of his compliment, the exact smonnt of this loan he expects to obtain, 5 “OLD PILCHER.” d 4 The loud wind rattles the casement to-night ; The cold, crisp snow eifts under the door ; Thro' the fitful gus!s of the wild storm’s roar Comes the howl of a dog ; my waning light Sbows the morn is near ; it is four. Thoy were simple words’; yet they stir me 80 ; Al 1 the dear child's voics fell soft on my heart ; Tho I'm old and wrinklod she took my part ¥hen the ruds boye mocklngly cried * fags ! rogs staggered along ‘neath those bulging bags, 1 shiver ; my hands are ice-cold-5HIT : ‘Esch breath I draw cuts in ke s knifo ; Oh I never before in all my long life Have I 50 wanted a comrade near, But alone with my two old cats I am here, Come, Tom and Jerry, jump into my lap ; Let your brave, loud purriug this stilness break ; Perchanca it may ease my fierce heartache, The sweet child s2id,—she had golden hair, And meek brown escs, and forehead fuir,— “Be not unkind to the man, dezr boys ; He is weak and thin, and is looking ill, And I saw his eyon with sad toars fill ; 1t may be he once was sweet and fair, Andkmelt at bis mother's knee in prayer.' “ Neddy, and Percy, and Mary, and Ben, These were the names of the innocent four That kmelt round their mother upon the fioor, I litle sott nightgomas, spotlessly white, le_they murmured their pra; Gogd mights S “ Percy was drowned in the cold bine se, Fears ago sot I soe him before me now, Besveed in'his bais, and upon b brow gash from a rough sharp-poinled rock; Godla tears well, 've cargiod a fock Of his hair in my greasy old wallet, Formany s year, “Mary became & happy young wife; Neddy, his pure name s honored to'day ; But Bénny,— 0id Ben,’ I should properly say,— Who gleans dey by day thro ths city's streets, Shunned, alas| by nearly all whom hie meets, Sits alone with his cats 'mid tho rustle Of riotous rats, 4 S Ah! the pain ; it grows sharper ; I am cold as I H Long I for mother who died years dga; el 1 wonder if, down on my knees very low, I could mutter the prayer we nsed to repeat? It was, ‘ Now Ilay mo to elcep, down to slcop.'” “1 declaroif Old Pilcher afn't learnin’ to pray,” 834d the milkman, a8 he, thro’ the window that day, Bpied the kmeeling form aud lov-bended head; But nearer approach showed DOor Ben Pilcher—dead, DeoexmEs, 167, Boowx SovLr. ————— AN UNTIMELY THOUGHT. £ wonder what day of the week,— T wonder what month of the yecr,— Will it be midnight, or morning, — And who will bend over my bier? —What o hideous fancy to come As 1 wait, at the fool of the stalr, While Eleanor gives tho last touch ‘To her robe, or tho rose in her hair | Do I like your new dress—pompadour? And do1liXoyou? On mylife, You cre eighteen, and not a dsy more, And haven't been six yoars my wife “Thoso wo Tosy boys in the crib “Up stairs ara not ours, to be sarel— ‘You are just a sweet bride in her bloom, Al sunehine, and snowy, and pure! A8 the carriage rolls down the dark street, Tho little wife laughs and makes cheer—- But . . . I wonder what duy of tho weck, I wonder what month of the year ! —T. B. Aidrich, 1 the Atlantic for January. il ettty —A church in Amsterdam, Holland, has had the eame pastor for the last 70 years. “HAMLET” AT AIKEN'S. To the Editor of The Chicago Tribune : Sm: Some time ago, after sitting through a performatice of “ King Lear »—not voluntarily, but since I had a young lady with me who thought it “ perfectly splendid "—I registered a vow that I would never go to see another tragedy played, at lezst, until I became a howl- ing misanthrope and took pleasuro in seeing into what low and base creatures human beings could convert theméelves. But, after due con- sideration, I concluded that I could lawfully so far disponse myself from my vow as to go snd ses Mr. Barrett and the members of Aiken’s Company play at “Hamlet;” to go, like the modest lover, hoping Little, asking nothing, but wishing for & good deal. Besides, everybody goes to see “ Hamlet.” As black broadcloth is the American's ides of fall dress, 80 is * Hamlet " his ides of a tragedy. He goes to see it, no matter who plays, whether it is Booth or Barrett, Smith or Jones. Once a year, at lesst, he must lsten to “To be, or not to be.” It is a part of his duties as acitizen. Then, too, it is chief among the very few tragedies which it really pays a man- ager to put on the stage, and, of these few, some draw only because of the scenery and the cos- tumes; because they are spectacular, not be- cause theyare tragic. To make “ Julius Cmsar” acceptable, the manager has to advertise *now and sumptuous scenery, costumes of unexam- pled splendor, etc., etc.” Here, ak least, the taste for tragedy is protty much over, whatever may be said about the crowds which attend its ropresentation. We prefor comedies, comedi- ettas, melodramas, It is minstrolsy that pays best here. We sit down at home and read a fow elegant exiracts from “Othello” or *Lear,” and say to ourselves how much we would like to seo those plays on the stage! Bat, when we do come to see them 88 o whole, from Act 1, Scene 1, to Act 5, Sceno b, they drag fearfully. Trust one who has tried it. Btill, theatrical managers are perpetually try- ing their hands ab tragedy, possibly becanse it is high-toned, dull, but eminently respectable; possibly because thoy really think there is a de- mand for it. Nor do the actors, as a class, share tho popular disinclination for the tragic muse, eithor because they think it is higher and more dignified work, or because it givea them certain advantages over an audience which they do not possess when assuming comedy parts. The stage-struck young men and women almost in- variably take to tragedy,—ziow Hamlet, now Iago, now Desdemona. The différence in language between tragedy and comedy was long ago defined. The latter was but common talk, the former assumed a loftier or more elevated diction ; rhymed or un- rhymed, it was not mere prose. But, as itis fitting that the manner should soit the words, itis often taken to be proper that Kings and Quoens, and tragic characters generall; ehould be stilted and pompous, and shnufé not deliver themselves exactly like people of this world. ‘When the actor says, * Will yon please come in to supper ? ¥ we want him to Eay it a8 we do. But when he declaims : “The tyrant totters and the Senatemods,” not being used to indulge in that sort of telk, even during & Presidential election, we do not Inow how we want him to ssy it, and s loave him to himself and Rant, his premd.mlg divinity. And just herein lies his advantage. The major- ity have not as precise and well-defined & stan- dard by which to measure tragic a8 comic acting, and that leaves the field pretty free to the player to act a8 bo pleases; and when eny one taxes him with being unnatural, he replies, * Why it is the way to act that 'grmd and Femh'u‘ thing, a tragedy.” Just the shade fo match yonr dress,” gays the city dry goods clork to the country girl. Bhe does not quite believe him, but sho does not know, ond ho pretends to know, &nd the inferior fabric is palmed off on her. So most 1:{-399:5 have an indefinite Teeling that when the lords and lndies of tragedy cry or implore ; when they weep their lost, or clamor for ravenge, they should express their emotions very amch £ common people do, and that the toars that Zear sheds over Cordelia ere no galtier than those which many & plain artisan has dropped on hia dead dsughter's face. In reality, tragedy demands as close an adherence to na- ture ng comedy does, and thereforo it is_harder to play it well sinco it requires of the =~ actor & doeper _knowledge of the human heart, =and its fashions of expreesing profound emotion, than comedy ever can. Khakeponre's statoly blank verso should bo spoken slowly and distinctly; it should not be so elurred over 8 to deprive it of its melody, but it is not, therofore, to be do- claimed sccording to the rules of the’ elocution- ists. Itis mot to bospoken 2s something out- gide of ourselves, 88 & graduate doos his Latin valedictory,—spoken in & voice manufactured for the purpose. sny an orator has spoken so- norous and rythmical prose, but when ho came to that pert of his speech, ho did not adopt the declamation style._ As = general thing, however,—it is certainly 508t Alken’s,—the tragic actor conceives of but threo mothods of doing his part, Ho rants, and toars passion to tatters; or he declaima’ very noatly ; or he walks through his businoss a3 if it were o jobiwhich had to be dono, the sooner the better. He does not like the work, but b is set down for it, and it must be done, somehow. Doubtless Mr. Aiken, in his profound love for the Swan of Avon's silver stroam, would sigual- ize his_* Grand Shekspareen Revival” by giv- ing “Hamlot " complete, were it not for thoso outrageous horse-cars, which wait for no man. Since Bhakspoare never dreamed of ftting his plays to such » measurement, Mr. Aiken has to do it for him, and there is excision to some ex- tent. - Fortiibras, Remaldo, Volimand, stc. sre pitched overboard, like 80 many Jonahs, canying their beggage with them, to-wit: Ono inquiry into tho conduct of Laerfes at Paris, containing hints for American fathers; one embassy from old Norway; tho stowing sway of Polonius; one loiter from Hamlet; slso, the grand concluding procession, where Glaudius, Gertrude, Hamlel, and Laertes sre carried away by the supes on their respective biers, to tho sound of melancholy music. Itis an afuent theatre that_con afford four biers. But, sinco there must be_cutting, Mr. Aiken has dome it excellontly well, taking' out nothing which is in any respect esséntial. Thereis no fault to be found here. 'The scenery and costumes are well enough, bt they are, after all, but the *accidents ” of & play. Possibly wo havo carried realiam in small ings 0 an extreme. Caloin s full bottomed wig, in not 8o ridiculous after all, o long as the orator is Calo, Olhello is ever the Moor, even though ho be “ white as leprosy.” To bo real in these little things might lead one into a di- lemma. If Desdemona was like other Htalian Iadies of her day, she never dreamed of Wearin a night-gown, and went fo bed stark nake Men—not women—do not care whether they eat their dinners off of delf or China, 50 long as the food is well cooked. 8o they are indifferent as to what Mark Anfony wears, so long ashe walks and talks the Romsn. But critics, forgotting that, are apt to waste their praises on the com- pleteness ~ shown in incidentals. One suys that, in & certain scene, they had “real oil paintings.” What Of ib? They were daubs. ~ And even if they were not, ‘what had that to do with the acting? Ifis the stone, not the setting, which gives value to the ring—the actor, nob the costume. _Another says Bra. A. wore ‘‘real jewelry.” Did she act the better? That’s the question. Still, the costumes were well enough, but while Mr. Aiken 'was about it he should have required the Player Queen, in her first appearance, to_dresa & little more fu character. Did femalo Danish strollers travel around in hats of the fashion of 1872, and 'with blue bows of the same era at their throats? Did Englishwomen in the days of Queen Elizz- beth? Francis! Francis! That which makes Hamlef the plague of com- mentators fits him for the purposes of rival actors. There can be but one *‘conception” of Bir John Brute; there can be half & dozen of Hamlel. One actor makes him mad ; another Tepresents him s shamming Abraham; one makes him moody; another boisterous; and ench ono says he plays the part according to his understanding of it, and that hisideais as apt to be right 88 the nextmsn's. Sowse have Booth's Hamlet, and Barrett's Hamlef, and Fechter's Hamle!, and, in view of these honestly Qiffering interpretations of the part, oll wo can 88k of sny Hamlel is to be true to nature in giv- ing his ides of the character. He may be fat or lesn, brown or blonde, half mad or wholly 20 ; just a8 it pleases him, but he must ropresent & man, not & monster. Mr. Barrett has been hera befors, and has lensed the town, though in lighter parts than amlet. No one questions that he has ability, for he has shown it; but does not his fancy for the Prince of Denmark s little warp his judg- ‘ment ss to his capacity to play this part? It 18 true that he is coherent and consistent in his representation of Hamlef. Itis what has been called a “ painstaking ’ rendition, which word is 1 applicable in o double sense, however, for the successfal foray of & party of burglars on & bank-vanlt may ofton bo justly called 7 * pains~ talung” business. But does it stand the test which Hamlet's self imposes? Sayshe: * There bo players, that neither having the accent of Christians "—mark that, Mr. Barrett—* nor the geait of Christian, agan, nor man, have so strut- ted and beflowes,' efc, ‘ Accent of Chris- tisns¥—ihat's the phrase. Mr. Barrett avoids ranting very well, but on tho other hand, he conceives Hamlet to be a declaimer, s gentleman who had been finished off by a noted elocution- ist, and who spoke by rule, sir. Thus M. Bar- rott delivers himeelf of ““To be, or not to be,” and of ‘“Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt” in strict accordance with all the rules laid down in McGuffey’'s High School Reader. He as them pat—the circumflex, the rising and the falling inflections, the high’ and tho low pitch. He understands that expressions of tenderness incline the voice to the rising inflection; of anger, to the ffl.fling one. He knows what to do with the *aspirated tone,” and where the “gut- tural quality” comes in, especially the latter. But were his words spoken in the accent of Christians?” Do ever living men soliloquize in such tones? Can Mr. Bsrrett give an instance ? Since this was very fair declamation, it was ro- epectfully listened fo, but it touched no l.'hord‘ for it was Mr. Barrott spesking a piece, no Hamlet talking, Thore was a little applause— from aloft. 8 Mr. Barrett generally spoaks with great clear- ness, 5 most commendable quality, and it would not be unpleasant to listex to him, if he would only free himself of some distressing peculiar- ities. It is true that Hamlef was ‘fat andscant 0 breath,” but that is no resson that AMr. Bar- rott should gasp out his words whenha is telking to the Ghost, and in sume of his subsequent speeches. First, ho rushes st o sentence at hghtnin‘g speed, then he gets breath with a spas- modic *ub,” and then he rushes off again. But McGuffey says 'tis all right. Neither with Ophelia nor with his mother can he assume the ‘“accent of Christians.” In both glmes his soul is supposed to be torn by passion, ut his manner of expressing it excites no emo- tion in his hearers. 1tis sometimes necessary for a lawyer to go to tho Police Court. A friend ofs in & petty scrape, or s client has to un- erg‘e a %xelimlnury examination. It is not a dignified place to visit, but, When one is there, one ‘should make the best of it, by studying the queer faces and the gueer ocour- rences which ara to be found. “And in that *place, with all its vile accessories, its sawdust oors, dirty walls, foul smells, and uncavory crowds, have I heard someof tho most admira- ble tragic acting, if acting it wes, which ever I hesrd in my life. I remember once, when a drunken trall was brought up for jndime t, blear-eyed, staggering, ~half-naked, and nob ashamed. BShe had a little girl with her, The Judge began intimating that it would be hia duty to pend the mother to the Bridewell for a hundred days, and put the girl in_somo asylum. Then, stretching out her skinny, dirty arms, she burst into 5 torrent of supplications and en- treaties. It is uselees to give the words: they ‘would be meaningless, severed from the profli- gate voice. She was Irish, She belonged to & race quick to feel emotion, and not ashamed to express it. I was ' elbowed, by & policeman on one side znd a reporter on the other. One laughed and saidit was the old game, and the other wished the Judge would shut her up. But I, closing my eyesand sbutting out the vile surroundings, heard only the wild end thrilling appeals of a mother not to be separated from her child. It was no longer a Griswold setrest ranger; it was Constanc¢ speaking to King Philip of her darling boy. I sat, thrilled throngh and through with that keen pain which we nearly all experience whon we listen to the utterances of heart-broken grief, Wwhen she mpgd from exhaustion. The Justice said, “ 225, . Clerk ;” Mrs. O'Rourke, alias Con- stance, broke out into a flood of curses that no hackman could have rivalled, and away went my illusions. Mr, Barrett conld have spoken to his mother thus; he might nothave been applauded, for when wo arp " decply touched we are not given, fvo hand-clappings, but nearly all present would have felt that ho wes a man convilsed with passion, not an actor de~ claiming some lines. So when Janauschek, fran-~ tically shaking the garden gates, screamd out: “ Joseph! Joseph F'— 4 A if her soul in that one word she would outpour,” it is not the mctress who speaks. Ah, mo, it is the loving and deserted woman, and, suffering ‘with her, we shiver with pleasure mixed with pain, and forget to applaud, since, for tho mo- ‘ment, we feel it is true. Going home, the other evening, I noticed at o street corper 8 man and woman, both plainly dressed, he holding her wrists with one of his hands. She did not struggle to get loose, being ugparantly unwilling to atiract attention, but she gaid to him, in a low voice: “Pleaso lot go my hands, I want to go home.” Simple words enough, but the suppressed passion which animated them made them magmmifi- cent. Opme conld not hear them without stopping, If Hamlet conld have but spoken thus when trying to extricate himself from Ho- ratio to follow his father! Butno! He sticks to the ‘guttural quality,” and abjures the “Christian accent.” One gets weary, after & time, of that gloomy and peculiar voice, nsed alike to friend and foe, when greeting the play- ers, or when mackingat Polonius. The **Man Lost His Breath,” relates how, torelieve his per- plexity, he learned Afelamora by heart, since in the mecentuation of that drama the doep gut- tural wns expectod to reign monotomously thronghout; and to every question put him, re- plied, in his most frog-likeand sepulchral tones, vith some paseago from his tragedy. What he did from necessity, Mr. Barrett has done from choico. Ho has given us & very perfoct Hamlet of the elocutionist, but he hag not given us & man ‘‘much mnghtu on, and porp ox't in the extreme.” When he tells Ophe- ia to go to a nunnery, he flies back and forth like ferry-boat, and blusters at the poor girl, but with never a trace of nature aboutit. One | finds more reality in & mock-auction room, where they frequently ect very well. During this whole scene with Ophelia I was forcibly remind- ed of the the amusements of ingenuous youth, to-wit: ig asmall hole, lute the sides with clay, and fll ‘with o mixture of whiskey and wator—pretty stiff. Then catch a frog, and put him therein. After a little while he becomo most fran- tically drunk. 7~ will jump back and forth, he will_stand up on his hind legs and try to turn handsprings, and he will telk— ye gods, how he will falk!"—in his own peculiar voice, of course. 1 regrot to state that this was constantly in my mind during that scene, and thongh I strove hard to banish it, it would not out. Andto malts matters worse, there ran through my mind that dismel chorus which Bacchus and Xanthia heard as they crossed the Stygian forry : * Brekekekex, cosx, coex.” In a word, Mr. Barrett’s performance is good of its kind, but the kind is niot good. It is good recitation, good declamation, good elocution, but T'll be hanged if it's good acting. Why ehonld e be dissatisfied with comedy, Whero he has done g0 well? Mr. Driscoll received orders from Afr. Aiken toplay King Claudius, and he obeyed. Wera Mr. Aiken to order him to pain & porirait, or sing & song, he could doubtless try to do it, but bis beart would mot be in it. M. Driscoll, like many others who acted in ‘Hamlet, may do excellently well in lighter plays, and I do not mean to insinuate that he is a poor actor because he fails as Claudius. If he can make comedy 28 funny as he occasionally does {ragedy, he is an acquisition here. When the # Revival " is over, we may have achance to sea. The hardest bit which this counterfeit of King Olaudius has to taclle, is when he is stricken by remorse, and begins, # O, my offence is rank.” Some actors would have screzmed and bellowed, but Driscoll does his anguish sbout 28 placidly a8 & servant girl confesses her minor sins, her eccadillog. It is plainly to be seen that Mr. riscoll has never experienced religion, and that his views touching the efficacy of prayer do not materially differ from those of certain modern free-t ers. He hae sat at the feet of T%— dall, and not of the Evangelical preachers. Ho i8 not afraid of the day of jndgment. He speaks his lines as if he were stating certain common- place matters in which he takes no special inter~ est. Thus he says: ' «01limed soul ; that struggling to be free,” As hs would . “Nine times seven are sixty-thres.” “But, 01 what form of prayer Can gerve my turn 7—7 say8 Claudius. Driscoll says it as he would, “ Ska.u:I ‘wear my grey or my black pantaloons to-day 2" It is a terribly hard thing to imitate one who is “Battering the gates of Heaven with storms of praser,” . ‘but there is no reason why Mr. Driscoll shonld not do what nearly all actors fail to do, and that is, to try and catch nature in the act. Ho need not go to churches where formal prayers are read in monotone, but let him hunt up 8n old-fashioned revival and he will hear some praying that will shake him. He will see mortals visibly wrestling with God, truly conscious of their own blackness, and clamoring mightily for the gracious coming of flie epirit. He il .860, nof the well-dressed gentlomen plunging themselves into their hats, and emerg- ing therefrom after 2 space, leaving the &ing of the week 8- ited on the lining thereof, but he will see - . who are struggling in utter agony 0 know wuetr calling sure. I heard an old dar- key praying, one day, in the brush. He said “Lor,” and’ not awd,” and ‘“TI'se gwine to tzy to'be good,” instesd of I will try fo mend my weys;" buf, had the audience at Aiken's d , they would neither have laughed nor applauded, but they would have felt their **seat- ed hearts knock at their ribs.” Ah me! Itwas 80 comic. There the burly Claudius stood, and scolded his *‘stubborn knees " with & downward and reproachful glance, 28 ho would if they were s little rhenmatic, an ho wanted to stoop to pick up a pin. Then he turned his broad back on the audience and went into his cupboard, and hey! presto! it was no longer Claudius, but & %r_mut officieting at Mass, Driscoll is also superb in the fourth act, where Ophelia makes her first appearance after her Iunacy. “ Enter Ophelia, mad, in white satin.” Here thero is a bold deviation from the original, and one which i8 not to be commended. Clau-~ dius and Gerlude disappear, and are replaced by the family doctor, and & nurse. * Is not this too bad, Doctor ?” says Nurse Maeder.” ¢ Blesa mo!” seys Dr. Driscoll, “How long has this been go- ingon? Keepa closowsatchon her nurse, and give her these powders six timesa day. Beveral of our patients have died lately, and we must tr{ to save this one, and stop the peoplo from talking.” i When Driscoll has anything to say, he says it 28 it i8 in tho book, but nver{\evhere‘ from begio- ning to end, it is plainly to be seen that hoisa fish out of water. ~ He has no heart in the thicg, and, therefore, he is more to be pitied tkan cou- demned. He 18 not so much to blawe, bak suill he should be true to his art, and dc the best with it he can. A tailor smés &0 mueb loving care on & coat, when the chances are niuety-nine £o one he will not be paid, 28 when he is assured of the cash. He takes pride in his work, even if it be not remunerative, Mr. Aiken voluntarily assumed the part of Laerles. He had his choice. He co have been Horatio, or Claudius, or the Ghost even, had it 50 pleased him. B, apparently, hefancied that. Zaerfes best suited him. * Apparently,” for I fancythat if one were to catch Aiken when he was in & confiding mood, and were to ask him if e could play Laerles, he would re~ ply : *Certainly not.™ Mr. Aiken has’won Bome repute in this place, as an actor, and he has, perhaps, nnfortunately, identified himself with s cheracterin & well-known modern play. Posgibly this hampers Mr. Aiken, and he ig not versatilo enongh to be anyihing beside Bob Brierly. Ho is like the school-boy, Who, on éx- amination day, figures ot easily enough, the sums in his book, but who is staggered when he is given one outside of it, ‘“An’ actor,” says Colly Cibber, per Charles Reade, ‘really per- eonate; which your mere man of the stage never does. He has learned the true art of self- multiplication. He drops Betterton, Booth or Wilkes in his dressing-room, and comes out young or old, & fop, s valet, & lover, or a hero, with Voice, mien, and every dgeamre to match.” AMr. en has not learned this art of self- multiplication, and never will. This sentence may just as well be pronounced now, once for all, end put the accused out of his suspense. he'persists in high treason sgainst true acting, he will diminish his receipts, and be his own executioner. Mr. Aiken does not bellow and scream; his taste is too good for that; but throughout his art ho is essentially woody,—that is, 8 stick, Flis Laertes, whether receiving his father’s bleas- ing, warning his sister, mourning ovér her lost wité, or defying the King, behaves likoa stiff young prig, fresh from college. He nowhere manifests a truce of likeneas to man, excepk here and there in tho cloging. scene. When he wanta to mako believe he grieves, he resorta to the throat-voice used on the stage, and nowhers else, for that purpose. When he questions the King concerning the fate of Polonius he is a schoolboy spesking s piece, and ag if, really and truly, he cared no more about Polonius than he did about Abel, the son of Adam. If an autom- aton wore to act the part, it conld not be more devoid of genuine expression . Aiken. It was of the stage stagy; it had neither savor Tor salt; neither age, nor sex, nor condition. Frank Lewlor is the Ghost, We have very little intercourse with these gentlemen now-a~ days, and arenot aware how much progress civili- zation has made in purgatory, and whether spirita talk now as they used to & few hundred years ago, when communication with the earth was apparently easier than at present, Mr. Lawlor, However, has very clearly defined idess on_ the subject.” Mr. Lawlor is nggamnfly a irm Epis- copalian, and makes the Ghost talk just precisely 28 5 minister reads the litany. ZLaulor—From battle and murder, and from sudden death, Barrelt—Good Lord deliver us. All the Church people present pricked up their ears when the Ghosi began his tale, for thay recognized familiar sounds. Mr. Lawlor's imita- Sn was perfect; he intoned h.lagm to admira- tion} no Rituslist minister could have done it better. It was litany, and nothing else, from be- inning to end. But then, possibly, the departed ng of Denmark belonged to the Church. When the Ghost spesks from under ground, however, he loses his solemn tones, and says swear ” in | accents mnch Like those With which a cat, be- neath the house, and calling mournfully for his xiim-x—y love, startles the occupants of the lower oor. When Mr. Plerce made his sppearance as Polonius, armed with o gilded staff of great length, his badge of office, he was mistaken by some of the boys in the gallery for the individ- nal who goes around in churches with a long polo and lights the gas, a fanctionary whom he did somewhat resemble. This staff, instead of being a support to his declining yenrs, was a sore burden to Polonius throughout the entire play, and he would doubtless have liked, if ho could, to have chucked it into & corner, but there were too many fi:;’pla - watching ' him for that. Yet, in spite of this affliction, Polonius did better than either Claudiusor Laertes, and the andience showed they saw it. He honestly strove to_do tho best he could. When giving Laerles advice, he didnot do it as I have seen it elsewhere, with the air of sn aged Pumblechook, lecturing Pip, but he gave it almost naturally, 25 a father should. In some partsof the play Polonius is & pragmatical fool, in others a sensi- ble old gentleman, but Mr. Bierce managed to acquit himself in_both phases, certainly as well 28 any other member of the company could have done. He was not as well when warning Ophelia 83 when talking to the King and Queen, but, on the whole, he did not do much for which he should be blamed. Mra, Maeder, who took the part of the ig'a jolly, good-natured woman, but no more fit- ted for ‘that plsce than Sancho Panza’s wifeto be a Countess. Mr. Aiken set her this task, and heis moro responsible than she. She would play well as Hoyden’s nurse, possibly ; there are comedy characters in which she would not be amiss. But to put her in tragedy is unkind, and she and her royal consort know it. She neither looks nor talks the Queen; mor, when Hamlel's words are Eearching her very soul, does she show the penitent and suffering woman. She exhibits some concern, but it is as if the cook, lifting her broad, round face from above the fry- ing-pan, were to affectedly express her sorrow that dinner was late. Good, honest woman, who has trudged along patiently fizmngh 2n unevent- ful life, what does she know of the emo- tions which agitated Gertrude =as she gazed into the ~ black sbysses of her soul? So she falls back upon the voice used on the stage to axge:ahthesg Jeelings ; and =l present knew that her grief was unreal, an Rero mot moved & haiva broadth fram Eheir propriety. She is 6o utterly out of her sphere in this part, that it is almost unkindto say anything against her. Audiences are never critical with Ophelia, 5o Iong 28 ‘she is pretty, um?a reasonably well, and does not act too badly. Itwas the general verdict of the audienco that Mrs. Lanagan did not satisfy the moderate demands they made upon her. ~ The ladies found her artificial when talking to Laerfes and to her father, and at the close of her sorrowful interview with Hamlet, they did not see any profound signs of sorrow st the hapless fate of her lover. She is: “Too much s turtle-dove; s thing without passion,” ever to succeed even as Ophelia. While Lawlor is an Episcopalian, Mr. Wood- hull, who plays Horatio, is s most manifest Meth- odist, or, at all events, he bas closelyjpatierned his voice after thatof an eminent preacher of that denomination. Horatio speaks with bated breath, and with a saintly whine. The man seems scared at_occupying the post of confiden- tial friend to & Prince of the blood, and does not at any time vonturo to spesk ouf. He fuases around Hamlet like & prize-fighter's second around his principal. Half what he saysis un- heard, and what he does say is marrod by his voice. As for Francisco, it is plain that he never served his country during the late war. If he had, be would have known how to halt an in- dividual who tried to cross his_beat in a more effective manner than he now doos. Osric, otherwise Miss Maeder, had best return to petticoats, unless she can_give her voica a more mannigh ring, and acquire a more distinct enunciation. = Now, it isonly fair to say thatIamof the opinion that many of the stock actors at this theatre will do credit to themselves, and give pleasure to their hearers, in other gnd lighter plays. At present, they are out of place, and they feel it. T do trust that Mr. Aiken, when he hasworn_out ‘Hamlet” and *Julius Cmsar,” will give his company an opportunity of showing itself at its best, and not at its worst. e s of two well-known Southern d&rgym °m’ whom undertook to rebuke the other g using the weed. “Erother G.,” he exclaimed, witbut sto ping to ask any other question, “is it pau\"bfi thlf ou chew tobacco " u"g ‘must confess I do,” the other quietly rer plie 2 “Then I would quit it, sir]” the old gentle: man energetically canticned. ‘‘Itis a vory une clerical practice, and I must say a very uncleans Iy one. “Tobaccol Why, sir, ezen a woulg not chew &I “Father C.,” responded his amused listeneg, o you chew tobacco ?” “I? No,sir!” he answered, grufiy, with much indignstion, i “I’H_:en, pray, which is most like the hog, you or I The old doctor’s fat sides shook with laughtex ashe said: “Well, I have bcen fairly caughi this time.” : —_— UNTO THE MOON. Pellucld bunch of light 1 Thy trancd mug ‘Hath velveted my throat with mellow squawk ; Iam fnspired ; incline listning lug, Nor suffer Common-Sense my yawp to balk. Pofsed in the blue, thou arts winsome sight s O’er all thy radiance meek rich beauty flingsg And as T waltz the earth this gilt-edged night, My sonl aves In 80ft reveries and things. Avert thy gaze and we have nought of worth; For e'en the very wisest men fess 2 That hope, and love, and joy, and fame of earth, Are moonshine—all of them—nor mare nar less, Hoy wonderful, that ons of gentlo sex— Light's floating Empress—should, whils sges go, And Solar whims with es vex From arc to disc, have but ons face to show I Who ssys thou art green cheese? My gall 18 stirreds I would that I could egg unpitylng Shame o hound the cur to whom it firat occurred o smear with valgar enrd so fair a fams. It thon (soft swains farbid ) shouldst ever ke, And thy process sntique refase to hin, What orb could mount thine abicated joke? ‘What gas-contractor’s grieving equal mins ? alss] begina to droop s kfl'm rhythmic mmu:f faps ly I chuck herin her coop, ‘Nor dogg'rel fantasies hope yet o trap. Joms McGovEs, Gumbs’ Horse. Max Adeler in Philadelphia Age, « Gumbs," said the man, after examining tha animal, that horse has the gostracerysipelat- ous. You'd better paint his meck with turpen~ tine, and put & fiy-blister on his nose.” Gumbs followed these directions, and the next morning the horse’s neck was raw from the Jiawbone to the shoulder, and he had on his nosa aswelling aa large as the horn of a rhinocaros. Gumbs was scared, andsent for a livery-stabla man, who locked at the horse, and said Gumba, there is nothing the matter with that horse but & little attack of hippozymosis ! Just mix some molasses and rum and give it to him in bis feed, and he will be all right to-mor- T0W. Gumbs gave him a gallon of rum and molas- ses, and that night his horse went gmorting around the stable with the delirium fremens, kicked half the edifice into splinters, and nearly choked himself trying to eat the breech- ing band. Gumbs found the horse in the morn- ing in & more deplorable condition than ever. Bo he called in a veterinary surgeon, who cast his eya over the animal, and observed to Gumbs: “3fr. Gumbs, this i8 s geouine case of hip otyphoid laryngitis!| What your horse_wants cayenna pepper injected into the nostrils, and- hourly doses of aconite and arsenicum mixed, pint for pint, and fed with cat hay.” Gumbs immediately went around and bought gallon of cayenne pepper and a’cart-load of the drugs. The horae sneezed all that night with such. sonority and energy that he kept everybody in the neighborhood swake, snd when Gumbs visited the stable, next morning, he was alarmed the horse’s eyes terribly inflamed with red-pepper, and his nose worse than ever, while the body of the animal was swelled by the aconite until it was 18 large around ss & sugar hogshesd. Then Gumbs rushed around to another veterinary sur- geon, and when he came he viowed the horse for a fow moments and said: “I tell you, Mr. Gumbs, your bgrae has gof the hipporhinorrhes, and got it bad ! 4 “Then, of course, the horse will die,” &aid Guml “1f it has come to that.” “Not necessarily,” remarked the doctor. “Just get a barrel of coal-tar snd sulphur, and burn it under the horse's nose for a few hoursta disinfect him, then feed him ard let him rest.” And Gumbs did. _He burned that stuff under ihe horee's nose, and the animal suffocsted in 3 quarter of an hour ; and, when Gumbs came iz to see how the medicine was working, he found the stable in flames, and an underdone bay horss lying in the hottest portion of the fire. 8o Gumbs has lost his horse, and he feels en- couraged, becanse, just after the fire was ex- i ed, another surgeon came in, and when he heard Gumbs’ story he comforted Gumbs by remarking that there was nothing the matter with the horse in the first place, and that he was a deluded ass for ever scrubbing the ani- mal with turpentine and blistering him, and foy listening to the tales of the other lunatics wha gmt: there to poison and suffocate the nnhappy rute. Story of the Poor Little Stcphen Gl« rard. The man lives in Philadelphia who, when young and poor, entered a bank, and says he, i Please, sir, don’t you want a boy?” And tha stately pemsénage said, “ No, little boy, I don't want a little boy.” The little boy, whose heart was too full for utterance, chewing & piece of icorice atick he had boug'ht with a cent stolen from his good and pions ann‘:.-( with sobs plainly andible, and with grest globules of water rolling down his cheeks, glided silently down the mar- ble steps of the bank. Bending his noble form, the bank man dodged belind & door, for thought the little boy wss going to shy & stone at him. But the boy picked up something and stuck it in his poor, but ragged jacket. “Come here, little b oy,” and the little boy did come here; and the ank ou ap " And he answered andre) the bank man said, “Little boy, are you good ?” and he said he was. And the bank man 8aid, “ How do_you vote?—excuse me, do_you g]? to Sunday echool ?”” and he said he did. Then e bank man took down a pen made of pure gold and flowing with pure ink, and he wrote on 2 piece of paper, St. Poter,” and he ssked the fiftle boy what 1t stood foz, and he said ¢ Salt Poter.” Then the bank man said it meant 4 8uint Peter.” The little boy eaid, “Oh!” ‘Then the bank man took the little boy to his ‘bosom, and the Little boy said *“Oh!” again, for he squeezed him. Then the bank man took the littlo boy into_partnership, snd gave bim half the profits and "all the capital, and he married the ‘man’s dsughter, and now all he has is all his, and all his own, too. STORY OF ANOTHER GOOD LITTLE BOY. My uncle told me this story, and I spent six man said, “ Lo, what_pickest & weeks in picking up pinsin front of abank. I expected the ba man would call me in and sy, “Little boy, are sou good?” and I was going to " Eay Yes;® and when he asked me.what ¢St John' stood for, T was going to so7, “Salt Jobn." But I guéss the man wasn't anxious to have a partner, and I guess the daughter was a son, for one day says he tome, *Little boy, what's that ou're picking up?" ' Bays I, awiul meekly, Pins.” Says be, “Let’s se ’em.” And he took 'em, and I took off my cap, all ready togo in the bank, and becomse & pariner, and marry hiz daughter. BatI didn't get an invitation, He said, “Those pins belong fo the bank, sad f T catch you hanging around here any more I'll get the dog on you!” Then I left guem kept the pins. Such in Mark Twain. Woman’s Rights in Hlolland. Letter from_Hollandin the Cincinnali Gazets In Holland I first saw dogs, women, and_ cowe used as beasts of burden. The dog is a usoinl animal in this country, and, like other pa- ‘working, honest peoplo, is too tired to saziach around and bark at night, and the cow has litiio time to chew her cud in repose. The women have their rights—that is, the glorious right of working as hard as a man, and in the same dirty avocations. While the oppressed sisters o America have time to make themselves miserable, and cavort ‘over the couniry in search of their Tights, the staic women of this country are guietly, but dili- gently, plowing the fields, harvesting the grain. cleaning the public streets, loading and unload- ing vessels; and with the id of dogs, witt Whom they are often harnessed, drawing heavi- Iy Iaden wagons, and doing such other lzbor ¢ 18 usually performed by men. Yould it not be el for the downtrodden sisters of Americs to rig up & Mayflower and set sail for the land of Iiberty, where theycan work as hard and as long 88 man, and no one to gainsay or make them afrid? What o glorious feld is mow opened for their long nnused muscles! While such an act, like virtue, has its own reward, yet it might in some degree cancel our national ov- ligations to the Dutch for their loss of the Pil- grim Fathers. S T aud the mean o life 28I find it.— - The Tobacco Question. A vwiter in Qur Aonthly for September tolls & -A Bwiss missios ,at Calcatts, the Rew. Mr. Wenger, has just finished his task of ir: lating the Bible into Sanskrit. d, “Apin” And -