Chicago Daily Tribune Newspaper, July 29, 1877, Page 11

; orward to testify against Pierre the historic ual tat presaged the fall of the THE CHICAGO ‘TRIBUNE: SUNDAY. JULY 29, 1877—SIXTEEN PAGES. il EUROPEAN GOSSIP. Two Muscovite Czars, Nicholas and Alexander. gambetta as 2 Journalist---An Eccentric Englishman. tions of the Russian Capital---A a Scotch Will Case. RUSSIA’S ROYAL FAMILY. ‘Loay Hoover in Piitadelphia Telegraph. jo the dearth of any positively startling paikian news, 2 little gossip from another Ei capital may not be unwelcome. I re- cently bad the pleasure of being presented to a American lady who has resided for ome sears past ia Russia, and who told me a eal respecting matters at St. Petersburg. From her I gained the impression that the Em- "Alexander must be the most accomplished Prereign in Europe, as well as one of the most Saving of men—grave, gentle, kind-hearted, sodof the most exquisite distinction of man- gers, And Kings and Princes are by no means Dayrefined and accomplished gentlemen, as aves the P——3 but I will say no more. - ey such a glamor doth hedge about roy- AILS Emperor is said to have a great dislike to fom aud ceremonial, and to be occasionally poibered by our Ministers in that respect. The Bory goes that some years ago one of our newly Jaited envoys arrived at the palace one day, med to the throat with a speech. Ad- Gated to the presence of royalty, the Czar fommenced asking him some questions about ourcountry, but was unceremoniously iuter- raped, “One moment, your Majesty,—one Soment!” cried the new-comer, spreading his fogers fanwise before the Czar's face to check jay farther outflow of words. The sood-na- tured sovereizn smiled and subsided ito si- jence, and our envoy, keeping his eye steruly gponbimto keep him quiet, after the fashion npn him ei unruly dogs, fret drew . ond wiped spectacles, and then produced a thick roll of manuscript from This coat-tail. pocket, which he forthwith _pro- ‘ended to read. Time passed on, and to this el- oquent Minister and his suevessors there suc Ceaded still another, who, in his turn, souxbt fudience of the Czar. His Majesty uttered a or words of ceremonious greeting. bowed, and ‘ted with resignation for the customary * speech. Jt did not come—merely a courtvous reply to hisown remark. Again the Czar said something and looked expectant: ‘Your Ma- jess will pardon me, then,” said the new Minis- er. “Ehaye come merely to present my ere Gentisl, and have no intention of making a “Thank God!’ cricd the Emperor, inging from his seat and clasping his visitor's and with fervent enthusiasm! ‘The Emperor Nicholas was very different from the present Czar. He wasa sovereign of the olden type, magnificent, grandiose, ar-d despotic. One story of bis reirn sounds like the romantic. adventures of Buckingham or of Louis XIV. He was passionately in love with a heautitut Russian Jady who was residing in Paris. He wished to summon her to St. Petersburg, but todo so would be to tatally compromise her reputation. The stratagem to which he resorted can only be compared to that of the Duke of Buckingbam when he closed the ports of En- gland in order that the bark whose sole freight swas the diamond shoulder-knut of Anne of Aus- tria might reach unmolested the shores of France. He issued an order that every Russian yesidiag iu Paris should return nome at once. Ofcourse this proceeding gave rise to the wild- est rumors of an impending war with France, ‘business Was unsettled, men were ruined, etc., bat the Czar’s parpose had been achieved. ‘My informant was warm im her praises of the Grarewitch, whom she describes a5 a model ‘ueband and father, devoted to his: pretty wife, whose side he scarcely ever leaves, and setting fnevory way an exainple of coujuzal teader- gess to his future subjects. The other sons of the Czar are it be wild, even our old driend aud admiration, Alexis, whose divorced wife. I am told, was recently remarried to a German noble, and is now residing in Berlin. Onc more anecdote of an American Minister st the Court of St. Pevershurg, and Ihavedoue. Years ago, during the reign of the Emperor Nicholas (it was When my informant first went to reside in Russia, she said), there was sent from our Goverument as Envoy a statesman of the good old-fashioned stamp. On being ad- mitted to the presence of the splendid ‘soy: creizn, he instautly fell upon his knees. . Nich- ‘Glas looked at him fora. moment with supreme Qisdain. ~ Arise, Mr. X——,” he said, “Tam neither your sovercizn nor your God—why should you knecl{*” GAMBETITA AS A JOURNALIST. London World, 5 Gambetta has now become a great journalist aswell us a great parliamentary leader. In truth, juurnalism offers to him astill better field than the Chamber for the display of those qual- aties of guidance ‘in which he excels. He nas the Italian genius for combination, and that de- mands for its free exercise a mode of working which does not necessarily betray the author of the work. M. Gambetta is one of the few writ- ers in Paris who never put their names to a line. ‘The Republique Francaise is known to be his or- gan, but noone can distineuish his articlesfrom those with which he may be supposed to have general sympathy, and he can thus often hit his hardest without enabling bis antagonists to fdentify the author of the blow. They are strack—ashe himself was struck, in another fashion, at St. Lazare a year or two ago—by one ina crowd, but by which one itis impossible to s. say. He has followed his journal and made his home ander the same roof-—followed it to nuree its latest ofspring, the Petile Mepublique Fran- caise, which bas just come to lile. The ofices are in the Chausse d’Antin, and the virtual Di- rector-in-Ubicf lives on the premises. But. though he hus his own rooms, he may more ac- curately be aid to share those appropriated to his infant charge. He is with the paper al! the earlier part of the day, and he returns to it ‘again after be bas taken his walks abroad. The ercat salle de redac- tion is virtually his drawing-room, a use for ‘which it seems to have been orivinally éesicned. Here, at one vast table, sit the writers who are associated with him in the un- dertaking, and who are always ready to cover his responsibility with their own. They are paysically a “fine body of men,” and that fact, itis well known, counts for something in the composition of 2 French newspaper staff. The Journalism of Paris, im particular, is still jour- Dalism militant; and many a smooth-spoken person who calls at the Chaussee d’Antin may ‘be suspected to have come to have a look at a man who has written an article againet him to fight. The first impression cau hardly be an un- favorable one for the person observed; the Radicalism of Paris is always scrupulously well- dressed. Jt is inthe trauitions of the faith that all should be meet and seemly in the vest~ ments of its priesthood. The writers who came ‘Bonaparte at Empire would have been positive dandies bat fora too-zeneral fondness for the wearing of Viack in the daytime, incompatible with our Do- tions of the habits of the order. . Their gloves, if vot their writings, were Without blemisb, an: the violence of their opinions was not betrayed by the faintest. want_of order in the arrange- iment of their ties. The men who work under ‘Mr. vambetta are as these, due allowance being made for the fact that they are not in the wit- nese-box every day. and that necessarily on all but the most solemn ovcasions their coquetry of heatness is laid aside. , The ex-Dictator's room in which be is more truly at home than in any other in the house, seins to be little better than 9 former passage converted to its present use. Itis almost as sparely furnished asz the cell of one of the Bonkish transeribers of the Middic Ages—a Writing-table, a case of books, 2.chair for him- self, a chair for a visitor. and thatis all. Judse of the man’s character by these surroundings, sud you would say that he had a horror of the suverfluous, and you would not be wrong. His ‘public, waen he has fashioned it in his Will not be the fepublique aimatle of M.° Jules Simon, but the Hegniblique mahodique. fis disposition is shown in the ap- Pea cotthe worketauic. Ie has uo litter of mpblets. books, manuscripts about, him, al- ough he receives some dozens of them by every post. You see the sheet of paper on which he is now writing, his pen and the ink- stand: but all that he has written or read in the past is neatly sowed away, cither here or in an adjoining room, with as mach precision as if it belonged to the dussiers of the Depart: ment of Police. If he preserves but a tenth of what he receives, uo other . private collection can be so rich in memoires pour servir relating to the history of his own time. The extent of his Dolitical information at first hand is wonderful. ue piers to know everything nerdfal toaleader inregard to the state of the commerce the finance, the military strength, and the polit- ical upinion of France. He ig as well served, by his unpaid scents as the Government by its Pre- ects—better indved, for the former have no in- ducements to deveption. They need not com- anunicate with him unless they have something to sayi and, as they are under no responsibility for the political movements of the districts with which ihey are acquainted. they escape the temptation to misrepresent them. It would be, of course, anexargeration to say he is never wrong in bis forecast of the issues of a great question; but be has so often been right that he ts at present about the best political” “tip” iu ce. AN ECCENTRIC ENGLISHMAN, A suit brought by a son to break the will of his father, recently deceased, was tried not long. since inan English court of justice. The de- fendants to the suit fought hard to retain their rights in the premises, but the claim of the plaintiff that the deceased, a Mr. Bethell Wal- rond, was of unsound mind was so clearly estab- lished that a decision was given in his favor. It was shown that Mr. Walrond’s mauagement of is several children was painful in the extreme. He insisted not only on their complying with his caprices, but with his bitter animosities. To one of the girls he gave the name of Devil, always addressed her as such, and branded the name with lunar caustic on her skin. The eldest'son he was always tutoring to act the part of eldest son to sucha father. Al! his natural and amiable fecling he bestowed upon dogs. He never saw a dog without stepping as others do at mecting an acquaintance, and he invested them with souls, not only for eternity, which is a speculativeatlair, but for this present, time, Which is more practical, He slept with dogs, talked to them, embraced them, and kept upin every way the foud belief that he was holding conversation with them, One of the girs died abroad. The child was buried, but the father had the bedy ethumed, brought home, kept in his bed-ruom, and finally deposit- ed in his own grave by his side. Toyether with the remains of the child he brought from abroad the body of a dog into which he always declared the soul of the deceased daughter had passed, on no other ¢ruund than that he could detect the daughter's expression as he talked to the doz. He had many other brute pets, such as rabbits, and had uo little difticulty in making bis dogs discriminate between the pet rabbits and the wild vues with which bis domain abounded. He was not a dog-fancier_in the or- dinary sense of the tern, for it was rather the human affinity that he looked for in the dog than perfection of forin or purity of breed. One day coming suddenly on a dog of character, 2 surt of Dutch mastiif or terrier pug, he fell vio- lently in love with the animal, and secured one of its offspring, as he could not have the parent. In his will he liad left $5,000 to bis dogs, but this only survived, so by ' codicil he reduced the legacy to $1,509, the interest for the dogs’ keep, bequeathing the capital after its death to a hospital fer sick dogs. All his dozs had sol- emu funerals and duly inscribed monuments. His gardeners aud laborers had to walk to the grave in procession, closely watched, and they Were instantly discharged if a smile could bede- tected iu theircountensuces. There are characters naturally unsoviable and rebellious, but par- tially redeemed by kinduess to servants and i feriors. ‘There Was no such mitigation in Mr. Walrond’s nature. He bad a strict und tninute code of rules and forfeitures for his servants, extending to his childr fhe found a beso . alk, it was a sin to be severely expiated. Mr. Walrond gradually _ac- quired a whole park of artillery, about fifty heavy guns, which on sccasions ie fired. Oue ay a poor man loug in his employ had voth bis aring blown off by 2 preniature discharge, aud immediately thrown ou the parish by his miaster, All his domestic arrangements were 08 minuely ordered ss if for a court, though his servants were on board waves, and his own ver- sonal wants very small. One of bis bitter quar- reis with the son was, that the Isd tad come ome from school after a journey very hungry, and, finding his father would mve him nothing to eat, he asked the servants for a slice of bread, ich they had given him. ‘or Was it with his son alone that Mr. Wal- rond quarreled.. He conceived an animosity equally bitter toward his wife and daughte ‘with whom he refused to hold any communica- tion. He lived on, visiting and ‘receiving no one, with the exception ot a few intimate afriends. He never went beyond the range of his grounds. He slept in a huge bedstead of carved oak, to each post of which he affixed a hearse plume of black ostrich feathers, while on the srehitraves, between the plumes, were wbree human skulls vailed to pedestals. Moreover, in the same room in which he slept every night he had placed a leaden coftin containing the re- mai f one of his daughters, who had died in Italy in her childhood, and whose b he had had exhumed and brought to his house. For many years he bad no coumunication with any one except the vearest clergyman. who, in the ablic interest, felt it very properly nis duty to Seep up at least that one remaining hold on the uubappy recluse. A SCOTCH WILL CASE. London Paper. Some of the Scotch papers are giving details ofavecy extraordinary will case which will shortly be submitted for trial, The story is this: The daughter of a country practitioner in a little village in Scotland awoke oue morning to find herself a great heiress. The traditional ‘uncle, who bad come from India with a fortuue, had died, leaving a beautiful estate and fully $1,500,000 in money and West Indian property to'bis niece, Miss Macpherson Grant. At that time she was bright. clever, hand- some, and about 21 years of age. She took possession of her property and lived in great style, keeping a large stud of horses, and driving tandem herself all over thecountry. Ter father and mother ske took under her wing. and was devoted to them to the last day of their lives. She established them: in an independent and elegant home near Edinburg, but had them a great deal with herself at Aberlour House on ven years agoa young lady came'to y her a visit. She was x stranger to Miss Grant, and was brought by sox it ended in this young Iudy, M i father and mother. with their entireconcurrence, and living with Miss Grant, for better or for worse, until death should them part: in fact they formed such a friendship that they agreed and entered into ap engazement that neither Should marry, aud that they should pass their lives together. Miss Grant then and there re- fused a very 200d offer of marriaze, anu re- jected all other suitors. The conditions were that Miss Grant wa3_to leave her estates and trerything to Miss Temple it Miss Temple on A her part never left her and never married. made by Miss Grant, under which her property was to pass to the Tempies. Tiro years ago Miss Temple married. Last Christinas Miss Grant diced. The will was re- yoked. She never forgave the defection, she never made another will, and the estate goes to an obscure country doctor in Aberdvenshire, awho hardly knew he was related to Miss Grant. and never saw her. Other four relations. poor trades-people in Banffshire, come in for a share. Over this question of succession there will be a terrible fight in the law-courts between the Temples and the heirs-at-law. Miss Grant was yery masculine in appearance and manly in dress. ST. PETERSBURG. A letter in the Woreester Spy thus describes some of the attractions of the Russian Capital: “Friday morning we strolled out'to see St. Isaac's Cathedral. The exterior of fine pronor- tions, with gilded dome and polished granite columns. is very imposing.. The ten splendid fluted malachite columns, and the two of lapis lazuli, and tbe beautiful porphvry steps, are very grand. The screen or inuer door, in tront of the altar, and near the place where the serv- ice is held, is very rich. It fs covered with gold, and has six beautiful paintings on the outside. These doors are frequently opened and closed during the service, and you look through. them ata stained glass window upon which is a very large figure of Christ alter His resurrection. “We attended two services at St. Isaac's. ‘The singing is exquisite. They use no instru- ment, but they have a choir of twenty men and twodozen boys. They are dressed iv long blue gowns. trimmed with broad gilt braid. The priest's vestments are of white silk and satin, or Procaded silk with gold thread woven in, Tam surprised to find the paintings in the church so Beautiful. There isa painting of the Ma- Gonna there which seems to me one of the love- Jiest I have ever seen in all. my travels. In the Tussian service they cross themselves many times. and then prostrate themeclyes on the marble floor go as to touch their forelicaas. | “Saturday morning we visited the ‘Winter Palace,’ passing, on the way, the Alexander monuthent, a shaft of granite, Jarger ia height and circumference than Trajan’s column in Rome. In the palace we visited fifty rooms. The size of the palace is immense—150 feet hy 350—and during the winter it is occupied by Sver 6.600 persons belonging to the Emperor's household, We saw the chapel, which is very yich and beautiful. We saw tuere some exceed- jngly ancient books. among them a Bible dating: from the time before the invention of printing. ihe covers of many of the books were studded with diamonds and precious stones. We visited tne ‘Salle Blanche,” which is all in white marble ‘and geld. The ‘Malachite Room’ has twelve macniticent malachite volumns of great size, a malachite mautel, and malachite tables and 08. wwe passed through the suites of the Duke and Duditss of Edinburg. ‘The rooms are very elegant, the walls hung with, brocaded silk, of pink, ot blue, and of gray. Inallof the rooms we observed very beautiful glass sercens, some of colored glass, and many of white glass cn- graved. In the palace there are several tortoise shell doors inlaid with gold. ‘The valuc of each dvor is said to be nearly $6,000. In another room we saw four beautiful columns of a rare stone called ‘ribbon jasper.’ ‘From the magnifi- cent staircase of the palace we on the River Neva. This staircase is only used once during the year, when the annual ceremony takes place of the blessing of the Neva by the Em- neror. We were charmed with the crown jewels. We saw the magnificent Orloff diamond, which is used in the sceptre of the King. It exceeds in size the famous Kohinoor. The Orloff dis mond is supposed to have been originally in the cye-sucket uf some idotin india, Tt was stolen by a French deserter, and tinally came into pos- session of Count Orloff, who presented it to Catherine LI. of Russia. We saw black dia- monds, pink diamonds, diamonds of all sizes and values. Wesaw diamond lace for trim- ming dresses, and emeralds and sapphires of al- most fabuluus value. “This morning we have yisited_ the ‘ Hermit- age,’ the palace built by Catherine for a place of retirement from the cares of life. It has a fine collection of old paintings, many Murillos and severalof Velasquez; anda very large num- ber of the Flemish aud Dutch schools. Thereis a tine collection of autiquitics at tue Hermitage. tion of 4 priestess at_ Ceres was very interesting. The trappings aud. bones of four horses were buried with her, ana numerous jewels; a magoiticent necklace, earrings, and elaborate gold oraaments to cover over the ears. Besides this wonderful room we passed throush sereral others, some filled with exquisite cameos marvelous in value. Nearly every room had elegant vases of black jasper. or malachite, or porphyry, or lapis lazuli. Ino longer wouder that the Emperor of Russia is able to give mag- nificent presents to the crowned heads of Eu- rope. The wealth of these collectious is as- tonishing.”” CURRENT GOSSIP. A PEANUT-VENDER’S REVERTE; OR, A CILANGE OF BASE. ‘Te stood upon the corner, With visage worn and wan, He murmured, ** fm u xoner— A used-up Peanut Man! ‘My stock in trade is nigh well played; Most xcooped ont cleanamt. | ‘With none to trust, I'm bound to bist— “Root, hog, or die!” ‘Thus duy by day { pass away ‘The best part of iny life, With something more than half-a-score Of young-uns—and a wife. * Aye, there's the rub,’ te find them grab— Itis my vain endeavor; But peopte say, I pasa away ‘Tue time doing naught whatever. ‘This may be so—T'll not eay n0— y have been neglectful; have been—the time I’ve seen When I could drink a peckful. But tines are changed—yes, sadly changed; ‘The folks are wetting crazy; While 1—yee, 1am often dry— As often very lazy. : ‘Yet still they come, and still the bum Of busy life rings round me, With naught ta cheer—the deuce! no beer! ‘Ah, me! how this confounds me, YN go, 1 will tus moment kill, If things don’t look up better." And with these words there handed was ‘This Peanut Man a letter. Thus did he read: ‘* Come forth, thou seed! Thou man of many zorrows! Come to the land and join the band ‘That neither beys nor borrows, Where peanuts grow, where peanuts flow As tlows a mighty river, And where the skies rain peanut-pies: Conte quick, come now or niver “+ Ha, ha!” quoth he, ‘* Dame Fortune she Extends her invitation. Go there 1 will, nor rest until 1 find this neh plantation. Go there I will, nor rest untit 1 ud this land of Honey I'l make a stake—you bet PUrake * In piles ef rale good money.” He bade adieu, and off he flew Exuitant o’er the lillow; And when he woke, ‘midst fire and emoke, He started from his pillow. “Where, where aml? In land of Pie In Jand of Peanuts—Honcy?” **No, no, old Bum—in land of Ram: Can you not smell it, souny?” ““Cought ina netIam.” ‘*You bet!” Reared out a voice of thunder. s+What wil 1dox J must eschew Phe Cap—I will, by thunder!" ‘Go now thy way. Heed what] say— Though evil, speak 1 rightly: ‘Next time you come here on a bum, Tl sqaeeze you much more tightly." Now, euch of yon as read this through, Perhape you may not wonder Why Iso speak in terme 90 meek Of tais poor devil's blunaer. Inced not tell—you know full well— Some apt are, in tneir fancr, With the Ideal to sfreke the Real, Ae like as Nan’s to Nancy. If this T've done, why then I’ve won ‘The honors due a Poct; And, If I've not, why then you've get— Yes, soon—to ict me know it. If day by day T make not nay ‘The while the sun is shining, Why D'll be hke this Peanut Man, Day in, day out, repining. Ta further eny, To make good hay One must be up and doing, ‘Must pack it well and stack it weil, Or else ‘twill ren to rum, Pick np what's loose for present use, ‘The future bind securely, And with this done, what you've began Well ended will be surely. Cuicacy, July. Joszrn D. TURKEY. THE HOODLUM AROUSED. New York World. When that sad persou, the unspeakable hood- Jum of San Francisco, found himself organized intoacrowd on Monday last, and discovered that the workingmen among whom, bat not of whom, he was were not bent upon violence, he turned away from them with disgust at their pusilaniraity, and determined to do some rood round rioting on his own account. He deluded himself into the belief that he had a very palpa- ble grievance, and bis heart grew heavy within him.as he pondered his woes; for the time be- ing he felt that he, too, was a workingman, aud that capital was arrayed against him, while his imaginary wife and children were clustering about his knees begeing for breaa, and be had ouly money enough to supply himself with whisky, and beer, and cigars. “Perhaps he had. heard somewhere of how Liebie has said that there is as much sustenance in sixteen hundred quarts of beer as in one loaf of bread. He Knew that be had not money enough to buy sixteen hundred quarts of beer to place before Iris unsubstantial babes, and sey: “There, my chil- dren; it. Itis the last I have. ' Capital, with’ its iron heel, has sparned me from its gates, aud your miserable father must live no more!? So he 1elt wronged in the <endercst part of hisnature in that, while the haughty cap- italist was rolliug in luxury, he himself had not, the poor resource of rolliug even in the gutter, | clasping his babes to his aching breast. From despair to fury is but a step; the cornered cat will fight, and the tiinid deer will stand at bay; alon and persistent course of depreciation will cause the-putient ass to kick with lusty heels, and therefore let no man wonder that the hood- lum, deprived of his long-promised and much- hoped-for row, should look around for somc- thine to rend and tear. As in moments of great spiritual exaltation every woman feels as ff she could fly, so the hoodlum of San Eran- cisco, when for any reason he knows that all is not as it should be in this weary, work-a-day world, feels that nothing will satisiy his interior craving but pulling the pigtails and smashing the windows of the Chinese wasnerman. In ordinary circumstances the boodlam needs ‘no cause for hostilities against poor John, but a cause circumscribes abalo about the head of many a most outrageous deed. The man who truly believes. that “somebody ought to be whopped for this’? should not overmach be blamed for whopping even the innocent when the guilty are not to be reached or are too large to be bandied. Such an action is perfectly nat- ural, and is said by Mr. Herbert Spencer to be the necessary discharge of nervous excitemen which mignt othermse turn upon itself anc vause serious damage to the brain. The hood- lum in this instance felt that the Chinese were the cause of all his woes. Certainly they were capitalists; they. owned a two-story laundry at the corner of Leavenworth and Geary streets, where ‘were their monstrous washtubs, and costly flat-irons, and princely soap, and vast heaps of soda,—the accumulated product of what the exasperated hoodlum telt to be his own Tabor,—and manila clothes-lines, tothe construc~ tion of which thousands of down-trodden hood- lums in the Philippine Islands had constrac- tively given the best years of their hopeless, toilsome lives. And in Chinatown thousands of haughty Johns wero rolling im magoificent squalor and reckless industry, heedless of the hardships and woe of the hoodium's household, where the dear old bottle no longer lay upon the shelf and the beer-cquivalent of one poor loaf of bread no.morc was found. And when the hoodlum: compared, as he could but com- pare, the long pigtails of the Chinese, greased with .costices unguents and perfumed with nameless odors, with his own scanty crop of hair, he remembered the legends of the soap- Jocks of yore, his heart grew big within him and ‘he determined to wreak wild justice on his foe, who even at that momeut might be mauching his frugal rice, lifted to his yawning mouth upon cunuingly carved chop-sticks, and quafiing reat bumpers of tea, heedless of another's woe. Tt may well be believed that now, roused to frenzy, the combined hoodlum would allow nothing to stand in his way. He dashed down Leavenworth street, and. there, right before the laundry, stood the proud synibal ‘of despotism, the street-lamp of power, like Gester’s hat de- fiantly placed upon a pole. This he smashed, forgetful of the use to which his French com- peer had put the like in olden days when he went out en Carmagnole complete, singing: Ca ire, co ira Les aristocrats a la lanterne, Down went the lamp, and then the torch was applied to the building, which blazed up like “¢yarmers’ hayricks ? in merry England, and the hoodlum said unto nine “ Ahat Tam warm; Ibave seen the fire.” ‘Chen appeared upon the sceue the cringing minions of despotic power, the firemen, who had bad the arrogance to bring with them their hose. This the hood- lum cut lest bbe water should quench the flames which he had sworn should lick up the Johns like so much chal, and whisk them away. into the empyrean. Overtaken jn their orgies the Chinamen dropped the soap from their trembling hands, dashed their beakers of tea from thelr ‘pallid lips, and ran away with howls, scaling rear fences in their terror, und feeling what it is to stand over a valeano and attempt to wash the shirts of a hungry people. Vengeance, though long delay- ed, bad come at last; the Nemesis of soda and flatirons and clothes-lines was upon them. Well for them that they escaped with their pigtails and lives! The houdlum, the tiger, had deter- mined to make thorough Work, and be bounded down Geary strect to Dupont, roaring as ne ran. He would’sack all Chinatown and make a holo- caust of all the lordly washhouses of the Capi- talist Johns; but suddenly he was met by the police. who caught him by the neck, locked up some of him, and dispersed the rest. ‘This isa chapter which the people will not soon forget. Let the Chinamen henceforth re~ member what it is to brave and insult the bood- Tuin when he feels that he is the people. Let the hoodlum remember it also and see how he kes it. HE WANTED TO GO HOME. B. P. Shillaber (widely known as the originator of the quaint Mrs. Partington sayings) teils the following story in the Boston Post: “To ride in a barouche, when nis heart is on foot, on any oveasion in which be is interested, makes one feel, if be is sensitive, as if he were some commodity of trade ‘toted’ along fora market, and the force of this remark is in the application of it, suggesting a littie story re- garding an occurrence in the Boston Post office twenty-five yearsago. At that day—and I sup- pose it is so now—the daily printers had a repu- tation for benevolence which brought many good people, seeking contributions for good Objects, to the printing-oflices, of which class of acekers the Bostou J’ost had a goodly shire. They rarely went away dissatisfied, and about all who made appeals to the printers’ charity were decayed members of their own fraternity, who, having exhausted all their resources of health, credit, and° reputation, desired to ‘go home,’—the tender plea which always touched the compositor’s sensitive “heart. But ore man on the Jost can recall the incident which I describe, oud he may bave forgotten it. “Late one day, as I was alone up stairs, where {had j been promoted to a desk, the door opened, and there staggered in an object of the most uisgusting character. Wretched to the last degree; from hat to boots misery claimed him as its own, and he was so drunk that it was with great ditticulty he could lift hi head to address me. Before he did so I recoz- nized in the forlorn being before me an up- country editor of some prominence, of goud ability; aud a printer of great excellence. The words uttered were: ‘I Want to go home.’ “> Well,’ aid I, hardening my face against the intruder, ‘ why don’t you go? 4 He looked at me as well as he could, holding by my desk, and then he hiccougked a confes- gion of bis degradation, bis having squandered his money, ending with the police station frou: which ne had been released only on condition of his leaving town, atid this was prevented by his haying no money. Not a stiver remained of the princely fortune which be had collected from oston advertiscre.and he wanted to ‘so home.” ‘My sensibilities were touched, and J told my im- pecunious and unwholsome visitor that I would try to raise the money among the printers, which T did, and soon returned with the amount. “7 found the poor wretch half heap of exchanges, aud. on inforr my success, he held out his shaking hand for the money, informing me that the train for his home bad left, but he would take the change and Jeaye in the morning. I told him plainly that this could not be. Lie was not a safe cus- todian of the funds, and in the morning I would i y. He drew himself up, with druuken gravity, and told me he could not agree to my terms. He left the room, but ino moment returned acd said: * LikeShakspeare’s apothecary,‘ my poverty and not my will con- sents.” Dut where sball 1 sleep to-night?” ‘The Parker House was not built then, and so 1 took hin to a house of entertainment for man and beast, and left him in charge of the proprietor. But the next morning he came in, worse in condition than be was the previous day, having found by some means the deep-st deep of human dexredation: and, without making any inquiry, [ took him by the arm and started with hitn for the depot. A most incon- gruous pair, and it seemed as if every acquaint. Ghee of mine in Boston was ott ona walk, aod his track lay right across my path. Every one atared as wewent jostling alone, and many yrere. evidently disposed to divide the same equally between us. I puta business face upon the matter, however, and surged along with my repulsive charge, until, as we neared the Gepot, he stopped short and drew me ivio a doorway. “<¢Eook here,’ said. he, trying to took sober, “Jet’s argue this thing. Now, atn Ta man, with all the God-given attributes of a man, or am Ta side of ignominious sole leather? If lama man. with the gilts atoresaid, give me the money and Iet_me go myself: if Tam a side of ignominious sole-leather then mark me on the back and let me go as freight.” “No, sir, said 1, ‘It is my intention to send you honie, where you so much desire to go, and \here your anxious friendsare no doubt looking for you.? “But, see here,’ he continued; ‘I want to see aman up here who will be very much disap- Pe I don’t call on bim.? «+T am sorry to interfere with your arrange- ments, but go you shall, and now.’ “He paused 2 moment, and then repeated, ‘My poverty and not mg will consents.’ and we moved on to the depot, where I bought his ticket and put him on the train, with his face toward home. As the train moved ont of the depot be appeared at the dvor, and, taking his hat in both hands, be made me a profound bow. * About. a fortnight afterward I received a letter from him dated ‘Providence Jail,’ the burden of which was, ‘I want to go home,’ and I let him want.” STRIKE-DOTS. Burlington Mackeye. ‘The young man of the period ects down be- hind bis collar, and mingles with the rioters and military with perfect impunity. ‘The postal-clerks are unhappy and erumble because the strikers permit all mail-trains to run as usual. Public disorder doesn’t _give the P.C.a holiday no more than the Fourth of July does. # «Have the railroads struck?” asked an_ex- cited man, bursting into the sanctum like a Rus- sian torpedo. “They have,” we replied gently and firmly; “ lots of it; you'll tind the railroad’s truck over at the baggaze-room.” And then we smiled our sad, sweet smile, and the celestial calm of un angel benediction filled to averflow- ing the depths of our soul with. tender peace, like a pound of corn-starch overwhelming the narrow restraints of a quarteup. “Tur'bel strike downtown,” remarkedaSouth- Hill map, inau explanatory tone of counte- nance, ag he crawled vaguely into bed at 3a. m. “All roleraid shops shutup. Dreffel excite- ment. Workinmen all on strike.” And his lov- ing wife sniffed the surrounding atmosphere suspiciously before she replied. “Yes! I should think, by the way it smells, that all the bar- Keepers were on astrike.’? And then he gave himself dead away by explaining that he had to chew cloves for his asthma. They had a strike up at ‘Mr. Middlerib’s last night. The baby struck for six hours’ walking every night instead of four, which it has been getting. The family at ‘first refused to accede {to this preposterous and unreasonable demand; but, the baby being 2 monopoly, ‘there being.no | story others to supply the place of the strikers, it was ottora to supply, the plaeg ofthe ster, st was | shut off untilasettiement was ell ‘he only show of violence was the threat, on the part of the baby, to make it warm for the house- hold when it was about four years older and green-apple time came around. BREAKING IT EASILY. Gold Hitt (weo.) News. Aminer whom we will call Hughes fell down & winze in one of the Comstock mines several years ago and was killed. His companions gathered up his remains, and, putting them in an express wagon, started for hishome. Another miner, a fine, good-hearted fellow, was sent_on abead to bear the sad news to the bereaved fam- ily. All the way along he was discussing with himself as to how he should tell the terrible 80 as not to crush the unfortunate household; but he reached the house before having settled definitely upon his plan, Meet- ing Mrs. Hughes at the door he accosted her in the usual mavner of an acquaintance, and then “ Where’s George to-day, Mrs. Hughes?” “He's at work in the mine, as sual, thank you, sir,” replied the woman. “How is le fveling-to-day?’ was the next question. The news-bearer was becoming des- perate. He wasa brave man who would have not feared a caving drift or a delayed blast, whose heart was so tender that he did not know how to tell a woman of her husbana’s death. With some show of surprise Mrs. Hughes an- swered the last question: “About as well as he generally does, 1 believe.” ‘The man was desperate, and, not knowing what to say, he blurted out: “MI bet you ten doliars he’s dead, and here comes the body in a wagon.” He swallowed a big lump in his throat and wiped a piece of porphyry out of his left eye with his shirt-sleeve. Afterwards in talking over the matter with his comrades he said it was the greatest trial he had ever expericnced, and that hereafter when 2 man was killed they might call on somebody else to tell the news. OLD WHEAT. Boston Commerciat Butletin. Acorrespondent sends the Commercial Bul- letin a copy of a paper which was read by Mr. C. T. Dennet, before the Brighton and Sussex Natural History Society, of Brighton, England, on Thursday evening, June 28, upon “The Germination of Wheat.” This article refuted an assertion which had been previously made by member of the Society, that grain would not germinate after ten years, and it stated a case in which wheat that was believed to be over 1,400 years old had successfully germinated. ‘The wheat in question was discovered in onc of the Indian mounds, which were opened last year in the Town of Payson, Utah. In the interior of the mound a part of what at first appeared to be solid rock was penetrated after much labor, and found to be but the corner of a box, constructed of cement, in which was found about three pints of wheat kernels, most of which dissolved When brought in coutact with the light and air. ‘A few of the kernels found in the centre of the heap looked bright, and retained their freshness on being exposed. They were carefully pre- server, and last spring eo) were planted and grew nicely, though the Held insects eeemed de- termined to devour them. Four and a half pounds of leads were raised from these few grains, The wheat was unlike any other raised in this country, and produced a large yield. Scientific men have sald that the wheat in ques- tion could not be tess than 1,400 years old, and it is stated that. “If wheat is kept in a clean, dry luce, air-tight, it can be germinated after a lapse of many years.” BROWNIE. [WRITTEN FOR THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE.) Brownie was not her real name; but the country folks had long called hero, partly on ac- count of the thick masses of beautiful chestnut- colored hair that always hung loosely down her back, seeming almost to envelop her in their Juxuriance; but perhaps rather’ more on ac- coun of her wild, frolicsome, mischievous na- ture, which was supposed strongly to resemble thatof the hobgoblin of popular superstition known as the Brownie. Brownie and herelder sister Mary, a quiet aud tolerably good-looking girl, had long ago lost their father and mother, and bad been left to the care of their uncle, William Denby. According to the provisions of his brother’s will, Denby held the farm on which they lived together (a cosy whitewashed dwell- ing with barns and out-houses, lying in the midst of broad and fertile acres in one of the Yorkshire dalesj in trust for Mary till the day of her marriage, when it was to becomé her own. Denby was not 4 man to contemplate with much pleasure the prospect. of his niece's en- richment at his own expense. He was grasping snd cold, if not crucl, in his nature; and watch- edwith the keen eye of jealous suspicion all poor Mary’s doings, though, at the same time, he always contriyed to make all around him think that his every act was prompted by zeal for the girl's welfare. So satisfied did he feel with the results of his surveillance hitherto, that of late his diligence bad somewhat relaxed. Mary was already 19, and bad never shown any signs of affection for any one save her relations. fer uncle, who viewed daily her timid, retiring manners, rubbed his bands with satisfaction and thought hopefully of the future. But, shrewd as he thought himself, William Denby was allowing himself to be deceived by false hopes, and I think Brownie was ithe first to discover the sveret. Brownie was: ratber more than 17 years old, Duta stranger would certainly have put ber down for very much less. Jn figure she was yery short, did not come up to her sister's shoulder; but she possessed physical strength superior even to that of most boys of her age. Ciose by the farm flowed a swift and deep, though not yery broad, river, and to swim across this was an every-day amusement for her. She certainly was far from good-looking; her little green eyes sparkled and winked in an eerie way that was positively unpleasant, sug- gesting all sorts of old wives’ tales about be- witchment and the evil eye. In early childhood she had been the unconscious cause of langhter and wonderment; but, os she grew up, ebe came. aware of the impression she pro- duced, aud seemed to find 2 mischicvous Gelight in doing all she could to promote it. She had a quick memory and wonderful owers of oSservation, and she carly contracted a habit, fully in keeping with her other elvish properties, of going about singing snatches of old ballads; the ghostlier they were the more she liked them. Once or twice she had fricht- ened a few country clowns almost out of their wits by seeretly taking one of her uncle’s foals out of the stable at night and carcering over the field on its back witha Jarge lantern in her hand, now and then uttering wired bursts of song or shrieks of laughter. In company she qwas very quiet, and indeed on all occasions had go little to say_ for herself that many did not scruple to ¢ er half witted. Her uncle, for reasons of hi rn, loved to foster this idea; and Brownie herself seemed rather to like the imputation, feeling, perhaps, that it allowed her greater scope for the indulgence of ber wan- ton frolics. Her sister, too, shared in the general belief, but it only went to increase her affection for the strauze, wayward girl. Brownie was not demonstrative in returning this love, but she herself alone knew how triily she felt it. Farmer Denby's acres. as I have said, were wide. stretching, but those of his neighbor, Farmer Drew, were of still greater extent. It was partly un this account, partly. because of an old Jawsuit which Drew had gained egainst him, that Brownie’s uncle hated his neighbor like poison; felt towards bim as only a depray- ed nature iscapable of feeling. Long ago Denby had forbidden all intercourse between bis people and those of the neichboring farm, and, to all appearances, the interdict was strictly obeyed; but Fate. in bitter irony, had willed it that the two families should tecome connected by the closest of bonds. Mary Denby was renowned all over the country for her beautiful vofce, and every Sunday was to be seen heading the choir in te village church. ‘There it must bave been that Farmer Drew’s eldest son, Philip, first’ conceived 2 passion for the modest, sweet-voiced girl; and this once felt. there were no arbitrary interdicts that could prevent Philip from meeting Mary and confessing to her, tenderly and manfully, his fore. These were the dags of haymaking, and it was not difficult for the two to find an oppor- tunity of meeting for a few moments cach day on the limits of their respective farms; and on one such occasion it Was faa Brownie became sessed of her sister’s secret. Posownle was sitting musingly in the shadow of a thick hedge, when ber quick little ears all at once became aware of whispering on the other side, and it was not long before her. keen little eyes bad deseried her sister Mary talking earnestly to Philip. Brownie listened eagerly, and ot length, when she saw the lovers draw close to each other and their lips meet, the color fled from ber bronzed cheeks :s and ahe rose with her sister’s name on her lips. . Whe two heard her and turned in the direction of the sound with fright on their countenances. They could see no one, but Brownie repeated the call in a louder tone. . “Is that you, Brownie?” asked Mary, as she looked through the hedge, tremblingly, “Yes, sister,” replied Brownie; “and remem- ber that other people have eyes besides me. O! pray, don’t let me interrupt you, sis! I only wanted to warn Zou, dear. Ta-tat” ¥ nd she turned off into the hay-field, stn’ in Bee. shrill tones a favorite eree, bleh ras ‘Oh, cold is the river, and dark, and deep And stony the bed where the tr oth deep; Upward she stares with ber wide blaeeyes, But the sun never wakes her or bids her ange. Hrom that day Brownie began’ to watch o behalf of her sister. Owing to that superior shrewdness and quickness of observation which she concealed under the garb of half-idioc she had long ago become aware of the way in which Mary was spied upon by ber uncle, Brownie had never like@ -this man, and her evident aversion, which she did not try to con- veal, was returned with no lack of interest by Denby. “The greedy, narrow-minded farmer Was no stranger to the terrors of superstition, and the sense of something “uncanny” in Brownie had always Jed him to avoid her as much as possible. Like all knaves, be could not help feeling that those bright little green eves Jooked into his very soul and read all its seerets , whilst the girl, forher part, experienced a halt malicious delight in seeing him shrink before her steady gaze, and start with sudden fright when she now and then drew near to him un- observed and burst all at once into aywild strain. If he dogged her sister, she was de- termined that she would dog him, and it was often with positive terror that Denby. found her Jooking at him at times wheuhe had fancied her for away off. Asthe lovers grew more and more fond of each other they naturally began to be less cau- tious with regard to secrecy in their meetings; and at length Mary's uncle found them tozether, and discovered their sceret. They did not know, however, that he.bad scen them, snd it was far from his purposes to let them know it. He ob- served them from a secret hiding place, he histened for some moments to the childisti, heart-felt confession of Jove that fell from their lips, he beard them yow eternal constancy, and then turned away with bitter hatred and desire for vengeance in his heart. As he turned, he saw Brownie standing before him. ic She looked into his eyes fora moment, seemed unconscious, however, of avythiug unusual, and, twirling about on her bee), in a fairy-tike manner peculiar to her, ran off singing. Denby’s brow grew darker and darker as he walked homewards; but when he gained the farm-yard gate bis face was smooth. He had taken his resolve. “Mary, my child,” said the farmer to his niece, about a fortnight after the above event, “Twant you to take a message for me tothe lawyer at B—. I don’: like to trust any one elsc with it, and no doubt the walk will do you good. There will be no need to hurry; 'the Tights are tine, though there isn’é.much moon. And I dare say you are not afraid of half-an-hour’s. walk in the dark!” : Mary smiled at thequestion, but felt at the saine time somesurprise. If was pot lute in the afternoon, and she would have at least six miles to walk in all; besides which she felt it so unusual to be iutrusted with an important com- mission. “J would let your sister go with you,” added her uncle,” but {kuow her aunt wants her in the dairy just now. {dare say, you won't mind going alone?” 3 “OQ, not at all, uncle,” replied 3 cheer- fully, as she proceeded to muke herself ready for setting out.. To tell the truth, she was glad to go for another reason besides obedience’ to ner unele’s wish, she knowing that her road went past her lover's home. Denby knew this wellenough, and had had it in mind when he gave Mary the message to take. So the girl set Of quite cheerfully on ber evening walk, and was soon out of sight of the farin. ‘As she bad expected, she met Philip on the road, and he accompanied her for a short way. When they were obliged to part he promised to be waiting’ for her on her return, and Mary harried on with a glad heart, thinking every moment an hour till she was once more walking in the direction of home. She had had to wait some time before she could see the lawyer, and it was all but dark when she set-out to return. Philip, growing impaticnt, had walked some distance to'meet her, and, when at length he joined her, the two proceeded in the most leisurely manner towards the farm. ‘They had quite forgotten that it was nignt; the only fecling indeed of the darkness was one of security from observers; and it was only when Mary heard the village ‘clock far off pealing 9 across the silent fields that she started and de- clared that she must hurry homewards. Philip wished much‘ to be allowed to accompany her still further, but in vain. Mary dreaded meet- ing her uncle or come emissary wuom he might hhaye dispatched to meet her, ‘The lovers took an affectionate leave of each other, and the girl hurried along the road alone. ‘As yet there was no moon visible, and the night was growing dark. As she left the road and stepped over a stile into the meadows, Mary, spite of her haste, became sensible of the beatitiful calm all around her, the rich, sweet odor that rose from the ground, the gradual appearance here and there of a glistening spot inthe shrouded heavens, und her heart over- flowed with an unutterable feeling of joy. ‘fhe sadness which had ensued upon leaving Philip was now gone, and she could think with hope of the future.’ Almost his last words had been a promise to speak openly to his father, and do his utmost to overcome the obstinate hostility existing between the two farmers; and now the calm, beautiful spirit of love that breathed over the face of the earth seemed to presage success. ‘Alas, our hopes are not always prophecies! ‘At the bottom of the last meadow to be cross- ed before reaching the farm ran the river. Mary lad been following 3 footpath, and, before she could reach the bridge, she had to walk a short distance along tlic river side. Just here the bank was steep and abrupt, and the water was very deep. The footpath ran along between the edge and athickrow of hazels and willows, which, not more than a bundred yards below, merged intoa rather larze wood. Was itthe wind that seemed all at once to rustle the bushes a ghort'way ahead of her? Not only did she hear the rustling, but it was not so dark that she could not see the branches waving slightly. Strange; it made her hurry on a little foster, | with just a ‘slight, qui eving of heart-beats. She was now wi a yery few yards of the bridge. The bushes Were nearer to. the bank, leaving only just Toom for the path, and the shadow they cast wasdense, She was just cheering herself with aclear sight of the arch of the bees when suddenly she felt a strong arin grasping her, and the same moment she was hurled violently over the edge into the deep, black, silent water. One piercing scream rang from her lips ere she saul ‘Hark! Was that the echo ontyof the scream? Was that the echo of the splash? William Denby did not wait to see. With the speed of a race-horst he had gained the bridge, passed it, and gained the farm. Then he called loudly aud repeatedly to hismen. “Help! help!” he shout “There are cries from the river! There is some one in the water! Help, men! There is some one drown- ing. Ob, if itshould be Marr! Help!” nd he giarted to tun towards the river, though in quite wrong direction, and was fol- lowed quickly bythe men. Twice they all beard the screams ‘repeated, and it seemed as though there were two voices. Then there was dead silence, The farm-laborers were out of their wits with fright, aud found it well-nigh impos- sible to command their presence of mind. Un- mindful of their own ears, they followed their master whither he chose to lead them, and this was far away frota the place whence the cries had sounded. Before many minutes had passed yromen eatne hurrying down across the meadow, bearing lanterns and impromptu turches. The search spread rapidly aiong the river banks. Before long a loud cry arose froma spot below the bridge where a number of people seemed gathered together. AU burried thither, and at once drew back in terror from the sight their lights fell. upon. On the meadow site of the river the bank sloped gently down to the edze of the stream, and here on the pebbles lay two bodies,—those of Brownie and her sister Mary. ‘They were carried in all haste to the farm aud every remedy which rustic ingenuity or expe- rience could suggest was put into practice, whilst messengers were dispatched for the near- est doctor. Before these had returned, Brownie began to show signs of life, and very soon sat up, apparently little the worse. Not so with Me . The farm: peopte did not give up their efforts to restore her: put the women soon be- gan to look at exch other with tears in their eyes, and the men with grave shakings of the head. Before long the doctor came, and, after slight examination, pronounced the case hope- less. Mary was dead. * ‘Brownie stood looking at her sister’s body in silence, lone after the others had withdrawn, to weep or discuss the sad event together. She fad’ remained mute and insensible to every question addressed to her; the most eager curt Gcity bad not been able to clicita word from her. Now the people Jeft her alone, saying to each other that the fright had com- pleted the loss of her wits, and that poor Brownie would henceforth be worse than ever, She had been found stripped of her dress and now stood in her under garments alone, which were dripping with moisture. The readiness with which she had returned tu life haddiverted all attention for the time from her to her sister. Her extraordinarily iong hair, which she always allowed to hang loose, now drooped around her in long, dripping tresses, and gave her indeed much of the appearance of a partially-clothed river nymph. Her face and her slender, bare arma were lilte marble. She hardly seemed to breathe, but.keen flashes of light shot from her. small, green eyes. They were like a cat’s inthe It was long before she could be got to speak a word, and when at length she opeued her lips it was only to say that she had been wandering, 38 she often did, by the river side in the dark, in hopes of. Be ands her sister, When she had seen er coming, and, owing to a slip on the grasa, fallen off the bank into the water: She had. raised a cry and jumped in after her. Tnat was all. Her ‘uncle’ was among the foremost in questioning her, and, as she replied, she fixed such a steady, gleaming look on his face that those who stood behind him felt him shrink back a few steps, though they knew not why. Mary was buried, and for a few days Brownie wentaboutin sileuce. Some thought she had become dumb, tor in vain they endeavored to elicit a word from her. She had not wept once since her sister’s death, but her cheeks, which such ashort time ago were sucha rich brown from exposure to the sun, seemed all at onve to have tarned pale, and ‘were perceptibly growing thinner. There was one favorite spot where she spent most of the day, and that was behind the thick hedge on the limits of the farm; and no one but herself knew why she went there. One day one of the tarm- laborers happened to pass her as she was seated with her tace resting on her hands and her el- bows on her knees, her lonz brown hair almost entirely cover her little body. The man felt pity for the p6or, lonely girl, an spose a kind word to her, All at once she started up to her fect, looked tor a moment keenly into his face, and then broke out with her old song— Ob, cald ia the river, and dark and deep, And stony the bed where the maid doth sleep; Upward ehe stares with her wide blue eves, Bie the sun never wakes her, nor bids hier arise. Tne man went off shuddering at the girl’s strange, wild looks and voles, aad told ay one that Brownie bad recovered her yoice. ‘They soon hecatne all aware of it, for from that day Brownle was continually ‘wandering, about the farm with that song on her lips. Some chid her, and bad@ her think of her sister; Dut the only reply they got was a peal of:shrili laughter aud a strange look that puzzled them, for hours aiter.. Others only shook their heads and muttered grave words to onc another; words: that they would not have cared to speak out. But the strangest thine of all was the liking for ber uncle she seemed suddenly to haye tak- en. Wherever he went, she was with him. ‘Wherever he sat down, Brownie was sure to be sitting opposite to him, and never took her eyer from his face. Sometimes, when Deuby was about to commence his meal, he would raise hie eyes and find them met by Brownie’s, and sc unbearable was the look to him -that he oftes rose up deadly pale, declaring that he felt sud- denly sick and could not eat. Whenever this happened, Brownie would rise too and sing the verse about the river; then she would take bis band and lead him away, sayfug that she would, care for him. Of all-her little ‘scraps of song, that about the river was the only one she now remembered, and not infrequently did the peo- ple ou the farm wake upin thedcad of the night and hear It resounding through the house, and it made them cold with dread. z It was almost a year since Mary’s death when Brownie began to disappear each day for several hours, and no one knew what became of her. ‘The circumstance, however, was not thought much of, for there never had been any accounte ing for her comings and goings. Her uncle, per haps, noticed it most of alt, or to bitn it "was at sensible relief, If Brownie had grown thin and - pale, he had grown thinner and paler still: bo was but the shadow of the man he had been a yest age. For many months he had been lead- ing the life of a hunted beast, always striving to escape his pursuers, and always being caught when he least expected it. He had grown so nervous that the slightest sudden sount would make him tremble like a leaf; whilst Brownie’s look and Brownie’s voice scemed almost to ae alyze him. Now for uearly a fortuighthe had been free from his torturer, but, if possible, he dreaded the reprieve more than the actual tor- ment, for he knew not what lav behind it. Atieneth the anniversary of Mary’s death came round. Denby himself did not’ seem to remember it, but every one else did, and went abont whispering to each other, recalling the memory of the event. Brownié nad not been so. quict fora ycar a3 she was to-day. No one heard her speak, and ber song for the day was silent. “She knows what day it is,” the People said one to another, *t and sbe is thinking of her sister.?” But no one spoke openly to her about it. It happened that on this day Denby had business at B—, and late inthe afternoon he set out to walk there. AS he passed over tlic fields he kept looking eagerly and anxiously on all sides for Brownie's figure, but it was no where to be seen. Ie felt easy for once. It was already dark when the people at Drew's farm were surprised by a visit from Brownie, who came and inquired for Philip. The young man -spoke with her, and, obeying her vquest, allowed himself to be fed off by ber ‘ith but one word of explanation, and. that was: “Mary.” He shared the common idea that the rv girl was half-witted, but bis old love ior her éister made him ochave kindly to her and willing to humor her fancies. So they took their way down the fields in the direction of the river, walking hand in hand and in silence. The night was very-dark, and the only sound was the distant barking of dogs at the farm-houses. They had arrived at the foot-path which led along the side of the river to the bridge, by the hazels and willows, when Brownie stopped and pointed in the direction of the wood, which was not far off. Philip saw a clear light burning there, though whence iteame he coud not dis- tinguish. va What is that?” he asked. ‘Let us go and see.’ ‘But Brownie held him back, and, without speaking, drew him in among the thick bushes hae bordered the path. Then she whispered to him: : “Stay here till you see Farmer Denby coming along towards the bridge. Watch him, and when be turns to go towards the light, follow him quietly.” ‘The next moment Philip was alone in his hiding:place. At first he felt half uncertain whether to do as the girl had told him or not; put when he thought of ber earnest tones, when he remembered what day it was.and when he reflected that it was Denby whom he was about to Watch, all kinds of - strange fancies. rushed into his mind, and he resolved to obey.’ Brownie’s injunctions. He had not been in hiding long before he, heard quick, heavy steps approaching. It sounded distinctly In the dead silence. Thea all at once he heard a shrill cry from the wood. The footsteps stopped, and, ‘peering from the- bushes, Philip saw a tall, dark form not far from him, turned in the direction of the cry. He recognized the figure of Farmer Denby- ‘The next moment the cry was repeated, and the- farmer begun to move quickly towards the light, which could be scen gleaming distinctly among the trees. Yhilip followed at a short distance, and a3 quickly: as possible. They drew nearer to the light, and at length Philip perceived that It, was a large lantern suspended from the bougit of atree. Denby was now close to it, and war standing motionless, regarding something be fore him. Philip drew near on. tip-toe, il he. was close bebind the farmer’s back, and saw what it was be was gazing at. A From the bottom of the trunk of a large tree all the bark had been pecled off, and jn the wood letters had heen deeply cut, and then blackened with common paint. The lantern’ that hung from the bough made these letters quite dis. tinct, and Philip read them as he stood behind Denby: es A Yrar Aco You Morpsrep M1 ‘To-NisurT I Cram VENckaNce. Masr. Philip's bl -oze in his veins with horror, and tor a moment he was unable to stir. Then he stepped forward and laid his han‘ beavily on Denby’s shoulder. The man turned with a god- den start and stared wildly with bloodsot eyes into Philip's face. Then with a fierce effort he- shook off the hands that held bis arm. and sprang away. Philip pursued, crying loudly for: help. ‘Denby, once clear of the wood, darted along the pathway towards the bridge. Just then a faint, glcatning muonlight fell across the path, and disclosed the figure of Brownie stop- Bing the way. Her eyes darted lire. and ter bare, white arms were stretched out as if for- bidding approach. Deaby’s eyes fell upon her, and he utteredacry of horror. Covering his face with his han e took a wild :plunge: aud the waters of the river closed over -him. Then., a wild voice rang out in song: Oh, cold 1s the river,-and dark and déep And stony the bed where the murd’rer doth sleep. Upwards he stares with his wide, red eyes. Bat the sun never wakes him, nor bide Bie age eee TO MY MAMIE. T mias thee, little darling— Yea, 1 uss thee everywhere: Took within each quiet novk, And half expect you there. ‘The sun falls through my window, ‘And strives the crimson floor; Bat the golden tint fs vanished ‘That it held in days of yore. Tknew the thief had stolen ‘That clow from your bright alr, And, when be biushed at smnses, Hic kissed your cheek eo fair, ‘The birds have ceased to warble— ‘Their melody is lost; ‘The waves are calm no longer— ‘They are in anger toet. And the rose has lost its frazrancs, * ‘And the mignonette’s pe: ‘Has died away unheed In our once bneht happy room. Even Heaven would be a prison ‘Without you by my side My beauteous, my 1g. iy fair, my charming bride. . Caucaco, July 26.