Evening Star Newspaper, December 27, 1873, Page 2

CHRISTMAS PICTURES. BY RCSA VERTNER JEPPREY. Christmas eve'—and all unraffied, Dumb, white spectra! billows grow, "Til the city’s heart is mufiea 1 eep wid- pall of snow; Dead’ning clasb, and clang, and clamor, All the sound of tramping feet, Folded by the ice king's glamour In a wond’rous winding sheet. Noislersly his looms are weaving, Snowy warp and crystal woof ! Silently the winds are leaving Draperies or. spire and roof. Laughing eyes that have been watching For the snow, o long, in vain, Sleep, while Elfish Frost is etcning Pictures on the window pane. ‘Three bright little sleepers—dreaming— Dreaming of the Christmas show; ‘Three bright little stockings gleaming Near the chimney in a row. See, a lady—eoftly gliding By each fair young sleeper pause, Lest they wake, and find her hiding ‘Treasures brought by ‘Santa Claus.”” As she bends above the fairest, ‘Wond’ring eyes are opened wide; Comes s whisper—“Ma, ma, dearest, I’ve had such a lovely ride.” “You were dreaming”’—yes I know, it, Such a pity, too !—because Jt was splendid fun to “go it” Ina sleigh with Santa Claus. 1 was skating down the river, Far y from all the rest. Near the rocks—where ice-spears quiver Up above its trozen breast, ‘When a peal of bells came ringing, Silver bells in perfect time, Like a band of spirits singing, Soft they pealed a Christmas chime; Every moment iouder, clearer, Till saw a fairy sleigh Gliding towards me—nearer, nearer Down the river's frozen way. As it passed me—on I skated Swiftly—in its track—because ‘The elf bebind that gay team seated ‘Wasour dear old Santa Claus. ‘How he laughed to see me follow! ‘When I kissed my hand he cried: “We fly faster than the swallow; Little one, cofie take aride— Leave your skates upon the river. ‘There! jump in, but what you see Must be secret kept forever; Secret betweer you and me.” Onward, onward we were sweeping . To an elfin land of rime ‘Where the winter fays were keeping ‘Their enchanted Christmas time. On the snow-fiakes they were riding, Little, dainty, white-winged fays; Down the slender ice-spears siding, ‘On our path in acorn sleighs. From the frosted tree-tops swinging Countless throngs-—with one accord They were softly, sweetly singing, Hallelujah! Praise the Lord! Far away from woed and river Sped we, over tields of snow, ‘While beside us--onward ever, Did that throng of fairies go. Beautiful, mid winter fairies! With their crystal crowns and wings Dancing o’er the frozen prairies, ‘Swinging in their moonbeam swings. Down the boreal streamers sliaing, Green and blue, and violet fays, In poft airy circles gliding, Clothed with splendor by the rays. And ,—beneath that borealis, With its frozen domes and spires, Stood Old Santa’: mystic palace, Lighted by the northern fires— Countless Christmas trees were springing From its wide, thick icy floors, And the toys upon them swinging Would have filled ten thousand stores. Oh! such lovely Christmas treasures— Dolls, books, kites, such splendid things; ‘Sugar-plums in bushel measures; Candy—tfruits, and hearts, and rings— * You have robbed the world, Krias Kringle,” All amazed—at last I said — How his merry eyes did twinkle, As he drolly shook bis he: «+ Bless the children,—little dearies ! ‘Tolling in their caves of nme, ‘The beautiful mid-winter faries Make these toys fer Christmas time.” Then I heard the bright fays singing, * Peace, good will’ as Santa spoke; ‘Christmas chimes came softly ringing, | You looked at me—and I woke. | « Darling, thank our dear Redeemer '— ‘And the lady sadly smited,— «That you sleep « happy dreamer, ‘That you wake a happy child! For poor children, sad and lonely, Sapta bas no toys to give. ‘They care not for Christmas—only Craving food—enough to live. A poor little outcast, roaming ‘Through the snow with naked feet, i Overtook me, and unfolding | A pictorial said, ‘ { came To ask you, ma’m '—a priat upholding— | “Please to tell me wnat’s his name ’” «Why, that’s Santa Claus’—‘I never } Heard of him.’ ‘He comes,’ I said, “With Obristmas toys.’ ‘Oh, does he ever | Bring the hungry children bread?’ | ‘Yes he might.’ 1 paused in wonder, For the child had turned, and fied Down the street, and vanished under- —Neath a lowly cottage shed. Quick I followed—sottly stealing Near a broken pane, aud there ‘To that torn, soiled picture kneeling, Placed before her on a chair— Was the little outcast—praying— Light from her sad, longing eyes Out beyond that dark roof straying— ‘To her Santa in the skies. And a sweet voice—fall of sorrow Rose beyond that wretched shed, | «Please, come, Santa Claus, to.morrow, 4 Bring me and ma’ma some bread.’ * Maybe he can hear her. Can't he’ ‘Won't be go there, when he comes? She is starved—to beg from Santa Brea@ instead of sugar plums.” | “Sleep again, sweet little dreamer, ‘There is one to plead his cause, A human Gol—a kind Kedeemer, More humane than Santa Clau Washington, D. U., December 24, 1573. ! es A SrccussrcL Evorzmsst—The Father Out- wilted. —A couple entered the cars at Omaha an: re to the section desig- pated on their tickets. The bride (for so th: oung lady was at once classified by the other amen, was preposessing, complaisant, and fy daveten te her meee lord! ‘The groom young, tolerably handsome, and very prot and so they passed the very delightul hours that Cy e very de! ‘al hours tha! intervened and Island, bat where cere- the man of her ad to mony that wou'd unite her A few threatening words from the trate father caused the Seavel young knight to suc. cumb and leave the train, his weeping affianced giving herself reluctantly to the charge of her jather. But a defeated. the it was not sul }, for be silently ctehet wired to the car, toléhis sad tale to sympa: master, was itted to ride mong the trunks, ani when che | that a man | man, but’somehow, | Inaterally left.” | usual attitude—when he made this speech, but | ance of intense gratitication and curiosity as he | have abig | A MONTE-FLAT PASTORAL. |Mow Old Man Piunkett Went Home. BRET HARTIE'S LAST STORY. [From Scritmer's for January. | 1 think we all loved nim. Even after he mis- managed the affairs of the Amity Ditch Com- | pany, we commiserated him, although most of | us were stockholders and lost heavily. 1 remem. | Dlackamith went 90 far as to say ps as pat that responsi! yon whter to be lynched.” Bat the biacksmith wa- not a stockholder, and th — wa: ae a as ny te a wagance of a lar, oj al natare, | that, when combined with & powerful frame, was unworthy of notice. Atleast that was the way they put it. Yet I think there was a gene- ral feeling of regret that this misfortune would ee with the old man’s long cherished plan o “GOING HOME.” Indeed, for the last ten years he had been “going home.” He was going home after a six months’ sojourn at Monte Fi: home after the first rains. when the rains were over. when he had cut th when there was pasture on Do: étrack pay-dirt 6n Eureka Hil! Company paid its first dividend, w! el tion was over, when he bad received an answer from his wite. And so the years rolled ry, the | rains came and went, the woods of Buck- eye Hill were level with the ground, the pasture on Dow's Flat sere and dry, Hureka Hill lelded its pay-dirt and swamped its owner, the first dividends of the Amity Company were le from the assessinents of stockholders, | there were new county officers at Monte Fiat, | his wife's answer had changed into a persistent question, and still old man Plunkett remained. It is only fair to say that he had made | SEVERAL DISTINCT ESSAYS TOWARDS GOING. | Five years before he had bidden good-bye to | Monte Hili with much effusion and hand- | shaking. But he never got any further than the next town. Here he was induced to trade | the sorrel colt he was riding for a bay mare—a transaction that at once opened to his lively | fancy a vista of vast and successful future spec- ulations. A few days after, Abner Dean of | Angel's received a letter from bim stating that | he wasgoing to Visalia to buy horses. “I am satistied,"” wrote Plunkett, with that elevated rhetoric for which his correspondence was re- markable, “I am satistied that we are at last developing the real resources of California. The world will yet look to Dow's Flat as the great stock-raising center. In view of the interests involved, I we deferred my departure for a month.””” It was two before he again returned to us, penniless. Six months later he was again enabied to start for the eastern states, and this as far as Sau Franciaco. I have before me a letter which [received afew di his arrival, from which I give an extract: know, my dear boy, that I have alwa: lieved that gambling, as it is absurdly called, is still in its infancy in California. I have alwa: | mata thata fect system might be ii | vented by which game of poker msy be made to yield a certain per cent to the in. tell it player. [am not at liberty at P | to disclose system, but before leaving this | city Lintend to perfect it.” He seems to have done so, and returned to Monte Fiat with two d ‘ars and thirty-seven cents, the absolute re- » .ader of his capital such perfection. Lt was not till 1568 that he appeared to HAVE FINALLY SUCCKEDED in going home. He left us by the overland route—a route which he declared would give great opportunity for the discovery of undevel- — resources. His last letter was dated Vir- ginia City. He was absent three years. At the | close of a very hot day in midsummer he alighted from the Wingdam with hair ard j ig a beg toe gr age. There was a cer- n 138 about greeting, quite different , from his usual frank vol ability. that did ut, | however, impress us as any accession of charac- | ter. For some days he was reserved regarding his recent visit, contenting himself with assert. | tog, with more or less aggressiveness, that he | had ‘always said he was going homes and now he had been there."” Later he grew more com- municative, and spoke free) id critically of the manners and customsof Kew York and Bos- ton, commented on the social changes in the i of his absence, and, [remember, was very ard upon what he deemed the follies inciden- tal to a high state of civilization. Still later he darkly alluded to the moral laxity of the higher planes of Eastern society, but it was mot long be- fore he completely tore away the veil and re- vealed the naked wickedness of New York so- corruption must exist where luxury and riches arerampant, and capital is not used to develop the natural resources of the country. ‘Thank you— 1 WILL TAKE MINE WITHOUT SUGAR.” It is possible that some ot these painful de- tails crept into the local journals. 1 remember an editorial in the Monte Flat Monitor, entitled “The Effete East,” im which the fatal deca. dence of New York and New England was i Hi dialect, «* pan,” more camp,—in such s community dence was not given to old man Plankett’s acts. There was 'y : or! he who was always a bis scant purse that had often furnished means to pursue his unprotitable specalations; it was to him that the charms of \elinda were more uently rehearsed; it was at had borrowed Ls h—and it as he that, sitting alone in his cabin one night, kissed that eee until his honest, hand- some face g! ‘again in the firelight. IT WAS DUSTY IN MONTE FLAT. The ruins of the long, dry season were crum- bling everywhere; everywhere the dying summer had strewn its red ashes a foot deep or exhaled its last breath in a red cloud above troub! highways. The alders cottonwood that marked the line of the water-courses were imy with dust, and looked as if the; it ave taken root, in the open air; the gl og stones of the parched water-courses themselves were as dry bones in the valley of death. The dusty sunset at times painted the flanks of the distant hills @ dull cory hue; on other day there was an odd, indefinable earthquake hol- low on the volcanic cones of the further coast — again an acrid, resinous smoke from thé burning wood on Heavytree Hill smarted the eyes and choked the free breath of Monte FI or a fierce wind, driving eve ing—includi: the shriveled summer like a carled leaf—-befort it, swept down the flanks of the Sierras and chi the inhabitants to the doors of their cabins, and shook its red fist in at their win- dows. And onsach anight as this,—the dust having, in some way, choked the wheels of material progress in Monte Flat,—most ot the inhabitants were Cg poo listleasly in the gild ar-room of the Moquelumne Hotel spit- ting silently at the red-hot stove that temperea the mountain winds te the shorn lambs of Monte Fiat, and waiting for rain. Every method known to the Flatof beguiling the tinfe until the advent of this long-looked-for phenomenon had been trie'. It is trae tas me- thods were not many—being limited chietly to that form of popular facetia: known as PRACTIOAL JOKING; and even this had assumed the seriousness of a business pursuit. Tommy Roy, who had spent two hours in digging a ditch in front of bisown | striking bis leg with the palm of his hand he al- | door,—into which a tew friends ca-ually dropped during the evening,—tooked ennui and dissat- istied; the four prominent citizens, who, dis- guised as toot-pads, had stopped the county treasurer on the Wingdam road, were jaded from their ful efforts next morning; the principal physician and lawyer of Monte Fi who bad entered into an unhallowed conspir: to compel the sheriff of Calaveras and his to serve a writ of ejectment on a grizzly feebly di d under the name Ursui 0 haunted the of Heavytree Hill, wore an expression of resigned weariness. Even the editor of the Monte Flat Monitér, who had that en Et a glowing account of @ battle with the Wipneck Indians for the ben- efit of Eastern readers—even he looked grave and worn. When, at last, Abner Dean of An- gel’s, who had been on a visit to San Francisco, y Ty ‘one Major walked into the room, he was, of course, vic- | timized in the usual way by one or two appa- tly honest questions which ended in his an- ering them, and then falling into the trap of ing another to his utter and complete shame and mortification—but that was all. Nobody laughed, and Abner, although a victim, did not lose his good humor. He turned quietly on his tormentors and said. “I've got something better than that Bee eer on OLD MAE FLUMRERY: es Everybody simultaneously spat at the stove and nodded his head. > “You know he went home three years ago?" ‘Two or three changed the position of their legs from the backs of different chairs, and one man said “Yes.” “Had a good time homs?” Everybody looked cautiously at the man who had said ‘‘yes,” and he, accepting the responsi- bility with a faint-hearted smile, said ‘‘yes,” pease breathed hard. ‘Saw his wife and child,—purty gal!” said Abner, cautiously. “Yes,” answered the man, doggedly. “Saw her photograph, perhaps?” continued Abner Dean, quietly. The man looked hopelessly und for sup- port. ‘Two or three who been sitting near him and evidently encouraging him with 8 look of interest, now shamelessly abandoned him and looked another way. Henry Y. flushed a little and veiled his brown eyes. man hesitated, and then with a sickly smile that was intended convey the fact thathe was perfectly aware of the object of this question- ing, and was only humoring it from abstract good feeling, returned “yes,” “Sent home—let’s see,—st Abner Dean went on. ‘Yes, man, with the same smile. “Well, I thought #0,"Jsaid Abner quietly, “but the fact is, you see, that HE NEVE WENT HOME AT ALL— nary time.” Everybody stared at Abner in genuine sur- prise and interest, as with provoking calmness nd @ half-lazy manner he went on. ‘ou see thar was a man down in ’Frisco ag knowed him and saw him in Sonora during the whole of that three years. He was herding sheep oF tending cattle, of spekilating all that time, elaborately stated, and California offered as a means of natural salvation. ‘ Perha the Monitor, “we mi county offers superior inducements to the east- ern visitor with capital.” Later he spoke of his family. The daughter | he had left wchildhad grown into beautiful womanhood; the son was alread: larger than hia father, and, in 0 pla strength, ‘‘ the young rascal,” add with a voice broken with paternal pride and humorous objurgation, had twice wo his ground. But it was of his emi ich masculine Monte »he expatiated at , and final x A PRODUCED HBR PHOTOGRAPH,— that of w very pretty girl,to their infinite |. But his account of his first meeting with Ser was 90 peculiar that I must fain i ir his own methods, which were, per! }, some — less precise and elegant than his written style: 2 You 806, boys, it’s always been my opinion ‘oughiter be able to tell hisown flesh and blood by instinct. It’s ten years since I'd seen my meaty, she was then only 7, and abowsev high. So, when I went to Now York, whatdid Ido? Did I go straight w my house See oa? Ties one ae folks? No, sir! m: up as a ped- dier, a8 a paddler, oS ‘and’ I rang, the bell. mn the servant came to the door, { wanted— don’t you see—to show the ladies some trinkets. Then there was a voice over the banister, says, «Don’t want anything—send him away.’ ‘Some nice laces, ma’am, smuggled,’ I saya, looking up. ‘Get out, you wretch,’ says she. I know the voice, boys, it was my wife, sure as a gun— thar wasn’t any instinct thar. ‘Maybe the young ladies want somethin’, I said. ‘Did you hear taller and fal trial or Plunkett, plishme: | met” says she, and with that she jumps forward, AND T LEPT. It's ten years, boys, since I've seen the old wo- when she fetched that leap, He had been standing beside the bar—his at this point he half-faced his auditors with a look that was very effective. Indeed, a fow who had exhibited some signs of skepticiam and lack of interest at once aseumed an appear- went on. “Well, by hangin’ round there for a day or two, I found out at last it was tobe Melindy’s birthday next week, and that she was goin’ to I tell ye what, bors, it weren't no slouch of a reception. The house was bloomin’ with dowers, and blazin’ with lights, and there was no end of servants and plate and refreshments and fixin'’s—"" “Unele Joe.” “Well?” “Where did bony f get the money: Plunkett faced terlocutor with a severe glance. “I al he replied slewly, “that when 1 went home I'd send on ahead 0! me A DRAPT FOR $10,000. T always said that,didn’ti? Eh? And I said 1 was goin’ home—and I’ve been home—hayen't iv Well? Either there was something irresistibiy con- clusive in this logic or else the desire to hear the remainder of Plunkett’s was stronger; but there was no more interruption. His ready Pee ord quickly returned, and, with a ight chuckle, he went on. “1 went to the biggist jewelry shop in town, and I bought a pair of diamond ear-rings ai put them 6 my pocket, and went to the house, ‘What name?’ says the chap who oj door, and he gpm rage & cross ‘train reached Sacramento he to aj prise his sweetheart of his presence in time byte Bed been a fellow- i i i : 1G 4 DasBRTeR.—A student in Groen- igbeleneing © a seeret of the t ik ii i i | ‘ H ! j aredcent. Well it ‘mounts to this—that ‘ar Plonkett ain't been east of the Rocky Mountains since '49."" The laugh which Abner Dean had the right to confidently expect came, but it was bitter and sardonic. ‘I think indignation was apparent in the minds of his hearers. It was felt, for the first time, that there was a limit to practical joking. A deception carried on for a year, com- promising the sagacity of Monte Flat, was de serving the severest reprebation. Of course, nobody had believed Plunkett—but then the supposition that it = believed in adjacent camps that they had believed him was it and bitterness. The lawyer cape that an indict- ment for obtaining money under falso pretenses might be found, the physician had long sus- Pry him of insanity, and was not certain but at he ought to be contined. The four promi- nent merchants thought that the business inter- ests of Monte Flat demanded that somethin; should be done. {n the midst of an excited an: — the door slowly opened and old man Plunkett staggered into the room. HE HAD OMANGED PITIPULLY in the last six months. His hair was a dusty yellowish gray, like the chimisal on the flanks of Heavytree Hill; his face was waxen white and blue, and putty under the eyes; his clothes were soiled and shabby—streaked in front with the stains of hurried luncheons eaten standing, and fluffy behind with the wool and hair of hur- riedly extemporized couches. In obedience to that odd law that the more seedy and soiled a man's Prments ‘become thé 1é83 does xe sven inclined to part with them, even during that portion of the twenty-four hours when they are eemed least esrential. Plunkett's clothes had adually taken on the appearance of a kiad of ark or an outgrowth from within for which their possessor was not entirely responsible. Howbeit as he entered the room he attempted to button his coat over a dirty shirt, and passed hia fingers, the manner of some animal, over hi ‘acker-strewn beard—in recognition of acieanly public sentiment. But even as he did so the weak smile faded from his lips, and his hand, after fumbling aimlessly around a button, dropped helplessly at his si: For, as he leaned his back against the bar and faced the group, he for the first time became aware that every eye but one was fixed upon him. His quick nervous apprehension at once leaped to the truth. HIS MISERABLE SECRET WAS OUT and abroad inthe very air about him. Asa tresort he glanced despatringly at Henry York, but his flushed face was turned tow: the windows. No word wasspoken. As the bar-keeper si- lently swung a vecanter and glass before him, he took a cracker from @ dish and mumbled it with affected unconcern. He lingered over his liquor until its potency stiffened his relaxed sinews, and dulled the nervous edge of his ap- rehet ; and then he suddenly faced around. It don’t look as if we were rain much afore Christmas,” flant ease. No one made any reply. 2 join’ to hey any e said, with de- ‘ust like this in ‘$2 and again in ’60. It's always been my opinion that these dry seasons come reg’lar. I’ve said it afore. I say it again- Iva jist ae sald about golng home you know,” he added with des Tecklessnéss. “Thar’s & man,” lly, “ez nen sez a t home. you've been three years in Sonora. T man ez sez you haint seen your wifeanddaugh- | ter since 49. Thar’s a man as sez pl ’ this camp for six months.” re was a dead silence. Then a voice said, quite as quietly: “THAT MAN LIER.” It was not the old man . Everybody turned as Henry York slowly rose, stretching out his six feet of len, j ing away fallen from his pipe gabe jau- i — Fafa man gt bear bat upon to make good wi says, Tmon hand.” FB, & af E i Ee ; if why don’t you You say Re saw me there, a t Say:—is it true? © Save me th a ery, ward In a fit upon the floor. man regained his senses he found himecif in York's cabin. A flickering fire of pine boughs litup the rade rafters a fell upon a pho! ph tastefully framed with fir cones, and hi ‘above the brush whereon he lay. It was the tof a youre girl. It was the first object t the old man's gaze, and it brought with it a flush of such painfal consciousness, that started and glanced uickly around. But his eyes only encountered hoes ot ork clear gtay, critical, and patient, and they fell “Tell me, old man,” said York, not unkindly, but with the same cold, clear tone in his voice that his eye betrayea # moment ~5>, ‘tell me, 18 THAT A LIB Te0°” and he pointed to the picture. The old man closed his nd did not re- pi. Two hours before juestion would ave stung him into some evasion or bravado. But the revelation contained in the question, as i} as the tone of York's voice, was to him in his pitiable condition, a relief. It was pl ever to bis confused brain that york had Hed when he had endorsed his story in the bar- room, it was elear to him now that he had not been home—that he was not, ashe had b»gan to fear, going mad. It was such a relief that with characteristic weakness his former reck- lesaness and extravagance returned. He began to chuckle—finally to laugh uproariou York, with his eyes tixed on the old man, with- drew the hand with which he had taken his. “Didn't we fool ’em nicely, eh, Yorky. He: he! | camp! [always said I'd play ’em all some day, | and Ihave PLAYRD 'RM FOR SIX MONTHS. Ain’t it rich—ain’t it the richest thing you ever seed? Did you see Abner’s iace when he spoke "bout that man asseed me in Sonora?—warn’t it good as the minstrels? O it's too much!” and most threw himself from the bed in a paroxysm of laughter— a paroxysm that nevertheless ap- peared to be half real and halt affected. **Is that photograph her's?” said York ina | low voice fe: a slight pause. “* Her's! It’sone of the San Francisco actresses, he! he! Don’t you see—I bought it | for two bits in one of the book stores. I never thought they'd swallar that too! but they did! Oh, but the old man played 'em this time, didn’t he—eh’”’ and he peered curiously in York's face. “ Yea, and HE PLAYED ME TOO,” said York, looking steadily in the old man's | eye. } me Yes, of course,” interposed Plunkett, hast- ily, “but you know Yorky, you can get out of it You've sold ‘em too. We've both got —got to stick ‘em ona string now,—you and | together now. You did it well, Yorky, you did | it well, Why when you said you'd seen me in York City, I'm d—d if I didn’t—_” | «Didn't what?” said York, gently, for the | old man had stopped with a pale face and wao- dering “Ob « You say when I York you thought. her ely. “I didn't say 1 said the old man fiercely. * in’t say thought anything. Whar ate you trying to go back on me for? Eh?” His hanas were trem- | bling as he rose muttering from the bea and made his way toward the hearth. “Gimme some whisky,” he said presently, (and dry up. You oughter treat anyway. Them | fellows oughter treated last night. By hookey I'd made ’em—only I fell sick.” York placed the liquor and a tin capon the table beside him, and going to the door turned his back upon his guest and looked out on the night. Although it was clear moonlight the familiar prospect never to him seemed so dreary. ‘The dead waste of the broad, Wingdam bigh- way never seemed 90 montonous—so like the days that he had passed and were to come to him—so like the ld man in its suggestionof going sometime and never getting there. He turned, and going up to Plunkett put his hand upon his shoulder and said: “«1 want you to answer one question fairly and squarely’? ‘The Mquor seemed to have warmed the torpid blood in the cold man’s veins and softened his acerbity, tor the face he turned up to York was mellowed in its rugged outline, and more thoughtful in its expression, as he said: “Go on, my boy.” “HAVE YOU A WIFE AND—DAUGHTER’” ‘Before God I have.”’ | The two men were silent for a moment; both fazing atthe fire. Then Plunkett began rub- | bing his knees slowly. |. “Tne wife, if it hax come to that, ain’t much.” | he began cautiously, ‘being a little on the | shoutder, you know, and wantin’, #0 to speak, | @ liberal Californian education—which makes, | you know, a bad combination. It’s always been | my opinion that there ain’t any worse Why, she’s as ready with her tongue as Abner Dean is with his revolver, only with the difference that she shoots from —. as she calls it, and the consequence is, ‘ou. {tis the effete East, my boy, n’ her—it’s them ideas she gets in New York and Boston that's made her and me what we are. Idon’t mind her havin’ ’em if she didn’t shoot. But havin’ that propensity, them prin- ciples oug! to be lying round loose no more’n firearms.” : “BUT YOUR DAUGHTER.” said York. The old man’s hands went up to his eyes here and then both bands and head dropped forw: on thetable. ‘‘Don’t say anythi *bout her, my boy, don’t ask me now—”” ith one hand | concealing his eyes he fumbled about with the | other in his pockets for his handkerchief—bat | vainly. Perhaps it was owing to this fact that | he repressed his tears, for when he removed his | hand from his eyes they were quite dry. Then he found his voice. “She's a beautiful girl, beautifal—though I say it, and you shall see her, my boy, you shall see her, sure. got thi about red no Taball have my plan for reducin’ ores perfected | in a day or two, and I've got Proposals from all the smeltin’ works here,” here he hastily pro- duced @ bundle of ‘papers that fell upon the floor, and I’m goin’ to send for’em. I’: the papers here as will give me $10,000 in th next month,” he added, as he strove to collect the valuable documents again. “I'll have ‘em nore by Christmas, if I liye, and you shallwat your Christmas inner with mé, xork, my boy; you shall, sure.”” With his tongue now fairly loosened by liquor and the suggestive vastness of his pros- pects, he rambled on more or lees incoherently, elaborating and amplifying his plana,—occa- sionally even speaking of them as already ac- d,—until the moon rode high inthe id York led him again to bis couch. for some time muttering to him- self, until at last he sank into.a heavy sleep. When York had eatisfied himse!f of the fact. he gently took down the picture and frame, and, going to the hearth, TOSSED THEM ON THE DYING EMBERS, and sat down to see them burn. The fir-cones leaped instantly into flame; then the features that bad entranced San Fraucisco audiences nightly flashed up and passed away,— as such things are apt to pass,—and even the cynical smile on York's lips faded too. And n there came a supplemental unex- fiash as the embers fell together, and by its light York saw a paper, upon the floor. It wasone that had fallen from the old man’s pocket. Ashe picked it up listlessly, a pho- tograph slippled from its folds. It was the portrait of @ young girl, and on ts and, reverse was written, in a scrawling “MELINDA TO FATHER.” 1t was at best a cheap picture, butah me! I tear even the deft graciousness of the highest art could not have softened the alari~ tes of that youthful ngure, its self complacent vulgarity, is cheap Anery, its expressionless ill-favor. York did not look at it the second time. He turned to the letter for relief. It was misspelled, it was unpunctuated, it was almost illegible, it was fretful in tone and selfish in sentiment. {t was not, I fear, | original in the story of its woes. It was the | harsh recital of poverty, of euspicion, of mean | makeshifts and compromises, of low pains and lower longings, of sorrow, that were degrading, of a grief thutwas pitiadle. Yet it was sincere | im a certain kind of vague yearning for the pree- ence of the d mau to whom it was write ten,—an affection that was more like & instinct than a sentiment | _ York folded it again carefully and placed it beneath the old " T he i Hi it il before in 1 baat Od the eer ee tiously alluded to the fact (?) that our best citi- geunt of tne fod, willbe giad ws Tear’ that out jw-townsmen, Mr. Henry a! ‘The biggest thing ever yet played in this | id I had seen you in New | she’s always layin’ tor | y that’s rain: | | bounded richness. Brown showed usa ered continued the tly misfortuze is likely to season. And yet we be- ® railroad.” A few journals broke out into poetry. The — at Simpron’s Crossing telegraphed to Sacramento Universe N il day the low clouds have shook thelr garnered fullness down.” A San Francisco thinly diag as the gentle rain has come, the or pear! rain, which scatters blessings ou the hills, and Rejoice,” ete. In- mfts them o'er the plain. In some mysterious and ray, it had interfered with the perfection of his new met-od of reducing ores, and thrown the advent of that invention back another season. It had brought him down to an habitual seat in the dar-room, where. to heedlees and inattentive discoursed of the East and his ears, he sat and family. Ne distarbed bim. [1 was rumored some funds bad been with the land- by & person or pérsons u! wn, whereby bis few wants were provided for. His mani ‘as the charitable construction which julged, even to | scoepting hie invitation te dine with his family on Christmas Day —an Invitation extend frankly to every one with whom the old man drank or talked. But one day, to everybody's ment, he burst into the bar-room, hold- | ing an open letter in his hand. It read as follows: “BE READY TO MBET YOUR FAMILY at the new cottage on Heavytree Hill on Christ- | mas Day. Invite what friends you choose. . * Henry Yor! | _ ‘The letter was handed round in silence. old man, with a look alternating between hepe nd fear, gazed in the faces of the group. Tne | ctor looked up significantly after a pause. t's a forgery, evidently,” he said, in & low voice; ‘he's cunning enough to conceive it— they always are—but you'll tind he'll fail in ex- eouting it. Watch bis face! Old man,” he said | suddenly, in a loud, peremptory tone, ‘this is a trick—a forgery—and you know it.’ Answer me syuarely, and look me in the eye. Isn't it The | The eyes of Plunket stared a moment, and | | then dropped weakly. Then, with eebler | smile, he said: “You're too many for ma, boys. ‘The doc’s right; the little game's up. You can take the old man’s hat;"” and 80, tottering, | trembling, and chuckling, he dropped into si lence apd his accustomed seat. But the next day he seemed to have forgotten this episode, | and talked as glibly as ever of the approaching festivity. | And 80 the days and weeks passed until Christmas,—a bright, clear day, warmed with south winds, and joyous with the resurrection of springing grasses,—broke upon Monte Fiat. | And then there was a sudden commotion in the hotel bar-room, and Abner Dean stood beside | the old man’s chair, and shook him out of slum- her to his feet. “Mouse up, old man; York is ere, WITH YOUR WIFE AND DAUGHTER, at the cottage on Heavytree. Come, old man. Here, boys, give him a lift;” and in another | moment a dozen strong and willing hands had raised the old man him in tri the street, grade Hill, and struggling and oon- fused, in the porch of a little cottage. At the same instant two women rushed forward, but were restrained by a gesture from Henry York. Theold man was struggling to his feet. With an effort, at last, he stood erect, trembling, his y gray pallor on his cheek, and a deep | resonance in his voice. “TT'8 ALL A TRI + AND 4 Lie!” They sin’t no flesh and blood or kin o’ mine. It ain't my wife, or child. My daughter's a beautiful girls beautiful girl—d’ye hear? She's in New York, with her mother, and I’m going to fetch her here. I said I'd home, and I've been home—d'ye hear me?—I've been bome! It’s a mean trick, you're playin’ on the old man. Let me go, d’ye hear. Keep them | women off me! Let me go! I'm going— | I'M Gorna Home!” | His hands were thrown up convulsively in the | sir, and, half turning round, he fell sideways on ‘the porch, and so to the ground. They picked him up hurriedly; but too late. He had gone home. A Mounraix or ‘The San Bernardi- no (Cal.) Argus, of Noy. 27, gives this extraor- dinary account of arecent discovery. It sounds | like the stories of the early days of California: | “fohn Brown, Jr.. arrived here yesterday, and | has get the town wild with excitoment by re- porting the discovery by Charles Carter of the richest belt of gold quartz which has ever been discovered in California. The tind is situated near Bear Valley, this side of Holcomb, which has been travelled for the past twenty years. | Carter was riding leisurely along, with his eyes | upon the ground, when he saw somethigg glist- en in the sunlight. and immediately stopped his horse and took another look. His curiosity ba- came more and more excited, and, with his eyes fixed upon the glistening spot, he dismounted and fastened his horse, and proceeded to inves- tigate the mystery. Upon approaching the place and exaiaining it, he becams convinced that the shining mass was pure gold, and as | large as a pea, and upon further examination | he became convinced that he had indeed struck gone of the biggest gold ledges in California. For go where he would the glistening jewels | woul nt themselves. The rock was per- | fectly bespangled with gold. Piece after plece was broken off, and in different localities, but the same result was there—gold. It is said’ that one plece, about the size of a man’s fist, con- tains, on close estimate, $100. Carter says the ledge is fully six feet wide, andstands up about thatdistance, and upon ail sides, where he has broken off pieces, does it show the same un- large-as a hen’s » which is pei alive with free gold. 5 en the news reached Hol- comb valley, k was susj led and every- y Bsa od seks sabes work of lay’ rut was the order of the day.” Mysterious DisarreaRance or A Rice | Woman.—The town of Easton, Pa., has an in- teresting case of m: nee, that of Mre. Carrie Cornell. She went to Easton, about a month ago, and took quarters at th American hotel, where she gained the reput tion of being very wealthy and exceedingly agreeable. She told her landlady that she was a widow, having married when fourteen years old, and lost her husband four years after, and | also stated that her father and mother were still living in Boston, while she had a brother and sister in New York. Her father, she said, had treated her very unkindly, and, though she had given him 000 to conciliate him, his cruelty drove her away from him. She had re- peated!ly said that her life was perfectly wretch- ed, and one day asked a man if death by drown- ing was an easy one. He answered affimative- - On the evening of the 10th of the month she retired as usual, saying langhingly to Mrs. Fisher, her landlady, that she was going to make her will, and arked what she should give her. Mrs. Fisher, in a joking way, designated a beautiful wicker hamper in her room. The next morning, Mrs. Cornell was found to be ne, while her room was in great disorder. there was some Paris green in the room and some evidences that she taken an overdose of it. She left a card referring to what she had heard about the ease of death by drowning. She also left note bequeathing all her pro- perty to Mrs. Fisher. Her wardrobe, which was very rich, would indicate that she possessed considerable wealth. The prevailing theor about her disap ce is that failing to kill herself with the Paris green, she drowned her- self in the Lehigh ri Tom Bowi1wo’s Conprriow.—The celebrated racer, Tom Bowling, with a stable companion, Aaron Pennington, was on exhibitionon Cheap- side yesterday. ‘Tom was surrounded by a crowd of admirers in @ short time, who criticised freely the points of the splendid animal, sometimes to his disadvantage. One gentleman, remarked that Tom’s ankle was defective; said he, “I should like a better ankle than that for a race horee, if he were mine, but you see he has prov- ed it’s enough, when strength was indis- — le.” Somebody else said he ‘‘was not a it pretty.” Another said he was rough look- ing, and never would be taken for a race horse, and especially for Tom Bolding, unlessthe name ‘was ou his blanxet. In the mfdet of it all, Tom showed a little of his fire, when all at once everybody said, ‘‘what a magnificent creature.” Advanisour, He wes mounted and tidden off an e ‘i Praneing ana fall of life Tt is ¥ he is wintering well. : H Z i i ag tit i U 5 E PE He iweenogauy unmethodica! in Men who live and work by rule would be tied to understand how Agassiz managed to so much without these helps. He lived and inspiration. If he was suddenly seized with an | interest in some scientific inquiry be would | pursue it at once, putti: by haps other | Fork in which he had just fairly got started. “1 alw like to take advan of my pro ductive moods, "be said to me. Thus often he | bad several irons in ire, only one of which | ht ultimately be finished. Probably he saw | it the last iron promised to work up better | the first. He nevercould be made to work | Uke a machine, — out a definite quantity at reguiar interval le never felt bound to re- | gard the rule that you must finish one thing be- fore you begin another, so mphatically presen- ted in the old school-books. His was a method of working which would be ruinous to any man who bad not bi erful faculties, his far- bis o thy stiles something more was in himself metbod, by which many ba achieved, but it was after bi frequently a hard thing to get bim to per or write a letter (except for some! or to look over accounts or reports, or do little he | routine work. Yet he could never have attained his great eminence in science if he had not paid inthis department great attention to the min and apparent! the most insignificant de tails. Looking atthe drawing ofa fiss made by his arth, he said, after taking a single ginnce: “It isa beautiful drawing, but don’t you see you have left out two or three of the scales?” This story, which I have seen where, is vouched for hy the draug! formerly drew his specimens for bi I know what those silent lips w just here their testimony could be gat ‘would be a testimony as sweet and beautiial as that of John Stuart Mill to the h devoutly loved. It may be a fact k to the public, but itis one well know Agassiz’s friends, that bis wife was his ment and in every sense ahelpmate. What Professor lacked in order, mgthod or busi babits was sbundantiy suppiled by Mrs. Agas- six. It washer graceful and assiduous pen that recast and ic molds the Pro feesor’s ready English. It was her constant e couragement and stimulus that supp Professor in new and difficult undertakings Her counsel was always listened to with respect It is safe to say that we should nof have nad so many of his works put in a permanent form in English if it had not been for her earnest co- operation. The Professor, as all know, was a ready lecturé delivered his ad dresses without manuscript. In ailof his lec- tures and speeches near home Mrs. % me companied him whenever possible and took co- | ious notes, and thus preserved the thought for uture use.’ All of his commanications for the | press through her hands. She wrote much from his dictation, attended toa great many of his business details, and in a thousand | ways forwarded bis work, Every word of praise | we bestow on the silent dead is an unuttered recognition of her who shared alike his labors and bis rewards. Let ushope that she who knew him better than any or all of. crown this life of de votion by comple! 4 giving to the world | her own record—long since begun—of the ge- | pius and work of him whose departure bas left such & void in our hearts. pmate he $9 familiar to Prof pie: he put into more cl Ba] 6 Savire Sort ror Eanty Hot-neps.—Those who design to start hot-beds in February or March. before the ground is thawed up, would do well to prepare some rich, fine soi! now, and protect it trom freezing solid through the 'win- ter. This done by putting it ina pile in the hot-bed, covering with w, and then covering the frame with boards to ent snow and rain reaching it. If it should be slightly trozen when wanted, it can be thawed by pat- | ting on the sash. and exposing it to the rays of | the sun for a day or two. IC. ©. WILLARD, ME LARGEST sTORE AND TEE LARGEST STOCK oF HUMAN HAIx GOODS It te a well Known fact among tegton that H PHILIPPI. the Bl gant,” sells the it O mbings of Hair. made up by the root by mr Rew process, tn all the styles of the day Colffures de Soirees, Receptions a <pectaity B. PHILIP oe Paw 913 Pennsytvania im, Between 9b and Wb strects 18-96" Je8T RICE Ss 500 DOZEN Pex ry: KED SkIRTs, STS. a ND _ LARGEST ASSORT MENT OF LADIES’ CLOAKS AND SUITS in the City. FRENOR CORSETS AT REDUCED PRICES BEST PARAS KID GLOVES = Pa BAIR SWITCHES AT 96, WORTH 913 tecl0-tm 8. HELLER, 713 Market Space MISS E. A. McCORS ick Ry 903 PENN. AveNUE (ap stairs A large and elegant assoriment of IMPORTED BONNETS aod constantiy on hand M aum returned sortment cities in millinery ¢ Washington, 410 11th Penn. avente, t street, New ¥ BOUND HATS, + fillet by LP; JEANMERET aris wit achoice a Latest mov B. YOUNG'S Fashionable Resdgeari+ FaBCY GOOPS, BO ny. MEBINO UNDERWEAR, «» NUTIONs. At lowest market prices to all LSEVEDTH STREET, NRAR w FORK Bazaan © ootd-r « “7 aDIES’” 4 FRENCH STAROR ENAMEL je the Dest article in the world for doing up Linen or wit imparts @ beautifal glow to the faorie Wor anle by Grecere UREBAM & OO., Mancfectarers, Wom Lombard street, STATES ISLAND. DYEING Estas The BY. LISHMENT—ESTABLISHED 1519 oldest end of Rind B. B —Goarantes given Bo color rubs off; bring your articles soon, to get them back in time. edi it rect onpoatarenat Oa OF SPECIALTIES OF His BOLE PROCESS. Ledves Dresses cleaned without taki cfentlemen's Clothes clothes cloaned i Gloves cleaned on short Prices mod. cleaned on notice \~ orate; punctnality euaranteed sepl-ly Bo. 708 @ STERT, Berween Tre and @ra Sraeere PHE IMPERIAL HOTEL, ~~ = JAMES BYKES, Propracior, FRONTING Pennevivania & Beween 13:4 and 14i8 Srreeis, jandty ——Wasiffseron, DO jemty SBBSITT HOUSE, epl-ly WASHINGTON, D.O PIANOS, &, (TUNING AND RENEWING PIANOS AND | OBGANS A SPECIALTY, ' 3 G, KUHN, Practical Pianomaker, ous.) ormeriy with Steinway & 8 rn Pennsyivana aventie, and at Kacr's, 629 Poxnsy! Fania aveuue, Pishos and Orgaas for, sale or jechd-tr WRER STEDNWar's PLANos. RGR EXTRACT FROM BE OFFICIAL BEPOBT | F JUBY ON MUSIOAL INSTRUMENTS, EXPOSITION UNIVERS! VIENNA, 1573. regret that the celebrated {oaugurators of the new system in Piano-makt jonars. Steinway Ds. | corner of 98 street and | | | E | | } & jew » to whom the eutire art of Plapo-ineking 1s so greatly indebted, have not ox- MAESTRO PETRELLA, Prosident, Itaiy, yi, MR oon Ss op sare | Dr ice President, Fiance, SALVATORE MARCHESI, Italy, Dre IK, Austria, . ia, ria, JO. > Austria, youl Ts | LUTH | Dx 80) Spain, | MONS. ium DIRECTO! ‘Switzerland, La LOCKE Dr. 01 fessor of the University of or Inet « World's Fair, 1373. mere yaman. September $4, 1873. ENTS: nificent Steinway Grand Piano now stands ip asic Room. and presents a har monte totalrty of admurable qualeties, » detailed meration of which is also ad@ my homage, and the ox; my un- disguised admiration, with which I remain, ‘Very sincerely yours, Weanz Liszt. | Extract from a letter from Dr. Frans Li to the | celebrated Composer, Metrdorf, which qd) Weimar, September 2 ih, 188, is mow im possession | Messrs. Steunway & “Pray tell ight | Piano shone rformances rtbuce, where last Taseday it served under my fingers as” Vice Orchestra,’ ex citing general admiration, ‘ours, Very truly, Franz Liszt. From the new ipzre Musik Zeitung. A new Grand Piano from Steinway & Sons, New York, which we saw aud heard in Dr. Franz Lisrt's asic ‘we must acknowl’ dg as the cram frst creation that modern science in Piano building las | preduced. \& STEINWAY & NS PLANOS. A large assortment of GRAND, SQUARE snd UPRIGHT PIANOS always on Rand et the ware: rGec6-06t88tjanl W.G. METZRROTT & CO. New Yous, Jan, 1, 1878. THE DECKER BRO.S PATENT PIA) After having examined the Pixno Fortes of Messrs, DECKEB@EROTHERS very carefully, have come tothe conclusion and cheerfully testify, — that they are in every respect superior instrnments. Their tone is pure, rich, brilliant, very distinct, | and of an entirely musical character. ‘Their work- | manship is of the very best, plainly demonstrating | that none but the best materiats are used, and their | touch, evenness and quality of tone throughout the whole compess of the key-board, unsurpassed by any other piano-forte we have ever seen. | , WILLIAM MASON, T. JOHN ZUMDEL, PEASE, CABL KLAUSER, DECKER BRO.’ PATENT PIANOS. G KUGN, Agent, 63% New York Av ‘Washington, y new stock of * dec8-6t StJanl rea PIANOS! In order to make room for which Iam now recei time at Pianos 5 be eo RR tT INSURANCE OOMPANIES, | (ERMAN AMERICAN INSURANCE 00., ot rf 1472550 94 Cash Ansets | MERCHANTS’ INSUBANOB CO., of Nov Cash Assets, $625,000 b JONES & OO.. Avonta, dec8)-tr No. 411 7th street, opp. P GO. Dep't OL» Pe ION INSURANCE COM. P » Richmond, Va, CAPITAL AND SURPLUS, $256,514 26, INSURES AGAINST LOSS BY PIKE BUILWINGS, HOUSEHOLD FURNITURE, AND MERCHANDISE GENBKALL Y ovr BEN 4. NASI ont H. K. ELLISO ewident . BC ELRY. Boerctary J. D2 MCINTIRE, Assistant Secretary MAURY & BLOTHER, Aconts, dec3-e lm No. 1420 F street. [RE CORCORSE Tue inscnance or Tas wenn yd bya ta, tet ‘ aie RSET Et Pun weviragyy Gye WesUnanen SUS aoe FETE Sa and $08 Tansee coMPAny. *" Py Paomirer’ pale. ‘opposite Tressary Office, 603 1éth street, ment. ‘Also, AGENT CONTINENTAL Li ANCE COMPANY. oct Depar- INsuR- aes pescee OUR raorasre “OPah ay Bixee, is GROCERIES, &c. Cc. WITMER, ce | 191% PENESYLVARIA AVENUE. FANCY GROCERIES AND LIQUOR Finest extra and Flour Extre aod Apple Obeese. Fivest suger-cured Hams ip the comntry. Mi frican, Old Government Java, Marscatbs, oy Rich farored G. F.. Oolong, and Japan Tos ou Buininny Lg ron, Figs, and Nate of e pare, will find tt to their benefit to examine + cheap prices. ootkb-ly ee