Evening Star Newspaper, February 14, 1891, Page 7

THE ONLY OUT ABOUT HIM. WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY HARRIET PRESOOTT SPOFFORD. {Copyrizhted.} ape TEAMS, LOADED TO THE TOP WITH supplies for camp, were on the point of starting for the woods, the impatient horses pawing the snow and tossing off showers of bell tones; whips were cracking and men were ex- claiming and boys were running and Mr. Sibley was getting angrier every minute. The second teamster was nowhere to be found. “By gra- cious, I'l discharge him!" roared Mr. Sibley. ~You run right home, Annie,” he said, in + dif- ferent tone, to the young gir! with a face like = buneh of flowers, who came along and paused on the edged of the confusion. “Your mother wanted them crackers right away. Can't you find him?" as old Peachblow came across the square. “Reckon he'sdischarged himself,” said one of the men, snapping his long whip. “Just when he'd orter be on the spot or die! And if they don’t make Palterer's tonight the storm'll be on them——" “It's no_use, sir,” said old Peachblow. “He's over at Boosey's, up. He don't sense nothing. “Then I'll give him his come-uppance to- morrow!” roared Mr. Sibley. “You bet your life I won't keep # man who drinks or smokes tobacco. “Could I do instead, sir?” asked a young fel- low standing by, whose glance had flashed on pretiy girl like the light that plays the sun, while ai the word to- Sa stare at each purposes of @ ranning » mac! ,” indifferently, his hands in his pockets how they “Well, 1 Can but while he spoke. boys!” Mr. Sibley cried after them. if I'll have swearing in my camps!” “Like ter see ver drive these blasted cattle er mine without it!” said» big fellow on one of the teams. ““Gol darn ye, can't ye stand up’ ‘The best horses in state! e know about horece, indeed? "Was taking we at indeed? jas i their charge something on the same line as that But what else was there to do? “Pick up your reins, lad,” said the little old anol Bu th gat up his reins it came the voice again, ‘“Hold in goin; t emer if you don't want to break their knees. wat Jobn held in. And now it was: “Don’t saw them horses’ mouths that way! They ain't made driving these horves, anyway?” asked r. “You hadn'torter be! You'd better change an’ take my old plugs.” “Ld like to,” said John. “But hed. “Don't like them,” eaid he, we've ‘&@ young reverend with us,” . when they put up at Palterer’s right.” I'm wrong. If I Bao de sick. If I drink it goes to my head. If I play might cheat. fell, you're going to be sick then,” said the dig, fellow, cutting off » chunk ‘of his black HH E E tk E ii LE { i i t f i i : i) 1 ff i i f : I ret is i H t | bape that no one might see | 11 . | feeling about Annie Sibley—t i | that he, too, was under the BP i H i i fi ial { fil F "i 3, | he and happy youth, but such as one might if shut out from heaven. Fe But in the first doughs the team was mak- ing its way out again. “I have found the lay of the land by the wa: the stars were going,” he said to the and before long they were in the dawn flushing all the heavens above, the snow below, and turning the whole forest into a twinkle of rainbows—and on the way toa safo end of their journey. & keeping.” suid Mrs, “[ wouldn't lose sight “He's @ man worth Sibley to her husband. of bim.” ought home trot horses all right,’ men in camp. ” said Mr. vouchers all “Luckiest day's work I ever done when come across him. Saved me his keep a’ready insmall leaks. He's too good to last. Some oe Durand ef I can it, “I don’t believe in crossing bridges "fore you come to them, the fussy little man's wife. “I don't believe you'll ever come to this one. je’s as good a boy as treads sole leather ——" ‘As good & boy as hasn't been found out. Well, you » our saving grace over him, mother a ees see if he'll want « better hone macke And in his few vited into the anything was wanted by the home people it was to John that they went instead of to the busy husband and father, and it was taken for granted that on Sundays he should have a seat in the family pew. And thus one year and another, and the third year found John Dean keeping Mr. Sibley's books and _ his bank account, collecting ‘hie moneys, making his payments. going = coming between the lumber camps, engaging an men—in short, the trusted and faithful inti- mate of his business, always firm and stro: and ready, always bright and gentle and oblig- ing. Mr. Sibley used to say it was as good as an open fire and a mug of cider to see John's face on a gloomy evening, and there was many ‘rosy young girl in the Port who thought no less and looked shyly askance at his face, once so bleached and now with a healthy tan'and a ruddy color beneath the white brow, at his wholesome mouth, whose bright laugh was not hid by the tawny ‘shadow of the recent mus- tache, at the sparkle of his happy eyes, at his shapely shoulders and his easy bearing. But of late this cheeriness of John's that Mr. Sibley liked was going under a cloud. Mr. Sibley thought he must be tired and was for giving him a vacation. Mrs. Sibley thought he tnust be ill and was for dosing him with Annie Sibley, if she cht anything about it, only showed her thought by a heightened color on her cheek and a brighter star in her eye when his name was mentioned, or when half hours John was in- horses | sew him coming up the garden walk, Certainly an wn young fellow who bad found a place almost without saking toe it had been taken into his master’s mee and into his family and had every reason to think his future secure and fortunate ought to have worn a gayer face than John Dean was wearing now. It is true his good nature was continuall: jeste and called it, York pale and preoccupied and silont, and Sundays he aie off over the fields instead of listening to little Annie in the choir or walking home with her, as been used to do. Perhaps it did not ocenr to im that any one might be troubled by this; perhaps he was not aware of it himself: he certainly did not see the paling of the bloom on Annie's cheek. But Mrs. Sibley did. and it smote her heart to see the girl'seyes foliow John and fallagain. she taking shame to herself that they did, to see the unconscious pretty ways in whi ried in, him gut of hia glooz. | « as likely fellow. I'm going to raise first of the year. And he'll be a yet—— “But—father—you—you wouldn't be willing to let the first comer have he, as you may say, a sort of—of—hired man?” “Hired man be—I mean,” said Mr. Sibley, who didn’t allow swearing, “he's my cond: dential man of business!” ‘But we don’t even know where he came “Steady as a clock, faithful asa dial. There's some out about him somewhere, of course, but Tcan't find it. Perhaps that’s it. I guess we can find out where he came from. I'll ask him. I don’t never want ter know, though, a mite more'n I know about him. Always under our thie the third year. What's she pale al ‘Does she think I wouldn't like it? You tellher Isay she might go further and fare worse ! (0b, father, I couldn't speak to her about ‘Well. then, you turn over an’ go ter sleep an’ let the take care of it. W'en I see two young folks a-making love I don't believe I can improve on nat cor- | here, ting room, and presently if | Yo 2 | John— fel ar pompoeteny Go rpdegeme fond ing about her simple duties and pacers something just above the earth but not on it. a ee wi whom she gave an arm on the street, child whose hurt she soothed, the om she watched. Even the father’s lumber schoo 4 i rile and would rather be condemned to itary cell with bread and water than pass life’ without her. And what was be that F ReFe ¢ | | i : i ff ui £ i § $ Hs yy ft tr +} A H Ait EE ti sheet lg il Fauer i fla Sas £Fis f : s if E i £ Bee i at rt i i H | S F bE FRET i i E: i a I i a 4 THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D.C; SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 1891—SIXTEEN PAGES. for “Fe work here “No, sir. Yon see I'm onl: at anything for about > long. I've py reck- wor death oes a of the sort!” roared tle Mr. Sibley ne ay «You sit. I thank, you for your goodness to me. It's been more than you think. More than you can ever know. It—it breaks me all up—to m go. But “Look here!” cried Mr. Sibley, “I always said there was an out about you, if { could only find it. And here it is! What is this bee in your bor not? John—is it—is it Annie?” he said in a di ferei one that had all \Becanse if it no answer—“that's all right.’ i—I eannot—marry her, sir,” with down- fou can't marry my daughter, sir!” began | darm master, th nd he stopped, thunderstruck, to comprehend the statement. Then, “You can't marry my daughter, sir!” he cried again, lash- ing himself into a rage. “I should like to know what's the reason you can't marry my | £98 daughter! Do rere 6 my eat yo came hipper-enapper from nowhere, , and break my daughter's io and ie Sibley!” cried John, T should ruin her life, in: ited a moment, looking his employer e face—as Mr. Sibley afte fo—as fixed as if he were a saint carved in marble among all those bales und barrels.“ meant to tell you,” he said presently, movi his lips as if with an effort. “I mean You as soon as you began to be so good to me And then I felt it was be’ only chance in lif and Tcouldn’t. T thought, too, it would gi mt pain—e man’s punishment pursues him all his life, you see—and I hated to. And I hated to seo the look you would havetogive me when I told you. And I thought then, perhaps, you would never know—it was in’ a state a Shouand miles away, And I kept along. “And when I found I was beginning to care for her I made up my mind that I must go—and it was hard—and I—I never dreamed of her caring for me! I would as soon have dreamed of an 1 out of heaven stooping to me! And when I found out that she did I felt sure she would get over it with me out of the way—and—and I only. waited for you to come back — in thunder are you driving at?” ‘A man who helpe the helpless gure mea suit of clothes, and I worked my passage down here. you gave me that team to drive I was ju night out of prison for theft.” “That so?” said Mr. Sibley. And he turned on his heel and went into the little counting room and shut the door: How many minutes, how many hours John | H stood immovable, just as he had been left among the tuns and bags and boxes, he could not have said. All thought, all emotion was wrung out of him—he was not even suffering. At lust one of the hands returned; John nodded to him, took his hat and coat and went up to the house to oo things together. They were fow, his possessions there, but his hands trembled so that it took him soine time. When he was through he heard the murmur of voices down below. Should he leave the house where he had been so prey Memon without a word? He went down and hesitatingly turned the handle of the sitting room door. Mr. Sib- ley was there, too. “I—I_only came—to say good-bye. Oh, sir! - A edad fi ‘6 willing. She's-willing. As for what you said in the store we won't consider that. "Ym ghd that’s the only out about you. You couldn't have been anything bys a boy when all that happened, ‘You're’ hatly’ ‘move thane boy now. I don't believe there's ten men alive n't taken les, or some- thing that didn’t Tio ‘to eo, sooner or later. You got into bad company some way, I suppose, ands temptation came that was too much for you when you were weakened. You've grown since then; grown the right way; stre If you'd been born crooked you've had every ‘chance you've been with me to feather your nest. You could have Tun away with a handy capital for a rogue more than once. You're an honest man by nature, “Ok, Lam, Iam, I mean to be!” cried John, with shaking voice. “We're forgiven our sins,” said Mr. Sibley, iy. “when we've become so that nothing on earth could make us commit them again. ‘The Lord forgave you long ago, John, when the possibility of doing that wrong again was drowned out of you. I don't know why I should set up to be any better than the Lord. Now, we'll never speak of this never think of it again. We'll begin the year by putting the old things behind us. You're as honest a man as me, John. Your mother an’ me go together here; we believe in you; we're oing to prove it by giving you the dearest on earth t's ours. It year for allof us. It shali wanted all my life and never had, and that’s a son—and if I picked the world over, John, I couldn't find one more to my mind than what you be. John. Come, now,” ssid Mr. Sibley, wutting up his bandanna, “you ain't going Fave time to think it over. Old Poachblow down from the woods. 2 some black cake in the stone 5 Well, we'll hare ‘a quiet wodd Wai, weit Sars Aig cn go of for tha i ch ia teaion Written for The Evening Star. ‘Nature’s Lymph. rt ‘ ‘Though the rain be cold or the wind be keen, Or the snow piled high in the street, Or the miry ooze be over my shoes, Or ice be under my feet, ‘Yet the morning air breathes courage and hope And 80, when the sun is dawning, 1 gather them in and save my tin, ‘By walking down town in the morning. m. ‘The millionaire rides in his stylish coupe, ‘Tn acab the broker you'll find, Dressmakers Artists and cingers, clerks and ink alingers, Just listen to what you should do; Bay a stout pair of shoes with sensible soles, ‘The silly French-heeled ones. “Oh, yes; out in Australia,” He answered. “T was first at Melbourne and then at Sydney. That was just before the Egyptian war.” “And you becamé a warrior, of course?” letters to Baker Pasha, who had been at school with an uncle of mine.” erie You heard the ‘Mikado?’ You remember Pooh- Bah? Well, sir, I was the Pooh-Bah of Port Said. I was commandant of gendarmerie. The governor went away and tne ee stipendiary «mi te went away and left me acting for him and also acting governor. | There I was, « regular Pooh-Bah. Now, I'l cach’ other. (There was o man ot Fort Seid named Mayrisch. He kept the largest store in the place, where you cope anything from an anchor toa needle. He also hed a bi ing house, the El Dorado, opposite his store. He made £200,000 there ' the first year of the war; vo you mey innagine what the place | was worth to him. I dealt with Mayrisch. run- ning quarterly bills. He must have thought I was going away, for he sent me in my bill for £28 before the quarter was up. I refused to pay until the usual time. He sid he would sum- ight,’ I said, ‘summons away.’ from abont 3:30 o'ciock until 5—I ecnt two gen- 1¢s to the bank to get Muyrisch's account. Of course, as commandant, all accounts were open to me. He had £18,000 balanee, and I knew he owned his honse and ha: property in Italy and Maite, so he was not in need of my . When [returned I told an English de- tective to go down to Mayrisch’s store that night after 9 o'clock and take a ¢ The place was not licensed, and drinking 9 o'elock was against the law and eubjected the ty to seizure and sale and removal of the ‘ines to ten miles from Port detective got the drink, and next morning shortly after 6 o'clock, as Mayrisch was going to board the ship in the harbor, two | gendarmes accosted him and told him he was | under arrest and was to appear at the court of | the commandant (that was me) at 6 o'clock. He appeared and I told him he could elect to be tried before the stipendiary magistrate. That was me again. Icould fine him only 400 piastres as commandant, but as stipendiary magistrate I could confiscate his property. He did not know I was acting as stipendiary. He elected to appear before the stipendiary, and when I appeared us the court Mayrisch almost fainted. " Hoasked for twenty-four hours’ port: memént, which I granted. In the afternoon fear to the wernor’s oftice and the clerk told me Mayrisch hud been there to appeal to the governor, and when he found I was acting governor he was taken ill. “The next morning when I got up I could hardly open the door of my room, which swun outward, on account of the things Mayrisc! had caused to be piled in the hall. There were six dozen champagne, six dozen beer. 5,000 cigarettes, 500 cheroots, soda and brandy and a Turkish silk shawl, which I gave my sister as, wedding present, and other things. There was also a receipt in full for £28, signed by Mayrise! f course you accepted these things as tokens of esteem,” said man with the Plug lat. “Al but the receipted bill, which I returned, and I paid him the money,” said the Pooh-Bah of Port Said. “What!” cried the fat man and the tall man ther. Thon they looked at each other aud sighed, and, locking ‘arms, they wandered out into the fog. leaving the man with the illustri ous tile and the changer of $100 bills together. Later on they met their esteemed confrere of the famous head covering, and behold, He wore @ new overcoat. On its ¢ was the name in It had belonged f Port Baid, who had with it to the man with the Plug Hat duri social chat concerning an ancient game poker. ———_—__<0e—__ 2 - Bad Tempers. It is hot anf uncommon thing in this, sayso writer in Chambers’ Journal, as in more serious mattors, for the world to make mis- takes, and ascribo to some men better tempers, to others worse ones than they actually possess. Aman may uot only be thoroughly seifish and exacting, but ready to fly into a passion at a small provocation, and yes pass for being good- tempered, simply because those around himare afraid to cross him, and give him no opportun- ity for breaking out. His likes and dislikes aze alwnys taken into account and considered be- forehand; this is known to him, and the sac- | rifice is pleasing. The members of his family for temper is chiefly a feature of family life think that peace is chcaply bought at the ice of their own inclinations; and congratu- [ic themesives on the fact that papa or Uncle Richard is in such a good temper. The fact is that he is in anabominably bad one; he probably quite unconscious of the fact, and conscious, too, that in their hearts the other members of the family think him a nniance, and brenthe more freely when he is out of the house, more freely still when he is « hundred miles away. firmed a grumbler that ho may be universally voted a bore anda pervon of execrably bad tempo, while in reality he is no worse off in that respect than many of his neighbora. He grumbles more as a matter of habjt than any- thing clae; and plays, as it were, with his tem- per. Asa rule,ho does not lose his self-con- trol; he has nothing of that cruel love of wounding other people's feelings which is the essence of a really bad temper; he simply fumes and fasses about because he likes it. sion- ally, under aload of unusual aggravations, eelf- control gives way and the grumble changes to a veritable storm; but, as a rule, the croaker remains satistied with — makin welt, passively disngreeablo. he he ble probably idea. It is his nature to fd. foul and he him- low come to be second natnre; antl the; him more patiently, perhaps, than poaberree Suoteing? ieteed’ ferns, ie. the fact that nag only habitually ing fallow agate talgomgeton gp gray may, a ve bof fallow cra loved, not only me men are ot beyond their deserts, but be: all pak one might think possible. "Perhaps iis is they make up for” their defects by an nnusual warmth of affection; but there is ‘one descrij tion ot tan who not, | opened in Boston in 1826 there was “Well, I went out as correspondent. I had | ©! That afternoon when I got up—-I always slept | #pread a No doubt the majority of persons who have assisted in eating the oysters contained in this enermous amount of shells scldom give a these rongh, un- tell you how all these things worked into | to ‘tei the elements. ‘That these shells have been used for fertiliz- ing pury for hundreds of years is evidenced | * wy the ‘het t that even now; in some portions of wi t is called “mussel mud” is dug remains of extinct oyster beds by huge machines adapted to the purpose, and in thick layers over the land. This is out of t) told that in early times thoy were laboriously dredged ont and used forthe same purpose. Mr. Ernest Ingersoll, « noted authority on the history of this favorite bivalve, states that “along Pamlico sound, in North Carolina, when the weather becomes'warm and there is no employment for thelr Loata tho fishermen rake up boat loads of rough ‘bunch’ or ‘coon’ oys- tors and carry them to the farmers, to be sold and used us @ fertilizer, for which from 3 to 5 cents a bushel is paid.” These “coon” oysters are seldom eaten, but are found in immense quantities in southern waters, every stake, bit of sunken log or the branches of fallen trees being loaded down with then. In the northern and castern states the im- mense mounds of oyster, clam and mussel shells found in various localities along the coast prove inexhaustible mines for egriculturista, who use them as a top dressing for their farms, In the neighborhood of Damariscotta, Me., there are mounds which are estimated to con: tain not less than 8,000,000 cubic feet of shells —a lasting monument to the red man’s parti- ality for crustaceous food. Prior to being used the sholl must be burned, which if done in rude, home-made kilns. A'very amusing story is told by Mr. Ingersoll relative to the discovery of an old kiln which was thought by its scien- tific finders to bean aboriginal house until they found the half of a well-baked brick at the bottom of the structure. “Bring a clay pipe,” was the startling addi- tion to an invitation to a reception the other evening. Nobody could decide what it meant. ‘They could scarcely believe the exquisitely re- fined young hostess had fallen a victim to the smoking craze and wanted all her friends to join her, but what else could it mcan? The mystery’ was solved when the guests entered the pretty white and gold parlor and saw ona round table in the cen‘er of the room half a dozen punch bowla, in rose and blue glass and Japanese ware, filed with flaky sonpeuds. Each jest was entitled to blow three bubbles, and a mmered silver handglass was the prize for the lady who blew the largest bubble, and a meerschaum pipe for the gentleman's prize. ‘Three judges had a trying time in deciding the winner of the prizes. Amateur blowers were allowed to practice in the corner out of range of the prize bubble blowers. “Bring your thimble” isarather odd re- est to make of a young society follow. but fire: Jamee Hude Bookman, who is tho jollicst and prettiest young hostess in Now York, said that ir sho put it on the girls’ invitations abe would favor the gentlemen in the same way. When they reached her house on Tuesday evening they found what the thimbles were wanted for. "There were eixteen guoste, and on each chair wore placed sixteen little mousse- line de soie aprons, with the hems carefully baat tod. Miss Carrie Hoe got the Indy's prize for the best hemmed apron, and Amory 8. Carhart the ntleman’s prize.’ Harry Canuon got the Booby for tie isrgest stliches, end “Bussell Hoadley never got his needle threaded until the hour for sewing was over. Afterward they had an informal dance, with music by the Hun- garian Band. “Walking,” not for a cake, but for a pair of hammered silver shoe buckles, was the original ment provided by Miss Louise Spoune of Madison avenue, New York, for the guests of her Thanksgiving ' party. way ead tnd ehoulders were carricd, as well as the men- ner of walking, was considered by the jud, Eighteen couples in full evening dress marched and countermarched to the “Darkey’s Dream,” “Golden Slippers” and other popular planta- tion melodies as discoursed by Lander’s Band. At this entertainment there were four prize winners and three more buckles had to be or- On the other hand aman may be s0 con- | dered. If you want a mirth-provoking send one person out of the room and tell him he is to guess the name of the game from the actions of the guests. Let him in, and when he sits down they sit; if he walks to « corner of the room they accompany him; where he looks they look; what he suys they repeat. Some- times it takes a really clever persona quarter of an hour to guess t the name of the game is tap s aia “Bring a lemon” is another puzzling addi- tion to an invitation which is Srcally printed on lemon-colored paper. After all of the guest have piled up their gokien fruit the lemons are cut and the seeds counted and the owner of the lemon ccntaining the largest number of seeds tle | is the prize winner, while the luckless Indiv ual whose lemon i seedlees or nearly eo gets a tin or leather medal. habit «habit which, from long indulgence, he bine y From the New England Magazine. ‘One hundred yearsago girls were not allowed to attend any of the public schools of the coun- tey. When the first high school for girls was the, innovation end ‘es mang girte m1 for admission that after ayer aren ‘the pod uel 1658. In I774 the ‘est tem! unt was by Moraviaus urvival of an old custom, as we are | ic. | fully specified ! or, as Prof. Freeman would Forte an arsenic | They were intended as substitutes for the ‘are | Members of the judicial committee, of whom the canse of it, but when it is taken very slowly mptoms are so masked by many sur- rounding circumstences aud conditions even the most experienced physicians do not discover the cause. The soreness of the the difticulty of breathing, the nausea Vomiting, the pallor aud weakness often are at- tributed to entirely different causes, and it may be months or years before the true cause overed. ee —______ DID NOT WANT FRECKLES. ‘The Reasons Given by a Poor Girl for Leav- ing a Situation. From the N.Y. Evening Sun. A handsome young woman, who is well known for her philanthropy and who devotes « great deal of her time to making light the by den of poverty which other folks bear, cently found a family worthy of her assistance. Tt consisted of a mother and several children, the eldest a girl of twenty years, wretchedly dressed. The young woman cast about and finally secured a position in a wholesale candy store for the girl. ‘The salary was fair, the hours were not long, and all the girl had to do was to pack candy. She accepted the situation gladly, and the young woman left the family feeling that she had = fetey tha eta in a position rp enough money to support 5 About two weeks later she called at the tene- ment where the family lived and was surprised to find the girl at home. “Why, what's the matter?” she asked; “are you not working today?” “No, ma'am,” was the reply; “I'm not work- ing at’all.” “When did you leave your plagb?” “Last week.” “What was the matter? Didn't they pay you enough money’ eee 3 the wages wasall right. It in ‘Was theigrork too heavy for you?” “Xo, meta; me work was light enough. 1e young woman began to feel very uneasy. She dreaded what might follow. But she facsd the situation bravely and asked: “Were you not treated right, then?” “Ob, yes, ma’am; I was treated all right, but you see, ma'am, they put me to work in an «l- cove neara sunny window, and the sun came in nearly all day, and I was afraid I'd get freckled, so I left.” “ee —_____ A WONDERFUL BABY. ‘He Was Just the Smartest and Cutest Little ‘Thing in Existence. From the Youth's Companion. One of the many thousands of wonderfal babies was Intely brought out for the inspection ofa friend of the family.’ “Really, Mr.Seacook,” sid the mother, “I suppose it’s perfectly natural for every mother to think that her baby is the smartest one in the world, but our baby just proves it.” “Indeed! What does he do?” “Everything, Mr. Seacook—everything.” “Does he “Why, he’s too young for that. The idea of Deby Mot, yet a year old walking! Bat Just 7 let me, hold him up in my arms and see perfec: executes lighland fling.” The baby Kicks out his lege Mr. Seasook o Prowes wonder and admiration and asks: “Can he say ‘mamma!’ »; but you ought to hear him imitate me! How does he do it?” puffs out his little cheeks and says: ‘Oo! 00 “Well, now, that is surprising. What other remarkable things can the baby do?” “Oh, Mr. Seacook, you should see him when I take him up in my'arms, so! He looks up in my face just as swectly and breathes!” gentleman agreed that at last the most wonderful baby in the world had been found. Bei 1 sta oceania ‘Thompeon's Foolish Colt, ‘From the Chicago Mail. Imet the oldest inhabitant the other day, and among other things the old gentleman told me that although people who aro “as foolish as Thompson's colt” can be found in all parts of the earth. Thompson's colt—the veritable foolish colt whose idiosyncrasies have become known the world over--belongs to linois. ” said he, “and lived at Canton, The | that te echt be that. It wo SrNESE | anid, whorens it thai | nce of ex-chancellors and any late or present The appointment of Sir James Hannen to be lord of appeals, says the London Saturday Rrvicw, completes the number of life peerages authorized by parliament. There are now four of these functionaries in actual harness and in the receipt of salaries. They are Lord Watson, Lord Macnaghten, Lord Morris and Lord Han- nen. Lord Blackburn, who has retired, is per- mitted by recent legislation to retain his peer- age and with it his eat in the house of lords. The history of the new tribunal thus grad ally formed is curious and interesting. No change has ever been effected in the position of the house of lords as the supreme court of ap- peal for the united kingdom since 1800. Lord Selborne attempted to abolish its judicial pow- ers in 1878. But he met with such strenuous resistance that he had to abandon the project, one of his most active Isaac Butt. Before recorded instance of a life mereton had recom Parke. one ited by the late Lord Derby, would not allow Lord Wensleydale to take his seat | until his patent had been made out in the ordi- wi ™'Tite appellate jariadiction act of 1876 author ized the creation by slow degrees and in care- | circumstances of four official ps pre- ‘Cbjected to 10 contrary to precedent, he were members of: the house ouly during their terms of office there waa the precedent of the bi Lord Redes- | dale’s scruples prevailed and it was only after | hie death that a lord of appeal became a life | Peer—at least a life-long member of the house | of lords, tis fifteen years since the appellate juris- diction act was |, and yet the full number Of these judges has only now been completed. —4 of parliament. Sir Barnes Peacock was the last survivor. fore 1876 the lord chancellor was the only bound by his office tosit and hear appeals. He had to depend upon the voluntary assist- fadge who happened to have been ennobled. 1 Eldon was content to affirm his own de- cisions in the presence of @ bishop and a lay Peer, who made the quorum. Lord Devon pro- voked much criticism by sitting with the law lords, although he’had only beon a master in ry. Yet to this day it is nominally the whole house which decides tended for that purpose and were with diffi- culty induced by Lord Brougham to retire. Since then the right has never been claimed, al an eccentric nobleman did attend in his place and intimate dissent from the judg- ment which declared the liability of all re holders in the Glasgow Bank to be unlimited. The forms of debate are still preserved. The lords rise to state their opinions, they address the honse, the chancellor pute the question from the woolsack, and in the event of an equal division the rule semper presunitar pro negante applies. wcoter te PO ‘From the Scientific American. announcement some time ago that the tomb of Alexander the Great had been dis- covered at Sidon created considerable interest and gave rise to much discussion. “I must confess,” says Dr. Waldstein, “that at the time so startling am announcement not only caused me to be skeptical of the whole re- port, but even prejudiced me against the works of ancient art that had then been discovered. | taining Well, they don't give you much room in ‘ere, I must say. Still, we done better than I ex pected, after ail that crushing. I thought my ribs was gone once, but it was on'y the um brelia’s. You pretty comfortable where you are, eb, father Father Oh. I'm right enough, Tam. Jimmy (their son, a small boy, with a piping voice)—If father is, it's more nor what I am. can't see, mother, I can’ His Mother—Lor’ bless the boy! there ain’ nothen to see yet, you'll see well enough when the curting goes up. (Curtain rises on open- ing scene.) Look, Jimmy, ain't hice, now? All them hi dancin’ round and reab fire comin’ out pot—which I ‘ope it's quite safe—and there's a beautiful fairy just come on, dressed so grand, Jimmy—I can't see no fairy—nor yet me (He whimpers.) joyed) —Was there ever sch Jimmy—I tell yer I can't see no hactin’, other. It ain't fault it’s this Indy im front o° me with the ‘a pnt the ‘at, can I i must pat. i Mother No but'l though mt changin laces with than him, and it wouldn't be so mucl Father—It's alwars the way with you —never satisfled, you ain't! Well I'm for a quiet i Will this do for you? (He settles down immediately behind a very and furry and feathery hat, which by for some time, with the result of ob an occasional glimy of « pair of le ay ley glimpse ! “ Father (suddenly) 1D — the ‘at! Mother—You can't wonder at the boy not ecting! P'raps the lady wouldn't mind taking it off, if you asked her. Fatber—Ah! (He touches The Owner of the Hat on the shoulder.) Excuse me, mum, bub might I take the liberty of usking you to kindly remove your ‘at? {fhe Owner of the Hat deigns no reply.) lather (more insistently) Would you ‘ave objection Dy taking off your I don'tknow if Le if yon wouldn’s you're taller your way ‘arf ind it ‘ere! “The jother — le didn't o: allowed in the roan wech ‘ate! (We tng no more nor a stuffed himage father (to the Husband of The Owner of the Hat)—Will you tell your good indy to take her ‘at off, sir; please The Owner of the Hat (to her hasband)— Don't you do nothing of the sort, Sem, or you will ‘ear of it! The Mother—Some people are perlite, I must say. Parties might bevave as ladies when, ¥ come into the pi @ pity ber usband can t teach ber better m: Not more nor it as to see what's going on on the stage with that at infront. I paid ‘arf-a-crown to see the pantermime, I aid, hot to ‘ave a view of your wife's ‘at! Ere, Maria, blowed if I can stand this ‘ere game any Since then I have becn at Constantinople, and longer. Jimmy must change places again, and if be ons see he must stand up on the seat, have been shown the photographs of the sar- | tha’ cophagi by Hamby Bey. As my own prejudices have been completely removed, and as I find that my colleagues here are as yet not free | gather from them, I think it is right to record my con- vietion that the discovery seems to me one of the most important made in the present gen- eration. Nay, I venture to believe that, except the Elgin marbles and the Hermes of Prax- iteles, no work of ancient Greek art has been Museum. But one of these stands apart for ite ee beauty. It a pediments contain- reliefs in which the tic additions os ponaechuay pommeel. aha ones one unique in character. In style they remind us of some of the friezés from the mausoleum of (Jimmy is transferred to his original place ‘and mounts upon the seat.) A Pittite behind Jimmy (touching up Jimmy's with an umbrella)-—Will you tell your tite bey to set down, please, and not block the oj ? Jimmy's Father If you can indooce that lady in front to take off hor ‘at 1 will—bat not be- fore. Stay where you are, Jimmy, my boy. ‘The Pittite behind—Well, I must #! self, then, that's all. (He rises.) People behind him (sternly )—Set down there, will your (He resumes bis seat, es- postulating. Jimmy—Father, the gentleman behind is @ pinching of my leg! Jimmy » Father — Will you stop pinching my little boy's legs! He ain't doing you no ‘arm— is Pinching Pittite—Let him sit down, Hallcarnassus, and ean hardly be later than the | then beginning of the third century before Christ. “The subject of the one pediment—a rep- resentation of a lion hunt—is quite clear inas- much asit contains an undou portrait of Alexander. Now, when we remember that, ac- cording to Pliny and Plutarch, the grou Delphi representing the famous lion hunt of Alexander is attributed to Lysippus and Leo- chares, it is highly probable that some relation subsists between this relief and the famous Neapolitan mosaic, and, if I remember rightly, a head on the right in this relief is replica of the head on the statue of Philip. The other pediment, also containing a portrait of Alexander, represents the execution of some warrior or prisoner. About this Ido not ven- ture to offer any int tion. “Hamby Bey does not assert thet this is actually the tomb of Alexander, but I feel. that he will be justified in pointing to the possibility of such being the case. My acquaintance with the works is merely based upon the photo- graphs which Hamby Bey was good enough to show me. The works themselves are in cases at Constantinople awaiting the completion of the museum which is being built to house them. We may also hope that before long his publica- tion of these works will make them Iv Known to the public. Meanwhile, I feel assured he has done all in his power to act in the interest of science and of his own country. It is right that we shor sympathize petsloti feeling in others ———_+ee An Excise Case. From the St. Paul Pioncer Press. The Rev. Samuel G. Smith of St Paul is noted not only for pulpit oratory, but for prac- tical works. He holds, it is said, that one atom of practical Christianity is worth a world of mere piety. He is ever ready to step out of the pulpit and takes band in the enforcement of the lows. He is himself keen in the use of ridi- mule and as keenly sensitive to its shafts when it is turned upon him. He is, ever on the alert to avoid being victimized in any way. concerning him is going Some time before W. P. Murray ceased to be ‘Smith city attorney Dr. happened in upon him Gs alternoct, leading © be? of twelve years by p of | & anys Father—Let the lady take her ‘at Murmurs behind—Order, there! Ret down! Put that boy down! Take ort that’ Bilence in front, there! Turn ‘em out! Shame! ac., e. The Husband of the O. of the H. (ina whisper to his Wife) —Tuke of the blessed ‘at, and have done with it, do The ( the H.—What—now? Id sooner die in the ‘at! (An Attendant is called.) ‘The Attendant—Order, there, gentlemen, ploase—unless you want to got turned out! No standing allowed on the seats you're disturb ing the performance ‘ere, you know ! ke to ; the hubbub graduaily and for the mo- er mind, my, boy, you shail have mother's seat in minute. | I desay, if all was known, the lady "as reasons for keep- ing her ‘at on, pore thing fhe Father—Ah, I never thought o' that. Se she may. Very likely her ‘at won't come off — not without her ‘air The Mother—Ab, well, we mustn't be ‘ard ow her, if that's so. The 0. of the H. (removing the obstrae- tion)—I ‘ope you're satisfied now. P'm sure? The Father (handsomely)—Better late nor never, mum, and we take it ki Though, why vou shouldn't ba’ 4 I dunno; for you look a deal ‘ansomer without “at ‘than what you did in it—don'tebe Marin? The O. of the H. (mollified)—Sam, ask the gen behind if his boy would like = gin- ger-nut. (This olive branch is accepted; compliments pass; cordiality is restored, and the pantomime Proceeds without further disturbance. ) about the city and you will be surprined at the trath of what I am telling you. Orper- will not be surprised now that put you on your guard, but you the number is exceedingly large. y that more than three-quar- ‘and women to be met ia the E i i i ‘ i H i i B : i 5 ? i i F i i ; gE if F i i | i 1 i te A!