Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune, June 8, 1873, Page 11

Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune dated June 8, 1873 Page 11
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COURIERS, Eevelations by an Italian Member of tbe Broth erhood. Extraordinary Charges -A gain a- Americans at Borne. The Courier in London. From Our Oxen Correspondent, . . London, May 17,1873. t A discussion has sprung up in the papers as M the merits of couriers,—some vowing they are all rogues together, and others that they prevent more roguery than they commit. Twen ty years ago, when traveling was costly, every family with means employed a courier, and not nnfrequently that personage became a confidant' and a friend. There are still three Couriers’ Qubs in London, to which intending travelers, including Americans, often address themselves. These are the Italian Club, Golden Square; the German Club, in Bury street; and the United Swiss Club, In Mount street. The couriers at tached to these clubs are men who have ac quired a large experience through many years’ traveling, and they are ready for any clime. English and Americans who travel in winter move towards Italy, Spain, and the East.. Borne is a cosmopolitan city until the end of Carnival, and tourists, after seeing Naples, return to the Holy City to witness the displays which are of fered to the world daring Easter-week. When the heat of summer begins, there is a movement toward Northern Italy; and later on the current turns to Switzerland, Prance, Austria, Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Holland, and even to tho heart of Bussia. These pilgrimages, now June' is so hoar, will soon commence, and it is a ques tion of moment as to whether the toil of these harried voyages is lessened or not by engaging couriers to precede you. Without, staying to solve the question, I want to put you'in posses sion of THE CRITICISMS OF A COURIER. I hare received a copy of the “ Memoirs of a Courier,” just published at Florence, and find in it such extraordinary allegations that I think it a pity to keep the sensation to myself. The eohrier, one Angelo Togna, mourns the happy times when grand seigneurs sowed gold with a splendid hand. The nabobs of to-day, he says, spend little ; “ quarrel for a farthing with the hotel-keeper; order breakfast or dinner for two; and sit down, four in number, to eat it; go to table d'hote by toms as a kind of honorable representation, while the others can be met with in third-class taverns, where they procure bread and victuals, which they afterwards hide in the drawers, to soil everything, and which they eat on the sly when they think that the host or visitors are looking another way.” Horror of honors in the courier's esteem, they buy their own wine, andfiecretlyintrodaceitintothehotels! j When they reach Borne, they get rid of their I courier, and place themselves in the hands of | resident fellow-countrymen or countrywomen. Our courier grows frantio at this point, and vents his fury upon the clergyman's wife and the doctor’s wife, whom he regards as the source of the mischief. He calls them “ intriguing fili busters,” and proceeds to sketch them in thiH fashion, —I may observe, parenthetically, that he assumes they are mostly Americans: “They— obtain credit,” he says, “from ihe trades-people, and do not pay them; make a dead set at their fellow-countrymen in order id swindle them in all possible ways; and when a rich fellow-countryman; aware, perhaps, of their true character, refuses to receive them, their fury is freely vented in slander. When they hear of the arrival of a rich compatriot in Borne, they do their best to be presented to bim. They are' always on his footsteps. They try to meet: him at the banker's, in the Piazza di Bpagna, and strut about his chambers as if they had come to draw millions, not having a son m their pockets., The medical man runs from house tohonse, and from hotel to. hotel.. He is the courier of the colony; and the clergyman and his wife act in a similar manner. Taking the title of savants, priests, sculptors, painters, or literary men or women, these fussy, busybodies introduce themselves into the hotels, and in trude on all the newly-arrived families, boasting of their own fame and renown.” ... AITEIHCAN SCULPTOBS IN BOMB, with some great exceptions, are declared to be humbugs. A visitor is ushered into their studio, in the centre of which is astool. This stool supports a * lump of clay with which to commence a model that £s certain never to be finished, because they do not khow how to do it. They are obliged to recur to an rhdkm artist, who works for them in the dark. : But the-chof d'oeuvre is sent to America as an American work, and as such is exempted from importation-du ties. “ The sole fact," he indignantly adds, “of the presence of an ' American sub ject, who walks up and down before bis model during two or three months, smoking Havana cigars, taking up now and then the chisel or hammer, or dirtying his fingers with clay, in order to look artistical, when ’ vis itors walk in, ought not to he sufficient to give | it an American origin, and the right to profit by I exemption from importation-duties.” 1 Americans arriving in Borne “know about as much about art,” says this rude courier, “as X do about missals. Ihey open their eyes as wide as they can, and take for granted whatever is re counted to them, so they are often led to be lieve that they have fallen in with a genius, an artist worthy of Riviere or Strnt, who are indeed worthy of great praise. If the foreigner is an amateur of paintings,' he hastens to view - the famous new picture —which ought to be the first aud last for the Benefit of art—of the celebrated painter. . What does ho find? Acronte of the worst descrip tion, scarcely worthy to serve as ensign to a tobacconist’s shop. Poor canvas, condemned to such, indignity! Poor,, ill-used pallet! Un happy brushes! What profanation I Neverthe less, do you know what happens? By.dint of exaggerated praise and incense, the visitor, is gradually Jed to believe that the Spanish yellow he sees in a comer of the canvas really represents a sky; he takes for trees a layer of spinach in the . back-ground, and for men certain horrible figures that would make the Creator blush for His handwork. De spite all this, the visitor is Induced to buy the master-piece, and pays a much higher price for ? v , 8 for L reaUy goodworks of ® nch celebrated artiata as ?• Einahart, W. Wood. su3.,—the beat artists of whom England and Imenca can boast,-to say that I in in the irnmg; and I feel convinced that, if Gibson— mother jnatly-ronowned artist—was still alive wvronld indorse my statements.” ’ Taking breath for a moment after this extraor- Xinary biow.Task the reader to accomoanv tho man to 3 LONDON, the dly from -which I write, to see if he can fell tu anything new about that. To me, a great deal that ha says is new. I rub my eyes. Thus I read that the sun is never seen, and yet it bean shining brightly all this week. I am told there are no birds, and yet last night, in a park at the back of my garden, twenty minutes' ride from the heart of the city, nightingales were Binging loudly, and the cuckoo was so near that ms note interrupted one’s conversation. But through the fog one is able—he allows—to got tome agreeable views,—as, for instance, one of A CBOWD OP THE LOVELIEST BEINGS.— for so ho speaks of women. The ladies of Lon don; he says,—regardless of census-discoveries, pare three rimes more numerous then the men. In the shops, it seems, women do all the buying 5~ selling. In theatres, the boxes, the pit, and are full of women. There are women' f? the omnibuses, on the steamboats which plow me -Thames L by hundreds, on the railways, in the museums, in the art-galleries, in the Crystal Jr~ ce > m.tho parks, in the public promenades: riare 8n ■ B “° °°k at women in car “Bgeß, who, in turn, contemplate women •‘“horseback; B0 many women; in fact, rj! •tB prompted to atk, Who takes ■ _ . children and attends to the ? But ho does not like the col- Kn li*H t 1 3168 nr o fond. How many grace- UtUe heads, worthy to be painted by a 3S nreWii i-i?7 s 5‘ 0 i would bo a thousand times irith ** their beautiful hair was adorned tartencSF ? rose, rather than with the hanging »t bo seen on man 7 Hdies’ heads ■ Garden or Drury Lane! But. Dier have a seeiods aspect. clifl l d ', Eug'mb girls have from SB According fo this observer, a serious, P®es with completely disa frinkusas sincerity and impulsive waaness o? that happy age. Old ladies, oh the I contrary, aa if they regretted ever having been yonng-in„tha true sense of - the-word, never will admit the change, and cannot submit with digni ty to grow old. Of THE DESH-MOKDE be aays but little, save that von meet them every where, dressed in Bilk, satin, velvet, lac© rib bons, rings and necklaces. Their heads are cov ered with an endless labyrinth of curls and plaits Cesii cCinvidia e spauracchi, as Giusti says in ms Scriita. Their cheeks are painted with all the colors of the rainbow, and bear all the now dera, cosmetics, and tints that Fashion has tom from Science. Their smiles are fro ward; the invitation they address to passers-by of the ut most impudence. Want and and hanger turn to vice for & morsel of bread, and follow yon with a painful and cynical obsti nacy. These unfortunates, encouraged by a general tolerance, invade every quarter of the town, and multiply. In England women must be free, but this principle gives rise to scenes which painfully strike the ©yes of a stranger. In London, tne second-class theatres, the most populous streets, and even the ball rooms frequented by honest and hard-working artisans, are invaded by these women. When evening comes, and whilst all the rest of the city remains silent and deserted, a sort of triumphal march begins in Leicester Square and its neigh borhood. You are accompanied in your walk by cards containing addresses, words whispered in your ears, kisses dying on fingers’ ends, tender glances, smiles, pulls at your sleeves, and pinches in your arm. The chase of sylphids of all nations, dressed in every-fashion, has begun. But the illusion quickly vanishes, and only leaves r feeling of disgust.” Here are A FEW DISCOVEHIES “ The men in London never turn round to stare at ladies, as they do in France and Italy. They would not go out of their way were it even to admire the Venus of Hilo. There is but one exception, and that is for ladles on horseback; but then they turn to admire the horse, not the lady. To say the truth [says this Italian] I prefer my countrymen’s ways to these, but would rather they were content to look at the ladies whom they meet in the streets, and would refrain from addressing them with rude and scurrilous words. This is perhaps the rea son why parents never allow their daughters to go out alone in Italy. The permission is scarcely given to married women, who have to struggle hard to obtain it. It is a system of reclusion which is rendered necessary by & general vice of education.” English magistrates wear wigs,—a statement which is amusingly wrong. Englishmen lack a true sense of art. Their monuments are built in pitiful style. Policemen are entirely dressed in black! They mount on stools at the doors of the theatres, and warn the people to beware of thieves. Fog reigns permanently, “owing partly to the Thames, and partly to the dampness of the soil.” The degree wnlch prudery has at tained is such that a lady never uses the word “shirt” when buying one of those useful articles of clothing in a shop, but explains the article she desires by roundabout phrases, which are readily understood by the intelligent tradesman. Not a flower girl is to bo seen in London (the most amazing assertion yet.) The great singers of Italy go to London when they have already lost their voice. The manager mounts operas ac cording to his fancy, in the most careless man ner. 'What singers I They are often antique remains, which remind those who hear them of archeological ruins. Some years ago, a false Tamberlik was enthusiastically applauded at Covent Garden, It was afterwards found that, at the same moment, the real Tamberlik was sippng in Hadrid, The houses are very badly ; built, and only stand by leaning one against another. The reason Englishmen are bad dancers is found in the fact that they cannot practice on account of the brittleness of their floors. On Sundays, by the bulks of the Thames, “ there is no sound of music, the only noise heard is the subdued mur mur of voices. Boats full of pleasure-takers go up and down the Thames. On our lakes the • sounds of instruments, choruses, and village songs are always heard. It is not the fault of Englishmen if the same thing does not happen in England, for they are passionate lovers of music and poetry; out the Protestant religion forbids all Sunday amusements, and orders it to bo given up to religions occupations, although it allows of a liberal nso of the bottle.” Such are some of the views of the metropolis as seen by the Courier. The fog—or something else—affected him, and he revenges himself. ACHEEN, SUMATRA. To the Editor of The Chicago Tribune ; Sib : Acheen Head haa for years been the point from which homeward-bound Indioznen take their last departure on the voyage from Calcutta to Europe, in the southwest monsoon, being the sonihennost point of land seen in the Indian Ocean, and being visible many miles in clear weather. In this capacity I had the honor first of making its acquaintance, but subse quently came to a more intimate personal knowl edge of the venerable landmark, and I am not I sorry to have escaped from its clutches with a whole skin and unbroken bones. I make no pretensions to graphic description or rounded periods; but, if you will listen to an old sailor’s simple yam, I will tell you the “ how ” of it in the blink of a Purser’s lanterg (though what that may be I don’t know, only it’s supposed to be nautical). Well, I was serving the old East India Com pany (and subsequently Her Majesty) in the branch of the marine service known as the Ben gal Marine, on board the light little gunboat Pluto. It was, if I remember rightly, in the fall of 1857 or the beginning of 1858, that the Pluto was ordered to convey a party to survey the Andaman Islands, and report on their adaptability for a penal settlement. We went, surveyed, and reported, among other things,' some 20,000 native Audamanese who badly wanted civilizing, especially if a penal settlement was to be established in their midst. It was known that the Malays of Sumatra had made slaves of the Andamanese for years, and it was thought that the King of Acheen could, if he would, find some one in his dominions who knew something of the language spoken by these miserable wretches, and who might be in duced to act as an interpreter in any overtures of peace to be made to them. Accordingly, the Viceroy of India indited a suitable letter for delivery to His Majesty of Acheen, and away we started oh our mission. I remember, it was a clear bright morning (no, I not in June, but in November) when wo sighted the Golden Mountain, then 60 miles distant by our reckoning, which fact alone will give you some idea of its height. Steering to leave it a little on our loft, we were brought up about noon by the bar at the entrance of the creek, or small river, that runs up to Acheen. Hero we had to anchor, as we did not know the depth of water over the bar, and the breakers did not look in viting. So we lowered our two cutters, heavily armed; filled them with men ditto ditto; took our revolvers, swords, Ac., and started to find a way. into the river. For, look you, we had learned to taka precautions during our previous cruise round the Andamans. They are *‘ aye un canny,” those Malay fellows, and to the fact of our being well armed alone can we ascribe our escape with unnerforated cuticles. Of course, if a .British sailor seta about doing a thing, he . generally does it (ahem!), and therefore you will not be surprised to learn that we found a way to enter the river, and en tered it accordingly, ' ■ j ,, I scenery of Sumatra is inuch the same as that of all the islands and mainland of the .East ern Archipelago and. Southern Burmah ; and; besides, 1 have no time to dwell upon it now. fancy a series of immense lar S° trees, and a few hills , ar ,°“ ld i with the .Golden Mountain vnn^rift,* 0 41,6 6la ?i l in the back-ground, and you will have someidea of the scene. Onlond by a deputation of “all and children,- inhun dreds, crowded down to see our fancy rigs, and indulge their curiosity generally,—the Soat vU lamous and bloodthirsty-looking scoundrels I oversaw, and that is saying somethingZovery man, youth, and boy armed to the teeth with thi deadly Malaydrreese, and all of them out and scarred as though they had frequent fights amongst each other which is no doubt the case W®?. we kept well together, and marched to the King e residence, (no great shakes of a place either), and demanded an audience of His lime Superlativenoss, in the name of our most Gracious, Ac., Ac., —an audience which was promptly, flatly, unequivocally,—nay, insulting ly.—refused. Of course, when the “many-headed” saw how things were looked upon at head quarters, they took the same view themselves, and gradually surrounded ns. ■ Our boats, with one or two keepers, were at the landing-place, and a long space intervened between us and them, which was filled with those tigers, who would have liked nothingbet ter than a scrimmage. There was nothing for it but to put a bold face on it; so we formed a close column, and, with watchful eyes, ready hands, and measured stop, marched to our boats, —the crowd yielding as we advanced, and,. though evidently reluctantly, letting us at length regain our natural element. Vrhy they did not attack ns, and what restrained them, this deponent knoweth not,—only they J • for which act of clemency I subscribe mysau their grateful debtor, inasmuch -as,-had they done so, they could have cut us off, root and branch, and this little sketch would never have been written. Gladly sailed away from those inhospitable shores, rejoiced that our.bones were not left to bleach on the coral-strand of Sumatra. I be lieve an expedition was subsequently sent there, which succeeded in at least obtaining an audi ence of the great potentate; but then bayonets and rifles are persuasive,—very. • I can fully ap preciate that our friends of Holland have put their foot in a hornet’s nest, and I wish them joy of it. , E. w; L. “DANBURyiSM." The “ Jfewi ” ITlan’s New Book* Boston {May 80) Correspondence of thejfew York Even* , ing Poet Among the notable books to be published in Boston daring the month of June is the funny book of “ The Danbury Jfews Man.” This book is made up largely of those droll paragraphs which appeared originally in the Danbury Jfeas, and, being copied far and wide by different news papers, gained for Mr. Bailey a national repu tation, the title of “The Punch of America,” the name of “ the moat popular humorist in the United States,” and so forth; but it con tains also many sketches that have never be fore been published. The humor of the book recalls Mrs. Partington and Artemas Ward. The homely topics are like those about which Shillaber made his funniest paragraphs, and the droll similes are like those of Ward.- The full title of the book is “Lifem Danbury: being a brief but comprehensive record of the doings . of a remarkable people, under more remark able circumstances, and chronicled in a most remarkable manner by the author,” “ and care- 1 fully compiled with a pair of eiglit-dollar shears.” By way of preface he tells “why I wrote a book.” This question, ho says, why be , wrote a book, has assailed hundreds before our day, will afflict hundreds in years to come. “And probably there id no 'form of in terrogation ” ho odds, “so loaded with subtile torture as this very one, unless it is to be asked for a light in a strange depot by a man you had just'seloctod out of 17,000 as the man to be the moat likely to give a match.” Various authors have various reasons for writing their books, he says, but whether the reasons they give the world are their true reasons it is not for him to judge. “It is a matter which lies between the author and his own conscience, and I know of no place whore it would be loss likely to be crowded.” But his reason for writing a book is so novel, so different from all others, that the public, he thinks, may bo pardoned for feeling an intense desire to know it. “ Some have written a book for money; I have not. Some for fame; I have not. Some for love ; I have not. Some for kindlings; I have not. I have not written a book for any of these reasons, or all of them combined. In fact, gentle borrower, I have not written a book at all—l have merely clipped it.” With this is the fo lowing SOMEWHAT UTTBODUCTOBY. This work is designed to wile away a stray hour which the borrower may have at odd The matter has been carefully selected with a view to suiting all classes and conditions. "Within Its cover the banker may find relief although it Is extremely doubtful • and is something for the fanner, the artisan, the tin, dertoker, the laborer in the mines, the porter, the merchant, the student, the man of leisure, the hack man, &c. The matter was written at odd times, al though generally right after pay-day, and is submit ted to the borrower with a great deal of timidity, bat with the earnest hope that it may be the humble means of making money. If in its perusal one single—or oven married—borrower is made purer or better, and his life made to appear brighter, and his soul lifted up generally, I shall since rely rejoice to hear it. Address me at Danbury, enclosing stamps. The book baa a portrait of Mr. Bailey, show ing him to be a healthful fellow, with a bright countenance and a mischievous look in the eyes, and its “motto” is this, from the Danbury \2feics: “It is just as impossible to get along I without advertising as it is for a cross-eyed tua» to borrow a gun.” Mr. Bailey’s reputation is no I streak of good luck. After the war, having a I little money, he cast about for a newspaper, and finally invested in Danbury, in its weekly news paper, after a trial as a daily newspaper, which was not altogether successful. He bought his newspaper and began his work, and he has succeeded in getting himself adver tised all over the country by your I great dallies, and in the . rural or provin cial press, through his own modest sheet.. He is now issuing a large number of papers weekly, and they are sold in all the large cities North and West.. He has had offers to go to New York, but he has declined them all, saying that “in New York they suck a full orange dry very soon, and then throw it away.” The book ought to have a good sale, because, if for no other reasons, it contains wit dnd humor without being low, and it attempts to be funny without misspelling words and burlesquing the English language. Its publishers are the new firm of Shepard & Gill. It will be out some time during the next week. Mr. Bailey is now in the Western States pursuing something about which he is to write a second book in the fall. Perhaps it is to be about the.Mormons, for Salt Lake City is to be his resting-place for a while. THE EXILE. Ye, young, gay, and happy, disporting around me, Ob I long may you flourish in mirth sod in glcu; Sweet homes, they await yon, and kind friends sur round you. And sorrow’s sad visage you yet have to see. Your bright, sunny smiles,. and your Jocund employ ment, Becall the past scenes of a far-distant clime.— Scenes rich with remembrance of childhood's enjoy ment. That shed a soft light down the vistas of time. My youth rose as bright as thoblush'of the morning,— like the bird on the mountain, as Joyous and free; But misfortune bos changed all to sorrow and mourn ing, And sent me to wander for over the sea. Tha rainbows of promise have vanished in darkness, And a long, starless night has enshrouded my sky; With fortune, the friend* of my youth have departed,— : Left me lone and to languish and die. - Young friends, while - you can, then, be gay and car^ scorning; • . Bask, bask, while it beams, in the sun’s early ray; For, with you ’tis the rose-tinted dawn of the morn ing,— With me ’tis the gray-abaded eve of the day. . - J.M. Voltaire’s Return to Paris. It *was Carnival time -when the aged Voltaire returned to Paris after bis long absence; and profane gamins, not knowing who he was, hooted at or choored him when he made his appearance, thinking, in consequence of the strange rgar | menta which he wore, that he was in masquerade for their amusement. And, indeed, they 'were not apparently without good grounds for form* ing such a supposition, for his outdoor dress was ayast pelisse, trimmed with fur, which com pletely enveloped his frail body. A huge Louis Quatorze wig of wool shaded his thin cheeks, and the wig was surmounted by a red cap trimmed wiin fur. In form and face he was as ho himself said, a mere skeleton ; but his eyes still gleamed with such marvelous brillian cy* that their magnetic power was felt by all upon whom they shone. He alighted, npon his arrival in Paris, at the hotel of the Marquise de Vilette, whose wife was Voltaire’s' adpptod daughter, and was surnaznodby him 4i Belle et Bonne.” Voltaire’s niece, Mme. Bonis, was with him. The day after his return to Paris, a pro digious concourse of all the first people of the Court and city called to do homage to and the Due d’Orleans (afterwards known as the Egalite) was prepared to receive him at the Palais Boyal with more than regal honors. Br. Benjamin Franklin, the American philosopher, who was in Paris, bronght his grandson to Vol taire, asking him to bless the lad.* Bat the excitement of the reception was too much for Voltaire. As a contemporary said, the new sort of life which the old man from Forney led at Paris, after a long and fatiguing journey in a cold season of the year; the continual efforts which he was obliged to make in receiving such' visitors as were admitted to' him, and, above all, in sustaining his high reputation for wit by brilliant sallies; the courtesy and kindness which he sought to show to everybody in pro portionate decree; lastly, bis temper, to whichl for a long while past, he had been accustomed to give free vent; but which at that time he was obliged to curb—all contributed to undermine . his. health, which was _ already ; grievously impaired. The French priesthood dreaded Voltaire’s presence in Paris; but, not-; withstanding the various ecclesiastical designs to check his popularity, it increased daily.- • The cry of “ Vivo Voltaire I” was constantly resound ing, and “There he is!” was shouted in the streets whenever, with his Louis Quatorze wig and scarlet cap on his head, and wrapped np m his fur pelisse, he entered his carriage, which was of sky-blue color, studded, with stars, and drove out. “lam stifled,” said he; but it is beneath rosea.” And the roses were sweet to him, for ho loved all this adulation, though the excitement of It was;killing' bmL Even to the last he was eager to add to his' fame, for night and day he wrote. —Recollections of .Society in- France and England, by Lady Clementina Davies, THE CHICAGO DAILY TRIBUNE; SUNDAY. JUNE 8, 1873, ' Framing I forget what Imaginary reason for inquiry, I entered and knocked at a door in scribed “ Consular hours from”—and then a smudge of paint ooUterating the rest and leaving the import in doubt. Not receiving any answer to my summons, I pushed open the door and entered. A man in his shirt-sleeves and slip pers was asleep on a very dirty sofa, and so soundly that my entrance did hot disturb him. A desk with some much-worn books and scattered papers, a massive leaden inkstand, and a large official seal, were in front of him; out a paper of Turkish. tobacco, and a glass of what smelt to he gin, were also present, and,from the flushed cheek and heavy breathing of the sleeper, appeared to have been amongst his latest occupations. It is not necessary I should record our conver sation. In. his iialfrwaking and not all sober state he bad- mistaken me for a British sailor who had been loft behind somewhere, and was importuning to be-sent on to England, but whose case evidently had inspired scant sym pathy, .. . - “I’ll not .do it!**.grumbled, out the Consul, with bis eyes more, than half closed. *• You were drunk, or a- deserter—l- don’t core which. My instructions are positive, and vou may go to the d forme; - . There now, that’s-your an swer, and you’ll not get any other if you stayed there till dusk,” , “ 1 suspect you mistake me, sir,” said I, mild ly. “lam a traveler, and an English gentle man.” - “I hate gentlemen, and Idon’t love travel ers,” said he, in the same drowsy voice as be fore. “Sorry for that, but must ask you all the same if my passport permits me to go into Italy ?” “Of conree it does. What sort of a traveler I are you that does not know that much, and that if you wanted a visa, it’s the Italian should give it, and there is no Italian or Frenchman here. Tnere’a no one here but aßussian Strantopsky, d his eyes—good morning ;” and be again turned his lace to the walL. I cannot Say what prompted me to continue our little promising conversation,*but there was something so strange in the man's manner at moments —something that seemed .to.indicate a very different condi tion from the present—that I determined at all linger.on. “I don't suppose the sight of a countryman can be a very common event in these regions,” said I, “and I might hope it was not an un pleasant one!” “Who told you that, my good fellow?” said he, with more animation than before. , “ Who said that it gave me any peculiar pleasure to see one of those people that remind me of other times and very different habits?” . “At all events. as an individual, cannot open these ungracious recollections, for I never saw you before,—l do not even now know your name.” “The P. O. list has the whole biography. * Thomas Gardner .Lydyard, : educated at Ail Bonis, Oxford, where he took first-class in classics and law; was appointed cornet In the Second, Life Guards, 6th 18 —; sent with Lord Raycroft’a. mission to Denmark to invest His Christian Majesty with the insignia the'Most'of Noble Order of the Garter. Contested Marcheston,—lß—, and was returned on a petition. I ,l’fi flnfoh what’s not in I the book—backed QueenMab at seven to two— got a regular cropper—had to bolt, and live three years In Sweden—took to corn-brandy and strbng cavendish, and ended as you see—Y* C.- at ’ Prevosa. Is not that a brilliant ending for- a. youth of promise ?. Do you remember m your experience, as a man of travel, that you can match it V* ' ■ By this time lie-had risen to the sitting posture, and with his hair rudely pushed back by his hands, and his face grown rod with passion, looked as fierce and passionate as * high excite-’ ment could make a man. • “ I've heard your name very often/' sudL calmly; - “ Close and St. John used to talk of you constantly;- and I,remember Morseby say ing .you were the best , rider of a fiat race i amongst the gentlemen of England.” * * . ' “ I was better, ten times better, across coun- i SOME ONE PAYS. OHAPTEB I. , ' “ Bbikbibi, ACgTIBt. ' “DeabHabbt: Onr plans are all formed. Wo start from this oji Tuesday fpr .Corfu, vhere we have secured a small cutter of some tbirty* tons r by which we mean to drop. down - the Albanian coast, making woodcocks our object on all the days pigs do not offer. Ware four—Gerard, Hope, LasceUes, and myself—of whomyou know all but Lasoelleß, but are sure to like .when you meet him. "Wo want you, and will take no re fusal. Hope declares on his honor that ho will neverpav you a hundred you lent Wm if you fail ns; and he will—which is more remarkable still—hook up the day you join ns. Seriously, however,.! entreat youlo be one of us. Take no trouble about guns, etc. We are amply provided. We only ask yourself. Tours ever, Geoegk Ogle, ..“If you cannot join at Corfu, wo shail ren dezvous at Prevesa, a little town" on the Turkish side, where yon can address ns, to the care of the Vico Consul lydyard.” This not© reached me one day in the late au tumn, while I wa a sojourning at the Lamm at Innsprock. It had followed me from Paris’ to Munich, to Baden, the Ammergan, and at last overtook mo at Innsprnck, borne four weeks after it had been written. If I was annoyed at the delay which lost me such a companionship

for three of the four wero. old friends, a glance at the postscript reconciled me at once to the disappointment; Prevesa, and the imm** Lyd yard, awoke very, sad 'memories; and I do not know what wonld have induced me to refresh them* by seeing either again.' It is not a story, nor is it a scene, that I am about to relate. It is one of those little in cidents which are ever occurring through life, and which servo to remind us now our moral health, like our physical, is the sport of acci dent; and that just as tne passing breeze may carry .-on its breast a pleurisy,; the chance meet ings in the world may be scarcely less fatal I I have been an idler and a wanderer for years. I I left the army after a short experience of mili tary life, imagining that I could not eodnre the restraints of discipline, and slowly discovered afterwards that there is no such slavery as an nntrammelbd .will, and that the most irksome bondage is nothing in comparison with the vacillations and uncertainties of a purposeless existence.- • I was left early in life my own master, with no relatives except distant ones, and with means, not exactly ample, bat quite sufficient for the ordinary needs of a gentleman. I was free to go anywhere or do anything, which, in my case at least, meant to be everlastingly projecting and abandoning—now determining on some pur suit that should give me an object or a goal in life, and now assuring myself that all such de terminations were slaveries, and that to con form to the usages by which men sought suc cess in public or professional life was an ignoble drudgery, and unworthy of him who could live without it. In this unsettled frame of mind I traveled about the world for years—at first over the cog nate parts of the Continent, with which 1 be came thoroughly familiar—knowing Borne, Paris, - Vienna, and Naples as I knew London. I then ran all oyer the States, crossing- the Bocky Mountains, and spending above a year on the Pacific'coast. I visited China and India. 1 came—l will not say home, for I have none—by Constantinople, and thence, to Belgrade, whore I made the ac quaintance of a Turkish Pacha, then Governor of Scutari in Albania, and returned along with him to his seat of government. A Vice-Governor of Prevesa induced me to go back with him to that unpromising spot, assuring me how easily 1 should always find means of reaching Corfu or Italy; and that, meanwhile, the quail-shooting, which was there beginning, would amply reward me for my stay. Prevesa was about as wretched a village as poverty, sloth, and Turkish indifference could ac complish. The inhabitants, who combined trade and fishing ostensibly, really lived hy smuggling, and only needed the opportunity to be brigands on shore. Their wretched il . bazaar ” dis played only the commonest wares of Manchester or Glasgow, with Belgian cutlery or cheap imi tation jewelry. But even these had no buyers; and the little stir and life of tho place was in the cafes, where the brawny natives, armed to the teeth, smoked and lounged the live-long day, and, to oil seeming, fulfilled no other duty in existence. I suspect I have an actual liking for dreary and tiresome places. I believe they somehow accommodate themselves to a something in my temperament which is not misanthropy nor men tal depression, nor yet romance, but is com pounded of all three. I feel, besides, that my imaginatipn soars the more freely the fewer the distractions that surround mo; bnt that I require just that small amount of stimulant human life and its daily cares suggest to prevent stagna tion. I was at least six days at Prevosa before I was aware that her Britannic Majostyhad a represen tative there. It was in a chance ramble down a little alley that led to the bay I came upon the British.arms over a lower doorway. It was a very poor-looking tumble-down house, with a very frail wooden balcony over the door, dis tinguished by a dag-staff, to be doubtless de corated on occasion by the proud flag of Eng land. ' I could get in ore out of my horse than any 8 teeple-chas e-riders; and, aa X seldom punished, the betting men neverknew when my home was distressed. Close'could have told you that. Did be ever tell you that I was the best micketer at Lord's ? ’What’s that ?” cned he, suddenly, as a mall door at the end of the room opened and closed again, almost in stantly. -Oh, it’s dinner !—I suppose if !■ had any shame I should say luncheon, for it’s only j 2 o’clock, not to say that the meal itself will have small pretensions to be called a-dinner. iWill you come and look at it?” ! There was nothing very hearty in the invita tion, as little was there any courtesy ? but the strange contrast of this man’s shabby exte rior, and the tone in which of a sudden he had burst out to speak, excited anintense curi osity in me to see more of him; and though I was not without some scruple as to my right to be there at all, I followed him as we walked into the inner room. A young girl, whose pale, careworn face and gentle look struck me more than the elegance of features X afterwards recognized, .courteaicd slightly as we entered. J, 44 A distressed B. 8., Marion,” said the Con sul, introducing me; “my daughter, sir—l’m not aware of your name.” u Lowther.” : u Lowther, then—Mr. Lowther, Mi«« Lyd yard; that’s the regular form, I believe. Sit flown, and let us have our soupaa he spoke he proceeded to ladle out a smoky :componnd. in which rice and fragments of lamb were freely mingled. 44 This is all you will get fer dinner. Mr. Low ther, and so secure what solids come. to your share; and hero is such wine as we’ drink here. It comes from Patras, and has its fine flavor of resin.” 'I ate and drank freely, and talked away about uie place and the people, and at last induced my host to speak of himself and his own habits. He fished and shot, he said, some years before, but he had given up both; he also had an Arab nag or two. hut he sold them—in fact, as time wore on, he had abandoned everything like pastime or amusement, and now droned away life in a semi-stupor, or between gin and sleep. * 4 Capital follows these Albanian brutes for letting a man have his way. No one oaVa how I you live, or with whom.' The hogs in a sty are -1 not less troubled with a public opinion. Except once that the Pacha sent me an offer for Marion, . X don’t know that I have ever had a State com munication since X took np my post.” The young girl’s face flushed crimson, but she never spoke, nor had I yet heard the sound of her voice. 44 My Bussian colleague,” continued he, with a savage laugh, 44 grow half terrified at the thought of my influence here if my daughter became a Sultana, and got some fellow to write a letter in a Paris paper to denounce the British intrigue, and declare that I had become a Mussul man: and the P. O. people wrote out to me to inquire If it were true; and I replied that, as I had not owned a hat for flve-and-thirty years, X wore a turban when X went out, bat as that was an event that didn’t happen above twice or thrice a year, they needn’t mind it, and that if her Majesty made a point of it, I’d not go out any more. 4 After that the official fellows, who seemed to have forgotten me before, never gave me any peace—asking for returns of this and reports of that How many piastres the Pacha gave his cook—how many kids went to a pilaff— how many wives to a small harem—what was the least a man conla live on in the English service—and whether keeping men poor ana on the prowl was not a sure measure to secure them of an inquir ing and inquisitive disposition. “I take it, they must have liked my dis patches, for not a month passed that they did not poke me np. At last there came a young fellow this way; ho was on a walk down to Thessaly, he said, to see Mount Olympus; he hurt his foot, and ho stayed here several weeks, and ho wrote them a dispatch in my name, ana said what a stunning fine thing it would be to make all the country and the Epirus Greek; and that we should checkmate the Busaians by erect ing a rival State and a heterodox Church, and I don’t know what else. He got np his Greek theology from Marion, here—her mother was from Attica—and he made believe that he knew all the dogmas.” I stole a look at Marion, but as quickly with drew it, for she was deadly pale, and looked as if about to faint. 44 Marion knows,” continued he, 44 all the fine reasons he gave for the policy, and how it was not to bo confounded with what the Greeks call the Grande Idee—no Byzantian renaissance hum bug at all, but some sort of protectorate State, with England, France, and Italy, I think, aa the protecting powers ; and, in fact, he got to bo so plausible, and quoted such marvelous names, that F. O. rose to the bait, and asked to have further further Information ; but, by that time, he had gone away, and we never saw more of him.” The young girl rocked to and fro In her chair, and fearing eho would fall off in a faint, I half arose to catch her, when a look so imploringly ead as to go to my heart arrested me, and I Bat still, and to avert attention from her. asked tho Consul some questions as to tho value of the project he had written about. “ I suppose it was about os wise as such things generally are,” continued he ; “ it may have had its little grain of sense somewhere, and all its disadvantages required time to develop. Ho was a shrewd sort of fellow that William Hope— that was his name '; he borrowed twenty pounds of me, and he sent it hack too. and a very pret ty writing-desk to Marion, and a box of books ; and he said he’d come hack some hue day and see us, but ho has apparently forgotten that, and it’s now two years and a half we have never heard of him. Is it hot, Marion ?” “ Two years and eight months,” said she, calmly; but her Ups trembled in spite of her. I was not sorry when our chiboncks were in troduced, and the young girl had a fair pretext to steal away; for I saw with what a struggle she was controlling her emotion, and what a re- Uef it would be to her to escape notice. Tho Consul was so pleased to have an opportu nity to relieve his mind that ho talked away for hours, and of his most intimate concerns. In inveighing against the hard lot that sentenced his wearing out of his last years of life in snoh a place, he told me his whole history. There was but one point of any doubt; whether Marion’s mother had been a wedded wife or not X could not discover. She was dead some years, and ho spoke of her with more feeling than ho seemed well capable of showing. She had died of that peculiar form of disease which is found in the low lying lands of Greece, and the seeds of the disorder he had already detected in Morion. “ There is a little short cough, with out effort, but when I hear it it goes to my heart,” said he, “for X know weU that there lurks an enemy : nothing- can dislodge. Yon hear it now, listen 1 ” sried he, and beheld up his hands to impose silence, but I heard nothing. . I sat on till evening, chatting,' as smokers will do, in that broken and unconnected fashion that admits of anything being taken up, andaa Ught ly abandoned. 1 There was not'a little to interest in's man whose mere incongruity with his sta tion imparted a strange turn to aU his’opin ions and judgments, ’ and who even in his banishment tried to follow the events of a world he was never destined to share in. For many a year he had thought of nothing but bow to escape from this dreary spot—to ex change with any one and for anything; but now with something like a dread of civilization he hugged himself in the thought of his exile, where he could be as barbarous, as neglectful, and as degenerate as he pleased. Of this same savagery one trait will suffice to Indicate the extent, ;■ Prevesa was formerly a yacht station where men frequently came in the woodcock season or for the qnaUs; but a terri ble brigand outrage, in which two Germans and an English naval officer were killed, put an end to aU such visits. Lydyard declared that he never regretted an incident that freed him from aU intrusion of strangers, and averred that he at least owed a debt of gratitude to the Klephts. When I wished him good night he was far too deep in the gin-flask to make his words im pressive; but as he told me to come up-often and sit with him, I determined to accept his in vitation so long as I lingered in the neighbor hood. CHAPTER H. I stayed on five woeka at Prevesa, for though I gave my evenings to the Consul, I passed ev ery morning with Marion. X never saw the girl whose society had the same charm for me. Heaven knows there . could scarcely have been so dreary a spot, nor one where life hod fewer pleasures; but there seemed a. capacity for enjoyment in her mind, which, whether for sun or sky .or shore, for breezy mountain or dork nestling wood, could extract its own delight and be happy. I had seen enough oven on the first day I met her to be aware that Hope had not made a merely ’ passing impression upon her heart, and I was cautious to avoid all that might revive the mem ory of his name. This reserve on my part seemed actually at length too much for her patience, for in one of our long walks she sud denly aakod mo U I Had never known him. * “ No,” replied I, ‘'never; and I have been guardedly careful not to ask you about one of whose intimacy with yon I feel jealous.” ' “How do you mean jealous ?” asked she, turn ing bn me those large full eyes that reminded of the Homeric simile, the “ ox-ejed.” “Perhaps my word was Hi-chosen," said I, in some confusion; “but. what I tried to convey was the discomfiture I felt on thinking that there had been one who walked with you where wo are walling, and whose words, it might be mtereated yoa ae ranch, or more than-mS* *- -- ‘-^Sfe^le^’i^voice m ° ! ” f“ . I canght myself at once, and, shocked at the ungenerous oaring, turned it off hr saying, “I should like to hear more or mm; tell me what you know of his history or belongings.” • * . *‘l know nothing, except that he was poor as ourselves: that whatever bo should become in nfe must bo his own achievement: that be was friendless and alone.” • “He was agentloman ?” said I, inquiring. * Was he not a gentleman! Was not every word, every opinion he < uttered, the sonl of honor and high feeling! When he spoke of what he read, he know how to praise all that was noble, and truthful, and worthy, and to demy whatever was ignoble or mean. When he. helped a beggar on the road, he gave Jus alma like one whose, happier fortune it was to aid a brother,: and who might himself accept assistance' to-morrow. And so through all he did, the world seemed like some no™ 7 meadow » where, if wo would," we might stroll or stretch at ease, each happy with each.” “ Was ho ambitious ?” ’ “If you meauof honor, fame,.and good re pute,-.yes, as X never heard of: anyone-; but of. that success that includes wealth and state, lux-: urious living, and. the rest of it, ho could not have been, for he has said over and over at our homely board, ‘ This is indeed what delights me! It is here X begin to feel how unworthy are the vulgar slaveries rich men submit to.* ” “He had, then, some experience of the life he censured?” “I don’t know that he had, except from hear say ; but he had read,. and conversed, almost as ho had read.” “ Had he served as a soldier ?” “ No, ho could not bear any settled career ; he called it. a bondage, and that oilmen who followed any distinct calling lost their identity in the craft; he would laughingly say, * They become smaller than womens ” . “He loved you very much; Marion, and”— “ Why has he not returned ?” said she, as her eyes flashed fiercely. “ Say out' your words, or if you. have no courage for them, lei me say them. It was this you would have asked.”. * * I had not any right.” “Of course you had not, but I will give the right, that I may shame the questioner. If he has not come back, will you be prepared to say he may not come to-morrow ? thin very night ? At first in every footfall on the road, in every voice I heard—l have grown wiser now, and I can wait.” “Such trustfulness honors your,” said I. thoughtfully. “It is no more than what I owe him. There, look there!” said she;’“there is a Levanter coming in now, and but a moment back that sea was like a mirror! Is not life just such another ocean, and can he who plans a voyage be more certain of his weather ? How can I know what difficulties he is now combating, what barriers oppose him?” “I should be glad to feel that some one would, one day, trust me in that fashion.” “ So she will, if you inspire her with the same love. A woman’s heart can be as good or as bad as you like to make it; she has but the keeping of it—the culture is another’s.” This was the tone of many a conversation we had together, through all of which I could gather how a girl of strong will and an untried nature had been gradually moulded to opinions so new and strange to her by one whose temperament and character were stronger than her own. That she loved him with her whole heart that she felt toward him .that almost worship with which a fervid imagination will inspire its object of devotion—was clear enough. But I own that my greater anxiety was to learn, if I could, who was this man, what was he, and how came he here. It was not difficult to believe that even a man of culture and refinement might have fallen in love with this girl. She was, with certain traits of delicate health and pallor, of great beauty; her large lustrous eyes, more expressive from the dark color of tho orbits round them, could change from a melting softness to a glance of wild defiance ; and her mouth, of which the teeth in clined slightly Inwards, had a character of win ning sweetness there was no resisting. Her fig ure might be called faultless; all I had ever seen of statuesque in symmetry was realized in that lithe and graceful form, which, even under the coarse drapery she wore, betrayed in every pose and movement the perfection of form. And just as the conscious grace of the beautiful woman blended with the bounding elasticity of the happy girl, so in temperament she united all the thoughtful moods of a reflective mind with tho fresh wild impulses of the child. “I know,” said she to mi© one day, “I see it* you are puzzled about William Hope.” 1 “ I own it,” said X, half sorrowfully. “And you cannot imagine how this man of re finement—this creature of gifts and graces, tfrfa eminent gentleman , for I know your comprehen sive phrase—could have loved such as me.” “Far from it, Marion; my wonder is how ho could tear himself away from you, even fop a season.” t - “ That was duty,” “But what kind of duty? He had no ties— no cares of any calling; you say he had no rela* tives to dictate to him; how could he explain a necessity whore there was no pressure ?” “Whathe said was enough forme. ’And,” added she, after a pause,’" “it would have been a bolder than either you or me would have dared to question him.” This chance speech explained in fall the as cendancy that his powerful nature had gained over her, and how it was easier to hey to believe than to distrust him, “ Does he write to you ?’.* “No.” “ Nor you to him ?” “ No: he did not ask it !*’ . “ And still you know ho will come bock ?” “I know it;” and she nodded twice, with a little smile that seemed to say how assured she felt in tho avowal. If there seems scant delicacy in the way X dared to question her, let me hasten to say that our intimacy warranted the freedom, which her manner besides invited; for I have not given here tho details of those conversations that oc curred between us, nor told how wo wore led on from word to word to closest confessions. Strange girl in every way ! she would suffer me to walk with, my arm around her waist, and yet would fire indignantly if I dared to call her “ Marion mou,” as in Greek phrase Hope nad called her. Anything more hopeless than the attempt to gain her affections I could not imagine ; but the conviction, strong os it was. did not save me from feeling desperately in love with her. In honest fact, the glimpses 1 had caught of her j nature, when revealing .to me her love for ah- I other, nad completely enraptured me; her warm fidelity, her unswerving faith, and her sustaining pride m the man she loved, needed less loveli ness than hors to make her a prize to be striven I for. . And so it was, I did love her, dreamed of her by night, and canvassed in my mind by day what way to win her. There was not living a man who had less count to render to ms fel lows than myself; I was actually with out kith or kin or belongings ,of any Mud. That I shonldd marry, a girl in the hum blest condition was purely my own affair. There was not one to. question me; bat; above all this and beyond it, I owned the one great difficulty, how should I gain her love ? The very mode in which my intimacy with her bad been effected, would make it a sort of treason were I to try to win her affections; and I could fancy that scornful banter in which , she would meet my addresses, and ask me what sort of memory was mine ? I could picture her raillery too on the nature that could deliberately raise its hopes on the foundation of affection laid by another, and make what, to an honest mind, would be jeal ousy, minister to his own passion. It was all true, and except some advantages of a purely worldly kind, and for which I' knew she would nave little value, I had nothing in my favor. The only question then that remained was, should I better break the spell that was on me by incurring a distinct refusal, or should I fly at once, and leave the place forever ? . The latter seemed the wiser resolve, mid I came to it as 1 slowly walked homeward to my inn at night. Instead of going to bed I sent for the landlord, and engaged with him to furnish me horses . and: a .guide ■to anywhere on the coast by which I might take shipping for Italy or the shores of the Adriatic. There was a return caravan with a strong armed party bound for Salonioa to start at midnight. I made my. bargain, and within two hours after was on the road. I have little more to add. We were nearly three weeks on the way, and I was thoroughly exhausted, weather-worn, and very ragged,when I entered at nightfall that dirty seaport winch I am now told is to become the greatest commer cial mart of the Levant, .. One of the first sights that struck, me" as I came in was , a party of yacht sailors with the . word “ Mansion ” on their glazed habits. The Mansion was the creek yacht of Cowes— the fastest cutter, it was supposed, ever, built, and lately bought by the Duke of E——, whom ; I had known Intimately at All Souls., Having , learned that he was bound for the Pineos, I sent off a few lines, asking, if not utterly in- : convenient, that be wonld give me a passage to Greece. , - - A letter from the Duke, with a most cordial invitation, answered me within an honr. He waaon Bib wedding-tour, and had a small party of mends, but ample room, and a hearty wel come for me. a ~ r If I were painting a picture de genre. I might linger to sketch some of the scenes, and one or two of the characters of that yacht party; hnt ttnnghthare was a very pretty ana attractive Dnde, and morathan one bndesmaid of striking neauty, and eome half-dozen very assiduous yomnig men of great fascination and faultless costume, X was too much under the shadow of mnwSt a S : ?^ tnroto em6r s 9 mto the broad f n SX t .°. ft h®t r B»7 converae. • What is the matter with you?" saidß **l™ walked the deck alone; X never saw you before in such low spirits.’* Xmada some pretext- of health, and changed the theme, when he asked me where I had heln, and how I had come to tnat little-visited spot-1 ■ “As for that,” I said, “I have been sojourn ing m scores of places not compare with it piacea yon never bo much as heard of Yanina.’ Aria, Corstatacu, and Prevosa.” “ Preyesa! the little bay opposite Corfu ? 11 : “ Yes; how do you know it i ” , “ Because I passed three months there. It was in that little dreary fishing village where I lived on sardines and boiled rice. I wrote a marvelous state paper, that the fellows at F. O. used to say made it a crying shame for me to leave diplomacy. I was then attached to my undo s embassy at Constantinople.” “ What year was that ?” ‘‘ln 18—. I seldom can recall a date, but I have a duo to this one.” Ho paused for some seconds and added: “There was a good-looking prl there that I ■spooned’ and got ver? oud. of r too. That a the confounded part of those barbarous places. It ia not only tha omona and the black bread you get used to, but you conform to the women too, and if you re mam over long yon end by marrying one of them. Shake your head, old fellow, hnt it might Happen all the same.” He paused for a moment or two. gave a faint sigh, and then, with a sort of shake, like one throwing off a load, said “ Come down below and lot’s have a glass oi brandy-and-wster.”— Blackwoods Magazine HUMOR. The notes of a gas company are usually all set to the eame-metre. —A good sermon ia like a kiss—it requires but two heads and an application. —One of the best directions to follow for suc cess in society ia this: “Talk to the young ladies, and listen when theoidonestalkto you ” —A young husband calls his wife “Birdie ” because, he says, she ia always associated in hk mind with a bill. —A schoolmaster, on being asked what wan meant by the word “fortification,” answered “ Two twenhfloations make a fortification.” * —Sinks tumbled down-stairs the other day and that wretch Bevins said that it was a bettor .of the descent of man than any Darwin —“ Im not gettiog married as much as 1 was ” la the latest way of saying “No” to an impas sioned suitor. - —What is the difference between a tenant and the son of a widow ? The one has to pay rants, the other has not two parents. v 3 —The latest instance afforded by a “fond mother” of her son’s cleverness is said son's eor recting her for saying he was all over dirt. He said the dirt if as all over Mm —lt is a remarkable fact that, although com mon aheap delight in verdant fields, religions flocks are not aniious for green pastors. Spicer thinks a light-house would be tha heal place to store cheese in, because it is a wamins - to skippers. 8 —To make a good soup—About 60 cents a night malms a good snpa at most of the theatres —A .Pittsburgh Coroner makes no charge where he site on a young man who parted Ms hair in the middle. Ho oays that hia personal satisfaction Is enough, without the foe. —Potatoes are to be raised at the frontier army posts, to give a-meller-ration to'the sol diers’ fare. —Fishes’eyes have bean found to make a fine quality of gluten. This ia what enables them to fasten their gaze upon an object. There ia a young lady in Yorkshire, named Price, who la 6 feet 5 inches high. People say there are some women above price. We don’s believe it. —A spiritual joke has been made. It ia that Poo’s bird must have had an attack of the de lirium tremens, because it was ravin on a bust. —Au qp-town young lady, speaking of one of her aversions, said the severest thing on record - “ He’s almost a perfect brute—ho only lacks in stinct.” —Mrs. James Boggs, of Washington, Ind., has a young eon who measures 6 feet 7 inches eqe way and 16 years the other. The glory of that woman ia in her heir. —A grocer asked an artist: “Is sculpture difficult ?” The artist replied: “ Why bless you, no. . You have only to take a block of mar ble and a chisel, and knock off all tha marble you don’t want,” —To drive away Ants—lf they are married annts, borrow some money from their husbands. If they are single, let ’em take care of the baby for the afternoon, while your wife goes to a mat. inee, —A friend of ours ia in a dilemma • he earn hia fiance objects to hia being “ loose,” and yet threatens to discard him if she ever sees him “tight.” ---Edmund. Hunger, in speaking of the tima w “ on h® was a boy, says it was the custom of school children as you passed a school-house to make a bow, but in these latter days, as yon pass a school-house,' you must-keep your eye peeled will ‘get a brickbat at the side of you? SExr-SACBrncE—Boy (to lady viaitorV— “Teacher, there’s a pi over there a winkin’ at me!’.’: Teacher—“ Well, then,- don’t look at her!” Boy—“ But if I don’t look at her she’ll wink at somebody else!” —A saucy young widow out West said to a clerical friend who asked. her, condolingly, how long her “lamented" had been dead, “lamia the honeymoon widowhood.” That widow will be boasting some day about celebrating a golden funeral.. —A metropolitan seeker after a rural retreat for his family for .the- summer, advertises for a place “ where there are no good-looking girls for twenty miles, an account of subscriber’s oldest son.” —The ladies of the harem of the King of Siam have put olf the Siamese harem costume, and donned the European harem-scarem costume, consisting of chignons, high-heeled gaiters, and back files of newspapers. —The Macon Telegraph gives this “ awning post conversation“ Well. Jim, the world owes me a living, anyhow." To which Jim re plied,.“ Well, George, perhaps it does ; but I’ll bed,—d if you ain’t too lazy to collect it!” —A French author, who is engaged in getting up a book on Americana, has been boring Jones, to death for information. The other day ho asked J., “Yat vaz ze difference between zo Yankee vimmen and zo Southern vimmen ?” “I’ll tell you,” snorted Jones,, “if yon won't bother me again. A Yankee woman loves he? * husband, children, and minister about the some, and Uvea on codfish and pumpkin pie. A South ern woman has feet to smaU to walk on, and wears shoes too small for her feet.’’— Washing ton Capital. —On Sunday afternoon a very good-looking young lady entered a very crowded horse-car; in Troy, H. Y., and looked in vain for some gal lant young man to offer her a seat One very portly gentleman, with nothing but his knees visible when be sits down, called out to .her,- “Here, my girl, sit down on my lap.” , With a look of disgust aho glanced at his. knees, and replied, “ I can’t air; you haven’t got a lap.” The laugh was on the portly gentleman, who decided to keep etill in future. • - —An Old gentleman went one day with his gun to shoot partridges, accompanied by his son. Before they approached the ground where they expected to find the birds, the gun was charged with a severe load; -and whan at last the old gentleman discovered one of the birds, he took a rest and blazed away, expecting to aee tbs game fall of course ; but not so did it happen, for the gun kicked with so much force as to knock him over. The old. man got op, and, while robbing the sparks out of his eyes, inquired of his son, “ Alphy, did I point the right end ot the gun at the birds ?” —A .revengeful traveler od a certain railroad in this State packed a carpet-bag full of loaded revolvers, and banded it to a gentlemanly bag gage-emaaher who bad ruined three or four tranks for him already. The smasher dong the bag up against the wall savagely, and then threw it on the floor and stamped on it and 1 jumped up and down on it, as usual. At about the fourth jump firing began along the whole hne. Porty-erx revolvers went oft in rapid sue ccssion, distributing bullets around the air with disgusttagcarelesaness of the legs of the smash °r ’ ,7 ho , was , in six places before ha cotUd get out of the car. tHe rode upon the p during the whole of that tripTand when ha did enter the car ha incased hialegsin ironclad snow-plow £ *® posh the baggage out with. He fewer carpet-bags now than he.onoe did in'the blissful, past—much fewer ' S^^ > . lß *h U f < i With ' S} 00 ™'' 1116 only boon hi , craves is that he may be present when the car-- pet-bag-owner calls with his check. Bo soya there wifi, then bo a conflict which will make She .w ***** *#***«: 11

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