mm.
BEARDSLY HALL.
Br M. A. POTTER.
There was a great stir in the little vil
lage of Glenwobd, when it became gen
erally known among the inhabitants that
Beardsly Hall, which had been cloed
three years, sine- the death of Judge
Beardsly, its former proprietor, and had
been purchased by a wealthy gentleman
who expected to make it his residence.
. Many were the conjectures as to who
and what the new proprietor was, but
nothing definite conld be ascertained ex
cept that his name was Horton, and that
he had recently returned from Europe.
"The business concerning the purchase
had been transacted by an agent who
paid the price demanded, without asking
a reduction, which fact seemed to nidi
catethatMr. Horton was a man of wealth.
-beardsly Hall was situated iust out
side the village. The handsome house,
substantial and roomy, stood in the cen
ter of an enclosure containing several
acres of land which was laid out with
nicely graveled walks winding in and out
among the trees, m different directions
from the house. The place wa beauti
ful, and during Judge Beardsly's life had
been well cared for, the flower garden
and shrubbery having been his especial
pride and delight.
"A mighty extravagant set those Hor
tons must be!" said Mrs. Jenks whose
house, though in the village, was nearly
opposite Beardsly Hull. Such improve
ments as they are putting on that house.
Why! I do believe it would cost them
less to pull it down and build a new
one!" and she talked an hour to her
neighbor, Mrs. Allen, scarcely pausing
for breath, her one theme being
"Beardsly Hall."
And she was not the only one that
talked and thought of Beardsly Hall.
The more refined people, in their exclu
sive sets, were hoping that the Hortons
would prove to be pleasant companion
ionablo people, and that Beardsly Hall
would be again open to them as in days
past; while others looked on with jealous
eyes, , and hearts so filled with envy that
nothing could induce them to say one
good word for the Hortons of Beardsly
Hall.
Every article of furniture that was car
ried into the house was thoroughly scan
ned by Mrs. Jenks and her daughter
Jane, and reports of the number of arti
cles, size and probable cost were duly
circulated in the village.
It was a clear, bright, moonlight even
ing when at last there was an arrival at
Beardsly Hall. Why did the family come
in a carriage late in the evening instead
of broad daylight by the train? was a
question that perplexed Mrs. Jenks and
her friends as they stood watching the
carriage, trying to gain sight of its occu
pants. "That's a spruce young sprig!" ex
claimed Mrs. Jenks, as a young man
sprang from the carriage and proceeded
to assist the others to alight.
"Who is that? I never heard that an
old man was coming," said Jane appar
ently chagrined that anybody could come
without her knowledge.
"There's a widow, as sure as I am
alive!" said Mrs. Jenks as a young lady
dressed in deep mourning alighted from
the carriage. "Just look at that vail!
No one but a widow would wear such
mourning. Ah, there's another lady! I
wonder who she is?"
Thus Mrs. Jenks and her friends talked
and gossiped, while the newly arrived
neighbors across the waj, unconscious of
having attracted any particular attention,
entered the house and closed the door
behind them.
A week later Mrs. Jenks called again
on her neighbor, Mrs. Allen.
"Have you got acquainted with your
new neighbors yet?" inquired Mrs.
Jenks pointing to Beardsly Hall.
"I have seen them a few times," re
plied Mrs. Allen.
"There are awful, stranga doings, go
ing on at that house!" said Mrs. Jenks.
"Indeed!" remarked Mrs. Allen,
scarcely listening to the talkative neigh
bor. "Well, I saw a sight the other even
ing which really mado mo feel like
running away and getting out of the
neighborhood," continued Mrs. Jenks.
"What was it?" asked Mrs. Allen
while a smile played about her mouth.
"Why, you have no idea what is go
ing on there. You can't see from your
window as I can from mine."
"Well, what did you seo?" and this
time Mrs. Allen fairly laughed.
"Oh, you need not laugh; it was noth
ing to laugh at!"
"But what was it?"
"Well, you see, a carriage stopped at
the door, and a youngish man jumped
out, and that little widow with all her
mourning on the deceitful hussy ran
down the steps like a young girl, and let
him clasp her right in his arms! I say
such sights are disgraceful, and I'd like
to move out of the neighborhood."
"Is it not fortunate, Mrs. Jenks, that
we have only our own sins to answer
for?" said Mrs. Allen, seriously. "I do
not feel that wo are at all responsible for
other people s actions.
"Oh, you dont? A pretty Etate of so
ciety we would have if every one was
like you!" and with this remark Mrs.
Jenks departed.
Mrs. Jenks' reports had an effect in the
village, for they went from mouth to
mouth till the true source of the stories
were forgotten, nnd the people uncon
sciously became prejudiced.
Meanwhile the family at Beardsly Hall
seemed to be totally indifferent to the
people of the village and perfectly cap
able of enjoying themselves without
other society. The young people played
croquet with the old gentleman on the
lawn; the young lady in black walked or
rode, first with one young man and then
with the other; and the young lady
seemed to enjoy herself equally well,
though perhaps, m a more quiet man
ner. Soon after their arrival it had been
reported that the old gentleman was pro
prietor of the place, and that he had a
son and daughter; put wmcn young man
was son and which young lady was
daughter?
Two weeks had passed since tho ar
rival of tho strangors, when the news
came etraierht from tho minister s wife,
that there was to be a wedding in the
little church the following week, and
that the bride-groom was the son of Mr.
Horton, of Beardsly Hall. Shortly after
this announcement, numerous guests,
young and old, began to arrive at the
spacious mansion; rides, drives, picnics
and nutting-parties were the order of the
day; and music, reaping and dancing,
the programme of the evening.
As the day appointed for the wedding
approached, curiosity reached its height
when it became known that a florist, to
decorate the house and church, and a ca
terer, to provide and arrange the supper,
had arrived from tho city.
The village children after school hung
around the door of the church, now and
then getting a peep at the inside, or an
opportunity to enter, after which they
would run homo to tell their mothers of
the wonders they had seen.
Mrs. Jenks and Jane kept closely at
home, and one or the other was con
stantly stationed at the window, from
which there was a good view of Beardsly
Hall. Mrs. Jenks was worried and
jealous, too, for she had seen her
neighbor, Mrs. Allen, go into and out of
the house several times, as though she
was on intimate terms with its inmates.
The wedding evening came at last, at
the close of a beautiful autumn day,
with scarcely a$loud to dim the bright
ness of the moon that shed its light and
cheery influence on all nature. On the
morning train a plentiful supply of
flowers and eatables had arrived; and the
evening train brought many more guests
to attend the marriage festival.
The church was opened at 8 o clock,
and soon after was completely packed
witu peopie eager 10 witness me cere-
emony. The lloral decorations were el
egant, and elicited many exclamations
of surprise and delight from the ad
miring crowd.
The town clock had just sounded its
ast stroko of 9 when tho carriages ar
rived at the church door; tho minister
appeared at the altar; and the people
turned to see the bridal party enter the
church.
Four little girls dressed in white
tarlatan, nearly covered with flowers,
ed the way up each aisle. Those m
the right aisle were followed by the
young man, first mentioned, and Mrs.
Allen; after whom came other gentle
men with ladies.
The four little girls in the left aisle
were followed by the young man who
had so exasperated Mrs. Jenks by
clasping the "widow" in his arms
with the young lady heretofore sup
posed to be Mr. Horton's daughter, el
egantly drossed in satin and lace,
clinging to his arm. Next in ordtr
came Mr. Horton and the "widow,"
who for the time had laid aside her
mourning, and was dressed in pure
white, wearing white flowers in her
hair. These wore followed by other
gentlemen and ladies.
Mrs. Jenks half arose from her seat as
the marriage ceremony commenced, and
was nearly overcome with astonishment
when she saw Mr. Horton's son married
to tho lady she had all the time imagined
to be Mr. Horton's daughter; and when
the young man stepped forward and
gave the bride away, she was so
bewildered that she sank on the seat
utterly powerless to imagine anything
further.
Tho ceremony went on, however, with
out interruption, and at its close the
happy couple, with their numerous
friends, left the church and returned to
Beardsly Hall.
The state of Mrs. Jenks' mind as she
sat at her window, gazing at the merry
throng that were passing in and out of
the elegant mansion opposite, until a
late hour of the night, can be better im
agined than described. Tho next morn
ing she decided to visit Mrs. Allen and
demand an explanation.
Mrs. Allen received her neighbor
kindly, and good-naturedly gave her the
desired information.
"Mr. Horton is my brother;" said
Mrs. Allen, "the lady you supposed to
be a widow is his daughter; she dresses
in mourning for her mother; the young
man who clasped the 'widow' in his
arms" and hero Mrs. Allen's eyes
sparkled with merriment "is her hus
band, and is also brother to tho bride;"
and still further Mrs. Allen volunteered
the information that the bride and groom
were to start immediately for a year's
tour in Europe, and that Mr. Horton's
daughter and her husband were to re
main with Mr. Horton, and at his death
would become owners of the property.
Mrs. Jenks departed a wiser and better
woman, and in time, as she and others
became acauainted with Mr. Horton's
family and witnessed the many acts of
courtesy and kindness bestowed by them
upon the people of the pillage, the old
spirit of envy and jealousy was changed
to one of love and respect for the inmates
of Beardsly Hall.
Young men should never loso presence
of mind in a trying situation. When
you take the girl you love to a picnic,
and you wander away together to com
mune with nature, and she suddenly ex
claims: "Oh, George, there's an ant
down my back!" don't stand still with
your mouth wide open; don't faint;
don't go for the girl's mother; go for
the ant.
What Is a Gentleman?
It is almost a definition of a gentleman
to say he is ono who never inflicts pain.
This description is both refined, and as
far as it goes, accurate. He is mainly
occujjied in merely removing the obsta
cles which hinder the free and unembar
rassed action of those about him; and he
concurs with their movements rather
than takes the initiative himself. His
benefits may be considered as parallel to
what are called comforts or conveniences
in arrangements of a personal nature;
like an easy chair or a good hre, which
do their part in dispelling cold and
fatigue, though nature provides means
of rest and animal heat without them
The true gentleman in like manner care
fully avoids whatever may cause a jar
or a joitm tne minus oi tnose with whom
he is cast; all clashing of opinion, or
confusion of feeling, all restraint, or sus
picion, or gloom, or resentment; his great
concern being to make emery one at their
ease and at home. He has his
eyes on all his company; he is tender
toward the bashful, gentle toward the
distant, and merciful to the absurd; he
guards against the unseasonable allusions
or toincs which may irritate; 'he is sel
dom prominent in conversation, and
never wearisome, lie makes light of fa
vors while he does them, and seems to be
receiving when he is conferring. He
never speaks of himself except when com-
jjelled, never defends himself by a mere
retort; he has no ears for slander or gos
sip, is scrupulous in imputing motives
to those who interforo with him, and in
terprets everything for the best. Ho is
never mean or little in disputes, never
takes unfair advantage, never mistakes
personalities or sharp savings, or argu
ments, or insinuates evil which he dare
not say out. From a long sighted pru
dence, he observes the maxim of
the ancient sage, that we should con
duct ourselves toward our enemy as
if he were one day to be our friend.
He has too much good sense to be
affronted at insults, and is too well em
ployed to remember injurips. He is
patient, forbearing and resigned on phil
osophical principles. He submits to
pain because it is inevitable; to bereav-
ment becaso it is irreparable; to death,'
because it is his destiny. If he engages
in controversy of any kind, his discip
lined intellect preserves him from the
blundering discourtesy of better, per
haps, but less educated minds, who, like
blunt weapons, tear and hack instead of
cutting clean, who mistake tho point in
argument, waste their strength on trifles,
misconceive their adversary, and leave
the question more involved than thoy
find it. He may be right or. wrong in
his opinion, but he is too clear headed to
Jio unjust; he is as simple as he
is forcible, and as brief as he is decisive.
Nowhere shall wo find greater candor,
consideration, indulgence. Ho throws
nmself into the mind of his opponents,
he accounts for their mistakes, he knows
the weakness of human reason as well as
its strength, its province and its limits.
If ho be an unbeliever, he will be too
profound and large-minded to ridicule
religion or to act against it; he is too wise
to be a dogmatist or fanatic in his infi
delity. He respects piety and devotion ;
ho even supports institutions as vener-.
able, beautiful and useful, to which he
does not assent; he honors the ministers
of religion, and it contents him to decline
its mysteries without assailing or de
nouncing them. He is a friend of re
ligious toleration, and Ahat not only
because his philosophy has taught him
to look on all forms of faith with an im
partial eye, but also from the gentleness
of feeling which is the attendant on civ
ilization.
Norway.
Norway is not a land flowing with milk
and honey; not a land of oliye-yards
and vineyards; of Southern sides and
effeminate luxuriance; of Spanish dances
and Italian serenades; of soft intrigues
and quick revenges that wait upon life
itself. It is not a land of fragrant breezes,
where the nightingale sings to his mate,
while tho moon witji her train of satolites
in stately dignity rises in the dark blue
dome, bathing the earth in a silvery
flood, while lovers pace romantic ruins
washed by a broad-flowing Rhine, or a
sterner Danube, or linger in the bowers
on the banks of a Moselle.
It is, on the contrary, a land of eternal
3novs, whose mountain-tops are fraught
with a mystery of silence that is never
braken, whore the foot of man never
falls; of gigantic icebergs; of rushing
streams; of grand waterfalls and mighty
cataracts that seem to increase and mul
tiply as you progress through the coun
try. It is a land which owes everything
to nature and nothing to man; where,
ruins are not, and the song of the night
engale is unheard, and bowers of roses
may be read about but scarcely seen.
Norway is a land scantily peopled by
men and women, honest and and fearless,
simple and genuine, frank and hospit
able until a day will come when mix
ture with the world which seeks them
more and more, year by year, may give
the faults of that world, and take from
them their best heritage a single eye,
a simply faith, an uprightnesss of pur
pose rare as beautiful after (jjOOO years of
leveling.
It is a land where railroads are scarce,
and traveling is long and laborious, but
very pleasant; a land not pampered by
the refined luxury of the age, the squan
dering of wealth in pomp and vanity,
purple and fine linen; but aland of stern
realities, where wealth is rare, and each
man's inheritance is labor and toil.
This land has a bright, bracing air; a
coast iron-bound and full of wonders.
It is a land that reminds us in a measure
of that city that hath no foundations,
wherot here is "no night;" for here, dur-
somo portion of the year, the sun never
sets, and darkness falls not.
A Blood Hounds Gratitude.
There is now living in Eaton County,
this State, a farmer who, as a Fedeial
soldier and a prisoner at Andersonville,
was a party to a strange incident during
the palmy days of that terrible jmson
pen. The prisoners were allowed to go
out m squads, strongly guarded, to col
lect firewood. One day it came to this
man's turn to go, and for the first time
since his impnsonmeut he caught sight
of "Col. Catehem, the blood hound who
had run down more escaping jmsoners
than all other dogs combined. In fact
at that time ho was the only hound at
the post. He was a monster dog, savage
as a tiger, and he had in several cases
pulled down and killed the prisoners be
fore tho pursuers could come up. Such
were the stories of his f rocity, whispered
inside the stockade, that more than one
tunnel was abandoned just as it was
ready to lead its diggers under tho posts
and to liberty.
The Michigander noticed that the dog
limped painfully on one of his fore feet,
but gave the matter no special attention
until after being out for half an hour, he
sat down to rest near one of tho guards.
Tho dog approached the guard as if to
ask some favor, but was repulsed with
an oath and a threatened blow. He then
skulked around and came near the pris
oner, who saw that he had an old horse
shoo nail run into his foot. With a little
coaxing he got the dog near and finally
pulled out the nail, and the animal ran
away, seemingly well pleased.
Twelve days after that, one night
about midnight, a tunnel was ready to
pass out the few who had secretly dug it.
The Wolverine wont first, and indeed
last. The others remembered the stories
of the big bloodhound, and drew back at
the last moment. The prisoner was a
long time getting clear of the neighbor
hood, and, weak and starved as h'e was,
he was not more than two miles from the
stockade when tho day broke and "Col.
Catehem was put on his track.
When he heard the hound coming he
looked for a suitable tree to. climb.
but failed to find one. Armed with a
club he took his stand and determined
to make a fight for it. The dog came
along the trail with a rush, stopped
short at sight of the prisoner, and was
about to spring when he recognized the
man and began exhibiting every sign of
friendship. After a few minutes the
pursuers were heard in the distance.
The dopr at once trotted off in the direc
tion, and was shortly baying and leading
them over a fictitious trail.
Tho prisoner pushed ahead for half an
hour, and was then rejoined by the dog,
who kept either close to his heels or just
ahead of him all day, and lay beside
him in tho woods at night. The posi
tion of guardian or companion he main
tained until toward night of the second
day, when ho returned to the stockade.
The prisoner was then thirty miles away,
but the roads were xmtrolled and the
woods scouted, and on the fifth morning
he was recaptured. When he was re
turned the hound met and caressed
him, and for this was whooped by one of
the guards. From that hour to the close
of the war the dog would not take the
trail of an escaping prisoner. He was
triedi time and again, but he would
not follow the trail a single rod. An
other blood hound was procured, but
as soon as he took up a trail the other
dog would follow and hght him. During
the last three months of Andersonville
not a prisoner was run down by the dogs
althougo dozens tunneled out, and many
were lying in the woods when the Con
federacy went with a crash.
Barnum?s Bcai ded Woman.
The "Bearded Woman," who was yeara
ago P. T. Barnum's greatest attraction,
was buried in the little village of Liver
pool, on the shore on Onondaga Lake.
She first appeared in Barnum's Museum
in New York. Like all other curiosities,
the time came when she was no longer
an attraction, and retired from public
gaze, and not long afterwards became a
resident of Liverwool. The maiden
name of this remarkable women was
Rebecca Wertgaat. She was born at
Pembroke, Genesee County, New York,
in May 1824. When she was quite
young she removed with her parents to
Ogdensburg, where she remained till
1SH. In the meantime she had married
a man named J. R. Lyon, and in this
year she removed with him to New York
where she remained till 1860. Nothing
unusual in the life or person of Mrs.
Lyon had been observed till she reached
her 44th year, and then a very heavy
dark beard suddenly began to ap
pear on her face. Neither her feat
ures nor her naturo bore any appearance
of masculine tendencies, and she was
greatly embarrassed by the growth upon
her face, She employed various means
for removing the fast-growing beard, but
without avail, and it was not long before
it reached her waist. It was soft and
silken like the hair of a child. A suit
was instituted against Barnum for an al
leged imposition upon the public, it be
ing stated in the complaint that the wo
man was an impostor. After his museum
was consumed by fire, Mrs. Lyon be
camo one of the attractions of Col.
Wood's Museum in Chicago, and she
was the wonder of that oity for some
time. She went from Chicago to a mu
seum in Boston, and a little while later
became connected with Forepaugh's cir
cus, with which she traveled over the
United States and Canada. While in
Canada an order for her arrest was made
by a civil officer, who declared that she
was imposing on the credulity of the
people, and not until a resident of the
place in which she was stepped up and
declared she was just what she appeared
to be, wa3 the order rescinded. Mrs.
Lyon's death occurred on Friday. She
was 56 years old. Chicago Tribune.
Mrs. Hudson's Ghost.
Dr. Wayland, in his Life of Jrfdsonj
has but feebly portrayed the scene oi
Mrs. Judson's funeral. Our decks were
crowded by sailors of all nations, and
every flag was at half mast, while a long
line of boats took ours in tow, and on ar-
rival at the wharf the clergy of every de
nomination formed the head of the pro
cession, which moved through the main
street, while all the shops were closed.
My recollections of Dr. Judson are of
the most agreeable kind. Deeply afflict
ed as he was by his loss, he still main
tained a cheerful demeanor, impressing
all of us with love and veneration for his
character. His wife was a constant"
sermon.
But scenes like that of the death and
funeral they had lately witnessed pre
pared the minds of the crew for the ac
cess of superstition. Soon after leaving
St. Helena the second mate called ma
suddenly in the night. The poor fellow's
tone evinced that he was as much fright
ened as were the sailors, who, he said,
had seen a ghost.
"A ghost, Mr. Bronson?" I asked.
What kind of a ghost?"
"Mrs. Judson's, sir: we can all see it in
the foretop."
"Pshaw!"
"Captain, do come on deck, do, and
you will see it for yourself," replied Mr,
Bronson.
Well, as I had never seen a ghost, I
complied with his request, and walking
into the waist, where the watch was
gathered in stupefied amazement, they
pointed their trembling fingers to the
foretop, whispering, in hushed voices,
"There she is, sir look at her.
Yes, there she was a perfect figure of
woman in a white dress, with out
stretched arms aad a ghastly face. I
will confess that no little astonishment
was combined with my incredulity. I
had been awakened from a sound sleep
to behold this visitation with half-opened
eyes. But in a moment I saw the cause
of the singular deception.
"Boys I said, "who will go with me
into the foretop and speak to her?"
There were brave men among the crew
who would have gone aloft on my order
to send down a royal yard, even if they
thought the mast might go over the side,
but now none of them would stir. At
Jasfr I said: "Do you think it is my place
to go up there and stow that top-gallant
studdiner-sail?"
Then they understood the meaning of
the apparition. The sail, which, when
not in use, was lashed against tho foretop-
mast riffgmcf, had cot adrift, and,
spreading itself across to the foremast
head, had assumed the weird and un
earthly appearance of a ghost. So this
puzzle for metaphysicians was solved.
Had I sent the men below and gone up
and stowed the sail myself, as I was
tempted to do, no argument would ever
have oonvinced them that they had not
seen the ghost of Mrs. Judson. Har
per's Weekly.
ToDacco.
I go against tobacco, because it goes
against me. I will tell you why.
First I do not like the taste of it. It
tastes worse than the bitterest medicine
ever put to my lips. It is such sicken
ing stuff.
Second I don't like the looks of it.
In the words of another., when I see the
tobacco, I pity the mouth that chews it;
and, when I see the mouth that chews it,
1 xnty the tobacco. It has not a taking
color. It is of a dirty-dirt color,
Third I dont like the effects of its
use. It makes the teeth yellow and
brown, when they should be white; it
makes the breath sour and offensive,
when it should be sweet; it injures the
voice, so that those who chew cannot
sing and speak with advantage. The
voice breaks, and the choirister croaks
like a raven when he should sing like a
bobolink; tho orator merely barks, and
tobacco bark is very disagreeable.
Fourth The habit of chewing is a
very filthy habit. Look at the carpets,
the stair-ways, the sitting rooms, where
the chewers gather together and roll the
quid like a sweet morsel under the
tongue. Every boy that chews ought to
wear a hat shaped like a spittoon, and
use it as such wherever he goes; indeed,
he ought to wear it when he sleeps; such,
a night-cap may save the pillow-cases
from stains.
Fifth I fear tobacco creates a taste for
liquor. It lights a fire in the throat
which water may not quench.
Honor Old Age. Bow low the head,
boy; do reverence to the old man as he
passes along. Once he was like you, but
the vicissitudes of life has silvered his
hair and changed the round face to the
worn visage before you. Once his heart
beat with aspirations coequal to any you
have felt; aspirations crushed with dis
appointment, as yours are perhaps des
tined to be. Once his form stalked
proudly through the gay scenes of
pleasure, the beau-ideal of grace; now
the hand of time, that withers the flow
ers of yesterday, has warped his fingers
and destroyed his noble carriage. Once,
at your age, he had the thousand
thoughts that pass your brain now
wishing to accomplish something worthy
in fame, anon imagining life a dream,
that the sooner he woke from it the bet
tor. But he has lived the dream nearly
through. The time to wake is very near
at hand; yet his eye kindles at old deeds
of daring, and his hand takes a firmer
grip of his staff. Bow low the head,
boy, as you would in old age.be rever
enced. Calling Nic-names S. S. Cox. "You
will never say ,Shoo, fly, don't bother
me,' again?" B. F. Bntler. "Never!
And you will never call me 'Old Cook
Eye.' 'Beast' 'or 'Spoons?'" Sunset
"Never." Harper's Weekly.
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