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THE COLUMBIAN.
THE COLUMBIAN.
Published Every Fridat,
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ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA CO., OR.,
BY
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VOL. IV.
ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA COUNTY, OREGON, FEBRUARY 22, 1884.
NO. 29.
Each subsequent insertion 1 00
A Lost Love.
M. E. W. in Boston Traveler.
I lost my wife just about a year ago
now, and strange to nay, I am not in
the least consoled. I am not anxious
to attack any body of professional men ;
but I do think the doctors Kiuea
her.
I was ill mvself for some time before.
and -when I met her, poor girl, I had
been ill with nervous prostration, mala
ria, and dyspepsia, the doctors said.
The heat was intense. Just such a heated
term as we have had this summer, and
the brokers office of Aekerlv, Mackle
bury & Cords was not the coolest or
roost salubrious environment. I had the
ticker iu my hand, it had just marked
' "Wabash preferred," when I heard the
cheery, musical voice of my fellow clerk,
Arthur Clark, say, "Hullo there goes
Horatio," and I was dimly conscious
that I had tumbled into his long arms,
and up against a rather warm waist
coat which covered the best heart iu all
this wicked wor!d. His voice auin was
the next thing I heard.
"You see, old fellow," said Arthur,
"my mothers and siste rs are out of
town, and only the boys and the govern
or are at home : so as we didn't wsnt to
put the governor out, we concluded to
give you the parlors, where he rarely
comei in summer. So you are to lie
here ami get well; fine breeze through
when the Library door is left opeu,
straw matting, a few old pictures, mir
rors covered with mosquito net. Hora
tio Bronson stretched on a hastily im
provise I cot, ice on head, taken down
pretty bad, doctor recommends quiet,
Aithur Clark, Ksq., master of the situ
at'on. Dost like the piclure?"'
Arthur rattled on and put me gradu
ally into possession of the facts. From
his lively investiture of my ca-.e, I pres
ently sauk oil into a fever and lost all
sense of time, place aud circumstance.
A doctor and a woman nurse became a
part of my imperfect consciousness, and
- the large, deserted parlors of a' city
house, with its numerous pictures, be
came in a dreamy way the horizon oi
my confused and distressed vision.
There was a cattle piece in front of
me, and a large dark red battle by
moonlight in a heavy Venetian frame.
There was a view of Venice, and a
pretty little copy of- Helen Froment,
Ruben's wife. There was, of ..course, a
Madonna della Reggiola, and a Cenci.
Over these pictures, and a little
group of tl:e Laocoou in the corner,
did I dr.eani, and perhaps rave. Arthur,
dear old loy, used to come in and see
me every evening. His personality
stood out distinctly, and he has told me
since (bless his heart !) that I always
said, "You are doing your work and
mine too, I know von are," and that
once or twice I was weak enough to
well let that pass, we do not love each
ether any the less.
"I think we will leave his blinds
open to-night to giv him more air,"
aid the familiar voice of my nurse to
Arthur, one hot night, as my friend paid
Lie Lis usual visit.
"Who is she?"' I whispered feebly to
Arthur. If I had a grain of sense or
consecutive thought left it always came
to me when Arthur was in the room.
"One of the trained nurses from
Bellevue, old boy. A nice girl. She
is bringing yon through splendidly.
How do you feci to-night temperaturo
rather high," and I sank off into sleep
or something with Arthur's cool hand
on my brow.
When I awoke the gas was turned up
and my nurse stood over me with a
wineglass full of medicine.
"You must take this," she said, in a
mil .My authoritative voice.
I looked at her for the first time.
She was a neat, elderly person, not at
all handsome, but largo and very
powerful. It seemed to me at that mo
ment as if she were Boadieea, or the
Maid of Saragossrt, or Miss Jex lilake
or something of that order.
As she poured down the draught I
felt my whole internal economy obey
ing her. I shallowed, gasped, breathed,
because she told me to. Then she left
me.
The blinds were open, and moon
light streamed into my room. I saw the
clouds, and cats ; I saw the passers by.
There was a baVony outside my win
dows, and several people clambered up
on it and looked at me. There was a
newslioy whom I had offended, and a
member of the stock exchange whom I
had failed to please. At one time the
balcony lecame unpleasantly crowded
and again it was empty.
Just then a lady stepped cn the bal
cony and calmly entered my room.,
'Would you be kind enough to tell
me what that noise is outside," I asked.
"Oh !w said she, giving a little scream,
rather astonished evidently. "A man
and a bed in parlor ? What does all
this mean, please?"
"Well, why not?" said I, rather of
fended, and with the egotism of illness.
Some scattering remnant of what
once had been my intelligence sug
gested that this young lady might be
one of Arthur's sisters, who had come
home unexpectedly, and had "stepped
(forgive the dreams of a sick man),
over the iron balcony into the parlor.
"Who are you?" I askfd.
"I am Helen Froment, the govern
ess," said she, "sent down by Mrs.
Clark for some forgotten books. The
- train ran off the track. I got here just
now. I hare rung and rung and rung,
but, as no one let me in, I. seeing the
blinds open, naturally clambered over
the h on railing and here I am. Now,
who and what are yon V"
"I am a sick man. Horatio Bronson, I
believe. Aithur brought me here."
"Oh, of course! How absurd! He
wrote to his mother about you. I had
forgotten. My nerves have been 8
shaken by that railroad accident I had
forgetten that you were here. I 1 eg a
thousand pardons for tins intrusion. I
will creep up into my room and dis
turb nobody."
"Stop a minute, rriy mind is weak.
- Tnrn up the gas, please, will you?
How do you happen to be called Helen
Froment. like the picture on the wall ?"
The Jadv laughed and tun:cd up the
gas. "It is a curious coincidence," said
she, "The young latlios call me 'the
Rubens.' I am simply a Herman girl,
with a common enough German name
Helena Froment, the governess."
. I took a "ocd look at her.
She was a quiet girl, in a gray travel-
ins: dress, although I thought her. smil
ing German face not unlike that of the
picture.
Then the gas went down, and she
went off.
About this time Arthur began to
fade away. It seemed to me that I
only saw him once after this, and then
I said to him, "Nice girl, Helen 'Fro
ment, in a jocular wav.
'I mean the governess, your sister's
governess,"' raul I, hoping he would tell
me about her. "Oh! yes! the gover
ness, yes; ha!. ha! Helen Froment. Oh,
yes ! Horatio, old fellow, keep cool ; keep
quiet. Yes . She is a nice girl
enough," but he laughed and would not
explain.
Aithur disappeared about this time.
I asked for him. and they said he had
gone away. I should have missed him
more, Imt Helen. Helen Froment, be
came so devoted to me. She did not
go hack to Mrs. Clark with the books.
She stayed and nursed me most assidu
ously. She could draw and paint very
well in w atcr colors, and finding that
this quiet accomplishment amused
without wearying me, she was kind
enough to sit by mv side and let me
watch her. Then she told me quaint
stories in a German accent, and read
poetry to me, and in a low recitative or
in a sort of chant she gare my weary
ears the relief of pretty and plaintiff
ballads of her own German land, which
she sang in a pure, simple ballad voice,
the best of all voices.
One hot eveniug she said to me, "Do
you know what nipht this is? It is the
eve of St. John midsummer night, when
the spirits of men go forth to meet God
in the wood; the angels are about us."
But I was getting too much white
about this time, and the strong white
drapery and the sad face of the Cenei
began to trouble me. I asked Helen to
turn that ph-tiyre away, so I could not
see it. "That I cannot do," said she,
"but I can throw my dark shawl over
it," and she did.
Helen Froment, Meantime, Ruben's
Helen, continued to smile and le ami
able. I asked the other Helen to make
me a little copy of the bright face, and
to leave it where I could tip it up with
my weak baud, and look at it a little
nearer. This she did, but when I tried
to grasp it I found out how weak I was.
I found that I could not even master
that frail piece of paper.
"Yon must .remember," said Helen,
"you are still very ill," and she laid the
sketch awav in a drawer of mv little
table. " -7
Then I began to get letter. I was
strong, convalescent. I returned in
thought to the world, and with me into
land of health came the patient girl i
who hat! now become mv daily com
panion . She. did. jnot . take tall the care !
of me. 1 wo men seemed to do that.
I could not exactly tell where or when
they came in, but just about with the
disappearance of Arthur, I should say
that vague, uncertain period, not far
from the time when Helen came in.
It seemed to me that this state of
things had gone on for weeks, and that I
leg;in to know Helen as a man ought to
know a woman whom he shall love and
marry. I began to watch for fitting op
portunity to tell her that I loved her,
that she was the being of all others to
make me happy. I owed it to Helen to
tell her so, and I felt that we must
make some excuse to our friends for
being so much together, that even the
doctor might think it strange, that per
haps Arthur yes Arthur. Where
was Arthur?
Bnt when I was ready to framo these
sentences, Helen always evaded me;
sometimes a tinkling of that ridiculous
bell and the men nurses came in
sometimes the doctor himself, never
Arthur.
The parlor began to look unlike the
parlor. The piano was covered over
with a white cloth, and bottles stood
upon it. Nothing seemed changed on
the walls, but the cloth which had
hidden the Cenci.
That had fallen, and suddenly the
figure seemed to bend out of the frame,
and to nod to me.
Helen !" I shrieked " Helen ! Hide
the Cenci from me."
Her cool hand was over my eyes in a
moment and the vision passed away.
"Poof troubled brain," I heard her
say, as she rubbed my forehead with
her soft hand until I went to sleep.
It wo.uld 1m absurd to try to follow
this love aair. Suffice to say we got
to understand, each other, and Helen
promised to marry me. We had, of
course, to wait until I should recover
my health, which was as yet uncertain.
Helen always said, "Patience, dear
est, patience! all will be well. I will
wait for you. You have a long summer
before vou, in which you must recover.
Meaawliile let us go on with the read
ing, the music, the paintr'ng." Helen
was sv.ert and consistent, and I obeyed
her.
. And then we constructed our whole
future life. She was to be my economi
cal helpmate; with her little savings
and mine we could afford a modest
home.
We could begin plainly and live
cheaply. She would still ply her
brush and I would dig away down in
Wall street, but we should be together.
We had our love as a splendid capital.
That was invested for us, and with that
we could not be pcor.
It was the third day, I think, after
this that the doctor told me that Ar
thur had the fever up-stairs; that I had
worn out two trained hospital nurse
and that I had been so delirious as to
need the attendance of two men.
"These pictnres," said the doctor,
smiling, "have come in for a good deal
of brain trouble," and he pointed to the
Cenci, still uncovered.
He stepped to the frame and took
down the cover. How poor and pale a
copy it seemed, how utterly insignifi
cant !
"But," said I, "doctor all this is very
well; but what has become of Helen,
my Helen Froment, my wife?"
The doctor laughed.
"My dear boy," said he, "she was
only a part of the fever. One of vour
insane dreamt. That excellent MjS
Hunt she is elderly az.d plain enough
for all professional purposes, but she
had to ring the bell and summon Si
mon, you made love to her so fervently.
She knew, "however, that you were as
mad tu a hat;r, nu.l s!:e will never sue
you for a breach of promise ot mar
riage. She is down. with the fever her
self, poor girl."
I would not believe it; I did not be
lieve it, and I don't believe it. I would
wait and see Arthur, and ask him if it
were not a conspiracy of my enemies.
When we two met again we wero two
ghosts of long standing. The same
imperfect plumbing which had made me
ill had reached my generous friend,
and together we had made night hide
ous for the respectable mansion in West
Blank street.
But Arthur had not lost a wife as I
hal done, and he got well quicker. I
could not help asking him if there was
not some foundation for my theory of
Helen. Had not somebody entered the
house . - by - the balcony that - dreamy,
starry night ?
"Yes," said Arthur," that was true.
My sister's governor did come home
late, after a railway detention, and did
get in over the balcony, and was scared
at fiiidingy on in the room. She was
off the next morning, however, bright
and early, and you would not call her
'Helen' if you saw her now, I am sure."
I did see her later ; and I agreed
with Arthur that she was not my Helen,
at least.
Bnt the memory was too strong to be
shaken off. Where had gone that real,
that beautiful person that had made me
so happy ? Where was that rare intelli
gence, that cool hand, that fresh, vig
orous, untiring girl ? If I h id created
that Eve I was a demigod. I could not
surrender the powerful impression to
disbelieve in her. It seemed like an
infidelity to a real woman. What if,
unknown to all the world, soiAe dear
creature, iuspircd by divinest pity, had
deceived the nurses and the doctor, had
entered and cared for me, had loved me.
and had accepted my love iu return? 1
w as pledged to this being. She was
mine. She would be my wife. I should
meet her again. I shall meet her again ;
I am convinced of it.
"Doctor," said I to a physician who
had been called in to convince, me that
the memory of my wife was but the re
sult of a vision, "do these spirits or vis
ions paint in water colors?"
And I drew h-om a little drawer in
my table, where I had seen her place it,
Helen's copy of the Rubens.
"This is a pretty study," said the
doctor, looking up at the original.
"Done by one of Arthur's sisters, I dare
sav. Thev all have artistic talents,
these Clarks."
"Doctor, I saw my wife paint that,
and, and look in the corner for the
initials, if you will."
"les; H. I ., said the doctor; "a
curious coincidence; Horace Farley,
2-erhaps, but certainly not Helen Fro
ment she has been sdead 200 years.
n wiif get over this -dream, my" dear
boy, when yon are stronger and out of
this room, and away from that picture,
which reached the brain just as it was
in an excited state. It will pass."
But it has not gone; and I still hare
the little water color which has never
been explained.
THE MIRACULOUS SPUING AT
A yDEHS ON VILL E.
John McElroy's "Andersonville."
One morning the camp was astonished
beyond measure that during the night
a large, bold spring had burst out on
the north side, about midway between
the sw amp and the summit of the hill.
It pointed out its grateful flood of pure,
sweet water in an apparently exhaust
less quantity. To.the many who looked
in wonder upon it it seemed as truly a
heaven-wrought miracle as w hen Moses'
enchanted rod smote the parched rock
in Sinai's desert waste and the living
waters gushed forth. The police took
charge of the spring, and every one
was campelled to take his regular turn
in filling his vessel. This was kept up
during our whole stay in Andersonville,
and every morning, shortly after day
break, a thousand men could be seen
standing in lhv waiting their turns to
fill their cans and cups with the pre
cious liquid. The spring is yet running
as when we left, and is held in mo.it
pious veneration by the negroes of that
vicinity, who still preserve the tradition
of its miraculous origin, and ascribe to
its waters wonderful grace-giving and
healing properties, similar to those
which pious Catholics balieve exist in
the holy w.iter of the fountain of
Lonrdes.
I must confess that I do not think
that they are so vry far from right. If
I could believe that any water was
sacred it tould be of that fountain
which appeared so opportunely for the
benefit of the perishing thousands of
Andersonville. And when I hear of
people bringiug water for baptismal
purposes from the Jordan, I say in my
heart: "How much more would I
value for nvyself and friends the admin
istration of the Chri-mial sacrament
with the divine flw from that low
sand-hill inwes'ern Georgia."
THE DELIGHTS OF CAMPING
OUT.
Iaratnie Boomerang.
At this writing it is the fashion in
Laramie to organize yourself and
others -into a party and go ont iuto
the mountains and "camp out;" to take
a tent, some coilin varnish, some grub,
some rattlesnake bite antidote, some
sowbelly, eoda, salt, a hook and line,
rifle, and a little whisky, brandy or gin,
and hie away to pome sequestered spot
in the mountains, where, separated from
the busy world and your wife and
mother-in-law, you put in a week or so
in shooting at marks and fighting mos
quitoes, eating chip bacon and soda
biscuits and admiring nature unadorned
in the shape of rugged peaks, rotten
pine trees and gurgling streams. It's
so nice to get away from the city and
conventionalities of society, and imagine
you're having a good time ; so nice to
w ake up in the middle of the night and
find the rain has crawled inside your
blankets without the formality of an
introduction, wetting the only clothes
yon have, within a reach of less than
forty miles, and one looks so comfort
able, jolly and picturesque as he
muses over a smoky fire, trying to dry
out the uudersliirt he has on ; so nice
to get one's noss peeled and one's face
bronzed by the sun to that extent that
even the moot ardent creditor does not
know you when you return home.
A COUNTRY AUCTION.
A Fablio Sale of Stock and Hus&
hold Goods.
A Vatkerln f Old Merf Yoanx,
Matrons. Maiden and Small
Bej- -The Auctioneer
and His Bidders.
New York Times. '
A form of excitement that exceeds in in-
L tensity even the wild dissipation of the circus,
iu mo i terming communities ol iub custom
and central states, is the periodical "auc
tion sale,'1 which occurs whenever some out-
of-luck husbandman decides to sell out and
go west, or is forced by any circumstance to
dispose of tils form stock or house hoi I goods.
The sale Is advertised "by posters far and
wide, the farmer occasionally startling the
village printer by an order of sometimes as
many as fifty or even 100 bills, and . who has
ever driven through the country in the idle
seasons without noticing the posters with
"To be sold at Public Auction" in wonder
fully big letters over a wood -cut, usually rep
resenting a groom vainly attempting to curb
the spirits of a rampant horse, with a
dyspeptic cow, a consumptive sheep, a for
lorn pig, aud several destitute chickens in
the background. These bills the fanner
posts in all the public places in his own aud
the nearest adjacent towns. One goes to
each postoffice; one to the school -house door;
to the blacksmith's 6hop two are allotted, one
for each door and one to be hung inside; one
goes to the tavern and wayside saloon; they
are posted on the pillars of the various
bridges, and on the ' more conspicuous trees
and'barns along the country highways. And,
from the timo of the first auction down to
the present, no farmer has been known to
pass a new bill without reading it, and great
is the sensation he causes when he brings the
news to his "women folks." These sales, for
the convenience of all concerned, usually oc
cur after harvesting time in the fall or early
winter, and are attended by young aud old
of both sexes from all the country round.
The pilgrim chanced upon one of these inter
esting events, one day last week, near a sleepy
little village that slumbers among the New
Jersey hills within fifty miles of this city.
The sale took place from a little old-fashioned
white house with several verandas, that
stood in a grove of gorgeously colored ma
ples on a pretty rural road. People get up to
breakfast in the country, and the sale began
early. Before morning had fairly began the
farmers began to drive up with their wives
and families from miles away, and before
noon the fences on both sides of the road
were lined with all kinds of horses attached
to all kinds of vehicles, and a crowd of men
and women.children and babies, was gathered
about the auctioneer or 6trolling through
the house and barn inspecting and crit
icising and seeking enjoyment general lj
The men and the bigger boys soon got
together in the barn-yard and discussed
the merits or demerits of the stock; the
women pulled over the bedding offered for
sal or examined the carpets, stoves, and fur
niture; the girls begu to- coquette w ith the
smaller boys until their elders should turn
from the fascinations of the stock -yard, and
the children romped about in everyUly,i
way, and made nuisances of their dear little
selves, as they do everywhere.
The auctioneer, of course, was the most im
portant person on the grounds, and be was
treated with due deference and respect by
everybody, aud was fairly worshiped by the
small boys, who formed a row outside of the
circle of bidders and admired from afar.
How the sturdy little fellows shrieked at his
jokes, and how they marveled at his large
experience and vast wisdom when he in
formed Deacon Closefist that the horse collar
was the best bargain at that price he'd ever
seen made at any "vandoo" in the state.
Not one of those small boys has given
over yet the ambition to be an auctioneer
when he grows up. Next to the auctioneer
In importance was the assistant, who
shone with reflected glory. lie carried an
Immense note-book, and put down the names
of the buyers with an air of awful profund
ity, and he only it was who dared interrupt
the deity's flight of rhetoric to ask what that
there last hoe fetched. The small boys stood
aghast at his audacity. Another important
personage in the eyes of the small boys was
the long-legged youth who led the horses out
and put them through their paces on the
roadway, and who pointed out some of the
animals' good points, and even ventured to
address the autioneer with familiarity. The
small boys had previously considered him a
commonplace big brother of one of their
number, but there was a gulf between them
now, and they would not be at all surprised
after this if he should go to work in Paterson
or some other great, far-away city, and come
back wealthy and buy out the village store,
or even become a horse jockey.
A group of farmers who did the bidding re
sembled the members of that laborious call
ing who may be seen any day about the city
markets or cattle yards. The farmer is al
leged to bo the one independent and happy
man in this universe, and yet a group of
farmers is a picture of cadaverous, tired, and
discouraged men, who accept the primeval
curse and whose appearance leads one to be
lieve that thay have long since despaired of
anything save labor and weariness on this
side of the grave. This gathering presented
the usual features of toil and care, with one
or two exceptions, that typified the farmer ol
pastoral stout, hale, and hearty old fellows,
with ruddy cheeks and good digestions.
They were most of them attired in their Sun
day clothes, and the collection of ancient silk
hats would have done credit to a St. Patrick's
day procession. They conversed concerning
the probable state of the weather and when
snow enough might be expected for get
ting out lumber; or discussed Farmer
Smith's oat crop or the price Farmer Jones
got for his wool. The farmers wero the
aristocrats of fhe gathering, but they received
heir "hired men," who, of course could not
be kept at home from an auction, on torms of
equality, and accepted the numerous nogroef
and a few Indians who had likewise bee.j
drawn to the sale, on the same social level.
The auction and the bidding leveled all ranks.
In the afternoon the household goods were
disposed of, and it became the ladies' turn tc
do the bidding. Then the auctioneer wai in
his glory, and he showered compliments upon
his fair audience, ad nauseam, to all but
themselves. For instance:
"How much am I offered for this table?'1
cried the " gentleman of the hammer. "A
walnut extension table! Ten leaves! Good
as new!" 'J ,
"Do you warrant it to bo walnut P ventured
a pretty young housewife.
"Yes, ma'am," promptly and gallantly i-e-plied
the auctioneer, 'and I'll warrant you
can git as good a meal of vitUas as anybody
wants to eat off it" Admiring applause and
blushes of pretty house wila
An interesting and somewhat pathetic in
cident occurred over the sale of a queer old
bureau. The article was knocked down :
"Gone! at$S.75, to Mr. Barton!"
"Here!" cried a womau's "-voice sharply.
"That was my bid 1" "
"faoggin' yer pardon, ma'am," said the
auctioneer, "that was Mr. Barton's bid."
"Was that your bid, neighbor Barton," in
quired the woman, anxiously.
"I guess 'twas," replied Neighbor Barton,
somewhat ab tshed at talking before so many
people. i i
The woman burst into tears. "That was
my mother's bureau," she sobbed,1 an' I
come hei e on purpose to buy it. I thought
that I bid the last on it I'd made up my
mind to have it ever since mother died;" and
she turned to leave the house. -j j
Neighbor" Barton, in a state of great per
plexity, ran after her. "Here," he cried, "I
don't want the bureau; honest. I only bid
ou it fer the sake of bidding'. .You can take
it off my hands at what I bid fer it an? wel
come." And the good man weut out to the
barn and swore at the hired man to i ease his
perturbation of spirit at being obliged to do a
good action in public. . j j
PLAYING MAY AGAINST DECEMBER.
A. Dry 4ood Merchant! Baeceasful
Mr heme for flaying; In a Fall Htock
of Cheap Clerks. j i ..
It. EL Munkitrick in Puck. ' '
But there is another scheme for getting
cheap clerks that the dry goods merchant
essavs, generally with great success.! j
It is this: I;
A young man enters the store, and asks for
something to do. The employer wrinkles his
forehead, works his eyebrows down on his
noso to give him the appearance of being
capable of profound thought, and says:
"So you want work P i i
"Yes." ! i
"Well, we are full at present How much
do you expect P '
"Ten dollars a week."
"Ten dollars a week! $10 a week!": replies
the merchant, sna.ching the young man's
sentence and hurling it back at him like a
brick. !
"Yes, sir," says the young man; "$10 a
week." I I
Thou the merchant lies back in the chair
and regards the young man with a patroniz
ing air.
i I
"We never give such a salary to young,
fresh and inexperienced men. We- can get
men of 50, with years of experience for the
sum you ask. We have no use for .boys,
Itecause they are wild an I more bother than
they are worth. What we want are men of
years aud experience. We will give you $2
per week. i j
The young man accepts and goes to work.
Then a man of about 50 walks in and solicits
employment The merchant lies back in his
chair so far that, if he happens to be corpu
lent, he reminds one of the terrapin stretched
out in front of a restaurant, with a placard
on his under shell informing the pedestrian
when he is to be served up. Then the mer
chant says, as he did to the young man:
"So you want workP j
"Yea-' j
"Well, we are full at present How much
Jo you want;" j
"Ten dollars a week j
"Teu dollars a week!" says the merchant,
in a tone that shows that he is in a condition
bordering on asphyxia.
"Yes, sir," responds the old man, '$10 per
wetk."
Then the merchant lies back in his chair so
far that ho liarely escapes going all the way
over and sliding alonz the floor on his spine.
"We never give such a large salary to old
men, because they are slow and decrepit, and
in their own way. We don't care for old men,
because they have old ideas and are way be
hind the times. For the sum you ask we can
get bright young men with the light of the
morning of life in their faces. They have new
ideas, and are full of vim, and can work five
times harder and longer than the fossils who
Lose their claims on an experience that might
have boon valuable in 1840. What we want
are live young men. We will give you $2
per week."
The old man accepts. And this is the way
the merchant plays December off ! against
May, and May off against December.;
A Tragedy. In Mlippers.;
London Family Herald. j
She gave him a beautifully worked pair of
slipjters. Although they were too short and
pinched him across the toes, he smilingly sub
mitted to the martyrdom which they imposed,
and vowed they should never leave his feet.
Shortly afterwards the young man made a
return for her offering. It was his picture
encased iu a hamfcome frame. He; wrote a
note to send with it, and at the same time re
plied angrily to an oft-repcated dun for an
unpaid for suit of clothes. He gave the boy
sixpence to deliver the package and notes,
giving explicit directions as to the destina
tion. Ho was an unusually intelligent boy
with a freckled face, and he discharged his
errand in a manner that should give him a
niche in the temple of fame. j
The young lady received a note in her
adored one's handwriting, and flew to her
room to devour its contents. She ocncd the
missive with eager fingers and read: "I am
getting tired of your everlasting attention.
The suit is about worn out already i it never
amounted to much anyhow. Please go to
Jericho." And the tailor was struck utterly
dumb when ho opened a parcel and discovei-ed
the picture of the delinquent customer, with
a note that said: "When you gaze upon theae
features, think how much I owe you." When
that unfortunate young man called around
that evening to receive the happy acknowl
edgment of his sweetheart he was inconsti-
nently shown tiie door by the young lady s
father; and in tho morning ho was waited
upon by the tailor's lawyer, and imperatively
ordered to settle or suffer.
Apinz the i:nslinh.
American Queen. j
A good commeutary on the fashion of aping
the English in their manner of dress and
sjieech was the remark of a little girl who
visited the Casino and looked uitou its fre
quenters for the first time. She was front
the south, bat had boon in England. " Why,
mamma," she said " where did all these
English people come from? Isn't it funny to
hear them talk just as it was in Brighton P
It is very cleverly done this imitation of a
certain style of Englishmen. j
A young Bostonian I know has acquired it
perfectly in five weeks. I can fancy him
greeting you next winter in this fashion:
" Jolly cold day, ehf Egad, Boston's more
than hawlf nawsty this beastly w eat haw.
Got a new fad, I have, don't yau knowp etc.
And yet they say wo are no linguists, and
this fellow has acquired a new speech all in a
month. It is really very clover, as you will
soo. j
It smacks of the English groom, to be sure,
for the manly Enzlishmen does not talk like
a fool, and they who are beginning to culti
vate tho so-called English pronunciation talk
very much like fools, and make very funny
lapses in uncone!ous moments tothdr native
speech. " Please," said a girl to one of these
ambitious 3'oung men, " say ' hnwlf-pawst,'
or ' half -past,' and not ' hawlf-past,' or "half
pawst'" !
'hewed Them Up. I
.The Judge. !
"Where's my checks, Emma? Oive them
to me quick. I've won on Eole," cried George,
excitedly. I
"Checks," she said, coolly. "If it's them
oits of pir you told me to hold, why I
chewed them up a minute ago." j
George turned white as a corpse and told
her to come along home; ha'd be hanged if
he'd wuit to see another race; also adding it
was blami.-d woujler she hadn't chewed some
body's ear off. j
ART ECCENTRICITIES.
A Satire on the Impressionist"
SchoolExplanation of the
Artist! Idea.
New York News.
One of the cleverest satires on the Impress
ionists I ever heard was "La Cigale," a farce
produced in Paris some years back. The
hero is an impressionistic painter. ' You see
him in his studio, surrounded by monstrosi
ties, paste daubs; and smears of absolutely no
intelligibility arrouud him in chaotic con
fusion. He displays them to a poor picture
buyer. One immense canvas is covered with
dirty yellow paint The only object visible
and comprehensible in it is a knife in the
background.
"Very fine," says the visitor, dubiously,
"but what Is it P -1
"That, my dear sir," answered the painter,
4 'Is a London fog."
"Ah! to be sure. But pardon me. The
knife there, eh P
"That is to express tha quality of tho to
show that it is thick enough to be cut, don't
you seeP
Another eccentricity of geuius is a canvas
across one-half of which is a flat smear of
Vermillion, while the other half in similarly
decorated with indigo.
"Now, there," says the painter, "is my
greatest work. ' It is my chef d'sauvre."
"Indeed ! Very flue it is, too. But, pardon
mo, I am not an artist, you know, and I look
to you for information."
"Certainly, certainly."
"Now, what does that picture representf
"What! Is it possible that you do not rec
ognize the ocean, with its sunset sky suffused
with blood, and the great dark sea rolling be
neath in all 'its immensity P
"To be sure. Fine very fiuej indeed."
"But that is not the best of it That pic
ture is really two pictures in ona All you
have to do is to turn It upside down. Now
look at it"
"Wonderful! Wonderful! But really j'ou
must excuse me if "
"What? Do you not see UP
"Well, the fact is, I am a little near
sighted." "Why, it is the desert the vast and melan
choly desert, with its blue sky above and its
red sand below."
"This is very extravagant, isn't it? Yet,
at the last water-color exhibition, one of our
artists spent half an hour in ecstatic admira
tion of one of Currier's contributions which
was standing upside down."
There is another hit in "La Cigale" which
is too good to be passed by. A canvas ia
shown which has no meaning whatever. It
is simply one diabolical and incoherent
smear. The visitors asks what it is. The
painter is i 1 a quandary. He absolutely docs
not understand it himself. Suddenly an idea
illuminates him.
"The name must be on the back," he says.
The visitor turns it and reads:
"A landscape."
"Ah!" says tie painter, with a sigh of re
lief. "That's it It is a landscape."
And he proceeds to expatiate on its beau
ties. THE MIDNIGHT SUN.
A WONDUKFrL smHT AS VIEWED OFF THK
SHOIIES )F THE ARCTIC.
New York Tr.une.
A lady from New York, Mrs. John
Straiton, who is traveling with ne of
her daughters in the north of Europe,
sends me a description of the midnight
sun, from which 1 take some sentences.
Her letter is d.'.te "Ten minutes past
midnight, June 13," and it commences :
"I have just descended from the steam
er's bridges, and had the inexpressible
pleasure of wit :-essing the wonderful
sight of tho midnight sun, which now,
nearly at 1 o'clock, is shining so bright
ly that I canuot gaze upon it with the
nuked eye. It has not been lost or ob
scured fur a single moment, and at half
past 11, when I came 0.1 deck, little
birds were skimming the surface of the
water, and larger ones were soaring
high in the bright bine sky; and great
mountains and glaciers we re around ma
on every side, except one side, where
the Arctic ocean, was lying open and
tranquil under a blaze just rippling its
surface.
"My imagination could hardly realize
that it was the middle of the night,
with life all around me, and the half
bewildered passengers, unable to seek
their beds, sleep being banished
in the excitement - of tho phenom
enon; yet no one seemed to
feel the want of sle?p, there
being an invigorating something in the
pure atmosphere. The familiar gesture
of the passengers is to take out their
watches. Almost everybody is sleepy,
but the prevailing impression is that it
is midday and not midnight; everybody'
has been anticipating this glorious
sight, and though the elements proved
contrary and cloiicls and rains made all
gloomy, we have suddenly come to the
present rapture.
"The first thing we knew was two rain
bows encircling the sky at 3 in the after
noon, and then the bine vault of heaven
appeared and the sun broke forth in
glory. It shone so keenly that we had
to use colored glasses over our eyes, of
red and green. Under that sun the
lofty snow crowned peaks were seen to
stretch away miles in the distance, aud
glaciers upon them reaching half-way
down ; and at their base in the fjords
were fishermen's huts hardly distin
guishable from the rocks; moss on the
mountains sometimes made a sharp
contrast with the glaciers. The moun
tains were more than 4,000 feet high,
and cascades rushed down their slopes
to the waters, flashing in the iniduight
gun. This sun seemed bo look down
with mi estic grandeur upon the noble
mountains, most of which give birth to
cascades slowly sickling down from
the melted snevs ; and here and there
is an amphitheatre of mountains disap
pearing in the exquisite distance, and
while our steamer glides along, peak
after peak raises its head to welcome
us."
The Taxes of the Aators.
Gath.
The Aators figure smoug the heaviest tax
payers in the city. In IbSJ they iid $350,
000, and this year they handed in a check for
$400,000. Even this large amount does not
represent their entire taxable wealth, inas
much as they lease a great deal of property
with the stipulation that the lessees shall pay
the ground rent and other taxes. It is au
thoritatively reported that these reach at
least $100,000, so that a fair representation of
the amount f taxes which the Asters' real
estate contributes to the revenues would make
it at least $500,000 per annum.
LORDS WHO LIKE 0UB LAND.
English. Noblemen Who Are Deeply
Interested In American Asrlenltural
'Heal Estate, '
Cor. Washington Herald. j
The largest owner of land bought in recent
years in this country is Sir Edward James
Reed, II. T. for Cardiff, Wales. He has
purchased in the last ten years 2,000,000 acres
of well-solected cattle-grazing land in Mon
tana and Dakota. . Sir Edward Reed is a
practical man, and the founder of his own
fortune, which he got out of the iron and coal
mines of his native Wales and the tin mines
of Cornwall. His investments in this coun
try directed many others to our public do
main who had great confidence in his
sagacity. Next in consequence is the pur
chase last year of 1,800,000 acres, consisting
mostly of pine and in the state of Missis
sippi, though lncludod in this holding aro
400,000 acre of the finest agricultural le nd
on the continent, lying on tho Yazoo river
bottoms. This maguift ,ent property belongs
to the firm of Philips, Marshall & Co., wealthy
corn factors of Mark Lane, who are also the
largest dealers hi American wheat and other
grains in Englaad.
Next in consequence oomes the Grant
estate, whi-h includes an entire county ia
Kansas and has within iti bounds 50,000
acres. This proliably is the most desirable
landed estate bold by a single cwner la
America, as the land is rich, well watered,
and settled mostly by emigration farmers
from England and Scotland. Alexander
Grant, the owner, has laid off all his lands
into farms, built about 400 good farm-bouses
each with the necessary out-buildings, and is
conducting the estate just as though it was
north of the Cheviots instead of America.
The duke Of Portland owns about iOO.OOO
acres, part of which is on the North Platte la
Nebraska, and part in Colorado. Not much
of it is jet in cultivation. Lord Stafford
owns 100,000 acres on the line of the Northern
Pacillc railroad, and he is gradually coloniz
ing it and getting it into eld cultivation.
Lord Dcnraveu is tho pioneer of the Eng
lish nobility in American land-owning. Ho
bought tho well-known property in Colorado
called by kim Dunraven park in 1868, and at
government prices. Dunraven park contains
about 100,000 acres.. The first purchase was
00,000, and subsequently 40,000 acres more
were added. It is one of iho liest cattle
ranches in America, being a lovely valley,
full of pure streams fed by mountain rprings,
rich in the best cattle growing grass known,
and the wkole property is fenced in by moun
tain ranges. It is now easily worth f 1,000,
000, but Lord Dunraven refuses to sell it at
any price. Lord Dunmore owns
10,009 acres not far from Dun
raven, and very much the same charctor
of kind, which U rapidly improving.
The duke ef Beau-fort Is one of thi four own
ers of a tract of 400,008 acres recently bought
by English gentlemen in the Pan-Handle of
Texas and Sir John RaivReed is another of
them, the others of interest being two rich
bankers' sons. The' e are many other Eng
lishmen who leave from 1,000 to 2,000 acres
in Colorado, Texas, Dakota and New Mexico,
but those alluded to in tba house of lords
only were those I wisVed to iueak of."
SAD CASE OF ETHICAL CUL
TURE. Busdette.
It was September, 1879. Tho traia
that bore Rode Hawkins to college
caught him away from the arms of his
mother and the kisses of his sisters.
Very glnni was Rode llawkins, and
very reluctant was he to go to school.
" Aw, shaw !" he growled. "I donkare
to go, nuther, so what's the use? Dog
gone the collidge, it don't do no good,
an' I won't know no moro w'en I come
back than I do w'en I go away, I'd
druther drive team 'r learn a trade 'r
somethin'. Dod fetch the thing, any
how." June, 1883. Ambrose Hawkin returns
to his ancestral halls on the farm. His
family weep for joy. All rush to em
brace him as he steps from the train.
Ambrose Hawkins gazes fixedly at
them through the oriel window that in
cludes one eye, and, delicately extend
ing two fingers for them to grasp, he
murmurs:
"Aw, fathaw, gently, my dear fellah,
gently; easy on the rings, ye know;
bless yon, . me mothaw how, no,
thanks; kiss you when we get home, ye
knaw: how "do, brotbaw brothaw
well, bless me soul, but aw, Ive forgot
ten the boy's name. Sistah deah, will
vou kmdly hand theso brawses faw me
boxes to the luggago mawstah? Aw
is this this the vehicle?"
And all the way home the old man
didn't say a w ord, but he just drove and
thought, and thought and drove, and '
nearly all that night he sat up twisting
hickories and laying them to soak in
the watering trough down by the cow
barn. And ho told a ncighlor next
morning that Charles Francis Adams
was rigid, and that "he had about four
years of college Lirnin to unlarn fer
Rodo afore the boy could holler at a
yoke of steers like he used to, but the
boy seemed to be comin' round all
right, and he reckoned he'd do, bye'n
bye.
POISONS FOR ARROW'S.
Boston Budget
Different tribes of Indians use differ
ent sorts of poison for their arrow
points. The Comanches use the juice
of the Spanish bayonet; the Apaches
bruise tho heads of rattlesnakes with
bits of deer liver, allow it to putrefy
and dip their arrows in it. Tho Moquis
irritates a rattlesnake until he bites
himself, and moisten their darts in the
blood. Poisons made from the stings
of bees and from ants are used by other
tribes. '
J1E SILENCED HER.
St Louis Globo Democrat.
Julia Ward Howe has preserved one
specimen of the fashionable notoriety
hunter, like the fly in amber. A well
known New York woman, so the story
goes, took her out on her Newport
piazza the other day and begged .her to
"say something brilliant about it thai
would always be qvioted." Mrs. Howe
looked at her a moment and then re
plied: "Really, I can't .think of any
thin? except that it's a bully old piazza,
anyhow."
' faslnao-Llke Apology.
Inter Ocean.
An Oil City deacon, being late at
ehurch, asked the congregation to ex
cuse his tardiness, as he had been up
the night before opening the finest lot
of dry goods ever brought in town.
Consumptives are cured in France by visit
ing the wine presses and inhaling the fumes
of the fermenting juice. Sometimes, at first,
they become intoxicated and are borne away
senseless.