Rensselaer Republican, Volume 14, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 December 1881 — Page 4

FROM WASHINGTON.

Guitea’s Trial Dragging its Weary Length Along— Proceedings in Detail. HINTH DAY. The attendance at the Criminal Court ■ thisutooruing was sensibly diminished on Recount of the rain storn. While Guiteau was taking hia.breakfastat the City Hall, he expressed dissatisfaction at the-release of Jones upon ball. When the court opened, Mr. Scoville made a formal request for the papers taken ft om Guitea at the time of bis lirrest, stating that they were material evidence for the defense, and, since the prosecution had not needed them, he could see no reason why they should be withheld. The District Attorney offered to furnish copies of the papers, but Scoville insisted upon his rights in the matter, and asked for the original. JPendlDg the discussion, Guiteau insisted Upon being heard, and said: “I can throw light upon this. At the time of my arrest, I had forty or fifty editorial slips showing the political situation in May and June last. These slips show the action and one of the forces that impelled me on to the President. They are very important as showing the gist of the whole matter. There were forty or fifty slips denouncing President Garfield. It was by living on such ideas as these that I was finally impelled to fire on the Presi- ' dent with my inspiration.*/ C6lonei CorkhiU interposed again haying: “If li will enable you to get through to day I will send for them at once.”

During the momentary lull in the proceedings, Guiteau‘desired to make a personal explanation, saying he had used the expression yesterday that “Julius” was too suggestive of the negro race, and for that reason he had dropped it from his name. His prejudiee' was begotten twenty years ago; he meant no disrespect to any person or kny race, particularly not to the colored race, for they were more highly thought of than the white race nowadays. Scoville continued by reading Guiteau’s letters. He read a letter written by Guiteau to his father, in which he spoke ofo having gotten into some trouble, aud in which he asked for money. (Guiteau explained the letter, saying: “Otae of my -clients, a miserable little whelp, had me arrested on account of a little difference of between us. As soon a." the District Attorney’s attention was called to the matter F.was released, I never ought to have been arrested, but it got into the papers and did me a good deal of harm. 1 had heeu in the theology business for sotue time, aud, as. usual, \yas out of motley. That’s ail there was in that.” * « As the reading of the letter was concluded, Guiteau again interrupted, saying: “I never ‘got much from my father. He got down ou me because I left the Oneida Community. We ccuid never after that agree on that miserable, stinking Community business. I’m mad every time I think of it. It kept me out of fellowship with toy father up to the lipie of his death.” Mr. Scoville, resuming, alluded to Guiteau’s career as a politician, and drew (he conclusion that his iutellect was deficient. The view aroused the prisoner at once, and he hegau a series of interruptions, protesting against Scovillela conclusions as false. When reference was made to his running around from one committee room to another, seek-, ing to W employed as a campaign speaker,«gpd bis failure to obtain recognition was mentioned, Guiteau shouted angrily: “ ’Twasn’t because 1 had no ability, but I was not ! kno.wn. I had idess, but not reputation. They wanted big .guns, like General Grant anj| Senator Conkiing, men who would draw.'* Then, in direct contradictiQn of his counsel’s declaration to the jury yesterday, that Guiteau was man who never made a joke in bis life, he looked up with an amused smile, aud added, f, I presume I’d draw now.” This provoked general laughter, which was promply suppressed by the Judge, who struggled to disguise a smile upon his own features. Scoville continued upon the same line and criticised Guiteau’s speech entitled “Garfield vs. Hancock.” It was, he said, a mere-jumble of ideas collated from newspapers and from speeches of others. No one but a crazy mau would have imagined, a 3 Guiteau did, that his speech possessed any merit.

Guiteau became more and more restless, and in the most excited man* ner yet shown by him, shouted to 8coville: M I obiect to your theory en that score, and when you try to make out I’m a fool I’m' down on you. I want you to tell ihe truth, but you needn’t try to make me out a fool. I ay Deity inspired my act, and he will ake care of it, I want the truth,' anjj that’s ajil there is about it. Colonel Corkhill arose to protest against the interruptions of the prisoner, when Guiteau waved his hand to him patronizingly, and said: “’Tis not necessary to make any remarks, Colonel; just let the matter drop.” Mr. Scoville was willing to agree to any measures the, District Attorney might suggest to restrain the prisoner. Mr. Davidge desired tosuggtst a way to prevent these outbreaks. He attributed them entirely to Scoville’s course in commenting upon the evidence already submitted, aud his attjmpt to argue from it a mental infirmity on the ’part of the prisoner. 'Guiteau listened intently, and striking his clenched hand upon the w)le in front of him, exclaimed, “I a£iee with that all through, and desire to thank the prosecution and every one of them for spirit they have shown. I think Colonel Corkhill made a flue opening. There was ril any bitterness at all in his speech, agd I commend him for it” . Guiteau continued to interject his observations upon Scoville’s theory that he fGuiteau)’was deficient in intellect, and protested he would not allow his counsel to malm him out a fooL .After a few minutes Guiteau agbskfed, and promised the Court he would keepqi^iet. » -A«be request of the District Atto.r

ney witnesses for the defense were excluded from the court room with the exception of Mrs. Scoville, the proeecutfeo, at tile request of Mr. Scoville, making an exception in her case. The first witness for the defense, H. N. Burton, was then examined. The Rev. H. N. Burton was formerly a Congregational minister at Kalamazoo, Michigan, who heard Goiteau’s lecture in 1677 on “The Second Coming of Christ.” Die lecture was peculiar. He did not think Guitaeu at that time sufficiently insane to be irresponsible —probably less deranged than badly arranged. Mr. Burton was not crossexamined by the proeecutiou. Hiram H. Davis, of Erie, Pa., a former reeident of Ann Arbor, Mich., was next called. He testified that he knew Mrs. Maynard, Guiteau’s aunt. She wes always considered peculiar, and oftentimes crazy. She had a constant terror of the poor house, although she was a wealthy woman. Her daughter was called "Foolish Abide Maynard,” and was, in fact, a foot She attended church constantly, and was crazed on religious matters, and wore the same Lon net year after year. Mr. Wilcox, an old gentlemen of Stevenson county, the next witness. He testified that he knew Luther W. Guiteau, father of the defendant, very well. He was peculiar but apparently sincere. He always insisted that he would never die, aud believed in the Oneida Community. He was at one time a Presbyterian, then a Methodist. Witness had seen the prisoner, but knew nothing of him. No cross-examina-tion,

TENTH DAY. The Criminal Court was crowded in every part this morning, mostly by ladies, for the mo9t part representing the fashionable circles of Washington society. Immediately upon the opening of the court Scoville stated that Guiteau desired to make a statement. No objection being made, Guiteau read from manuscript substantially as follows: I propose to have all the facts bearing on this ease go the court and to the jury, and to do this 1 have been forced to interrupt the counsel and witnesses who were mistaken as to the supposed facts. I meant no discourtesy to them or any one. Any fa6t in my career bearing on the question who fired that shot, the Deity or myself, is of vital importance in this case, and I propose that it go to the jury. Hence tny personal, political aud theological record may be developed. I am glad that your Honor and the opposing counsel are.disposed to give a historical review of ray life, Aid I ask the press and public to do - likewise. All I want ii absolute justice, and ' I shall not permit any “crooked” work. I have no idea that my counsel wanted “crooked” work. They are often mistaken on supposed facts, and I shall have to correct them. Last Spring certain newspapers m New York aud Washington were bitterly debouncing the President for'breakiug up the Republican party by improper api»ointments. I would like those newspapers to reprint those editorials now and see how they would look and, sound. In attempting to remove the President, I only did what the papers said ought to be done. Since July 2d, they have h en Deifying the President aud denouncing me fordoing the very thing they said ought to.he done. I want those newspapers and the doctors who actually killed the President to share wit): me the odium of his death. 1 never would have shot him of my own volition, notwithstanding those newspapers, if I had not been commissioned by Deity to do the deed. But this fact does dot relieve newspapers from the supposed disgrace ol the President’s removal. If he had been properly treated lie would have been alive to-day. It has been published that I am iu fear of death. It is false. I have always been a religious man and an active worker for God. Some people think I am a murderer, but tbe Lord d es not, for He inspired the act, as in the case of Abraham, aud a Score of other cases in the Bible. Tbe assault made upon me Saturday last by a “crank” has been condemned by the press. The eyes of the civilized world are watching this case, aud it behooves this court and Metropolitan police to protect me at all hazards. I hereby warn all “cranks,” of high or low degree, to keep away from me uudtr penalty of instant death. He would have been shot dead Saturday but for the rearing of the horses in the van as the officer was shooting. The horses shook the van so that he lost his aim, and though the van pursued him, he temporarily escaped. I waste my arguments on “crank.” All they can see in this case is a policeman’s revolver. Again 1 say, if they value their lives, they must keep away from me. I desire the court and jury to dispose of this case on the facts and the law, and leave all the responsibility about it to the verdict.

Scoville then referred to his previous demands for certain printed newspaper' slips which were taken from Guiteau at the time of his arrest. A colloquy ensued between the counsel, in wbich considerable feeling was shown upon both sides. Scbville protested against the course of the District Attorney in the matter, and the latter contemptuously retorted from hi 3 seat, “Oh, stuff, stuff"; all stuff.” The controversy was finally settled, and Scoville called John A. Logan from the defense. The witness did not respond, however. Guiteau, V’ko seemed greatly excited, here broke in again, and Shouted: “There is another matter I want to speak about right now. I understood that my divorced wifeeis to be brought here as a witness against me. If that’s so, there will be trouble. She was a poor, unfortunate thing, and I never should have married her. But if she comes in hereto testify against me and do me any harm, I’ll rip up her whole record. She was seduced in Philadelphi, and had a child before I married her.”

With great difficulty, Scoville, after some minutes expostulation, succeeded in quieting Guiteau. Two other witnesses were called but failed to respond. Joseph B. Smith, of Freeport, 111., testified as to bis acquaintance with the Gniteau family. E. O. Fos3 testified as to the scene at the depot on the morning of the shooting. were several sharp passages between Scoville and counsel for prosecution during the questioning of this witness. ' , Charles H. Reed, of Chicago, detailed several incidents in Guiteau’s career as a lawyer at Chicago. Witness was prosecuting attorney for twelve years, and met Guiteau frequently, but his relations with him were never intimate. He had loaned him money, which was still due. He always regarded him as a very earnest, smoere man, but un-

[ balanced. He never saw any indication of violence, and always deemed him a harmless man until recently. Charles H. Reed, of Chicago, continued his testimony. The witness saw Guiteau here several times last Spring. Frequent references were made during the conversations to the office Guiteau was expecting to have. Witness told Guiteau that he had no show for the Paris Consulship, and he would help him get a clerkship or some minor position, where there was little responsibility attached, but Guiteau became very indignant, and said: “You watch the papers the next three or four days, and you will see the announcement of my appointment to the Paris Consqlsbip.” Witness visited Gviteau a few days since in tbe Jail and asked him why he killed President Garfield. The prisoner was lying down on his couch. He arose excitedly and began a rambling sort of speech, saying, “I didn’t do it; the Lord did it I was only the Lord’s instrument in removing the President’* At times the prisoner would show great excitement, striking his flatsagainst the wall with considerable violence; then he would relapse into a perfectly quiet state, speaking almost in a whisper. Witness received the impression that Guiteau was of unsound mind. Being pressed for a more direct answer, he replied: “I had not a doubt of it.”

Upon cross-examination witness stated that the last time he saw Guiteau was on the Tuesday evening before the assassination of the President. Guiteau took exception to the date, and insisted that he did not see the witness for a month previous to July 1. The witness was sure of the oorreetuess of his statement, as he went directly to Saratoga and heard there of the killing of the President. Guiteau shouted out: “I say it was tbe Ist of May. I don’t forgot anything. You see, that’s what’s the matter with my brain. When anything gets In there it sticks.” Witness resumed, when Guiteau broke in again, directly contradicting him. He was cautioned to keep quiet, and retorted: “We want facts, Judge, to go before the jury, and nothing else. I claim that my act was inspired by the Diety. I stake my case on that ' position, and I’ll take my chances on q<he result.” The prisoner continued to interrupt, making rambling and irrelevant remarks, until* Judge Cox quite sharply Threatened to gag him if he did not keep quiet,- | f Guiteau continued to interpose objections, however, but in a less objectionable manner, and gradually subsided altogether. < ’ *. Recess. . Dr. of Salem, Mass., some time connected with the insane asylum, lias been summoned for the defense in the Guiteau trial. JONES INDICTED. The Grand Jury has iudicted Win. Jones for an assault with intent to kill Guiteau.

Restoring Solomon’s Temple.

Domloti Telegraph. lteuf Pasha, the Turkish Governor of Jerusalem, has recently received imperative orders from Ruitan Abdul Hatnid to resume the work of restoration of Solomon’s temple, commenced uuder the reigu of Abdul Aziz, but discontinued some, five years ago. The Pasha lias also been instructed to clear the great square froutiug tlio temple of all the rubbish aud rank vegetation with which it is at present incumbered. In this square stands the famous Mosque-of Omar, which derives a revenue of some £15,000 a year from pilgrim contributions aud other sources. Hithetto tjhe greater portion of this sum found its way annually to Staraboul. The Sultan, however, has decreed that henceforth it shall be applied to defray the expenses of the works above alluded to, the present resumption of . which, as well as their original incention, is due in reality to suggestions made at different times to the Ottoman authorities by members of the Austrian imperial family. The restoration of the temple ruins was begun at the instance of Francis Joseph, during his visit to the Holy Land, shortly after the accession of Abdul Aziz to the throne, aud it was the recent pilgrimage of the Archduke Rudolph to Judea that imparted a fresh impulse to the interrupted enterprise. Not only has the Commander of the Faithful signified it to be his sovereign will that the works should be carried out without further delay, but two officials of the Sublime Porte, Serid and Raif Effendim have already left Jerusalem, with instructions to take measures, on their arrival, for insuring the literal fulfillment of his Majesty’s decree. The gratitude of Christians and Jews alike is due to Abdul Hamid, for lending his high authority to so generous and enlightened an undertaking.

A Sneezing Scene.

New York Mercury. Probably one of the meanest stage tricks that was ever played was upon Mary Auderson. It will be remembered that in the play of “Tngomar,” Parthenia and the barbarian have several love scenes, where they 10l on each other and hug some—that is not too much hugging but just hugging enough. Ingomar weais a huge fur garment, made of lion’s skin or something. One day he noticed that the moths were getting into it, and told his servant to see about the moths and drive them out. The servant got some insect powder and blowed the hair of the garment full of it, and scrubbed the inside of it with benzine. Ingomar put it on just before he went on the stage, and thought it didn’t smell just right, but he had no time to inquire into it. He had not got fairly into his position before Parthenia came out with a hop, skip a and Jump, and threw herself all over him. Shegotone lung full of insect powder and tne other fufi of benzine, aud she said, “Wilt always love me, Ingomar?’’ she dropped her head over his shoulder and said in an aside “For the love of heaven, what have you been drinking?” and then she sneezed a couple of times. Ingomar held her up the best he could,considering that his nose was full of insect powder, and he answered, “I wilt,” and then he said to her quietly, “Damfino what it is that smells so.” They went on with the play between sneezes, and when the ourtain went down she told ingomar to go out and shake him* self, and he did. It was noticed in the next act that Ingomar had a linen ulster on, and Mary snoze no more.

Inconvenient Affections.

Texas ShtfUnga. “I hear, Bam, you are gwine ter lead ter de alter one of Austin’s fairest daughiers. Am dat de sac?” “Uncle Moee, hit am de sac dat I have been paying my distresses ter de lubly and accomplished Miss Matildy Flapjack, bat the tender relations dat hab desisted between ns am severed forebber, sab.” “Did she kick yer, Sammy, or did she only set the dog on yer?” “No, sah, she lube me yit, and she wanted me to call on her twice a day, sah, but she libs next door to de cullud lady who has a wash bill agin me, so I list made up my mind to transfer* my defections to some udder lady dat am. like Waoo, ■ah, more favorably located.”

UNLOVE# AND ALONE. joAomm mm. The sea dove some twin shadow has. The lark haa 1 c-reala seas of grass. The wild beast trumpets back his vow, Tbe srjahrral laughs along Its bo«gh; Bat I, I am alons, alas! • As yon white moon when white clouds peas. As lonely and unloved, alas! As clouds that weep and drop and pass, Ob, maiden, singing silver sweet, At cabin door, In field of corn, Where woodbines twine for thy retreatling sweet through all thy summer morn, For love is landing at thy feet, In that fair lsls in seas at corn, But I, lam unloved and lorn. * The ships, black-bellied, climb the sea, The seamen seek their loves on land, And love and lover, hand in hand, Go singing as glad as glad can be. But nevermore shall love seek me, By blowy sea or broken land, By broken wild or willow tree, Nay, nevermore shall love seek me.

“ADOPTED.”

“It»g very strange,” muttered Blanche Penroy, slowly weaving toE tker the wreath of scarlet autumn tvea with which she was decorating her broad-brimmed straw hat. She made a beautiful picture there all alone in the mellow glow and color of the October woods, a crimson shawl drooping from her shoulders, and the stlnshtqe lighting Up her bright auburn curls with glittering threads of gold, while upon the fallen ttee trunk that formed her impromptu seat lay a tiny branch of ferns and autnmnal flowers. She was transparently fair, with purple veins in each wfiea temple and a faint pink bloom on her cheeks, while her eyes, large and brown, seemed to look at you with the grave, tender expression es an infant. “Yes, it la very strange,” went on Mias Penroy, musing within herself, “I know so little about him; I have only known him ten days, yet when he spoke about leaving Elm Point last night it seemed as if all the sunshine Was leaving tbe world for me. Oh, Blanche, naughty, naughty. little Blanche!” she added, leaning forward, and apostrophizing the fair face mirrored in the stream at her feet, “is it fiossible that you’ve allowed yourself o fall in love with that tall, blackeyed young man? Ten days ago I had never seen him —and now!” The roses mounted up in her cheeks as she wondered within herself whether Mr. Evering cared for her. “I wish I knew!” she muttered aloud. * “Knew what?” demanded a calm voice, and Mr. Gilbert Evering took up the bunch of flewers ana coolly seated himself beside her—a tall, handsome man, with brilliant dark ayes, rather irregular features, a deep color glowing through his olive skin. Blanche demurely looked up at him; she was .not to be taken by storm thus easily, and asked! “Do you think it will rain to-mor-row. For our picnic I want to wear my white India shawl.” “Oh, the plcniC! I had forgotten that when I spoke of leaving to-mor-row. Of course, though my presence or absenoe will make no great differ-* •nee. Blanche was silent. Somehow that scarlet afid brown spotted leaf required a good deal adjustment in that ribbon of her hat. “Blanche, shall I go or stay?” “As you please, Mr. Evering, of course.” “No, as somebody else pleases. Yes or no! Aud I forewarn you that yes means a great deal.” “How much does it mean?” questioned Blanche, half archly, half timoursly. i “Everything!” “Then you may stay.” “My Blanche—my little daisy!” lie whispered, bending his stately head over the slender hand that lay on the autumn leaves. And Blanche felt that in the golden stillness of that October evening she had turned a new leaf in the book of her life! She was very, very happy, and al that day she seemed to be walking through the of a dream But withlffie morning came other feelings. Alavthat shadow should always follow sunshnre'in this world of ours.

“I am not disposed to be unreasonable Blanche,” said Gilbert, in a whisper, as he arranged her white lace shawl for her amid the meri;y tumult of the picnic ground, “but I do think you’ve waltzed quite enough with Mr. Birmingham. “Jealous already, Gilbert!” taunted the girl, flushed and rosy with the trumphs of her beauty and the irresistible instincts of coquetry. She colored deeply. “Of course you’ll do as you please, Blanche; only I warn you, it’s a choice between Walter Birmingham and me. You dance with him again atyourown risk.” n • At the same instant he came up. “May I have the pleasure of the polka with you, Miss Penroy?” And Blanche, defiant, willful, and a little piqued, said “yes.” * She glided away with her hand on Walter Birmlngnam’s shoulder. Gilbert had no business to be so very unreasonable. His grave, stern face rather her as she came once more to the rustic seat of twisted boughs, when the band was silent, and Mr. Birmingham had gone to bring her a-glass of iced lemonade. “Gilbert, why do you look so cross?” “Because I have reason. lam sorry you pay so little attention to my wishes. Miss Penroy. She drew herself up haughtily. “You are beginning to dictate e ariy sir!” •

“Have I not the right?” “No, Mr. Evering.” “Be it so, Blanche,” he said, in a voice that betrayed how deep the arrow rankledsiq ni bosom. “I give up the right now and henceforward.” Blanche was startled. She would have said more, but Walter Birmingham was advancing toward her, and when she had lesiure to look round, Gilbert was gone from her side. “What have I done!’, she thought in dismay. “I’ll see him this evening and coax him into good humor jonce more. He surely can’t be vexed with me for an idle word like that.” “Such a charming day we have had, Mrs. rraine,” said Blanche, as she came in, smiling and radiant as if the worm, remorse, was not gnawing at her heart. “Yes,” said the blooming matron, who was reading in an easy chair under the shadow of the vines. “But what sent Mr. Evering away in such a hurry?” “Sent him away?” “Yes, by the evening train. He came home, packed his trunk, and drove away as if there was not a moment to lose. lam very sorry: we shall miss him so much.” Blanche Jwent slowly up-stairs and sat down by her window, looking out at the purple glow of the evening landscape as if it were a featureless blank. So he was really gone away; and by her own folly she had lost tne priceless treasure of Gilbert Everings love. “And I cannot even write to him, for I do not know his address,” she thought, with clasped hands and tearles eyes / -“Well, it is my own lault, and I must abide the consequenoee as beet I may.” So Blanche Penroy went home from the gay, fashionable place a sadder and wiser woman, and the November mists drooping e’er the- brick and mortar wilderness of her city home had never seamed half so dreary to her as they did now. “I suppose I shall be an old maid,” thought Blanohe, walking up and down in the fire-lit darkness of her room, her dimpled hands clasped behind her waist. “I never care for any one now as I oared for—for Gilbert; and I dare say I will keep a oat and

gi«w Aud of green pee*. Ah, well-*-day! life cannot last forever.” A dreary oomfort that for a girl of nineteen stun men. She rang the bell with an impatient jerk. “Are there any letters, Sanderson V* “One, ma’am; it came by the evening poet, about five minutes ago.” “Light the gas; then, and give it to me.* Blanche sat down by the lire and opened the letter, suppressing a yawn. “Black-edged—and black sealed i So poor Mrs. Maichmont has gone at fast!” j It was from the executors of Miss Penroy*s distant cousin, formally and briefly announcing her death, which bad taken place In one of the West India islands some months since; but of which the “melancholy news,” as the letter ran, bad only jtu£ been reoeived. It was not entirely unexpected, as Mrs. March me nt had been for some years slowly fading out of the world, a victim to hereditary consumption. i

“Leaving one child, a son,” - slowlv repeated Blanche, leaning her cheek on her hand and looking down Into the fiery quiver of the white-hot coals. “Poor little fellow ! be must feel nearly as desolate as I do! Only I have one advantage—l have at least a Snfflciency of this world’s goods and this orphan child must be thrown penniless and alope on his own resources, for. if I remember aright, Mrs. Marchmont forfeited all the wealth of her first marriage by her second allianoe with tbe poverty-stricken lawyer, whose death plunged her into such bitter mourning. That was a genuine love-match, yet how much grief and trouble It brought! ‘leaving one child—an omy son * Why should I not adopt the stray waif, and make It the business of toy life to cherish and comfort him? I have no object in existence; here is one that Providence itself seems to point out to me.” Once more she rang the bell, with a fresh color growing in her cheeks and a new light in her eyes. “Bring in my writing-desk immediately, Sanderson, and get ready to take a letter to the post for me as boob as possible.” * The old servant obeyed, wondering at his mistress’ unwonted energy and yet well pleased to see some of hei old an'mation retnrning. “She do look more like herself tonight, do Miss Blanche, than she has for a long time,” he said to the housekeeper, as he aame down-stairs after obeying the summons. “I only wish Miss Blahcbe Would take a fancy to some nice, properly-behaved ‘‘young man; it don’t seem right that she should live all by herself in this big house, so forlofn-like.” The househeeper nodded sagaciously to old Mr. Sanderson’s proposition. She fully agreed with him. “Only Miss Blanche was too willful ever to'listen to a word of advice.” It was a very simple letter that Blanche Penroy wrote to her “faraway” cousin’s executors, dictated by the fullness of her heart.

“I shall- never marry now,” she wrote, “and it seems to become my Mainly indicated duty to undertake he dare of this orphan child of Mrs. Marchmont. With your approval, therefore, I propose to adopt him, and endeavor, as far as is in my power, to supply the place of his lost mother. You may at first deem me rather too yoiing to undertake so great aud serious a responsibility} but lam Ifi last month, and I ani very, V6r£ mach older in thought than in vears. Of course at my death the chila will inherit the property which was left me by my parents.” “I hope my cousin’s ekecutors are like tbe nice, white headed old lawyers one reads about,” said Blanche to herself as she folded the sheet of paper, “aud not cross old fudges, talking of ‘expediency’ and ‘appropriateness’: for I do so much want somebody to love aud care for: for I have a sort of premonition that this little fellow will be nice, rosy, and lovable. 1 think I’ll teach him to call me ‘Annty.’ ” Exactly a week subsequently a prim legal note was rec eived from Messrs. Alias & Corpus, the deceased lady’s Executors, saying “they saw no valid objection to Miss Penroy’s very laudable projects, and that in accordance thereto, the ohild of the late Mrs. Marchmont would arrive at Miss Penroy’s residence on the following Saturday.” “Saturday, and this is Friday, ejaculated Blanche, with the new brightness dancing in her hazel jeyes. “Oh how idadlshall be! Sanderscn, tell Mrs. ; Irown to have the blue-room fitted up immediately for Master Marchmont, and you had better go yo.urself to the station with the carriage at 6 to-mor-row afternoon to meet him.” “Yes, ma’am„” said Sandeison, stolidly.

The apparition of a gieat unruly boy tramping with muddy boots on the velvet carpets, and disturbing the house with Dalis, marbles and halloos, did not possess the charm jn Sanderson’s eyes that it seemed to have for his mistress. And even patient MrsBrown remarked with a species of exasperation that “she didn’t see what put this freak into Miss Blanche’s head. ’ Saturday was a day of hail and tempest, and softly falling snow, and by five o’clock the drawing rooms were ighted, and the crimson silk Curtain closely drawn, to exclude the stormy darkness without. / Six times within the last fifteen minutes had Blauche Penroy looked at her watch, as she stood by' the fire waiting to hear the returning carriage wheels. She was dressed in a rich chjna-bltnr Silk dress with pearl pin andear drops and a little point lace at her throat and wrists, and the color in her cheeks,and the golden tinge in her bright hair made her, unconsciously, vi|ry fair to look upon.

“Oh, I hope—l hope he will like me,” thought Blanche, with that distinctive yearning for love that enters every woman’s heart, as the door opened. “Here’s theycunggentleman, miss,” said Sanderson, with a half-suppressed sound between a laugh and a snort. But instea'd of a child 7 or 8 years old, a tall apparition stalked hi, something over six feet high, witn a black mustache, aDd merry hazel eyes brimming over with mirth. For an instant Blanche stared at him as if she could scarcely credit the evidence of her own senses. “Gilbert!” “Exactly. You wanted to adopt me and here lam.” “No, but Gilbert—” “Yes, but Blanche!*’ “You are not Mrs. Marchmont’s son!” “lam, by her first marriage. And although lam not the penniless Infant you seemed to suppose, as all my father’s wealth comes to me.l am qpite willing to be adopted, panloularlyas Sou are not married to Walter Biftiighami”

Blanche struggled with tears and laughte;; uncertain which would best expiess her feelings, but Gilbert Evering drew her tenderly towardjhim. “If youadopf me, dearest, it must be for lire. do not hesitate—our happiness haeahieady been too muoh at tne mercy of trifles. You will not retract your offer?” “Well, aft er all,” said Blanche demurely, “all I wanted was somebody to love and care for, and—” “And J shall did very well in that capacity, eh?” And Sanderson, who had been listening earnestly at the door, crept down stairs to inform Mrs. Brown that “they were going to have a new maste r.”

Jewelry Fashions.

Hsw York Evening Post. The changes in the fashions of jewelry are in nothing more striking than in Jems and their settings. Fashionable women have been known to have

times in one year.aimply to gratify the love of •eveire. 3he price of diamonds as already noted In the Evening Poet, has lately advanced some 26 per cent in oonsequenoe of the '‘corner effected in the South Africa diamond field by a company of English capitalists”. There is now matrons' fancy for colored atones and blue diamonds, which a few yean ago were rated as off-color and inferior to the white, have become especial favorites. If a pore white diamond is worth tl7t a carat, a bine diamond of the same quality will brings2so a carat The sapphire is also in great demand, its value having risen 160 per cent in the last year, and for fine rubles,of the admired “pigeon’s blood” color only fancy prices can be quoted. The topaz and the yellow diamonds are exceptions to the popularity of colored gems, though lemon-tinted diamonds are not eo lightly esteemed as stones of other shades in yellow. All emeralds are rising in value, including ths hiddenite, or American emerald, lately found' in Nortn Carolina, for which a prominent firm tn this city will readily pay 6100 a carat This stone is said to be fully equal m quality to the finest emeralds imported. The turquoise is another object of the fondness for colors, but, like all colored Stones, it can be imitated so closely that it is difficult even for experts to distinguish the false from the true wheu in settings. Pearls are now rising In value, because of a combination in this city to regulate their price. We are no longer dependent upon Europe for semi-precious stones, such as garnets, which are found in great quantities in our Western Territories. Though of emaU-sise, they are of excellent quality, and enter largely into the manufacture ot middle-class ornaments

For and About Women.

Kid shoes are appropriate for children’s wear. A new style of embroidery is called “cub work.” Shopping bags are square instead of oblong or round. Doylies are embroidered in'‘corn silk and gold thread. A beautiful party dress will be of coral pink silk, with white lace on. An economical wife is one who saves, most of what her husband can’t spend. South Kensington stitch is still the favorite outline stitch for embroidery. Umritza cashmere, a new fabric,is so softly draping as to be called aesthetic. Brown blanketing is embroidered with sunflowers for billiard table coverings. Some of the ladies hats just “opened” are big enongh for a minstrel burlesque. Figures are embroidered on black backgrounds, but pale pink or blue is used for child subjects. f The Princess of Wales has not yet put on hoops, and the English lady of fhshlon rejoices thereat. Beautiful curtains and valances are qf dark red plush, with the design in outline work in old gold. Beads are used largely in embroidery. Gold and silver prevail, but all colors are in use, especially amber and Crimson.

A design for a piano front is Appolo leaning from Pan, for the back of which a large design of reeds looks Very Appropriate. A prominent feature of this season’s fancy-work is the outlining of all the forms with tinsel thread, which comes for the purpose. “Mary Jane, have you given the gold fish fresh water?’ “No, ma’am; what’s the use? They haven’t drank up what’s in there yet. With simple toilets are worn plain linen [collars, shaped like a clerical band, and fastened by a handsome collar button, of gold. Among novelties are flat nails or spikes of gilt* silver or jet, with large beads,that are used to fasten .the fronts of sacques and are also thrust into the cuffs.

Evening boots are laced instead of buttoned, and made of satin and kid, garnished with lace frills and bows. Some are beaded and embroidered on the toe. Striped plush is used for Directoire collars, and is trimmed with English laces that are darned in long stitches to outline dropping flowers,convolvuli, lilies, etc. A Theater hat of olive chenille and plush has a bunch of shaded chenille flowers, slightly mixed with gold threads. The strings ai e of reversible plush and satin ribbon. Fancy jewelry is still the rage in Paris. Owl’s beads with diamond or ruby eyes are very much worn, and also, what are much more graceful, tiny birds swinging in a golden hoop. One of the most simple styles of bonnets is composed of gilt buckle with two ends or ribbon three inches long. It is often seen in the street, but never in the theatyt. O woman, you are a puzzle! F A pale green satir. is very pretty for a screen, with peach, almond, pear or apple blossoms, witn their brown stems and budding green leaves, or the most graceful of all, white cherry blossom lendant on its long, slender stem, and ts unfolding bronzed leaves.

A pretty way to decorate wood work is by applying liquid gold through card-board stencil plates. Crescents, trefoils, lozenges and a variety of odd geometrical shapes may thus be powdered over the surface,' not close enough to eajh other to give a crowded -effect. A young man calls himself an as* tronomer’s assistant, and says he makes his observations “on her father’s front gate.” One of these days he will get the declination, and her father will come out and give him the right ascension in no minutes and three seconds. Scent sachets have a bow of satin and a bird on one side; a green paroquet, (f a good size, is a fashionable ornament for the same. The bird is just placed toward the center of loops of ribbon, where the ends meet, with -the wings stretched or not, according to fancy. For dinner cards the most fashionable have beveled edges gilded, the crest or monogram of the owner in gold or gold and silver near the top: the name of the guest written by the hostess underneath. Days of the ween in gold, silver, or illuminated letters are sometimes inscribed upon these cards. Among the new fall “confections, as they are technically called, are Carraick shoulder capes made of heavy black satin, which come quite to the waist or perhaps a trifle below it. They are shirred “Mother Hubbard” fashion around the neck to the depth of several inches, and each cape is trimmed with a wide band of jetted gimp.

An Astonished Boston Man.

Boston Transcript. To a Bostonian traveling ' through this western country some things look very queer. A little incident I saw at Quincy, HI., I thought worth while to write you about We arrived at the depot hard on midnight, and made our way to the foot of the depot to a row of omnibuses, and entered one. When full, to our astonishment, a rather preposessing young lady came to the door and asked for our baggage checks, and later for our coach fare, after collecting which she alighted and called to the driver: “All right, Charley.” Inquiry revealed to us the fact that this girl had “just bought out the bus line and runs the business.” Think of a Boston girl doing this! New Jersey is trying to claim Noah, because he was a New-ark man. Yes, but yon know he looked out of his Arkansaw land. Give the South a fair show in this thing./

JOCOSITIES.

Fall many a youth. too frosto, alas, to last. Has ventured to the gay lee-cream saloon, And wore. In dull December blast. The pale gray raiment that be wore to Jane. „ Bald a goaty old Bari of Baeelenob . . • - ; Who wore a large No. IS sheuch—- •* Taint pretty I know, Bnt be bold my big toe! What more conid a poor fellow deanhf” There was a y .tng fellow .named Hughes, Who bad a bad fit of the blughes, He tore ont bis eyes,' And ate seven plea, And danced IUI he wore ont his shughes. A needy young bam named Vaughn, Once said, “My clothes I most paughn.” But out of the lot _ Not one cent he got, . So he blew ont bis brains on the langhu. Murder on the high Cis a common occurrence among a certain class of soprano singers. By a mother-in-law: “You can deceive your guileless little .wife, young man, but her father’s wife—never.” A man who was asked why husbands quit courting their wives, said it was because other men did it so much nicer. It is terribly hard for a bachelor member of the Hay Fever Association to get married. No woman likes to be sneezed at. In reply to the question, “Will the coming man be bald?” the Norristown Herald affirms that “he generally Is when he first comes.” / A Harlem man whose wife presented him with twins thoughtfully remarked : “Well, well; I should smile to utter; that is a little too two.” Chicago girls like to speculate In stooks and generally favor a rising market. An aesthetic belle, on being asked how she felt, replied: “Bully.” They asked him if he was the best man at the wedding. “No,” he said; “I don’t know as I was the best, but, bejabers, I was as good as aoy of ’em.” A correspondent wants to know why a night watchman at a hotel is paid more than the cashier. Perhaps one of his duties is to watch the cashier. “Whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn the other to him also,” is a biblical expression. In modern parlance it is termed “a reversible cuff.”

To preserve a litWe joke, put it in an almanac, or rent it out by the year to circus clowns and negro minstrels. In this way specimens have been kept for fifteen or twenty years. A darkey philosopher says: “I has noticed dat all great men retains in arter life de early impressions of childhood. Dis scar heali is whar my farder hit me wid a sarssfras stick.” A lady friend asks why a man uses profane language when he hurts himself. That’s easy enough. When he cuts his finger for instance, he naturally tries to dam the flow of blood. “No ma,” said a Harlem maiden, “I don’t like Charley Jouea coming every night. But I don’t want to tell him so yet. * He is bo fat and heavy that by 'placing my autumn leaves on his chair I am getting them nicely pressed. “Is there any opening here for an intellectual writer,” asked a seedy,rednosed individual of an editor. “Yes, my friend,” replied the man of quills. “A considerate Carpenter, foreseeing your visit, left an opening for you. Turn the knob to the right.”

“I’ve written a new play,” said an (esthetic young Philadelphian last week, addressing a young lady noted for her wit and beauty. "Indeed, what is the title?” she asked. “Before the Dawn,” said he. “Keep it dark,” was the witty and crushing rejoinder. A Western Coroner’s Jury returned a verdict that the deceased came to his death from exposure. “What do you mean by that?” asked a relative of the dead man. “There are two bullet holes in his skull.” “Just so,” replied the Coroner, “he died from exposure to bullets.” It was Sunday night in Leadville. Six rough miners were playing poker. But as the clock struck the hour of 12, proclaiming that the JLord’s de had come, with one accord they turew down the cards and left the taloon. They went ae - ss the street to see a dog fight. •

A Story of Empress Eugenie.

Like clever fellows they are, says the Philadelphia Times, the orleanists always managed to keep the different members of the Bonaparte family embroiled. Their chief effort was to keep the empress embittered against PlonPlon and Plon-Plou against her. It is only fair to admit that the orleanists never made any mistake about Napoleon 111 and his cousin Plon-Plon. He was always rated as the more Drilliant of the two men. His speeches in the Senate proved this long after the orleanists had given this as their opinion. It was to keep the empire from having the hearty support of a man so strong that every means Was taken to sow dissensions between the empress and her husband’s kinsman. Between the empress Eugenie- and Plon-Plon there has always been a mortal hatred. Almost from the first the prince strove to alienate the emperor’s affections from the lovely Spaniard. But her rigid virtue, her matchless cleverness, her boundless dominion over her husband, made this next to impossible. Once, however, he succeeded in shaking the-emperor’s confidence. All feminine Paris, or rather court circles was

in a tumult about a superb young Italian member of the embassy in Paris. This young man was observed to be indifferent to all the alluring of the married female rake 3of the court. He appeared at the festivities pensive, moody, languishing. His dark liquid eyes followed the vision of loveliness that Eugenie then presented. It was at once whispered that he was amorous of the empress. PlonrPion soon heard the story. He was powerful in the Italian embassy. He set one of the young count’s comrades on the watch. This comrade soon discovered a letter written to the empress beggiDg for an Interview. From that moment the youth was never lost from sight for a moment. Belays of spies kept him in sight by day and night. At last the schemers were rewarded. One of Eugenie’s lackeys visited the young man. He brightened;up as if a new man. The empress had given him a rendezvous. Plon-Plon went immediately to the emperor. Napoleon, incredulous but agitated, consented to visit the empress’ wing of the palace.

The Tuileries were in those days a net-work of secret passages. The prince and his cousin were in a few moments behind the arras in Eugenie’s boudoir. They had not long to wait when the - farther door was opened. One of the empress’s pages announced the Count de ViUetri. The young man came forward, radiant. Falling on his knees before the sovereign he kissed her hand. He then trembling proceeded to tell her that she had restored him to life, for he had made up his mind to commit suicide if she had refused his

request. The empress, in a tone denoting anything but passion or agitation, proceeded to inform the youth that he was bold and imprudent; that he should have bowed to a decision which she feared must be final; that the emperor had set his heart upon the matter, and that she feared that she could not change the affair. 1 The youth protested that a word from her would give him the object of hi 3 life. The fast “ was that £ the

young man was in love with a beautiful Spaniard, who wad, in a certain sense, a ward of Napoleon, and a relative of the empress. A great marriage upon which Napoleon had set his heart, had been arranged for her, and the young Itallian’s suit had been treated as romantic and absurd. But Eugenie, who had an irreels table weakness for love-matches, had left the girl to see or suspect that she didn’t oppose the youth’s pretensions, and it was o see the sovereign herself and plead his case that the youth bad implored per miss-

lon- WipaleoH ifiiawtnotl i at once, and retired. Then, sending wr pa.e to announce r kls pteeenye, entered the rbqm before the -lo r oould even rise from his knees.- . - The emperor was at toaut the . idnuest of men, knTapprbaching the you'ig man playfully he demanded: MWfslL,. Monster le Count, what doee all, this mean?*’ Plon-Plbn wm# *d#b prtsentf for it wan he who told the story to. hie crony, the late Emile de Girardin. The empress, somewhat-troubled, told the story. At the end Napoleon j r pulsed, good-naturedly, to interest > in-. self in the affair, and the count' rebijed ecstatic. Then the emperor, turumg to his oousin, said, in V his wife: “My coushu-let this be a lesson. There is nothing so deceptive' as appearances save the truth.” 1 Whether the empress comprehended: the epigram or not the discomfited Plon-Plon did not say, but she give, him abundant ground, afterward to understand that there was no - Jove lost between 'them. Curiously <pough, none of the emperor’s intimates liked the empress: The Duke, de Moray*, Napoleon’s half-brother, peyer let slip an opportunity to satirize her. It was his favorite sarcasm to call her a let gitimtat, alluding to her passionate adoration of the toemory of Marie Antpinette, whose fate she always had, a premonition she was to share. She narrowly missed had it not been - for the courage and ingenuity of Evans, the American dentist,there is no doubt but the Paris mob would have torn her to shreds after the awful ‘news tom. Sedan, -y ; . _ .: y ? -

Whipping in the Old-Time School.

Bostdh Transcript. ';* > • «Ar .5. A public school fifty years ago - was a Very different affair from what it 'to nowadays. Upon my word, when I think or the whipping that went on day after day ihtne old May hew school, I am astonished at it. Yet, with the variety of corporal punishment so Treely bestowed there was mingled a ghastly sportive element, a grim humor which did not always commend itself to the perception of him Vho received the' flagellation. A merry conceit, for instance, was that of Master Clough. That ingenious person would direct a culprit to stand upon the platform, near the desk, and without bending the knees, touch the floor bis fingers. Then a smart flourish of ;.the. rattan and a sudden blow would cause the unhappy youth to involuntarily resume an upright position with divertihg rapidity. It was reallyamusing (to Master Clough.) Sometimes BUf offender would be asked.by.one of the masters which instrument of torture he would choose, the riding-whip, the ruler, or the rattan. Whichever he seemed to prefer was not the one used, but one of the others would make him smart. This little change would have - a healthful moral influence upon the scholar, teaching patience and resignation under disappointment. A pleasant illustration (to the teacher) ,of the irony of fate was shown in another way. When the stock of rattans ran low (and that was not • seldom-)- some victim in disgrace would be dispatched . for a fresh supply, knowing on his return he would feel the first stroke of the rod. With what ingenious, refinement of torture the victim Was mils made to find the weapon that 'should ■

wound him. „ —- There was another clever divefttoh of our kind-hearted masters, which, in summer, when the days were l<jng, occasionally broke the moriotony of schoolboy life. Sometimes, of a sultry July afternoon, a tired scholar, overcome by the heat, would go to sleep. Then it was that the master, seizing his rattan and stealthily yes joyfully striding across the rows of desks, would give the sleeping wretch such a rousing whack as to astonish and confound as well aB suddenly syake him. I confess that these, diversion A ot the pedagogue were not without th^ir.attraction for us who looked on and saw; the comical contortions of the boys' whose fortune it was to be under tlisc 4 - pline. The ■fact that our turn might come next did not prevent us from finding what entertainment we might in what our master evidently enjoykf. None of us had yet read the maxjtos of the cynical. Lia Rochefoucauld, but we realized that under certain tfrornrstances there is something in the ir sfortunes of our friends that gives ut a certain sort of satisfaction. "» ; ->j. There were indeed days when flof,Sing was administered innomeopathic' ose, but with a most heroic fullness of practice. I once made a careful estimate of my own experience in that way, and came to the oeneiusion that I had averaged about a whipping an 4, a half a day during my connection with the MayheW School. Ot course we became somewhat inured to this rough treatment. It was considered: the proper thing to suffer with Spartan, firmness, and he who wbile lain across the master’s knee could calmly make comical and derisive faces frpm his ignominious position, for the entertainment of his associates, without having his attention diverted to other parts of bis body, was accounted a brave fellow. Then there was a superstitious belief that by laying one’s eye-lash in the hand that was about to be feruled, the accursed wood was sure to be shattered on coming in contact with .the magic hair. But I never saw one shattered.

Saddle Horses and Saddle Gaits

National Live Stock Journal; There Is an increasing demand of late for good saddle horses, and many of the fairs this season are giving much more attention than formerly to this class. The gaits that especially commend a horse for use In the saddle are the walk,the fox single-foot and the rack. The walk is a gait understood by everybody, but everybody does not understand that a.good saddle horse ought to be able to go a square walk at the rate of five miles an hour. The fox trot is fastet than the square walk, and the horse will usually take a few steps St this gait when changing from a fast walk to a trot. The single foot differs somewhat lrom the fox trot, and has been described as exactly intermediate between the true trot and the true walk. Each foot appears, to move independently of the other “with a sort of a pit-a-pat one-at-a-time motion, and Is a much faster gait than the fox trot. The rack is very nearly allied to’the true pacing Sait, the difference being that in the itterthe hind foot keeps exact time with fore foot of the same 'side, making if what has been called a literal or one-side-ab-a-time motion, while in the former the hind foot touches Hie ground slightly in advance of the fore foot on the same side. Hie rack is not so fast a gait as the true pace,bat is a very .deslrable gait in a saddle horse. > .

An Ingenious Kind of a Bird.

One of the most interesting and copimon birds in the Adirondacks is a large woodpecker that bores holes in bark of the spruce apd then* plugs them up with acorns apd nuts of any kind. One piece of wood taken from a tree of about eight square-inches <*>n~.' tains ten ofthe.pjugs, so closely and tightly wedged in that aTtpife baa to be used to force them out. The pieoe of bark looks as if wooden bulletrliad: been fired at It and covered themselves, The general imprejtfo*| ;to that tiie birds put them there an* sat them in winter or later, but squirrel* ltwould seem, would have! the fmt'of» it. The amount of worfra woodpecker does In making a hole three inches deen oan be imagined when it is known that to .the, Pjfeg J> r , "Lm: bored, ten or fifteen pecks of their buls Will hardly make any linprtoiion • Ito w many thousand it Woctld take to the work mentioned, and the consequent wear imd tear of patience. ean L be imagined. , Russia-is to a rapidly, creating rate* 1 /* an ~ j i .a.., j* y