Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 52, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 September 1884 — Page 2

MV IJTTXK wife. '■ BY HENRY AUSTIS. ’ B!>e Isn’t very pretty. Ifo eay her lady friends); She's neither wise nor witty With verbal odds and ends. NO fleet in« freaks of fashion . \< 1 oss her fmey run; She's never in a passion— Except a tender one. Her voice is low and cooing, JiC ■ She listens more than speakn, While others talk of doing, The duty near sue seeks. . It may he put to banish The sideboard’s scanty plate, ; Or with brevd to furnish The bejuar at the gate. So I, who see what graces She sheds on lowly life. To fashion's fair st faces Prefer my little wife. And thou eh at her with pity The ci;y dames may smile, Who deem her hardly pretty And sadly out of style; To me she seems a creature /> 1 So musically sweet. I would not change one feature Or curve from crown to feet. And if I could be nrver Her lover and her mate, I think I’d be forever The beggar at the gate. THE >’EGKO DOCTOR. I’se charged, Jedge, yer say, wid pizenin' de man Wid medicine when he was sick, _ An’ I’se ‘rested up heah 'lore de law ob de lan Ter see es de 'ditement will stick. In doctorin’ a man my mine's mighty soun’ Case I studied a year in de woods, A-diggin’ up herb' an’ roots from de groun" — Manufacturin' my medical goods.. De gen’leman was sick an’ I went to his bed From dea h, w.d a white flag ob truce. An’ when I had ’zammed de sufferer’s head, I gin him a dose ob my juice. From dat berry minute he looked lik6 a boy, Case he guuter get well right at once, But he kicked up his heels an’ died ob de joy— Dat nigger. Mars. Jedge, was a dunce. So doan’ charge me, Jedge, wid pizenin’ de man. But note all my pints as da rise. An’ so in honer tei law what reigns in the lan, Jes say dat he died ob surpr.se. —Ar Kan sate Trnn’lvr.

THE LION-TAMER’S REVENGE.

In the gray light of early morning within a large tent an excited group of some twenty or thirty men gendarmes and citizens, stood before a large cage mounted on wheels, within which were two huge lions, a lioness, a brutal-look-ing man and some human bones streen upon a blood-stained floor. The gendarmes were threatening, protesting, promising and trying to cajole the man in the cage, endeavoring to persuade him to come out and submit to arrest “If I come out,” he replied grimly to all the arguments, “I shall bring the lions with me.” At that there were cries of alarm, and a lot of women clustered at the door of the tent vanished suddenly. “Throw chloroform into the cage and stupefy them all!” suggested somebody. “At the first snuff of a drug I shall open the cage door,” warned the man in the den. “Shoot the lions !”cried another voice. M. Ditabolla, the proprietor of the Cirque Olympe, where this unusual was going on, shrieked his protest against the solution of the difficulty. “No! Shoot the man!” proposed another in the crowd. The caged man put his hand on the bolt of the caged door and replied: “Even if you shoot me, my weight in falling will draw the bolt and then you will do well to look out for yourselves.” The gendarmes made haste to assure him that they had no idea of resorting to such extreme measures and had no authonty to do anything but arrest him. “Starve him out!” exclaimed the officer in charge of the gendarmes, “We will lay siege to him until he capitulates and snrrenders.” “Meanwhile,” growled the man, “if we get hungry. we will come out and look for our breakfast together. And, while I think of it, you had better, bring me something to eat now. The lions have had enough for to-day.” Expressions of horror and cries of rage wefe uttered by the group—demonstrations of feeling that did not seem to have an adequate cause in the man’s few words. Surely there . was something known to the hearors that did not appear. But, whatever the indignation and the fuss they made, they judged it best to get the man his breakfast, which they did, and he atq it stolidly, while the lions lay blinking"sleepily at him and at the angry little crowd of lookers-on, who chattered volubly, all at once, as the people of the South of France are wont to do when excited.

A sacred •waiter in M. Sebastine Lenoir’s disreputable little tavern, about midnight of the night preceding the scene just described, found, ..sitting alone in one of the rooms, at a table, a dead man, a knife in his neck. ■' Haidly an hour before, the now dead man had entered the place alive and well, bringing with him a woman closely veiled. Food and drink had been brought to them. The waiter, occupied in his duties in attending to calls from other rooms, did not observe the departure of the woman, but at length, noting a's singular the silence reigning in that apartment, tapped at she door, and, receiving no answer, entered. . Tbewomah was gone. The man’s body was drooped forward upon the table. Frdm theback of his neck stuck up the white ivory handle of a stiletto. A little stream of blood ran down each side of his neck, made pools on the table-cloth, and dripped slowly drop by drop to the floor. The waiter uttered a yell of affright, aDd in a few moments the room was thronged, with jabbering and jesticulating Marseillaise men and women. That the man had beeu assassinated, there could be no doubt. And it was the opinion of a medical man who was summoned, that the victim had died bo suddenly that he had not time to make a single outcry, or even a gesture, but bad fallen dead just as if he had been struck by lightning. Very soon, when the face of the eorpse waa lifted up, it was recognized aa that of Pedro Galaneho, an athlete and general performer in the Cirque de Olympe, which had arrived in Mnrseiles less than a week before. The wo-

\ man who accompanied him to Lanoir’S place was, of course, suspected of the crime, and the theory of the police was that she was some woman ol the town who had done the, deed in order to possess herself of the athlete’s money. It was hardly a reasonable theory for it would have takan a powerful hand to have driven that keen pointed but thick bladed stiletto so deep, and with so sure a direction to the' seat of life, just where the spinai column joins the skull; but reason is not necessarily a part of anv police theory. Prompt*inquiry among Galancho’s comrade's at the circus brought to light a hostler who had, after the evening performance, seen him go away from the tent and join, at a little distance outside, a woman who was waiting for him. She was closely veiled, but the hostler knew very well who she was, dEorjie knew more than any*one else in the troupe about a certain amour that was in progress and had always expected some bad end to it. The athlete, and the woman, who was none other than Senorita Silvia Novella, the beautiful star rope dancer, had gone away together. His description] of the woman tallied with the waiter’s description of the person who had accompanied the murdered man. “Tell us," commanded the sergeant 1 of the gendarmes, “what you know about these people P And the hostler, nothing loth, gleefully narrated what he knew of the drama of Lust and Blood. “Silvia Novella” he said, is one of the most beautiful girls in the world, and as licentious as she is beautiful. She is not a merrcenary and soulless woman who yields herself for gain, but who seems unable to view a line looking man without desiring to possess him carnally. She tires of her lovers as fast as she acquires them, and none whom she invites repel her. Oh, no! She is too beautiful to be repelled. Hardly could even St. Anthony himself resist her. So there is a constant succession of favored ones. Those of yesterday are not those of today, and to-day’s will not be those of to-morrow. She is like the sea, to which all the rivers go, and yet it is never satisfied. Now, that is a disposition that may cause some unpleasantness in the mind of a man who proposes to marry a woman so gifted and liberal, as you may imagine. Our lion-tamer, jean Dufrac, has been madly in love with her for six months, and wishes to marry her. He has the funny fancy that if she were once legally and properly married she would become an honest woman, and he is willing to overlook the past, if she will only be true to him in the future when she is his wife. As if she could! “Well, four weeks aaro, when we left Paris, Pedro Galancho, for the first time, joined our company. I knew, when I saw her place her eyes upon him, just as well as if she had spoken aloud, that sho was saying, to herself; “There is another one I must have.” Jean Dufrac also saw that look, and understood it, and, I believe, was more jealous of him than he ever was of any other man. Pedro was a very fine looking, tall, powerful built fellow,with a handsome face and a fine head of curly brown hair, while Jean is, though strong as a bull, short, very dark, and not at all good looking. Still, for all liis defects in point of beauty, Silvia had promised to marry him, and he was not disposed to wait until marriage for her faithfulness to commence. I myself heard him warn her against going with Pedro, and that is probably why she took the pains to veil herself and avoid observation as much as possible when she Avent with him to that house. She has not usually been so careful to conceal “a little tiling like that.” The police hunted for both Silvia and Jean, but they were not in their accustomed places, and managed to evade pursuit, for the time at least. While that chase was -going on,, a discovery, not without an interesting bearing on the case, was mads by a sharpeyed detective. He found that there was no glass in what appeared to be a curtained closet window just behind the seat of the man who was stabbed in the neck; that the muslin curtain had been cut loose by a sharp knife from the bottom and side of the empty sash, so that it could be easily and noiselessly lifted up; and finally, that the dust—thick ou the sides of the lower piece of the sash—was rubbed away in the center, as if an arni had been protruded through this small window. The closet behind this window was a dark one. only used to stow rubbish in, and could be entered by a door from a servant’s staircase, which was never locked. There was no doubt the assassin had hidden himself within that closet, and through that window had dealt the fatal blow. -

Suspicion was fixed upon Jean Dufrac as the assassin. Indeed, there was no question entertained of his guilt, and the most strenuous efforts were made by the police to effect liis capture. They could not find him in his bed or ,in any of the low cabarets where it was supposed he would be most likely to be found. Indeed, he seemed to have vanished entirely. They fancied that he had fled from the town. They were wrong. He was close at hand, in the place where they would be least likely to look for him. He had taken refuge in the lion’s den. The moment after plunging his stiletto into the spinal marrow of his successful rival. Silvia, horror-stricken at the sight of her paramour falling dead on the table before her with a knife in liis neck, darted out of the tavern room unseen, and fled to the circus tent. There, hidden in a dark corner, she heard her name mentioned to the police, and fearing that she Would be denounced as an accomplice in the murder, in a blind excess of, terror sought fir Jean Dufrac to shield her Or helpuier escape. Singular as it may seem, her fright was so great that she did not think of him as the murderer, or suspect that he knew’ of her faithlessness. She knew better than the police where she would be likely to find him, More than once had he taken her with him in the dead of the night into tjie lion’s den for their secret amorous interviews. There she now sought him and found him. The cage was divided by a movable iron barrier about one-third of its length f¥om one end.,. In the larger compartment was the door t)riving the lions into a corner, he admitted the

girl, and with her passed into the smaller compartment, closing the barrier between them. The huge. savage brutes, relieved from their momentary subjection by his eye and whip, put their noses to the bars and signified with hungry ferocity in the direction of the girl, but she felt herself beyond their reach, and was not afraid of them. “The police are after me, Jean,” she said, stammeringly, “and you must hide me.” “Why are they after you?” “I-*-I can not tell you. But lam innocent of what they suspect me. I swear to you that I am. I am not capable of killing a man. Am I Jean?” “No. But you are very capable of being the means of a njan being killed. Do you know what they will do with you if they catch you?” , “No. What wiil they do ?” “Well they will put you in prison, [but first they will bind you and gag you to prevent your escaping or making a noise. Come, my pet, let me show you what they will do. Let us play that you are my prisoner. See, I take your handkerchief, which is much softer than the hard rope which the police would use, and I fasten your hands so, behind your back. Then I take my handkerchief, and rolling it up, so, put it in your mouth and tie it behind your neck, so. Now you can not help yourself or make a sound, can you ? The girl with a vague look of fright in her eyes silently shook her head. “And now,” continued Jean, I have some pretty things to tell you.” “I warned you not to betray me with that fellow Galancho, and you did. You went with him to-night to Lenoir’s I followed you, and saw all that you did. When my opportunity came I put my arm through the little closet window and knifed him where I knew the blow would settle him quickly. Now, it is your turn. Do you know that I have loved you so that it has made me mad, and you have laughed at me! You would never be faithful to me. But noboby else shall ever possess you again. Your time has come.” Springing to his feet, he passed through to the larger compartment where the lions were, throwing the barriers wide open as he did so. The wretched girl, staggering to lifer feet, followed him dumbly. He hurled her backwards, and as she fell, her head received a slight cut by striking the bars of the cage. With blows of a whip the lion-tamer drove the ferocious beasts into the compartment where Silvia lay as if paralyzed by terror, and closed the barrier behind them. Folding his arms, he stood outside, waiting stolidly for the inevitable result. From the single lamp swinging in the center of the ring he had barely sufficient light to see what transpired. One of the big lions walked deliberately with a slouch gait over to the prostrate girl, sniffed at the blood on her head and licked it, growling the while. The other lion and the lioness crouched and watched him inquiringly. Thus several minutes passed. Teen in a fit of desperation, struggled to rise to her feet. The lion over lier at once seized her by the shoulder. Her blood spurted out of the wound made by his teeth, and the smell of it intoxicated the waiting brutes. With the swiftness of arrows they sprang upon her and began rending her to pieces. The second lion buried his teeth in one of her legit, while the lioness closed her powerful jaws on the poor girl's breast. In a few moments Silvia’s agonies were over, and the savage brutes were gorging themselves with dismembered fragments of her fair body. The floor of the cage was slippery with blood; the horrid jaws of the beasts dabbled with the crimson fluid, and the only sounds heard were the crunching of the bone 3 of the unhappy rope-dancer and the low’ growling of the lions. Jean Dufrac stood looking on at the appalling spectacle, pitiless as the brutes that worked liis awful vengence, motionless as a statue. So he was discovered at early dawn by an hostler moving early about the tent —the same one who had told the story of Silvia’s amours to the police—and there, when he gave the alarm, the gendarmes still found the lion-tamer. ” Tnen ensued a similar scone which this narration opened. All that day Jean Dufrac kept the officers at bay, and,by threats of letting loose the lions compelled tribute of food and wine. At length the happy thought occurred to someone of drugging his wine. It was done, and at lengthy he sank down upon the floor insensible. , Then the lions were kept back by means of red-hot irons while he was dragged out and carried off to prison. Two months later, on the 13th of November, 184‘J, he was executed.

Earthquake Weather.

Anybody who has ever lived for any length- of time at a stretch in a region where earthquakes are common objects of the country and the seaside knows perfectly well what earthquake weather iu the colloquial sense is really like. You are sitting on the piazza, about afternoon tea time let us say, and talking about nothing in particular with the usual sickly tropical languor, when gradually a sort of faintness comes over the air, the sky begins to assume a lurid look, the street dogs leave off howling hideously ip, concerts for half a minute, and even the grim vultures perched upon the house-tops forget their obtrusive personal differences in a common sense of general uneasiness. There is an ominous bush in the air, with a corresponding lull in the conversation for a few seconds, and then somebody says with a yawn, “It feels to me very much like earthquake weather.” Next minute you notice the piazza gently raised from its underjwopping wood-work by some unseen power, observe the teapot* quietly deposited in the hostess’ lap, and afe conscious of a rapid but graceful oscillating movement, as though the ship of state were pitching bodily and quickly. The man who runs for office on the Greenback ticket is”" seldom, if „ever, elected, but he redeyes a good advertisement, and it never costs him mucli for electioneering, as it requires but one bottle of beer to treat the entire Greenback party.

THE PARIS POOR.

How Cheaply Thousands, of Them Buy Their Food. Have you ever heard how thousands upon thousands of the very poor of Paris are fed, and how cheaply they buy their food ? I have been told something about it, but did not quite get all the social machinery of the matter into my head until I wont and Saw it. You know well enough that there is no such thing as wastefulness in all I’ranee. The French people not only have economy, but they have a more useful virtue even than that. They have facility. They |frot only can save, but they can make the most out of what they save. Here is the way this thing is managed. Everything that cannot possibly be used and reused at the hotels is scraped together, and it becomes the perquisite of the chiefs or certain other domestiques of the establishment. Bits of meat of every sort, bread, butter, vegetables, pastry and sweets are gathered together in a heap ready for the buyer. Men and women, young and old--usually old-come round to these hotels and restaurants and large houses and buy all these leavings which they take away in great baskets swung upon their backs. The less prosperous dealers doing business on the capital of a few francs, take their stuff away wrapped in old newspapers; and all this food goes to the markets. Here in the night it is assorted; meat, vegetables, bread pastry put into separate piles, and then arranged in due proportions on plates to be sold. Many fu.mil iAarr-T amtnld f.hnngnjd n of families—live wholly upon these leavings, year in and year out. The woman of the family comes to the market and buys what she wishes for the day—or can afford to buy—and takes it home with her, either in a basket or a bit of newspaper, as her means may enable her. In other instances many come to the market and do their eating their, buying their plate of victuals, and usually getting a piece of fresh bread from an opposite stall. These plates of food are sold anywhere iro:n two cents to twelve cents. lam told that a family consisting of five persons can be fed on os little as twenty-five cents a day. You would suppose that all these scraps of food—the leavings of the leavings—would look uninviting. Not so. Kemembera French hand lias touched it all, and as if by magic it is turned into a sightly and appetizing meal. When I was first in the market I saw old women bringing masses of food" wrapped in newspapers, which they sold for a few sous, and in a few minutes it was all assorted and transformed into rather inviting dishes. Then there were the buyers and the eaters. Perhaps in all there were 100 in the market where I was, eating their food standing at the counters. Families of working people sometimes are a bit ashamed to buy of these dealers, which nevertheless they do, under the pretext of getting the food for their dogs. However, this is all perfectly well understood, and though it is lying, yet it is not lying. But this time the crowds of indigent poor were gathered around the soupkettles ranged along the sidewalks outside the markets, and so I sauntered out and along with the crowd. My eyes were opened. Here was a side of Paris life I had never seen before. I know the poor of London well—their aniI did not know there was just the same class in Paris. I really saw r stones converted into people. It w'as in this wise. Around one soup-kettle, where an old woman sat, I saw, I should say, ten half-starved, pinched, chilled men, and boys, and girls. These were waiting for some generously disposed person to come along to bnv them a bowl of soup. As each gentlemen or lady approached the soup woman, the miserable creature would crowd up, but would not persistently beg, though their eyes would look imploringly toward the soup. Well, now for the miracle. I saw four miserable looking men, and as many half-naked boys, and I handed the old woman a franc to give them each a bowl of soup. Instead of my eight, instantly there were eighty around me! Where on earth they came from I don’t know; howthey came and, all the rest of it, left upon my mind the impression of a miracle wrought before my very eyes. The stones were converted into people. I went to the other side of the market and selected a soup kettle about which I saw a boy and girl standing and shivering. I wished to see if again this marvel of multiplication would be wrought. I cast about me and saw, other than the boy and girl, a few strollers passing and repassing. As quietly as I could—almost shyly—l handed the woman a franc, and lo and behold, there were not less than a score of like wretched men and women, and boys and girls imploring for soup, and this—in all seriousness—was in the twinkle of an eye. The soup smelt savory and looked nice, and with the ladle the bowl was filled from the kettle, in which a bone and a sausage and vege'able were boiling. Two cents a bowl! That is all. Good, tasteful soup at 2 cents a bowl.— liev. Robert Laird Collier. '

A Father’s Advice.

“Good-by, my son said a white-haired old gentleman to a bright looking young man at the station. “Your father hates to see you go, because I may not live till you return. Boy you are just starting out on you own hook. You are going West to seek you fortune. Now lis-a ten to the voice of your old father, who has seen 1 a great deal of this world, and whose fights with trouble and temptation have not been few. Listen to me, 1 boy, this parting minute. You want to |be successful, not only in acquiring money, but in building up your reputation and character. God knows I want you to be. And now I want to give you my golden—yes, my diamond rule. My son, when I was your age 1 was not as good a boy as you are. I was going to the bad, in fact, but my precious role of life saved me. It came to me, boy, from your mother, who gave her life for yours. Henry, take this motto of mine to y6nr heart. Believe in it, adhere td it, live up to it, and will find reason for loving it, as your father does. ;Jt will make a good man of you;

it will be all the religioh you will ever need— it's all I ever had, and I’m ready to die whep hay hour comes. This is it, son: now listen, because I want to burn it into yoUr brain so it cannot get ont while life remains in yonr body: Never, for any purpose nor on any pretext, perform an act which you would not be willing,,the whole world to know all abont. It will unfailingly guide you aright. It will keep you always on a level with your best self. Reflect on this, boy, and you will see how simple and yet how perfect it is .’’—Chicago Herald.

Woman’s Power.

From his cradle to his grave man relies for his happiness upon the love of woman, says a Southern writer. His light, his joy, his very, life, depends blindingly and trustingly upon—the mother love that nurses his infant years, tends his childhood, trains his youth, and rejoices in his manhood. Infinitely holy, utterly self-sacrificing, pure, noble, beautiful is the “maternal instinct”—and knowing the heights of it, providing its strength, seeing its abnegation of self, men call it divine—and so realize the love of God unto all humanity. Yet even from this fount of exquisite tenderness they turn their steps to a love more alluring, more entrancing, more absorbing; they leave all and cling to their wives, possessing in them every thing. Wonderful and peculiar is the great mingling of human hearts, of organisms irresistibly attracted, with souls that feel with and for each other, of two brains forming one mind, of two lives and loves from which springs other lives and yet another love —parental affection. This is true marriage, and in this state woman is most lovely. Standing on an equal with her husband, she is adviser and assistant—the sharer of his happiness and his troubles, his helpmate, his comfort, his joy. That there are marriages far different from this is true, most unhappily; but even here woman shows her power —for evil if she chooses to curse, or good, if she desires to bless and ennoble the life they brought beneath her personal influence. A great poet says that As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown. And the crossness of his nature will have weight to < r.ig thee down. This is entire fallacious. It will always be the strongest that leads, whether their strength be of intellectual or moral force, and a woman of mind and refinement, of honorable nature, of Ideality, could not fail to modify and even correct the materiality that may exist in her husband’s thoughts, feelings, or actions, as his very coarseness would serve to lessen his power. A wife need not sink to the level of the “cloivn” to whom she is “mated.” She can raise him, perhaps slowly, but still surely to her own standard. Let her first touch his heart —through pity, through sliame, or even through his mere passions, but once possees power over that and it will not be difficult to influence the brain. If the soil can be made to respond to beautiful and refined agencies, the battle is won. It may take a lifetime, but a woman can afford to spend even a lifetime in such ennobling endeavor. A man finds his warmest, his most tender, liis most unselfish friend in a woman. Possessing no interests that clash with his, she believes in him thoroughly and hopefully, and lxer great hope in his powers encourages him to be up to her standard in belief. She makes him feel that she truly likes him. Her affection is frank and free, and he appreciates her sympathetic interest, her cheerful looks, her many little womanly ways that make all her surroundings in harmony with herself. If weary, her sensible, sweet talk rests him; if discouraged, she finds a thousand ways to cheer him ; if too elate, her sound common sense gives him the needed balance. The lamp of friendship burns clear and bright betwpen man and woman—lit by an emotion springing from the best impulses of human nature.

"Almost Persuaded.”

Gen. Hartsuff, who at one time commanded the army of the Ohio, used to tell a good one on Gem Manson. When they were down at the front Gen. Hartsuff secured ten gallons of tine old whisky. The morning after its arrival, Gen. Manson rode up to Hartsuff’s tent on official business. » “Good-morning, General; dismount,” said Hartsuff. “Can’t do it,” said Manson; “I have to ride my lines.” “But I have a pint of fine old whisky, and—” “Hold my horse, orderly,” interrupted Mauson who was in the te?t before the sentence could be finished. Manson drank about half? the contents of the flask, and, handing it back,,said: “Put that away carefully; ‘it is precious stuff, and the army cannot afford to have it wasted.” “All right, General, but you must come back every day until the whole pint is gone.” “Count on my presence,” said Manson, as lie mounted hi 3 horse, and he kept liis word for the next five or six days. At the end of the six days the pint flask was still full, and when it was passed to the General, he held it up and said: , “Hartsuff, I have never been much of a Christian, but this almost persuades me, because it is like the widow’s cruse; it is fine whisky, but great heavens, how- it does hold out for a pint”—lndianapolis Times.

A Direct Insult.

Judge—“ You say that the prisoner insulted you. That is a very serious charge. * What did he say to you,, madam?” Plaintiff—“He called me a spring chicken. And I am an old lonian, as yonr Honor can easily see.” j n( Jce—“That is not an insult. A spring chicken is young and tender. I should consider it a compliment rather.” Plaintiff —“You wouldn’t if you were in the same business I am.” Judge-r“ What is that ?” Plaintiff“-“I keep a boarding house.” Habtfobd merchants are petitioning Jor a city tax on traveling salesmen.

HOUSTON AND BOOTH.

The Texas Hero and the Great Tragedian—- , A Memorable Evening. Gen, Sam Houston, who had jnst returned from his first Visit to Texas, was walking up Pennsylvania avenue one evening in the winter of 1834, when he met with his old friend Booth, the tragedian. After mutual exclamations of surprise and salutation, the two ascertained < |hat they were both rooming at Browne’s Indian Queen and going there they went to Booth’s room. Sitting down, they recounted the adventures of their past lives, and as they industriously circulated the bottle, many a loud shout echoed through that hall and startled tliewatokmen in the street as they went their silent rounds. As the night wore on their excitement increased, until at the close of a thrilling story relating to his own career, Houston excl aimed: “Now, Booth, let’s have a speech to liberty, one of those apostrophes to old Roman freedom with which you startle audiences!” Had Booth been inclined to refuse, he knew that his friend, when the mood was on him, would not be denied any request, however absurd or difficult of performance. But the tragedian had himself entered into the spirit of his companion, and nothing loth, he rehearsed with magic power many of those electrical passages in defense of liberty with which the English drama abounds. Honston, whose memory as well as his habits, partook of the Indian character, caught up the words, and with equal force, clearness, and accuracy went through each speech in regular succession. Thus they proceeded for a time, then again sat down to renew their potations and the story of their personal adventure. Booth drank and listened, while the other told of his elevation in his native State, and his disgust at civic honors, of his home in the distant forest, of the uncontrolled freedom of the red.men, of their stoic fortitude and matchless heroism. Warmed by the recollection of those thrilling scenes, he sprang to his feet, and in the tones of one amid the battle’s din fighting against most fearful odds, exclaimed: “Now, Booth, once more for liberty!” The tragedian dared not disobey. He ran through with all his usual energy the tale of Mexican thralldom, of the the Spanish conquest of that land, the dangers incurred by that army, their commander’s exhortation before the battle, and the stubborn bravery of. the native chiefs. Before him stood at that lone hour, listening with an intensity of thought and feeling which shone through his eves, lighted his face, strained every muscle, and started the sweat on his brow, one who had all the firy spirit of a Cortez and ambition of a Pizarro. Quick as thought he took up the tale and repeated the words just uttered by Booth, with the most critical precision of tone and manner. As he became excited in the recitation, his spirit seemed to take fire, ard' with an air so determined, so frightful, that it seemed the voice of one insynred, he exclaimed at the close of a masterly extemporaneous rhapsody: “Yes! yes! lam made to revel yet in the halls of the Montezumas.” “Coming events cast their shadows before,” and although Houston did not revel in the halls of the Montezumas, his determination and energy of character conquered the occupants of those halls, and wrested from Mexico her fairest State.— Ben: Perley Poore.

The Great Canal.

It is now proposed to join the Bay of Biscay with the Miditerranean Sea by means of a great ship canal, which will save the voyage around the Spanish peninsula. This would be a work second in importance only to the Suez Canal itself, for all the vessels from England and Northern Europe would be forced to use this new means of communication. It would be a gigantic work, but it would certainly pay in time. In the meanwhile the Panama Canal is being vigorously prosecuted by M.de Lesseps. This is a mighty work, for it aims to join the Atlantic and Pacific oceans by a great ship canal cut through Central America. A vast amount of work has been done, and the most gigantic efforts are being made to finish this extraordinary channel by the close of of 1880. But it seems that only 1-00 of the dredging, 11-50 of rock cutting, and 1-15 (2,067,000 metres) of the earth of excavation had been completed on the first of March last. The important supplementary work, the Chagres Dam, is not yet begun. There is reason to fear that the canal will not be finished before 1900. Of the 600,000,000 francs subscribed for, 300,000,000 have been spent in preliminaries and plant, and 100,000,000 in purchasing and improving the railways. It is supposed that 500,000,000 more of francs will be required to complete the work.— Demorest’s Monthly.

An Unwritten Law.

It was an unwritten law’, between the “Rebels” and Yankees at the left of Petersburg, the winter and spring of iB6O, to m et between the,,, picket lines and indulge in commercial transactions and to trade papers. This was confined to: men in the line. One day General Roger A. Pryor rode out to the Yankee to trade papers. It happened that the Yankee had been a prisoner and bad often seen General Pryor, and easily recognized him. Recalling that the unwritten law did not include general officers, and seeing big game, the Yankee cocked his gun and aimed at Pryor’s heart, telling him to get down anil walk into camp. The plucky Southerner fairly frothed at the mouth but he obeyed. .

Of Course He Understood All About It.

“Supper not ready yet?” ■ “No, my dear. I was busy with my new dress this afternoon I was delayed with supper.” “But you said that dress was nearly finished yesterday.’ “So, it was, my dear, but this afternoon I concluded to run a box plait along the decollete gpre and ruffle the ruching of the bias so as, to be able to hemstitch the tucks of the pipings a la. pOmpadour,” “Oh, well, that makes a difference, of course ?” Ch icago News.