Rensselaer Republican, Volume 19, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 September 1886 — Page 6

WHKMTHX MAINES ON TON BOON. *7' «*£" turned" o WlMm the qu*a atxt te«ka that throng va 1 **■— *r4t)a tike* IASsIttO - *MI»v MMWKI. will! vt«” Oh, how the mind wilt wander And the min la on the roof I Anin I ttvad the tunny patha I trod In childhood'! hour!; Anin with Bistort o'er the bills I gather spring's first flowers. Again I feel my father’s smile, My mother's fond reproof: X Use the old days o'er again - When the rain is on the root. The world the Messed dead have gained, . It lies not far from thia; Urey yet have sorrow In our woes And joy in our b!t«. Thsy sen-1 me words of guiding. And words of sad reproof, And they com* and sit beside me When the rain is on the root. —Woman'* Jdursat

“SHON SMIDT UND DRIXIE.”

BY MANDA L. CROCKER.

’Twas but a mite of a cottage, up which the climbing roses had only to turn a handspring from their box below, in order to land in a eong-and-chorus, attitude on the brown gables. But this cosy lilliputian affair, which stood, or rather nestled in the shadow of the great cathedral in the Catholic quarter of the city of Wayne, had a history which hade defiance toits more pretentions neighbors. There was the great drab-colored boarding-house, three numbers away, which might revel in a hundred flirtations, over its mysterious menu, or profound “asides" passed in eulogy above the shin-bone porter-house, but it could not compare gum-drops with Von Nixy; hot it, and it might flaunt its yellow shutters, and variegated hash until the thousand years of peace, still Von Nixy would be ahead. Even the elegant residences over the way, whose be-laced and be-ruffled inmates completely Saored the little gem of thrift in the ado wk of piety, even they stood in sackcloth at the rear, when romance and adventure came to the front And that was the provoking difference; for, when sensation twangs her banjo, and calls for the sentimental, Nixy tightens her girdle, and bounces into the ring palpitating from the foundation to the top-round of the Tom Thumb chimney, with well-earned glory—the achievements of the love that laughs at locksmiths. To-day it scintillates and glows, in the aurora-borealis effulgence of a glory fairer, more Eden-like, than hangs like a nimbus over the woman who sits among the thirteen stars on the almighty dollar, and everlastingly Wears her hair about halfreefed, and without any common-sense taste as to how the test of her natural wig flies fore and aft on her cranium. Yea! more than this; over the-little dove-nest folds itself in a dreamy rapture that even the venerable tri-color emblem of our nation never indulged in on the Fourth of July. The heroine of this rapturous story, which the Von Nixy cottage has legitimately hooked onto, was the fair fraulien, Trixie Von Nixy, whose big brother ran the cash drawer of the little grocery at No. 18, on Market street, and whose globular vater stuck to his last, and punctured the hardened soles of tke j>oorer denizens of the quarter. The junior Nixys ran in and out of the little humble-bee home; a whole baker's dozen of them, rosy cheeked and bubbling over with the soft liquid tongue of the Vaterland. Papa Von Nixy loved to hear the pursuasive language rolling over the lingual adjuncts of his beloved progeny, but in spite of his partiality to his ownest own, Trixie and the big broth ?.r chewed English, with their pretzels, and became the mashers of the family. These firstlings of the Von Nixy flock didn’t seem to browze off the sauerkraut fodder naturally, but some way sniffed the Yankee world afar off, and struck an attitude over the left shoulder, toward the innocent sweitzer-kase and mellow atmosphere of their rooftree, much to the disgust of their dismayed masculine parent. Mamma Von Nixy was a veritable roilypoly matron, fair-haired and blue-eyed, who waded around among the little Von Nixys with a waddle, and crooned the good old “Heim-gang” to the cherub in the wicker-basket cradle; that wicker preambulator which came over the pond with the wilful Trixie smiling in its depths. Little did frau Von Nixy think, when she yanked that little ark onto American soil, that iteoeenpant would live to become a genuine heroine in the Hoosier State. But she did, and here comes the story, hero, heroine, seconds, and all. It was all natural enough for Trixie’s big brother to have a friend and chum, down at the grocery, and he froze to young Herman Von Nixy, with the celerity of a renegade wharf-rat buckling up to something to eat. And then naturally enough too, this friend who answered to the rhythmical drift of. the musical cognomen, John Smith, called occasionally, and twice a week, finally, at the cottage “under the rose,” ostensibly to see Herman, but in reality to do some fancy romantie courting,’ as be sublimely smiled a whole back-load of little golden shafts, said to be the property of Venus’ son, over Herman’s shoulder at the blushing Trixie. ■ i' Curiously enough, the simple-minded fraulein fell straightway in love with our Shonnie, or the big bogus diamond glorifying his immaculate shirt-front, one or the oilier. It didn't matter which point of excel- > lence commended him to Trixie, he was supremely happy; and the ah!-you-do-ad-mire-me smile spread,over his pink- andwhite English features, as butler distributes itself over a hot flap jack. And thusly it happened before the glory of the June roses faded into the stereotyped hurrah of the small-boy-and-fire cracker day, this mutual freeze had made a honeycomb frostwork of both youthful gizzards. And Cupid sat snugly among the gabled rose vines and watched his little game go on until the shadows of the great cathedral could mark the boundary of the daffodil garden of love but vaguely. But in this case, as in many others, the tender passion did not get a chance to run a full gallop. From the perversity of mundane hit and miss there always springs up some east wind, bearing on its vampire wings, a blight deadlier than a full-fledged sirocco, and. the budding sweetness of our pet Cupid goes down with • suddenness which never sat upon Jonah's gourd-vine. In this case the dynamite was toted around by papa Von Nixy. who finally fired the fuse one aggravating morning in dog-day weather, after the Von Nixy’s usual war-dance,and blew Cupid out of the rose-vines ker-flop. landing him somewhere this side of heaven, with a black eye and a broken wing to comfort him. At first, Von Nixy looked upon this taffy distribute as a flourish of puppy-love, which would run its time, like the measles, and die out of itself, leaving the sufferers to laugh Mid grow wiser for their having gone through one of life’s fitful fevers. But. as Hie frisky passion left its chrysalis in blood earnest for the broad expanse

of boundless delusion, ha deliberately dipped ite wings, and cuffed the feathery dust off.its fliers. In other words Von Nixy swore by the soul of St. Crispin, and the head of the Nixy establishment, that he would not allow that “Shon Smidt to run away mit his Drixie’s affections." So he complacently eat down on the rose and the violet, in this manner: “Now, mine von girl Drixie, vat fur you haft dat goot fur noting wagabone smilin' *roun' here at you, shust like von ahick kitten vat tinks you haff shweet gream fur its shupper?" During this lengthy Question, the healthy old vater eyed the blushing Trixie, much! as he would a mug>of beer which he suspected was not genuine. Trixie was inclined to take this in a bantering mood, at first, but when she saw the tel!-me-at-once-or-die resolve cantering over her father's countenance, with the strength of a pioneer limburger, she knew the game was up. Then the eldest daughter of the castle of Nixy, knowing that the knight of the fastness was in earnest, could no longer doubt the mustness of the climax: vet she merely hung her sunny head and listened to the two-forty gait of her life’s pumping marine, while it threatened momentarily to burst its barriers, and flop right down, before pater-familias and plead for itself. But papa Von Nixy had opened the cam- 1 naign against “Shonnie,” in the spirit, and his daughter's reticence was no damper whatever; in fact, it only convinced him that he had Struck the right trail and wonld soon have that “buppy luff” where it would be obliged to cry for quarter. “Veil!” he exclaimed, so explosively that the bristles on the “waxed-end” he jerked into place lifted up their extremities in sheer amazement, “Veil, I has shwom by mine awl and all, dot Misther Shonnie's visits hes an endt. He ish not amoundting to much, by Shimminy, und dish billin’ upd cooin* pesthness heff shust got to be sthont, now right avay soon. Und Drixie. aere ish no use a veeping mit te mem’ry ov dish scallawagt, fur fee ish nodt worth te shalt in von leedle gryspell.” But Trixie's eyes were suspiciously moist, and the native roses on her blooming cheeks withered, most pitiful, to see. “So, so, now Drixie,” continued Vater Nixy, pattingAhe braids of his darling, “you shust gif him up, und your old happy vill gif you te shining balm of peing a shenuine Von Nixy. It ish only buppy luff, Drixie, only buppy luff, und ven you gets ofer it vhy you’ll see shust how condemptible a buppy you has luffed.” is But instead of proving a comfort, this unlucky allusion to her illusion only served to nettle her generally mild dispositiop, and she fled to the solemn Sahara of her room under the rose, and spent the remainder of the day in saline recreation. In common parlance, “she cried her eyes out” over “Shonnie.” Papa Nixy, nothing daunted, however, rapped his lapstone a terrible clip, by way of emphasis, and said to himself, “Py Shimminy cracious, I’m poss, und dot condemptible buppy vill do veil to look oudt mit himself, or he vill run onto a shircumbstance vat vill knock te hindsights off dot pig baste bin of hisch. Mine coddage is mine castle, by shimminy!” So papa Nixy held the castle against all odds, pursuasion, and tears;' but that “wagabone” was a wily, determined lover, and despite his flashing “bastebin,"proved to be more than a match for the German antj-Shonnie committee.

CHAPTER 11. Thus it went on down the pay-roll for the “gay, guiltless pair.” From sighs to tears Trixie descended, until she landed at the mosaic work called the sulks. On “Shonnie’s” side of the stage he was noted for his absence more than anything else, until Cupid concluded that to smuggle notes from one trusting soul to the other wouldn’t be a bad thing. The ardent lovers tumbled to the racket, and after duly installing the big brother as postman all parties were made happy. Time went on in his tireless lope toward the mysterious bourne, and jerked the leaves off that ancient rose-vine, ahundred at a time, more or less, until Cupid was compelled to retreat to the cellar. This he did with rapid flops after Miss -Trixie received a certain pansy perfumed note, which seemed to cap the climax and tighten the golden chain between the home of the Smiths and Castle Von Nixy. The pent-up tide of true love was slipping over the dam, which Rapa Von Nixy had thrown across its course; here a good deal and there an awful sight, until finally, one breezy night in October, it swept every vestige of the obstruction out of existence with a vengeance. And Cupid caxeasedhisbrokenwingandsangof Paradise. Now in our narrative we come to John Smith as he really is; heretofore we have been viewing him as though a gin bottle. Like a bar of beaten gold the sunset light lays across the questionable tide of the and a gray gleaming hugged the horizon, trembling in anticipation over the events to come. But the golden bar, nor the poetical gleaming as it hitched itself onto the car of night had any place in the thoughts of “Shonnie,” as he folded his jirave arms and looked about him, letting the boat drift toward the confluence of the two rivers, which shift their sands over the toes of the byssiest city in Ingeanny. Now which John Smith this was, communing with his over-yanked heart, we are not able to say, not having examined the city directory. But the great town clock strack the restful hour of 6 o’clock p. m., and our hero grasped the oars and muttered, “to-night, by hall the harrows Venus’ little codger carries bin is quiver, hi ham going to win or lose; there's no huse ’aving my ’art hall broken hnp without a cause; so ’elp me jehosephat!” Having thus poured out the red-hot lava from the fiery crater of his volcanic organ of love and hate, he pulled rapidly for the shore, feeling more like the stranded wreck pulled to the banks all over Christendom. than anything else in this precarious sphere. ” ~ Giving the boat-chain an extra jerk as an emphasis to his declaration of independence, the little Englishman, adjusted his left cuff-button, and struck ont on a midnight-fire-in-town amble, for the Market street grocery, and was soon out of sight ■” : i ;" The old fisherman, who had been watching our hero, pulled his eight-cornered hat-rim a little more to the left, spit on his bait, and wondered where “that galoot was strikin' fur, anyway.!’ Bnt when darkness had settle down over the city, softly and tenderly as the feathered mamma prepares the trundle-bed for the downy children, and the winds went whooping down the street, and talked of the frigid hours to come, that old fisherman smoked his pipe alongside of that “galoot" in the spicy grocery where Herman Von Nixy, presided. And John Smith listened to his nobbiest yarns of the “red-boss and sturgeon, he netted and hooked in Hopsierdom long ago;” nearer to the time when Anthony Wayne held his picnic, and serving the “het and hot,” smoothed the thornv pathway to the happy hunting grounds for his angelic red brother he found in the wilderness, than to the tame days of present retrogression. But right in the midst of the old fisherman’s most brilliant piscatorial triumph, onr hero went ont in the blackness of the October night; as a candle goetfi out in a gust, so went John Smith, but instead of dropping into

annihilation ha went to reconnoiter around castle Von Nixy. It might have been that Herman knew nothing of Johnnie's wanderings in the night time, but the way he drew down his pursy mouth at the off corner, augured differently. Perhaps he knew more than might have been healthy for him, had Papa Von Nixy known. But Von Nixy senior didn't know, and smoked away on his curioasly-carved German pipe, and chuckled to himself as to 1 how easily he had gotten ahead of “dot schamp." I Nevertheless, while he meditated and puffed away his cares in the clouds of fragrance, and while frsn Von Nixy cuddled the last American-born cherub to sleep, the firstling of their flock was up-stairs scraping together her gew-gaws, arranging , her spit-curia, and blacking her “toed , slippers.” And in the fullness of her filial affection she had told mamma Nixy of an I invitation out in the evening, but concluded not to go. She did not add, as she might, that she was invited to a party, and that she was the party of the second part, and best calico disciple on the floor, and that “dot schamp” was to figure as the best waltzer under the rose., Trixie had heard it said it was wise not to tell the truth at all times, and, in her simplicity, concluded this must be one of rtbe times when silence was golden. 80 ~“rt® spent —the T" satin - shod hours rattling her traps together and reading a note alternately, which said, “be ready, dear, at precisely 10 o’clock, or as soon thereafter as the old gent is asleep; ibut for the love of heaven don’t make a move before he goes to bed. Yours for time and eternity, John Smith.” True, Trixie wept a little over the pleasant excitement, but “Shonnie” was hers, diamond pin, waxed mustache and all, and a Smith was as good as a Von Nixy, so why not—ah, why not? Ten o’clock found papa Von Nixy dreaming of his beloved Vaterland, and of the marriage of his “Drixie” with a grand German count, who owned a luxuriously appointed castle somewhere—Lord knows where—like those of the old legends he had read of, when he was a boy. And how exultingly he smiled in his dreams when he espied “dot schamp,” had simmered down to only a valet in Trixie’s household. But dreams go crawfishing sometimes, and at this suspicious moment in Papa Von Nixy’s dreamland triumph, the real John Smith was just beneath his window, bent on a silent serenading expedition. The town-clock, faithful old monitor, notified our youngsters that it was time to “pass the countersign.” Trixie pushed up the sash and let drop the gewgaws into the claws of the agile “Shonnie.” Then with stealthy treaa he deposited the precious bundle of the princess of the castle with the utmost caution 4>y Ahegatepost, and then dodged around the cottage to the rear cellar window, and crouched down to wait and listen. Cupid’s hour had come for glory on earth, and he slung his shot-pouch on his back, ran his golden bow over hie arm, and danced over the kraut tub in ecstacies. Trixie crept softly down stairs in her stocking feet, arrayed in her Sunday best; and carrying her slippers in her hand, while Papa Von Nixy slept on, reveling in his German castle over the pond, and Mamma Von Nixy hugged up the least little birdling to her faithful bosom, and slept the unbroken sleep of the just. One step at a time, successfully measured by the nimble feet of the tricky Trixie, and she found herself in the little box of a hall below; never had the cottage stairs seemed so long to the fair-haired fraulein. Then she cautiously opened the trap-door of the cellarway and glided down the half dozen steps to the bottom. With the help of the candlebox and kraut tub, on which Cupid was waltzing out his sweet life, the dauntless Trixie climbed on the top of the venerable cider-cask, and tapped with one little taper finger on the row of panes fastened in a rude sash, composing the cellar window. Then our crouching hero gave the rude sash a wrench, and out it came, letting a draught of cold autumn air go skirmishing over the carefully-prepared toilet of the future Mrs. John Smith. “Mercy!” ejaculated Trixie ........ “What is it, iny dearest one?” came in dulcet tones from the crouching “Shonnie.” “Oh, nothing,” answered the expectant bride. Thus reassured, the brave lover gathered his precious love in his great faithful arms, and gave one tremendous lurch backward, similar to the retrograde movement of a gosling, when dining on the growing hay crop. This heroic effort brought Trixie to solid terra firms; bet unluckily the final frantic flop of the little fraulien upset the cider cask, which keeled over and came down kersmash on a row of fruit cans at its frisky foot, making more noise than a tin-can escort seeing an express canine home on Sunday night. Cupid poised himself in the midst of the din and dust, and with a seraphic “hoop-la” followed his wards to the wedding feast. ’ Papa Von Nixy awoke as suddenly as if a million fire-crackers had fizzed under his couch, or a dynamite explosion had uprooted his German castles—count and all. “Dere ish thieves in mine shellar,” he shrieked. “Mien Gott vare ish mine von leedle gun, dot shoods mit its revolushuns?” Not waiting for an answer he racked off down cellar, holding his night lamp aloft. At the trap-door the draught from the opened window whiffed out his lamp in the twinkling of an eye, and ivlfivnd Trv Mountains” with the hem of his night-shirt, with such icy fingers that a shiver went to his marrow bones. His hair stood on end as he thought that likely some one was making ready to grapple with him in the solemn night, and not being willing to die in the dark he shouted, “Gretchen, mien vise, Gretchen, the night browlers are in mien shellar; und pring me some madefies right avay gwick.” Reinforced by Gretchen and the lucifers. Papa Von Nixy began investigations, but no "browlers” could he find. A halfdozen fruit-jars smashed beyond recognition, with thtir contents making little rivulets here and there, however, met his affrighted gaze; then there were the careened cider receptacle and the open window to contemplate. “Veil, veil,” muttered Papa Von Nixy, “it peats te fery teyful, Gretchen, vot vash schomperin’ after our vintejgßubblies.” , .. ..■■• ■ Gretchen made no reply, and het 1 ’ liege ruler sputtered and bobbed this way and that, righting the commodities, not displaying half the agility his Drixie had in disarranging them, however. Finally the window was pulled into place, and the tomato sauce scraped off his stockings by the good wife, while her husband indulged in fgnratively exploring sheol for a place for his “browlers." Then he preceded Mrs. Von Nixy upstairs and went back to his slumbers and castle and count, only to be rudely awakened next morning by the news that his eldest blessing had flown through the window, upsetting their winter’s store of sauce with her pink toes, and gone with “dot schamp.” ——-—Lx—.— Ah! the still watches of the night had unroofed his castle and crumbled its walls tq dust over the bones of. hue dlustrious son-in law; and the valet, John Smith, had arisen to the august position of husband of the flower of the Von Nixy cot-" tage. . Papa Von Nixy sat silent and thoughtful over his beer that morning. Mamma Von Nixy let the crystal dew of the soul bathe

tfie baby's face, while she rocked back and forth. Herman looked guilty and sheep-! ish, and the bare rose-vines rapped the gables ominously with hard, thorny hands. Cupid had triumphed in spite of the hea<| of Von Nixy cottage, or his patron saint. In the coarse of the day the “wagabone” came in with his wife Trixie on his arm, and Cupid smiled triumphantly on the vine with its thorns, and thought he had laughed last. The shadow of the cathedral failed this time, signally, to gather in the mixedup greeting of the inmates of Von Nixy cottage. There were tears, there were curses, there were blessings; there was good English shying around at Papa Von Nixy, from Fort Bmldt, there was broken German mopping “Shonnie” over the brainpan, and both languages rolled together promiscuously as twins or potato vines. But by the persistent efforts of the newly-fledged son-in-law, order came out of chaos after a while, and Papa Von Nixy was heard to exclaim: “Mein Gott, Shonnie, I ish so mixed up mit myself dot I has no. notion vat dish ting ish; vether I has losht mine fraulein, vat vash a Von Nixy, or vether I has a son vat ish no Nixy vatever, I kandt make oudt. Mine cracious, I ish shust disgusted mit mine memory of de way dish vamily ish hitched up. Mine last child ish mine oldest son; veil, veil, veil! Gretchen, I shust guess dish vamily additions hat petter sthop, or else I vill be pack in mine binafores pooty kwidek, by shimminy.”

Tunisian Snake-Charmers.

A few days after this, however, while walking in the suburbs of the city with the interpreter of the English legation, we came across a crowd of Arabs and Bedouins who were witnessing some kind of a performance or show that evidently was of intense interest. Pushing our way through the crowd as best we could to see what the attraction was, we found another seance of snakecharming in progress, this time presided over by two wild, weird-looking Bedouins, who the interpreter informed me were the most famous snakecharmers in the regency of Tunis. The ground in front of them was literally covered with snakes, of a larger and evidently of a fiercer species than those of the Ethiopian. Several of them, the interpreter informed me, were very venomous, and one of the Bedouins, in a wild, incoherent speech, was endeavoring to impress the fact upon his audience, and also that their poisonous fangs had not been extracted. Picking up one of the largest and most savagelooking, he would hold it at arm’s length and tantalize it until it would spring back and fasten its fangs into his face or some part of his body. Dropping it, he would then draw out from under his bernouse a small box of ointment and apply it to the wound, which, he claimed, removed all the poisonous effects. By the time he had finished this part of the entertainment the crowd of Arabs had largely increased, and had so far encroached upon the open space or ring where the show was being held that there was scarcely room for the snake-charmers to move about. To make the crowd fall back, one of the Bedouins adopted a quick and most effective remedy. Grasping from the ground the ugly fellow that had just been exhibiting its savage nature and venomous fangs, and which must have measured eight feet in length, he commenced running around the ring, and thrusting its angry head into the frightened faces of the spectators. The snake was standing out in a horizontal line, and the Bedouin was holding it about twothirds the distance from the head. As it came near the Arabs it would spring at them with its wide, open mouth, and its eyes flashing fire in a most diabolical manner. There was no hesitation in obeying the Bedouin’s command to fall back. I never saw a crowd gathered around a street show expand so suddenly as this. One tall Arab, who was on his knees leaning forward, intently watching the performance, not getting out of the way in time, was seized by the savage reptile, which fastened its fangs into the hood pf his bernouse, in close proximity to his nose. During the excitement that followed, and while the two Bedouins were endeavoring to unfasten the fangs of the serpent from the Arab’s hood, to which it was clinging with a deathlike grip, the other serpents on the ground commenced gliding quickly away in different directions, close at the heels of the panicstricken Arabs, who were running different ways, as if the poisonous serpents were in full chase, ready to fasten on to their bare feet.

Royal Treasures of Delhi.

We passed on to the armory, when there were hundreds of choice and famous swords, hilted to outdo Excalibui in gold, jade, and jewelled work Soma of them had pearls enclosed in a slo| within the breadth of the blade, so thaj the pearls run ap and down as the poini is raised or depressed, a well known trick of the old oriental'sword forgers. There were shields of great beauty, some transparent rhinoceros-hide, studded with gold and jewels; some oj nilghau skin, the tuft of hair upon the breast being carefully retained, and made to furnish the tassel of the boss.. A shirts of mail worn by Holkar’s grandfather, and a rifle ten feet in length, were shown with special pride by the maharajah’s armorer, who is the best judge of the water and temper of a sword-blade, in Rajputana. In the tosha-kfaana were numberless chests oi teak bound with iron, containing the surplus funds of Ulwur ip rupees and gold mohur, elephant trappings, gilded saddles and bridles, dresses of honor, costly shawls, and the jewels of the royal household. The glories of these latter were'exhibited amid a crowd oi proud and respectable Raiput guard? and attendants. There was a diamond worth £IO,OOO, and two emeralds oi prodigious size, with Persian couplet* carved upon their lucent green which might have made any feminine breast glow with passionate desire; - not to mention a rope of pearls, for which the seat of Ormuz and of Lanka must have Hheu ransacked. The Tosha-Khana also buyt and stores perfumes; and the dark little treasure chamber was sweet and subtle with all sorts of essences, laid up for state occasions and for the pleasuring of the zenana, in flasks, jars, and little leathern dubbas. Those curious in the fine delights of fragrance should procure some of the oil of the Keora palm. It will give a new sensation to the nose.

ROUNDS’ SUCCESSOR.

Thomas XL Benedict, the New Public Printer.

Thomas E. Benedict was born at Warwick, Orange County, N. ¥., in 1839. His education was obtained at the common school and at the Warwick Institute. He engaged in teaching during his early yean, and drifted thence into a railroad office, and finally into bookkeeping. He always had an affinity for printing offices, however, and, wherever he lived was sure to be an industrious correspondent of the local newspaper. He moved to Ulster County in 1883 as a bookkeeper of the Ulster Iron Bolling Mill, and in 1870 started the Ellenville Press in partnership with

his brother, G. H. Benedict. The paper gained a reputation for its vigorous De’mocracy, and in 1873 the firm purchased The Banner of Liberty, which they conducted as a stanch Democratic weekly, gaining for it a circulation that extended to every State and Territory of the Union. In 1879 Mr. Benedict was elected to the New York Legislature, and was re-elected for four successive terms, each year by an increased majority. There he gained the confidence and friendship of Grover Cleveland, Daniel Manning, and other leading Democrats, and in 1884 was appointed Deputy Comptroller, which office he has since filled. He is known especially for his executive ability and unblemished integrity.

THE KNIGHTS’ GROWTH.

Extending Their Organization Into Europe—A Cosmopolitan Gathering of Delegates for the Richmond Convention. - -•

On the curious little five-sided brass buttons which designate the wearers as Knights of Labor, and which to-day decorate the lapels of thousands of coats, there is a peculiar device which at once attracts attention. More conspicuous than any of the geometric devices which are interwoven to make up the emblem, is a diminutive representation of the globe, which is readily understood as emblematical of the widespread scope of the order. The United States, where the Knights first became known, do not by any means represent the boundaries of this dominant labor organization, for within the last two years many thousands of the mechanics, artisans and laborers of the European countries have been enrolled as Knights of Labor. The organization of the windowglass workers in England and Continental Europe was the first move on the other side of the waler, and it is now claimed that there is scarcely one of that craft in the entire world who is not a member of the order. Hence directions to local and district assemblies, constitutions and bylaws, and the various other pamphlets which are necessary to cany on the diversified business, have to be translated into a score or more of different languages, and more than one of the progressive members of the Executive Board are looking hopefully forward to the day when the ramifications of the order will include even the nations of the far East, and the linguistic catalogue of the General Secretary-Treasurer will include the teachest tongue of the Chinese. The management of all the foreign branches of the order is vested in the General Executive Board of this country, and that little body of five men —Bailey, Barry, Hayes, and Turner, with Powderly as their Chairman—wields a power which is felt by laboring men upon both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. The annual convention of the order, which meets this year in Richmond, Va., will be the largest ever held, and probably the largest that ever will be held, as in future delegates will be chosen upon a different basis of representation. As provided for under the present regulations each district assembly is entitled to one representative for each I,QQQ or majority fraction of 1,000 of its membership. The rapid growth of the order, which is fast approaching a membership of 1,000,000, increases the number of delegates to such an extent as to render an annual convention a cumbersome and unwieldy body, andto obviate this difficulty the number of delegates will be reduced by increasing the constituency of each representative to 2,000, or perhaps more. The convention will open on Monday, October 4, and will probably continue for at least fifteen days. Delegates will be in attendance from all parts of the United States and Canada. Mexico, Central America, and even South America will send their quota. European assemblies will also send representatives, and the convention will show a gathering of different races, colors, and nationalities such as has never before been seen in the quiet city of Richmond. During* the last year the Knights of Labor have made an invasion of the South, and the organization of white and colored laborers has progressed with remarkable rapidity. Thomas B. Barry, of the General Executive Board, has just returned from an extended tour in that section of the country, and expresses himself as very sanguine of the benefisial results which will follow the organization of the plantation and mill hands of the South.

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BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER.

An Extraordinary Race for Governor in Progress in TennesPlaying the Fiddle Together After Public Speaking—“An Insult to One an Insult to Both.”

(Chattanooga special.] The campaign in Tennessee this fall is most remarkable. Nothing like it was ever seen before in the politics of any country. Two brothers, Robert and Alfred Taylor, are rival candidates for the Governorship. They are making the canvass together. “Bob,” as he is universally called, is the candidate of the Democracy, and Alf is the standard-bearer of the Republicans. Usually a political contest in Tennessee is a series of personal invective long drawn out, and often the issues of the campaign are lost sight of. The campaign this fall, however, has all the points of a very fine comedy. If it could be reproduced on the stage with one-quarter of the realism of th e original contest, it would be bound to have a long run. The brothers are on the best of terms, and are constantly chaffing and joking each other, to the amusement of the crowds that follow them wherever they go. They belong to one of the best families in Tennessee, and both have a natural gift of oratory. Alf Taylor has been playing a sly game on his brother. He has left two or three political meetings early on account of his weak voice and furnished dance music for parties. Both of the brothers are fair musicians and know how to handle a violin. Bob got onto his brother’s dodge very soon, however, and retaliated by visiting half of the houses along their route, kissing the babies and promising them all birthday presents when they grew up. These side issues, so to speak, began to tell on the constitutions of the brothers, and a compromise has been arrang d. Bob is to stop kissing the babies unless Alf is present and can come in for his share of the glory, and also agrees not to speak quite so loud or long until his voice gets into better condition. In addition Bob says he will not mention Cleveland’s civil-service policy again during the campaign. For these concessions Alf has agreed to stop fiddling except in duets with his brother. But as the violin has been introduced into-the canvass they find that they cannot put it out. Everywhere they go they are compelled to take their violins with them and play a shake-down after the regular meeting of the night is over. The brothers’ duet played at the Read House here last evening Was a very amusing sight. The parlors were crowded, and the two brothers sat close together, surrounded by their adherents. “Dixie,” “Star-Spangled Banner,” “Old Kentucky Home,” and selections from the “ Mikado” were rendered in fine style. It was impossible, amid the shouts of laughter and applause, to say which was the better man with the bow. At Cleveland, Tenn., last week, the brothers addressed the largest meeting of the campaign. This is. a Republican stronghold, and Alf was in high feather. But Bob's followers made up in shouting what they lacked in numbers. While waiting to board the train at Athens for Cleveland a crowd gathered around the station. The sun was hot, and the brothers sought the shade of a neighboring tree. Here the crowd followed them, and the jokes flew pretty thick. “Alf.” said Bob, “would be lost if it was not for his little tariff and Blair bill.” “You don’t want to come out too strong about our Mexican diplomacy,” retorted Alf. “You must be referring to Mr. Blaine’s guano contracts,” said Bob, good-naturedly. “But what are you going to do with the public domain, Bob?” asked Alf, winking slyly to the crowd. “Sell it and educate those 400,000 ignorant Tennessee children you are always talking about.” At this moment a hardy mountaineer approached on the scene. He approached Alf and said: “I want a place under the next Governor.” But before he could reply Bob spoke up: “Here he is; what can Ido for you?*’ The crowd laughed, but Alf got in a neat rejoinder by saying: “‘A public office is a public trust.’ I cannot promise patronage for votes.” Some one rang'a chestnut bell, and a minute later the brothcis were boarding the train arm in arm, and bowing their acknowledgments to the cheering crowd. The gathering at Cleveland is typical of what has met the brothers all over the State. “Remember,” said Squire Gant, in introducing “our Alf” to the public, “that an insult to one of these gentlemen is an • insult to the other,” and this represents the policy of the campaign. There are no side issues in Tennessee this fall. The question is simply between Democracy and Republicanism, and both sides feel that the result will be a true test of each party's strength. At Athens another feature was introduced into this canvass which promises to become a regular card. Some one alluded to it as the War'of the Roses, and the _ex-_ pression was promptly caught up by the crowd. It furnished the proper campaign insignia. At once the red rose became the badge of the Republicans and the white rose the emblem of Democracy. It spread like wildfire, and within forty-eight hours these historic decorations were worn in rosettes from one end of the State to the other. The ladies, top, .are flying the colors of their choice. So it is now a double campaign, roses and fiddles, and all canopied over by the best of good-fel-lowship and fraternal rivalry. An incident last night, while the brothers were at Bridgeport, illustrates the spirit of the canvass from the matron’s standpoint. They performed, as usual, and then went arm in arm to the same bed. As they came down to breakfast the hotel proprietor’s wife, a smiling old lady of 60, approached them with a bunch of the rival roses in each hand and said: “Col. Bob and Col. Alf, I’m not a politician, and I don’t know anything about politics, but I want you to "accept these flowers because it makes my mother heart glad to see two brothers making a canvass against each other and yet treating each other as loving as you two do. Let me see you shake bands before you go.” They took the flowers, shook as "desired, and laughingly took the train for Tullahoma, where they speak to-night.

1 Standards of Color. - The curious suggestion has been made by Mr. Francis Galton, of the London Anthropological Institute, that some of the colors of the Italian mosaic •workers be employed as standards for describing the tints of the skin of the various races and tribes of mankind. These colors have great durability, mosaics in St. Peter’s at Kotne having shown no signs of change after more than . * A great variety of tints is available, there being about 500 appropriate to the flesh of European nations alone.