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lewis m. grist, proprietor, j ^it Jjit&tpcnbcnl <$ami!g HUtospper: Jfor lj}t locomotion of f|c political, Social, ^gricallnral ani> Commercial Jlntemts of fjjc Sontji. |TERMS--$2.50 A IE AIR,? ADVANCE. "VOL. 26. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THTJRSD-A.1T, OCTOBER 28, 1880.< 44. TOM FANSHAW'S LUCK. CHAPTER I. Tom Fanshaw, of the New York Central Railway Company's service, thought it a hard case to have to turn out of his warm bed at the unearthly hour of the moruing at which his wife gave him a push and told him it was time to get up. He rose iu dudgeon, went to the window and looked out. A cold, aggravating December morning; nothing to be seen except the candle he held in his hand, and his own unshaven, unwashed visage; glowering sulkily at him. His wife, a cheery little bodv, wasou her knees, before the grate, trying to kindle the embers of last night's fire ; with the bellows. "Come, Tom," she said, "look sharp, or you'll be late. Drat the fire, it won't light, and firewood's so awful dear." She drew a little bundle from its hiding-place, and lighted a match beneath it. "There, that'll do, . now. What sort of a morning is it ?" "Don't jaw. I declare its an abominable shame." What particular abuse the railroad man ! f/\ nnn notror Ko knnu'n fnr at t.hlS ! auuucu i/v vuii uvvv4 w .??w. ? - moment the the baby began to squall and > drowned all other voice^ in its own. The wife j went to take it up. "Hush-sh sh ; bless its little heart, it shall, so it shall." "Warm my coffee," said Mr. Fanshaw, magisterially. "Yes, directly. Did it want its pap, the precious chicken, did it?" said Mrs. Fanshaw, ! as she set on the fire a can which did not contain her lord's coffee. Faushaw buttoned on his uniform and j mused upon the insufficiency of his salary. In an adjoining room three other small persons awoke, and. running in, clung in their night-gowns round mammy, and demanded to be dressed. "My coffee!" thundered Fanshaw above the clamor. "Yes, directly; only baby must have his pap first," pleaded Mrs. Fanshaw, hastening toward the fire. Tom Fanshaw was decidedly cross that morning. He had full five minutes to spare; ? but a gloomy desire for martyrdom came upon him. "Very well. I see I am to have no coffee this morning," he said, and stalked heroically out of the house in the direction of the depot, where it was his fate to attend the cars arriving by the train due every morning at seven o'clock, and at intervals thereafter throughout the dav. As he stood by the gate he sudden ]y felt something which might be a claw, or a i mouth, take firm hold of his calf. He gave a little jump, excusable in a man who had been for some time eyeing a white tyll-dog, the property of a shabby dog-fancier, standing suspiciously close to his legs. Tom Fanshaw started, but the claw still kept its grasp without any of ihose incisions peculiar to teeth, and at last he looked down. He saw a long way below him a small boy, a little child not more than two or three years old, crying bitterly. After two or three seconds, apparently spent in making up his mind that it did not intend to bite, Fanshaw stooped down and looked more closely. He saw a small bit of a puckered face and two large bits of chubby hands j and the thing said between its sobs, "Please, j sir, where's mammy?" Tom Fanshaw was not, by any means, a ^ hard man, albeit the weather had gone a long way toward making hirn so ; so he said kind ' ly: "Hullo, young 'uu, what's the row! | Wan't mammy, eh ? We'll find her in a minyte," as he really thought he should, be- j lieving that the child had strayed from its j mother while she was looking for her baggage. 1 They walked down the platform together, the I big man and the little one, the small hand laid confidingly iu the great red fist; but no mammy was to be found. "Look here, what's to be done?" said Fanshaw, showing the child to a polioeman." "Oh ! hand him over to me," replied the ; knight of the baton. "I'll take him to the | station-house, and he'll be claimed in a day or two. Come along, Johnuy." The child brightened at the name ; it was evidently the right one. "Come along, Johnny," repeated the policeman, trying to lead him away. But the little hand clung to its first protector, and j Mr. Faushaw lingered. "Where are you going to take him ?'' he asked. "Twenty-first Precinct Station-house, eh ? I'll come and look after him in a day or two. Poor little fellow, I suppose the Commissioners of Charity and Correction will get him eventually; but there?I've got torments enough at home." He hardened his heart at the thought of the morning's scene, and consigned his small charge to the policeman's care. Fanshaw related the circumstances to hie wife, and the next morning Mrs. Fanshaw found time to accompany her - husband on a visit to the station-house, to "look after" little Johnny. Mrs. F., carried with her a couple of oran- j ges and a tin trumpet, the confiscated prop-; erty of her son and heir. They had nearly i reached their destination, when a woman, i poorly clad, with a young, pinched face that j was not without a certain wild beauty, and ; disheveled hair, turning the corner of a narrow street, came into violent collision with Mr. Fanshaw. Recovering herself immedi-1 ately, she brushed roughly past him and ran at full speed down a dark passage. Mrs. Fanshaw looked after her with some surprise, ; " and the next moment she and her husband were surrounded by a little crowd, headed by tvo policemen in a great hurry. "Did you see a woman pass just now," j asked one of them?"young and rather good- j looking ?" She's been robbing a jeweler's | shop, and we thought she came this way." | "Yes, yes, replied Fanshaw, eagerly, catch- j ing the prevailing excitement; "she ran up ; against me, not a minute ago. She went down that passage," and he pointed to the alley where the woman had disappeared. NVith a hasty "thank you" the policemen ; hurried in the direction indicated ; but they j were soon at fault again, and Fanshaw and : his wife, having followed for a minute or ! two, disengaged themselves from the crowd and walked on. Arrived at the stationhouse, Johnny was found, his puckered face ! more puckered still, crying piteously in the corner, in dire disgrace. The nurse of the ward, an old crone, whose temper time had soured, pointed him out vindictively. "Drat the child! I can't do nothing with , him; that's the way he's been going on the whole blessed morning. Mammy, mammy. Indeed I wish bis mother 'ud fetch him out, for he's no better nor a nuisance here." Mrs. Fanshaw's bright eyes darted dag- j gers at the old dame as she passed her, and in a minute she had gathered little Johnny j into her kind arms, and% was cuddling him; upon her lap, where the child's sobs soon sub- [ sided under the combined influence of kisses and oranges. The little fellow was worn out by crying, and he nestled directly into his i new resting-place and went fast asleep, clasp- ' ing one of Mrs. Fanshaw's fingers tightly in his mottled hand. It went to the mother's heart to have to leave him, but she felt that in the present state of the family funds they | could not venture to burden themselves with ; this helpless child. She laid him tenderly ; down, kissing the flushed cheek aud gently drawing away her finger. "Be kind to him, poor little duck," she ! said to the old dame, "he'll soon get used to it; but he is only a baby, and it is bard for him to be taken from his mother," and in an i unusually subdued mood Mrs. Fanshaw de- i scended the stairs, to join her husband below, i Mr. Fanshaw, meanwhile had been sitting i on a bench in the office talking to one of the officers who was off duty. 1 "Got such a thing as a chew of tobacco 1 about you, Fanshaw ?" said the officer, peer- 1 ing hungrily into Tom's face. j "Why, yes," replied Tom. "I thought i somebody might want some, and I filled my i box before I started." He put his hand in his coat-pocket, aud drew theuce,?a gold ( Louis quatoizi snuff-box, from the lid of which beamed a lovely enameled face, set 1 round with large diamonds. Mr. Fanshaw's I eyes opened to that extent that there was reason to apprehend that he would never be s able to close them again ; his wife's glittered i like a raven's; the jeweled toy lay shining on ( the big palm. "Well?" at last said Mr. Fanshaw, draw- 1 ing a long breath. A moment after, "Bless e *V4,f Av/tloimoH lilt, if f It ? UJJ OUUI UV VAUmiliiVVil a ?v *? V -V . ? must have been put in my pocket by that ere 1 woman we met, with the police close at her > heels. Served her right if she did get caught," 1 added Tom, indignantly, "the jade! putting 1 such things in an honest man's pocket. But r what -a beauty it is, to be sure!" 1 A day or two later an advertisement ap- i peared in the Herald, offering 8100 reward c for the box. Fanshaw's conscience had been v set at rest in regard to the acceptance of such t a reward, and he agreed with his wife that she r should go to the station-house and claim little e Johnny?for they could afford to keep him on t the reward?end meet her lord afterward at v the jeweler's shop. When he reached it he c stared through the plate-glass window in admiration for a*minute or two, and walked in F in the best possible spirits, and advanced to- t ward the counter. "I called about this advertisement," said t he, showing one that he had cut out of the i' paper; "the box has come into my posses- c sion." g "Oh, indeed," replied the young man whom c he addressed, with an unmistakable sneer? t "Oh, indeed 1" t "It happened very curiously," Tom went ti on, glibbly ; "I and my wife were walking?" t "Don't tell your story to me, if you please," t interrupted the shopman, rudely; "I'll mention your errand to my master. Here, Jen- h kins, two upon ten." d TVio eknnmon ii'nnt rlnum fVio inner nassacrfi. and Jenkins advanced from the other side of J the shop and kept close to Tom, in a manner ^ which he could not but think offensive, espe- r cially as a maq of far less respectable appear- r ance was left standing unwatched at the op- P posite counter. Worse than this, the mean- 1 ing of the mysterious order "two upon ten," * soon became obvious in the gluing of Mr. * Jeukins' eyes upon the ten fingers, five of u which were resting innocently upon the coun- n ter. Tom began to grow very uncomfortable. 8 When finally the first salesman returned and " preceded him into a private room, and Jen- a kins, calling another man to attend to the ? shop, joined quietly in behind, Tom felt that all his good spirits had unaccountably left j1 him, and was conscious of wearing a hang dog " look, and of being treated surprisingly like a criminal. s Mrs. Fanshaw, with little Johnny in her v hands, hovered about the door of the jewel- r er's shop for a good quarter of an hour before her lord made his appeaaauce. When at ^ length he did so, she fell back with a start, and looked with terrified eyes into his face; ^ the gas-light showed it to be of a deadly white. 11 "Heavens! *Save us, Tom! What's the ' matter? You look like a ghost!" s "Stuff and nonsense," he said, trying to a speak angrily, but the words came thick and s faint out of his throat. "What! you've got 0 the brat, have you ?" e "Yes, Tom. Poor little man, he was so pleased," and the wife crept timidly nearer her husband. ^ "We shall never repent it, any way, I'm " sure. I couldn't have eaten my Christmas 1 dinner comfortably if we hadn't done it, but a haven't you?haven't you got the money ?" ? "Yes, I've got the money," he growled be- ' tween his set teeth. a Mrs. Fanshaw felt such a lump rise in her ? throat that she spoke no more till they were ^ at home and in their own room. There she 8 could no longer restrain her tears; they streamed dowa unnoticed over her new bonnet c strings that she had tied with such pride an 8 hour before. ? "Oh, Tom !" she pleaded, "I can't bear this. Only tell rae what it means." ? "Means I" he exclaimed. ."It means that ? they don't believe a word of my story. It ^ means that I shall lose my situation and my J l ? J ? : 1 .. ? I cnaracier, auu De ruiueu, us sure us juu aic u living womai ; thanks to you and that cursed j" brat! They don't prosecute, but they are going to write and inform the company." J3 The next day Tom Fanshaw was sumraari- ^ ly dismissed from the employment of the New ? York Central Railroad company without a 11 recommendation. F CHAPTER II. s "Land in .sight !" What magic there is in these words as they fly from lip to lip on 1 board a homeward-bound vessel. How the 1 passengers come crowding up to catch the ii first glimpse of America, nearing momentarily; what agitated grasps of the hand there h are between new friends, what reconciliation d between ancient foes. Watch for a moment o the deck of the Flying Scud, homeward- n bound from the South African diamond dig- t gings. Yonder is a man, the centre of an s excited group ; he is the fortunate possessor b of a good binocular, an invaluable treasure h at such a moment. Ou this side sits a woman ; t who, one may tell, from her deep mourning, j has laid her husband to rest in that distant, b land ; she strives in vain to see the coast with ' v eyes blurred and dimmed with tears. Here : is a man who left Araeiica several years ago, j fc and he is wondering whether any will be alive s to greet him on his return. Ah, what hopes, b what fears, what beating hearts and strain- c ing eyes the good ship bears along as she a comes bounding home to America ! a In the midst of such a scene, four years i b after the events narrated in the last chapter, 1 r. a husband and wife were standing together, s quietly and earnestly gazing toward land. ; r The woman's face was pale and calm, but a : wistful look in the gray eyes and some deep . t lines about the mouth told their story of past t trouble. Her husband, a hale, burly man,! v from the class perhaps of working farmers, j c looked as if no cloud had ever rested on his' v handsome face; both were plainly but well i dressed. I "Well," the man was saying, "I've come 1 back to America a sight richer than I left it, > 3 that's certain. That last haul did my busi- j s ness, and glad enough I shall be to be safe at! s home againthen, as his wife did not imme- j c diately reply, he added, kindly : "Come, cheer j 1 up, Jane. I know what you're thinking of;! f but you needn't be so down-hearted. We're i I sure to find him." "Ah, I don't know, the mother said, sad- j t ly : "he may be dead and gone by this time, ! a poor darling. If he is alive, he must be sev-1 r en now. My baby, my baby, how could 111 leave him!" j i "Well, my girl, I don't wonder at it," re- j 1 plied the man in his hearty voice. "You'd | v have stuck to him, I know, as long as you j 1 had a bit of bread to put into his mouth ; and 1 when you hadn't, I don't know but what you a did the best you could for him." 1 The woman looked up gratefully to her husband, but tears filled her eyes. She took the great, brown hand and stroked it, sayiDg 3oftly : "You are sure you forgive everything that went before?before I left New York ?" "Why, what are you talking about, Jenny ? Didn't I tell you the day we were married that bygones should be bygones, eh, little woman ? and haven't you been the best of wives to me for three years since then ? It's iust the sight of America that makes you Foolish and nervous-like. You'll be all right is soon as you get there." There was a little nause. and then the wife mid, timidly: "Harry, I've never told you exactly how [ came to leave my baby, and to?to take ;he box. I should like to tell you, now." "Well, my dear," he answered, without a thadow crossing his face, "tell me now, if it ,vill be any comfort to you ; but don't feel )bliged to." "No," she replied, drumming softly with ter fingers upon the side of the vessel. "I ihould like to do it. After?after he desertid me, you know, we really were starving, my jaby and I. That morning?we had been vaudering about all night in the cold, and le cried for bread and I had uoue to give lira. Ah, me! I can hear that little cry low! At last we came near the depot, and could see the warm fire through the waitug-room window ; I thought my baby would lie soon if he wasn't fed, and all the courage vent out of me. I put him down by the enrance, thinking perhaps some passenger night take pity on him. And then I watchid, under cover of the darkness, and saw hem take him to the station-house. Oh,i vhat a miserable, miserable place for a little hild!" "My poor girl!" said her husband, commssionately, as she stopped, choked by her ears. "The next day I was prowling about rfear he station-house?I couldn't go far from it, t always seemed to pull me back?when I ame to a jeweler's shop, where a lady was ;oing in with a snuff* box to be mended. I ould see her unfolding the parcel, and then ka irmjolo onofl-linff unnn if. I lnnCTP.d for IJV JV.IWO .v. O he food that it would have bought, aud bought how cruel it was that she could have hat splendid thing while my baby, my only, reasure, must be taken from me." She waited a moment, and then went on, er eyes fixed upon the dim outline of the listant shore: "The salesman left the shop, and the lady talked toward the door holding the box. don't know what possessed me then. I nshed in, snatched it out of her hand, and an away. There was a hue and cry for olice, and the next moment I could hear hem behind me. I tried to go faster, but on urning a corner I ran up hard against a man. t stopped me, and then the horror came pou me of feeling myself a thief. I had I ever stolen a crumb before. I could not ive myself up, and be dragged to . prison, nit I slipped the box into the man's pocket, nd rau on. I thought he would feel it rop and give it directly to the policeman." "And are you sure that was the same aan who took little Johnny?" asked the usband ; "it hardly seems likely." "I am sure ; his name was Fanshaw, too," he answered ; "it was given in the paper, dtfi the account of his having claimed the eward. I saw it afterward." "What made you think of going to South Africa ?" "Well, when I knew that my boy had been aken out of the station-house, I determined iot to die, as I thought I should, but to try o live for his sake. I obtained a position as tewardess on a ship bound for South Africa, od 1 thought it the only way to earn money omehow to support him. I've never heard f him since. I wonder why they have nevr answered my letters." "You wrote to the wrong place, most likeY" suggested the husband; "however, it ms lucky you remembered the jeweler's ad[ress all right, for if he hadn't acknowledged he receipt of the hundred dollars we refunded, nd promised not to prosecute, we couldn't j e here ; but as to Johnny, you'll see, Jane. Ve'll find hira out, and we'll have him home, nd bring him up to be honest and true, and /e'll find means to reward those that have ieen kind to-him, never you fear," and he tooped down and kissed her. Thus i^was that the mother of the deserted hild returned to America?the happy repected wife of an upright and successful man, et yearning for her lost darling with a longng that never faded or grew dim. Daily, luring the homeward voyage, she had picured the meeting between herself and her ioy, until she could almost feel the clasp of lis little arms around her neck ; but as the Hying Scud neared America a miserable estlessness took possession of her?a sick fear est she should not find her child. Her husiand was very kind, very tender, with her, iut he had no power to still the terror that lied the mother's soul. It was a rainy morung early in Christmas week that Henry Bouou, the fortunate diamond-seeker, aud his ale wife, landed at New York, and as soon s they had attended to their baggage they tarted together to look for the Fanshaws. They went first to the old lodgings to which ittle Johnny had been traced by his mother. ?he door was opened by a man of whom they nquired the whereabouts of the Fanshaws. "Walk in," said he, civilly, when he had ieard their query, "and I'll inquire." He iid so, and a pleasant, chatty woman came ut, with a baby in ber arras. "If you please, oa'am," she said, "the Fanshaws left here hree years ago and more. When Mr. Fanhaw got into trouble, my husband was put in lis place.with the railroad company, and as ie couldnt't afford to keep these lodgings, we ?i. >? L:? l ,i., ? jutx cm uu iiio iiauuo. Henry Bouton turned to smile cheerily at lis wife, before he asked, "What trouble /as it ?" "Why, sir, I don't know that I can rightly ell you. It was something about a gold nuff box that Mr. Fanshaw was supposed to lave stolen, and he was dismissed from the ompany's service. His character was cleared fterwards by some letters from South Africa, ,nd my/husband said the company would iave given him another situation, but they iever could trace him. But lor', ma'am," he exclaimed, suddenly breaking off, "do let ne get you a chair. You look ready to drop." Henry Bouton scarcely waited to thank he astonished woman for her information, lefore he bore off his wife to the carriage that waited at the door. She cowered iu'a corner fit, and shivered as if cold, but said not- a vord. "Don't take on so, Jenny," urged her hus and, drawing her shawl more closely round ler, "for my sake don't. You couldn't dream rou were doing hhn such an injury, and we hall find them, I'm sure. Try to think of orae other place where they may be heard f." She shook her head hopelessly at first, )ut after a moment said, eagerly, "Twentyirst Precinct Station-House! They may mow there." Thither the cabman drove, and ascertained he address of Mr. Faftshaw after leaving the ibove lodgings. After that it was only a natter of time to follow up the track. The Boutons drove from street to street, from lodgng to lodging, each a degree poorer and shab>ier than the last, to be met everywhere vith the same sad story : "He couldn't get 10 work, so they had to give up the rooms." lane Bouton's pale face grew paler and paler, md her lips became parched and dry. Every low and then her husband laid his broad % hand encouragingly on hers, but few words were spoken. At last they reached a dilapidated house, at whose open door a knot of dirty men were lounging. The often-repeated question was ! this time answered in the affirmative. Yes, j they were here. Fallen so low as this ! The Boutons mounted the filthy stairs, swarming : at ever flight with squalid children, up and up i till they reached the topmost garret. Here they knocked, and in a minute a woman j came out, closing the door behind her. A woman ; but could that lean, careworn crea| ture, with untidy hair and threadbare clothes that hung loosely about her pinched figure, ; could that be the bonny, comely Mrs. Fanj shaw of old days?" Jane Bouton' was past ; speaking by this time; her knees were shaking under her; she could hardly staud, but I she signed to her husband to tell her story. He did so at once, in a frank, manly way, ! standing all the time in the dreary passage. | He touched tenderly upon the various incidents, but he omitted nothing, and he ended ! by humbly entreating forgiveness for his j wife. His listener heard him in entire silence, j and as he paused a wailing voice called from j within : "Mother, tfidlfeer, do come!" I Mrs. Fanshaw turned without a word, and hurried back, leaving the door wide open. I TUA TJAufnno firvlhor Thprp WAR not I 1 UC UUULU1IO iviiwirvu 1IV*? an atom of furniture in the wretched room, except two straw pallets and some old boxes which served as seats; no signs of food, no fire on that bitter day. On the floor beside the empty grate crouched two boys of nine and ten, while a girl a year or two older was trying to infuse some of her own vital warmth 1 into a little child of four. They were all dark-haired, and Mrs. Bouton's eye passed them and went to where Mrs. Fanshaw was bending over a pillow of straw, on which a little golden head was lying. The mother could contain herself no longer. She flew across the room and threw herself on her knees by the side of the pallet. "My baby, I my baby!" she cried. Johnny opened his i eyes with a look of wonder, but did not speak. "He is dying," hoarsely whispered Mrs. j Fanshaw ; "dying of hunger." For one moment Mrs. Boufon turned j away her eyes from her child. "Fetch food," she motioned with her lips to her husband; and he was gone in a moment. There was a silence in the room till his return, both women brooding over the child. At last he came laden with all that he had been able to seize in a raid of two minutes upon the pastry cooks, and followed by a boy bearing a steaming can of soup. With a flood of tears Mrs. Fanshaw held out her hand to the womun' who had been ! the cause of her husband's ruin, saying: "God bless you for having come in time to save him ; he is like my own. I forgive you for his sake." And the two women embraced I and kissed each other by the side of the child's ! poverty-stricken bed. i i . ? J i ntj.i ine sun rose Drignc anaciear ou imrisiiuaa Day. About noon Kenry Bouton carried weak little Johnny in his strong arms to a warm, cheery lodging in a healthy neighborhood. Most of the family had moved some hours before, so as to be ready to receive him, and the child looked around with amazement when he had been softly laid on the little white bed in the corner. Mrs. Bouton had decked the room with greens, a cozy fire was crackling out its Wellcome, a kettle was singing, on the fire, and the table was spreatT for the dinner that was already sending out savory whiffs from the adjoining kitchen. Mrs. Fanshaw was there, already beginning to smile and beam again, surrounded by her children in warm Winter dresses, and Mrs. Bouton waiting on them all. Johnny's ideas were vague as to the relationship in which she stood to him, but he had no objection to find a second mother in the loving woman who watched and petted him so tenderly. Presently in came Mr. Fanshaw, who had been forbidden to make his appearance earlier, and his astonishment was a sight worth seeing. An arm chair had been drawn up to the fire place, and Henry Bouton's cheery voice invited him into it. As he was about to sit down he found a bundle lying on the seat, but he almost let it drop again when he saw what it contained. Of all things in the world, a bran-new conductor's uniform! "Yes, you are honorably reinstated, and promoted to a conductorship," Henry Bouton was saying, when he recovered from his stupefaction. "I wish you joy, I'm sure." "Now, little woman, let's have dinner." They had dinner, and such a dinner! There was a turkey, of course, and roast beef, and 1 sausages and mince pies, and a plum pudding and all the delicacies that were ever thought of. The very spirit of Christmas seemed to shine out of Henrv Bouton's eves, and to illumine his good humored face ; he was resolved upon fun, and he was not a man to be daunted. Bless you! the stories that he told, the jokes that he made, the absurdities that he perpetrated at that dinner would fill a vol- ' ume, and then the children began first to laugh, and when the magnificent apparition ' of the pudding, spouting fire with all its might, burst upon them, a genuine shout of baby glee came from the youngest, which . rejoiced its mother's ears, and of which he J was as proud as could be. The Boutons were ; in no hurry. They had taken rooms in the same house and meant to live there. And there they live to this day, a thriving, ( happy, prosperous lot of people as one would , wish to see. ( mm????M How a Young Labty Won $5,000.?But ' here comes one of ray favorites, writes the ] Boston correspondent of the San Francisco 1 Bulletin. Isn't she fine-looking? No? Well, 1 listen while I tell you her story, and learn 1 why I like her looks. Some years ago, a 1 man who had more money than good reputa- ' tion, advertised that he would give $5,000 to an" respectable white woman who would w k unveiled from the Adams House entrance 1 down Washington street with him, at an hour when all the fashionables were promenading. 1 For weeks that offer remained untaken, for his reputation was such that no respectable woman would be seen with him, and the advertisement had said "that none others need apply." Finally, this woman who has just passed us agreed to his terms and to join him at the appointed place and time. When the hour came, Mr. was on hand. Soon a carriage drove up with the lady. It had been noised abroad that the offer had been taken up, and quite a crowd had gathered to see him pay his 55^000. He helped her alight, offered her his arm and walked a few steps with her, when she removed her veil at his i request and revealed to his gaze a face as black as night. "You have deceived me," he said ; "this is not fair." "I am not a ne- i gro," she replied, and to prove it she pulled off'her gloves and showed a pair of hands as white as yours at this minute. The man turned toward th^ carriage, paid her the $5,000 and she drove off, leaving him to the laughter and hoots of the amused crowd of bystanders. It turned out afterwards that the girl was very poor, aud that she had a maguificent voice that she could not cultivate for want of money, and this is the way she overcame that obstacle. She went to Europe and studied five years and has returned one of our most brilliant singers. You can tell from her proud bearing and refined appear- i ance that she is just the sort of woman to do j such a thing with dignity and come out none ' the worse for it either, UliscdlitHeous fUatliug. A DEALER IN MENAGERIES. A New York letter to the Atlanta (Ga.) Constitution says: One day I was walking down Chatham steeet, New York, when my steps were arrested by a queer sound, proceeding from a store. It was a sort of chirping tumult, as if all the birds in the world bad met in a debating society. I had little difficulty in finding the door from whence the chirped volume of music issued. It was, I believe, Noi 55, a handsome front and a large store. I sauntered to the door and looked in and saw a sight that I do not think can be duplicated in America. On each side of the store the walls were lined with bird cages, ATUrt AWAI1tl/1 MTAflr WQQ 1 rum IU|J LU UULIUIII. 1UC gIVUUU nui a "WO of canaries, aud there must have been thousands of these yellow tufts of fuss aud feather. Underneath the swarming tiers of canaries were large compartments, in which were pheasants, cranes, aud every rare bird?sacred or profane?that I ever heard of. On the higher shelves were smaller song and show birds, from insane love birds, or whistling finches, up to the hoariest and hoarsest of parrots. Iu this wilderness of cages, a shortish man, evidently of Teutonic build, was walking leisurely. As he saw me he turned and came forward with that easy, pleasant grace common to well-bred city men. I saw at a glance that he was of the best type of Germans? hearty, self-poised, intelligent and cordial. His face was clear, thoughtful and strong? the face of a man who has se.n the world, has fought it and whipped it. I am thus special in describing him because I found him one of the most agreeable and entertaining men I ever met, engaged in the most unique business, and the Napoleon of his profession. I don't know how I came to know so much of him so soon, except that he displayed that engaging frankness that the traveled man shows to the inquisitive provincial. At any rate, I discovered after an hour's chat that I was talking to Henry Reiche, of the firm of Reiche & Bro., dealers in birds and wild animals. This firm is famous the world over, and stands without competitors. In the name of this firm there are organized bands of hunters in all parts of Asia and Africa, engaged in capturing elephants, lions, tigers, etc., for shipment to the branch house in Hamburg. From this point the animals are supplied to England and the Continent and shipped to America. All wild animals that fill the menageries and parks of this continent came through the bright-eyed German with whom I spent that delightful day. His history is fnll nf infnMof lUil Ui iUtUMK* In-1844 or 1845 Charles and Henry Reiche, two young Germans, having little less than the practical education that seems to be natural to young Germans, were bird peddlers in New York. They went about from street to street, selling birds from stands. Their trade was principally in canaries, which they had sent over from Germany, where they only cost ten or twelve cents each. They did a pretty fair business up to 1852, when they made a daring stroke that made them a fortune and established the enormous business they now control. At that time California was in the flush of gold finding. Gold was plentiful there, but luxuries few. There was no transcontinental road, and the Isthmus route was tedious and costly. Young Reiche, knowing that canaries were unknown there, and believing they would become the rage when once seen, determined to carry over a cargo. He, therefore, got 3,000 of the yellow fellows together, and, packing them in little cages, started for the Isthmus. Arriving at Cartenaga, he had his birds carried across the Panama bay, by natives, and caught a ship there and soon reached San Francisco. He was late in reaching the ship, and the captain was about to sail without him, but, seeing his boats filled with covered boxes, thought it was belated mail matter. When Reiche drew near, the captain hailed him and asked him what he had. "Canary birds," replied Reiche. "Canary birds !" shouted the captain. "If I'd known it was birds, I'd ha' left you long ago." Reiche's first idea of the flush tide he was to ride was caught from a homesick Englishman, who, hearing the whistle of a bullfinch that bad been accidentally put in with the canaries, offered to pay the expenses of the entire cargo for that finch. As this amounted to 8283 Reiche saw that he had struck a rich lead, and he put the price of canaries at 825 each. They did become the rage. Hotels, anlnrma nrivafp. rpsidprmps ftll must hftVfl ft canary. The little yellow birds made a craze like the tulip mania. The price soon went up to $50, and the cargo was soon sold. Reiche returned to New York a rich man. About this time the menagerie became an American institution. The "moral" show went abroad through the land, and there was a demand for Asiatic and African animals. For years Hamburg, in Germany, had been a sort of depot at which such animals were gathered by incoming ships from the tropics. Reiche conceived the idea of establishing a house there, and supplying it' steadily with all sorts of beasts, to be captured by bands of hunters, working under his direction in the deserts and jungles. Up to that time the supply at Hamburg had been casual, depending on what sailors or ship captains might bring over. Mr. Reiche went into Africa aud Asia, and found that his hest method was to depend upon native hunters, acting under order of their sheikh and directed by a few white men of courage and address. His system was soon so organized that his beast depot dt Hamburg became the largest in the world. It was supplied constantly with all sorts of captures, from tiny antelopes up to elephants, running through all the gamut from leopard to rhinoceros. From Hamburg he now supplies the most of the parks and gardens of Europe, and ships heavily to America. He imports every wild animal sold in this country, and keeps a "large aud assorted stock on hand." Ninetenths of the animals in Central park, New York, and a large proportion of those in other parks are his property. When he receives a consignment of lions or hippopotami, or a few rhinoceri and giraffes are billed to him, he places them in Central park, where they await a purchaser. He keeps in his store only a few of the smaller animals?and even the aviary in Central park is stocked with his birds. He considers twenty lions a good average stock, with probably as many tigers, a dozen elephants, four rhinoceri (or rhinocerosses), and other beasts in proportion. The most extensive animal he deals in is the hippopotamus. A good hippopotamus is worth (to a man who wants him) from $10,000 to $12,000. They must be captured when they are young and raised on goat's milk. A caravan of hunters returning across the desert with captured animals is a strange sight. A am a lU aiinnn/I an In n tin Khaii r?Uf ntifU nuuuL uuu uiuiicauu ^uaw uic mm the caravan to furnish milk for the antelopes, hippopotami and other milk drinkers. As the goats cease giving milk they are killed and fed to the flesh eaters. The animals are carried in bamboo cages, rigged with ropes, and slung across the backs of camels. From the coast they are shipped to Hamburg, where Mr. Charles Reiche receives them, and thence they are distributed according to demand. Elephants are captured when young, and usually by driving them into immense traps that converge rapidly until the beasts are cribbed iuto reach of ropes. A fine elephant will bring from 81,000 to $5,000. Of course, the price of animals varies with the demand. You must get a man that wants a beast before you can get any price for him?then the price depends upon how much he wants him. "You see," said Mr. Reiche, smiling, "you wouldn't give $10 for that lion there (for we had now drifted to Central Park) for your own use, and yet he is worth $2,500." A good companionable tiger can be bought for $1,200, and a nice leopard is worth about $400. Monkeys sell in the bunch by the doz; en at about $30 each, and a rhinoceros j brings about $3,000. A giraffe is very exi pensive and very delicate, and a zebra, striped ! up to the regulation of ninety-nine and one | is worth about $1,000. Giraffes die of indigestion ; the rhinoceros, despite his heavy 1 overcoat, is a frequent victim of consumption, I and the monkey dies of emotional languor, j The depot for sea lions is San Francisco, 1 * ' %r it ,, * ji_ where a man named iviuiieit superintends. They are taken on the south California coast, and bring $400 each. Polar bears come from the Arctics, and are worth about $2,000. They are kept in deep caves that are damp and sunless, or in dens set in ice and with huge blocks of ice dripping from the top. The point at which Mr. Reiche buys them is Hamburg, very few being taken in our Arctics. The snake trade is one of the important departments. The headquarters for snakes is Para, in Central America, though, of course, the boa comes from the Nile, and the anaconda from Africa. There are various depots for rare fish, and Mr. Reiche is'an enthusiast on this subject, being owner of the New York aquarium. The bright colored fishes come from the tropical waters, aud the dull-colored from the Arctic stations. The ostrich has less sense than any land animal, and yet is worth $1,000. They are caught while young. Birds come from all quarters. The most expensive is the bird of paradise, which sells for $200 to $500, according to plun?age. Parrots, paroquets, and monkeys are brought in great numbers by sailors who come in on foreign ships. The principal shipping points are Alexandria, in Egypt, and Ceylon, off Southern India. At the first point the animals from the Nile region and the heart of Africa are collected; at the latter the tigers and lions from the jungles of India. The bed of the Nile is the best hunting ground, as it has been for years. Almost every wild beast of the tropics may be found there, and in fine sample. The African elephants are smallest and most stupid, but otherwise the beasts from Africa are large and vigorous. The amount of business done by Mr. Reiche is wonderful. His standing: order for canaries is 10,000 birds a week. They are imported from Germany and sent all over the continent. He has an agent in Savannah, and has sent shipments to Atlanta. Frequently he receives $50,000 worth of animals in one manifest. There is a growing demand from circuses and menageries and zoological gardens all over the* country. No circus now travels without its menagerie, and ncpark Is complete .without its zoological department. There is a large sale for rare birds and antelopes for private parks and grounds. Mr. Vanderbilt once gave $500 for a bird of paradise. A large number of parrots are sold and trained to talk and sing, a good talker being worth $100 or $200. The supply of all birds and animals must be kept up by importation, as few of them breed in captivity. Lions and tigers are about the only animals that breed in captivity, and they bring ragged and puny cubs that are not salable. The growing demand, therefore, and the losses by death must be supplied by fresh captures and importations. Consequently, Mr. Reiche's hunters are kept busy, and his ships are always coming in. Frequently- he receives a special order from some circus or park for a certain animal. This order is at once dispatched through various agents until it reaches the hunters, who organize a special expedition and capture it. A pair of hippopotami are now being brought over for a circus at a cost of about $20,000. A large business is done exporting American animals; this business, as well as the importing, is controlled by Mr. Reiche. The grizzly bear is the typical American beast, and is always in demand for European buyers. The buffalo, the moose elk, and caribou are the larger animals exported most heavily, they being American types. The opossum, the gray squirrel, the red fox, the hedgehog, are the most popular of the smaller animals, while the puma is in great demand as a new type. The mocking bird is a great favorite among birds, and Mr. Reiche fS? men who search the Southern forests for them annually. The red-headed woodpecker is exported heavily as a show bird, and the robin is esteemed in English parks as a quiet but handsome fellow. There is a very large profit on the exchange. Mr. Reiche once bought a pair of fine cranes in Schoharie, N. Y., to fill an English order?giving $25 for them and receiving $400. There is an interesting story connected with the famous London show elephants, showing some of the points of the animal trade. A Mr. Kelly, a banker who drifted into the show business by a mortgage on the Van Araburgh menagerie, sent out a ship to Ceylon. He loaded it with a number of Yankee houses, all ready for putting together. He had the sashes, doors, locks, and everything complete. Arriving at Ceylon, he sold the houses at an enormous profit, ballasted his ship with coffee, and put thirteen elephants and a lot of animals aboard. He made $30,000 clear money by the trip, and had his elephants clear. Of this herd five were trained for the London show, and one of them, "Baby," is the mother of the first elephant ever born in captivity. Of course, Mr. Reiche has amassed a huge fortune in his unique trade. He is more than a millionaire, and is certainly growing richer. He has a superb residence at Bergen, N. J., where he is surrounded by every luxury that taste and monev can command. ? - y - _ _ A CHOCTAW LAD KEEPS HIS WORD. The execution of Chester Dixon, convicted of murder at the .last term of the Circuit Court of the Choctaw Nation, took place Friday at noon, in the presence of but a small number of people. Chester - Dixon, the murderer, was a young full blooded Choctaw, about 17 years of age. He was subject to fits, during which he often lost control of himself. He was, aside from this malady, considered rather a bright boy. He was tried according to the Choctaw law by a competent jury. He was found guilty, and sentenced to be shot on September 10, at noon. He was allowed to go home from the court room unrestrained, except by his parole, of honor to be at the court house at Atoka at the hour appointed for his execution. Choctaw laws provide no appeal, else his case would have been reconsidered, for after his conviction he was attacked with a fit, which proved conclusively that he was subject to temporary aberration, during which it is presumed he was irresponsible for his actions. His attorney during the trial had not made any such plea, and the sentence of death having been pronounced, it was unalterable. On Thursday Dixon came to Atoka with his stepfather, for the purpose of ordering his coffin. He had his measure taken, and gave the orders for the disposition of his body without the least appearance of concern, i On Friday morning about 100 persons, most of whom were whites, gathered about the court house to witness the execution. Up to within half an hour of the appointed time Dixon had not appeared. Our reporter asked his companion whether there was not some likelikood of the prisoner breaking his parole. "If he is alive he will be here with in ten minutes, Justus sure as the sun shines.'' Hardly had the words been spoken, when a murmur of "Here he comes!" was heard on all sides,' and there rose up a young fellow, slight of build, tall find straight, but rather awkward in his movements. Alighting from his pony, the boy approached a little knot of Indian women who were gathered about a blazing log. Without giving any attention to those about him, he sat down by a stump, and, hanging down his head, seemed lo9t in meditation. Presently a venerable old Indian approached the boy and spoke to him in the Choctaw toDgue, bidding him, as the interpreter said, to meet his fate as became a Choctaw brave; to remember that nothing but his life would atone for the life he had taken, and not to make expiation grudgingly, but to meet his death feeling that his people had done justice in condemning him. Whild'the old man was telkidg, Dixon held his head down, but at the conclusion of the speech be looked up, held out his band and seemed to imply that ho would not falter, i anrl lio iioitop /li/1 flirnilfrKnilf. it nil ? Hfimr.nnt.R UUUUWUU.V. -"VA J -(Ark.) Indian Journal. THE CLERKS WHO RISE. Many clerics continue in subordinate positions all* their livrs because they are of no special value to their employers. If-a clerk wishes to rise,, he roust make his services so valuable to the house that they cannot afford to do without them. It is not enough, in order to acquire this special value, to be handy and willing. He must also gain such a knowledge of the business as to be master of all its details. Sir John Walmsley, a rich merchant of Liverpool, began on a salary of ?40 a year. His employers were grain merchants, and the young man, determined to rise, set about acquiring a knowledge of grain. The man who had charge of the warehouse of the firm prided himself on knowing grain better than any one in Liverpool. Finding the clerk anxious to learn, the old warehouseman was willing to teach him. Twice a week, before breakfast, and long before office hours, they would go together to the store and ships. "Old Peter," as he was called, would show the pupil samples of various kinds of grain. At first the number bewildered the youth. But perseverance enabled him, in time, to master all the mysteries of grain, such as quality, weight, condition and origin. Old Peter would take a handful of all sorts of grain, English, Irish, American, Scotch and European, and spreading thera on a table, ask his pupil to tell all the characteristics of each sample. No one knew of these early lessons, and the employer wondered at the clerk's knowledge of the business. Customers soon found out that the youth knew more about grain than anv one in the establishment and consulted him. One day the firm's "traveler" and salesman resigned. It was the best position in their employ, and they at once promoted young Walmsley to it. His superior knowledge of the business justified their jumping him over the heads of the other clerks. The rise, though a great one, found the youth abundantly able to meet its responsibilities. He bad so trained himself that his employers recognized his value. When the term of his clerkship expired, several offers of partnership were made him, one of which he accepted. He rose to wealth and honor, because he made himself valuable to his employers. Deadening Pain.?The last number of the Medical Record contains a notice of a new and curious method of deadening pain, which is of striking simplicity. It was discovered by Dr. Bonwill, a dentist of Philadelphia, in 1875. In using the method, the operator merely requests the patient to breathe rapidly, making about one hundred respirations per UlliUUbB, KLIUlilg 1U inpiu puuiug CAj;uauuuj. Ac the end of from two to five minuces an entire or partial absence of pain results for half -a minute or more, and during that time teeth may be drawn or incisions made. The patient may be in any position, but that recommended is lying on the side, and it is generally believed best to throw a handkerchief over the face to prevent distraction of the patient's attention. When the rapicM)reatbing is first begun the patient may feel some exhilaration ; following this comes a sensation of fulness in the head or dizziness. The face is at first flushed, and afterward pale or even bluish, the heart beats rather feebly and fast, but the sense of touch is not affected, nor is consciousness lost The effect is produced in females more readily than in males, and in the middle aged more readily than in the old ; children 1 11 _ l J_ x- l il Ti can naraiy oe raaue to ureuuie property. xt, is denied that there is any reasonable danger. Several minor operations, other than frequent dental ones, have -been successfully mad# by this method, and it is claimed that in dentistry, mino- surgery and obstetrics, it may supplant the qpmraon anresthetics. Dr. Hewson's explanation is, rapid breathing diminishes the oxygenation of the blood, and that the resultant excess of carbonic acid temporarily poisons the nerve centres. Dr. Bon will gives several explanations, one being the specific effect of carDonic acid ; another the diversion of will-force produced by rapid voluntary muscular action, and third, the damming up of the blood in the brain, due to the excessive amount of blood passing through the lungs. Th6 Record is not satisfied with the theories, bot coiftiders it well proved that pain may be deadened by the method, which it commends to the profession for the exact experimental determination of its precise value. The Question of Food.?Fish as food, for all classes, weight for weight, has very nearly as much solid nutriment as butcher's meat, game or poultry; while, containing a substance called iodine, which is not found in land animals, it has a tendency to correct a scrofulous and consumptive habit. Fishermen, who naturally live largely on fish, are especially strong, healthy and prolific^ In no class are there found larger families, handsomer women, and greater exemption from human maladies. To what extent these results follow a fish diet is as yet a matter of ccnjecture. But iodine is the universal remedy up to this time for scrofulous disease. Meats contain the most nitrogen; the nitro ? ? ? * * ^aa/1 molroa k an/) gtiuuua JJUi blUUS u1 UUi iuuu Uidiaco u^ou) auu go to supply the wear and tear, and wastes of the body.; these and are ultimately passed from the system in urine. If more nitrogenous food is eaten tnan is needed to supply these wastes, nature converts it more rapidly into living tissues, which are with corresponding rapidity, broken down and converted into urine. That is when the food is digested ; but when so much is eaten that' it cannot be digested, nature takes alarm, as it were, and endeavors to remedy the trouble in one of three ways. The stomach rebels and casts it off in disgust by vomiting; it is worked out of the system by an attack of diarrhfea, or the human beast is made so uncomfortable generally that he cant't be still; if he goes to bed, he tosses and tumbles half the night; if he don't go to bed, he is taken with the fidgets and can't be easy in one position for half a minute at a time, so that in one way or an other, he is compelled to do an amount of muscular effort necessary to work off the surplus ; and as a further punishment, his appetite is' more or less destroyed for several meals afterwards. Little or no nitrogen is poured off' with the perspiration, breathing Or fajces.? Waverly Magazine;