4 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER 
35 
t 
28 
so simple that, any child nan understand it. I 
stumbled upon It. HI nee 1 have discovered It, 
1 wonder that, it is not found out a thousand 
times everyday. But gentlemen, are you aware 
that T doubt whether I am really a pioneer In 
this Held r There are books, writ ten thouRandH 
of years ago, which I read when a boy, that 
have led me to believe that this is one of the 
lost arts, though It was known perhaps only to 
a favored few. I feel suro— very sure that the 
simple law by which the attraction of gravita¬ 
tion la suspended was known in ancient Peru, 
Arabia, and perhaps In Egypt also, and went 
down Iu oblivion with other lost arts, in Home 
general catastrophe. The same la w I discovered 
while working In a silver mine, 1,000 feet under 
ground, and my knowledge I am ready to com¬ 
municate under the conditions that i have 
named,” 
“But should you die in the meantime, would 
not your discovery be again lost and the w orld 
be deprived of its benefits ?" 
“O, not at all. I have taken care of that. 
Whether I live or die, or whatever may happen 
to me within ten years from the present time, 
the world will bo fully Informed upon this sub¬ 
ject.” 
After some further consultation a select com¬ 
mittee was appointed, to meet In three days, to 
fully investigate the secret and take some ac¬ 
tion upon the proposition of the stranger who, 
after reminding all present of their promise <>r 
secrecy, departed—and was never seen again. 
Several months ago a distinguished gentle¬ 
man, a resident of a great American city, re¬ 
ceived tin 1 following communication from a 
prominent solicitor in London : 
No, — Old Broad Strekt, / 
London, Kki*t. . isra. > 
-, Ksq.—Dea it HreA short, t line since 
an Italian, w ho was the eonfklentlal clerk of 
one of my much-esteemed clients—Signor Su/.- 
zini of the house of Suzzinl, Inula & Co. of Lou¬ 
don. Naples and France—died suddenly, leav¬ 
ing in writing the statement which accompan¬ 
ies this letter. What transpired in St. George's 
Hall iu November, 186(1, concerning a subject 
of the most absorb lug interest to those present, 
has been kept a profound secret, under a sol¬ 
emn pledge, hut owing to the r,trange circum¬ 
stances of the case and the almost certain death 
of a remarkable stranger, supposed to he an 
American, whose reappearance has been await¬ 
ed with, the most intense anxiety for years, by 
those informed ott the subject, Signor Suz/.ini 
has considered himself so far absolved from bis 
obligation as to convey to some trustworthy 
barrister in your city the information herein 
•on talned. 
All communication* received from you will 
be kept strictly socrct; but iu any event, if you 
succeed iii discovering the bank, impress upon 
the managers the supreme importance of care¬ 
fully preserving, at all hazards, the documents 
committed to their charge. 1 have the honor 
to remain, etc-, Guo. Mathiot Marshall. 
The following 1* the statement of the Italian 
clerk: 
in November, 1866, a very Important congre¬ 
gation Came together in St. George’s Hall. 
Strange things were seen. I was there. Much 
money was to be gained. A young man—a Yan¬ 
kee. - had a secret in his pocket. It was u w T iro 
worth millions. He left the ball. It was a 
dark night—fog and smoke thick and black. I 
followed him. Down liegent street, under the 
gas lamps, he went on foot. I followed him. 
Across the Haymarket, across Leicester Square 
- at LI o’clock—and through a dark nod narrow 
alley toward St, Martin’s Lam*. 1 could have 
done It there, but others came by and I shrunk 
back into the gloom. Through St. Martin’s 
Lane to the Strand, down the Strand to the 
turning of Waterloo Bridge, still 1 followed 
him. I saw lie was going to cross tin* bridge on 
foot. 1 crossed the street, and got ahead of 
him, and in the middle of the bridge i hid my¬ 
self hcliicd Mu- parapet. By-aml-by my man 
came along, slowly walking, Ids hands behind 
him, and hlsoyes bent upon the ground. When 
near me bo paused and looked toward St. Paul's, 
whose huge bulk loomed up still higher as the 
moonlight tried to struggle through the fog. I 
was near enough t o hear Idm. Unsaid:—“Q, 
mighty monument, the pride and glory id an 
empire, thy renown has gone forever. All I see 
around me, though the work of centuries, Is 
but the amusement of a child, the labors or a 
day. How powerful am I!"—here 1 stole up 
behind him, without noise—" in future ages my 
name shall be-" my stiletto fell between his 
shoulders and he dropped like a lamb. His 
pockets yielded up a cm) of wire and a bundle 
of papers, and Ills body went over into the river. 
Ah! 1 knew how to do It. 1 had done it often 
before at Ferrera, on the I*o. 
’I’he secret was mine. I was franlle with ex¬ 
citement. I hurried home to my apartments, 
double-locked the door, turned up the lamp, 
and examined my prize. It was the wire—the 
identical wire—wldcb bad swung a cannon in 
the tilr, nut two hours before. I was impatient 
to test its powers. 1 seized an Iron poker l'rom 
the hearth, wrapped the wire around it, poised 
it aloft, let it go, and it fell cluttering to the 
door. I tried different articles. I wound the 
win in every imaginable shape and still with 
the same result. Morning found me haggard 
and exhausted with uty labor ami unsuccessful. 
Business at the office prevented further at¬ 
tempts until evening. 1 worked fruitlessly 
until miunight, when suddenly I thought of 
the pniiers I bad also sc.z d. Fool that. I was 
not to have thought of them before. They un¬ 
doubtedly contained an explanation of the se¬ 
cret. I tore them open w it n eager linger*. Ail 
were blank, except one, and It contained the 
following:—Knowing tlie uncertainty of life 
and the dangers or travel,! have on this day 
(July 7, 1866,) placed in the vaults of a reliable 
banking-house in the city of — a sealed packet 
containing the det ails and explanation of the 
means by which the laws of gravitation are ren¬ 
dered inoperative- In case of my death or fail¬ 
ure to return, the nffie< rs of said bank have 
explicit instructions to open said packet on 
May 1,1876, and spread the facts therein con¬ 
tained to the world. My knowledge Is at pres¬ 
ent confined to myaelt, hut will not long con¬ 
tinue so, as 1 shall soon proceed to Europe, to 
impart my Information to the most renowned 
scientific men in the world. My only object in 
making the bunk a depository, is to provide 
against accident and secure to the world, be¬ 
yond all peradventure, the benefits of this 
mighty secret.” 
There was no name nor signature. After this, 
1 labored for months in vain to discover the 
secret workings of the wire; until at last <t oc¬ 
curred to me that the stranger had said at Rt. 
George’s Hall that the wire Itself had no power 
but was only the means of communicating a 
power. Infuriated to the last degree, I threw 
the coll which had cost me so much misery, 
anxiety and suspense, into the Thames one 
night, where It could tell no lies. When I am 
dead, the company who assembled nt St. 
George's Hal) on that eventful night may be 
expected to cease their painful wonderings at 
the failure of the mysterious stranger to re¬ 
turn. He will never come back, gentlemen. 
The Thames received hts body nearly eight 
years ago. 
This finishes thestory at present. Butin what 
banking-house Is the Invaluable packet of pa¬ 
pers deposited, who was the man, and in May, 
1876, will the ancient but lost secret of suspend¬ 
ing the law of gravitation become again known 
to the world? 
r- ♦♦♦--- 
RURAL YOUNG LOVE IN TOWN. 
A young couple from the rural districts at¬ 
tracted considerable attention in town last 
Saturday, though they didn’t once suspicion 
that all eyes were fastened upon them, and 
noting their every action. They were in that 
bread-and-butter - wlth-’losscv-on - It stage of 
love that makes prince and peasant, alike moist 
and gmdiy, and alike oblivious to or oare!ess of 
the gaze and opinion* of the outside world. It 
Is a beatific state of existence, and the man or 
woman who ho* grown old without experi¬ 
encing it bassklpped the most thrilling chapter 
in the book of life. To be or not to lie beatific 
—that’s the question. Whether It is nobler in 
the man to battle alone and involved against 
the world, or to take a girl In his arms and turn 
away from ft. Jn one voice we exclaim, “Give 
us the girl! ” 
So felt that young Granger. Ten thousand 
mathematicians and a sea serpent couldn’t 
have divided that young couple as they leaned 
up against a stack of eidemeat. in a grocery, and 
clung to each other’s clothes. Fortune might 
have emptied her sack at that youth’s feet, and 
he would not have stooped to touch the treas¬ 
ure. Fame might I. ave held her brightest jewel 
an inch above his head, and he would not have 
reached for it. His country might, have called 
until she was hoarse, and he would not have 
heeded her. Angels might have beckoned him 
to come away and skip with them along the 
green banks of the beautiful river, but not a 
skip would he have skope unless that girl could 
have become hts companion skipper. Nothing 
but absolute cremation will ever have power to 
remove her from him, and even then he will 
cling to her a a long as (hero is enough of her 
left to make a grease spot on hi* shirt, bosom. 
Long they stood there and well. Inquisitive 
people stepped our,side the door and gazed In 
upon them, and whispers went around the 
crowd, “ Got it mighty bad ain’t they ? ” Don’t 
she snuggle up to him though ?” Still the girt, 
pressed up against bis side, aud .visited fhesn^ 
was turned down that John might capture iht- 
klsses that were drowning In the nectar of her 
Bps. [Still he squeezed her arm, and admired 
each gem of a freckle that shone on iter fair 
face like strawberries In a dish of cream. Closer 
together drew their faces —so closely that 
scarcely a thought could pass between thorn, 
A great awe fell upon the assembled multitude 
atul they await ed the crisis In such deep silence 
that you might have heard a stitch drop. Just 
ns the Ups of the lovers were within a hair’s 
breadth of touching, a small boy in the crowd 
broke Into a demoniac laugh. The enraptured 
pair were jerked back into this world with a 
suddenness that nearly dislocated their necks, 
ami sent buckets of blood to their faces. He 
looked as though he had been caught, whipping 
bis grandmother, and she looked like she wn6 
sorry for him. The wild light faded out of his 
eyes, and he pulled his hat over them. The 
kisses lay dead on her lips, and she pulled t'uem 
In and pressed them tight toiler teeth, out of 
sight or their murderers. Hand in hand they 
left the grocery, and, with faltering steps, de¬ 
parted for tlie sylvan shades, where they may 
gnaw each other’s necks, aud exchange vows 
and saliva in sweet seclusion. 
But confund that boy! He doesn’t deserve 
to ever have a girl. Except for his ill-timed 
cacchination, this story would have been longer 
and sweeter.— MUmurt Paper. 
-♦-*•-*- 
THE AUTHOR AND THE GYPSY. 
The Norwegian papers are full of the marriage 
recently celebrated between an English gentle¬ 
man and a gypsy girl bearing the name of Es¬ 
meralda. The gentleman is Mr. Hubert Smith, 
who is described as a land-owner in Shropshire, 
and who, some time ago, made hlrnself known 
in literature by a clever book entitled “Tent 
Lire with English Gypsies in Norway, dedicated 
to King Charles XV. of Sweden and Norway.” 
Mr. Smith has spent several summers in Nor¬ 
way with a following of gypsies, wandering on 
foot through valleys and over mountains, carry¬ 
ing tents and provisions with him on the backs 
of donkeys and leading a most original vaga¬ 
bond life. Esmeralda was born on bis estate in 
Shropshire. She is, the Norwegian papersstat.e, 
very handsome, a perfect type of the peculiar 
beauty of her race, of the sweetest temper, and 
richly gifted from the hands of nature. The 
last few months she has passed in a Norwegian 
family, taking lessons In language* and music, 
and has astonished all by the wonderful progress 
made in so short a time, not less than by her 
gentle manners. The marriage was a civil one, 
being performed by the Judge of the Peace] 
but tiie rector of the parish attended the cere¬ 
mony, as lie had h n the opportunity of know¬ 
ing the bride duriDg her stay in the neighbor¬ 
hood, and made a much applauded speech in 
her honor. The Norwegian gypsies' friend, Mr- 
Ellert Suodt, who has devoted the best part of 
his life to the pulling down of the barrier 
erected by prejudice and traditional supersti¬ 
tion between the gypsies and the rest of the 
community, and who has converted not a few of 
the nomadizing tribe to set t led and industrious 
life, had b>- n inylted to the marriage, which 
bad hi* full approval, but was prevented at the 
moment from attending. (Several notabilities 
from Christiana arc mentioned among the 
guests, and the marriage was the occasion for 
numerous expressions of sympathy, especially 
from ladies who had made the acquaintance of 
the bride. After the solemnity the newly 
married couple left, to spend their honeymoon 
In the venerable beech forest near Lourvig, the 
only one of the kind in Norway, affording ample 
accommodation for tent-life with gypsies. 
THE BUSINESS OF JOURNAL 3M 
In conn renting upon the failure of Mr. J. Y. 
Scammon of Chicago, an a newspaper manager, 
McCuliagb of tho St. Louis Globe, one of the 
most successful Journalists of the West, tells a 
plain truth In the following words: 
“ The business of Journalism will continue to 
bean Inviting field Tor experiment to those who 
have a large amount of money and a large 
amount of egotism. A man who, having edited 
a newspaper until he was forty, should sudden¬ 
ly announce himself a lawyer, would be re¬ 
garded a fool by the legal profession ; and yet 
we often hear of lawyers of forty makingsudden 
pretensions to journalism. There Is an idea 
that the business of editing requires uo appren¬ 
ticeship; that editors conus forth from law 
offices and colleges fully armed for the profes¬ 
sion, like Pallas from tin- brow of Jove. It is a 
mistake; there is not In America to-day a 
single journalist of national reputation who 
has not devoted more time and more hard work 
to his profession than, with equal fitness and 
application, would have made him a great 
lawyer or good doctor. And yet ninety out of 
every hundred men you meet on the street will 
hesitate about carrying a hod or making a pair 
of shoes, whereas there will probably not be 
one in a hundred who can't according to hlB 
own judgment, edit any newspaper iu tho 
country better than it is edited, no matter In 
what manner or by whom.” 
HOW TO SHOW LOVE FOR A WIFE. 
Snow love for your wife, and your admiration 
.of her, not in nonsensical compliment; not in 
picking up her handkerchief, or her gloves, or 
In carrying her fan; not though you have 
inoarur, in hanging trinkets or baubles upon 
ncr; not I', making yo'uoejf a fool by winking 
at and seeming pleased with her foibles or fol¬ 
lies, or faults; but show them by aets of real 
goodness towards her ; prove, by unequivocal 
deeds, tho high value you set on her health, 
and life, and peace of mind ; let your praise of 
her go to the full extent of her desert.*, but let 
It be consistent with truth and with sense, and 
such as to convince her of your sincerity. 
He who is the flatterer nf his wife, only pre¬ 
pares her ears for the hyperbolical stuff of 
others. The kindest appellation that Iter Chris¬ 
tian munc affords, is the best that yeu can use, 
especially before other people. An everlasting 
“ my dear" Is but a sorry compensation for the 
want of that sort of love that make the husband 
cheerfully toll by day, break bis rest by night, 
endure all sorts of hardships if the life or health 
of bis wife demand it. 
Let your deeds, and not your words, carry to 
her heart a daily and hourly confirmation of the 
fact, that you value her health, end life, and 
happiness beyond all other things in this world, 
and let this be manifest to her, particularly at 
those times when life Is more or less in danger. 
JACK’S WIFE. 
This is the way a seafaring man, recently 
married, “ told to the marines ” what sort of a 
wife he had secured: 
“ My wife is just as handsome a craft as ever 
left a millinery dry dock. Is clipper built, and 
with a figurehead not often seen on a small 
craft. Her length of keel is five feet eight 
inches, displaces twenty-seven cubic feet of 
air; of light draught, which adds to her speed 
in a hall room ; full, in the waist, spare trim. At 
the time we were spliced she was newly i igged 
fore and aft, with standing tigging of lace and 
flowers, mainsail part silk, forestaysail of Val¬ 
enciennes. Her frame was ol the best steel 
covered with silk, with whalebone stanchions. 
She also lias a set of storm sails for rough 
weather, and is rigging out a small set of can¬ 
vass for light squalls, which are liable to occur 
in this latitude sooner or later. I am told, in 
running down the street before the wind, she 
answers the helm beautifully, and can turn 
around in her own length if a handsomer craft 
passes her. 
-- 
A Kxnh Offer.— An item is going the rounds 
about a girl dying from tight lacing. An editor 
commenting on the fact, says“ These corsets 
should be done away with, and if the girls can’t 
live without being squeezed, we suppose men 
can be found who can sacrifice themselves. 
As old as we are, we would rather devote three 
hours a day, without a farthing to pay, as a 
brevet corset, than see these girls dying off In 
that manner. Office hours almost any time.” 
“ Father, dear father, come home with me now I 
The clock tn the steeple strikes one: 
Yon said you were coming right home from the shop 
As soon as your day’s work was done. 
Our fire has gone out—our house is till dark— 
Aud mother s been watching since tea, 
With poor brother Renny so sick in her arms. 
And no one to help her but me. 
“ Come home 1 come home! come home! 
I’lease, father, dear father, come home.” 
Hear the sweet voice of the child, 
Which the night winds repeat as they roam ! 
Oh, who could resist this most plaintive of prayers ? 
" Please, father, dear father, come home I” 
“ Father, dear tnther, come home with me now, 
The clock in the steeple strikes two; 
The night has grown colder, and Benny Is worse— 
But he lias been culling for you. 
Indeed, he ts worse—Ma says he will die. 
Perhaps before morning shall dawn ; 
And this is the message she sent me to bring : 
* Come quickly, or h# will be gone.’ ” 
“ Futher, dear lather, come home with me now. 
The dock in the steeple strikes three; 
The home Is so lonely—the hours are so long 
For poor weeping mother and me. 
Yes, we are alone—poor Kenny Is dead. 
And gone with the angels of light; 
And these were the very last, words that he said— 
‘ I want to kiss papa good-night.’ ” 
-- 
SMALL TRIALS. 
BY L. C. O. 
It is these which cause the majority of God’s 
children to stumble, not the great afflictions 
which sometimes fall to their share. The 
storm may rage about them ; the billows may 
roll, and the cruel winds beat upon their 
hearts, but often these things only serve as 
stepping stones to the Father's throne. A 
hundred times wo hear of such and such a 
Christian upon whom the band of God Is heav¬ 
ily laid, and the patience with which all his 
pain and distress is borne. But not a hundred 
times are we told how such an one is contented 
and happy over a rain storm which spoils the 
hay, or an army of flies which sully the win¬ 
dows. 
After all they are comparatively few who are 
called upon to suffer great ills. There are ten 
well and, in the main, happy people to one af¬ 
flicted with disease, and this Is, perhaps, far 
too low an estimate. Therefore it is with the 
little vex atlons and cares and annoyances of 
every-day life that our religion has to do. If 
it is worth unything, It ought to help us when 
Johnny comes in from school with his new 
Jacket covered with ink, or Scstr falls down 
the steps and break* the best pitcher, it should 
lie of service when BRIDGET lots the meat burn 
in the oven or forgets to put soda in the cake. 
I have known a whole day spoiled because the 
bread failed to rise in the morning. The house¬ 
wife put on an injured look and hardly spoke at 
the breakfast table. The husband, seeing that 
something had gone wrong, strove to remedy 
t he difficulty by various questions concerning 
the obduracy of the compound. She, with 
clouded brow, would not be comforted. Men 
are not angel*, and sit Ugliness Is contagious. 
His face was not long In copying the wrinkles 
of here. Then the children, from some unac¬ 
countable cause, became irritable, and would 
not be good, “One word crowded another," 
as my good friend, the German lady says, and 
before night the household was in a perfect 
tempest. 
Any one can see how such a disaster might 
have been prevented, but who has not known 
like experiences from as slight, a cause? That 
woman was a Christian wife and mother; she 
was striving to the beat of her ability t.o live a 
good aud useful life, but it never had occurred 
to her that she ought to carry her religion into 
the kitchen. She had carefully preserved it for 
Sundays and prayer meetings. It is just here, 
in the dally aDd hourly vexations that fall into 
every life, that we need the help of Our Father 
—Just here lu the kitchen, the field, the store, 
the workshop, that religion may be of the most 
advantage to us. Let us, then, strive In our 
daily life, to seek His aid, in the small tempta¬ 
tions which we buve never even called by that 
name, to use the religion which is worthless if 
it is not pract ical. Then shall our small trials, 
our trivial annoyances, become a means of 
grace; then shall our lives he like one long, 
sweet song, with never a jarring note, and 
others shall catch the infection of our good na¬ 
ture, and all shall be peace. 
-- 
Goon, kind, true, holy words dropped in con¬ 
versation may be little thought of, but they are 
like seeds of flowers or fruitful trees falling by 
the wayside, borne by some birds afar, happily 
thereafter to fringe with beauty some barren 
mountain side or make glad some lone wilder¬ 
ness. 
- *-■*■* - 
It is so little we spend iu religion, and so very 
much upon ourselves, so little to the poor, and 
so without measure to make ourselves sick, 
that we seem to be In love with our own mis¬ 
chief, and strive all the ways we can to make 
ourselves need more than nature Intended. 
