tSUNE  47 
MOORE’S  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
“BUSINESS”  IN  MISSISSIPPI. 
Why,  howd'y,  Mahs’r  Johnny  !  Is  you  trone  to  keepin 
store  ? 
Well,  sah.  I  is  surpi’ised  t  I  neber  heard  oh  dat  afore. 
Say,  ain’t  you  k'yuj6  to  gib  me  pisco  o’  good  tobacco, 
please  7 
I’s  ’long  >vid  yon  in  Georgia,  time  we  all  was  refugees. 
I  know’d  you  would;  I  aUuz  teU  de,  people,  white  an’ 
black, 
Dat  yon'6  a  raal  gen'l’iunu,  and  dat’s  de  Ubin'  fao’— 
Yes,  sah,  dnt's  what  I  tells  ’em.  an’  it’s  nullin’  else  but 
true, 
An’  all  de  euUiid  people  t’lnks  a  mighty  heap  ob  you. 
Look  heah.  sah ;  don’t  you  wont  to  buy  some  cotton  ? 
Yes,  you  do ; 
Dere’s  oder  parties  wants  it,  but  I’d  rader  sell  to  you. 
IIow  much?  Oh,  Jes'  a  bale— <lat  on  do  wagon  in  dc 
street— 
Dis  heah’s  de  sample— <li8  is  cotton  mighty  hard  to 
beat! 
You’ll  fin’  it  on  de  paiier  what  de  offers  is  dat’s  made ; 
Dey’s  all  de  same  seditions:  half  in  cash  an’  half  In 
trade— 
Dey’s  mighty  low,  sah— Come,  now,  can't  you  ’prove 
upon  de  rates 
D.at  haiTot  Ilrudders  offers:  only  twelb  an’  seben- 
eighl's  ? 
Lord ;  Alahs’r  Jolinny,  raise  it !  Don’t  you  knows  dat 
I’s  a  frien’. 
An’  when  I  has  do  money  I  is  wnllin'  for  to  spen’  ? 
My  custom’s  wiif  a  heap,  sah ;  Jes'  you  buy  de  bale,  an’ 
see— 
Dere  didn’t  nebber  nobody  lose  miffin’  off  o’  me. 
Now,  what’s  do  good  ob  gwine  dar  an’  a-zaminin’  do 
bale? 
When  peojile  trades  wid  me,  dey  alluz  gits  a  hones' 
sale ; 
I  ain’t  no  hnn?  for  cheatin’ :  I  beUebes  in  actin’  fa’r. 
An’  eberybody  ’U  tell  you  dat  dey  alluz  foun’  me  squar’ 
I  isn’t  like  some  niggers ;  I  dcclar’  it  is  a  shame 
Do  way  some  ob  ’em  swin’les— what  ?  de  cotton  ain’t 
de  sumo 
As  dis  dat’s  in  the  sample?  Well,  I’m  blest,  sah,  if  it 
is.' 
Dis  head  mils’  bo  my  brudder’s  sample— yes,  sah,  dis 
is  his. 
If  dat  don’t  beat  creation !  Heah  I’ve  done  been  totui’ 
roun’ 
A  sample  dif’i'cnt  from  do  cotton  !  I— will— bo— coii- 
foun’ ! 
Mails’  Johuuy,  you  mus’  ’sense  mo.  Take  de  cotton  as 
it  Stan’s, 
An’  tell  me  if  you’re  willin’  for  to  take  it  off  my  ban’s. 
8ho!  neber  min’ do  auger !  ’taia’liibilousetoliors. 
Do  halo  is  all  the  same  as  fils  heah  place  do  baggin’s 
tore; 
You  oughtn’t  to  go  pullin’  out  do  cotton  dat  a  way, 
It  sjiiles  do  beauty  ob  dc— what,  sah  !  rocks  in  da,  you 
say? 
Kocks  in  dat  ’ar  cotton  ?  How  do  debbil  kin  dat  bo  ? 
I  iiacked  dat  bale  myse’f— hoi’  on  a  minnit,  ’Ic’me  see— 
My  stars!  I  mu.s’  be  bi-uzy!  Mahs’r  .Johnny,  dis  is 
fine ! 
I's  gone  an’  hauled  my  brudder’s  cotton  in  instead  ob 
mine !  [Irwin  Ilussell. 
.^toni-CcKfr, 
O  'o 
MABEL  MOORE’S  STRATAGEM. 
It  wa.s  almo.5f  like  a  bit  of  Pcrslun  pfietry,  that 
little  conserTatory  ut  Bayswater,  In  lt.s  glow  nml 
fragranou  and  soft,  delicious  murmur  of  leave.s. 
And  Mabel  Moore  herself  looked  not  unlike  a  I’nr- 
slan  enclinntresfi  as  she  stood  Micro  loaning  one 
hand  on  a  rnarblo  vase,  with  the  gold  of  the  aca¬ 
cia  plumes  hardly  brighter  than  her  hair  and  a 
quiver  lu  the  hoa\7  white  lids  that  hid  her  deep- 
hlue  eyes,  she  was  tall  and  llnoly  formed,  with 
very  regular  features,  chocks  tinged  with  a  faint 
color  and  HU  unconscloiui  huutenr  in  the  jiolso  of 
her  slender  throat  and  shouldoiii.  Mabel  .Moore 
was  born  txi  be  an  heiress  and  very  gracefully  she 
fuUllled  the  mission  of  her  sunshiny  life. 
She  was  not  alone,  however,  in  Mie  flowerj'  fra¬ 
grance  of  the  twilight  corisi.!rvatory,  Brnest  Beck- 
ford  wa.s  leaning  against  the  door-iwst,  twisting 
and  untwisting  a  long  spray  of  Jes.saiuliic  with  a 
.sort  of  IrapatJeut  raphUty.  Mo  was  a  tall,  muuly 
fellow,  with  blight  auburn  hair  and  a  face  that 
you  were  Involuntarily  compelled  to  respect  and 
like. 
“  Mabel,”  he  said,  almost  passionately,  “  do  you 
know  that  you  are  asking  Impossibilities?” 
“  Am  I  ?" 
“  I  cannot  go  to  Australia  ivlthout  you.” 
“  Y'ou  can,  Ernest,  and  you  will.” 
“But,  ray  darling,  only  think  of  It— a  year’s 
exile  from  you.” 
“  Will  It  be  any  easier  for  me  to  endure,  Er¬ 
nest?”  she  asked,  calmly. 
“  Sometimes  i  fancy,  Mabel,”  he  resumed  Im¬ 
petuously,  “  that  you  don't  core  for  me,  else  you 
would  never  be  so  willing  to  let  me  go.” 
“Ernest!” 
“  My  dearest,  1  know  1  am  unjust ;  but - ” 
“Now,”  said  Mabel,  “let  me  understand  Just 
what  you  wish  me  to  do  in  this  matter.” 
“  I  want  you  to  marry  me  the  day  after  to-mor¬ 
row  and  go  out  to  Australia  with  me  in  the  ship 
that  sails  on  Saturday.” 
“  A  very  reasonablo  wish,”  said  Mabel,  laugh¬ 
ing.  “  But,  Ernest,  you  know  I  will  never  marry 
you  while  your  mother  refuses  her  sanction  and 
approbation  to  the  mutoh.” 
“  She  does  not  know  you,  Mabel.” 
“  Thai  makes  no  dlll'erence.  I  shall  never  enter 
a  family  where  1  am  not  welcomed  by  every  one 
of  Its  members.” 
“But  Just  consider  how  unreasonable  you  are, 
my  own  darling,  and  how  entirely  groundless  are 
my  mother’s  objections.” 
“  She  fancies  me  a  hollow,  heartless  woman  of 
the  world,  does  slie  not  ?  She  Is  unwilling  to  trust 
her  son's  Ivapplncss  In  the  keeping  of  a  coquette, 
who  knows  nothing  beyond  Italian  songs  and 
French  waltzes.” 
“  Mabel,  I  am  sorry  1  ever  allowed  you  to  read 
that  unrea-sonable  letter.” 
"But  1  am  glad.  No,  Ernest,  I  have  too  much 
pride  and  dignity  tu  marry  you  unless  your  mother 
gives  her  free  and  full  conaent." 
“'riien  you  do  not  love  me,  Mabel.”  * 
“  I  do  love  you,  Ernest  Bcckfonl,  better  than  I 
like  to  acknowledge  to  inyself.” 
“  Mabel.”  he  urged  tenderly,  “  let  us  cut  this 
Gordian  knot  by  the  e.xerclao  of  our  own  tree  will. 
Become  my  wife;  give  me  the  right  to  take  you 
wltli  me  on  the  long,  long  Journey.” 
Mabel  Moore  shook  her  head. 
“  Let  us  wait  and  see  what  time  may  brtng 
forth,” she  said,  archly.  "And  now  leave  me; 
remember  that  the  .ship  sails  on  Saturday.” 
“  I  cau’t  possibly  go  In  that  vessel,” said  Ernest ; 
“  I’ve  many  things  to  do.” 
"  But  If  you  do  not  goon  Saturday  you  will  be  ob¬ 
liged  to  wait  another  fortnight  and  your  business 
Is  so  Important  over  there - ” 
“  Yes,  I  know,  but - ” 
“Well?” 
“ I iiiustgetlhat  companion  for  my  mother— 
she  will  bo  entirely  alone.  .Mrs.  t:arter  told  me 
she  knew  some  one  who  would  lake  the  sltuallon 
and  I  shall  have  to  go  over  to  (hapham  to  see  her 
about  It  to-morrow.” 
"Don’t let  that  detain  you,  Ernest,  f  think  1 
know  of  a  young  lady  wlio  would  make  an  excel¬ 
lent  companton  and  I  will  send  her  to  Beckford- 
vUlo.” 
“  Can  she  read  alond  and  has  she  patience  and 
torboa ranee  and  will  she  bo  as  meek  as  Moses?” 
“  1  am  sure  she  will  try.” 
“  Send  her  then.  But,  Mabel - ” 
“  Well  V” 
“  It  strikes  me  you  arc  anxious  to  hurry  me  off 
next  Saturday.” 
“Ernest,"  she  said,  In  a  voice  that  quivered  a 
little.  In  spite  of  all  her  self-control,  “  you  are 
misjudging  mo.  1  want  you  to  do  your  duty— to 
go  and  atleud  to  the  affairs  of  your  poor  iiiiolo, 
whoso  reason  him  rleaertod  him.  And  more  than 
this,  1  want  you  to  learn  life’s  lesson  of  patloueo 
and  enduratieo.  The  sunshine  will  come  at  last, 
If  you  can  only  wait  unreplnlngly.” 
“  Little  prophetess,”  salil  Ernest,  drawing  her 
foudly  towards  him,  “l  accept  your  auguries  and 
I’ll  boar  iij)  as  manfully  as  human  nature  will 
allow.  No  DUO  ought  to  ho  discouraged  who  Is 
sure  of  your  love.  But  oh,  my  darling,  how  often 
I  shall  remember  this  sunset  and  your  sweet  face 
turned  towards  mine !" 
“  Do  you  think  I  shall  ever  forget  It?  Only  wait, 
Ernest,  and  all  will  come  right  In  God’s  own 
time,”  she  answered,  with  her  hand  la  his. 
And  thus  they  parted. 
“Going  out  of  town,  Mls,s  Mabel?  and  so  early 
this  sea.Hon !” 
The  pretty  lady’s-maid  stood  aghast  In  her  oc- 
eupiilloii  of  piiMlng  awiiy  fine  laces  In  a  satin- 
lined  box  of  veined  sandal  wood. 
“  Yes.  Get  my  trunks  ready,  Mildred.” 
“  And  when  do  we  start,  miss?” 
“  I  shall  not  take  you  with  me,  Mildred.” 
“  Not  take  me,  Miss  Mabel !  And  who  Is  to  ar¬ 
range  your  hair  and  take  care  of  your  dresses?” 
“  I,  myself.” 
“  But,  Miss  .Mabel  —  ” 
“1  choose  to  go  alone,  illldred,”  said  the  young 
lady  a  little  Imperatively.  “Take  away  the  silks 
and  grenadines;  l  shall  only  require  the  immilns 
and  one  or  two  light  wrappers.” 
“Miss  Mabel!”  e.vcialmed  the  surprised  lady’s- 
ipald,  holfitng  up  both  hands  lu  hopeles-S  bewilder¬ 
ment,  “  where  can  you  be  going  ?” 
“To  seek  my  fate,  .Mildred,”  sahl  Mabel,  In  a 
tone  that  was  a  curious  Intermingling  of  Jest  and 
earnest.  “  There— now  leave  mo  to  myself.” 
Mrs.  Beckforfi  of  BeekrordvUlo  villa,  at  Rich¬ 
mond,  was  Kitting  alone  In  her  comfortable  parlor 
—musing  on  her  far-off  sou  with  a  total  ahstrac- 
tlou  from  all  outward  sights  and  sounds— and 
when  all  of  a  sudden  ehelooked  up,  a  pretty  young 
person,  clad  In  a  quiet  stylo,  .stood  before  her. 
“What  is  It?”  said  Mrs.  Bcckfonl,  somewhat 
curtly. 
“If  you  please,  madam,  I  am  anxious  to  come 
as  a  companion.” 
“Who  sent  you?”  demanded  the  lady,  survey¬ 
ing  the  largo  blue  eyes  and  golden  bands  of 
smootbly-bruslied  hair  rather  dlstrinstfully. 
“  I  learnt  from  a  lady  of  your  acquaintance  that 
you  wished  a  companion  and  I  should  like  to  take 
the  situation.” 
“ Hum-m-in,” said  the  old  lady,  “what’s  your 
name?” 
“Edith  Moore.” 
“.Moore— Moore?  Got  any  relati.ons  In  town— 
ah!  at  Bayswater,  I  mean?"  demanded  the  In- 
qulsltress,  sharply. 
“  No,  ma’am.  I  am  alone  In  the  world.” 
“I’m  glad  of  that,”  murmured  Mr.s.  Beckford, 
.soffo  roce.  “  I  couldn’t  stand  any  one  belonging 
to  the  guitar-playing  girl  who— but  nevermind 
that  just  now.  What  are  your  references  ?*' 
Edith  Moore  dreiv  a  letter  or  two  from  her  trav¬ 
eling  bug. 
•*  So  Mrs.  Carter  or  ciaphain,  knows  you,  oh?” 
“  Yea,  ma’am.” 
“  WeU,"  commented  the  matron,  glancing  over 
the  notes,  “these  recommentlatlons  scorn  very 
satlsfaeioi-y— I  don’t  know— but  that  you  may 
come  and  stay.  The  only  objection  l  can  sue  ts 
that  you’re  loo  pretty  and  I  don’t  think  you  are 
really  to  blame  for  that.  Take  off  your  things." 
And  the  roses  that  glowed  Into  Edith's  cheeks 
at  this  very  plain  expression  of  the  old  lady’s  sen 
tlmcnts  did  not  make  her  any  the  less  lovely  as 
she  unt  ied  the  blue  bonnet  strings  and  laid  aside 
tbc  neat  but  simple  shawl,  to  enter  upon  her  pro 
batlon. 
More  than  a  year  had  crept,  over  t.hu  dally  cur¬ 
rent  of  life  at  Bcektordvlllo.  The  trees  were  iiare 
and  leiitlOMS,  the  snow  lay  while  and  deep  In  all 
the  hollows  ami  dimples  by  the  roadside  and  a 
sharp  December  wind  was  sweeping  along  the 
Thames  a.s  the  sun  glowed  with  momentary  red¬ 
ness  ore  it  sank  down  out  or  sight. 
“How  soon  it  grows  dark!”  said  Mrs.  Beckford, 
with  a  Utile  .sigh.  “That's  right,  Edltli— ilraw 
the  curtains ;  now  we're  comfoi  lablo  1” 
Coiuforliiblo  Indeed,  they  were,  with  the  shaded 
lamp  glowing  softly  on  the  tuhle.  and  tho  bright 
nre  on  the  hearth,  while  Mrs.  Beckford’s  .spectaclo 
gla.ssca  shone  like  twin  orbs  of  tlameand  hor  knit¬ 
ting-needles  glittered  responsively. 
Edith  was  sitting  opposite  to  her,  fiishlontug 
narrow  whILo  ribbon  Into  hows  tor  the  old  lady’s 
new  winter  ca  po,  she  looked  wonderlully  pretty 
In  a  dress  of  sober  blue  merino,  wjtli  a  bine  rib¬ 
bon  tangled  somewhere  In  the  braids  of  her  bur¬ 
nished  hair,  Willie  the  delicate  color  on  herehccks 
was  like  tho  inside  of  a  pink  shell. 
“  VVTiat’s  Hint  you  were  saying  a  while  ago 
about  going  back  lo  London,  my  dear?”  said  tlu> 
old  lady,  suddenly  turning  round  to  Edith.  “  [ 
Just  want  you  to  understand  that  you  can’t  go.  I 
can’t  spare  you.” 
She  put  one  arm  around  Edith’s  neck  and  drew 
tho  round  cheek  down  on  her  lap. 
“  Do  you  really  love  me,  Mr.s.  Beckford?”  asked 
the  girl,  earnestly. 
“Love  yqu,  darling?  I  could  no  more  get  on 
without  you  than  I  could  without  tho  sunshine. 
It  seems  as  though  you  belong  to  mo.  I  don’t 
know  what  you've  done  to  steal  my  old.  heart 
away,  I’m  sure,”  went  on  Mrs.  Beckford,  musing¬ 
ly  ;  "  hut  you  remlud  mo  scimehow  of  the  little 
daughter  1  once  lost.  You  won’t  leave  me,  Edith, 
dear?” 
There  w!us  something  almost  pathetic  In  her 
pleading  voice  as  she  touched  her  withered  Ups 
to  the  pure  forehead  of  i.ho  beautiful  girl. 
“  You'll  slay  find  be  a  daughter  to  mo  lu  my  old 
ago,  Edith?  Whalsliould  1  do  without  tho  Utile 
feet  that  trip  so  UglitJy  altoiil  i.lie  house  and  the 
imiids  that  are  forever  busy  in  my  hehalf?  Tell 
me  you  win  .stay,  Eilltli.” 
"  Dearest  Mrs.  Beckford,”  whispered  Edith,  with 
tlie  happy  crimson  dyeing  hi.'r  cheek,  “  I’ll  never 
leave  yon ;  i  will  stay  with  you  tilwuys.  oh.  l  am 
so  glful  .you  have  learned  to  love  me— more  glad 
thfin  I  can  tell  you.  But,  Mrs.  llcekford  — ” 
“Well,  dciir’.”’ 
“ 'I’here’s  KometIUng  I  want  to  tell  yoti— .some¬ 
thing  1  have  kept  back  from  yon,”  faltered  Edith, 
with  her  Ungers  nervously  twining  themselves 
around  the  old  huiy’s  slender  wrinkled  hand, 
“  Mrs.  Beckford,  I  am — ■” 
Bui.  Mrs.  Beiikford  had  started  to  her  feet  with 
a  low,  hiilf-suppressod  ery. 
“Hush!  did  I  imt  hear  his  fooUsteps?  it  Wiis 
something  more  than  tho  wind  among  the  ever¬ 
greens— it  wa.s  my  hoy’s  foot  upon  tho  threshold ! 
He  has  oome  biu;k  to  me  !” 
She  rushed  Lo  the  door  and  threw  It  wide  open. 
“Ernest!  My  boy!" 
And  the  tall  stalwart  figure  caught  her  In  his 
arms,  as  If  she  liail  boon  a  little  eJilld.” 
“Mother,  are  you  glad  to  see  your  wanderer 
back  once  more?" 
Norlslt  any  iusperslon  on  Ills  manly  dignity  to 
Slate  that  a  slight,  molsturi'  was  sparkling  on  his 
long  eyelasJies  as  lie  bent  to  kiss  his  mother's 
cheek !  Men  are  tmt  mortal,  even  though  they  he 
six  feet  high  and  framed  accordingly. 
As  she  drew  him  lu  ho  caught  a  rnonionlary 
glimpse  of  tho  llguro  lu  ihc  apartment  boyond. 
“  You  are  not  alone,  mother?” 
“  No ;  Edith  Is  with  me.” 
“  And  who  may  Edith  be  ?” 
“  DKln’t  yon  get  my  letters  ?  l  wrote  all  about 
her.” 
“  I  haven’t  seen  a  letter  for  three  months.” 
Edith  was  standing  where  the  full  brilliance  of 
the  lamp  shone  upon  her  blushing  cheeks  and  ni- 
dlant  hair,  as  mother  and  son  entered  the  room 
together.  Erufjbt  stopped  short,  gazing  at.  her  lu 
bewilderment. 
"Mabel!” 
“ Ernest,  what  do  you  mean?"  exchilmod  Mrs. 
Beckford,  doubtful  whether  or  not  her  son  had 
taken  leave  or  his  .senses.  "  This  la  Edith  Moore.” 
“ 8ht!  Is  .Mabel  Moore,  my  owil  ufHaucod  wife !” 
said  Kruest,  springing  forward  .and  sealDig  his 
words  on  Up  and  brow  and  cheek  wltii  lialf  a 
dozen  kisses,  while  the  young  lady,  mucU  to  JIrs. 
Beckford’s  horror,  made  not  the  slightest  re.sl.st 
ance. 
The  next  moment,  however,  she  withdrew  from 
hl.s  encircling  arms  and  gilded  te  the  astonLshed 
matron’s  side. 
“Dearest  .Mrs.  Beckford,”  she  said,  softly,  “1 
may  tell  you  now  what  was  Just  trembling  on  my 
Ups  when  Ernest’s  footstep.H  Interrupted  me.  My 
name  is  EdHh,  but  It  is  Mabel  too.  Will  you  for¬ 
give  me  for  stealing  lido  your  heart  by  siratu- 
gem?  I  k-new you  were  prejudiced  against  one 
whom  you  regarded  as  a  mere  butterfly  of  fa.sh- 
lon  and  I  had  told  Ernest  tluit  I  would  never  many 
him  without  your  conaeuu  Hair  an  liour  ago  l 
promised  never  to  leave  you.  .Mother,  .you  will 
not  send  mo  away  from  you  now?" 
And  Afrs.  Beckford  melted  straightway  before 
the  pleading  sunshine  of  the  blue  eyes. 
“  I  always  wanted  a  daughter,”  she  said,  “hut 
1  couldn’t  bear  the  Idea  of  Mabel  Moore,  the  Bays- 
water  helre.sa.” 
“  But  you  will  love  little  Edith,  who  came  to  be 
your  uompanlon?” 
“  I  suppose  I  ought  to  scold  you  for  deceiving 
me,” said  the  old  lady;  “bull- 1  couldn’t  help 
lovtur  you  if  l  were  to  try  ever  so  hard— and  that’s 
tho  truth  of  the  matter.  There,  Ernest,  take  her 
and  I  will  ring  and  toll  Thomas  he  may  servo  up 
dinner.” 
Ha!  Asthniigh  Ernest  cared  for  .mylhlng  loss 
ethereal  than  Mabel  Just  then ! 
“  You  have  conquered,  dearest,”  ho  said,  ten¬ 
derly.  “  My  brave-heaitcd  darling,  will  the  devo- 
tton  of  my  whole  life  compensate  you  for  all  Mils 
faithful  love?" 
Mabel  thought  It  would  and  .Mabel  was  right. 
TRUTH,  OE  FICTION? 
ORBNBbKO  1.S  II,  town  Of  European  Russia,  situ¬ 
ated  lu  the  Ural  Mountains,  near  the  Aslailo  bor¬ 
der.  About  a  year  ago  Abraham  chorkov,  a  weal¬ 
thy  .fewlsh  liihabllaut  of  that  town,  was  lying 
dangeronsly  Hick  wli.h  lyphokl  fever,  on  the22fl 
(lay  of  September,  at  inlclnlght,  a  crisis  set  In 
which  seemed  to  take  a  fatal  course;  tho  man 
suffered  and  struggled,  and  Ids  physicians  called 
It  the  ugoiile.sof  death.  A  number  of  Jews  wore 
called  In,  prayers  were,  offered,  wax  candles  wero 
lighted,  and  beliold  I  the  patient,  vvlio  was  sup¬ 
posed  to  he  111  the  last  sliiges,  commenced  to 
breatho  freely,  opened  his  eyes,  and  locked  with 
astonishment  at  tlio  surrounding  seeun.  But  tho 
sequel  ha.s  no  preeeilenl.  The  man  soon  after 
fell  into  a  sleep  which  the  physlelao  deelarcid  to 
bo  II  healthy  one.  In  I.ho  morning  he  awoke,  saw 
wife  and  children  aroiitid  him,  who  parlly  In  an¬ 
guish  and  partly  In  joy  wore  walling  for  hlsawak- 
eutug.  Hl.s  wife,  overwhelnii'd  vvli.li  Jny,  wanted 
to  throw  heraolf  upon  his  neck,  but  by  signs  ho 
repelled  her.  and  demanded  soiiieMUng  In  a  lan¬ 
guage  whleli  iiotieof  them  iinflenstood. 
It  .should  bn  mentioned  lioro  that  Abraham 
Chorkov  is  a  manor  sallow  ii|ipear;ince,  till  and 
loan,  looking  like  a  geriiiino  Russian  Jew,  wlMi 
long  black  whiskers  and  bi'ard,  bhack  eye.s,  and  a 
long  Grlental  noso,  and  that  before  his  sickness  he 
u  ndei’stood  no  other  language  thiin  Hebrew  and  a 
little  Uusslan,  being  one  of  those  IIIILerate  .fews 
found  insucli  large  minibers  In  that  part  of  the 
wor.ld.  Now  tho  man  beg.ui  to  speak  in  a  langiiiigo 
unintelligible  loevery  one  iiroiind  lilm.  The  phy¬ 
sician  who  was  summoned  did  not  undei'stand 
lilm.  With  contempt  he  imshcd  away  hIs  wife 
and  children  whenever  they  attemptefl  to  come 
near  him,  and  tho  doctor  gave  It  u.s  his  opinion 
that  lu  conseiiueneo  of  tho  typhus  the  fellow  hud 
heeome  Insane.  The  despair  of  i.lin  family  lasti'd 
tor  many  ilays.  His  wife  had,  In  the  meantime, 
sent  to  Tninhoy  for  his  parents;  hot  on  their  ar¬ 
rival  Abraham  would  not  recognize  them,  did  not 
understand  thslr  language,  and  appeared  to  ho 
angry  that  no  one  understood  lilni.  After  a  week 
he  rose  from  tlie  Imd,  and  his  wife  gave  him  his 
clothes  as  worn  by  him  hefore  his  sickness,  tho 
usual  habits  of  the  Hussain  Jews.  He  examined 
Lhoiu  closely  ami  laughed  heartily.  Ho  wanted 
to  run  out,  hut  the  people  quickly  shut  the  doors, 
fearing  he  vvoiilfl  take  cold.  Ho  remained  lo  the 
room,  pacing  It  wltli  modltatlon.  Passing  a  look¬ 
ing  glass,  hebelu.'ld  his  llguro  in  It.  He  stopped 
before  the  mirror  lutmzed,  touctied  his  eurl.s,  Ids 
big  nose,  his  long  hoard,  ii  nd  hurst  out  laughing, 
but  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  beeiimu  quiet  und  ear¬ 
nest  and  lu  deop  meditation. 
Ills  wife,  and  paronte,  who  had  wltucs.sea  this 
stnuigo  behavior,  looked  al,  eueii  other  with  iis- 
tonlshment,  and  It  now  appeared  to  Miem  that 
the  man  beforo  them  was  not  their  Abraham 
Chorkov,  but  a  stranger.  But  Ahruham’s  lore- 
head  bore  still  the  bhw.k  Hue  with  which  hrj  was 
born,  so  t  hat  even  the  physicians  who  had  attend¬ 
ed  on  tho  patlewt  for  nearly  two  immihs  had  to 
laugh  at  the  Idea. 
Abraham  Chorkov  looked  often  out  of  Uio  win¬ 
dow,  and  seemed  surprised  at  tJie  country  about 
him,  and  one  day  lie  made  strong  efforts  tx^i  run 
away.  The  tumlly  now  decided  to  c;i|l  In  tlic  Gov¬ 
ernment  physician  and  other  dOetoin,  who,  after  a 
careful  examlnaiUui,  pronounced  him  thoroughly 
Sane.  Although  they  i.mderstood  not  the  tongue 
In  whleli  he  spoke,  they  recognized  it  as  u.  regular 
language,  well  articulated.  Thinking  he  could 
make  himself  uuderslood  in  writlug,  Abrah.uu 
wrote  II  few  linos  on  a  piece  of  paper,  which  the 
physlelau  road,  but  without  eomprehemlliig  their 
meaning.  Tlie  writing  is  in  a  plain,  good  liand,  In 
Latin  lctter.s,  but  the  language  was  oulutciliglblc 
to  all,  and  no  one  eouKl  make  out  how  Ahraham 
Uhorkov  eamo  to  use  Latin  olutraetei’K. 
80  things  went  on  until  It  was  agreed  to  take 
Abraham  te  St.  Petersburg  lo  the  luedleal  uni¬ 
versity  Lohear  the  opinion  of  the  prominent  schol¬ 
ars.  As  soon  a.s  Prof.  Orlijw  hoanl  tho  language 
of  .Abraham  he  i  ocogulzed  ir.  forthwltii  a.s  Engllth. 
Ahraham  oxpressed  Immense  pleimnre  at  being 
enabled  to  make  hlnmelf  undcrslood,  and,  utter 
some  convei-satlon,  Prof.  Orlow  pi'Oiiounccd  Abra¬ 
ham  to  be  a  very  iutelllgont  Englishman. 
“  But,  for  God’s  sake !"  cried  his  wile,  “  how  does 
my  husband  come  to  be  English,  and  how  did  he 
forget  Ills  Uelji'uw  language?” 
Prof.  Orlow  listened  with  astenlsliinent  to  the 
story  of  AbrahamM  life,  and  would  not  believe 
tf:it  ho  had  been  a  eommoii.  Illiterate  Russian 
Jew.  He  ?«5kCd  Abiuhaia  In  English  who  ho  was 
and  whence  he  c.amc,  ami  Abrahmn  replied  in  tho 
same  langiuage,  “  I  am  from  British  Columbia,  In 
North  America;  my  native  town  Is  Now  West- 
mlustor.  1  have  there  a  wife  and  one  olilld  living, 
and  God  only  knows  how  T  came  here,  or  to  this 
woman." 
It  Is  e.w  to  Imagine  the  groat  amazement  on  all 
parte.  The  Professor  declared  the  partic*  to  bo 
frauds,  or  that  a  man  abduction  had  taken  place. 
He  called  upon  the  GovernmeMl  to  have  the  mat¬ 
ter  investigated,  and  the  family  physician  of  Abra¬ 
ham,  his  neighbors  and  others  were  ofllolally  ex¬ 
amined,  tile  examination  lasting  for  iveeks.  But 
nothing  came  of  the  examination,  tho  matter  re- 
