332 
THE ROUAL HEW-YORKE 
JUNE 46 
way. But I saw the time when I was glad to get 
up and see what the victuals was made or. One 
night, alter Mao and Bill hud Been over to her 
uncle’s all day, they Brought home a small pan of 
sassage meat. Mao was as good as pie to me. She 
went and cut on some Of the sassage and cooked 
me a real nice supper. I wondered what made 
her do It, but I made up my mind that her uncle 
had been talkin' to her for usin' me so. 
" I hadn't had anything good In such along 
time, It seemed as though I couldn’t eat enough. 
1 sat up about a half an hour after I'd eaten my 
supper; but I hadn't, been to bed but a lew mln- 
utea before 1 began to feel sick. 1 kept a growln’ 
worse, and I never In my life was so sick as 1 was 
all that night. Yes, ma'am, 1 am sure of it. She 
had put pUen In my victuals. After that, I done 
all l possibly could, and used to eat only Just 
enough to keep soul and body together. 
“ I tell you, Alias Martin, I’ve seen bettor times 
since I come out here to live with ray daughter. 
I’ve had plenty to eat, and 1 a'u't afraid of being 
plzened either. Y'cS, I made a good sw’ap, If Mar¬ 
tha's man does sometimes get pretty wrangle- 
some. I gave him apiece o’ my mind tills niornln’. 
Miss Martin. Don't you believe he went, and paid 
Bob Wilson twenty dollars for his old cutter thut 
ain’t worth ten I * Dick,’ suz i, 1 you ought to he 
complained of. You look to the Interests of other 
folks berore you do to your family.’ suz I. • Now 
Pick, if you'll listen to me,’ suz 1, -I can give you 
good advice.' lie said ho guessed he knew his 
own business. •Yes.’suz 1, ‘you do know your 
own business, and you tend to your business too,’ 
says I. ‘Your business,’ says I,‘is to look to 
everybody Disc’s interest and let your family suf¬ 
fer,' sux I." 
The old woman paused to take breath, and Mrs. 
Martin once more led her back to the subject 1 
on which she started, by the question: 
“ Why did your son attempt to kill himself 7" 
“ Why, after he’d got a deed o’ the land, then 
he wa’n’t satlfdled. HO wanted one O’ the cows. 
Week In and week out he was continually teasin’ 
me to.give him old White Face, one night, Mao 
was over to her uuele’s; Bub bad gone to bed, and 
Bill and rne set, out by the Pro alone. Bii,i. had 
acted kind o’ dumpiah-Uke all the evenin', lie 
set bent over with Ills face In Ills hands and Ills 
elbows restin' on his knees. I knew what he was 
thiukln’ about, and expected every minute he 
would commence. The clock had struck nine, and 
1 was wonderin' how much longer he was goln’ lo 
sot there, when, all at once, ho straightened him¬ 
self up and began about the cow. 
“‘Mother,’ suz ho, ‘I’m clean discouraged. 
C’an’L you afford to give me one o’ the cows to 
start on?' 
“ ‘ Bill,’ suz I, ‘ you’d better take the clothes 
off my back for that wife o’ yours.’ Aly shoes 
stood by the side of me, and r took 'em up and 
handed'em towards him, and suz 1, “ Here’s my 
shoes—take i/mm.' That madded him. He jump¬ 
ed up, pulled off Ills coat, jerked his boots and put 
to bed. 1 couldn’t 'a' slept If 1 had gone to bed, 
and l thought 1 might as well setup till the lire 
burnt out. I should Judge I bad set mere about 
an hour whcuall at once I hoard William bound 
out o' bed. In a minute ho come out, lookin' as 
I'd never seen him before—kind o’ wild-Uko—and 
put on ills cout and boots. Then be went to the 
mantel-piece, took down his razor and put It in 
bis pocket. 1 tell you, Miss Martin, my heart, 
come right up Into my mouth. J Jumped up and 
held the door, and suz I, * William, what are you 
going lo do?’ 
••‘There a’n’L no use o’ mytryln’to live any 
longer,’ suz he, and tried to push mo away from 
tlie door. 
"Now there a’n’t many men who can handle 
William when lie Is ldmself, but he was Justus 
weak us a kitten. 1 don't know how I done it, but 
1 got. that, razor out o’his pocket, and I opened 
the door, and 1 slung it as far as I could sling 
It out Into the snow. Then he got the butcher 
knife; but by lhal Hum Hub had got up, and be¬ 
tween us both we managed to get that away from 
him. 1 went into the but'ry and took all tlie 
knives I eould llud and locked ’em up. But there 
happened to lie a sharp caao-knlre a layln’ on the 
table, and Bill got hold o' that, and got past Bub 
and put for the woods as fast as he could go. 1 
1 knew we could'at do nothin' with him. so 1 told 
Bub lo go and get cal ('organ to come, cal and 
Bill had always been great friends, and I knew 
Cal would have some luilueuco over him, If any¬ 
body could. 
“ cok<;an’s folks lived not more’n a quarter of a 
mile nom US, but a half an hour passed and still 
Bub ami Cal didn't come. 1 tell you, Miss Mar¬ 
tin, that, hair hour o’ waitin' was the fearfulest 
time 1 evor know. I walked the Hoor back and 
forth, back and forth, and It seemed every minute 
as If l should go crazy. There was all the time 
berore my eyes a picture I couldn’t shut out,—a 
picture o' William a laylu’ out thero In the woods 
with his throat cut lrom car to ear, und the blood 
a runnln’ out onto the snow. At last, I couldn't 
stand it. any longer. I put my shawl over my 
head, ami started off towards Cokcan’s to see 
why Lhe boys didn’t, come. About half way be¬ 
tween our bouse and theirs there was a big bridge 
und when I had got almost to It I stopped and 
listened; but I couldn't hear anything except the 
water m the creek, a bubblin' and a gugglin’ 
among the Ice, and It sounded tome, for all the 
world, like the blood a gugglin’ out o' William's 
throat. I clapped my hands to my ears and run 
over me bridge, and beyond towards Coroan’s 
till 1 met Bub and cal a cornin’, 
“ Cal bad gone to bed when Bub got there. No 
one was up but old Miss coroan, .sue thought 
there was some tomfoolery afoot, and told Bub 
she shouldn’t wake up cal unless he’d tell her 
what he wanted of him. 
“ ‘ It’s a case o’ life or death, Miss Coroan,' said 
Bub. * I mustn’t loll any one but Cal.’ 
“ Miss Coro an told me afterward that she look¬ 
ed Into Bub’s face then, and he was Just as pale 
as a sheet, and a tremblin’ like a poplar leaf. 
Then she went right up-stalrs and waked up Cal. 
She knew that something was Uic matter. 
“It was a long time before Bub could get Pal 
to go with him. ‘ William has got too many 
brains to kill himself," suz he. ‘If heha’n’t, he 
a’n’t worth savin’. 
“ ‘0 Cai, do hurry,’ suz I, when I met 'em. 
“‘Hoes yer conscience smite ye, old woman?’ 
suz he. 
“I didn’t mind this iilng. All 1 thought of or 
cared for then was the savin’ o’ William. We 
hurried along, over the bridge, past the house, 
past the orchard, past a long strip o' medder land, 
and then we reached the woods. We went along 
a few rods further, when we come to a wide cut, 
through the woods—the log-men's road to Job 
Holton's saw mill. We stopped there and looked, 
but could see no track thut had been made since 
the snow fell except the track o’ one man that 
had gone down tills road but hadn't come back. 
Cal looked at these tracks. Theft he looked up 
the road, then back to the tracks, and then bp 
tho road again. 1 knew that he was afraid. 
* Hadn’t I bettor go and have Jon come?’ says he. 
Bolton’s folks lived a half a mile away. I knew 
It, would be too lute by the time they got back, If 
William meant to kill himself. I took hold o’ 
Cal’s arm, and suz I, ‘ Cal, we ha’n’t a minute lo 
lose. Do come oil HU go with you.' Ball was 
runnln’back to the house as though old Nick was 
chasin'him. ‘ Well, I can go alone,’ suz 1, and 1 
started on. But Cal dashed past me aurl went as 
though he was determined to follow the tracks 
wherever they might lead him. 
“ I tell you, Mias Martin, that was the fcarfid¬ 
lest walk I ever took, the sorrowfulest time l ever 
knew, aa we followed those tracks and feared 
what we might find at the end o’them. 11, was 
one o’ those gloomy nights In the winter - time 
when you can't tell for the life o’ you whether it 's 
goln’ to thaw or snow. Up In tho tops o’ t he tall 
pines that, bordered tlie road the wind was sighin’ 
and moanin’, and It sounded to mo like as It (ltd 
when I was to the city and they was playin' soft¬ 
ly on the great organ when a runeral procession 
came Into tho church. 1 couldn’t shake off t he 
reelin'that, somewhere In those woods the wind 
in the tree-tops was stagin' a dirge over my Wil¬ 
liam's body. Not even when 1 followed my old 
man to tho grave did I feel half so solemn, for 
then 1 knew what the end would be. 
“On and on went the tracks, and on went Cal 
and mo. We went around a little curve, and 
then the road begun to ascend, and, lookin’ 
straight ahead, It seemed to end up In the sky. 
After we had followed on a piece further, we. 
could sec, where the light, from the clearin’ 
shone, a long, dark object that looked as though 
it was a lyin’ on the snow, it might be only a 
log; yet the cold shudders chased each other 
down my back as l thought o’ what else It might 
ho. Cal quickened ids steps, and 1 followed on 
as fast as I could, and soon we had both reached 
the dark object. It was William 1—but he was a 
atandln’ up and a boldin' the old knife against his 
throat. He bad Kicked the snow away, clear 
down to the frozen ground, all around him* just. 
In tint shape of a coffin, He stood there like a 
statoo, a starin’.straight ahead, and his eyes 
lookin’ as set as though the light o’ this world 
had already faded from out o’them. Cal went 
up to him and said ‘William’ two or tlire times, 
but be didn’t get no answer. He took hold of his 
arm, and suz he: 
“ * Bill, don’t you know me V 
“ * Yes, It's Cal Cokoan,’ suz he. 
“ I wouldn't a' believed It was William’s voice 
If I Hadn't stood right there and seen Ills Ups 
move; It, sounded so hollow, with the Ule all gone 
out of It, Just like the voice o' the dead, l fancied, 
If they was lo speak. 
“ 1 kuew Cai. would take care of him then, so I 
turned and went back to the house. Bub hadn’t 
tended Lo tlie lire at all, but had locked himself 
In ids room. The boy couldn't a’ thought that 
anything was goln’ to harm him. He must a* 
been noarly seared out o’ bis wits, and thought 
that by lockin'the door he could shut out tho 
tormenting 1 fear that, william would kill him¬ 
self. 1 raked the coals forward and put on some 
wood, and, after a while, the door opened, and 
Bill oome in a loanin' on Cal and a cry In'. 
“ ‘ William,’ suz Cal, suzhe, ‘can't your trouble 
be helped?’ 
“‘No,’ suz William; ‘I’m In debt more'n 1 
can pay, and there alu't no way I cun help my¬ 
self; havn’t no stock nor nothin’to start on. J 
don’t want to live unless J can be honest and pay 
my debts.’ 
“ And he broke down completely, and cried as 
1 never want to hear any one cry again, 
“ I tell you, Miss Martin. I couldn’t stand to see 
him, a great, strong man, acrylu’and a sobbln’ 
like a child; so 1 told him he should have the 
cow. 1 forgot all about how he’d used me, and 
went to quietin’ him down, just as 1 used to when 
lie was a little follow and things hud gone wrong 
with him. He went to bed all right, and In the 
tnomln’ he got up and went to work the same as 
ever. But when Mao got back und thtnga went 
in the old way again, 1 wished more’n once that I 
hadn’t a’giv’n him the cow. I had more trouble 
than ever after that. W henever William didn’t 
come In from his work as soon as he ought to, 
I begun to tremble, and every minute seemed 
an hour till ] should see him a cornin’. Yet, for 
all o’ my concern for him, he didn't seem to have 
any reelin' for me. He eared for no one but Mau, 
and always took her part against me when wc 
had our difficulties. 1 tell you, Miss Martin, that 
was more than I could stand j and when he told 
J me to behave myself or pack up my duds and 
lea ve, 1 was ready to go. And now' he’8 got, to keep 
up those payments, or he may kill himself for all 
o’ what r care. I brush from my shoulders the 
dust o’ all responsibility concernin’ his Tallin's or 
prosperln's." 
Mrs. Barker had been slowly filling her pipe 
from an old calico bag during the latter part of 
this recital. She now Induced a small coal of lire, 
to crown the well-tilled bowl, and, putting the 
pipe to her mouth, sat for some moments silently 
smoking and looking out of the window-not as 
though some object were attracting her atten¬ 
tion, but as though there were passing In phan¬ 
tasmagoria berore her eyes the scenes she had 
Just been describing. 
‘•There goes Jambs Martin 1” exclaimed the 
old woman, springing from her chair as a carriage 
dashed past. “ lie's come to buy Dick's apples, 
f’ve got a claim on those apples. I'd have them 
know. Jr 1 hadn’t worked hard and helped to 
gather them, they’d a' all been froze,” and she 
flung over her head an old red-und-greon plaid 
shawl and sallied rorr.h. sending back a parting 
Invitation, “Como over when you can, Miss 
Martin." 
"From her own story, more abusive than 
abused," soliloquised Mrs. Martin, as tlie door 
closed behind her visitor, and she repeated to 
herself, with slight variations, that oft-quoted 
couplet from Burns : 
“ O, wad some power the piftie pic her 
To see hersel’ ae ithers see her!" 
--♦♦ •*- 
THE LONGEST TUNNEL IN THE UNION. 
Few people know how great, an engineering en¬ 
terprise is going on In Bulttmoro county. For one 
thing alone, a tunnel six and four-fifths miles 
long—36,510 lceto-is being built under ground, ror 
over four-fifths tlie distance through hard gneiss 
and granite. Jt, will be tho longest tunnel in the 
country, and there will be only two larger in the 
world—the Mont Cenla, which is eight miles In 
length, und the St. GothaM, now In progress or 
construction, and which Is to be nine and a quar¬ 
ter miles. The fact that the water-supply tunnel 
lies near enough to the surface to allow of numer¬ 
ous shafts, greatly facilitates its construction. 
The tunnel is a circle twelve fec-t In diameter, and 
extends from the Gunpowder river, about eight 
miles from the city, to Lake Montebello—the dis¬ 
tributing reservoir—near the Hartford turnpike, 
about a mile and a hall trom the city, tho direc¬ 
tion being twenty-six degrees west or south. This 
tunnel will conduct, the water from the Gunpow¬ 
der river to Lake Montebello. Thence a conduit,, 
4,120 feet long, known as the Linton tunnel (from 
the fact that It passes under a portion of the 
Clifton park), conducts the water to a point Just 
south or t he Hartford road, where It enters six 
mains, each lour feet in diameter, which convey 
the water to the city, a distance ori,900 feet. The 
iV/uiiiry along the line of the work Is hilly, and 
the tunnel varies In depth below the surface from 
ct to 858 feet. There are fifteen shafts In the main 
tunnel, the deepest extending 291 reet below the 
surface. The water rains down from the crevices 
or tlie rocks, and pours along the bottom of the 
drift. Gangs or men, each with his miner’s lamp 
attached to his hat, are hard at work picking and 
delving in the flinty bowels of the earth; and the 
monotonous clang of the hammer upon the drill Is 
constantly heard, except when everything Is In 
readiness for firing amine, when all retire to a. 
safe distance, and thunderous reports roll through 
the rocky corridors. The work of tunnelling Is all 
done, by hand, It being cheaper than the machine 
work In a drift of such narrow diameter. 
- *-*-4 - 
THE HUMAN FACE. 
Tuk countenance of every nation delines the 
characteristics of Its people. Every human face 
indicates a moral training as well as the temper¬ 
ament, and ruling traits of its owner, just as much 
aa every human form indicates the qualify and 
amount of ils physical exercise. This is proven 
by the variety of human faces everywhere visible. 
Those whose Uvea have been given to physical 
labor, uribrlghtencd by an education of Ideas, 
have always a stolid, stupid expression, even 
while their limbs and muscles arc splendidly de¬ 
veloped. The more savage the people, the uglier 
they are In facial development. The very features 
Of their faces are disfigured by violent und un¬ 
governed passions. People whose employments 
are intellectual, have Invariably a large, clear 
gaze, a bright, outlaying expression, as if from an 
inward light shining through a vase. Whore a 
tine organization and a deep sensibility accompany 
the practice, of intellectual pursuits, often the 
features take on a transparent luminous look. 
Persons endowed with powerful sensibility, how¬ 
ever plain their features, always have moments 
of absolute beauty. 
-♦ - 
A DEAD OFFICER’S RING. 
A touching Incident has Just occurred In con¬ 
nection with the death of Lieut. Win. Van W. 
ReUey, who fell with Custer in that terrible light 
on the Little Big Horn, last year. At the time of 
the battle he wore a seal ring with Ills crest cut 
upon It, and this, together with his cloth¬ 
ing, his sword, his pistols, and all Ills belong¬ 
ings, was torn from hts dead body and carried 
away by some one of the foe who had helped to 
kill him. Ills mother, unable to secure his re¬ 
mains, and longing for something that had been 
with him to the last, tried in every way to recover 
It; she offered Immense rewards; she had fac¬ 
similes of the die made and sent to the different 
agencies along the frontier, and she wrote to all 
the commanding oilcers in the Sioux country, 
describing It, and a few days since she received 
Official notice from the War Department that the 
ring had been found. It was taken from the 
finger of one of the i,&oo Cheyennes who came in 
tho other day for the annual supply of forgiveness 
and ammunition. 
- - • 
PROCTOR’S EXPERIENCE. 
Mr. Kiohard A. Proctor says that when he 
went to lecture in Dayton, Ohio, he was placidly 
left by the manager of the lecture course, not only 
to see after all the arrangements for suspending 
diagrams, but to take the lion’s share of tho work 
of hanging them. "The manager was good 
enough to look on and to give me Instructions as 
to the lecture Itself—Informing mo, ror Instance, 
that So-and-so (naming a deservedly eminent, 
American lecturer) toad spoken only for an hour 
and a quarter. ‘Now I paid him,’ satd this 
worthy, *to gtve a full-sized lecture, not short of 
two hours.' The proprietor of the hall, who was 
also present, and helping me as much as he could, 
remarked that a lecture ought not to last two 
hours. But the manager of tho course whispered 
to me that this was 1 only to save his gas.’" 
-♦- 
A QUICK REPLY. 
An acquaintance, who is not unknown in lite¬ 
rary circles on the transatlantic side of the water, 
was present. The Holy Father approached him 
aud told, " You’re American. Are you a catholic 
or a Protestant?’’ "Holy Father," replied our 
friend, " I am neither a Catholic nor a Protest¬ 
ant,; Pm a Journalist,.” His Holiness laughed 
heartily, and moved on to some one else. Stub¬ 
born ground, he must have thought to himself. 
RECENT LITERATURE. 
Hird«and Foclt*. By John Burroughs. New 
York.; Hurd A Houghton. 
This author exhibits an agreeable fondness for 
Nature, especially the bird and Insect portion of 
It. Ills book contains much good poetry, by well- 
known authors, Illustrative or his several themes. 
The latter halt Is devoted to essays on various 
subjects, which, we doubt not, will prove Inter¬ 
esting reading. Two of these give tlie author’s 
estimate Of Emerson aud Walt. Whitman. The 
Greek poets, It seems, preferred the cicada, the 
locust, and the grasshopper to tho commou birds. 
Our author says: 
" That Greek grasshopper must have been a won¬ 
derful and very charming creature. He was a 
sacred object lu Greece, and Is spoken of by the 
poets as a charming songster. What we would 
say of birds the Greek said of this favorite Insect. 
When Socrates and Phaedrus came to the foun¬ 
tain, shaded by the plane-t ree, where they had 
lheir famous discourse, Socrates Bald: 'Observe 
t he freshness of the spot, bow charming and very 
deiightrul It is, and how summer-like and shrill 
It sounds from the choir of grasshoppers.’ One 
of Lhe poets m tho Anthology ffnds a grasshopper 
struggling In a spider’s web, which he releases 
with the words: 
‘Go safe aud free with your sweet voice of song.' 
Another one makes the Insect say to a rustic who 
has captured him: 
‘ Me, the Nymphs’ wayside minstrel, whose sweet note 
O’er sultry hill is heard, aud shady grove to tloat.’ 
SHU another sings how a grasshopper took the 
place or a broken string on his lyre, and ‘filled 
the cadence due.’ 
‘ For while Fix cords beneath my fingers cried, 
He with bin tuneful voice the seventh supplied; 
The raid-day songster of the mountain set 
His pastoral ditty t/i my canzonet i 
And whcD he sang, bis modulated throat 
Accorded with the lifeless string I smote.’ 
While we are trying to Introduce the lark In this 
country, why not this Pindaric grasshopper also ?’’ 
What say you, farmers? Shall we proffer our 
hospitality to this classic fellow, purely on Ills 
merits as set forth above, without careful Inquiry 
as to his grosser qualities 7 Does he live on air ? 
If not, what la the extent of his appetite for the 
produce of tho holds? How large a family has 
ho? We fear the scoffing agriculturist will ex¬ 
claim, in reply to this proposal; " Not any lu 
mine, If you please.” 
Abrond Again. 
Lee A Shepard. 
By Curtis Guild- Boston 
Wk havo no hesitation In saying that this work 
will afford to a person who has uever heen across 
the Atlantic, and proposes at some future time 
such an indulgence, a mass of interesting and 
valuable Information which he can 111 dispense 
with. The writer, whose style Is that or a veteran 
of the press, lias evidently been guided In the 
preparation of his book by a commendable desire 
to smooth th8 way for such expecting tourists, 
and Its pages will be found to contain many prac¬ 
tical hints and suggestions. His dcsciiptlons of 
localities visited and objects of Interest therein 
contained are easy and graceful, and relate fre¬ 
quently to things not usually observed and com¬ 
mented on by travelers, but none the less enter¬ 
taining on that account. The chapters on Hol¬ 
land, at the close of the book, will be found of 
this character. Persons fond of works of travel 
will do well to purchase the volume. 
The Heiress in the Family. By Mrs. Macken¬ 
zie 1)ANiki,. touluduiplmi : T. li. Peterson & 
Brothers, (fl.) 
Tins Is a book of some 400 pages, with a hand¬ 
some cover, and externally Is very attractive. We 
are not prepared, however, to say that a dollar 
