c/ ^i^ "^fi ^^.-£^0-^:^^ Z f \' / \ lx / \ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by LANDON & LUMLEY, in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. [PHOfC-STEAM-LITH i * ■ / '■■■■n- A. i PI ■■ ' \ / ^!^ II ^t^ \ ^ Many of the letters in this volume first appeared in the New York Commercial Advertiser, but, with others, they are now presented in a changed and highly improved form. The Press has echoed the following sentiment of the Rich- mond Whig: — ** ' Lan,' the wicked, mischievous and dashing correspondent of the Commercial Advertiser, has surpassed all contemporaneous letter writers in waggery, fun, invention, and sensational eflect. He has made a national reputation." *' ' T^an's ' Saratoga letters were supplemented, after the return of their author, Mr. Melville D. Landon, to New York, by the humorous and statistical letters of ' Eli Perkins ' ; and this new nom de plume has become as well known as ' Lan.' " " The letters of both * Lan ' and ' Eli Perkins ' have won so wide a popularity throughout the United States that we have asked Mr. Landon to prune them, enrich them with suitable additions, and arrange them ibr publication in a book." Here is the book — embellished, moreover, with numerous graphic illustrations from the felicitous pencil of Mr. Arthur LUMLEY. THE PUBLISHERS. ni /|^ r^r-j PAGE. UP THE HUDSON— Off for Sar- atoga. 1 Horse-Racers 2 Gamblers 3 Clertjymen 5 The old Pilot 6 SARATOGA — Preparing for the Great Race 7 Longfellow 8 Lo ! the Poor Indian 10 Joke 10 STEEPLE CHASE 11 Jockeys \'l Jake 12 Albert 13 GRAND STAND 14 The Ijadies on the Grand Stand— Betting 16 ARTEMUS WARD 17 TRAVERSES JOEIE 19 PHIL()SOPHY 19 CONGRESS SPRING, Saratoga. 20 PA OK. The Statistics of Saratoga. ... 20 Early Settlement 22 Growth of Saratoga 22 The ( >ld United States 23 The Race Ti-ick 24 Use oi' the Waters 24 Analysis of Springs in a Nut- Shell 25 RACES— FUN-PERSONAL ... 26 Horse Talk 26 A PARI^ Y ( )F TAMM A \ Y ITES 27 The Round Lake Cainj) Meet- ing 28 Fuimy 28 Who "is Here? (Personal) 28 Li >VE AND GEOGRAPHY 31 GINX'SBABY 32 THE BLOOD OF MARRY LEE. 35 The Storj^ — Calhoun and Web- ster's Big Hearts 35 GEN. .^HERMAN TALKS 3.S Sherman's Story 39 \ /|V — • — \ CONTENTS. FAOK. Pirisidential 40 j:]nipeior Grant 41 FUN P.ETWEEiN TIIE HOUSES 43 Yankee Jews 45 Indignation 45 Dainty Pishes 45 Extreino of Vice 46 Gaml)linfr 46 Sr KINK LED— New Spring, Jes- sie Crane 47 New Indian Spring 4S Fizz 48 \V:ilking Sticks 49 SA J{ Ai'< H\ A TU KN-OUTS 50 M< K )N ( )N THE LAKE 53 Kiel) Sam Duncan 54 Poor Sam Duncan 54 Old "Frank Waddell'' Bottle 54 Potatot^s (The Secret) 56 iiAK AT( )G A GOSSIP 57 Levity at the Clarendon 57 Joke 58 C4roesbeck on the War Path.. 58 Self-made Men 58 "Poker" 59 The First Masquerade 61 Masquerade Generally 62 Brown's Boys 62 The Pirates 63 Ancient Henry 64 Uncle Hank in the Grocery. . 64 CONGK ESS SPUING 68 Dreadful Developments 69 No Word of lIoi)e 70 Our Correspondent Expelled. 71 Lan Invited to Go 72 The Exile's lieturn 74 ELI PEl; Kl NS' SEIIMON 75 The (Jontrast 76 Among (Jentlemen. 76 The Newest Sensation 76 These Cretonne Suits 77 Gentlemen's Toilets 77 Dressing at Saratoga 77 Benclies In Congress Spring Park 78 Statistics 78 SAIJATOGA AMUSEMENTS.. 80 < »ne More Joke 81 Eli I'erkins Preaches on Prices 82 Feeing Waiters 83 Hats 84 EliisJ^n 84 PICTURES «5 A beautiful Christian 85 . Full Dress Ball at Congress Hall 87 Married l,adies with Beautiful Cliildren ^"^ LOVE IN A GRAVEYARD. ... 89 The Old Sexton 89 EPITAPHS 92 TIIE EFFECT OF THE SNAKE STOKY— AJOKE 96 SAKKASUM 98 THAT HORRIBLE BUCK 100 RE\ . ELI PERKINS 102 Types 1 1^3 FLIRTING 105 When Fred's a Flirt 106 MEYERS AND THE CEDAR BLUFF 108 GRAND HOP AT THE CLAR- ENDON Ill Swells 112 KISSES 114 GRAND SOCIAL CONGRESS. . . 116 At tlie Clarendon 117 Committee on Incomes 118 Committee on Pedigrees 118 Committee on Flirtation 118 Committee on Dress 110 Other Committees 119 The Intriguing Committee. . . 120 These Terrible Developments 120 A CHRISTIAN ACT 121 Subscriptions 122 PORTRAITS— Geo. H. Bissell, B. F. Beekman, Chas. Wall, John R. Cecil, Hugh J. Hastings, Col. A. Boody, Jas. H. Breslin, Peter Gilsey, Col. Abeil Hey wood 123 Fun 124 Awful Profanity 124 COL. FISK OF THE 9th 125 FASHIONABLE SOCIETY AT THE CIRCUS 127 Affecting Incident 128 " Society Peoj^le '' 130 Our Circus Mirror 13] VI /IN — • ^— \ CON TINTS. PAGE, Personal 13 J An Episode of War 1.32 More Personal 133 Toilets 133 Guests Present — Very Per- sonal 134 Eli Perkins of Connecticut. . . 136 JOKE— EVERYBODY SOLD.. 137 Fun at Dinner 130 SARATOGA CROWDS 140 Old Dog Brave 141 MR. PERKINS GOES TO THE CLARENDON 142 A Poor Man 143 CLARENDON 145 Watching the Balcony 145 JOSH BILLINGS INTERVIEW- ED 147 MR. PERKINS MOURNS BE- CAUSE HE D^^-_ — — .--^_i'^ SiLXMLR St. JoHN.JlLX lO. A TRIP up the Hudson with a boat load of excursionists, horse-racers, gamblers, and ad- venturers, is a trip full of interest. The k e e n observer never wearies with the evcr-changinij^ scene. The air is full of interest. Men, fast horses. beautiful women . charming' villas, and beautiful scener\' occupy tlie mind. The boat is a little minia- ture world floating away from the rest of humanity. Then the dia- logues which you hear on every side have in tliem much to amuse and a world of wisdom to instruct. ]W the side of Dr. Hepworth, full \l/ >u ^ of muscular Christianity, will be Belmont and Traverse, full of pictures and horses ; Astor, full of tenant-houses, and Peter Cooper, full of glue and gelatine. Everything is discussed, from theology to pigs' feet, from horses to viaduct railways. HORSE-RACERS. Among the rest, we see several professional horse-racers from Kentucky. They are men who remain idle during the winter, and as spring breaks, they commence their race-track tramp. First they run down to New Orleans, then up to Long Branch, then to Saratoga, then back to the Branch. Back again to Sara- toga, and an end-up at Jerome Park, and their summer's work is done, and their pockets are lined with the happy results of their observation and knowledge. You will find these men at peep of day around the race-track, talking with the boys or observing the horses in course of training. When the race comes off they know every horse — his pedigree, what he has done, what he can do, and what he will do. , -. -,.^tvy^vv> ^ Old John Harper, the owner of Longfellow, V^'^^V^v»^^^, vvas with them last night, but the old fellow He stood like an animated ghost, with his white hair streaming in the wind, but not one word could they get out of him about Long- fellow. " What is the best he ever did ?" asked one. " O, he's done some right smart trotting down in Kentuck," replied old John, and then he was as silent as the grave, his sharp gray eyes all the time resting admiringly on his beautiful horse. It is a queer sight to see this venerable old batchelor, bending under the weight of eighty winters, tottering along after his only love — a horse ! His pet, a four year old 17-hand white faced jpjlflll 1 would not talk. pPyAf^WWwjwtoK^^B |^^9| HHp P^PH H piU J/ \ stallion (sired by Leamington, darn Nanturah by Brouner's Eclipse), is always with him. Indeed, as they announced the arrival of Bismarck in Paris in '67, "accompanied by the King of Prussia," so they now announce the goings and comings of Longfellow, accompanied by John Har- per. Longfellow's competitor is King- fisher (four years old, sired by Lexington, dam Eltham Lass), a beautiful hor^e 1% owned by Mr. Belmont, and the eyes of a nation are concentrated on this coming race at Saratoga. GAMBLERS. Crowds of professional gamblers from New York gather in knots on the deck of the St. JoJin, on their way to visit the "gilt-edged hells " in Saratoga. They are a handsome set of rascals, but the gambler sticks out in every feature. Who could fail to recognize the profession in the long, dyed mustache of that handsome scamp Johnnie Lynch ? The observant eye can pick them out of a crowd of Christians as it can separate the Cyprians on Broadway from the innocent children of virtue. It is always a mysteiy how these fellows make and spend so much money. They cannot make it out of the faro-banks, for the banks must make enough themselves to pay expenses. In this quandery I questioned a friend who knows all their ways and " tricks which are vain." " Make it by legitimate gambling !" he exclaimed. " No, sir ! They are ' ropers-in-men.' They bring others to play, and when they have lost fortunes they receive a percentage as their com- mission from the owner of the bank. These fellows are brokers — faro-bank brokers, and though they play and lose ever so much, it is only done to crowd the tables and create an interest. The keeper /(Tj/ J- back their losses." y|\ /i^ — • — On the boat were groups of laughing, banjo-playing negroes — men and brothers and the con- necting links in the great Dar- winian theory. Where would Darwin's nice talk be without the darkey ? No one would think of jumping from the monkey to sth Avenue. First we commence with the ape, then the Hot- tentot, then the Sandwich Islander who loves and eats the tender missionary who tauglit him to love his fellow man, then the Chinese, then the darkey, then the voters in the shanties on the rocks around Central Park, — then the 5 th Avenue belles and swells in fly-away bonnets and dashy tandems. • ^1^ / \ CLERGYME Twice I was awoken out of a profound sleep b)' a party of Methodist Ministers bound for Round Lake camp-meeting. ThL^y were having a serious discussion with an unbeHever, and while a zealous minister was arguing, 1 came out of my state-room. The good man turned towards me and asked as he laid his right forefinger argumentically on the palm of his left hand : — " Was or was not Moses right ? " Moses who .'' " Moses in the Bible." Colonel Heywood, who had seen a good many scoffers in California, came to my relief. He said : " Moses was all right. His head was level."' Then the cabir was quiet again. ihe last heard of the Colonel he was trying to prove that Sunday was the strongest day in the week " Why > " asked the clergyman. " Because all the other days are week days." " Oh ! ! " Then again we only heard the heavy thug of the engine. Thug—a^! thug— a! thug— a ! Xtv5,^v^iv^mAfeliUvo\\V? 7* The pilot of the St. John is an excentric old fellow. He stands all day long, rain or shine, alone in the pilot-house. He has no one to talk to, so he converses aloud to hij^jsejlf, 5ome:^mes he stands and talkj*- f©/,fitjmself for hours. He 'w^s ,t:3.|^pig to him- self last ni§^k^^:|>tt)pd by the pilot-htrus'e Jilxar. iFftis is the way h8*-HGe^)ducitecl me., dialogue : " Why are yoii up her^ -ih the mist and rain qf this Gbd-forsaken pilot-house, m^ily ? You are a man of entcrfiijiise, you can keep books, you c.aAf.^P^culate, you can run a newspg|3et, you could be an Alderman and f go to Saratoga. Then what's .'||if| good of stand- ing here turning "^this wheel .'*' " 1 will tell you, sir," he replied, " it is because m^^' - you are a fool, Billy, an idiot, and a jackass." ^ " But what business is it to yoii ? " continued ' Billy. " You come out here into the pilot-house to brow-beat jue do you .'' Who are j'(?u / " " You are a low-lived, sneaking, chicken -Jivered, salaratus- eating Connecticut Yankee, any way. and I'm honest, hardworking William Munson ! ! D 3/our soul, take that !" Then he chuckled at his joke, and went on turning liis wheel, which, like his dialogue, went round and round, but finally stopped at the same place. L.\N — — • — "1^ 7 -^vr Congress H^ll. July n. As usual, on the i ith^fjuly, Saratoga is not very full. The ^^eat -hotels kre sparingly populated, and tfnere*i^ an/air of waiting about everything. Mr. Rodgers and FmQk H^thorn stand behind the desk with pens behind their ears and await patiently the coming of the wonted guests. The grea : parlors look lonely enough, and Bernstein's music sounds like 1:|ie roar of the sea upon the desolate winter beach at Long Branch. The great races commence to-morrow, the coaches will come loaded to-night, and morning will find the scene changed from the deserted halls of Pompeii to a Roman convocation. PEEP IN THE MORNING. At four o'clock this morning (think of it, lazy reader !), I left Congress Hall and rode out to the track with Gen. Buford to see the last working of the horses before the races to-morrow, Though early in the morning, all the horsemen were on hand. /|^ >l/ with their horses, and the professional betters with their stop-watches, taking down the exact time of each horse to within a quarter of a second. The first on the track, a little after daylight, was __^_^^__ Belmont, in person, with Kingfisher and his trainer. Ihc agent of the Rothschilds was preparing for the grandest race which ""has ever or will ever take place on this continent, and a race on which will be staked untold thousands. That white- haired old wizzard. half concealed behind a post, and holding an old black silver stop-watch, is John Harper, the owner of Long- fellow, who has $80,000 staked upon the race. This is the first time he has seen "the Fi.sher," as he calls him. and. almost breathlessly, he .stands estimating his antagonist. "Too much belly on 'the Fi.sher' to-day," remarks General Buford. " I'll be dog-on if that little short cuss can beat Longfellow," continues a lank, red-haired Kentuckian. " Moves like he could run some," said old John, and when " the Fisher " came along he quietly got up and went down to the track. " How do you like him. old man r asked John Hunter. " Putty dog-on full of muscle, Hunter, and he branches off like he had hell in him, sure, but I guess old Longfellow will have his ' run,' " and then shrewd old Harper stopped his old silver watch to get Kingfisher's time, which was 1:50. Old John remarked, " 1 reckon he kin do 1:41." Kingfisher is a light bay horse, full of muscles, and with ter- rible action. He looks like a racer every inch of him. LONC; FELLOW, accompanied by his stud (Littleton, Express, and Exchange), now came out. He looks like an elongated Chatham square hack- horse. His head is homely ^nd clumsily put on. He starts off like a camel charged with electricity, but, by-and-bye. when the "1^ — • — / electricit}' is ^one, he settles into a steady, rolling j^ait. '1 hen his strides become monstrous, and without apparent effort he shoots by everjlhing" on the track. Longfellow has run six races, all of which he has won, though, when lie was a three year old, he was beaten, wltcn sick, by Enquirer. He ran in Lexington, beating Pilgrim — time. 1 137. From there he went to Nashville, beating Morgan Scout without eftbrt. and ran in iMem- phis, beating Morgan Scout and John Morrissey's Defender. He also ran in Cincinnati. At the Branch he has just easily beaten Helmboldt, Regards, and Breakneck. Longfellow did 1 144 b\' Harper's old silver watch this morning. " You will see a terrible race for that Saratoga cup on Friday afternoon," said Harper, as he went back to the stable. " Why .'" I asked. " Because Longfellow has never had a horse to run with him before. He always comes in on a galop. But if ' the Fisher ' beats him this time, he will beat the best horse I ever saw." "Will the Fisher beat .'" Old John shook his head ominously — then he said, half regret- fully, " I was offered $60,000 for old Long at the Branch, and if he wins I can take $100,000 for him ; but if he loses I will sell him for $25,000. So you see I have $75,000 at stake on the race. " And Belmont is betting even .'" " Ye.s— he offered to take any number of bets. $500 to $500. or $5,000 to $5,000. coming up on the cars yesterday. " Who have you got training this $60,000 worth of horse V " Oh. my darkey boys take care of him — they're good boys, 1 raised em, too — on the farm with the bosses. TheJaays like the bosses, and they get on well together. I bought old Jake there for $1,500 from Dr. Shelby, in Kentucky, but 1 think as iiiiic/i o\' him as I do of Longfellow." *' Will you sell Longfellow if he wins .-' " .• No I shall take him back to Kentuck, put him up. and breed from him. A ,>uv with a colt from him would sell for $5,000, and I'd soon got my $ 100,000 back." " Would you like a cool day for the race .'" •' No, the hotter the better. Hosses run better hot days than cool days." r n r • And so the old octogenarian horse-racer went on— full ol wis- dom, philosophy, and someti^nes fun. LO, THE POOR INDIAN is here again this season, but the Saratogians liave run him a little further into the woods — further towards the setting sun. The name applies well, for they are all low Indians. Artemus Ward says the Indians came to him on the plains and said : " White brother, we are just traveling toward the setting sun. In a few moons more the lone Indian will touch the setting sun ; " " and then," said Artemus, " they stole our whiskey and blankets, and started for the sun ! " JOKE. Mrs. Colonel Shafer says to-day that " Saratoga and the Gilsey House are charming places, but they do remind one so constantly of home !" " Why, dear r asked the Colonel. " Because they are the dearest spots on earth." LAN — 10 / 7iN What is a ^^teeple-chase ' CoNGRi s. H \i l , July 13 Think of a three-mile race over walls, fences, ditches, and hedges-over the pastures. Think of three John Gilpins flying like death on a pale horse ; think of three fire engines b,ound for a fire ; think of a mad horse race up the Roman Corso from Jjor^a del popiilo to the capital during carnival week ! Bret Hart's Chiquita running herself " clean out of her harness " was a " slow coatch " to the crazy leaping of the steeple-chasers to-day. Away they went in a three-mile race — " hell to split over the prairie," if we may quote from one of the " new departure " poets — Oysterman ahead and Tammany and Julius neck and neck, the jockeys flying like frightened Tamershantys. Now somebody shouts for Oysterman — now lace handkerchiefs swing, and the tenor voices cry for Julius ; then little Tammany makes a spurt, and, forgetting politics, a dozen hats wave for the horse whose name has lost its prestige. " Two to one on Tammany ! " shouted the silver-moustached Fernando Wood, as everybody enthusiastically shook their hand- kerchiefs. " No Tammany for me — Tammany has balked in the harness," exclaimed the wife of an ex-Congressman, and in a moment she won a dozen " three buttons " on Oysterman. The reply w^as satire boiled down ; for the lesson of a city scourged by two Halls — Tammany and Okey — with their riots and corruption, was warm in the memory of all. ^1^ 1 1 't^ Rob is the HJCKEVS. Hclmoiit and Harper have been h^^iiring for the star jockeys for the Kingfisher-Longfellow race to- morrow The venerable John has succeeded in retaining Bob Swim, who ran Longfellow to victory at the Branch, smartest jockey in the States. Light, muscular, and as trickey as Mayor Hall, he is sure to cut across, or through or over, and win every race. Two years ago he rode Douglass Johnson's Muggins, capturing the Saratoga cup; then he rode John Harper's Littleton, at Lexington, Ky., where he was ruled off the track for crossing another horse's path. Yesterday a little jockey wedged himself between Bob and the fence, winning a race, which he never would have won if Bob had not been on probation, and afraid to squeeze to the boards the imper- tinent little rider. But to-morrow, when $80,000 depends upon the race, Bob .says he'll win if it is the last race he ever runs JAKE. "Who is to ride the Fisher.'" I asked of Mr. Belmont this morning at the l.'nion. " Why — Jake, the smarte.st boy in the world." " Who's Jake .' ' "Jake is. an Lsland boy," continued Mr. Belmont. " I got him pardoned out of the House of Correction. Don't you know- Jake.'" — and the red-hot Pru.ssian was as indignant as Bret Harte's Jim when he said : ' Say, perhaps Some on you chaps Might know Jim Wild' Well, no otience — There aint no sense A gitting riled.'' "Jake," said the natty Belmont, "is the brightest boy on the track. Lvc got twelve different boys, most of them from "the 12 >*/ xi^ / Island." but Jake can steal them all poor. He has the best whip, the best spurs, and is sure to steal the best place on the liack. But Jake divides with the boys, and they like him. Last sum- mer he stole two pet chichens from my trainer, and the next da\- the little rascal presented him with one of //is oicji chickens all dressed ! ALBERT. Major McDaniel's boy, Albert, who rode Oysterman to-da>-. is as black as the ace of spades. He is a native Virginian- raised on the Major's farm. The Major paid $150 for him when he was three months old — taking his sick mother, who was throzufi in in the bargain. Major McDaniel, who is a plain, blunt old Virginian, fairly worships the boy, who, in turn, looks upon the Major as the very Cassar of the track. "How long have you been with the Major.'" 1 asked of little Albert. " Dun-no ; 'reckon it's gwine on twenty years." " But, Albert, you're not twenty years old." " Wal, I'ze done been with Major Mac all my life. Some- times down in Virgin, and sometimes up at the Patterson track — then over to Nashville and Memphis." Like Artenms Ward, whose daughter had been singing the " Mocking Bird " for three weeks, Albert thought he should like it — living with the Major. To-day; tl^e great race was lun The gicat l^otcf^ ait full, and they poured out to the track a seething croutjV-fijling Lake Avenue- Vdth dust and the grand stand with: ^ enthusiastic multitude. ^ The oldUvhtte-^ftakjed wizzard of Kentucky was on the track with j^"igfell9\Vx A'^e^^^^orse was as tranquil as afi ex-dray horsfi— iifit^ranci^mg^ no kicking, no biting. Old John saj^s. the litt/e- rtlggfi^^i pltiyr about hii^ down in Kentucky, and tha| he ra^i^es fes^'feet as caref|a}ly as aivelephant when the little rascals mi )>i>. iins%n^%=^W^jiglT-'fl3^ o'fe^ of mettle, and with eyes r^"^a^^"^«,nappi;lg with passion. He is full of muscle and as beautilSiir.a^si--^^ horse! To-day these two kings of the turf come togeth^r^r the fiit;^t time — Belmont with his silver feather and the silver^^^ed Jiorne-spun farmer of Kentucky ! What a race ! Distance two a!nd a quarter miles. Thousands of dollars 14 /l^ / changed hands. Harper was offered $60,000 for Longfellow at the Branch, and he said if his pet should loose the Saratoga cup he would lead from the track a ruined horse. Jake bobbed around proudly on the back of Kingfisher, and Bob Swim sat grimly on the back of Longfellow. The race started. Belmont was on the grand stand, dressed in a white hat and silver feather, and old John Harper upon tli^ ground, dressed in an old slouch hat and a suit of home-spun. Pell-mell they went as the M'hite flag dropped, " Longfellow moving with long, regular strides, with clumsy head stuck straightforward. King- fisher started with a quick, nervous movement, making six movements to Longfellow's five. Straight as an arrow Bob Swim reined Longfellow across Kingfisher's advance to his ac- customed inside track, taking the lead. There he kept it, dead to the applause of ten thousand spectators. That first quarter was his salvation. " I told Bob," sagely observed old Harper. " that Longfellow would run the first quarter faster than any horse ever did it before. " How after that ? " we asked. " Why, he'll keep on gettin' better an' better all the time !" And so he did. The second mile was done in 1 40 — time only equalled by Gladiator and Prioress, and that on English turfo On they ran, the vast crowd shouting lustily, as now and then the " Fisher " closed the gap a little. Belmont stood up and leaned forward, surveying the field as a General would survey a battle-field, while the little gray-haired stooping Harper looked on like a stoic, his sharp gray eyes only twinkling as Bob shot in to the victory. . The old Kentucky farmer took his eighty thousand dollars as quietly as you would buy a morning newspaper, while the great swaying masses shrieked and waved their handkerchiefs like a great sea of humanity covered with fluttering sails. 7iN — ^'iv \ Mrs. B will UQt' &hii^ V>ld habiinee of Saratoga, is a Hig-h icl e\)!tsequjjTi1;|^'^on't bet at f^^^|;es. She a .dozen gloves when the f*^|tts^ are ncck^'ariS liefr^/lind .when tjio.usands of ladies are ^t%^ng up and waving their handkcrt^hi^if? in wild ei|ithusTasm;': /To-day, when eyery^o9y^^a^i^stx^pttWgJ''Wii^,:0 Long- fcUcjw, Mrs/l^-— puU^- oufc^^t-'S^^^J/^rtd itie^^^^^ " fo please not bet." "Why, Mrs. B ! a Christian can't help bef ting ^^/^ic. There's D,. Corey — yes, and your own Dr. Hepworili^fe^kless- !y hazarding dozens of gloves thil^/rnoment !" / " My old minister betting!" exclaimed Mrs. H^ — , impos- sible ! /'// bet you a dozen gloves he hasn't bet to-day ./" Mrs. Ida ', (there ! I've almost told her name) is afraid the Boston people will hear of her watering-place worldliness, and so we all promised not to say a word about it. i6 My dear friend Artemus ! I have a thousand things to say about you, but only room for a few. Once we traveled together down the Mississippi — in 1863. His trunks were labelled thus : A. V/ARD HYS Business Suite A. WARD HYS STORE CLOTHES A. WARD Hys Sunday Cloth KS The steamer stopped at the writer's plantation at Lake Provi- dence. He took especial delight in the good-natured plantation darkies. Strolling through the " quarters," his grave words, too deep with humor for darky comprehension, gained their entire confidence. One day he callcii up Uncle Jeff, an Unclc-Tom-like pa- triarch, and commenced in his usual vein: "Now, Uncle Jef- ferson," he said, " why do you thus pursue the habit of indus- try ? Indolence is preferable. I prefer it. I am happier when I am idle Why cannot you pursue a life of happy idleness too ? Why, Jefferson, you could live for months without performing any kind of labor, and at the expiration of that time .still feel fresh and vigorous enough to commence it again. Idleness in- vigorates the system ; it is a sv/ect boon. No one should work ; they should get other people to do it for them." ^y 17 /|N n'/ — • — Burin-: this conversation Uncle Jeft' returned his mournful f'aze with a mute admiration for the good and wise originator of the only theory which the darkey mind could a; .predate. " You is jes' right, Mr. Artemus," ejaculated Jeff, when the mournful humorist"" handed him a dollar and waved him away. As Uncle Jcti" ran to tell his wonderful story to the iiegroes in the "quar- ters," holding up the dollar as material proof, Artemus would lean fonvard with his elbows on his knees and indulge in a chuckling laugh. One day the negroes were grinding their hoes on an old, dilapidated grindstone, which wabbled and swayed up and down, being worn by time and hard usage to an eccentric ellipse. When the eyes of Artemus sighted the rickety grindstone, he settled intua longand hearty laugh. Then, tired of laugh- ing, he cased himself dow-n upon his elbows, but did not cease his intermittent ciiuck- ling. "There!" he gasped, as he wabbled his hand and arm in the curves of a parabola ; "there is wit personified, or thingified. When you can surprise any one with an eccentric anti-climax instead' of a rounded sentence, then you will have something funny. ' " People laugh at me," the humorist once said to me, "because of my eccentric sentences. There is no wit in the form of a well- rounded sentence. If I say Alexander conquered the w^orld and sighed btxause he could not do so some more, there is a funny mi.xture, that is, it is funny to those intelligent enough to under- stand the original sentence, which is burlesqued." Here is the true key to Artemus Ward's power as a humorist, and It will be found that the great majority of his jokes depend upon a sudden switch off from a serious beginning to an absurd ending. While at Natchez he sent the writer a ticket to his lecture which read thus : ADMIT THE BEARER AND ONE WIFE yours trooly a. Ward. /|^ i8 ^1^ / \ TRAVERS S JOKE. Mr. Traverse tells this juke on himself to-day: You know .Mr. T. starnnK.'rs enoucjh to make the story interesting. Well he went into a bird-fancier's in Centre street, in \ew York, to buy a parrot. " H — h — have j-ou i^ot i\ — a — all kinds of b— b— birds ?" asked Mr. T. " Yes, sir, all kinds," said the bird-fancier politely. *' I w — w — want to b — buy a p — p — parrot," hesitated Mr, T. " Well, here is a beauty, v'^ec what glitterinj^- plumage !' " I — i — is he a g — g — good t — talker ^" " If he can't talk better than you can I'll give him to you." exclaimed the shopkeeper. William bought the parrot. PHILOSOPHY The races to-day were not quite so exciting as ye.sterday, wheri the contest lay between Kingfisher and Longfellow, but there was an element of interest in the fact that the ex-honorable John Morressey, with bucket and blanket in hand, has attended per- sonally to the training of his own horse Defender. The profes- sionals have made all sorts of fun of him, but John has borne their railleries in good part— always good-natured, always ready with a joke. To-day Marvin came along, when John shouted : " Hellow, going to bet on my horse, Marvin .'" " Yes." '' How ?" " Going to copper him /"* And then everybody shouted, John with the rest. Marvin was right, as it turned out, for Defender was no where when the race was finally run ; and now they will make more fun than ever of the ex-Congressman. • To " copper " a card at faro is to bet that it will lose. 19 CONGRESS SPRING. SARATOGA. Congress Hall, July i6. Mr, Marvin is a man of fame, name and learning, and an old lh;c-hol(ic:r in Saratoga, so to-day I asked him something about the village, •Said he : " I came here in 1828. Then High Rock Spring was the great spring. Sir William Johnson made the first pilgrimage to the spring through the woods, piloted by the Indians, to use its water. This was one hundred and five years ago — m i/C?. " Hold on. Mr. Marvin, are you going into all the statistics ?" 1 asked. " Yes," he replied. "Let inecal! my old "statician'" then to assist you." So my venerable .statistical friend came and wrote down, in the presence of Mr. Marvin : TIIK STATISTICS OF SARATOGA. "Let me see, VVm. — Sir William John- son wounded in the battle of Lake George, September 8, 1755," the old stati- cian murmured. " What else ?" I inquired. '• V\' yunderi in the Ic^," he contiuued. '■ \m not extractcd-did not recover. Dy- „, ^,„ ,,^„„,,, 20 /t\ senter}% sickness and lameness set in. Mohawk Indians told Sir William about Saratoy;a — the " Medicine Spring- of the Great Spirit." There were then si.K nations of Indians forming- the Great In)quois Confederacy — the Mohawks, Cayugas, Onunda- gas, Senecas, Oneidas, and Tviscaroras. " Sir William reached High Rock Spring August 22nd, 17C>-. He went with the Indians to Schenectady by canoe on ihc Mohawk River, tlien by Htter z'iei BalFston Lake to the rude cabin of Michael McDonald, thence to High Rock Spring. " The sun was an hour above the eastern hills," continued m}' statician, reading from a book, " when the startle(1 deer saw the evergreens sway, and the Baronet's party emerge from the thicket. Their polished bracelets a n d rich trappings, glittering in the dewy foliage like so many diamonds, were in keeping with the cheerfulness visible upon each counte- nance — for were they not bearing their dearly loved brother to the ' Medicine '^^^' ^^^^^^^-^ and liim mmANe. Spring of the Great Spirit.^' As the party emerge from the glade upon the green sward, they separate into two divisions ; and, v/ith gentle tread appr'.)ach the spring, bearing their precious burden in the center. Pausing a few rods from the spring, the Baronet leaves the litter ; and, for a moment, his manh' form, wrapped in his scarlet blanket bordered with gold lace, stands tov/ering and erect above the waving plumes of his Mohawk braves." " How do you know these to be facts, my venerable friend ?'" " Well, the book says so, sir ; besides Wm. L. Stone delivered these facts in an address in 1866," said n.iy statician indignantly. " They are correct," observed Mr. Marvin. "Very well go on I" " Then," continued the old man, " Sir William approaching tiie spring, kneels, with uncovered head, and revereiitly places upon the rock a roll of fragrant tobacco — his propitiatory offering to the Manitou of the spring. Still kneeling, he fills arid lights •T 21 /(\ the ^Tcat calumet, which, th-ouc^^h a Ion- hue of kim^s. had desc'lKlod to the renowned Pontiac. and, takm- a whiff trom its hiero-Kphic >tem, passes it to each cliieltain in turn. Then, amid' the profound silence of his warriors, he, for the first time, touches his lips to the water ; and. -athenn.cr the folds of his mantle about him amid a wild and .strange chant raused by the Indians to ihen- Deity, he enters the rude bark lodge which, with prudent forcthou-lU, his braves had erected for his comfort direct!) where this building now stands ; and in this primitive^ hotel reclined \.\\c first white man that had e\'er visited this spring." " Mow long did he stay, what hotel did he put up at, and where was W'm. Leland and Col. Johnson then.?" I asked, inter- rupting the old man. , , , .. Sii- '" he exclaimed," \Vm. Leland was dead then. He was not discovered till fifty years afterwards. This was even before Fernando Wood or Mr. Greeley or Peter Gilsey were discovered. Sir. William sojourned four days at High Rock Spring, then went back to Schenectady on foot, and General. Phili)rSchu\lcr sent up Dr. Stringer to analyse the spring. E.\KLV SETTLEMENT "In the year 1687." continued my venerable friend, "the French in Canada had seven hundred Indian warriors for the purpose of instructing them in religion and to Jiclp them kill the liii'^lish ! So Governor Dongan. to get these Indians away from the F'rench. gave them the land about Saratoga This was not a very generous act when we come to consider that the land belonged to a gentleman in Albany. The Indians kept the land till 1742. when Father Picciuei. a l-'rench priest, with some French truo^js, gobbled up the Indians and stole Uieir corn and cattle. The French fought better then than they do now-a-days, or else there were not any Prussian Uhlans around. The F^rench burnt up the Indian huts and raised the ilevil generally. .Peace came between the FVench and English, and the F'rcnch priest had to leave in 1748. Then the Sovereign of Great Britain gave away the Van Schaick patent, which included Saratoga. In 1783 Albany County was organized, including Stillwater, Saratoga, and Hallston. In 1791 Saratoga was taken from Albany County and divided into twenty townships, viz : Kallston, Halfmoon, Saratoga. Stillwater, Charlton, Galway, Milton, Greenfield, Provi- dence. Northumberland, Edinburgh, Hadley, Malta, Moreau, Waterford, Corinth, Wilton, Saratoga Springs, and Clifton Park. (,R(nVTH OF S.VRATOGA. \\\ T773 Dirick Scowton cleared a piece of land about High \l/ \l/ Rock Spring and bulk a cabin. In 1774 John Arnold brought his furniture on his back from Saratoga Lake and built a tavern near High Rock. High Rock Spring had various owners after this — Samuel Norton, Isaac Law, Rip Van Dam, Henry Living- stone, and (during the Revolution) Alexander Bryan. "Gideon Putnam arrived at Saratoga in 1789. He seems to have been the great founder of Saratoga. He said to his wife : Saratoga is a healthy place ; the mineral springs are valuable, the timber is good and in great abundance, and I can build me a great house. " In 1802 Putnam purchased of Henry Walton an acre of land where the Grand Union now stands, and built seventy feet of the present hotel. This was a great house in those days, and the wonder of the country. His sign was a rudely painted representa- tion of Putnam and the wolf " In 1806 Putnam tubed Washington spring, and afterwards the Columbian. Visitors now began to come to Saratoga. Many came up from Ballston in stages, took dinner with Putnam, and returned. "In 181 1 Putnam began the erection of Congress Halh He fell from the scaffolding and died a year afterwards from the effect of his injuries. He ranks with John Rodgers, Miles Stan- dish, and Daniel Boon— a great pioneer and a great man. Con- gress Hall was finished in 1815, became the property of Mr Van Scoonhoven, who kept it until 1822, when the company was extended by taking in Samuel H. Drake, John E. Beekman, and John McDougall Lawrence. In 1855 Henry H. Hathorn and Harvey P. Hall purchased the property of Z. V. Kingsley, of West Point. Hathc»rn and 1 fall made great improvements in the hotel, but on the evening of the 29th of May, 1 866, the building took fire and burned to the ground. It was rebuilt in 1868 on a still grander scale, and is now one of the most beautiful hotels in America. Mr. H. H. Hathorn is still at its head." THE OLD UNITED STATES. " What has been your experience in Saratoga .'' " I asked of Mr. Marvin as my old statician ended. " For twenty-six years I owned the old United States Hotel," continued Mr. Marvin, " one of the best hotels Saratoga e\er had. The United States was commenced in 1823 by John hord and finished by Lewis Benedict. I bought it in 1825. It covered six acres of ground and rec}uircd an acre and a half of roof to cover the buildings. This magnificent hotel together with the Marvin House was burned to the ground June i8th, 1865. Since \ ^\- 23 /,N — • — — • — tii.it time the ruins have been seen by every one. THE RACE TRACK. •' Property has never seen a decline in Saratoga — even during the dark days of '}6 and 'sj, when everything seemed smashing up," continued Mr. Marvin. " Even the land we purchased for the race-track has advanced wonderfully in value. We could now sell that 125 acres and double our money. So you see the Saratoga Race Track Association will always be solvent. The land originally cost us about $100 per acre. It is worth $3CX) now. Our dividends have been usually expended in improve- ments. Once we divided a 10 per cent, dividend, afterward a 17 per cent, dividend. When I first showed old John Harper the track he exclaimed, ' That is the best track in the world ! and Joiin was right. We can stable in our own buildings 150 horses. Besides the big track we have a small one for training." CONGRE.SS SPRING. My statician followed wath his statistics : — '• Twenty-five years after Sir Wm. Johnson visited High Rock Spring, Ct'ngressnian John Taylor Oilman was one of a hunting party to visit the spring which be named " Congress Spring. " The spring trickled from a ledge of rocks which coursed from the Columbian Spring towards where is now Morrissey's gambling house. Gideon Putnam tubed it though it belonged to the Livingstone. They aitcrvvard sold it to John Clarke, an English- man, with the farm around it. Mr. Clarke built the Doric structure over Congress Spring and the Grecian dome over Columbian Spring. ^SE OF THE WATERS. '"The Hathorn water is a powerful cathartic — 33 1-3 per cent, stronger than Congress water. The Pavilion water is used for rheumatism, indigestion, kidney complaints, and is a cathartic. Congress water for dyspepsia, gout, and cutaneous diseases. The Plmpire water for bilious disorders, rheumatic, and scro- fulous affections. The Columbian water for strengthening the stomach, and for increasing the red particles in the blood. The Geyser is a powerful cathartic. now TO DRINK THE WATERS. '• The general visitor should, in the absence of specific advice, drink a cathartic water like Hathorn, Congress, or Pavilion before breakfast, say from two to five tumblers. At ten A. M. drink one tumbler of iron water — Columbian. At six drink one and a half tumblers from, the Washington Spring, in the Clarendon {grounds. 24 \i/ \\y ANALYSIS OF SPRINGS IN A NUTSHELL. " I make the following tabular analysis for the benefit of the thousands who desire it in a compact form. To make this table I have searched in old books, pamphlets and ncwsjmpcrs, and expended much labor. The figures in the table denote the number of grains of each chemical and the base line the solid contents in grains. The reader will now see the relative strength of the different springs. The Geyser is the strongest water, the solid contents being 991.546 grains. The Hathorn stands 888.406 and the Pavilion 687.275. TABLE. Chloride of Sodium Hydriodate of Soda Bi-carbonate of Soda Bi -carbonate of Magnesia. Carbonate of Lime , Carbonate of Iron Bi-carbonate of Lime Bi-carbonate of Iron Silex Cloride of Potassium Bromide of Sodium.. Iodide of Sodium Bi-carbonate of Lithia- ■ Bi-carbonate of Strunthia Bi-earbonate of Barjta. . Sulphate of Potassa. ..... Alumina... -. Per gal. solid contents — grams, grains. 385. 3. 000! ,500 95.788 98.098 .075 1.500 509.968 42'.8i8 176.463 176.646 1.128 1.260 9.597 1..534! .198 11.447! L737I . . . .1 .1311 grains. 134.291 29".428 40.339 89.869 1.70S 2.561 1.335 .ti30 .031 .899 grains, grains, grains, i gram .557 .374 597.943' 888.4061 302.017 362.080: 71.232 149.3431 178.392 .979; .6(55; 24.634 2.212 .248; 7.U04' .42"}, 2.914' .318; 267.000 2.5(i0 15.4110 46.710 68.0(0 6.580 2.050 269.696 12.000 30.848 41.984 141.824 4-J0.9U3 3.764 76.267 120.109 2.570 3.155 7.6i;0 .987 .071 9.486 .875 2.032 .329 991.546 407.300; 496.3521 687.275 Besides these springs there are the Saratoga A, Eureka, Reed's, Hamilton, Putnam Iodine and Washington. REFLECTION. Thus ended my statician and I drew a long breath. Said I, no one will ever read what you have said. The world hates statistics. I wrote a book once — " The Franco-Prussian War " — it was a better book than I ever expect to write again ; but statistics killed it. Carleton says " people were frightened at my array of figures and fled from.it in dismay." The book ought to have sold 50,000 copies and made me a fortune, but, as it was. I only made a little money and some glory. Few people laugh at the multiplication table. Horace Greeley is the only man who positively enjoys statistics. So I dedicate all those figures to H. G. 25 ^1^ nI/ RACKS-FUN-PKRSONAL. Congress Hall, July i8. So the races are ended. -i ^^ ,„k;k. To-dav Kingfisher -allopped over the three-mde race while old John llarp?r confessed his weakness by lettnig Belmont run off with the $ 1,000 stakes. , 1 ^„ " .u^ The rich Belmont party now plume themselves on the Fisher -ves. more than that, they " tassel out, laugh, and banter the old Kentucky wizard in ways too amusmg to write about. HORSE T.VLK. Meetin- John Harper at the track to-day, I told him they were betting that his horse would never run the four-mile race '" Tell th?m all," said he, "that I shall snrdy run the ^'ace, if everything is right with the hoss, and the track is pretty. " Has Longfellow ever run a four-mile race ? " " No, but with what bottom he has. I think I can put enough more bottom into him to dust ' the Fisher ' in August." Belmont offered Harper $60,000 again for Longfellow yester- day if his owner would throw in the old mare. •'' The mar will never leave my farm till I do — and then dead ! " exclamed the Kentuckian. ^ Old John came up to me just as 1 was writing the last paragraph, when I asked him why he did not let Longfellow run yesterday. " Waal, " said the old man, " I want to keep him out and get him ready for the great four-mile race with ///d- /^"/.sV/rr, Helmbold. and the others in August." This reply is a confession of weakness on the part of old John ; and Kingfisher stock goes up accordingly. At the last race, 2i/( miles, Uncle John told Bob Swim, his jockey, " to run ' old Long ' as far out as he could, from lud to indr Longfellow came in tired, while Kingfisher looked fresh enough for an other mile. This is why " old John " feared the three- mile race yesteiday, and why he ought to fear tlfe four-mile race in August. Can old John put bottom enough in his horse to run with the i five year olds at that great race .'' I This is the question now. I Oysterman goes on winning every hurdle race. We arc I getting sick of his chronic winning. We want a new horse by way of variety. % ^ ' T^ \ /IN \\^ ^ i^ * JOKK l.f/. A party of Tam- manyites went down to I lathorn Spring i\\\s nioining to drink. ' How do ycHi likt the v\ater, Judge ? " asked bijT Judge Connolly ' Horrid ' said Bernard. ATi^eiable said Hank Smith " Onh fit for jacka'^^ses, gi.^uleJ a halt dv)zen others. " Ha\e some more, gentlemen ?" innocentl)' asked the dip[)ing boy. Bernard granted an injunction instantl)-, and the bo\-'s " occu- pation is now gone." Joke 2t/i " You look like the monarch of all you survey," said Fernando Wood to John G. Saxe as he stood leaning over the railing on the grand stand yesterday " No, I only have a lean on the property," said Saxe. Joke 3///. (still worse.) The Poet was sitting with his genial wife and a party of ladies in the parlors at Congress Hall, one day. " You seem to be quite a lion this morning, Mr. Saxe.' said Mrs. Lewis. " I think he's a bear" said Mrs. Saxe with a smile. " I know what's a — bruin now, ' rejoined the Poet. ^1^ 27 ^1^ _)/ ^ c THE ROUND LAKE CAMP-MEETING closed on Friday. During the meeting they had the three episodes of humanity— a birth, a marriage, and a death One hundred souls wandering at large were gathered mto the Me- thodist fold. There is certainly a strange power developed m these meetings. The meeting closed with these three exhortations from Klder Inskip : " Glory to the God of America ! " ^^ " Glory to the God of the Republic ! " " Glory to the God of the Stars and Stripes ! " FUNNY. We see funny things in Saratoga. Within the last week many inanimate objects have been seen in full motion. We have seen a Saratoga /top, a watch spring, a note run, a rope icalk, a horse fly (that\vas Longfellow), and Southgate says he saw the big elms leave last spring. John Cecil says they wanted to go and see the Pacific .i7<'/<:- and the Third Avenue Bank run. The Rev. George Knowlton says it is a common thing to hear a locust (low kuss) sing — down on Broad St. when stocks are up. Col. Hey wood carries a pair of door hinges constantly in his pocket. He says they are something to a door, like the ladies. \vHO IS HERE } (Personal.) I note the following habitues of Saratoga here to-day : Senator Robert.son, who .stood boldly for the Union in the dark days when his State w^ent over to Davis and secession ; Prof. Chandler, who has analysed many of the springs here; George W. McCullum of the 5th Avenue Hotel, who has just founded a college at Mount Vernon, his native town in New Hampshire, endowing it with $50,000 ; Mr. E. A. Hammond the Sth Avenue )niilionairc\ whose beautiful park equipage is the admiration of Saratoga, and Sidney W. Cooper, the young New York barri.ster. — fresh from the laurels of a college poem at Williams. Hon. William Wall of 5th Avenue, and Charles Wall of Park Avenue, are here, also General Stahl, who closed in with the cavalry at Gettysburg, and C. W. Durant, Peter Moller, Col. J. A. Bridgeland, the friend of Gov. Morton; F. S. Davis, President of a Bank and a Rail Road, The chesterfieldian Judge Moseley, N. H. Decker of 5th Avenue, the genial Judge John Fitch, and these kings of the turf: Hunter, Travers, Sanford, Morris, Cameron, Dennison, McDaniels, Waeatley, McGrath, and ik-lmont. Here too is Lord Willoughby with his silver beard and benevolent face, who has a beautiful residence on Broadway, /{^ Mrs. Hicks of 14th St., the stylish cqucstriiiinc of Ctntra! Park. Mrs. Shoemaker //r? Marvin, of Cincinnati; Mrs. W. S. Groesbeck, Mrs. John Shilito, Mr. Larz Anderson, son-in-law of old Nicholas Longuorth, the Daniel Boone of Cincinnati, J. C. Baldwin and Mi.ss Emily Baldwin of 5th Avenue, Reuben Springier and Henry Probasco, who own the beautiful Art Galleries of Cincinnati, which rank v.ith the galleries of Belmont ; Blodi;ett. Hoey, Stewart and Aspinwall; Thomas N. McCarter of Newark, and daui^hters. and Col. M. J. O'Brien, Superintendent of the Southern Express Co. Among the well known gentlemen here arc G. 1). Pitzipio with his charming wife. Col. Rush Hawkins, D. E. I'ettee and wife, S. Insher Johnson and \Vm. H. C"apman of the 5th Avenue Hotel ; C. C. Hastings and wife. Sanuiel G. Gourtney, ex-U. S. Dist. Attorney, and wife ; H. S. Clements, Jefferson Coddington. G^rge Willshire of Cincinnati, C. v. Do Forest, Mr. George Bissell of 5th Avenue, who gave $50,000 to Connell University, Mr. S. W. Coe and wife of VVest 42nd St., and Mr. and Mrs. General Shaler l" n'/ nI/ / \ "Five — ten — twenty — thirty," he counted, and then lie handed WiUiam a hundred dollars. Too happy to live, William started for Judge Stewart's. " Here, Master John," said he, with his eyes all aglow with joy, "here is the thousand dollars — now I want Rachel." " My God ! William, you don't tell me so !" exclaimed the Judge. "Why, I sold Rachel yesterday for $1,200, to go to Mobile." " When is she going .-'" asked William, nervously. " She's gone already — went yesterday. She'd be in Lynch- burg in three days, by the boat." Broken hearted and crushed in spirit, William hurried back to Judge McLean in Washington. The Judge heard his stoiy. Daniel Webster and John C. Calhoun were in the Judge's room, and they both took a deep interest. " Let's raise the money and send William after her," said the generous Webster. " He would be seized a dozen times as a fugitive," said the Judge, " and they'd sell him, too." " I'll send my private secretary," said Mr. Webster, and so he did. There was no telegraph then, nor cars, but the Secretary took the Potomac river boat, and with $1,200, partly contributed by William Jackson's friends in the Department, overtook Rachel, showed Mr. Calhoun's letter, endorsed by several Virginians, bought her and brought her back. Calhoun, Webster, and Judge McLean saw them married the next week. Their son, Robert Jackson, afterwards waited on Webster and Calhoun in their old age at the old Lidian Queen Hotel in Washington, now called the Metropolitan, where, in 1834. he met Mrs. Joseph C. Luther, a present Jiabituce of Congress Hall, on her wedding tour. Mrs. Luther took Robert to Swansea, Massachusetts, instructed him, and a few years afterwards he made an engagement at the Union Hotel. During the winter he catered for those eccentric bachelors in New York, Mr. T. H. Faile, Mr. Edward Penfold, or Mr. Robert McCrosky. Only the former survives. He caters for New Yorkers in the winter at 206 Waverley Place. Robert has perhaps the largest acquaintance of any one in Saratoga. Hjs knows old Presidents and scions of royalty, knows distinguished savants, poets, states- men, and historians. He lives in a beautiful vine-clad cottage on Washington street, in Saratoga, where the guests of Congress Hall frequently call upon his wife, who is one of the neatest housekeepers in Saratoga. — • ■^ / GENERAL SHERMAN TALKS. Congress Hall, July 20. General Sher- man, all sun-burnt and dusty, and fresh from the plains, got in unannounced on the late train to- night. As he came up to the Congress Hall office to re- gister, he did look like the homeliest man (except Ge- neral Spinner) in America. H i s straggling red beard radiated in a thousand direc- tions, his soiled duster was but- toned to his neck, and his old slouch- ed army-hat looked too seedy for anything. Marching straight to the office, carrying his own carpet-bag, he seized a pen and scrawled : — " Any room, sir ?" he asked of Southgate, who, with the rest in the office, didn't recognize the General of the United States army. " Got a fourth-story rear," said Southgate. " All right," said the /i^ 38 ^1^ — • — General smiling and dropping his bags — when Fred. Anderson, your humble, and several others who had recognized the General stepped up to shake hands. " What, General Sherman!" exclaimed the clerk. " Here — here, General, we've got a ground floor front— Vanderbilt's room ;" and Southgate hu.stled up a half dozen porters, who besieged the General with brush-brooms and negro politeness, till he reached his room. I knew the General in Memphis in war time, and as he started for his room, " All right, " said he ; " we'll have a talk in the morning." SHERMAN'S STORY. Once, while dining with the General at a little Italian woman's restaurant in Front street, in Memphis, in 1864, after General Veatch and General Chetlain — now our Consul at Brussels — had told several army stories, the General's chief of staff told the chicken story. Said he : " While at Bowling Green, the rebel women bothered us to death. It was always the same old complaint- — ' the soldiers have milked our cows, or stolen our chickens, or busted into the smoke-house.' Always the same story too all through Kentucky and Tennessee; at Chattanooga we were bored to death with these women." One morning a tall giant woman in a faded sun bonnet besieged the General s headquarters. " Well, my good lady, what can I do for you T inquired the Gene- ral as she hesitated at the tent entrance. " My Chickens " " Sh ! Madam," broke in the General — " I have made up my mind solemnly that the integrity of the Constitution and the unity of the Republic shall be maintained if it — takes every ehicken in Ten- -^ „. ties see ! " MY chickens! ^F 39 /|^ / July 2 1 St. This morning I met the General early, and strolled down to Conj,'ress Spring, and then around the Park. He was vivacious and*sparkling as Hathorn water, and walked and talked like a boy. As George Alfred Townsend said of Miles O'Rilcy, •• there's a splendid boyishness " always about Sherman. He is always ready with a pun, a .sarcastic repartee, or a strong thcjught a very David with the tongue and pen too. " bo you renicmbcr how I managed those Charleston rebels when they wanted to pray for Jeff. Davis in the churches r asked the General, as we strolled along. " No. How.?" I asked. " Why, I said, yes! pray away — he needs it ! — and d-n it if they didn't get mad and go right away and pray for Lincoln^ " Been killing a good many Injuns out We.st, General V I asked. " No ; the papers kill more Injuns than we do. Why, if we killed half as many Injuns as the Herald does, we'd be ' short' of Injuns f" PRESIDENTIAL. " Your friends were a little disappointed when you refused to have your name used Presidentially," I remarked. " No, not my friends. They want me to stay where I am. General of the army for life is better than President for four years. Grant regrets that he ever left the army now, and so do I. except that he has done a good work as President." " Do you think it policy to elect Grant again .''" " Of course I do. Why not .-• He knows the ropes now — he has become acquainted with the duties — acquainted with thou- sands of public men, and ten thousand good-for-nothing White House bummers who would do nothing but harass a new President for the first year. He has just got where he can te/t a good man at sight. Humbug men always get the best creden- tials ; every Congressman signs their recommendation at sight, and many of them deceive a new President. These party frauds are now pretty much played out, and Grant is enabled to deal squarely with true men. Experience and acquaintance is the 'stock in trade' of a good President." " Who will win in 72 T " There is no question in my mind," said the General, enthu- siastically. " I'll bet on Grant against the field — two to one." " Who will run against him .-•" — • — 40 ^(^ _ t _— — ■ • — " There won't any body na/ ; but, not being a politician. I can't guess for a moment who will be nominated." " Hancock ?" " Well, he may be tempted to run. Hancock, you know, dislikes Grant personally, and it would be an immense triumph for him to get where he could rank him. Grant never showed any dislike to Hancock. He went more than half-way to conciliate him a year ago ; but there is a clique in Washington, a social clique, which manipulates Hancock and keeps up the feud. W^omen have more to do with it than men." EMPEROR GRANT. " What do you think of the Ku-Klux bill t " " Good bill, sir ! It has already stopped a good many outrages. The fact that the President has power to send troops into any State to quell disturbances, in itself is enough to frighten the disturbers of the public peace." " But John Quincy Adams says the bill ' is an absolute surrender of the principle of free government — placing in the President's hands the power, through that and the ' Election bill,' to raise himself to the Empire.' " "All stuff! How ridiculous to talk about a 'man raising himself to the Empire ' in this country ! Such a man, after declaring for the Empire, might hold a regiment of soldiers in the White House yard for just one day, and then the people would put him in the Potomac River. -:t;^^_^ 1--^ "A set of Imperialists the White House yard. The silly French had sense enough to shut up Napoleon at Strasbourg and duck him in the sea at Boulogne for just such nonsense." " But in '52 he did ride to the top, after all." " Yes, but France was not composed of States — sovereign States, as far as each. State controlling its own troops — and every Governor, Democratic and Republican, watehiiig jealously his own State militia." " We arc not France. Let some crazy President declare himself Emperor, and intrench himself in the White House yard with the whole re-ular army— about 18,000 fightmg men— around him and how long would it take Governors Hoffman, Jewett, Randolph. Geary, and Claflin. and the rest, to surround and capture the whole concern ? Why ! your loyal governors backed by >'our grand old Goddess of Liberty on the dome of — • — \ the capitol. and forty millions of people behind her. w ould push an army of Imperial- ists out of sight of the White House in forty minutes." " No. sir." said the General indig- nantly ; " when a President declares Itnperialism, every Governor will have to be in the mess too, and when that shall be the case, the country will be too rotten to be worth preserving." "Adams calls the Ku-Klux bill Grant's negro poli- cy," I remarked. " All humbug again ! It is simply a law making it possible to arrest and disperse un- lawful gangs of rascals, black or white, in any of the Southern States— to imprison them, and try and punish them. Grant don't have any negro, nor German, nor Irish policy. His policy is to protect all citizens ; remain at peace, economize and try and pay the debt. All this stuff and talk about Impe- rialism in America is a libel on the good sense of the people, and Adams ought to have too much good sense to talk such foolishness." We now brought up at Congress Hall, and the General went in to an early breakfast. He was surrounded by a charming family of children, and looked the picture of a good, quiet, honest, sensible citizen, as he is. Always radical, but pretty sure to be right, the General is a hater of humbugs — a hater of im- possible theories — a hater of long, empty talkers. He puts more sense into one sentence than .some men will get into ten. He spent most of the forenoon talking with Mr. Larz Anderson, brother of Major Anderson, of Cincinnati. General Sherman left at three P. M. to-da)- for Lake George and the White Mountains. ^1^ 42 \1/ — * — / ARRIVAL OF THE OMNIBUSES. FUN BETWEEN THE HOUSES. Congress Hall, July 22. It is too amusing to witness the rivalry between Congress Hall and the Grand Union. Each hotel to the other is like " the rival editor across the way." When the big New York afternoon train comes in, you will always see the ruddy face of Mr. William Leland on the Grand Union steps in a state of terrible expec- tancy, while just across the street will be the Chesterfieldian Hathorn noting the exact number in the rival omnibus. " One — two — three — four," begins Hathorn, when Southgatc interrupts him by saying — " Pshaw ! only twenty-five in all — all men for the races too." On the other side all the clerks run to the front, while Warren and Bill Leland commence to count the Hathorn passengers. " Two — four — six— eight, twenty-eight, and /m// xi'omen, by gum ! " exclaims Bill, the drops of cold perspiration rolling down his cheeks. '1^ 43 /iv / \ " No, you're wrong, Bill," says Warren, "only twenty-six !" " I'll bet a million there is twenty-seven." " Why, Bill, you — you don't count those girls in short dresses, do you ?" expostulates Warren. ^ ; "You're right, War, by gum!" and then Bill took his first guest by the arm and led him behind a pillar, and commenced on the subject of Congress Hall. " See that mean-looking brick house over there .''" " Ye.s." " That's Congress Hall — a regular penitentiary of a house." " You don't say so !" exclaims the guest, opening his eyes. " Fact, sir, — ask Warren. Why, they starve people over there. For two weeks they hadn't a pound of flour in the house — the guests ate beefsteak three times a day. Then the steak gave out, and d — d if I THAT 18 CONGRESS HALL. belicve thcy had anything. It is an absolute fact, sir, that Hathorn made three crackers and eleven gallons of water supply twelve guests a week." " Musquitoes .•*" " Lord ! don't ask. Why, sit on that Hathorn balcony and you can't hear the brass band in the parlors, the musquitoes make such a buzzing." " Flies .'' " " Yes, by gum ! You can't see the sun from the back of the house, without punching a hole through the swarms of flies with your umbrella to look through. Ask Hall, or Slocum, the news- men, they know it." " But Commodore Vanderbilt stays th — " " Commodore thunder i Why, when he came last year he weighed just 486 pounds. He stayed there three weeks and became a living skeleton — weighing 87 pounds ! The poor ema- ciated man was seen by his wife eating crackers and hard boiled eggs behind the card-stand to keep from starving." " Where does /le board .'*" said the guest, pointing to Judge John Fitch. " Well, he's just come — he's lean now," said Bill. " Jiist you see him two weeks from now — a pair of hay scales won't weigli ^1 \ 44 /I^ him. General Burford was lean too when he came iicrc, and so was Judge Connolly. Look at the giants now — look at them !" YANKEE JEWS. The Hutchinson family of Jacobs, Isaacs, and Rebeccas — those Puritans with Jewish names, long hair, and Plymouth-Rock shirt collars turned over their coats — whitened the town u[) with handbills yesterday. Somebody asked Artemus Ward what nation he belonged to. " I think my ancestors came- from Jeru- salem," said the humorist, " for we had an Isaac and a Jacob in our family, but my uncle's name was Cyrus— so I think I've got some Persian blood in me." INDIGNATION. , Yesterday, " young man from the country" sauntered in and took a seat at the breakfast table. He sat fifteen minutes without speak- ing' — the waiter stand- ing deferentially be- hind him. " When is the table to be set.'" he asked. " What will you have .''" said the waiter, handing him a bill ol fare. TAKE THAT PAPER AWAY ! " Take that uapcr away — I want something to eat — I didn't come here to rea4," exclaimed the indignant countryman. DAINTY DISHES. Yesterday a wag asked for " baked potatoes with monograms on them." Dainty, delicate red raspberries, reed birds, woodcock, si~ SPRINKLED.— NEW SPRING.— JESSIE CRANE. Congress Hall, July 2}. Grown people have a good many white days in their lives to look back upon, — the first doll, first love, engagement, college triumphs, a peep at Naples, and a thousand and one great surprises ; but one of the zvhitest days of little Jessie Crane's life was last Thursday, at the Grand Union. Jessie Crane is a very little girl, not more than forty inches high, with Saragossan blonde hair, rosy cheeks, and eyes with long, drooping lashes, and she lives at No. 31 West Twenty-first street. On Thursday Miss Jessie held a reception — a grand drawing-room reception. Everybody cane, and a bevy of misses went into ecstacies over Jessie's beautiful wardrobe. Her dress was scarlet satin, trimmed with real lace, and her parasol, with a little .six inch handle, was trimmed to match. Her golden ringlets curled all around her head. Her jewelry was rich and costly, and so great was the curiosity to see her nice. things, that her mother made a display of them in the grand parlors. The tiny trunk was opened, and 47 "1^ - » — . ""^ \ there were beautiful fans, only two inches long ; handkerchiefs, four inches square ; three bonnets, about the size of your hand ; diamond rings, point lace jackets, camel's hair shawls, twenty inches square ; little envelopes, about an inch long ; visitmg cards, a half-inch square ; and even a little thimble about as larf^e as a pea. Jessie's trousscmi was imported from Pans. Among the guests present were Miss Ellen Kellogg, of Chicago ; Miss Bella Seligman, of Thirty-fourth street ; Miss Ida Leland, Miss Englehart, Miss Petus, of Madison Avenue, and many others. After the reception, Miss Mamie Crane locked her daughter up in a trunk, and the servant carried her away. Jessie was a — a — d-o-1-1 ! SPRINKLED ! Yes, for the first time, Lake Avenue is sprinkled, from the village to the lake. For unremembered years point laces have been turned yellow by the debris of this highway, and camel's hair shawls and rich pongee dresses have been frosted with the sacred soil of Saratoga. But now pure air takes the place of the wonted simoon, and a Central Park phaeton is a delightful luxury. NEW INDIAN SPRING. Another new spring ! When they shoved the Indians away from their old camping ground above the Park, they (Mr. Jessie Button, of Ballston) commenced boring for water. Mr. Button is the man who found the Geyser spring. After boring two hundred feet Mr. Button struck the mineral water strata, and FIZZ ! went a stream of carbonic acid gas forty feet into the air ! The spring has been " doing so some more " to-day. Tubing will soon be put down when it is expected that this spring will spurt like the Geyser. The water tastes like Congress spring — only not so much so. The spring is a mystery. The laborers are as mysterious as a masonic lodge about its depth, amount of rock excavated, &c. They go around with their fingers to their lips, and sh=— ~! is the only ominous answer given to the thousand and one questions asked. My Statician says they bored 95 feet, excavated no rock, and that the spring will not run after the excess of gas is exhausted. He was right — for it has stopped sprouting already. WALKING STICKS. Dr. Fred. Anderson sa\'s " walking stick.sat Saratoga — articles of u.sc and ornament to the view are abominations in the hands oftheman\-. Every male at tliis .summer resort con- siders it the correct thing to " wear " a stick, and, moreover, that it is essential to keep it in constant agitation ; when the tyro is not tripping himself with his awkward little cane, after the fashion of a green adjutant on trainin' day, he is ha- zarding the vision of his neighbors, or punching tlie short ribs of the nervous classes. This fashion should be regulated by an Act of Congres.s. Jt calls for legis- lation loudly. It should be the privilege of the halt, blind, and infirm to carry canes, and of dexterous .swells to wear sticks only. I'Axry afternoon, while the band })erforms, those who are not hammering in consonance with the leader's baton, are twirling their sticks like Fourth of July pin- wheels, and attempting to appear compo.scd. The danger of these weapons is understood at art galleries alone, and ignored totally at Saratoga." J/ A ^|~ 49 /fN '>€^i ^v v,^^-,,., ^V Congress PIall, July 25th. ^' \v.. ,^Sm^ ■' The drives about Saratoga are j^" getting nicer and nicer every "^^^^ r-^ year, and Lake Avenue, running as straight as an arrow from the village to the lake, will one day ^ .w.^^^y rival the famous Untcr den "^-^'^j Linden of Berlin. We have not ■J-^ the Brandenburg Gate, nor the "^lif^If^ v statue of Frederick the Great, ^E'-^' 'i^ ^ on the way, but we have four beautiful rows of trees most of the way, and when sprinkled the ^'~' drive down by the old Saratoga battlefield is unsurpassed. The distances to the different points of interest here are as follows : Miles. Snrntopa 1-ake 4 (JridlevV Trout Ponds 2 Prospect Hill 5 (Tien Mitchell and Loughberry Lake / 4 Ballston t=i)a 7 AVhite Sulphur Spring and Red Spring 4 Geyser iipring 2 EQUIPAGES. My Statistical friend has been riding with almost every body here, and he hands me the following list of turnouts : John Appleton, publisher, pair of long-tailed bays to a clarence. Mr. I. N. Phelps, Dodge & Co., New York ; dapple grays ; stylish ; bow-necks. Mr. E. A. Hammond, the millionaire batchelor of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, pair of large bays to a dogcart, takes out Mr. J. Coddington and M. G. M. Groves. -^r 50 ^1^ \l/ — — • ■ -— .1. II ■ .- Ill - ■■■ I -I I __ — - / Mr. James H. Peabody, of Philadelphia, bays to a landau. Mr. Joseph Harker, Commodore Vandcrbilt's friend, pair of trotters. Mr. P. Van Valkenburg, handsome span of bays. Sheriff O'Brien, sorrel horses to a do<^cart. Hon. William Wall, of Fifth Avenue, pair of gray.s. Mr. Charles Wall, of Park Avenue, grays to a barouche. Mr. Frank H. Lord, stylish P2nglish drag with span of bays. Also tandem team. R. H. Southgate, sorrel trotters, time 2:],'/. C. F. Southgate, handsome blacks. Mr. S. W. Coe, of East Forty-second street (H. B. Claflan & Co.), poney phaeton, and clarence seen almost every afternoon riding to the lake with a load of beautiful children. George H. Bissell, of 5th Avenue, stylish Vermont ba)s to open box-drag. Mrs. Tenney his sister, and his daughter, Miss Florence, and handsome little son Pelham, generally ride with him. Judge B. H. Bixby, spike tail road team — time, 2:37^. Colonel R. C. Hawkins, bays to a park phaeton. Mr. W. S. Wyse (time, 2:40), Mr. J. F. Purdy (time, 2:38), Mr. J. R. Whaley (time, 2:37;^), and Mr. A. L. Webb (time, 2:41), fast road horses to light wagons. Mr. J. P. Wallace, handsome span to park phaeton. Mr. J, L. Young, gray trotters — time 2:41. Wm. Turnbull, sorrei colts, raised by himself Robert Squires, President of the Third Avenue Railroad, blacks to a landau. His son, Chalmers, bay trotter to a light wagon — time, 2:39. Major Gibbs, English drag with side seats— horses chestnuts. D. C. Wilcox, bays to a park pheaton. Captain J. B. Thomas, bays to a " C " spring landau. E. H. Miller, brown horses to a park phaeton. B. F. Carver, banker, large bays to a " C " spring landau. George Dennison, bay horses to a park phaeton. Colonel J. A. Bridgeland, of Indiana, span of Cadmas bays, drives out in his Brewster phaeton. Senator Robertson, Colonel A. Boody, President of the Wabash Railroad ; Fernando Wood, and Mr. V. S. Davis, President of the First National Bank of Memphis. Hon. A. Boody, of 5th Avenue, the great Railroad projector, bays to a landau. Ex-Mayor George Opdyke, bays to a clarence. Mr. T. Brooks, of Brooklyn, dapple grays to a landau. — • — / Robert L. Stewart, the New \'ork sui^ar refiner, bays to a four-seated German-town. Mrs. W. H. Hicks, of East iHuirteenth, rides on horseback morning and evenin- 26. Yesterday I went out to Moon's little storey-and-a-half modern hotel on the lake with General Babcock and Colonel H After looking at the tame trout, rolling a game of ten-pins, and tasting some of that delicious champagne, impregnated with the flavor of orange peel, made by President F. S. Davis, of Mem- phis, the dapper little proprietor, Mr. C. B. Moon, took us through the dining rooms, larders, and kitchens of the establishment. " Twenty-one years ago," said Mr. Moon, " I came up from Hartford, Washing- ton Count}-, with $26, and a pair pf boots over my shoulders. I fell out with hard work (wi the farm, and built a little shanty here on tiic hike. Saratoga was then a village of about five hundred inhabitants." " What was land worth then .-'" " I could bu\' the best land around the \-ilIagc for $30 per acre, and right there.-, ' said he, pointing to the bank of the lake a few rods ort, " 1 ha\c just .sold an acre for $1,000 to l'"rank Leslie, who is to t)ui!d an Italian 7'i//(r. 1 own land for a half mile now from the lake back to the swamp." " How has the race track affected propert}' .^ " " It has damaged it. Dozens of carriages, wi/// sf^oltai doi:s under them, used \.o drive uj) to my place, while the\- now go to 5 J \i/ ^k some more quiet resort. They won't bring their famiHes here; where there is such a smell of horses. Then the war made great changes." RICH SAM DUNCAN. " Do you see this room .'" said Mr. Moon, opening a door into a rear room witii a veranda in front of it. " This was the old Duncan dining-room. I naqned it after Sam Duncan, who had that big plantation at Skipwith Landind, on the Mississippi. Thousands of dollars Sam has spent here. Blooded fellows, those Duncans ! Jkit they ain't what they used to be. Why, last summer a shabbily-dressed man came into the bar-room and took a drink alone. 1 thought I knew him, and said I : " ' Hellow, Sam, is that you .''' " ' 1 didn't think you would know me,' said Sam. •• ' I should think I'd be a darned fool to forget a man who has spent as many thousand dollars with me as you have,' said 1." rOOR SAM DUNCAN. " ' Don't mention it,' said Sam, — ' don't!' and then my old friend Duncan turned away and looked sadly out of the window. I slipped up to him, and said I, ' Sam, won't you dine to-day in Duncan Hall ^ " ' No — no, Moon' stammered Sam, as he brushed a tear from his eye, ' I'm too poor now — I've lost everything. I'm stopping at a quiet boarding-house in Ballston, but I thought I must come and see the place where we had such good times before the war.' " Lord! " said Moon, " how mean he made me feel ! — and then I took Sam Duncan's hand and pulled him into the old Duncan dining-room, and I ordered the best dinner the boys could get up. We had woodcock, trout, and champagne and Santa Cruz rum out of the OLD " FRANK WADDELL " BOTTLE. " What is the ' Frank Waddell bottle ?' " 1 asked. " Here," said Moon, stepping to the bar. " this is the old bottle — 113 years old," and he held up an old chunk of a green bottle, on which was the inscription — " Frank Waddell was a gentleman dyed in the wool," continued Moon, "and his bottle has been filled more than ten thousand times with the best rum in America. -Once Sir Charles -1^ T4 >i^ 7*- Gray sent me a cask of rum from Santa Cruz, and I had a mau go to New York and ride straddle of the bun^-holc all the way to Saratoga, and I rode in myself, astride like a jockey, from the depot to the lake." Here a quiet-looking old gentleman came in and asked for the Frank Waddell bottle. " Who is that T I asked. "That's Stuart, one of the big Stuarts, sugar refiners, of New York. Stuart knew Sam. Duncan and Frank Waddell. for he's been here for twenty years — he's ?i poor man — only worth $i7,(X)0,ooo !" said Moon, with a twinkle of the eye. " He likes to come out here now, at six o'clock in the morning, for his pig pork and brook trout." Stuart now took a "smile" with young Erastus Corning, of Albany, who kept a 2:46 span of bays wait- ing at the door. " Who has given the biggest dinner here in twenty years V I asked. " Let's see," said Moon, scratching his head ; " well, Watts Sherman, of Duncan. Sherman & Co., gave the biggest dinner a few years ago. Thirty-six in the party — and the dinner cost $3,000. Madame Rush was one of the party. My wife was in her prime then, and. Lord ! you ought to have seen that din- ner — canvas-backs, hot-house grapes, Johan- nisberger, Roman punch, !" and Moon held up both hands, like a great V, while his eyes hung out in a state of wondering bewilderment. Now wc enter the larder, where were layers of brook trout, reed-birds, woodcock, partridges and black bass. " This partridge looks like an old fellow — he's five \-ears old," said Colonel Bridgeland, holding up an antique par- tridge which one of Moon's hunters was dressing ; " what will you do with him ?" " Oh, some of those shodd)- city fellows will come along to-day, and they can't tell OLD HENS FOR SWELLS. tlils oJd lictt from z. chickcH. I know too much to give this old bird to one of your thoroui;h- 55 — • ^ /|' xl/ bred boys." rcplKxl Moon, witli ii merry twinkle. jM )! ATOKs (rill', SIX RKT). "Mow do you cook the potatoes .^" I ;i>ked, as we looked tliroui^h the kitchen. " \Ve i-" ,1'. /^|\ 60 \1/ — — • — / The Honorable Senator's room is in the '• 1. ' of Congress Hall and just across the corner was the room occupu-ii by two wiity New York married ladies, who could see tin smator's h.ind William dealt gof)d hands, and both comnunccil bcttiu" with a good deal of vim. " One- two hundred bi-Uei ! " said St:nator Robinson William was just about to call him, uhen "' Three queens ' " shouted one of the ladies Tiie lion Willi;uii -;avcd his $200. but the blinds have never bee)t of!/ ''I'm thinking what a dam scoundrel that Judas was," ex- claimed " Old Hank " rclii^iously "Old Hank," Chancey Root, and Cheen Bel lous were the four " cracked " hunters and fishers of Central New York. Nobod\' thought of questioning their success or of doubting their prowess. One day " Old Hank " was amusing a group of villagens on the grocery steps with Munchausen stories of hunting, &c., when Dr. Purdy, a light, frail jihysician who had never been known to hunt in his life, came along. After listening for a moment, he startled everybody by saying, " Uncle Hank, I'll bet you twenty-five dollars that I can kill more game in a day than you can." " More game than I can ! " exclaimed Uncle Hank in amaze- ment. "Yes, more thanjw/ can," repeated the Doctor. " It's a bet," replied Old Hank— " next Tue.sday is the day we'll count the game as they do in the shooting matches, lOO for a fox, 50 for a coon, 25 for a woodchuck, 10 for a squirrel, 5 for a pigeon, 2 for a chipmunk and i for a bird, " and then he hurried back into the grocery for fear the Doctor would back out. Tuesday came, Everybody had heard of the great match and the town was tremendously excited. Uncle Hank knew George Andross and the Leeville fellows were to run a fox that day, so he took his dogs and went off slily to strike his trail on the hill. The Doctor loaded himself down with pigeon shot and went out shooting everything he could see from a ground bird up to a squirrel. Chancey Root said he shot even large sized crickets and grasshoppers. At any rate he rushed about like a walking arsenal firing minute guns all day. Night came. Uncle Hank missed his fox and disappointed, but confident, came in with two woodchucks and about a dozen gray squirrels, counting in all 1 10. The Doctor came in with two bags full of chipmunks, ground birds, meadow larks and red squirrels, counting 232 ! That killed Uncle Henry. He never appeared happy after that. He stopped talking about hunting, attended to his farm and became one of the most circumspect citizens of the town, but he always kept out of the Doctor's way. When he died there was mourning in the village. His place has never been filled. No more such grand old stalks can gro'w from the same hill, for Nature exhausted the soil. Had Uncle Henry been schooled like Edward Everett or Spooner, his stories would have been like the " Tale of the Tub," " Gulliver's Travels, " and his adventures would not have afforded food for this letter. — • — ,^h;0'^0^\;.:.Jp Congress Hall, July 3L I (/id not believe the story that snakes liave been frequently found in the different springs here, though I thought it might sometimes be the case. To-day, as an honest journalist, I must tell you when I changed and what caused me to change my opinion. Yesterday, to test this long-mooted question, Professor Chandler applied electricity from a powerful battery on Congress spring. The powerful charge ran down the tubing and was drawn off by the excess of bi-carbonate of iron in the water, causing the liquid to boil and seethe like a cauldron. The shock was so powerful that it shook the ground to such a degree that Colonel Johnson run out of his office to a.scertain the cause. Notwithstanding I'rof. Chandler's extra electro-magnetic charge, but two voy small striped snakes were thrown to the surface, and they glided awa)- in great fright into the grass near the lovers lOdlk. Mr. Marvin, who. with Judge Hilton and A. T. Stewart, saw the snakes, says they were of a species — noctua-zylina or Ameri- can copperhead, not common to Saratoga, but frequently fbund on Manhattan Island. Fernando Wootl recognized the species at once. This evenmg the Professor applied Professor John Foster's electro-magnetic apparatus from Union College, and revelations too horrible to publish were disclosed on the surface of the spring. Bushels of (/ehris were thrown to the top, and the poor Indians, who have had a very quiet time of it lately, vv'ere engaged all night carrying away the refuse from which Congress '^ 68 ^(^ — • — water has been manufactured since 1805. I see their ha"-<'ard forms now moving back and forth through the moonlight be- tween their encampment and the spring. I write these facts seriously and honestly, but, like the author of the " Battle of Dorking," I shuddered at my own narration. At the first charge of the battery, bushels of oxydized egg- shells, among other light things, came to the surface — some were empty, some with the yolks petrified, and others containing petriiied chickens. Meerschaum pipes, faded to a pure white, saturated caddys of plug tobacco, old Indian blankets, undissolved Schweitzer kase, and bones of known and unknown animals, were now thrown to the top. Old salt sacks, marked " Dennis McCarty, Syracuse;" old white hats , marked "II. Greeley;" calves' feet and glue in undissolved packages, marked " P. Cooper ; " and old bundles of Brick Pomeroy's Democrat, bubbled to the top. DREADFUL DEVELOPMENTS. Everybody was startled. " Turn the crank again } " said Professor Chandler to Senator Robertson, who, with Professor Agassiz, had charge of the battery. The crank turned. Lightning streaked from the turning wheel, and flashed luridly around the tubing. Losing their specific gravity, and floating on the surface were old hammers, horseshoes, tin pans, kerosene lamps, coal scuttles, basins of soaj) grease, brass kettles, case knives, German-silver spoons, lizards' teeth, fish hooks, photograph materials, gimlets, and i)etrified human skeletons, which sailed on the water like Banquo's ghost. All day these dreadful revelations have been develoi)ing themselves. Night has put an end to the Professor's labors, and the town reposes only to resort to the spring again at daylight. Colonel Johnson has fled, a voluntary exile, to Moon Lake ; the Chesterfieldian Hathorn kicks his faithful dog Brave, looks mournfully into his »ew Hathorn spring, and trembles at the revelations which may ruin him in the morning. William Leland is a raving maniac, and Warren's giant intellect " totters to its fall," as he sings and whistles a listless air, unmindful of the coaches loaded with new guests for Congress Hall. Charles Leland and the giddy guests of the Clarendon have gone into mourning, closed the blinds of the aristocratic boarding-house on the hill, and the balcony where the young gentlemen were wont to hold the hands of sweethearts, and whisper in gentle ears the lover's siren tale of love and hope, is a deserted waste. A funeral pall has fallen over this once happy village. Beautiful is the sublinre resignation of the peo[)le. " I knew it must come ! " ?aid the heroic Marvin, the hot-scald- in- tears rolling down his manly cheek : " I knew this devilish modern science would find us out some time ; " and then he went and sat down among the crumbling butments of the old United States — a ruined iiuxu ! The poor villagers seem grief stricken at the hor- rible revelation. ' Young men and maidens stand sobbing upon the corners of the deserted streets, \Nhile old gray-headed fathers sit buried in silent grief No word of hope can break the solemn still- ness of despair. — • — NO WORD OF HOPE. J. iMorrissey walks like a deserted sentinel up and down by his once happy club-house, with its festive board deserted, and its laughter and its songs turned to grief His eagle eye is dimmed with tears, and turns not upon his once happy guest.s, but down upon the floors of deserted halls. We know not what another day may bring forth. I will hasten to telegraph the result to the Commercial in the morning. Other newspapers are evidently bribed, and Captain Ritchie as yet makes no allusion to the astounding facts in the Daily Saratogian. The rest to-morrow. 70 ^1^ \\ / >l/ / \ TRUTH CRUSHED TO EARTH ! OUR C0RRE3P0NDENT EXPELLED. Congress Hall, Aug. ist (morning). Morning dawns. I look from my window and see a deserted village, with now and then a wandering haggard resident. The women and children are gone, but a set of desperate men are left. They have seized the battery. Professor Chandler is miss- ing. The Indians have cleared away the last vestige of yester- day's developments and Congress spring is placid, but deserted. What mean these groups of determined men .'' Why do they come under my window and then go away shaking their fists ? I do not like this place. I think I shall go away — go over to Ballston. Ballston is a healthy place — healthier for me than Saratoga. No one urges me to stay here. Evening, Ballston Spa. I left Saratoga this afternoon. My exposure of the snakes in Congress spring caused even more dreadful results than I, in imagination, pictured. The Coimnercial was published in New York at two P. M. I was flooded with telegrams from the City. My friend S. W. Coe, telegraphed : " They have the same snakes at Richfield and Sharon. — but they are in their boots. Leave the place." So I left. After the guests of all the hotels had fled, some of the oldest inhabitants met and drafted resolutions invating me to go mcay. I said : " Gentlemen, in this case of Congress water versus the snakes, I aiti retained by the snakes^ One venerable gray-headed resident said I had destroyeel the confidence of a confiding village — that I had destro)-e(.l com- merce — the foundation stone onto which the village's greatness had rested for a hundred years. "Go!" he said, "before you make this once happy village a howling wilderness." I said " Let her howl ; but truth — everlasting truth — " \ / ^i^ 71 "^ INVITED TO GO ! And then a great crowd interrupted me, everybody pressing his warm invitation upon me to leave — to go awa}' to " '^Innp " They even packed my trunks and assisted me to depart I went. slope. I am here in Ballston— Ballston with its mammoth hotels its blacksmith's shop, and its immense printing office I am a wanderer and an outcast— from Saratoga. I am a victim of misplaced confidence— confidence in men. My exposure of the snakes in Congress spring did not result as I expected it would It struck hard, but it bounded back, and / had to leave the place The women believed the truth at first, but the men demoralized them. That night-that same-night, after the expulsion of Professor Chandler-A r Marvin and Colonel Johnson deposited in the Tr",^^ ""-{JT rf" ""} '^^^- ^ '^^ ^^^"^ ^« '^ f'-o"^ n^y window. At 12, Wm. Le and appeared at the spring. He raised a glass and drank like one athirst. 72 — • — / " By gum ! it's the same old tiling." he exclaimed, and then he drank sixteen tumblers full and fell fainting on the '^round Others followed — Mr. King and Mr. Clements. Then they all drank again. They tele,;raphed for Majt)r Selover, Henr>- D. Polhemus and Colonel IJoody. They came and drank. They .said the\- were not afraid now the snakes were gone. Far from rt. I miss Saratoga. I miss the morning Germans. 1 miss those pretty girls on Congress Hall balcony at night. 1 miss the genial face of Mr. Saxe, the handsome Judge Hilton, the vene- rable X'anderbilt. my woodcock with Colonel Bridgeland at Moon's. I miss Mr. Southgate's 2:41 -^^ hor.^^cs. I miss the in- structive sermons of Dr. Strong's, and the lovely /htse singing of Dr. Hamilton's. I miss the midnight festive whirl at the Claren- don, its aristocratic gray-headed matrons, and ceaseless talk of love and its flirtations on the balcony. I may return. I can return if I cliaiige my name and deny what I have said. This may be my last from Saratoga. Adieu ! — • — 71 ^1^ \ i— ' • ' THE EXILE'S RETURN. Congress Hall, Aug. 3. I arrived from Ballston this morning. Yesterday the Saratoga Common Council met, and resolved • that I should remain a fugitive until I changed my name and renounced my snake statement. I did not exactly like Ballston. It was too quiet. The Sf7us SoHci Hotel there is remarkable for not resembling Congress Hall, or the Sans Sand a.t Potsdam. I spent the entire day visiting the blacksmith and carpenter shops. They are mammoth structures. They have a spring there called the Washington. G. Witshington was named after it. George did'nt run often, but this spring runs all the time. The water resembles Saratoga water, though it is not so bad. Snakes are seldom seen in the springs there. If you go to Ballston to spend the summer, 1 should advi.se you to board in Saratoga. Ballston is too healthy. Chickens and tender young lambs never die there — though some of the young ladies do. One young lady sang in the parlor of the Sans Souci last night : " Tis sweet for one's country to dye ; " and the next morning she had auburn eye-lashes and golden hair ! An old resident said Saratoga was once located at Ballston, but that they had too nnicJi conscience to keep it there, so they removed the big spring here. Ballston received its, name j"rom the immense balls which they used to have at the City Hotel there. This village was named after the Daily Saratogian. They removed the .springs over from Ballston, so that the guests could be here to read the paper. The Saratoga Common Council, with Colonel Johnson and ■Mr. Marvin at the head, met me on the town-line this morning with a conditional pardon and a promise of official protection if I would sign it. I was sick of Ballston, and sighed to return to Saratoga, where the people lead a religious life and smoke good cigars. This is the article of capitulation which I signed : I hereby certify that my name is not Lan but Eli Perkins,— that I did not see the snakes which came out of Congress Spring, and that I was not acquainted with the man who did see them when they came out ! Eli Perkins ne Lan . /_ 74 ^N — • — S/ That certificate is a li — bcl, but I had to sign it or go without my woodcock and soft-shell crabs — so here I am at Congress Hall. I am happ}' to get back, The young men who smoke good cigars in the ofiice of Congress Hall whistled " Der Kaiser ist Da!" as I came uj) the steps. Friends gathered around, shedding tears of regret, and whispering words of condolence to Mr. Hathorn. 1 went directly to my room, and feeling in a .sad mood, I wrote this sermon : — ELI PERKINS' SERMON. DEAR DANCING SISTERS : There are two ways of " stunning" people by an exhibition of taste, and we see them both illustrated daily at Saratoga. The plebeian " stuns " with positive colors, yellow, black, blue, and green ; with powdered hair, and a very steeple of hair, a la Pom- padour, projecting from the ape.x of the head. They walk or hitch along with shoulders bent forward, the upper portion of the arm as dead and useless as if made of gutta percha. THE PLEBEIAN « STUN." whilc thc backs of their wrists become dangling right angles, swinging in the atr like P'ourth of July pin- wheels. They hav-e transformed their beautifully curved shoul- ders into humped backs, until deformed Richard III. takes the place of the proud Apollo. Why do not these dear, silly creatures hold their heads proudi}" erect, and throw back their beautiful shoulders, as if proud to carry the face of Diana, and not Avalk as if borne down,, like Atlas, with a ponderous globe .' Why do they not hold their hands and arms gracefully, as if posed by Canova, and not as if tied by a policeman .' Look at the shoul- ders of St. Catharine, in the Sistine Madonna, see how proudly .she stands .'' The fickle god- dess of fashion — of plebeian fashion — has never dared to enter the .sanctuary of the ar- PATRICIA1 "STUN." ^Ists who worship at the shrine of the beauti- ful and the true. 75 ^1^ — • — \ THE CONTRAST. There is another type of womanhood in Congress Hall — a patrician t\-pe which comes from cultivation and generations of good blood. She wears no bright colors. Her eyes delight^ in subtile symphonies — symphonies in music and color, too. She docs not wear j'ellow, and blue, and scarlet — but she mingles them together as the painter mingles his paints on his pakttc, and produces a warm symphony in brow n or drab— perhaps the l(i\'el)' pongee. If she wears blue, she puts white in it, making it look like the sky, or darkens it to the blue of the ocean. If she wears scarlet, she tones it down with blue till it becomes maroon.-" If she wears chrome yellow, she tones it down with white till it becomes straw color — always a .symphony. Her shoulders are proudly erect, like the Venus de Medici, and her arms rest in nature's attitude, like the arms of Thor- waldsen's Graces — palms to the front. Her hair is gracefully- dressed, high up on the head, to .show the beautiful curves of the neck ; and not stuffed or swelled into a clumsy globe, to hang like a dead weight down upon the back. In the end she " stuns " people in a civilized way — with grace, style and purit)- ; while the plebeian stuns with picturesque colors, deformed shoul- ders and flopping hands. There is a young lady at Congress Hall so graceful, so very stylish, and yet so plain in her attire, that when she walks across the room she is the centre of attraction. I venture to say that she knows more of art, of sculpture, and of the true beauty of form and style and color than all the plebeian girls in the house, AMONG GENTLEMEN wc see the same idea illustrated. Yesterday when the carriages came up I saw a gilded four-in-hand, with white reins and coach- men in yellow liveries. Everybody looked as they would look at a row of peacocks on dress-parade, for the turnout was a " stunner !" By-and-by up came an English drag, jet black, with one seventeen-hand horse. There was a harness for utility, with steel buckles, and the coachman was garbed in modest black. It was a " swell " turnout, but the owner has taste and he " stuns" with a rig of plain and simple elegance. THE NEWEST SENSATION in watering-place costumes (and I give you the first transatlan- tic wave) is the Elizabethan costume in Cretonne. Some call it the Dolly Varden. It consists of light or dark material covered with immense bouquets, variegated figures, and flowers. The ^'^ Tt >k ^l/_ : Nk material looks like Major De Boot's wall-paper. It is looped up over a dark skirt with black velvet bows and garlands of varie- gated wild-wood flowers (artificial). The hat is a Charles II. chapeau, made of fine leghorn, the brim lined with black vcl\-et, and cocked up on one side. It has a nobby and jaunt)- air, carrying you back to the time of Elizabeth and the seventeen days' tournaments at Kenilworth. THESE CRETONNE SUIT.S were first made by Worth for the Erhpress to wear to the Lung- champ races in June last year, before King William thundered down over the Bavarian border. Last August Mrs. i^elmont appeared with a suit at Newport and created a sensation. This summer I notice .several suits here among the leading fashionables. They have a place — a legitimate place at the races, where gentlemen wear veils and feathers, and scarlet neck- ties. t;ENTLEMEN'S TOTEET.s at Saratoga are about' thus : In th*e morning, straw hats or T\'- rolese with feather, white or checked suits with fancy cravats. The dinner dress or afternoon promenade dress of our jiwell fellows is light-drab trousers, double-breasted English frock coat (black), with necktie and gloves of light material and matching in color. Vest white. Evening Dress — Black dress coat, vest, and trowsers, white necktie and gloves, and crush hat. The crush hat comes very handy here, as the evening hops are more like an afternoon reception in the city. DRESSINC; AT S.\RATOGA. There is not so much dressing among the nicer people here this season as usual. Of course ladies have their regular full- dress toilets for the Friday evening dress-balls, but during the week, in the morning and evening and at--dinners, quiet, subdued colors predominate. Many of our best-dressed ladies lounge in London drab pongee suits during the forenoon and go into nur^- lirs grenadines and tarletans in the evening. Silk skirts, wilh French embroidered overskirts, always beautiful, are indulged in by those who have been abroad, and who have revelled among the beautiful things and cheap prices at the Paris Bon Marclic. \ \ y/ /" BENCHES IN CONGRESS SPRING PARK. One of the saddest discomforts to young lovers, newly-married people, and young gentlemen who desire to get certain young ladies '' o/i the string'' is the absence of benches in the park. There is only one bench where two people can sit and talk in the whole inclos'ure. This bench is in a conspicuous location on the hill, commanding all the approaches, to be sure, and so situated as to incur no very quick surprises on the part of the dog-in-the- manger pirates who spend their time watching hand-holding bcaiix\ or susceptible bachelors, always on the point of proposing. Every lover in Saratoga knozvs where the double bench is situa- ted. Vou will always see it occupied morning, noon, and night ; while hovering around, within accessible distance, will be a half dozen couples waiting for the next cJiance to sit there. Yesterday I visited the bench with my old "statician" — a crusty old bachelor, who unseen has watched this bench for twenty years. He has the name and address of every young lady and every lover who have held hands on this bench, the number of kisses stolen or given aiuay, and the names of the stealer and the stealec. He showed me his record book. Great Heavens ! What secrets were there. What a flutter it would cause in Congress Hall, I thought, to publish them. STATISTICS. " How many young ladies have allow- ed their hands to be held willingly f" I asked of the "statician." " 1152," he answered. " How many unwillingly .^" " None. — Yes, twenty by their husbands." " How many unmarried ladies have been kissed there V " 1 39 1 — all ivillingly } ' ' " How many married ladies have been kissed there willingly } " " 976 — mostly by young lovers." " How many wives have been kissed ivillingly by husbands t " BROWNS BOy. ^1^ 78 -— » — / " 482 — but they were other ladies' husbands." " Where do these kissers and kissecs mostly conic from '" " New York and the Clarendon. " " What gentlemen have occupied this bench the most for the last ten years ? " My statician now opened his book mysteriously, and I read the names : W. H. C , J. F , Mr. G ves, F. L d, O r, L stone, F Z ga, C S th, E. A.' H d, J. C on, P. G nat, F. J son, G. L aw, F. M an, J. S in, O. Ark urg and 2200 others. — What a record ! ! " How is the proper way to occupy this bench with a sweet- heart .'' " I asked. " Never tell ? " " N-e-v-e-r !." " Well, saunter along with a large daily newspaper, spread it over four laps, holding it with one hand, while your sweet-heart holds it with the other. This leaves to each a hand free under the paper. These hands will naturally seek each other, and there you can sit and defy detection from the most observing. Such cases I never watch. They defy detection." Now, for the good of humanity, for the benefit of .scolding husbands, loving brides, spooney lovers, and the great army of flirters at Saratoga, I plead for more benches in the park — more seats for two persons — more seats c/osc together. Then love will not have to struggle so hard for a manifestation — then Cupid will be invited to the shady park and wedding rings will make the chief commerce of Saratogra. Amen. — » — ^!^ 79 ^1^ y.i. yv~ SARATOGA AMUSEMENTS. CoNQRESS Hall, Aug. 4th. " And every house was an inn, where each guest was welcomed and feasted, " i.s the author of Evangeline s description of the hospitable Acadian village of Grand-Pre. The Saratogians say that Longfellow had just returned from a trip to Saratoga when he wrote this, and that he got his inspiration from the long lines of hotels which make up this American Wiesbaden. This text of Longfellow's was once given tor T. Buchanan Read by the members of the Cincinnati Artists' Sketch Club to illustrate, and then all the artists looked at the author of She- ridan's ride as much as to say " Now we've geven you a puzzler ! " What do you think the artist AND EVERY HorsE WAS AX INN . ' broua"ht in as an illustration t A sketch of Crestline with two trains arriving with every Jionse an inn and every body whanging a dreadful gong and shouting D-r-N-N-E-R ! DlN-NER ! ! Dinner 11 ! /IN 80 /f^ — • — £>: passcDit, let me tell another stun- about iIk- arti^t-poct which has never been seen in print,- and which that awful j^ossipcr, Don Piatt, never got- hold of. It shows the readiness of ihi most acute punster, who never yet lost an opportunit}- of sa\in a good thing, That dear, good man, James Murdoch, had read up Read's reputation as the author of " Drifting " and " Sheridan's Ride, until the dashing General invited the poet-artist to come and see him in New Orleans, Phil, was " running the town," then, and at the dinner \s hich he gave to Read, were the wit, and blood, and beauty o\ the Crescent City. Puns, irpartics, and sauc}- anecdotes held carnival. It was Wallack and Miss Jennings in the " Morning Call," each strugghng to sa}- the very best thing. It was after the third course, and the gallant Phil, had toasted the historian of "' the ride." " Now," says Read (holding up an empty bottle of sherr}-). " this is sherry done (handing it to the waiter), I propose to jili sherry done:'' (Phil. Sheridan). When Kirby Smith captured General Banks' trains of ammuni- tion and paper collars at Shrieveport, Albert Pike said the Rebels were like Pharaoh's daughter — '" t]ie\- found a XxWXq profit in the rushes on the Banks ! Pike's triangular pun was almost as good as some of Read's Once somebody in Cincinnati asked Read's, ad\ice about bu}ung Frankenstein's Niagara — a doubtful picture. " Yes " said Read, " I'd go by (go buy) it, if I were in \our place! " ONE MOkL JUKE and I'll get to my Saratoga amusement part :- Read was once dining at the Avriter's sister's, in Cincinnati. The handsome General Hooker was there, and Sherman and Colonel Loomis, fresh from the Nashville fight, with uniforms all begrimed with smoke from ninety -one successful cannons, and Mrs. General Lander, whose husband had gi\-cn up hLs life at Rich Mountain. Mrs. Lander had never heard the poet read " Sheri- dan's Ride." So the book was gotten, laid down by Read's plate, and the poet was importuned to read " the ride." " Do read it, Mr. Read — do favor Mrs. Lander," said ni}- sister, and General Sherman pushed the book into his hands. " I wish I d\d favor Mrs. Lander, ' said the poet with siiai'ihr in niodo, which came near killing General Sherman. \ AMUSEMENTS. In the different hotels here they have different amusements. At Dr. Strong's, the temperance water-cure boarding-house, they have blessings, prayers, and sermons, daily. Sometimes Dr. Cuyler narrates how the Israelites became carpet-baggers with Mo'scs down in PIgypt— then the Hutchinsons sing a psalm. At Dr. Ihunilt'on's— the Crescent — they keep a sort of High Church hotel. They sing more psalms and worse psalms there every day than tliey do on Sunday on a negro plantation in Louisiana. But they Iiave some good sermons, to make up. Last Saturday, Dr. Hamilton discoursed on " How to live a long life." He s.iys the way to do it is to drink Hathorn water and board at //is liotd. Dr. Wright examined heads during the evening, I have not heard the result. Dr. Leyburne, of Bal- timore, preaches a good deal, and sings bass beautifully. At the American Hotel they have sixteen Catholic priests who only eat meat four times a day at the hotel and once down at Moon's, They are great lovers of woodcock and spring chicken on the sly. After dinner you can count sixteen jolly red faces on the back balcony, all sm.oking clay pipes and telling amusing anecdotes. At the Grand Union the guests all arise at 8 A. M,, go down to Congress Spring and imbibe, then come back and look at A. T. Stewart, the handsome Judge Hilton, and Judge Barnard's hat ; then they all shake hands with William Leland. Then comes a promenade up to the Indian encampment, dinner, music on the balcony, a ride over to Moon's, and then they all ^o into the ball-room. At the Clarendon they all sit on the balcony, look prim, form cliques and cut every body. Sometimes they discuss pedigrees and incomes, then listen to the Clarendon band — the hand organ, or watch the shooting gallery and the revolving horses. ELI PERKINS PREACHES ON PRICES. A good deal is said and written about watering-place prices, but every one will admit, on sober reflection, that prices here are less than they are in New York. Take the question of carriages: — In New York you pay $5 for a two-horse barouche ride around the park. Here you get a very neat span of horses for an afternoon ride around the Lake for the same amount, and a horse and buggy for $3. The Sara- toga liveries are certainly very neat and comfortable affairs too. Your barber charges five cents more for a shave here, and vou _\ I ^h 82 ^\~ pay five cents more for a New York paper than at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. You ride to the Lake and back for 25c. in an omnibus, and over to the Gey.scr for 20c When we think that the barber has only six weeks to work in, after the ^^reat expense of coming from New York, and see the newsman's trouble and frequent losses on newspapers — these little extra char<;cs arc explained and justified. FEEING WAITERS. In regard to feeing waiters, I do not see much of it. I deem it entirely unnecessary to the procurement of a quick and satis- factory meal at Congress Hall ; and the payment of a douus to the colored boy is a mere matter of fancy on the part of the guest. Mark, I say it is simply a. fa/icy and not a svw qnd iiou. It may be, and I think it is a fancy, both gratifying to the waiter and to the guest to now and then gladden his eyes with a sub- stantial reward. " Gratitude is a lively sense of favors to come," says Dr. Holmes, and this is the feeling which makes us all work, love our neighbors, and pray the big prayers of our faith. The extravaganza of " Saratoga, " as played at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, and everybody here will have it that I am the identical Mr. Lewis — I say this extravaganza, with the feeing of waiters and all, was accepted, not because it was true, but be- cause it was cleverly told. A cleverly-told thing is as good as a true one. How many times we have called the Germans transcendentalists, when they are in reality the most matter-of-fact people in the world. Their religion is based on absolute reason. They will have no Juanhng in music, painting, or war. Then, too, we have listened to the clever stage Yankee and the blustering Southerner, with bowie knife and a bandit hat — both characters which do not exist at present. Again, we have noticed the common error of calling tiie women of extreme Southern climes more hot-headed and passionate than those of more Northern latitudes. This is a mistake, for I have seen five times as much passion among the ladies of St. Petersburg and Moscow as I have seen in the hot climates of Leghorn, Rome, Marseilles and Madrid. The North- men consume more oxygen, more oil, more fat, while the South- men live on cool fruits and vegetables. In the North the people drink brandy. Burgundy, whiskey, rum and gin — fearful en- genderers of passion, while in the South they imbibe light sour wines, clarets, the RJiein-heimers, or champagne, which in itself is the greatest passion-slayer among liquids. So when they talk of high prices here, they speak from force of habit and because \ \'/ beUcv thcni. luivc been so often and so cleverly told noViS ON TUB K.VOXES. HATS. As the guests came out from dinner to-day,thcre wasa good deal of mixing up of hats on the rack. *'* I've lost my new hat," said Juge B complaining to the hat- boy. " What kind of a hat was it ? '* asked the boy. " It was a white felt Dunlap." " Oh ! " exclaimed the boy, " this is too late in the day for Dunlaps. Dun laps were out an hour ago. We're now on the Amadons and Youmans. Have One ? Better take it, for we'll be down to the Knoxes in a few moments and then will come those mean Cincinnati and Chicago hats." The boy has been arrested. ELI IS LAN- Thc Ddi/y Sanitogiaii says to-day, — " It's OUT ! His alias is " Lan." His /'\vn and beloved at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Among charming young ladies are Miss Julia Groesbeck, daughter of Hon. W. S. Groesbeck, of Cincinnati ; Miss Julia Gould of Buffalo, Miss Celia Wall of Fifth avenue, Miss Brown of Providence, Miss P'reelinghuysen of New Jersey, the Misses Hilton, daughters of Judge Hilton ; Miss Morgan, daughter of Homer Morgan ; Miss Ada Burr, Miss Marvin, daughter of the Hon. James M. Marvin ; Miss May Tewkesberry of New York, and Aliss I'annic Hicks of Troy. That beautiful quartette of girls, beautiful with girlish naivety and beginning womanhood, are : Miss Florence Bissell, Mi.ss Carrie Baker, Miss Laura Williams, and Miss Irene Stewart. Among the beaux this year are Mr. James Brady, Mr. Edward S. Sanford, Mr. John Henry Keene, Mr. Oliver Arkenburg, Mr. Cunningham, son of Paymaster Cunningham of the navy ; Mr. I'Ved.Zeriga, Mr. Eugene Sanger, Charles Smith, Mr. Millan I'almer, Mr. Durant, Mr. Baker Mr. Andrews, Mr. Bailey, Mr. Vernon, Mr. Hatch (leader of the German), Mr. Baylis, Mr. Rockenbaugh, Mr. Bates of Riverdale, Mr. Parks, Mr. Thorn, Mr. Fanning, Mr. John Sniffin, Mr. Gimbernat, Mr. Burras, Dr. Verona, Mr James Prend-ergast of Jamestown, Mr. Frank Moran the great American traveller ; Mr. P'rank Lord, with his dashing tandem team; Mr. J. A. Hinckley, and Mr. Alfred Claggett. Eli Perkins ;// Lan . /w 88 ^1^ — — • — / xl/ THE OLD SEXTON. LOVE IN A GRAVEYARD. Aug. 6. To-day I left tlic wliirling Ger- man of Congress Mall -and walked dreamily out to the edge of Sara- toga — to the village graveyard, where rest the bones of a genera- tion of Saratogians gone. The graveyard is a beautiful spot, filled with winding walks and shad)' trees overhanging, now and then, an inviting seat. A few yards from the gate I met the cheerful face of Frederick Palmerston, the village Se.xton. As I approached him he sang and whistled like the grave-digger in Hamlet. "This is rather a serious place," 1 said, as the old Sexton looked up from his grave. " Serious ! wal not so very serious either," he repeated, leaning forward on his spade and knocking his pipe against the handle. "You are too early in the day for the fashionable fun." "What fashionable fun — out here among the graves, my good man — what do you mean .''" " I mean you are too early in the day to see the fashionable people who come out here. The fashionable hour is at five in the afternoon — then you will see the fun." " What fun .''" I asked, becoming interested. "Why, the flirting and the love scenes. You know there are no-double seats in the park, a-nd the hotel balconies are too con- spicuous, so the handsome city girls and fellows come out here to make love on my benches. I suppose a great many engage- ments take place here every year — more than at the big hotels." " What do vou do about it ?" \ _ 89 'M V.I ■ yt. i. . "Oil, nothin^^ only I have to look out and see that the young people don't occupy the seats too long while some old persons may be standing up. Tm the last man to disturb a loving couple. It goes against the grain, it does, for I was once young my.self, and I used to like the girls as well as anybody." "I did a thing yesterday, which fairly made my heart ache," continued the old Sc.xton, wiping his forehead with his handker- chief " What was it .'" I asked. "Well, " continued the old Sexton, as he put one foot up on his spade and leaned hi s elbow on the handle,"there came up as handsome a fellow and as purty a girl a s you ever see. She was dressed beau- tiful, and he was very at- tentive. I 'sp ect they came from the Claren- don." "What did they do r I asked, be- coming im- patient. " They walked arm-in-arm, both talking in a low tone ; then they went and sat on the bench under that tree, near the tomb with the clam shell. T saw them, but I let on that I didn't. He \ IF OOD DI'* N-OT WAXT US TO KLSS WHAT DID HE MAKE OUR LIPS FOR? 90 \»/ was very sweet on her, and I knew there was some love busines.s going on. By-and-by some old ladies came along and asked me if I couldn't give them a seat. I hated to disturb the loving couple, but I had to ; so I walked along up behind them and sort-a-grunted — " ' AJiem ! Ah-hcin ! ' Lord ! you ought to have seen him start and take his arm from around the pretty girl. Her cheek was close to his, and their lips were — well, I couldn't see them at all. And then how they blushed — crimson and scarlet ! " ' I beg pardo'n,' he stammered, but he needn't a-donc so, and she needn't a-blushed so either ; 'taint no more than twenty fashionable couples do here every day. It's all right, too. If God' didn't want us to love, and didn't want an honest, whole- souled fellow to kiss a girl, what did He make their lips for ? "I hate this darned new- fangled French nonsense that people musn't love till they become engaged or married. How in the world is a fcilovv to fall in hn^e till he has kissed his sweetheart } " And the old Sexton went on, at length, moralizing about the change in society since the time of our fore- fatheis — when true love showed itself, not in $35 bouquets — in heartless flirtations, and distant handkerchief wavings, but when the lover put a red rose ill the hair of his loved one, antl placed the crimson seal of honest love upon her rosy lips, murmuring, " My chosen, God willing, we will never part ! " ^1^ 91 /|\ ^___ >»/ "Why." said the old Sexton, as \vc strolled off among the tombstones, "these fashionable people rest squarely in each other's arms in their ne\v-f:^ngled dances— he holds his arm around her— her swelling bosom to his, and her hand in his ! In my time we would have been ashamed to do these things before ;i room full : but it makes no difference," said the old Sexton, mournfull)- ; " young people witJi hearts to love will get together sumehow or other, and it don't make any difference whether they come together in these Congress Hall round dances or here w/ ;;/)' beiie/tes in the graveyard ! " EPITAPHS. The tombstone epitaphs of the ancient Saratogians are too amusing to escape a history. •• Come with me," said the old Sexton, " and I'll show you some fun here among the tombstones. This," said he, pointing to a small stone on which was cut a picture, of a portable engine, '• this was erected by Mr. , whose son was killed by the explosion of his engine." The funny verse below reads : " My engine now lies cold and still, No water does her boiler fill ; Wood attbrds it flame no more, My days of usefulness are o'er." \Vc next came to a stone on the top of which was an immense clam or o)-.ster shell, with the clam or o}-ster "gone, as I thought, to designate the flight of the soul. " What does it mean .' " I asked. " Well, Ransom Cook," said the old Sexton, "was a good sea captain, and some say he is quite a philosopher. He says the clam matures, opens and is then eaten up by some larger fish, — and that would be the end of us all ; and he sticks to his faith to the end. He had this clam-shell cut in marble for his tomb- stone. Some people say this means that ' lie is happy as a clam ! ' but I don't know. He ought to be happy, for he's a good _ /^ ^^ 92 /f^ citizen, and cverybod)' in Sarato-^a loves liini. \'ou know- Ransom isn't dead yet." The next epitaph was erected to l.nima A., daiit^hter of Abram Cox. and wife of Theodore Schallehn, who married against her father's will. On her death, Abram Cox inscribed upon lier tombstone — " She died leaving five children, She married too young again.st lier father's will ; Single women, take warning ! " This epitaph caused a good deal of family difficult)', when one day her late husband, who thought the epitaph reflected upon him, took away the stone, and had inscribed upon it : " She died leaving 5 lovely children To mom'n her untimely loss." This one is very pretty and tells a tale of love and grJef : " We miss our smiling little one. But, God ! 'Thy will be done.' " The next was an old crumbling tombstone, perhaps a century old, and reads : " 70 years a maiden, 1 year a wife, 2 months a mother, And that took her life." Here comes a sturdy Puritan epitaph : " Here lies A. DEDKICK, A sinner saved by God '. " Here is the epitaph to two babies : " Here lie two babies, side by side : Of the small-pox both qMhem died. Their ages were suven and nine- Prepare to meet your God in time." What a sweet epitaph has old Cruger Walton i)laced upon the tombstone of his wife ! It is like Claudes description of his Alpine Home : •' There's not an hour Of day or dreaming nightj but T am with thee , There's not a wind but whisi)ev.s of tliynami!, And not a flower that sleeps beneath tlie moon. But in its hues or fragrance tells a tale Of thee—" _\ ^h 93 xl/ \ — • — — • — \ On an oki Dutch stone, under the name of Jacob Veder. is written : " Herf lifs my father Dan, Who hft three thildrtu to do the best they can." AHce Harvey puts up this quaint inscription to her sister : " Farewell, my dear father. The Lord bids me come ; Likewise my dear mother, 'Tig now I'm gone home. May her soul rest in peace — amen I " A lady friend, at Congress Hall, says this epitaph is in the graveyard, but I failed to find it : " Her&lies the wife of Robert Ricular, He walked the way of God perpendicular." This epitaph will be seen near the front entrance ; " Libbie grew tired and cried for rest — iSuch rest on earth is never known ; One night she sank on Jesus' breast, And passed away without a groan." In the old churchyard up by the railroad, somebody says, is this inscription : " We can't have everj' thing to please us. Little Johnny's gone to Jesus." Some wag from the Clarendon wrote in pencil underneath : <' You sometimes always cannot tell, Maybe Johnny's gone to H alifax." Here is the epitaph of a patriot, who died in Hooker's charge, at Fredericksburg : CAPTAIN LUTHER M. WHEELER. Co. C. 77th Regiment, N. Y. S. M. Balled storming Fredericksburg Heights. Ah ! many graves are tilled with men Who lived full three-score years and ten ; Yet were their deeds so few and small, In fact, they never lived at all. But Wheeler sprang to take the blows Aimed at his country by her foes- He fought and fell for truth ; let the thought our grief assuage — In noble deeds he lived an age. Then nobly died in youth. Aged 22 j-ears. 94 ^N / Mere is an epitaph put up by the wife of a hosier : "He left his hose, his Hannah, and his h)ve, To go and sing Hose — iinnah, in the rualms ahove." I saw many beautiful thoughts chiselled on the cold and crumbling marble "sermons on stones" they were indeed : " Gone home, Gone to sleep, May we lut- et in Heaven ! My liushand. We fade away suddenly like the [grass. If ye love me, ye would rejoice [because I go unto my Father." How sweet is this : "Little Nettie slumbers sweetly, In her lovely narrow bed. Pelting storm and howling tempest Cannot reach her little head." On one stone was written this injunction : " Go home, my friend, and wipe oti' your tears, Here I must lie till Christ appears." Here is one which, with a change of the word to children, father, mother, Charley, Sara, &c., appears a good many times in the graveyard : ' Children, Dearest Robert, thou hast left us, Susan, Johnnie, Here thy loss we deeply feel, But 'tis God that hath bereft us, He shall all our sorrows heal." Here is another very common one which can be utilized in the same way : " Carrie, Peace to thy'ne ashes. May, green be the sod above thee, John, Mell, Flowers shall wave above thy grave. To prove that we still love thee." A fearful shower now threatened from the south, and bidding adieu to my rough, but kind-hearted old Sexton, I returned to the festivities of Congress Hall. Eli Perkins. \ _ 95 1^ :^^. Till-: KFFECT Ol' THK SNAKE STORY:— A JOKE. Congress Hall, Aug. 7. The snake story has had a wonderful effect upon the local and national Press. To-day Cap- tain Ritchie comes out as follows in the Saratogiaii : POOR " LA— N" ! " It will be remoinbered that a day or two since the N. Y. Com- mercial Advertiser published a very singular letter from its Sara- toga correspondent, " Lan ," in which a shocking story was related about snakes and rubbish of all kinds being thrown to tha surface of Congress Spring by the action of electricity. It struck us at the time that this letter was queer, bBt we were disposed to make light of it and treat it as a mere joke — a sort of epistolary extravaganza. But it is a more serious matter than we supposed — not for the spring, but for poor " Lan ." The letter was simply the ebullition of a disordered imagination, crowded with vague and distorted images. The fact is— shall we write the word .^ — we must — the truth shall be told — ''Delirium Tremens ! " The story is out now. Everybody at the hotels knows all about it, and we may as well present the circumstances just as they arc. " It appears that Lan , John G. Saxe, John' T. Hoffman, Judge Bernard and Col. Johnson, together with our reporter (Captain R. .'), went out to Moon's one day last week, where they found Mayor Carroll, of Troy, and all together sat down to one of the most effulgent symposia, we presume, that ever trans- pired within the walls of that classic retreat. " Well, to make a long story short, " Lan ," whose fine organization was perhaps more susceptible than those of the stout bacchanals -who were with him, succumbed. " His fancy became heated, and that night his friends, on their return to the Congress, noticed a peculiar wild light in his eyes, CAFT. RITCHIE. /|^ 96 \i/ : NJ/ -• • ] ^ r and several times he was seen lo cast lurtivc and tearlul j^l.mces in the direction of the Congress sprin^^-. and to give a quici<, con vulsive start at intervals. " His reason was af that momo/t tottering ! " He soon retired to his room, and his foot-fall was heard til! after three o'clock. A.M. It was then he wrote that notable letter about the " Strange Developments at Congress Spring." in the morning his friends noticed him — saw something was wrong. " An immediate consultation was had, and the result was that Lan was asked to take a ride, was put into a close carriage, and with four friends accompanying, was hurried to Ballston and placed in a secure room in the upper part of the Sans-Souci Hotel, where he is at this moment, under the care of an excel- lent physician. Sheriff Noxon pays him every attention, and he is under the impression that he is in an hospital, having suffered a mysterious injury of some sort, which requires his utter isolation. " One of the saddest as well as most singular features of his c^ase, is^ his ivncontrollable desire to write letters to the New York Commercial Advertiser, in which he labors still under the most curious hallucinations The horrid phantasmagorical fancy about the Congress spring, and the snakes and things that came out of it. still clings in his mini', and he thinks, insane man. that he has been exiled." VALE ! This editorial, with my letters dated from Ballston, completely deceived the residents of Saratoga and vicinit}-. When I came down to breakfast this morning every one looked at me with astonishment. They thought I was in Ballston. Before me was the Ballston Journal. In it was my obituary thus :— " It seems that the Saratoga correspondent of the New York Commercial Advertiser is in trouble. Saturday morning, the Saratogian gave a lengthy description of his doings and failings, and it appears that the most exciting articles he has contributed this season — those about snakes in Congress spring, etc.. — were written under the influence of delirimn tremens. When this fact became known to his friends, they brought him to this village and placed him under the care of Sheriff Noxon. who has done everything in his power for the unfortunate victim of Saratoga drinks. We think the term " watering-place " mis- applied, for precious little water do the gentlemen at the Springs indulge in. This will undoubtedly be a good lesson for ' poor Lan .' " ^i^ 97 G /i^ ^•^ o Sarkasum is a dangerous thing, has gotten me in a terrible muss is always a dangerous thing to write ironically for the common newspaper reader. Only the highly educatea can appreciate a satire, or understand that while a writer is saying one thing he means to convey another and exactly an opposite idea. Irony and satire, I am satisfied (and Mr. Saxe said the same thing to me to-day), should be left for the Galaxy and Atlantic, magazines whose readers are cultivated enough to understand them. " Ginx's Baby;" the " Battle of Dorking," and " Dame Europa's School," are too much for the ordinary run of readers — too much for the superficially educated, who sometimes frequent watering-places, and who have descended from fathers and mothers who were matter-of-fact green-grocers, instead of from institutions of learning. ^ _ This incapacity of the masses to understand satire was appreciated by my old friend Artemus Ward, (whose biography I have written to be published by Carleton). Half of the people did is it a jokb ? 'r 98 ^1^ not understand him — he was too subtil for them. Even John Bright listened all one evening to his lecture in Egyptian Hall, while everybody was splitting with laughter, ivitJiout a smile. London PiincJi found him out first ; then the educated clubs got hold of him, and a furor went over England only equalled in the days of " Yellowplush." Dr. Holmes has experienced just this same difficulty. His " Autocrat at the Breakfast Table " was a mystery to the many. Juvenal and Swift only wrote their satires for the most cultivated. To illustrate. — The other day, when I wrote about " Snakes in Congress Spring," there were any quantity of " poky," hum-drum people who believed it. The next day I expatriated myself over to Ballston. TJiey believed every word of it. To-day when Capt. Ritchie, whom I knew as a gallant .soldier in the war, comes out with his funny editorial — zvhat do yon think ? Why, he had a snake story on me! and lots of fashionable people read his irony as a fact. One old lady said, as I got into the carriage with Mr. Coe and Mr. Tuft, to ride over to the Geyser : " Well, I should think he would go away after such an assault as that in the newspaper." Poor ignorant soul, she little thought that the article was written for another atmosphere from hers. — • — \ ^1^ 99 /i^ \l/ \1/ / V-. THAT HORRIBLE BUCK! vai» "^^Z^^^^^. ViV \ CoN(jRESs Hall, Aug. 8. I)On''i ! The native Saratogians here are a funny people. Their principal care and occupation is to keep people from doing any- tlii)ig. Stroll into Congres.s Spring Park, and " DON'T go on the grass ! " appears at every turn. Being of a sentimental turn, you pick a hanging twig for your sweetheart, when " DON'T pick the shrubs ! " stares you in the face, and you find you have, after all, broken the great Saratoga commandment — " don't!' The pet buck now comes fondly toward you. You hold out tempting- ly a piece of cracker for gentle gazelle to nibble. He nibbles — nabs it — and then goes straight for the stomach of a harmless clergyman. The good man leaves a wife and twelve small children ! " Doiit you see the notice ">. " shouts an angry policeman. " No — where .■' " " Here — ' Doii t feed or a/inoy the buck' as it makes him vicious ! ' Don't you see it ? " Great Heavens ! another commandment done for ! That buck is one of the dreadful things of Saratoga. For three days the park has been closed— (this is a fact)— to all visitors. The lovers' seat has been vacant, and all transient Saratoga has been penned up on hotel balconies or compelled to resort to the more cheerful location — the village graveyard. . ,/. lOO ^1^ liut to the buck again — that miserable, dreadful doj^-in-the- manger buck ! Yesterday a policeman stood all day with a wire stretched across the park entrance. He " gave a new command- ment unto us." The man in blue pointed ominously to the twenty-sixth doii I ! " Doiit go near the buck. He is s/ieddi/ig the velvet from his horns and is positively dangei'ous .'" As I write, the villagers are securing the buck. They have built a pen in the middle of the park — a big pen, a sort of board Castle of Chillon for him. Is he secure ? Will he break out ? I dread for the fate of this happy town if that buck ever gets loose. How he would come sailing up Broadway with liis antlers proudly erect, cleaning vehicles from the street, and the masses from the hotel balconies ! I cannot think of to-morrow without a shudder. " QnoHsqne tandem abutere patientid nostra, O Ihiek /" The young ladies — the dears of Congress Hall — object seriously to the exclusiveness of the stag party — in the park ! — • — \ V fi ^1" lOI /fN ^- • — / — • — REV. ELI PERKINS. Congress Hall, August 9. Tlic ladies at Congress Hall requested me to deliver one of my real old sound, hard- shell Baptist sermons, this afternoon. Hun- dreds gathered around to listen to my words of wisdom as they fell from the orchestra of the bath-room which I used as my pulpit. Some fashionable young ladies who were dressing for the morning German leaned out of their room-doors just to catch now and then a word. I took for my text the following three verses, to wit : LISTBNIN". TO ELI. " A lady refused to be introduced to a gentleman last evening at Congress Hall, anil no amount of urging could induce her to change her mind. ''• ' Wliat arc your reasons for not wanting an introduction ? ' urged a friend. '• ' Because he wears a paper collar and dyes his mustache,' replied the lady . ' and I ueVer knew a thorough gentleman to do either.' " 1 commenced my sermon thus : " My beloved sisters, the woman spoken of in my text, uttered a solemn truth. A dyed mustache is a foul thing — as foul as a cigar in the mouth of a Venus ; and a paper collar is an evasion of the laundry as culpable as the lady who chose colored crockery because it would not show dirt. " About dyeing gray hair black, my beloved sisters, I will also say a word. " Light hair makes the eyes look brilliant by contrast. So, by- and-by, when the eye becomes dimmed by age, God paints the hair white, and the dimness of the eye is unperceived. Look at a man or woman with dyed hair ! The eye is as dead as that of a sleeping ox. And still these silly people think they are deceiving somebody — think that they are making themselves look younger, when everybody with a particle of sense discounts their foolish attempt at deception. \ 102 ^1^ \l/ \l/ " Powdering the hair gives tlie eyes an vmnatural brilliancy, hence it is frequently resorted to in Court circles in Muropc. But, as a general thing, young gentlemen and old ! dont try to improve on Divinity. God knows best what to do, and when he silvers your hair with wliite, or paints your mustache with auburn, He has a purpose as grand as Himself. " SECONDLY, Cleanliness is next to Godliness. — Here is something I heard Mr. Seward .say once (you know the ex- 1 Vernier is the homeliest man, except General Sherman, in America) — well, old homely-handsome Secretary Seward said : ' The cleanest man is the most comely to look upon ; so bathe well, eat well, and love well, and, somehow or other, the homelie.st will be beau- tiful.' Now, it has struck me a thousand times that Mr. Seward, who looks always so neat and sweet, is really a handsome man ! The cleanest man is the best man — I mean morally and physically too ! TYPES. " How many young ladies — and now I beg their pardons for saying it — look beautiful at a distance, but when you come close to them they have a soiled look. The hair will look greasy. Now there is no more excuse for ])uttini; grease on your hair than there is for putting it on your hands. Vou people, I say, who grease your hair are just as barbarous as the Comanche Indian who greases his face ! " A gentleman will ne\ci fall in love with a soiled woman. She must be sweet. Have you never, in so-called polite society, met a young BE4CT1FUL CLEAN HAIR. ^i~ 103 ^1/ — • — l.uly wliosc face would be iiiiprovca by a yood square washintj ? Now, this is plain homely talk. European Court circles do more bathing, ten to one. than the bourgeoisie. Indeed, in Russia — in Moscow, where you see the sweetest blonde women in the world -they have four bath-houses, each as large as the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Once daily, every man and woman of patrician blood plunges all over, head and all. under pure sparkling, rejuvenating water. This makes the hair light colored— gives it a fleecy, airy api)earance — and gives to the homeliest something of the angelic. " ']"ilIRDL\'. When you get married, take a proud, weil-dressed " J say a proud, well-dressed man, because a well-dressed man generally does everything well. It takes a man of wit and pride to wear a well-fitting suit of clothes. Wellington said his dandy officers were his best officers. There was a da.sh of dandyism al)out all the great heroes of Greece and Rome. There were s-u'ells in those days as well as now. Alcibiade, the " curled son of Clinias," was the nobbyest boy in Greece. Aristotle, the great philosopher, was the " swellest" fellow on the 5th Avenue of Athens. Marcus Antonius was a dandy, so were Sir Hum- phrey Dav)' and Lord Palmerston. " Brummcl, D'Orsay, and Byron — what officers they would have made ! Too proud to run, their swords would have frightened a dozen plebeians, whose pride is in money and dusty tenant-houses. Sherman is as proud as Lucifer at heart ; so are Meade, and Handcock, and Sheridan. They would never run while there was a man left to see them fight. Such men are too proud to run. " Pride makes politeness, makes a man treat his wife well, dress her in rich pongee and camel's hair, and makes him hate paper collars and deception generally. Pride always has (in New York) a backbone, while vanity is a coward. A vain gambler will stand in front of the Hoffman House all day to show his fine clothes. If he had pride he would sneak away and hide himself The proud man who wears a nice coat himself, I say, will be sure to give his wife point lace and six-button gloves ; and, says Dr. Holme.s, if any one insults her his proud blood will be up, his amber kids will become gauntlets, and his white vest will take on all the splendors ol a glittering breast plate. " He will fight for you and love you too ! " " .hfien /" responded Dr. Tying, Dr. Corey and Dr. Swope. ^i'^^ ^4 >i^ FI.IRTINr, Flifil). a fine compliment ; hence, about fellow makes no\v-a-days to a }-oung lady is some sucli homily as this : — "Oh, I hear, Miss Brown, that you are an awful fiirt !" He simply means that Miss Brown has attractive wa}'s. The second meaning to the word flirt is freighted with some- thing more serious. It means that a young gentleman or )'oung lady will, knowingly, trifle with the niost sacred feelings and passions of the human h.eart, that b)" prac- ticing a sort of disgraceful con- fidence game they will win the honest love of another, and then los "FoUKTMLV,—/ added this /ynragrap// by special request of tlie yoiiitg ladies. l-'lirting is a word which seems to have two meanings. One meaning is that a young gentleman oryoung lad>- makes himself or herself agreeable to the opposite sex, that they try so to do, and that the\- suc- ceed. When we call a \-oung lady a flirt, in that sense it is the flrst remark a sicell yoww^ ^1^ commit a double crime of betraying it. Such flirting is a crimi- nal act, and should be punished like any other confidence game, or swindling in ordinary business transactions. No real gentle- man or lady would knowingly com- mit such a crime. Many young ladies and gentlemen have the repu- tation of flirting, when in fact they are only trying to please ever)'body. This is a virtue. " Do to others as ye would that they should do to ,' you." is the golden rule of politeness j as well as morality. Lord Chester- field , with all his wit, never laid down ; so good a rule for po- liteness as this. So when any one calls you a flirt, before you smile or make answer, ask them which kind of flirt they mean — the polite FRED IS Fi.rRTixr; vow. '^t' the wicked . — • — \ WHEN FRED'S A FLIET. Kate 1 am I late for the ride ? I'sliHW ! that horrid — that dreadful Fred Day, Up Ihc street he walked by my side, Till I thought that he'd never go 'way. 1 knew that our ride was at four, Just the time when the beaux arc all out ; But he chattered — the horrible bore I — Dear knows what he did talk about. :o6 /!^ / — • — ' Why didn't I tell liim to go?" Well, somehow or other I eouldn't ; He's one of the swell beaux, you know, It I'd (said go, I kuow now he wouldn't Yes, " handsome !" and sweet as a doll, And he dances and flirts so divine That you feel as if clasped by ^pol — dear Kate, don't I wish he were mine ! Yes, first I meet Fred up at Rye ; >Twas a dance, a bouquet and a walk . The wretch took my hand witli a sigli, But mamma came and broke up the talk. Kate, what a sweet laundalet I (There is Fred walking over the street : you dear scamp— you love of a pet !) Seats easy — lined with drab, and so neat. James in drab, too — dressed d propos : What a love of a hat you do wear ! Strings negative drab, and just too Lovely as we wear our back hair. Take a peep at my braids, do you see How classic ? on the top of my head, Just like the Venus of Milo — Who can that be walkine with Fred ? ■ Nellie M- , of West Thirty-third?" -the flirt ! how he can ! the wretch For last uight he gave me his word Not to speak to the guy — the man I Why, at Richfield, last summer, they walked, She on his aim ; ate lunch on the grass ; And Fred took her hand as they talked — Yes, I saw through my opera glass. He's never said love to me, Kate, How I'd frown him down quick at the word He's a flirt when he walks with N , Kate — With Nellie M , of West Thirty-tliird ! Q^^ I07 si/ — » •— \ MEYERS AND THE CEDAR BLUFF Congress Hall, August loth. riii> morning at seven, in company with Joseph Mills, Banker Davis of Memphis, and Colonel Bridgeland, I made the circuit of Saratoga lake. Passing Moon's, the sulphur spring at the head of the Lake, and Snake Island, we reached the objective point, Meyer's Cedar Bluff Hotel, where the President dined last summer, and wh,ere many dis- tingues dinner parties are cel- ebrated. The big, honest, sun-burned face of Mr. Meyers welcomed us on the porch. His busy wife was in a great " stew " about a projected dinner for a party, consisting of Commodore Van- derbilt and wife, Mr. and Mrs Boody, Mr. and Mrs. Harker, and Mr. and Mrs. Marvin. The " tavern " occupies the sloping east side of Saratoga --"^'='~ Lake, overlooking it, like the «8^ERs Gregory House at Lake Maho- pac. The view is as enchanting as at Geneva To the left is Snake Island, covered with God's tapestry, the waving trees, xi\ 1 08 /»N — • — — — — — ^— — ^— i— ^-^— ^— ^^^-^^— — — ^-^— ^— — — ^-^— — — ^^-^_ - while at our feet the white-crested waves broke unceasing against the rocks. The trees — the towering hemlocks, the shell-bark hickories, and the weeping ashes — stand in all their native grandeur. One old hemlock, with its great dead top, stood like a silent sentinel over the lake, the west wind moaning a sad, sad requiem through its leafless boughs. "Why don't you trim off the dead limbs.'" asked a spruce bystander. " Trim off the dead limbs ! " exclaimed old Meyers. " Why. you might as well ask me to drown old Ponto. Seventeen years ago that dog and I hunted together when those dry limbs were green and growing twigs. There ain't a knot there that I hav'nt shot a squirrel from," said Meyers proudly as he stooped down to pet old Ponto, a veteran Scotch pointer. " He's deaf arid dumb," corttinued' Meyers, as he pulled up the dog's ears. " but just let old Ponto get a scent of anything, from a quail to a coon, even now, and hell cover it if it takes a week." George Crum, one of Meyers' half-Indian, half-negro hunters, now came up the bank with a basket of birds. " How do these look .' " asked the old fellow, counting out a handful of cock, until he came down to a large bird, which hr instantly covered up. " Splendid ! " said Colonel B ; " but wliat is that big bird you just covered up .-' " " O, that's like all the rest," said Meyers, somewhat puzzled. But the Colonel thrust his hand to the bottom of the basket, and held the new bird up by the leg. " Say, what is it .' " he asked. " SHt- ! that's— T-ii-A-T-'s a kilmaroo." " A what — maroo .' " asked the Colonel. " A KiL — MA — ROO," said Meyers, in a whisper. "What's that.''" asked the Colonel, who thought ho knew every bird in the catalogue. " Well," said Meyers — and he leaned forward to whisper it- - " that will be a partridge after the first of September ! " \ou 'jV - 109 ^t^ sec, tlu>sc Albany fellows trouble us a little with their game laws, and I give my boys orders to kill nothing but woodcock and kilniaroo till the first of September." " Are your own boys here with you ? " I asked. " Yes. Do you sec those two cottages ? " said Meyers pointing to the right. " There's where my boys live with their wives. You see they help me tend bar, and, with my wife, we tend to everything ourselves. Then if there is any steaHng we know it is all in the family." " How long do you expect to stay here .?" " Well, fifty years more at least," said Meyers. But if he does he'll be one hundred and ten years eld, for the good old man must be sixty now. The breakfast was a wonderful triumph of cookery — black bass, brook trout, and woodcock. The Saratoga Lake black bass are the best fish in the civilized world — they even surpass in flavor brook-trout from the New Hampshire mountains, or the Red snapper from New Orleans. Mr. Meyers, who was formerly Deputy Sheriff here, as well as his wife, was bom around the lake. He has recently stocked the following ponds and lakes with black bass from Saratoga Lake : Joseph Godwin's pond, Yonkers ; Lake Mahopac, for Samuel T. Tisdell ; Sand Lake, Poughkeepsie ; and the ponds at Flushing. Black bass are to be found in Lake George and Niagara River in a wild state, but nowhere are they so delightful as in Saratoga Lake. .— • — \ ' I lO /(^ _)!/ ^ % GRAND HOP AT THE CLARENDON. Congress Hall, Aug. 1 1 . All Saratoga was thrown into a. furore of excitement yesterday, by the announcement of a " Grand ball," to be given by the inmates of the aristocratic boarding-house on the hill. The tickets read : Benefit Ball foi Y. M. A. At the Clarendon Hotel, Everybody was in a quandary about the meaning of the ominous " Y. M. A." Mr. Gilsey said it was an ambiguous expression. The High Church Quaker ladies read it, " Young Men's Association " and Reqniescat in pace, while the giddy damsels read it " for the Young Maiden's Amusement." THE BALL was a great success — only it should not have been called a ball- It was a religious meeting. The frivolous villagers turned out and danced before the Clarendon boarders, who sat around the sides of the room in proper attitudes. And why not .-' Did not Davijd dance before Saul .-* The Clarendonites listened to the music and observed the so- lemn entertainment with religious awe. They did not dance. Clarendonites never dance — that is, at the Clarendon. They are exclusive. They dance only at Congress Hall — though, entre nous, several giddy maiden ladies, occupying rooms in proximity to Parlati's music, were seen last evening dancing the " Dip " in their private rooms in presence of their aged grandmothers. My remarks on the round dances have revolutionized matters at the Clarendon. One of our " swell " New York fellows, with hat deferentially in hand, thus saluted an ancient swell maiden lady at the ball last night : \h — — • — \ SWEl-LS. Good evening, charming evening Miss VV- Yoi/?2^i^ Lady. — Yes, awful charming — dance to-night ? Young Gentleman. — O, yes — that is, the round dances. Ain't they jolly nice ? Young Lady.—O. Mr. G— , we kon't you kneuw, — they'r beastly — perfectly bea.stly — haw-a-ble ! Young Gentleman. — But, the divine Boston ! It's dreadful sweet — but those fearful square dances, they are horrid- — they AIN'T THEY jotLY SICE. arc awful poky. Everything is poky but the deux /^;«/j, galop, and dip. Young Lady. — Poky ! Ha ! Ha ! such a lovely pun — every- thing poky but the galop— awful good — perfectly atrocious ! Young Gentleman. — Don't see any pun — but never mind, I'm not clever, you kneuw. I never see a pun. Young Lady. — But, Mr. G— , they .say you are an awful flirt — perfectly howid. Young Gentleman. — O ! no, I never flirt — kon't, yeu kneuw — Do you like flirts .'' Young Lady. — O ! I think they're jolly nice. Who wouldn't flirt. It's too lovely ! But it's awful — perfectly dreadful to get spooney — ain't it .'' Young Gentleman. — Never got so. Love is poky — dref'ul stupid. Couldn't spoon on a girl with less than a $30,000 reve- nue and a rich Governor no way — could'nt think of it, yeu kneuw ! Young Lady. — No, I shouldn't think any one could. Pa's got four brown stone fronts, and I've got four camel's hair shawls, and a set of diamonds — and — ^1^ 112 /|^ 7' Young Gentleman — (with eye on brown-stone ironi>*. Ami such lovely hands to put them on— and such an arm ' (), let's l;(» out on the balcony and have a nice — But I lost the sentence as they waddled out. she with her (k- formed shoulders and dangling" hands, and he with empty head and metropolitan morals. Wendell Phillips says " marriage makes a man and his wife one," but if tiiis trash e\er mate, the world will have to understand decimals to comjiute them But to the Clarendon ball ! — • — The ancient maiden ladies act with propriety, I say, when at the Clarendon ! but their mothers ought to see them when they get loose, and come down to Congress Hall. Bernstein seems to inspire them, for they dance, laugli, pro- m.enade on the bridge, and occupy secluded nooks on rear bal- conies with scampy Congress Hall fellows. Rumor has it that young ladies from the Clarendon have lost their hearts, and become engaged while dancing at Congress Hall. ^i~ If. 3 /|N — • -^ ?^ — • — KISSES. Mr. Saxe wrote these verses off for Mrs. S. \V. C. to-day. He said they were the best he ever wrote. All the ladies are readin^^ them and they all pronounce them " too sweet for anything ! " What do you think .-* r. Give me kisses ! — do not stay Counting in that careful way ; All the coins your lips can print Never will exhaust the mint ; Kiss me, then, Every moment — and again ! II. (live me kisses ! — do not stop- Measuring nectar by the drop ; Though to millions they amount, Tin y will never drain the fount; Kiss me, then, K\ erv moment — rt with Christians but marry Jews, and who go to the beautiful Synagogue on Avenue V — w^ere singing, and talking, and promenading in a most jubilant manner. With them it was not Sunday, but Monday. The Christians caught the spirit of abandon from them, and also sang " Sic transit gloria mundi " with the rest. The thousands of people stood in endless post- office rows at Congress Spring. The same week day jokes were cracked on the water, and doubt and confirmations made as to the validity of the snake story. "How does the water affect you.'" asked a quiet old un- suspecting Quaker lady, of her lady friend, who stood in a group of Clarendonites. " Sh ! Sh ! " exclaimed the old lady, " they will hear you ! " " Well, verily, it does affect everybody the same then, 1 am sure," moralized the old Quaker lady, as she drank off the fifth glass and walked on to church. Tiie thoughtless caravan of belles and beaux left the Spring to promenade around the park, where — TIk^ (niiDU'uing pinei* and the ht-mlock, in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Mand like Druids of Eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar with beards that rest on their bosoms. _> /. -"i^ 116 ^W \ " I'm a Pilgrim " a beautiful song of [)rai.se, sounded out of the windows from Dr. Strong's, making a symphony with a counter religious current from Dr. Hamilton's. Dr. Hamilton gave me the very leaf he was singing from. ^ford-i rro« BWlTIFirL ; I'm a Little Pilgrim. 112 it, Sill U a; - wnvs ncai-. ■olx-a And Mitli Clin'st he m en 1. I'm a lit - ilf pil-grim And :i stranger here; Tlio' tbij wortd L". plflasant, Sin i.s a; - wnvs near. 2. Bat a lit - tlu pil-gnni Mnst have garments cli^an, If |'|X',?'|ii^ the wliitp robes And Mitli Clin'st he M-rn. 1=* :±t;:tirxjt:dbt=^=tr ~ 7^ T*T Th'-Te>a bet- ter coun-try, Wicre there is no fiin, Wliere the tones of sor - row Nev - cr cn-ter vi Jesus, cleanse aiiiTsaveWi^Ieach me [0 o -bey; Ho - iy .Spir - it, guide me On my heavenly ray. ^^ pf=:f.: ^^E^ ^ AT THE CLARENDON. Many good people sat on the Clarendon steps in pious at- titudes, with prayer-books in their hands, or in anxious groups listening to the reports of hotel committees. I stopped a moment before a group of pious Philadelphia ladies, to listen to the proceedings. They were proceedings of terrible interest. " We will now listen to the report of the Committee on Incomes," said Mrs. VV . "What does all this mean.''" I inquired of my old friend. Richard Suydam. ■' Mean," said he — " why, don't you know that our hotel is a grand social Congress — that they have a committee appointed to investigate the social, commercial, and intellectual qualifica- tions of new arrivals ? " " I am a plain, unpretending inmate of Congress Hall," I replied ; " how should 1 know these things ? " Mr. Suydam then presented me to Mr. B — op, Mr. \'-n N — t, Mr. P — n, and Mr. M — all, who took me into a secluded room 117 _ c _M/ ; -"1$ ^ near the balcony, where 1 listened to the e.vercises. 1 listcr.ed with avidity, and determined to write down what J heard and saw U)i- tlio benefit of thirt\- thousand C().\.MKK<"1ai. readers at Newport. Loni; Branch, and at Coniiress Hall, All the niana^Mni; old ladies and j'oung ladies of the Ciarend.m who have reached the a^^t of discretion (29) were present. COMMIT I'KK ON INCOMES. 1-irst came the report from the Committee on Incomes. M,-s W arose and said—" Air. K . Mr.B . Mr. C, . M, [1 ,ind Mr. F .seeminiiiy very proper persons, arrived \cstero.ay from New-Vork. Their incomes have been ascertained to be r.-spectivel)-. $5,000. $7,000, $2,500, $1 5,000. and $1,500. 1 II!. -V tiui' ihe $5,000, $7,000, and $15,000 gentlemen be ac- cepted. ,-t;nJ ih.ii the others be cut dead !' Motion carried (OMMIITEK ON 1'K1)1(;K1:!> I'he Lonmiittec on Pedigrees. Loni .M . Chan-man, now reported that the $1,500 inan was a Latin tutor at Harvard, son o'i a clergyman . that the $2,500 man was a journalist, formerly a college professor and son of the President of a College ; that the $7,000 man was a broker, with only desk room in Cedar street, born in Ireland, ucar Lord Mnnsoiis estate; that the $5,000 man sold theatre tickets in front of Niblo's ; and that the $15,000 man kept a livery-stable near the Bull's Head, but that his father was with General Jackson as a Government contractor in the war of i8r2. The $7,000 man was accepted because he was born near Lord Munson's. and the $15,000 man because his father fought \\ ith General Jackson. I OALMITTEK 0.\ Fl IR IWT ION. A report was now offered as to the tiirtations each candidate had carried on on former occasions — at Newport, Long Branch, or Cape Ma\ In cases where the candidate had flirted, and it had been proven, he was instantly rejected, on the ground that the Clarendon young ladies are well along in years — that they ^1/ wish only men to join their set who mean business, ana ihai .ill chronic flirters should be instantly sent to Congress Hall and the Grand Union, where there are plenty of idle young ladies who un- willing and pleased to waste their time on young men who alwa>> talk, but never propose. COMMITTEE ON DRESS. The Committee on Dress, Mr. J. Henry K . Chairman, now reported as to the toilets of the newcomers. He proninmced the $7,000 man correct. He wore a Gersh Lockwood coat made after Pool's pattern. He had seventeen canes, four umbrellas, and nine eye-glasses. The journalist wore his hair too long, dressed in the morning in black trousers, and had a wild look about the eye. He was rejected. The $15,000 man wore paper collars, a dress coat in the morning, a velvet coat at the full dress Newport hops, and black kids at the races. Mr. K . asked that he be sent to the American Hotel to associate with the Ca- tholic priests. Not carried Mr. K only appears at the Cla- rendon at short intervals. He is exclusive and spends n'lost of his time at Congress Hall. OTHER COMMITTEES. The meeting now listened to reports from other committee.^ on different things about the Clarendon and other .Saratoga hotels. r\ ,.. 1 1 • ... -1 One committee had investigated the case of a cross husband at the Clarendon, whose wife has a fond- ness for grave-yard walks with a handsome young man. The meet- ing resolved that any woman who has a scolding husband, has a right to walk, talk, and flirt witli any- body. The committee on Congress Hall reported as to the e.xact number of rich young fellows, their precise incomes, 8. ~!" 1 19 /^ — • — / mans. A report w as also read as to Congress Hall engagements pending, and explaining the reason why Clarendon gentlemen spend all their time at Congress Hall. One old lady said it was because the ladies there were younger and prettier. She was e.\pelled. Now came reports of committees on defunct husbands, old lovers, on devoted lovers and on cross husbands, on general scan- dal, on washing white dresses, on getting beaux away from Congress Hall, on watching the balcony nights, on grave-yard flirtations, on cost of ladies' dresses, on married men who com^ in late, on religious tenets, on dyed-hair, on letters received at the post-ofhce, &c., &c. IlIK INTRIGUING COMMITTEE. The Intriguing Committee is one of the most important committees at the Claren- don. The duties of the Chairman are to assist in getting off old husbands and in assisting their wives in new flirtations with unsuspecting young men, also to entertain clever old bachelors who have dog-carts and big incomes, and keep them from taking up the valuable time of young ladies over OLD HusBAXD. t wcuty- clght , who have or ought to have genuine lovers. \\ ealthy old bachelors who always talk but never propose are only wanted at five P. M. with coachmen and dog-carts. They are also permitted to bu>' bon-boits and bouquets, but must with- draw after they are presented. THESE TERRIBLE DEVELOPMENTS kept me from church — and, filled with statistics and facts, I flew back to my room to write them out. Since writing them I have read them -over to Messrs. B op, Van N 1, T rn. and M shall, and they pronounce them correctly rendered, and offer to subscribe liberally to have them oublished in book f(jrm. 1 20 ^1^ — • — / — • — A CHRISTIAN ACT. — Congress Hall. Aug. 13. The great subject of discussion for the last week, has been the projected purchase of Morrissey's club-house by a number of Christian gentlemen, who desire to convert it into a Free Library and Reading Room for the Young Men's Christian Association. The chief movers in this philanthropy have been Dr. Ting, Mr. B. F. Beekman, Mr. John R. Cecil. Mr. Abicl Heywood, Mr. Charles Wall, and Mr. Peter Gilse\-. (They were in correspondence with Mr. Hugh J. Hastings, I have since learned). Mr. Beekman and Major Selover had an interview with l\lr. Morri-ssey on Saturday, relative to the sale of his club-house. Mr. M admitted that his grounds and buildings had co.'^t him about $190,000, but he said he would not sell them for less than $500,000. This demand rather dampened the ardor of Mr. Beekman, who reported the result of his interview to Colonel Boody, Henry Polhemus, and N. H. Decker. The latter said he was in favor of purchasing the club-house at any price, and that he would sign as much as Mr. Bissel. Mr. Bissell said he- would sign as much as Mr. Hastings, and Mr. Hastings said he would sign as much as Mr. Beekman. Mr. Groves said he would sign more than any other gentleman. Mr. Weeks, Mr. John Cecil, and many other gentlemen also said they would sign as 121 — • — \ much as Mr. Heekman. So much depended upon Mr. Beekman tliat he immediately signed his name for $5,500. Tlie following paper was signed very generally yesterday. It explains itself. SUBSCKIPTKJ.VS. S.\R.\TOGA, August 12. — In pursuance to a resolution adopted at a meeting held at Congress Hall, August 5th, for the purpose of raising a fund for the purchase of the building known as " Morrissey's Club House," and to convert such building into a •' Free Library and Literary Club," B. F. Beekman in the chair. the following subscription list is circulated. Henry D. Polhemus, Secretary We, the undersigned subscribers, do hereby agree to pay the sums set opposite our names for the purpose of purchasing said club-hou.se, and to turn it into a Free Library and Literary Club, to be used by the guests and residents of Saratoga, without dis- tinction as to religious or political belief, believing that we thereby contribute to raise the moral tone of the community at large, and place in Saratoga a Christian monument whose influence will extend throughout the country. Georoe M. Croves §11,000 A. BooDv ; , 8,000 B. F. Beekman 5,500 E. A. Hammond 9,000 J A Bridqbland 5,500 Henry D. Folhemcs 4,500 Wm Hunter 5,000 Ma.IOR SKL"VtB \ 5 000 Wm. li. Chapman. . 4,500 Col Krsa Hawkins. . J.uOO Petkr Gilsey ... 6,000 Ja8 H. Brf.slin 1,500 J Codd:ngton. ... 4.00(1 Thomas Kkrh -1,500 S G CorRTNEY 5,000 H, B. (JuAFLiN 2,5iiO N H. Deckei! 6,000 C C. Hariings 4.000 Jas Datir 4 500 '-'. H Hick . .").0i)0 C H. Barnahi> 4,500 W .T. SCHKNCK '^,5C0 Edwin Brooks . . 5.500 ('HAKLE& Wall ,.., ..,. 5,500 Fisher Iohnson ......,.., 4 500 Gaoh GE H. BissELL . , , 6,000 Sheriff (J'Brien , . 5.000 JcHN R. Cecil . , 6 000 George Cecil , .,..,, » 4,500 George Quintard, . , - . , . . 5,000 C. V Caldwell 5.500 C. H. Kite 4,000 H W. King . . , . , 5,000 n S. Clements ..,..,,,.,, 5,000 F S Dams ... ....... . 6 000 G. D PiTzipio 4 500 .\ T. Stewaht .... 3,500 1). L Pettr 5,000 Geo W Landon . ....... 5,500 Thoh s. Dakih 5,0(10 KiCHARD SuVDAM 2.IIO0 Total, .•» 176,000 ^1^ 122 — • — ^h 12 /|^ nI/ >!^ -•- \ Yesterday thc\' let the water from the new water-works into the water mains It was a great day for Saratoga Water- spouts were in every direction. An angiy Geyser seemed to spout from ever\- corner To the casual observer, there seemed to be a sort of water revolution in the under-s/rata of this quiet village No earth- quake or extraordinary convulsion of nature had been noticed, but all over town — in the highways, on street corners, and every- where, the ground would become moist, quake a little, and then would burst forth a full-fledged "spouting spring." The bowels of the earth became suddenly loosened, and many superstitious persons, who believe Saratoga to be only separated by a thin crust from the infernal regions, began to pack up for the White Mountains. AWFUL I'ROFAxMITV. " What's the matter down below .''" I asked of Mr. Marvin. Not that Mr. Marvin has anything in particular to do with these down-be I oiu affairs, but because he is a sort of High Sheriff or- Burgomaster of Saratoga. Mr. Marvin assured me the infernal regions were all right ; that Congress Spring had not sprung a subterranean leak ; but that the town authorities had just let the water into the mains from the new reservoir. " We're testing their strength," said Mr. M . ■■ Where do you get the water for the reservoir '" " Win', wc daui Greenfield Crock, and this is the very water which they dammed " "Sh — !" exclaimed Dr. Swopc of Trinity Chapel, "please don't be .so profane, my friend! for," continued the Dr., "while I am glad Saratoga has a creek worth a dam Imean ' Here M. Heekman came along with his sub.scription paper, and the crowd dispersed. /_ 124 /W \i/ \t/ COL. FisK OK Till-: 91 n. iMsk ami tlic \intli Kc^i- mcnt Hand canic in full feather to-day, takin^r posses- sion of the Grand Union and Wm. Leland. VX'fUiam Le- land has been Sus\' showin''- the Colonel the <;ruunds about the hotel this after- noon. He has left Fisk in a state of utter astonishment After showing the elevator, ball room, and Stewart's cottage, he took tlie Colonel up to the cupola of the Giand Union to survey the surrounding scene. "What is that ?" asked Fisk, pointing to the Clarendon. " Why, that's the cook-house of the Grand Union," replied William. " All tho.se buildings belong to me, you know." " And that park ?" pointing toward Congress Spring. " Well, that's mine, too — that's where we keep our venison, and shoot our woodcock for the hotel." " You don't tell me so ! " said Fisk, eyeing him in astonishment. — " you surprise me ! And whose piece of property is that sur- rounded by the high board fence over beyond the park .' " asked \2'- ^1^ nI/ • ^'^ / the Colonel in a state ut ^rowuii^ bewilderment, pointing toward the race track. " Well, that's my private farm and race track, it all goes with the hotel, you know." " You amaze me.' said Fisk, " but you don't say that you own that large brick building opposite too ? " pointing down toward Congress Hall. " Well, to be frank with you, Colonel, I don't own that building — that belongs to brother Warren — his private residence — by gum I War lives well, don't he ? Ha ! ha ! ! " Trembling with astonishment, Fisk came down the elevator. As he alighted he leaned forward toward William Leland, and whispered. " By thunder, Bill, why don't you buy my opera- house for your New York office ^ " Fisk personated Achilles with the I RUN HEEL at the mas- querade this evening. \ ^1^ :;;, • >i si/ — • • — / FASHIONABLE SOCIETY AT THE CIRCUS. (A Sartre.) Congress Hall, Aug. 15. Yesterday all of the " best society^ in Sara- toga went to Barnum's Circus. I was invited to go with a very aristo- cratic party from the Clarendon. It was quite a relief to get away from the crowded hotel bal- conies. They said," Mr. Perkins is a very re- spectable and confiden- tial old fellow, who always looks after the camel's-hair shawls and opera-glas.ses while we frolic with the round- dance fellows, and we must have him." I was glad to go. We had been amu- sing ourselves on the Clarendon steps betting with the ladies. Just opposite is a Catholic GOOD UNCLE ELI. church. Thc}' have a good many funerals there. It is the only relief the Clarendonites have from their monotony. On account of the snakes in the Springs, a good many Saratoga people die — others drink them- selves to death ; but Charles Leland manages to have all the \ _ 127 processions go by the Clarendon. Some days it is quite lively to sit there and hear the witty repartees, the funny anecdotes, and uateli the processions. AKFFXTING INCIDENT. Wiien the bell tolls there is a general rush to the balcony, and when the age begins to be struck the betting commences. The sexton strikes i — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5 — 6 — 7 — 8 — 9 — 10: then comes a long pause " I'll bet the age is over thirty," says Mr. Hunter " I'll t-t-take it T' shout Mr. Traverse and a dozen others. Kver)body gets e.xcited, and, for the time being, the balcony becomes like the Fifth Avenue bar-room, after a Wall street smash up Ihe bell tolls out the .second 1—2—3 — 4—5—^^ — 7—8 — 9— 10 ; — 1 1 — 12 — 13 — 14 — 15 — 16—17 — 18 — 19 — 20 r— then five more. " T-T-tw-twenty-f-five," shouts Mr. Traverse, who pays his money and goes on to tell his " parrot story " for the nine hun- dred and fifty-sixth time. The hotel again relaxes into its accustomed mourn fulness — the old bachelors fall asleep over the slow dolies, cross husbands rush upstairs to scold their wives, and the old maids convene to hear committee reports on incomes and pedigrees and read Mr Perkins' faithful account of the previous day's festivities. \ ^^-^^-M-^ V" —s /(N- Yes, we all went to the Circus, — the swell fellows, the aristocra- tic young- ladies from the Clarendon, and the jolly old Catholic prices from the American. hocp-i,a! The sixteen Catholic priests were the light of the entertain- ment. Between scenes, they spent their time talking about the infallibility of tlie Pope, and looking at our group of aristocratic young ladies from the Clarendon. Two of them attempted a flirtation, but Wni. Traverse got in between them and the ladies, and became a wall of protect on. \ 129 / /in" — • — / The Protestant clergymen generally behaved well. They txTCupied front scats, with benches full of Sabbath -school children, and good-looking young ladies. Their behavior, as I remarked before, was generally good, and reflected credit on the theological institutions from which they were graduated. When D. Castello entered the arena the eye of every clergy- man was upon him. They were looking for religious jokes to enliven their sermons. " I have been in every profession of life," said D. Castello. " I have been a carpenter, a mason, a shipbuilder and a whaler." " You a seafaring man } " exclaimed the man with the eagle eye in the centre ; "where were you ever a whaler } " "Why, I used to crui.sc around nights and come home and whale the children in tiie morning," remarked D. C. Seventeen Catholic priests leaned forward on their seats and laughed. They were soon joined by eleven of the Protestant clergymen, and there was one united laugh, as if there was no relif'"ious barrier between them. Some laughed tenor, some in bass, but it sounded well, and I thought I should like to introduce them all to our Clarendon young ladies, and give them one nice square religious hour of enjoyment. Dr. Corey said he would be responsible for the Protestants. But 1 did not introduce them. " SOCIETY PEOPLE." One of the most interesting features of the gathering was viewed from a society stand-point. Some of the most dilettante beaux and belles of Saratoga County were present. The toilets were generally remarked by the Clarendon ladies to be superb. As, writing from the great American watering-place, I am expected to give fashionable news, toilets and dresses, I write the following from notes taken on the spot. V ,30 'i^ .v^cu^jw/^^ \ I write of this grand " society " event for the benefit of " so- ciety " people in New York— people who read " society" news- papers and dote on having their charity ball -dresses done up by the fashion writers. '■' Personality is my aim, for it is just " the cheese "now-a-days to call a young lady's name and hold her up to the gaze of the pub- 80CIBTY MiRBoR. Hc as my " society" clown holds up the hoop mirror full of fashionables who went to the circus. PERSONAL. There were present, I learn from the Pedigree Committee, some of the most aristocratic families of Saratoga and Albany Coun- ties. There were the Perkinses, distant relatives to our Perkinses, whose ancestors distinguished themselves on the old battle-field of Saratoga — they carried water to the British ; there were the Kershaws, an old family related to the Burgoynes. Sir John Kershaw refused a ducal coronet in 1436. When I^rederick the Great urged it upon him he said, " No, no, your honor ; I am not guilty. Give it to General McClellan." There were the Fitches, who for seventeen generations have pursued patriotic husbandry near Saratoga Lake — they raised cucumbers and spring chickens on the battle ground of Saratoga for William Leland. John Fitch, the oldest son, went to the \ 131 /,l^ xU metropolis where he afterward distinguished himself at the bar (Gilsey House). It was there that he made his great speech, which drew the attention of General Dent and Mr. Grant of Washington. Mr. Grant expressed unqualified approbation of the speech. He said, " Nothing has pleased me better for years unless it was a span of horses from Collector Murphy." Mr. Fitch, immediately sent the President a tandem team. That speech of Mr. Fitch at the bar was a short one and did not create much furore at first, but it has been repeated many times since. It went into history. Said Mr. Fitch, turning his eagle eye upon the New York bar—" I'll take sugar in mine ! " * fj ^s AN EPISODK OF WAR. The descendants of the Greens were also present. The elder Green, now a white-haired old man, was a leading Loyalist during the Revolution. He was always to be found where the bills were th^ thickest — under the ammunition wagon. He was called upon to hold General Burgoyne's horse, when General Sherman ordered him to surrender. Burgoyne and Sherman both dismounted near where the Saratoga Monument now is, and walked over to Moon's, where they drank milk punches and ate fried potatoes. Moon was then a mere lad. He now totters under the weight of one hundred and ten years.- He says that the- season is so short at the-Lake that iri reality he has lived only forty-six years. Sherman and Burgoyne were afterward joined by General Butler and General Beauregard. • The writer thought of leaving this speech of Judge Fitch out, fearing that poople would think it reforred to the geoial Judge John Fitch of New York. The .•iuthor refers to another Fitch, liut even if this speech is attributed to Judge John Fitch, he is so well known and loved by everybody as a representative man and ;;ood citizen, tiiat he is just the man to stand a joke. — Thr Author. /\^ ^32 '1^ SI/ \l/ They adjourned over to Myers' Cedar lilulT llolcl and drank more punches, when, in an untjuarded nionicnt, Hurtj^o\-ne sur- rendered his entire army. Moon, Mrs. M)crs, Mar\in, and WilHam Lehind all signed the articles of capitulation, and tiie afifair ended up with a grand ball at the Clarendon. Man>- of the Clarendon maiden l.idies were )-oung then, and it was no uncommon thing to see them engage in dancing and other innocent amusements. The r.ritish troops were paroled the same day, and before the season was over most of the officers had married rich wives from among the guests of Congress Mall. Burgo)-ne himself became Collector of the Port of New York, and succeeded, on a salary of $3,000 per year, in amassing an immense fortune at the ex- piration of eight months. I get this from the Clarendon Income Committee. Burgoyne's grand-daughters, beautiful blondes, oc- cupied front seats at the circus to-da}-. MORE PpRSON.'M.. There was another old family present at the circus to-day — the Leicesters, from Ballston Spa. They descended from either Lord Leicester, Earl of Dudley, or fromC. Edwards Leicester of New York, who afterward became the " glory and shame of England." They made a good thing supplying the English army with eggs and milk during their march through Saratoga County. They live on a princely estate, and furnish squash and spinach daily to Congress Hall. TOILET.S. The toilets at the circus were simply elegant. The Clarcndonites appeared in full dress, low necks, cL\REXDONiTEs AT THE CIKCU8. aud short slecvcs. Tlic crentlemen ^1^ ^33 /jv >1 % st.^od in dress-coats and white kids, and fanned the ladies during the interesting exercises. The chief dressing was done by the descendants cf the old aristocratic famihes of Saratoga County. CL'KSTS I'RESKNT— VERY PERSONAL. Miss Mable Tucker, a clmrming brunette, wore a beautiful variegated robe de coton, trimmed with gas-light green alpaca, dimi-train cut Pompadour. Mer chapcau de paille was surmounted b\- a wa\'ing ostrich plume, her shoes fine cuir d€ bcBuf, Strings same material. " She was much admired." Miss Nancy Perkins was accompanied by her fiance, Mr. Orriii Kershaw. Mr. K. wore un vieil habit, with boutons de aiivrc. 1 lis head was surmounted by a chapeau de brigand, and on his neck he wore un col de papier. His face was decorated with line moustache coloree. He had an aristocratic air, and sneezed like one of the old families at the Clarendon. " She was much admired." Miss Abigail Kittle, a lovely blonde, and dnughter of the aristocratic blacksmith, whose grandfather shoed General Bur- go\-iic's horses, wore two strips of cotton velvet around her neck, and black linen shoe strings. Her hair, clicveirx roux\ was dressed a la Pompadour, and her jewelry was of the richest bijoux de cuivrc. She wore pi tits short-fingered flynets on her hands. Her shoulders humped gracefully over, and her arms dangled like some of the fashionable young ladies at Congress Hall. " She was much admired." Mrs. Kphrams Shaw uc'e Smuggles, wife of the eminent car- penter of Glen Mitchell, wore green figured alpaca, with yellow bombazine overskirt, trimmed with Westchester County lace, and looped up with wreathes of myrtle, black stokings cut decol- letc's, and farmer's satin shoes, cut Pompadour, and court train. Sh9e strings of cuir de boeuf. Her dress resembled the new Cretonne suits worn at Congress Hall. She was much admired. \l/ J/ Mrs. Scrubson iicc Perkins, and the daughter of the aristocratic Perkinses, who own a baronial estate and supply cucumbers to William and Warren Leland, \\ore yellow nainsook, trimmed with Scotch plaid poplin and real Saratoga County lace. Her dress front was ornamented with a white apron, cut Pompadour, and with court train. She carried a beautiful colored baby in her arms. " She was much admired." Her smile was one of sad melancholy, like the old maids at the Clarendon while the Congress hop is going on. Miss Abigail Snicknor " was much admired." Miss Sarah Calkings " was a great favorite." Miss Nancy Scrum. //rt' Calkings, is a beautiful sneezer. She does it in a sweet, natural manner. Her friends gather in crowds to hear her sneeze. She wore red morocco shoes with blue strings, cut Pompadour dc'colletee, and court train. John Perkins, y?rt;;r/ of Miss Snicknor, wore a paper collar (//;/ col de papier) and waxed his mustache, like William Leland. He was very much inter- ested in the monkeys and kangaroos. He excused himself from the ladies • to look at fhem. He said he liked to see the little kusses jump up and squeal. The l^erkinses are a great family in Saratoga County. John Perkins is one of a family of eleven — but not the only one. He follows the glorious pur- .suit of agriculture — he raises string beans for the Clarendon. At the old Perkins manor house " he is monarch of all he sur- veys." He says he is, but alas ! his eyes are " cut on a bias" and he don't survey much. There is a legend here that the Perkinses came here eleven ETES CUT ON A BIAS. j:) St/ -^ • — years before Columbus sailed from Palos. William Lelapd tells it— that they discovered Congress Spring and the old United States Motel, and then returned for old Chris., and followed him up with the Mayjloxccr. Benjamin Butler did not discover Sara- toga, though he did discover Great Bethel, in Virginia. Facts and statistics are my forte, and I know what I write. I saw the man who told me. Broadway, Saratoga, was then a " howling wilderness." Perkins heard it howl. It is generally quiet here now. Howling has pretty much ceased. " He was much admired." Miss Perkins is one of the most charming young ladies of Saratoga. Miss Kershaw is a beautiful dancer and "is much admired." ELI PERKINS OF CONNECTICUT. Of course, you get the races by telegraph ; if you don't you should. Pm too busy with my hotel statistics to see horse races. There was a terrible scramble, my Statician says, to get to the track to-day. Every vehicle was engaged. Many ladies walked out. The grand stand was full, the boulevard was watered, the horses ran like the devil, and married gentlemen generally escort- ed their wives. Eight hundred and thirty-six pair of four-button gloves changed hands. Old John Harper wore the same old grc)' coat, Belmont his silver plume, and Traverse a white suit with red necktie. ^1^ ^r 136 /|\ ^1/ >1<1 (\^^< . EVERYBODY SOLD. Congress Hall, Aug. i6th. The joke of purchasing the" Club Mouse only came out to-day. When the Commercial came with the list of signers and their donations, it struck the camp of Congress Hall like a bomb-shell. " What is the matter .'" I asked Mr. Decker as he sat reading the list while drops of cold perspiration stood on his forehead. " Great Heavens ! my dear Sir," said he, " 1 would give as muck as Mr. Beekman, but I had no idea that he was going to give over a hundred or two, and here he has gone and signed $5,500 and I'm down for the same amount ! " " And we are in the same boat too," exclaimed Mr. Stewart, Mr. Claflin and Major Selover. " Good Gracious ! $5,500 for a free reading-room ! " And then with Mr. Brooks, Mr. Cecil and Mr. Boody they went off to look for Mr. Beekman. " Great Heavens, Beekman ! what do you mean by signing $5,500 for this d d reading-room.^" exclaimed Mr. Decker, while the rest all stood by to hear Mr. B.'s explanation. " Why, gentlemen, I mean simply that I am in earnest — that I believe seriously that this is a good cause — that the Club House, as Mr. Decker said, ' ought to be bought at any price,' and I signed my $5,500 in good faith, and, gentlemen, I expect to pay it ! " " And me too .■' " " Of course, you all said you would give as niuch as I would," said Mr. B. uTth a benevolent smile. ************ '• Look, here Beekman," said Mr. Decker confidentially an hour afterwards, " I acknowledge we are caught, but I am dif- ferent from the rest. I've got a large family to support. You know 1 can't afiford any such subscription. Now can't you let me off if I'll do the fair thing over at Meyer's > " To-day Mr. Decker gave one of the most delightful dinners of the season ac Meyer's. Thirty plates— wood-cock— black bass— buck trout and barrels of champagne. His name was taken off the list, but every other signer is expected to pay whenever called upon. Mr. Polhemus already has Mr. Beak- man's check for his subscription. \ SMOKE THE JOKE. \ri:RIXG-PL.\CE POETRY. One of the most gifted of poets handed me this watering-place parody to-da\'. From dawn till nightfall, at my window sitting, I wait while drift the heavy hours aAvay ; And like the swallows, all my thoughts go fitting, To darling Kate, with whom they fain would stay. (im the spring there comes the thoughttess laughter Of those who linger by the fountain's side ; them not— my gaze still follows after My dear lost friend — God grant no ill betide. Out from the dance 1 come where loves are mating, And music sweetly swells the eventide, Listless I wander, while my love is waiting — U here'er she be there would my heart abide. All the day long I listen to her coming, All the day long I dream of one' dear face ; I hear her whispers in the trees' low humming, I feel her kisses in the wind's embrace. ^r 138 /In si/ — • — / Loucly 1 dream while the warm sunshine lingers, \\ hile happy voices till tho mellow iiir ; Alone sit dreaming, while my tremhling lingers Pass o'er my ey(!.s half closed by doubt and care. Ah ! heavy heart, so lassionate its yearning, It cannot be that all my peace is o'er ; That all the love that in my heart is burning On her is lost — that she can love no more I But once to feel, unchecked, her fond caressing, One wild, sweet hour, close to her heart to press ! There my thought stops — what else of bliss or. blessing Thegreat world holds — I do not care to guess. Still at my window, dreaming while their laughter Sounds o'er the spring and up the hill above, I lean, and wish that I might follow after Till I could clasp my arms around my love 1 FUN AT DINNER. It is too amusin^^ to watch the diffe- rent manners bf takin<^ dinner at our hotels. Some people tuck the napkins in their neck and use them as bibs ; some eat the chick'^-n with their fingers, totally ic,morin5^ knives and forks, and some occupy the interval between dishes by picking their teeth. It is very common to see people leave the table hurriedly and chew their dinner from the table to the door. Se- nator Robertson, of South Carolina, has been so exercised about these plebeiaa actions that he has been compelled to change his table three times. He is going to make a speech in the Senate about it when he gets to Washington. eEXATOR R.8 mKXD. ^_^- 3Ci~~ .^o 1.39 \ ■^ • — ^1^ \ Talk about ci(«u>is I Talk about the jam at a Roman carnival, the crush at a Lcipsic fair, the seething crowds at the London Derb)-. the tumult of a Nejni Novgorod fair ! Why, they are a quiet Sunday morning to this grand August huddle at Saratoga. Old ladies, with seventeen band-boxes, are sent into the sixth stor\-. to occupy rooms with broken bell-ropes ; and young men in immaculate standing collars and tight boots are " colonized " thirteen blocks away from the big hotels. When they arrive from their quarters for breakfast they are exhausted with fcitigue — their h^^ggard forms wilt down with their shirt collars, and their boots are frosted with the sacred soil of Saratoga. Think of nice }-oung men — Fifth Avenue beaux — spending almost all their time in dreary pilgrimages to and from their rooms. Think of wearing a dress suit for two mrles, through crowds of curious villagers, and then appearing at a morning Congress Hall German, with a dress-coat frosted with the floating simoom kicked up by Barnum's Circus. H ^•^^^'^ One interesting youth, who boasts a $75,000 in- come, is colonized almost over to the race track. He proposes to watch the race from the third-story window of his secluded dwelling. He communi- cates with Mr. Hathorn entirely by means of the telegraph. He says he thinks he should lik^ Sara- swell n y. bov. toga, for he is much pleased when he comes in on an occasidrial visit. The happiest being in Saratoga is 140 /|^ -^ • — / OI-D DOG BRAVE, the b'\\^ New fouiuUand at Congress Hall. Brave is always happy and w ell fed wlien the hotel is full and wiien business goes on well, but let the coaches come "'^'^^^ empty and go full, atrd the faithful old animal gets rnan}' a kick. He has got the thing learned by heart POOR BUAVB. now, for let the coaches drive up full and you will see him standing with his tail wagging, and his great honest bow ! wow ! ! wow ! ! ! will sound aloncr the corridors. But let them come empty, and you will see him with his tail between his legs, trying to get away from the threatening proximity of the Chesterfieldian Hathorn's boot. \1^ — • — - <> V^\^ HUT 1 ^1^ 141 ^1^ / V MR. PERKINS GOES TO THE CLARENDON. Saratoga, August 17th. My exposition of the gossip, committees, and funeral proces- sions at the Clarendon, has caused much excitement among the aristocratic inmates of that hotel. They waited on Mr. Charles Lcland yesterday and requested that he should invite me to visit the Clarendon officially and ascertain the truth or falsity of the reports. Mr. L. sent me the following letter: " My dear Mr. Perkins, Congress Hall — Many of my aristocratic guests are grieved at the reports which have gained credence ^^^ jni M 'Ij^V relative to the young gentlemen holding the r^ JHflEI ^ ■ young ladies' hands, evenings, on the hotel balconies. They also say that it is a very common thing for them to be seen smiling, and that dancing is not an unknown amuse- ment among them. I now invite you to come and investigate for yourself. I assign for the use of yourself and wife a suite of cheerful front rooms overlooking the Catholic church and the graveyard, from the windows of which you will be able to see everything going on in our hotel. " The chairmen of the different committees — on incomes, pedi- grees, dyed hair, and scolding husbands — will report directly to you every mornin and every facility will be given you to ascer- tain the truth. Yours, affectionately, " Clarendon Hotel, Aug. 16. C. Leland." It is unnecessary to say to my readers that I have accepted Mr. Leland's invitation, and that I shall leave Congress Hall for the retired shades of the Clarendon. I go in the interest of truth — I go to see for myself. I go for thirty-five thousand Commercial readers, who desire to know the unvarnished facts COME AND SEE ^1^ 142 — • — / A POOR MAxM. Last night, between the sets, I strayed out into the hotel corridors and ran upon an old silver-haired friend from Wash- ington Heights. He was in great distress. He would puff his cigar a moment with great energy — then he would settle himself back in his chair and soliloquise. He seemed like one on the verge of committing some heinous crime. I looked him square in the face, but he was so HORACE. busy with his mutterings that he did not notice me. I jogged against him, but he only pulled his hat lower over his eyes and clenched his teeth more securely upon his stump of a cigar. Not knowing but what his seeming remorse of con- science was about to betray him into a confession of some terrible crime, I listened to Tiis mutterings. This is just what he said : " Horace, you are a fool. You don't know when you are well off. You ought to be kicked. There you were in the nicest, cosiest house on Washington Heights — away from dust and cinders — a big yard, splendid flower garden, and a cool breeze blowing all day long around you. You were the happiest man in New York. You sat on your own cool porch — you enjoyed your fragrant partaga — your friends dropped in — the servants made the nicest ices and cobblers, and Oh ! " he moaned, " how happy we all were ! " Then he leaned forward on his hands, groaned — and was silent. A moment, and his mutterings com- menced again. " Horace, you " look at yochski f ! r"jf^* /t^ 143 /* arc a d^ d fool ! Look at yourself. Jostled, crowded, bored. High hat, black coat, kid gloves ! Ugh ! Wife dancing up-stairs, and Horace here melting with the heat. " O dear," he moaned, " my dear wife will kill me. I didn't want' to come ; we haven't any girls to bring out. She said, ' O^ dear Horace, it will be so nice : ' and I turned my back on the happiest home, the loveliest garden, to come and sit on these infernal, dusty, .scorching, crowded balcoiiies ! O FtOTace, you are a darned old idiot ! " and then he started up with a wild stare in his eye. and strided toward the t)alI-room — a miserable, un- happy victim of too much love and confidence — in his wife! — • — \ e 144 /|N — * — \ ^IhJtR ISKM'MI Clarendon Hotel, Saratoga, August i8. I am here ! I came yesterday. I am happy. I was glad to get away from vulgar people who live down in the village, and glad to come, up here among the nobility. My suite of rooms over- looks e^?eryth|J■^g nice — the balconies, the graveyard, the Catholic church, the aristocratic shoc)ti|(ig gallery, and the revolving caravansary of wooden hotS^fe where our aristocratic children ride with the sons of the oth^i" ndbility. The hand-organ which accompanies the children in their aristocratic amusement w^^ impotted by one of the old Roman families — one of the ^or^/z^j? whose' ancestors own the Borghese gallery and the villa outside' of the Pizza del Popolo. The m'u:3iQian hasn't a tooth in his head, and yet Jie plays the most aristocratic airs with one hand. Mr. Levy, who bugles down at the Grand Union, has to wear eye-glasses. It is the mode to be exclusive here, and» not to know any one. My name has been before the committees on incomes, pedi- I understand that I have passed all but the last. My name, as recorded in the Secretary's book, reads thus : " Mr. E. Perkins, author and litterateur ; income, $5,000 ; pedigree, son of Judge Perkins ; grandfather on Governor Trumbull's staff in the Revolution. Flirtation — Has been seen holding young lady's hand at Congress Hall — unsatisfactory. W.\TCHIXG THE BALCONY. Last night I watched the hotel balcony with the old Quaker lady all night. Morning found my haggard forni still hanging grees and flirtation. M5 J ^- • — / — • — out of the window. I saw no flirting, or anything which looked like ft'. The only disturbing noise w^as the Catholic priests coming to early mass this morning; I heard them grumbling under my window because they had to get up so early. I did not blame them. I swear myself whenever awakened before eight A. M. So did Thomson, who wrote the " Seasons." This book sold well, and he made a good deal of money advising other people to get up early, but he was careful himself to sleep till ten A. M. • T think I was deceived when I wrote about the young gentle- men holding the hands , of the Clarendon yomig ladies. Such reports cannot be true. Far different. But I do believe that they do this hand-holding business at Congress Hall. Here the principal recreation is to sit up prim. 1 have been introduced to but one gentleman and his wife. We have formed a clique. No one can get into our clique. We sit by ourselves all day and stun people with aristocratic looks. We occupy twelve chairs with India-shawls, umbrellas, and such ari.stocratic books as Disraeli's novel, the Galaxy, and \h.& Atlantic. Sometimes we look haughty, and talk loud enough to be heard by the common people around us. When I came down, this morning. Mrs. De Livingstone remarked, " My dear, your eyes look all bunged-up." " I dined late with a jolly party of larkers." I remarked. " One has to do something to kill time in the absence of the opera and our accustomed society," said Mrs. De L. " Yes, it is devilish pokey." said Mr. De L., " to sit here all day without saying anything ; but, you know, it is very common to be talking to people who may not belong to our set." I'hcn we all yawned, fumbled the magazines, wished for another funeral procession, and sighed for the arrivalof the. evening paper. I don't know how long I can stand it here. Mrs. De L. says " she does w ish it was time to ^o back to New York." So does ever>-body at the Clarendon. If the Commercial could only come three times a day, life here would be delightful. Do send it ofleJier nI/ .rOSmiA AND EI,i. JOSH BILLINGS INTERVIEWED. My old friend Josh Billings arrived yesterday, and il did nu- good to gel away from the Clarendon to have a good s([uare old religious talk with him. To be frank, I'm sick of being aristo- cratic. Josh Billings is a kuss, and I like to be with him. lie has just finished another book, but Carleton won't publish it. lie's afraid his old customers will get it and laugh themselves to death. Josh and I adjourned over to my old room at Congress Hall, and we had a long talk about the infallibility of the Church, our old friends, Artemus Ward, John PlKjenix, Mark Twain and Mr, Shillaber. Josh is as young and fresh a.^' he was twenty years ago. His hair hangs in a court train over his shirt-collar. It is sprinkled with gi-ay, but the old fire is up in his eye. ( asked him a good many (j.iestions and I give y(;u his answers. Like General Sherman, lie answers as short and (|uick as a streak of 4/ /|N / ^'/ V chain li-htning He handed me a Parta^a III when 1 com menced : " Mr. Billings, where were you educated > " " Tordunk, Pennsylvania. " How old are you ? " " I was born 150 years old— and have been growing young ever since." " Arc you married .'' " * " Once." " How many children have you ^ " " Doublets." " What did you come to Saratoga for ^" " I kan't tel. Kin you ? " " What other vices have you .'* " " None." " Have you any virtues ? " " Several." " What are they .-* " " I left them in New York." " Do you gamble .■* " " When I feel good." " What is your profession ^" " Agriculture and alminaxing." " What do you think of an interviewer ?" " He's a leetle worse than an organ-grinder." " How do you account for your deficient knowledge in spel- ling r " Bad spells during infancy, and poor memory." " What things are you thc^ most liable to forget ^" " Sermons and debts." " What professions do you like best .'" " Auctioneering, base-ball, and theology." " Do you smoke ^" " Thank you, I'll take a Partaga first." ^i'^^ 7^8 ^^ / >6 -/ ~ \ " What is your worst habit ?" " The coat I got last in Poughkeepsie." " What do you think of Grant ?" " I am in favor of the PRESENT administration." " Who is the best man in the Ring ?" " Dan Rice." " Worst man ?" " Tweed — as far as heard from." " What are yc5ur favorite books .-*" " My alminack and Commodore Vanderbilt's pocketbook." " What is your favorite piece of sculpture .-'" " The mile stone nearest home." " What is your favorite animal ?" " The "mule." " Why r " Because he never blunders with his heels." " What was the best thing said by our old friend Artemus Ward r " All the pretty girls in Utah vaaLrry young!' " What do you think of the San Domingo question .''" " If it don't interfere with the Santa Cruz (rum) question Pm in favor of it." " What do you think of the Indian question .-'" " I think all good Injuns like good hr okQxs die young!' " Do you beheve in the final salvation of all men .''" " I do — let me pick the men !" The dinner hour now arrived, and we adjourned to a special course of woodcock and black bass, furnished in a private room at Congress Hall. After dinner Josh reviewed my interview, and pronounced it faithfully rendered. He wished to add only that Mr. Carleton who publishes his alminack, and Mr. Sheldon who publishes this book, are the most immense intellect of this or any other country. /* — • — MR PERKINS MOURNS BECAUSE HE DOES NOT DANCE THE ROUND DANCES. Congress Hall, Aug. i8. I arrived here from the Clarendon this morning. I bfought m\- iWnv^s with me. When it leaked out that I absented myself hum the hotel to spend an afternoon with Mr. Billings, they said I must go. The pedigree committee said, " There is no use trying to make Mr. Perkins aristocratic. He is wedded to his idols. He is so fond of fun — so fond of people of wit and intellect, that he \\411 find them, even if he has to go among the vulgar. He will go and talk to people who write for magazines, who write books, and among young ladies who talk satire, sing opera, and tell anecdotes. He prefers enjoying himself to being aristocratic." These ladies got pretty near the truth. While I like the idea of being aristocratic I find it very stupid business to keep it up for any length of time. I do not enjoy dreary people. I don't enjoy dreary news- papers, like the National Intelligencer and the Post. So I siglied secretly for the wit, the sentiment, and the sparkling eyes of Congress Hall. TERRIBLE DEVELOPMENT, In my Clarendon investigations I was ably assisted by the ladies. They told me everything about everybody in the hotel — how long Mr. Green had been divorced, about Mrs. Smith's dyed hair, and how Mrs. Brown enamelled. They said one old husband did scold his wife horribly^ but that the wife got even by flirting with a young Englishman when the governor went to New York. They told me how Mrs. Thomp.son wore a dress on which was $3,000 worth of real lace ; and how somebody had been seen coming TotNo EKGLI8HMAN. ^^^ ^^ somcbody clsc's Toom at twelve o'clock at night. ~^!^ ~o '\^ ^1/ WE READ " EVERT SATURDAY. This is the way the old aristo- cratic ladies went on. THE YOUNG LADIES were full of small statistics, but they did not gossip on so large a scale. They told me where to buy six-button gloves, who made the best caramels, and who wore the first Cretonne suits in New York. " Do you read the papers .^" I asked. " O, yes ; we read all about the weddings, and the parties, the engagements, and the fashionable news." " Do you like ' Dame Europa's School ?' " " No, we don't like any school except dancing school." " How do you like ' Ginx's Baby.''' " " Oh we think all babies are dreadful. Does Mrs. Ginx bring her baby to" the table ? Mother keeps Johnny with the nurse all the time. We never see him." " Did you read All the Year Rounds " All the year round ! Good gracious ! Do you think we are bluestockings.''" '' Do you read Once a Week}" " Well, sometimes not half as often as that, especially in win- ter, when there are so many parties. Oh, parties are so lovely — perfectly divine !" " I suppose you used to read Every Saturday V " O yes, we read the society papers every Saturday. They say awful nice things — how a certain young lady was ' much admired,' and how ' Miss Snow is a great favorite in society.' Dear me, some of us had our names in twenty-seven times last winter ! Oh, they are jolly nice." " What do you think of the Nation T' " O dear ! we don't think of anything outside of our set. We — • — \ ^F 151 /i^ A/ \\1:hing i' heart, — would that I had directed my education in other channels — would that every book was in the middle of the sea — would that art and architecture had not drawn me aside from the festive dance — would that the palaces of the CsEsars, the Milan cathedrals, the ruins of Keckler, and the great dome of St. Paul's were in chaos! Would that Dickens and Ruskin and Humboldt, and old Hugh Miller had never lived — and that the coloring of Rembrandt and Raphael and Rubens had gone out like the colors of a rainbow ! How will it profit a man if he gains the whole world — and fails to dance the German .'' After death, comes the judgment. How can I die without learn- jng to dance the round-dances .'' I am a hopeless, ruined man. I have cultivated my brain, while my heels have rested idly in my boots. I can write — I have made a book — I can demon- strate the XXXVI of Euclid, but I cannot dance the " dip !" May the Lord have mercy on me, and not utterlj- cast me off because I have not learned these things. Amen ! So I went on ' Is2 ^f^ \/ xl/ 7 V ECLIPSE OF THE GAS WORKS. CONCRESS Hall, Saratoga. August 19. Yes, I have returned ! The Clarendonites invited me very warmly to go a\\a\', but this was not the only cause of my coming back. Dcc(1s were done generally and liberties were committed, particularly against my person, at that aristocratic hotel, which outraged my, sense of propriety and justice. On Friday night, while the committees on pedigree, income, and old maids were sitting in the parlor, the gas suddenly went out. The gas-works had used its last barrel of oil and the supply of material was exhausted. It was Egyptian darkness. The face of a black waiter made a light spot in the room. All Saratoga was in darkness. " The Sun " office had only one candle. The Saratogian lighted up two old " Wide-awake " lamps. The Chesterfieldian Hathorn, with one candle in a bottle, went around, like Diogenes with his lantern, looking for an honest man. " Alas ! I found £>«IA.M. Now, a dear, sweet, liquid-eyed brunette threw her arms wild- 1)' around me. " O, Eugene, why did you not \yrite oftener .^" she sobbed, and then she sank sweetly on my bosom. I said, " Weep not, Julia," and then I kissed her sweetly twenty-two times. It w-as delicious. It made me think of my first wife and my college days at Yale. A ponderous matron now approached — dress decolletce, hair a la Pompadour. She took me in her arms and whispered, " O, Charles, did you bring my beautiful dog — did you .''" " Madame, my name is not Charles, and I hate dogs. I'd kill every d-d-d-." but she fell fainting at my feet. A sweet, golden-haired blonde now took my hand. She pressed it gently, saying : " Dear Albert, I know it is you, and I am so glad to see you ! " You won't dance with Lizzie Smith, now, will you .'' Now, do promise me !" I said 1 wouldn't. Then she held her cheek close to mine. It was hot with love's young hope and sweet affection. We were very happy. None but a wicked man would have brought sad- ^1^ '54 — • — nessto this pure )'Oung heart — full of confidence, warm with \ir- gin affection, and beautiful with splendid girlishness. " Do you still love me, Albert ?" she whispered. " Undoubtedly," I remarked. " How much, darling .'" " A heap." " O, 1 am too happy!" she murmured, as she twisted her fingers in my auburn hair and held me in a sweet embrace. This sort of thing went on for seventeen minutes, when C. Leland appeared in the distance with a tallow candle. I quietly withdrew and mingled unobserved in the crowd. As the candle appeared, twenty-seven young gentlemen were seen shaking hands with as many young ladies in the ' different corners. I have seldom seen such a display of affection. One married gentleman was holding the hands of two ladies. ,The hair of the ladies was generally crimpless, while the hair of the young gentlemen did not display a parting place. I reflected, " How kin such things be, and overcome us like a summer shower.?" I consulted with J. Billings. He says they kan't. So I resolved to leave the place. I came back to Con- gress Hall and found the young ladies and young gentlemen having a grand ball by candle light. Each young lady held in her hand a penny dip. They flew through the lancers like ghosts in " Macbeth." Eight streaks of light made a terrible criss-cross, as the dance went on. When the grand chain came, the lights revolved like a gigantic fourth-of-July pin-wheel. It was a great night for Saratoga. Seventeen young people of the Clarendon and fifteen of Con- gress Hall became engaged that night. The }'oung kn ers liked it — the darkness. Some flirting old bachelors took advantage of the darkness too. Mothers in many instances tied veils over the faces of their daughters. Why, alas! I am ashamed to tell. Some prefer darkness rather than light, because their ways ai'c evil. I do. "l^ .55 ^'^ — • — \ TO SLEEP. When people came to go to bed there was a great demand for candles. There were twelve hundred people at Congress Hall- two hundred candlesticks and three hundred bottles — five hun- dred lights in all. Voun'i gentlemen stood outside of doors while sweethearts undressed and handed the candle ov^r the transcient. Old men slept with their boots on, because they could not find the bootjack. Married men got into the wrong rooms, and only found out their mis- take the next morning. An old lady bathed her face with Harrison's Columbian ink to cure the toothache. She thought it was a bottle of Pain-Killer. She discovered her mis- take just before coming to breakfast. Mr. Saxe borrowed a candle of a beautiful young lady. The next morning she found under her door these beautiful lines : " You gave me a candle ; I give you my thanks, And add as a compliment justly your due — There is not a girl in these feminine ranks Who could, if she would, hold a candle to you. ' 1^6 /f^ \1/ — • — ir"' ■^'h '^■ x The following was picked up on Congress Hall balcony the next morning after the eclipse of the gas works : X^ _ Gro, fragrant breath of summer flowers — >, Go sigh it East and West ; Say, " I've been kissed — so sweetly kissed By one that I love best." Upon my own his glowing lips In fervor fondly pressed ; And though we never spoke a word, We each our love confessed. ^^. 157 ^1^ nI/_ — • — \ TliE GREAT SCANDAL CASES. BARONS AND JUDGES IMPLICATED. Saratoga, Aug. 2 1 The other day, at the suggestion of several wags at Congress Hall, who couldn't live without their daily joke, I put the follow- uig ni my correspondence from here : SCANDAL. Rkadi.vg the scanda;.. The two great scandals at the Clarendon are finally out. The married ladies are mixed up, and several aristocratic families are compromised. . I cannot promise full particulars till to-morrow. Heavens ! what a commo- tion those four little lines caused in Saratoga. Every gossip was on the qui-vive. The great hotels resolved themselves into investigating commit- tees, evcr\-bod\' became si'spicious, and society was generally upset. At the Clarendon it fell like a moral earthquake among the unhappy guests. Everybody was looked upon with suspicions, and that great social Congress resolved itself into two parties — the watchers and the watched. Each lady looked upon the other with distrust. People communicated in subdued whis- pers. Wives kept close to their husbands, and sweethearts never for once left the conspicuous glare of the front balcony seats. Old bachelors, who heretofore had been tolerated as objects of pity by young and pretty married ladies, were cut dead. Even \ — • — /IN 158 — • • — / — • — tlicir bouquets were refused, and evcrybod)' behaved witii a propriety as stiff and prim as a Queen's dra\vin<^-room. Mrs. Jones read the paragraph and whispered something about Mrs. Green. Mrs. Green had her suspicions of Mrs. Jones, but she told Jones to watch Mrs. Smith. The cHques drew closer together, and everybody waited breathlessly for the develop- ments. THE JOKE A SUCCESS. Hardly had I finished my breakfast and the Saraiogian the next morning, before I received a note from the Clarendon. It was written on heavy tinted cream paper, surmounted by a beautiful monogram, the letters A. J. C. (American Jockey Club) being beautifully interwoven. It read thus : " Mr. E.Perkins, Congress Hall : " I notice the paragraph in the Commercial. It is to be hoped you will not use names. I am an old, gray-haired man. I have lived a life of usefulness, and have been long honored as a member of the open Board of Brokers in New York. If I have been indiscreet in a thoughtless moment, I beg of you not to ruin ever>'thing by using my name in connection with any developments which you propose to make. Come and see me. I will remain in my room all day. " Yours, H. Z. D R." " Clarendon, August 19. ELI READING HIS MAIL, ^l^ 159 '1^ \l/ / 1 went to my room to read this letter, but 1 had liardly finished it when rat! ta ! ! ta !! ! came at my door, and a servant handed mc the followinsj : ■ Mr. Perkins : Respected Sir : " As Ciod is my witness, you have been wrongly informed if you have heard anything detrimental to my character. I have been a vestryman of Grace Church for fifteen years. I am incapable of any such actions ; besides, I have a devoted wife, and we are ver>- fond of each other. I gave $25,000 to the Dudley Obser- vatory and $50,000 to Cornell University, and have been a subscriber to the COMMERCIAL for seventeen years. I am incapable of such indiscretion. V.'hatever other church-members do. I am as pure as a new-born babe. Come and see me or give us your company at dinner. I am almost always at church or on the balcony with my wife. " Very respectfully, G. Y .S. N' " Clarendon, August 19. - I had hardly finished reading the above when Judge K . \ of the Supreme Court, entered my r >om unannounced. He looked confused. His eyes wandered around the room while he twisted his whiskers and bit oft" the ends. " Have you granted the injunction in the case of the twenty- seven ladies of Congress Hall versus John R. Cecil for loud snoring .-* " I asked. " No, but I will do it instantly if you will do one thing for me." said the Judge trembling from head to foot. " What >. " " Well, in this scandal case don't use my name. You know I live at the Clarendon. I've been on the bench sixteen years. I may have been indiscreet this time. Every man is liable to be indiscreet some time. Even Jefferson Davis was not infallible. Besides, everybody knows me in New York. What would Judges Barnard and Bixby and Ingraham think of me after such an exposure .-■ " \ -^ /IN Nt/ \ " Never mind, Judge, ' mum's the word.' " " One thing more," said the Judge, lingering. " What ? " " Well. I've always been the confidential attorney for Mrs. Z. She's an estimable widow lady. She may have been carried away for a moment by this man's villainy ; but, sir, she is a good woman — highly connected. She explained all how it happened to me. She is very sorry, and she wished me to come and see you about it." " Why, Judge, you surprise me. I didn't know anything about any scandal case. I put that paragraph in as a joke — that was a Congress Hall joke, and I thought you were so very pure up there that you could stand it. I wouldn't have dared to have said it about the Grand Union or Congress Hall. We don't pretend to be so very good here. But I thought you Cla- rendonites were like Caesar's wife — above suspicion. " Good God ! " exclaimed the Judge, throwing both hands wildly in the air ; and then he went back to the Clarendon a happy man. My mail now came up. There were eleven more letters from the Clarendon — some were sealed with aristocratic coats of arms. , some with illuminated monograms." The first one opened had a baronial crown stamped in red and blue. It read as follows : Mon cher M. Perkins, Esquire, Hotel de Congre : — I saw one paragraphe en ze journal, ze COMMOURSHAL, about ze grande scandale of which you have accuse me. Ze customs of ze countree I will not understand, but I am un grattd officier in ze legion dlionneur and I shall not be scare when you have accuse ma chhe, ze Madame, with one grand flir-ta-ti-on (what you dam American call him.) I shall be of ze Madame un grand protecteur avec ze pistools. You shall meet me ce soir ci sixheures, in zo. grande parcke, when I shall shoot you— dam, what you call him — dead ! M. Flourins, de la legation fran^aise a Washington. Hotel de Clarendon, 20 Auguste. / ^'^ ii; ^ "''i^ — • — My next letter was written in the trembling hand of a lady. She said : — Mr. Perkins, Congress Hall. My Dear Sir : — I write this as a friend of yours. You have been deceived. Some of our people came down to Congress Hall, and told these scandalous things out of spite. Baron Flourins has been a little exclusive. We have kept him entirely in our clique. The rest are mad because we have not introduced him. He is a dear duck of a man, as harmless as he is handsome. We take him out to drive, and even to our private parlors to play chess, with perfect impunity. Some envious common people mistook my parlor for my private sleeping-room. The mistake was ludicrous, wasn't it } Mrs. Q sends regards, and hopes you will be at our ball to-night. I have a sweet, pretty young lady to present to you. The villagers will not be allowed to come in. Don't fail to come. Yours in friendship, Catharine C. V n. So the letters went on. I'm sorry I put in the paragraph. It has caused me a great deal of annoyance. I have spent most of the day reading letters and listening to explanations. If I shouM put in such a paragraph about Congress Hall, I know I should never be able to read the correspondence which would result from it ; and if I should do the same to the Grand Union, letters would be brought to my room in wagon loads. I have not said anything ; I don't know anything ; only I do give you the letters as received. " Houi soit qui ntaly pensc r >s., "NT' ' 162 ' N I / _— — •^- SARATOGA INDIAN STORY. LENA AND ORONTA DISAPPEAR IN CONGRESS SPRING. Congress Hall, Saratoga, Aug. 22 CHAPTER I, " Hast thou suffered ? " - No." " Then this letter is not for thee." CHAPTER II, Cest nn progravivie de la Renaissance. Yesterday was a dreary day. Mr. Wheatley postponed the races that the rain might go on undisturbed. Saratoga gathered her 10,000 guests within doors. The meriy laugh went on in the hotel parlors despite the howling tempest without. Those who patronized the shooting galleries and rode on the revolving wooden horses in front of the Clarendon were careful to carry umbrellas. Giddy misses and thoughtless young gentlem.en, who do not believe in punishment after death, played euchre for caramels in the great hotel halls, while the more sober clergymen, smoked their cigars in solemnity, read my religious sermon of yesterday, and talked about the races. Senator Bayard, Senator Robertson, and Simeon Cameron played draw-poker, with nothing to mar their pleasure but the storm and the absence of General Nye and General Schenck. Bernstein played dance music in the parlors, remorseless young women amused us by dancing the round dances, while the old ladies " killed time " on embroidery, or talked about the years gone by when they were the belles of Saratoga. Some of them showed photographs of themselves in point lace capes, twelve button gloves and diamond necklaces, and then lectured the young ladies on the extrava- gance of the times. Mrs. General Greene, who was married forty years ago in a \ / ' 163 Xl/ $2,000 point lace veil, absolutely burst into tears as she narrated about the economy of Sallie Ward and Madame Le Vert. Time moves on. This is a common thing with Time. Twelve o'clock came. CHAPTER in. rHE LONE INDIAN. But Captain Hrown was wide awake. He loaded up his gun. And then pursued the loving pair — and overtook them about half-way to the parson's, when Reuben and Phoebe Started upon a run. ' I said the clock struck twelve. Hastily quitting the abode of mirth, I buttoned up my coat, took the veil off of my hat, and started past Congress Spring toward the Indian encampment — the haunts of the wild savages in the hill. A fearful storm brooded over the forest, and the wind howled among the trees. I read that sentence in a book. A lone Indian woman met me at the door of her tent. She welcomed me with a cold, haughty look, and then she asked me if I would buy a basket. I handed her five cents. Her manner softened, and she burst into tears — then, turning her clear eye upon mine, she asked me if I would tell her the story of my life, I said I would. My mother was a Livingstone — a cold, proud woman, entirely devoted to the world and its fashions. She was poor. My father was a Perkins, a haughty, overbearing man. He was poor also. Thirt3^-six summers ago they met^-at Saratoga — at the Union Hotel. Wm. Leland introduced them. He told Miss Livingstone that Mr. Perkins was worth untold millions. Then he told Mr. Per- kins that Miss Livingstone owned twelve blocks on Bleeker street. This was a li bel. My father's 164 \ \[/_ _^J6 cold heart melted. Wm. Leland has introduced eight hundred unhappy people in the same manner since. The Lelands do not believe in punishment after death. I was the only fruit of their ill-assorted union. I inherited my father's and mother's estates. I am as proud as they, and I boast of my poverty. " What do you think of my story, child of the forest .■'" I asked. The warm-hearted Indian remained a moment sitting — then she started up and asked for ten cents more. As .soon as she saw the money a tear dropped from her eye, and she commenced telling me the story of her tribe and Congress Spring It was thus ; CHAPTER IV. LOVE AND SUICIDB. Two lives so nearly joined in one. So rudely rent in twain. " In years gene by, when the forest waved over the crystal foun- tain which now unveils itself to the inquisitive white man in the sparkling liquid of Congress Spring, my ancestors dwelt around this hallowed spot. Then none save the Indian worshipper ven- tured to gaze upon that fountain where their simple, yet beauti- fully imaginative faith taught them to feel the presence of the Great Being whose sighs were the storm and whose tears were the drippings of the fountain. Our tribe worshipped the Great Spirit, revered and protected the briny fountain of his remorse, and drank the tearful waters in token of our awe. " Then, in days gone by, it was customary to offer a living sacrifice once a year to this boiling fountain, which the pale face calls Congress Spring, and which trickles from the eyes of the Great Spirit. " In the bright autumn month of August, when all earth's flowers were at their richest, and th'e fruits had attained their mellowest tints, ere time could bring his sickle round them, our watchful Sachem gave the word, and our fairest maiden, who had just arrived at womanhood, was bedecked with fruits and flowers -,, >;^ s./ >!!|/1 ELI CRAZY ON STATISTICS. MUl ril'J.ICArioN, ADI'iTloN, AND SUBTRACTION. CONCiKESS Hall, Saratoga. Aug. 23. Statistics are my delight. There is something very ludicrous in a row of figures to me. I am not a commercial man, yet I never see a tailor's bill or a washing list without feeling funny. The pages of a Patent Office Report, when they begin to reach up toward 1,486, make me laugh too numerous to mention. One day a man told me there were just exactly 79,472 hairs on a cat's back. 1 was completely up.set at the man's statistics. I laughed for weeks. I suppose commercial people laugh at my literary work too. I have seen these votaries of commerce laugh at my most serious statements. When I stated the other day that Saratoga was exactly 126 years old, but on account of the short season here the town had existed but 37 years, commercial people laughed at my exactness. You have no idea how har 1 it is to get your statistics right in Saratoga. The sexton was inclined to exaggerate the number of graves in the cemetery. When I a.sked him how many people he buried a day, he asked, " How many do they bury in Ballston ?" He has an exalted pride in surpassing the Ballston cemetery. If more people should die in Ballston than here, he would be a ruined man. Hence his desire to make his gra\e-}-ard show to the best advantage. When I asked him precisely how many young people -came from Congress Hall during the fashionable season to sit on the benches, he answered quickly, 536. I found out afterward that there were in reality but 492. So with Wm. Leland. Yesterday I asked him how many guests he had. He answered readily, 4,689. " How can that be'" I asked, " when you liavc only 824 rooms.''- ~^~ ;j; /In- X I / ; NJ/^ " Well, most of them stay at Congress Hall and the Clarendon." I have some trouble in getting at the ages of the young ladies here. Yesterday I remarked to a mother — " Ah, I had the pleasure of meeting your daughter here five years ago.' " Yes," she said, " Mary was fourteen years old then." I took Mary to the ball that summer, and she wore a court- train dress. I thought she was a young lady, but I must have been a victim of misplaced confidence if she was only fourteen, I must have had queer taste then. I don't look at a young lady now under nineteen. There is one young lady here reported to be worth $14,000,000. She has sixty-nine beaux. Yesterday one dropped off. He said he'd been fooled by the statistics. The young lady's father is a well-to-do grocer, and he showed me a letter from New Orleans to prove it. It is wrong thus to deceive unsuspecting young men. Up at the Clarendon they never talk about wealth. Their forte is pedigree. One lady said her family had fought in the Revolution for twenty-one generations — one uncle was still fighting. These are the kind of people I like. They don't gloat over the multiplication table. Commerce is vulgar. MORE STATISTICS. To-day I have been in silent communion with my old statician. Together we have revelled in statistics. We got hold of the steward of Congress Hall. He has a good memory and seven- teen books full of figures to refer to. His name is J. D. Crawford. He stays down in the rear of Congress Hall, where all the provi- sions for the Hall are received. He has two boys, who do nothing but count, multiply, and divide. (They count on living an easy time, multiply Crawford's cares, and divide the profits.) I want you to understand that my statistics are exact. I take them from the books. I "went for" Crawford thus (" went for" is quoted from Bret Harte) : /i\ 173 '1^ \l/ \»/ " I low many chickens do you use per day, where are they got- ten, who gets them, and what do they cost apiece ?" Crawford — " W'e use 900 chickens daily. We have 10 chicken men in Washington and Saratoga counties. They travel all the time. The chickens cost 31 cents apiece." " Where do you get your meats, why do you get them there, and who gets them .'*" Crawford — "Our beef comes from New York. We use 1,000 pounds daily. C. L. Williams is our beef man. We only use the rib and loin of a beef. It costs 25 cents per pound. Our mutton costs 18 cents, barring it's lamb, then it costs 15 cents. It comes from our butchers here. The reason we get our beef in New York is because if butchers here were to furnish it they would be overstocked with an excess of coarse meat. We only use the best cuts. We pay $2 per hundred freight on beef from New York." "Eggs.?" Crawford — " We use 800 eggs per day. They cost 25 cents per dozen. B. Brigs furnishes them from Washington and Saratoga counties." " Butter V Crawford — " We use 300 pounds daily. It costs 25 cents per pound. It comes from our farmers. If I run short I raise the price a cent or two, and a tun of butter will come in in a day. The farmers hear of these little advances very quick." " Peaches, apples, melons, nuts, fish, and soft-shell crabs ?" Crawford — " Mr. Williams, who furnishes the beef, sends these from New York." " Berries ?" Crawford— ''Mrs. Morris furnishes the berries from North Greenfield Centre. She keeps 20 women picking all the time. She furnishes 200 quarts of blackberries and red raspberries per day — price 18 cents per quart." " Woodcock and game ?" Crawford—'' Our woodcock and game comes from the fields ^h -/;(- \i/ . >k- and the north woods (Adirondacks), and is brou<^ht in by our own hunters. Woodcock cost $1.20 per pair, trout 60 cents, and black bass 50 cents per pound. We get our Spanish mackerel and salmon from the sea and from Pennoyer and Van Antwarp's, in Saratoga. We have had as many as 800 woodcock and 1,500 chickens on ice at one time. " Our game makes a good deal of trouble. It is from this the waiters make their perquisites. If we put woodcock on the bills, 125 waiters are sure to want them whether the guests ordered them or not. Just imagine 125 crazy waiters shouting, fighting, and scuffling for woodcock. " The cook-room becomes a pandemonium, and it frequently resolves itself into a question of physical strength as to who shall have the best dishes. The waiters only stay two months, so they don't care much about discipline. Each one fights for his ' own table.' " *' Then, if you were a guest, you would pick a table with the strongest \yaiter ?"' " Just so. A big fellow is sure to knock all the little fellows out of joint, and secure two plates of woodcock. But don't tell the hotel people this — they'd all want the 'oig waiters." Congress Hall cost $7510,000. Length of exterior frontage, 1,200 feet. Number of rooms, 600. Number of doors, 900. Number of windows, 1,200. Accommodations for 1,200 guests. Carpeting, 7 acres. Length of halls, i^ miles. Ball room cost $6,500. Proprietors, H. II. Hathorn, R. H. Southgate, and C. F. Southgate. Room clerk, Frank H. Hathorn ; Cashier, E. H. Rodgers ; Counter clerks, F. H. Hathorn. Union Springs, N. Y., and D. B. Young, Saratoga. - ^ 0^ TIIK (.)Tlll.k IIOli:!. ^lATIsllLS. GraN'D Union ; cost $800,000 ; live stories higli ; 824 rooms ; 1,474 doors ; 1,890 windows ; dccomniodates 1.700 guests ; carpet- inn-, 9 acres . length ofhalKs, 1 -^.j; miles ; length of exterior frontage 1.280 feet. Owned b\- A T. Stewart, and kept by the well known Jos. H. Breslen and I'etcr Gardner— Wm. Leland and Warren Leland having gone to keep a fashionable hotel in Alaska. The CLARENDON' is a large frame structure. iSlo house in Saratoga excells it in good repute. It accommodates 450 people. Worth $250,000. Kept by Chas. E. Leland. The American is the old city hotel — 50 years old. Accom- modates 300 guests. Charmingly situated on Broadway. Value $150,000, kept by W. H. McCaffrey. The Columbian, kept by Jerome Leland. Value $iOO,000. Accommodates 150 guests (burnt Sept. 14th, 1871). The other hotels are the Marvin House, by A. and D. Snyder (150 guests) ; CONTINENTAL, Harry De Mars (150 guests) ; Crescent, by Dr. Hamilton (100 guests) ; Pitney's (40 guests) ; Dr. Strong's. Now rising like a Phoenix, comes Jos, H. Breslin's new Hotel, extending from Dr. Hamilton's, away over towards the Clarendon, and capable of accommodating 600 guests Temple Grove House, Mr. Dowd (150 guests) ; Mont Eagle Park Place (burnt Sept. 14) ; Mansion House, Commercial, \Vashin(;ton Hall, Broadway House, White's and the Pavillion. " How js that for statistics .'" I asked of my old statician. He made no reply but bent his head low and cried for joy ! " O ! " he murmured, " such a day with figures and the multipli- cation table, is worth a life time of flirting and round dancing .'' " His mind was so exercised, that as I left him he went on repeating to himself. "6 times i are 6 ; 6 times 2 are I2 ; 6 times 3 are i8 " ^^'•^ ^6 ^'^ \ THi: BATTLK OF SARATOGA, Saratoga, Aug. 25. To-day, in company with a party of marriage- able Clarendon ladies, I visited the old battle ground of Saratoga. Some went in a sportive way, and others, alas ! went to see the last resting place of patriot sires. """ ^~^'^^ Almost every lady had an ancestor or two killed in this memorable battle. One lost a grandfather, but she found him afterward — hid away in the cellar ; others lost grandmothers and aunts, and one venerable old lady said she lost a beautiful daughter ; she eloped with a British officer. I asked her when the battle occurred. She said, alas ! her memory tottered, but she thought it was previous to McDow^ell's capture of Washington after the first Bull Run. We spent some time between Moon's and Meyers' looking for the battle field, but we could not find it. It seems the place has been moved over toward Stillwater and Mechanicsville. I don't see how Burgoyne ever found the place at all. They must have hunted for that memorable battle ground for months. After searching for a long time we found a venerable guide. He said he knew just where to look for it. He assisted Burgoyne in finding the place. He was full of statistics and knew all about the battle. He stood close by General McClellan when he and General Gates made that heavy charge with the colored troops. " Alas 1 " he sighed, " the colored troops are still charging dow^n at Congress Hall. It runs in their blood." F 177 '1^ — • ^ / THE BATTLE. General Buigoyne was a British officer. He was a foreigner a " blarsted " Englishman. He was sent over here to subjugate America and to find this battle field. No one knew of the place but Burgonye. He had spent the summer of 1755 with Charles Leland at the Clarendon. All the time he was not drinking Congress water he spent looking for this place- At last he found it, and went back and told Oliver Goldsmith. Oliver told Lord Palmerston, and he told George HI. Mr. Seward was our St. James Minister then. He found out the secret, telegraphed it to Mr. Fish, and it was stolen from the State Department that same night, by some remorseless corres- pondent. General Burgoyne sailed down from Plattsburg on the Champlain Canal. He brought 8,000 men. They were picked men — picked off by Federal sharpshooters. General Gates and General McClellan came up by way of the Hudson River steam- boats — People's line. Burgoyne put up at Meyers' Cedar Bluff Hotel, and Gates and McClellan occupied rooms at Moon's. Moon was then a mere lad. He cherished the Republic, supported the Continental Congress, and went on selling his fried potatoes. Just before the battle, and while Burgoyne's cannon were booming in the distance, Mrs. Moon consecrated herself to her great patriotic work — frying potatoes. Generals Gates and McClellan were burning with patriotic ardor — Mrs. Moon with her patriotic larder. The booming cannon inspired them to deeds of lofty heroism. The battle was about to commence. Burgoyne moved up with the Turcos and Landwehr from Stillwater. The Uhlans were in front. Then came a delay. He had lost the battle field — taken the wrong road. General Beauregard and General Sheridan now galloped up. They were accompanied by Mr. Bergh and Josh Billings. " Hast thou found the memorable spot on which thfs san- guinary action is to occur ?" asked Burgoyne in a tone of agita- tion. F. Sheridan said he had. M. Beauregard also nodded assent. Sheridan said they searched for a long time, but their researches were finally rewarded. They found the place — they^knew it was — « — the place by the monument. The monument sa on it thus 1775. Sacred to the Memory of HOKACE BLTxGUYXE, F. SHERIDAN, And Others who Surrendered to U. S. GATES, GENERAL McCLELLAN, MRS. MOON AND MRS. MEYERS, NEAR Saratoga, where the Clarendon, Union, and Congress Hall Hotels are always happy to accommodate guests at $5 per day. Liberal discount made on weeklv bills. J. MORRISSEY, Secretary. The eagle eye of General Burgoyne caught the superscription, and he said, " Let the gods rejoice — it is found." McClellan's men now moved up from Moon's. TJIK COLORED TROOPS, as usual, were in front, then came the Franc-Tireurs, lastly, tlie patriots. My uncle, Consider Perkins, occupied posts of danger — hitch- ing posts — with the patriots. They boldly sang, " Rally Round the Flag, Boys," and then returned to Moon's several times to rally around it. My uncle said he loved to " shout the battle cry of freedom," but he was of actual service in the battle only as far as the moral influence of his name went. He alwa}'s defended the flanks of the army. THE GUN-BOATS now anchored opposite Bemus Heights on the Stillwater, right in 179 /r ^!/__ ^! the rear of Cornwallis" subsistence dcpaitnient. Mrs. Meyers j had supplied the British troops with black bass and stewed j potatoes. She said her patriotism must find vent some way, Wlien they wanted to pay her money, she said, " No, give it to the poor, send it to President Grant." She was a Perkins, and the Perkins blood always tells. In after-years the patriotic Meyers got a claim through Congress for $13,000 "damages done to garden and liquors drank at bar by British officers." General Nye got it through. Nye afterward made a speech in favor of '" bridging the Potomac " with the carcasses of dead Secessionists." But the wiser counsels of General McClellan prevailed. Lincoln told him it would be wrong. THE BATTLE RAGES. The Patriots from Saratoga County fight behind the colored troops. They occupy dangerous places behind empty barrels, and eat paper after paper of fried potatoes, while the battle rages wildly about them. The balls go by them thick and fast — in wagons. The colored troops from Congress Hall made charge after charge. Amid the groans of the wounded and the shrieks of the dying, they gather behind the monument — a forlorn hope. Where is Fitz John Porter.' His command left Saratoga at daylight. They marched around by Ballston Spa and Schenectady. Alas, too late ! General Butler now moves up Avith a fresh regiment of colored troops. Butler steals a march on Burgoyne and joins the gun- boats in the rear of his commissary department. His men con- sume everything in their reach. The entire British army is left without rations. The Uhlans surrender— the Saratogians cease to carry water to the British, and Burgoyne sends General Trochu forward with a white flag. General Burgoyne receives General Gates with a li;iughl\- air. " Lift up your head, O ye Gates," he says, in a commanding voice. Gates accepts the situation meekly, and Burgoyne permits him to return to Con- gre.ss Hall. Fitz John Porter now hove in sight. He fired a few shots into the Patriots in the rear of Moon's, and then came forward and fell into McClellan's arms. It was an affecting sight. Mrs. Moon and Mrs. Meyers and Wm. Leland agreed to the terms of surrender. The British officers were imprisoned at the Clarendon. Many of them married fortunes. Burgoyne himself, as I wrote before, occupied a position in the New York Custom House, and became a staunch supporter of Gen. Grant. Many patriotic Saratogians were lost in the battle, but they were generally found in cellars and behind barrels the next day. Young ladies who eloped with British officers had large families of children and lived happy lives. j^f-/'"«m .M n\ f:-^¥> ,:) 1 ISI THE PERKINS' FAMILY. Congress Hall, Aug. 26th. The ladies came to me this morning, and wished me to entertain them with some reminiscences of the Perkins' family, their rch'gious and political belief, and their philosophica, traits. I divided my sermon into four heads : 1. Bio(;raphic.\[.. 2. TllKULOGlCAL. 3. Political. 4. Advisatorv [pJiilosopJiical). 1st. Biographical. — The Perkinses are a great family. Some of them were in almost every battle of the Revolution — some on one side and some on the other. Nathaniel Perkins was in the battle of Saratoga. All day he was in the thickest of the fight — carrying water to the British. My father lost his arms at the battle of Saratoga — he threw them away so he could run faster. He led his men so well that he was sent for by Wm. Leland to lead the Union Hall Germans. My uncle, Abraham Perkins, first served with General McClellan, but getting a chance of promotion, he became a quarter-master on Beauregard's staff. He was lost at Gettysburg, but afterwards found hid away behind a barrel eating hard boiled eggs. I only .speak of the Saratoga Perkinses incidentally. Our pride of blood, and name, and revolutionary aristocracy cul- minate in Litchfield County — State of Connecticut. There I was born. I had no father or mother. 1 was born an orphan. It took place at my aunt's — aunt Sarah Perkins. My father died in infancy. His name was Cyrus Perkins. I think he had Cir- cassian blood in his veins. My uncles' names are Nathaniel, Joseph, Isaac, Jacob, Nehemiah, and Consider. My aunts are Debora, Ruth and Rebecca. My grandfather never patronized si the New Testament. When uncle Jacob Perkins registered his name the other day at the Grand Union. Wm. Leland a-^kcd him if he kept a clothing store. " Why ? " asked my uncle Jacob indignantly. ** Because there are so many Jacobs on Chatham St." My uncle Consider Perkins was named after Captain Consider Standish, of Plymouth. Plymouth was named after Mr. Beecher's church. The Perkinses in Litchfield County are famous agriculturists — they raise prize cucumbers and large families of health}- children. I was one of a family of eleven — />//t not tJie only one. The chil- dren generally turned out well, and the cucumbers brought a good price. My uncle Consider has frequently started for New London with a load of small cucumbers. It was a long distance, but the cucumbers continued to grow in the wagon. From these few baskets of small cucumbers my uncle often sold three or four wagon loads in New London, New London was then larger than New York, and a good deal more aristocratic. Peter Minuet bought Manhattan Island f^r sixteen pounds sterling. He sold out to one of the Stuyve.sants for £26, and went back to England, built a castle, and revelled in luxury. William Tweed and Peter Sweeney have sold out the city a good many times since, and they, too, alas ! revel in luxurious castles on Fifth Avenue. In the days of the Colonists, New London and the Perknis family were great. They distinguished themselves in agriculture and other scientific branches, and whitened the ocean with the sails of glorious commerce — they sold mackerel. The Pequot house was then a lone fisherman's hut. Mr. Pequot married a Perkins, and my grandfather gave him the house as a wedding present, Pequot thrived well. He raised a good many Pequots, who in turn begot other Pequots. They finally got so strong that they went over to Salem on a crusade against the Puritans. 'iv -^^ /;^ — • — / They captured 936 Puritans, 4.32 Baptists, and 91 Christians. People talked a good deal about religious liberty in those days, but alas ! it was the same as now. New Yorkers talk a good deal about liberty, but they have got to go over to New Jersey for their Sunday lager and Orange parades. 2nd, Theological. — My uncle Consider is a great Baptist. He said he would kill every darned Presbyterian in the country if he had his way. He was devoted to religion ! My father was a member of the Episcopal Church. He said he did not believe much in religion, and that Church came nearest to his belief I inherited my father's religious faith. I am happy in it. Our Church permits swearing in a mild form. Most all of the Fifth Avenue sivell fellows belong to our Church. We never let our religion interfere with our dancing and euchre playing. Far different. I used to believe everything I read in church books, but, alas ! I find they won't do to tie to always. When I visited Parma, I saw a hand of the Virgin Mary — I saw another in Rome — then one in Cologne, and lastly one in Tvcrtza near Moscow. I never could reconcile all these hands. As the priest showed them to me, he wept a pious tear, and said, " They are all ih-: true hands of the Virgin, and here are the books to prove it." I said, ''Alas ! people w^ere handier in those days than they are now." In Tartary they talked of sending missionaries to convert the poor heathen in New York. Then they showed me piles of burnt bones, where their good heathen had died for their faith, like our John Huss, Cranmer, and Latimer of Oxford. I said, " Alas ! you are all honest — you are all right. You can all have Confucius, Mohamed, the Pope, Swedenburgh, and Brigham Young, but they can't all be right. I don't want to run any risks." 3rd. Political. — The Perkinses are staunch Democrats, though I favor the PRESENT Administration. I had one cousin, Nicodemus Perkins, who was so Democratic that he enlisted in the Confederate army, under General Lee. One day the /•^ \[/ : Adjutant, ulio was subject to bad spells, issued an order detaiiin*; " Niggerdemus " Perkins for picket duty. My cousin was cap- tured that night by one Union scout. He now loves the old flag. He frequently sings : " Kweet flag, I love thee still," and then he goes down on the Connecticut river bottom in search of it, and digs for hours. Many of the Connecticut Perkinses are still voting the Presidency ticket. "Why do you do .so, Uncle Consider.'" I asked. " Do you want me to marry a nigger ? " he exclaimed in pious indignation. Alas ! it is chronic with him ! Many of my relations are pursuing the evil tenor of their waj's in Saratoga. Some dance, some go to church, and some alas ! like the dissolute Saratogians, spend their time drinking Con- gress water. Yesterday my uncle Jacob had a fight with the spring bo}'. because he wanted to wa.ste a glass of water, simply because it had a small snake in it. After my snake story, he continued to drink the water with even greater relish. He said the time to .stop drinking the water was when the snakes were in — not after they had come out. They are great philosophers — the Perkins are. They all marr\^ the first time )'oung. After that the\' arc not so particular. No Perkins ever dyed his hair, colored his mustache, owned a striped shirt, or wore a paper collar. No Perkins was ever a call- porter, peddler, photographer, circus man, life insurance agent, book canvasser, lightning-rod agent, or negro minstrel. Far different. 4th. Advice (philosophical). — When I first saw the four hands of the Virgin Mary, and the statue of William Tell, I thought 1 had learned some wise things. Then 1 thought with Mr. Billings, that you'd better nr)t know so much, than to know so many things that a'n't so. _> C ^h 18: ^r si/ — » — This I give to you in i^^ood linL,dish. I can spell better than A. Ward or J. Billings. 2nd. In selecting your companions my advice is to associate with the nicest people. If you know nice people, it is easy enough to descend in the scale. If you begin with the lowest, we read in Lacoji, it is impossible to ascend. " In the grand theatre of human life, a box ticket takes us through the house." 3rd. " If you want enemies excel others; if you want friends let others excel you." We hate those only of whom we are envious and jealous, because they excel us. We desire their broods or talents. Contempt applies to a person who has done a mean thing. To be hated by the envious and jealous, is a frank admission that you are their superior. 4th. Everybody is susceptible of flattery. When they abuse and ridicule jj'tJw;' rivals, they indirectly flatter j/w/', and you are pleased. Diogenes abused the superiors of himself and the Athenian mob, and delighted his vulgar auditors. Some one said to the old blind poet :— " Mr. Milton, you arc the only person we have ever met who is not susceptible to flattery." " / am pleased to hear you say so," said the old poet. 5th. Conversation generally runs around in a circle. Little- minded people talk clear round the circle, and repeat every day. while great minds talk on and on, and it will take a month to even find which way the race is going to turn, you will hardly live long enough to hear them repeat. Little minds see one horse, one book, one house. Large minds take in every racer on the track, carry " libraries " in their brains, and, in fancy, see whole villages and cities, as you see men on a checker board. 6th. Dull people are many times improperly called dull, be- cause they consider you of two little importance to call them out. Their great minds do not show out everything in a minute. They have a ground glass shade over their minds, and if they choose to lift it, they can flood you with intellectual light. 186 /f^ Others may be bi'iy;ht and Jerky, a.s Holmes sa}-.s, but tliey dis- tract you, and soon tnlk out, while the dull friend is " like takinc^ a cat in your cap, after holding a squirrel." Thunder make^ a big noise, but lightning strikes ! /th. A moneyed aristocracy is not to be sneezed at. Monej- buys bath tubs, choice cuts of beef, country places, and well ventilated houses. A horse fed on oats, will look more beautiful than a horse fed on hay : so children fed on spring chickens are better than children fed on dry crusts The beautiful daughters of the rich are caught up by those who can afford the luxury, and whole families may acquire, through good food and well ventilated rooms, an elevated type of features and figure. Because some of the rich degenerate and grow gouty on cham- pagne and salads, you must not overlook the many who become beautiful on roast beef (happy liearts), and the regenerating bath. Lastly. My uncle Consider in a late sermon where he was sworn in to preach the Gospel — as he understood it — promulgated the following undisputed facts — says Consider : — First — I see before me ladies drest in rich camel's hair shawls, and gentlemen in long-tailed Russian overcoats — at grate ex- pense. You all look nice. Neither of you kan see hiz own close. So I should think that all this vanity would be a bore, for you hav to wear nobby close just for poky people to look at — so to speak. Second — Billtwced is a grate skoolmaster — he teaches both by precept and example. He advises virtue and pracktices korrup- tion. His precept is good, and his awful example is enough to konvince everybody. Third — If you want to be wize, let other people do all the tocking ; and soon you will no all tha no, and hav your own noledge besides. Brown's Boys at a fifth Heavenue party korner a bottle of shampanc themselves, and then " lay lo " and drink with everybody else. — — -/-,v /7^,//;Y/^_\Vhcn a man lies to you he says I'm so " klever " that you kant see thru me. He komphments hissclf at your expense. /.>y///__Pcriclese tho't it was a " big thing " to be pointed out on the Bruathvay o( Athens, but the same thing happens every day in New York to Morres.sy and Heenan. and Kount Jones tlie wash-tub inventor. Athens was a one-liorse town to New ^'ork, .so Periclese must be a one-horse man to Kount Jones. Stxt/i—U you hear a .society swell mention any young lady's name lightly, watch him. If he looks noing and boasts of undue familiarity, he is one of two things — to wit : If what he sez is true, he is a goose an^l a lo skoundre' for telling it ; and if it is false but I've rezolved to keep all profanity out of this ser- \ mon Seventh— \^\- . Johnson sed that the anshunt Romun.s. when poor, robbed others, and when rich themselves. For 200 years New York hasben engaged in robbing herself. I pitty humanity if she ever gets redy to turn around and filibuster on the rest of the world. I dred the universal piracy which will follow the turning point. If New York were as smart as Rome she would have plundered the world first, for now .she kan't raise money enuf to start on a decent krusade ! Eighth — My dear young ladie.s, I h?ve been a great philosopher in my time. The Perkinses are all great philosophers. Once I saw a man pulling his arms off trying to get on a new pair cf boots, I said : Philosophically they are too small, and you will never be able to get them on till you havcivorn thcni a spell ! I heard an officer in the Seventh Regiment scolding a private for coming too late to drill, so I said : Philosophically somebody must always come last ; this fellow ought to be praised, for, if he had come earlier, he would have shirked the scolding off upon somebody else ! ^1"^ T^s, y\^ \l/ \iy I saw an old maid at the Fifth Avenue, witl: her face covered with wrinkles, turning sadly away from the mirror, so I said : PJiilosopJdcally mirrors now-a-daj-s are faulty. They don't make such nice mirrors as they used to zvJicn yoii zuirc young ! I heard a young lady from Brooklyn praising the sun, so I said : Philosophically the sun may be very good, but the moon is a good deal better, for she gives us light in the night when we need it, while the sun only shines in the day time, luhen it is light enough ! I saw two men shoot an eagle, and as he dropped on the ground, 1 said ; Philosophically you might have saved your powder for the fall alone tvould have killed him ! An old man in Philadelphia brought a blooming girl to church to be married to her. The minister stepped behind the baptismal font, and said as he sprinkled water over her head : Philosophically I'm glad you brought the dear child to be baptized ! 'i.<^j A young man was disappointed in love at Niagara Falls, so he went out on a terrible precipice, took off his clothes, cast one long look into the fearful whirlpool, and then — Philosophically went home and went to bed ! Two Mississippi River darkies saw for the first time a train of cars. They were in a quandary to know what kind of a monster it was, so one said : Philosophically it is a dried ,up steamboat getting back into the river ! A poor sick man, with a musta-rd plaster on him, said : Philosophically if I should eat a loaf of bread, I'd be a live sandwich ! '1^ 189 /•v /* — • — As a man was buying his wife, he said to his friend in the jrraveyard, "Alas I you feel happier than I." "Yes, neighbor." said the friend : ''Philosophically I ought to feel happier, I have two wives buried here I \ man '• out West " turned " State's evidence," and swore that he was a member of a gang of thieves. By-and-by they found the roll of actual members, and accused the man of swearing falsel\- " 1 was a member," said the man. " I — —■ — Philosopliicalty " I was an honorable member !" 190 / \l/ SARATOGA IN looi F.r.I AN OLD MAN. United States Hotel. Saratoga, Aug. 28th, 1901. Thirty years ago, in the days of vigorous manhood, I often visited this peaceful village. The la.st time was the year 1871, after the great Franco-Prussian war, when Lan. wrote for the Coviuicrcial, and before General Grant's second struggle for the Presidency. I was young then, but alas ! I am now an old, gray-haired man, tottering under the weight of three-score years. I well remember the splendid young fellows who surrounded me j"n those days. Many of them became distinguished in after-life, and some, alas ! were early reaped by the keen sickle of Deatli ! Many of these splendid fellows belonged to the 7th Regiment, and were killed in the great Orange riot in 1880. Indeed, half of the regiments were killed during those bloody times. This riot took place just north of Central Park, and extended nil along up the Boulevard to High Bridge, which was then the centre of the city. The Bloomery-dole road had been closed and built over for many years. The City Hall and Post Ofifice had been moved up to Madison Square. Peter Gilsey alone survives these changes, and he remembers and narrates how he sold out 191 \l. ^ the Gilsey House to a grandson of James Gordon Bennett for the Herald publishing house, and how there was a grand public meeting to subscribe money to buy the old P'ifth Avenue Hotel for the New York Times, after the long litigation had reclaimed the old Times site to the City Corporation. At first they didn't think there was going to be a riot. There had been a good deal of grumbling among the Boulevard laborers up towards the old Jerome Race Track, and a good many recent meetings had been held on Thirty-fourth street, which was then a great Irish quarter. First they wanted their time diminished to six hours per day. This was granted. Then some bad leaders with orations, meetings, and pamphlets, inflamed the laborers to declare for the Commune. The people thought it was all talk, but one day on the 17th of June, 1880, the Commu- nists headed by an armed regiment absolutely appeared in the centre of the city in front of the Great Westchester Hotel. They commenced robbing, burning, and pillaging in every direction. Their cry was, "The rich shall divide their property with the poor." The 7th Regiment, backed by the 9th, and the Brooklyn 23rd, flew to its armory, seized arms, and commenced its march against the rioters. The rioters without any attempt at a parley, opened fire at their first appearance. Colonel Clarke fell pierced by three balls, and General Shaler was knocked senseless upon the ground by a shot from a concealed field-piece, and was run over by the mob. Major Sniffin and Lt.-Colonel Fitz- gerald were also killed. The whole regiment was pushed back, but were reinforced by General Dakin, with the 23rd Regiment of the 5th Division. General Dakin was in front. A shower of balls came and the General with four officers were killed instantly, and the militia, outnumberd, had to fall back into Central Park. Then came a time of terrible i>lo<3dshed. The big hotels were gutted, banks robbed, and newspaper offices burnt. The venerable Horace Greeley and Mr. Bryant were lynched by the mob ; Mr. Belmont and Mr. Aspinwall's picture galeries were destroyed, and every window was broken in the 192 - • — \ /l^ \«/ Hotel for women, which Mr. Stewart had built man}- years pre- vious. Ahis I these were terrible times, and I slmdder at my own narration. Finally General Grant (the good man is dead now), sent up 8,000 regular troops with Sheridan and Shernian at their head. The mob was at last subdued. Since that time we have had peace, and neither Catholics nor Orangemen think of parading. EUROPE. I had been absent in Europe attending to our Moscow office of the Grand International Aerial Flying Company for thirty years, when I jumped into one of our aerial floating palaces for my summer trip. Our aerial train was destined for Saratoga 77^ Baden-Baden, Margate, Long Hranch, and the Adirondacks, and was propelled through the air on the large wing system invented by a descendant of one of the Hoes, whose grandfather had, years before, invented the great c\-linder printing press. I had heard very little of America during the past thirty years, my American Tetters simply referring to personal and family matters, the wealth and growth of the Perkins family. Baden-Baden. Luxemburg, and Wiesbaden, were held by the F'rench, under the Presidency of a son of the Due de Chambord, after the war of 1 89 1. Napoleon HI. had settled at Hempstead Plains, on Long Island, and all Europe was quiet. After spending a day at Baden, and an afternoon at Margate and Brighton, in F^ngland, we DROPPED DOWN .\T I.ONG BRANCH. We were astonished at the great change which the thirty years had made. We looked for the old Continental Hotel. It was gone. A venerable fisherman came along. I asked him if he was sure we were at Long Branch. He said he was. '• But where is the Continental, the Mansion House, Howell's, and those long wooden hotels which used to be here ?" I asked. " O, they went into the ocean years ago. The beach washed \1/ ^1^ away. Do you see that yacht ?" asked the old man, pointing to the sea. " \ es. " Well, that rides at anchor about where the West End used to stand." " But what became of the President's cottage?" " Well, that went with the rest. But the President didn't care. He was very rich. He had made a good deal of money raising horses in the White-House yard. By-and-by some one, I believe Mr. Dana, gave him a fine colt. That colt became a racer, beat everything in the country, became worth $ICX),000, and finally General Grant resigned the Presidency to look after him. You know Mr. Dana and President Grant made up after the election in 1872, and they were very warm friends before Mr Dana died." "Dana dead!" I exclaimed filled with sorrow, "what killed him .-*" " Well, it is a sad story," continued the old fisherman, " but I will tell you about it as near as I can remember. " You know Mr. Dana had a way of keeping a list of President Grant's relations in a paper which he then published called the Sun. Well he kept that list faithfully and well. Every relation he could hear of he put down. The President kept on having children — they in turn had other children, and there were a great many grandchildren. " Mrs. Grant suggested to the President the propriety of drowning some of his children. " But the President said, — ' No, other Presidents have had children— Mr. Adams and Mr. Van Buren, and while perhaps it would have been better if Mr. Van Buren had drowned his children, still, on the whole, I think I'll let ours live.' "So they kept on living and increasing. By-and-by they made a column — these children and grandchildren did — then two columns, then a whole page. They took up so much reom that Mr. Dana gave up, first his editorials — then his local news — then his foreign matter. Then for days and weeks the paper appeared nI/ \ !/ with nothing in it, but those faithful hsts of the President's relations." " What then ?" I asked deeply interested. " Well everything went on well, till one day Mr. Dana got a telegram from St. Louis : ' Tivo more grandchildren for Presi- dent Grant! What could he do ? The paper was full. In a quandary the unhappy man rushed over to the Tribune office to see old Mr. Ripley, to see if there wasn't room for them in the encyclopedia. Ripley said * he was sorry, but there was no place for them.' Then in a fit of remorse, Mr. Dana threw hi.s scull-cap at Mr. Cummings, pulled a wide-brimmed sombrano over his eyes, and started for the East River bridge " " And jumped off .''" " Nobody ever knew. His clothes were found the next morning floating on the tide past Fort Hamilton." Filled with sorrow, for I loved Mr. Dana, I bade adieu to what w^as once Long Branch, mounted the car, and flew THROUGH THE AIR TO SARATOGA. The first thing that met me as I alighted was this mammoth hotel — the United States. Three gray-haired men tottered up to bid me welcome. They were the venerable James H. Breslin, Hiram Tompkins, and James M. Marvin. The silver-haired R. H. Southgate, I found, was also one of the proprietors. The parlors were gayly lighted, and the belles and beaux were just going into the sit room. " The what room V I asked when they told me. " The sit room. Why, don't you know about it .-*" they all asked. We don't dance the round dances any more you know in America — it's too tiresome, then it's considered vulgar now. The mammas accompany the daughters into the " sit " room, when the gentlemen sit down by them, hold their hands, and put their arms around their waists, and hold them to their bosoms, just as they used to in the round dances, only they don't go dancing around the room. There they sit and talk for hours. THE " SIT " ROOM. " (), it's SO much nicer ! jio getting heated and catching cold —all is quiet and genteel. This is the result of thirty years of civilization. The trouble of dancing all around the room was more than the fun was worth." ^ I now looked to see now THE VUUNC; LADIES WERE DRESSED. Such a change ! The higli iieels are gone. There are no more round shoulders, but the Goddess of Fashion has not been idle. Her ways are almost as ridiculous as they were in 1871, when they used to stuff out with newspapers, and dangle their hands and their right-angled wrists in front. Now, they have the front soles of their shoes made an inch thick, while the heels are taken off, and every young lady stands bent as far over back, as she used to stand bent forward, thirty years ago. Their dresses are stuffed out on each side with newspapers, just as they used to stuff them out on the back. Sometimes the eyes are painted black underneath, as they used to be. They said the cretonne suits were worn for two years, then the ladies got to wearing dresses made of peacock's feathers. I noticed the waists of the dresses to-day at the United States were very high — the same as you see in the pictures of 196 ^t^ / Mrs. Madison. Gloves have twcaty-foiir buttons, and extend to the shoulder. The dresses arc cut low-neck -vcr\- low ; but th^ neck and shoulders are covered with white kid to match the gloves. These necks fit so niccl)- that )'ou think you are looking at the naked shoulders. Shady young ladies now wear stuffed arms and necks, and defy detection. The old fashion of powder- ing the face to take away the gloss and glow of health, has been discontinued. Gentlemen wear trowsers ver}' large at the knee, and tight at the bottom. The coats are cut low in the neck with short sleeves, something like the ladies" dresses in 1872. Gentlemen also wear single eye-glasses, waxed mustaches and imperials, and earrings, a fashion which used to be observed thirty years ago by the ladies. Gentlemen's hats arc generally the mode, chapcau dc brigand, turned up at the sides, with rooster s feathers. — • — \ A~ CJENTLKUEN IN 1^01. After breakfast 1 strolled out to -r^ce the great cit)' of .Saratoga. I found the aristocratic Clarendon precisel)' as I had left it thirty 197 /(N — • — — — ^ — years ago. They wanted to build another hotel opposite, but they found it would interfere with the hand-organ, and the pro- ject fell to the ground. Many of the Clarendonites were so attached to the hand-organ that they remained all winter to hear it play. The Grand Union, I found, was burnt to the ground in 1894. They had been without gas in Saratoga for three nights. Then came. the great eclipse of the sun in 1894. Everyboby was anxious to see it, but the gas was out. In a rash moment Wm. Leland, to gratify a guest, touched a light to one of the wings, expecting to make a small temporary light to see the eclipse by, and then he proposed to put it out. William became interested in the eclipse, the flames spread apace, and soon the whole struc- ture was wrapped in flames. Judge Barnard, Judge Hilton, and A. T. Stewart perished in the flames. Mr. Stewart left his Thirty-fourth street house to New York as an art gallery. Warren Leland escaped, moved up to John Brown's tract, cleared off the North Woods, and now has a mammoth farm where Murray used to conspire with the musquitos to bring suffering upon his fellow-men. He is a public benefactor. At Congress Hall, which now extends twelve olocks back over the Indian encampment, I found many familiar faces. The next charming belles were those little babies which I left a good many years ago. Miss Flora Davis, Miss Gracie Buckley, Miss Julia Watson Southgate, a golden-haired blonde, and Miss Madge Heywood Breslin, a liquid-eyed brunette. They near the centre of an admiring group. INTEMPERANCE. After traveling for thirty years among the temperance societies of Scotland, seeing a few muddled red-nosed Lords in England and France, and spending some time in Germanywhere it is mipossibie for people to drink enough of her flimsy beer and sour wine to get drunk on, it was really Refreshing for me to drop down on the shores of our dear native land, and see our si/ >»/ " ~~ — ~ '. "^ noble patriotic citizens having a good square old American drunk ? They had built a new Kursaal for gambling and drinking in the rear of Congress Hall. There at twelve o'clock at night every boy went to look upon the bright and shining example of American intemperance. When I saw the great blue eyes of the new generation of Americans rolling foolishly — and listened to their meaningless but loving twaddle, I felt the impulse of a spell. What was it .-' R was the power of associa- tion. It carried me back to New York in her younger days — carried me back to the theatre bar-room at the Grand Opera House, — carried me back to the Gilsey House and the knights of the round table, at 1 1 p. m. Tears came to my eyes, as after my thirty years absence, I caught a whiff of their whiskey breath — for it reminded me of the old free-lunch atmosphere of Ford's and Jerry Thomas'. It reminded me of the lobby rooms in the capitol at Washington, reminded me of the air about City Hall in the palmy days of the " ring," and of the tail end of a Fifth Avenue wedding reception in 1872. It was a revival of the pure and lovely associations of my youth, to see a man honestly drunk all over — drunk in his eyes — legs, in the scowl of his eyebrows, and the small of his back. But alas ! it was a sight that wounded my personal pride. I thought that the science of sweet and beautiful intemperance had been carried to perfection in the days of my youth. It was a sad thought, that in this great work of civilization the proud 1872 of my youth was indeed behind the 1 90 1 of my old age. With tears in my eyes I turned away from the sad spectacle — the eclipse of the early career of American intemperance ! In 1 90 1 I found everybody drank — drank steady, and drank like the Bostonians, between drinks, too. Why Gilsey House openings. Old Brewery sprees, or the struggles of the regular army officers with raw Commissary on the frontier were nothing in the consumption of poor whiskey at the Saratoga Kursaal or at the Red Lion above the park. The old drinking of my boy- -^.. / 199 -^l^ — • ^ / — • — hood was only sampling. If the comparison shall be once made officially, the intemperance prestige of our youth will be destroyed, and with all our glorification, the Republic of Washington, in the glorious march of intemperance, will have to stand in the shadow of the hereditary aristocracy of 190'.. ^1^ 200 ^1^ 7 ~" ^ NEW YORK IN 1901. fashion's changes. After my thirty years' absence. I found wonderful changes in the city. There were social chanti^es as well as geographical. People hardly speak the same language. English cant phrases had so crept into the language, that you could no more read the books of 1 87 1, than you could read the books of Chawser. A party of Englishmen, headed by a son of Charles Dickens, had built a London Hotel — the " Red Lion " — away up above the park. This was the resort of all the young English " swells " in town. The " Red Lion " was very Englishy. They didn't speak American there at all . Everybody wore number 16 English shoes, and one guinea Fleet-street trowsers. The coats were generally of Pool's make. Old Pool was dead, but his son Fitz Piercy Pool had a tailor-shop in the hotel. ' When you see a coat that looks as if it was made for the wearer's grandfather, you can put it down as a master- piece of old Pool, tailor to his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. In Europe, Horace Greeley, before his defeat by General Grant killed him, would always have been taken as a patron of Pool's. These Fitz-Pool coats were magnanimously made, being in the English mode — about four sizes too large. They were made with high collars and long tails. They overcame the wearers to a great degree.. . The "Red Lion" reminded one of the "Green Lion" in London, where Shakespeare and Dr. Johnson used to get drunk. Alas I I saw many Englishmen trying to follow in the footsteps of the lamented Shak. when I was in London. Many succeeded. /^ 201 ^ The rooms of the " Red Lion " were small, but then, as I before remarked, they were Knglishy. One of the guests, a young Englishman, born in New York, told me he was bound to do the straight English thing if he had to sleep in a 7x9 room, and breakfast on a rasher of bacon and one roll. I told him this ■would be the straight English utode, but that I preferred my regular meals even though I had to submit to the indignity of being called an American. Then 1 thought of Bunker Hill Monument — my blood warmed a little, and I said, right among the Red Lion foreigners — I said, " Gentlemen, 1 beg your pardon, but I am proud of my nationality, and the time is far distant when I shall desire to leave the proud Commonwealth of Connec- ticut to become an Englishman." This sentence I had read in one of honest old Ben Butler's speeches on the Fishery question. It sounded pretty, and so I used it. The young man addressed said I was a blarsted Yankee from the Fifth avenue. His name was Ezra Green, Jr. He was a high-toned New York Englishman, and he turned and cast upon me an " imperial look." " I disdain a Yankee," he said in scorn. I thought this was queer when I remembered that his father and mother once lived on Second-avenue — over there where the Fifth-avenue fellows used to go to flirt with the girls on Sunday afternoons. Alas! Ezra's father was once a tailor on Avenue W. Time passed, and this respectable tailor grew to be a ^yl:EI^CI3:JLl^^a? TAIL'JR. More time went on. Providence prospered Ezra, and his coats fitted well. He spent much of his feeble income in improved signs. One day they saw a flashy painter paint these letters over his door : : Ezra Green, MERCHANT Tailor and inyCI'OIE^TEDR ?j\ ■ ' . /^ 202 /|N — • — / \ More time skipped along, the tailor moved up town, and they saw Ezra raise the imperial arms of England and France on each end of his sign. Then it read, in bright gilt letters — Alas ! the poor " tailor " became smaller and smaller, until it faded entirely away — and still Ezra made clothes. One day a retired Broadway merchant saw the imposing sign, and stepping in. innocently asked Ezra the price of " exchange on London. " " The price of the which.'" inquired Ezra, sticking his shears behind his ears. " O ! I am mistaken. You do not do bank business .'" Ezra said he made clothes for a good many, bankers, but the Broadway merchant slid away as if ashamed of his mistake. Fortune smiled upon Ezra, affluence gilded his destiny, and his clothes wore well. He rode in a liveried landaulet, traveled in foreign climes, revelled with the nobility in palaces without expending a cent outside for patching his pants. His career was happy and glorious abroad, and his breeches never ripped at home. When they wanted him to return to his native land he said — this tailor said : " Away, base hirelings — dost know a Prophet is without honor in his own country .' " But, alas ! Ezra was wrong. Profit is always honored in New- York. I said, "Look at Mr. Claflin and Mr. Stewart ; they used to buy and sell cloth, and still they once had front seats at the Grand Duke's ball." ^r 20 ^s — « — \ GOING TO PARTIES IN 1901 Gix-at changes had taken place hi going- to parties since 1872. The old idea of dressing and going to parties, got to be a bore. The idea of going to five parties a week, from December to Lent, was hearing to constitutions, and a source of great trouble and expense. So I found they had hit upon the idea of going to a party in imagination. [ found the new idea was for the young ladies to remain at home, and go through the ceremony of going to a party, without being compelled to submit to its most " borish '' features. It only took two young ladies to carry out the idea, with the aid of a little cigar smoke from " Cousin rom." This is the way the young ladies did it : — They spent the usual two days previous to the imagined party with a dressmaker — that is, were squeezed and laced, an(i lived up stairs during that time in figured morning wrappers, seeing no one but mother, the chambermaid, and bcli-boy C)n the afternoon of the party (in imagination), the hair-dresser came with hot irons, pulled the hair-pins out of her front-hair, and dressed hair generally. She pulled it. singed it, burned forehead, antl n^ade her feel dry and uncomfortable. Then came the powdermci" and dressing, which commenced at six and ended at nine Voung lady n<>u tiops into a chair, tears two pairs of gloves, trets, scolds her sister, and has hysterics because Charley don t conn Ala^;* Charley is only a clerk, on $1,500 a year, and how can he ;itfoid a carriage.'' .So Charley is taken sick — in imagmation ; but, in realit)', Charley has snmggled himself ufil" a/o/w to another party. Now the young 'adies, having finished their toilets, come down stairs They stand in the hall a momeni, while Charley opens the door to look for the carriage. Fhtn they promenade through the parlors. ^r 204 /|N — • — Now they go into the back hall, and black-boy dips out ice- cold lemonade. Then they stand around in corners, step on each others dresses, spoit $2.5c^ i^loves on lifty-cent bouquets. tread on. each other's toes, tear off a flounce or two, tread on eacn others toes some more, and then (in imagination) go down to sup})er. Bcmg a little late, the}' only find a place to stand in one corner of the hall. Then young ladies close eyes, and imagine this scene . Charley hands stewed oysters- over ])eople's heads. Old Thompson drops boned-turkey on lier back, and clumsy litcrarv man spills ice-cream down low-neck dress. Ough ! (Wakes up.) Closes e)es again, and imagines. lakes salad in one hand, glass of champagne in the other, and holds up dress i^'iih <.■//■<',■*■ / — • — \ AT SUFFKR. Dress falls, and nice oily salad slumps down on gaslight green silk ! StancJs on one foot a little while, then on the other, then leans on Charley. (Awful tired.) /,\ jo: '1^ — • — - \ Diniks part of a glass of champagne, and Charley pours the rest on dress in the corner. Poke each other in the ribs, tread on each other's toes some more, and then squeeze through ON'ster and ice-cream plates towards stairway. Champagne cork flies and breaks eye-glass. Crack ! Fizz ! ! Wakes up, and goes up-stairs. Sister squeezes her hands till they are red, then holds brother Charle}-'s greasy crushed hat against back of lavender silk. Tears her dress some more, and jams against sister. Now embrace with arms around waist (d la round dances), and stand over hot register till in a glow of perspiration, then go and sit on the stairs in a draft. Wind feels good on bare neck. Sister sits on dress on stair in front, and makes silly speeches about Fred Hart's divine dancing. Dishes up Lizzie Smith a little. Then sister squeezes hand on the sly. Now goes up-stairs Gets brother John to puff tobacco-smoke m hall, like Sexton Brown's boys. Brother John says : " My dear, th' cov'nor's champ's very good — hie ! ain't't .''" Goes and stands on balcony in cold, waiting for carriage (in imagination). Comes back, goes up-stairs. Tired and fagged out Head aches, cold bed, hungry, bad dreams. Next morning, eyes red, hair burnt, dress ruined, gloves soiled, heel off kid- boot. Oh dear ! *♦ * * ««* «» Now what an improvement on the old way of going to a party in 1872. Just as well to have all your fun in imagination at home, and save carriage hire. Isn't it ?" '\^ 206 ^i^ — • — \ CANT WORDS IN 1901. Gant words, I remember, used to be the mode at Saratoga years ago. Swell, nobby, spooney, jolly, loud, bore, and a half-dozen other flash words, " indicated," as Dr. Holmes said, " the intel- lectual bankruptcy of many very genteel idiots," who didn't live at our hotel. They talked in those days all day and never got out of the same time-worn vocabulary. These words were like X, Y, and Z in algebra. They represented unknown quanti- ties or qualities which "swell" people could not command language lo describe precisely. Now when I used to talk to Dann Piatt and Mark Twain — (poor fellows, they died a good many years ago !) — when I used to talk to those kind of fellows who really understand the king's En- glish (over the left), I was only too glad to rest upon these cant words and phrases. I confess I rather liked them. It was so easy to talk when you could thus cut ofif the cor- ners oi language. 1 overheard, one day thirty years ago, the following dialogue between the masters of this bob-tail vernacular : It was a " clever " dialogue between a young Englishman, born in New York, and a young Fifth-avenue belle, arrayed in a dress from Worth's — "Like Brown .'' " asked Miss Smith, pulling on her six-button glove. MISS SMITH ^r 207 nI/ . y.c " Yes, rother, but yed kneuw he's too ' swell ' for me, yeu kneuw," replied Mr. Jones, buttoning up his Pool coat. "Now," said my uncle Consider Perkins, who lived in those days, and who h'stened with swelling indignation to Mr. Jones' reply, " if you refer to my friend Mr. Brown, of Grace Church, I beg to say that you are wrong. He's not swelled at all. It is all the result of a good ' square,' healthy diet and gentle Sun- day exercise. No, sir ! Mr. Jones, there is no swell there — not a bit of it ! " "Pshaw ! Mr. Perkins, we don't mean your poky '- Mr. Brown at all. We mean ' natty ' Fred Brown, of Fifth-avenue." " Oh ! " and my uncle went on reading " Hervey's Meditations." " Fred drives a ' nobby rig,' " continued Miss Smith. " Yes, awful ; but deuced * loud.' " "'Jolly' with the fellows, and awful '.spooney' on the girls, eh .' " "'You bet!' 'regular bnck !' but he 'sours' on them quick. Don't mean business, Fred don't ; he's ' spooney,' then ' chills all at once !" " Like the sermon yesterday .-*" " Pshaw ! too slow ! ' Rum,' eh, to hear old Swope pitch into the Jews .-' Did you notice Fanny Green laughing when he read about David 'going for' Goliah .' Ha! ha! too funny. How did you like the singing ? Just ' too lovely,' wasn't it }" "Oh, 'so-so.' Fact is, I've 'chilled' on last year's operas. They're a ' bore.' I'm afraid our ' singing business ' is going to " bu.st up.' " " Oh, awful ! that would be perfectly dreadful 1 shocking ! ! perfectly atrocious !*! !" &c., &c. NEW AMERICAN DICTIONARY. I found, on examination, that these terms were almost all foreign importations ; they came straight from London. They were simply the literary coinage which passes among the London chaps, in the clubs and in the ante-room after the Lord Mayor's dinner. It wounds my national pride to think that we had to depend entirely on England for these " cant " phrases. It was a sad thing that in bob-tail grammar, that great mark of civilization, we should be, indeed, behind London. With tears in my e}'es, I turned away from the sad spectacle — a nation's humiliation. I resolved that we should be no longer eclipsed — that we should " bang " the tail of language as well as they. So in 1901 I invented a new dictionary, or appropriated one which was being used by a young lady friend. Startling invention ! And so simple ! In five minutes' practice you can express precisely, by the terms of this new discovery, every sentiment or emotion of the human heart. Linley Murray, who caused so much unhappiness to our forefathers, is at last superseded — eclipsed — " thrown into the shade." Thoughts are now expressed in percentages. One hundred is the superlative or the par basis of every emotion, quality, quan- tity, or sentiment. The rate below one hundred gives the pre- cise positive and comparative value of the object rated. See how in our conversations we now eclipse the old " swells " of the Brevoort House and the cockney chaps of Rotten Row ! " How did you like Longfellow before he died, Miss Smith .-'" " 100." "Tennyson ?" "75." Now, hate or disgust, which are negative emotions, or rather passions, are expressed by the negative sign ( — ) before the per- centage, while positive passion of love, as Lord Kame calls it, or adoration, is expressed by the plus sign ( -|- ) after the percentage. " How did you like poor dead Walt Whitman .-•" " — 5." (She hates him.) " Is Mr. Brown good-looking .''" "60." 209 N '^f^ \!/. ^i-^ " Dress wt'll ?" " 80." " How do y<.)u like him ?" "95." (Strong friendshi[).) " How is the weather ?" " 100." (Beautiful.) (25. shabby ; 10, atrocious.) " What theatre do you like best .^" " Wallack's 95 ; Booth's 90; Niblo's 50 ; Bowery, 20." " Is Smith clever .'" " — 10." (He's a fearful " bore.") " Do you love me, darling ?" " 75." (Cool friendship.) " How do you like Mr. Thompson, the banker?" " 105 +." (Heavens! She's in love with him.) " Like to dance the round dances .^" " 1 20 + ." (Adores them !) " Fond of the square dances .■•" " — 25." (Despises them.) " Will you /?e sure to give me first ' round ' at the next Inau- guration Ball .^" " 100." " How was Mr. Tweed for honesty ?" " — 75." (How much nicer than to say he stole !) " Was Mr. Greeley honest before he died T " 100 generally, 95 with Mr. Seward, 75 with Conkling, 60 with Grant, 5 with Murphy, and about 50 on Protection." • " Do you think Mr. Dana used to love General Grant before they died .''" " How much did Grant use to care .''" " 0,000,000,000." 1 wrote this new dictionary out first for the Galaxy, thirty years ago. and gracious you ought to have heard the critics " go for it." They said I'd been " .stealing John Phoenix's thunder." nI/ >!/ As if words, phrases, or fij^ures could be appropriated hy ain- one man. If I say " it is very hot " shall some one accuse me of flaguesism because Dickens said the same thinro\\n, and Father Noyes. T am a strong Catholic. ■ My dear mother in the country, held out against Ritualism for many years, but I finally converted her to the true faith. I wrote licr many;' letters which were read in the home church. It was a Ipng. time before .she took to kerosene and candles. She ' \s,:g^^^\:^ frequently said : " O Eli, I cannot forget the teachings of the good old orthodox Episcopal Church, of l^ishop Delancey ' and the .early Fathers, and go off with j;. Cardinal Potter and your nev.-fangled iv religion of candles and Manhattan gas." i- • Once in 1880, after I had Written ' , my dear mother a long letter, beggmg RVEH PKHlvINS. 212 / 4' >!^- her come over to candles and ritualistic night-gowns, she sent mc the following reply : Log City, Madison County, N. Y., March 2. 1880. My dear Son Eli : — Your St. Alban's High Church letter was read with a great deal of interest here in our home church, but it made us all feel very bad. We are sorry that you have gone to the wicked city, where you so soon forget the simple teaching of the old Church of your childhood, and go headlong into these false, new-fangled notions about Ritualism. You ask us to board up the windows of the old church, bar out the sunlight, and burn flickering tallow candles. You ask us to tear out the old galleries of the church, to dismiss the girls from the choir, nnd dress the farm boys up in night-gowns, as you do in the city. You ask us to do away with good old Dr. Watts and sing opera songs selected by the organist of St. Alban's and arranged for the boy singers by the middle fiddler of a German band. You ask me to tear up our charts and maps, and decorate the church with blue and gold " hallelujahs" and gilded crosses. O my son, we cannot do it ! We prefer to go on in the good old way. If God \\'ill not save us because we do not burn candles — if He will not forgive our sins because we look straight up to Heaven, and confess them directly to Him, then I fear we must perish. My dear boy, does not the Bible say : ' I said I would confess my sins unto the Lord, and so THOU forgavest the wickedness of my sin } ' Then do not, I pray you, my son, depend upon any forgiveness of sin which men may grant. Eli, if you are bad, do not expect any man to forgive you, but go right straight to your Maker, the way your mother taught you in your childhood. Suppose you confess your sins to a priest .-• " Who will the Priest confess to .'' " " Why, to the Bishop." " Who will the Bishop confess to .-• " " To the Archbishop." / 213 ^1^ \i/ >k " Who will the Archbishop confess to i* " " To the Cardinal." " Who will the Cardinal confess to ? " " To the Pope." " Who will the Pope confess to .-• " " To the , no, to God ! " '• Now, Eli, the Pope is very wise to confess his sins straight up to God, and you should do the same." 1 hear they have a very high altar and a good deal of ritual nonsense in one of your churches away up-town — I think it is the Church of " St. Mary the Virgin," on W'est Forty-fifth street. Won't you go up there and see just what they are doing, and tell those two young fellows who call themselves Father Brown and Father Noyes, if they w^ant to be Catholics, to go and be Catholics, but not to pretend to be Protestants and then steal the ritual of the Catholic Church .-' Write me again, and our good Elder Cleveland says he will read your letter at our Thursday's prayer-meeting. Your affectionate mother, Ruth Perkins. This was my reply : — Fifth Avenue Hotel, March 4. My dear Mother : — Your letter has caused me much anxiety. After sleeping with it under my pillow, I went up yesterday, as you requested, to the Church of " St. Mary the Virgin," on West Forty-fifth street, near Seventh avenue. Since my conversion to the High Church Ritualistic faith, my dear mother, I have usually attended Dr. Ewer's church. I love Dr. Ewer. 1 see new beauties in Ritualism every day. The blazing candles, the darkened windows, the pomp and procession of boys in night-gowns, and the awe which I feel for Fathers Ew-er, Brown, and Noyes, when they turn their backs on the audience and drink wine to the glory of the Lord, is beyond description. Pve thrown away the old Prayer Book which Bishop Delancey ^!^ '^^ '^t^ \l/ : ><1 7 ~~ V gave me, and now I have a beautifully-illuminated bluc-and-gokl one, with all the places marked — when to get up and down. Most everything has been changed since }'ou taught me the old- fashioned ritual for confirmation , but, dear mother, it is so much nicer now. Don't you remember where it used to read, " O, Lord, have mercy on us, miserable sinners, and help us to keep this commandment ? " Well, we don't have that any more in our High Churches. The old-fashioned people down at Grace Church say that now, but we don't think it is nice to stand up before everybody in the church and confess that we are " miserable sinners." So we have done away with that, and we have instituted 2. private confessional, where we ?11 go on the sly and confess our sins to Fathers Brown, and Noyes, and Ewer. We hire boys in night- gowns to stand up publicly in the church and sing about being " miserable sinners." But, then, no one can hear what they do sing, so they don't care. When we confess, we go in and kneel down and talk to the Fathers through a hole, while he sits and smokes a meerschaum ; and then, with a word or two, he forgives us, and we go home feeling pure and happy again. I know the wicked Publican confessed his sins straight to God when he stood in the market place and pounded his breast ; and Christ said he did right, — but, dear mother, things have changed since then. How do you think we Fifth-avenue people would look confessing our sins in public .'' No, we rather go round and confess them to Dr. Ewer on the sly. CHURCH OF THE IMITATION CANDLES. But you ask me to write about the services at the " Church of St. Mary the Virgin." Well, I went up there yesterday. It is a High Church- higher than St. Alban's. It is where our dear Bishop Potter trains his candidates for the Catholic Church. Here they prac- tice the High Church business a little while under the instruc- \i/ \i/ tions of the Bishop, then they jump over into the Catholic pasture as Father Bradley did. The Low Church people say a good deal about our thirty-six burning candles here. They don't know that they are not candles at all, but only china imitations, with streams of weak Manhattan gas spurting out of the top. We fool them entirely. Why, every time those Low Church people attack our candle business, every time they attack that point, they only attack the Metropolitan Gas Company, and they are not weak enough to stand it. If we had good gas here, as they do have in Cincin- nati and Chicago, we gas-light Christians could stand any amount of Low Church opposition. Sometimes I think if the Lord knew we were burning thirty-six streams of foul-smelling gas to His glory, instead of real candles, that He would be displeased. And sometimes I think instead of burning so much gas where it does no good, except to make a big show, that if we should give the money to poor widows who spoil their eyes tyring to sew by feeble lights on side streets, that it would be better ; but such wicked thoughts. Dr. Ewer says, are the work- ings of Satan upon my mind. One wicked man-of-the-world, Rufus Hatch 1 think, who gave $25,000 to a Low Church, told Dr. Ewer that the candles were silly humbugs, and that the china imitations were d — d frauds on a humbug — frauds on the people, and contemptible attempts to deceive the Lord. Since that time this wicked man has been detected giving money to some suffering orphan children who didn't belong to any church at all ! ! But you poor country Chris- tians can never go into the High Church business, because you have no gas works. The new religion of POOR LITTLE GIRL. imitation candles is reserved exclu- sively for us in the city, my dear mother. 216 _!/. '^i^ But to our new High Church service. I got there early, and took my seat directly in front of the new $10,000 marble altar ^hich Mr. Murray, a shrewd down- town High Churchman, has just contributed to " St. Mary's." The six pews in front of me were occupied by the nuns. Yes, decT mother, we have nuns now in our church. They dress in long black dresses, just like the nuns of the Catholic Church. Bishop Potter's idea is to get the people used to all these Catholic forms and institutions, and then it will be only a step for our Jesuit Priests like Father Brown and Noyes to lead them over to Rome. On the pews in front was this notice : .; THIS PEW : • IsReserved '. r for '• \ THE SISTERS OF ST. MARY. ; The altar was gorgeously arranged. It is, I suppose, twenty- five feet high, and made of solid marble. On it are forty imitation candles, and during the last end of the service they are all blazing with Manhattan gas. If the gas were better, we could make a better show still, but the gas companies here are all made up of Low Churchmen, who do not have the fear of the Lord before their eyes. Dr. Ewer says that he will be darned if he will forgive the wicked New York gas companies, When the service commenced I opened my prayer book, the one Bishop Delancey gave me, but I could not' keep the place. When we used to stand up, they all sat down, and when we used to respond, the boys in night-gowns looted up a chaunt in high tenor. Alas ! my dear mother, my early training is of no account, and now I mu.st learn it all over again. How can I eyer be saved and not be able to get up and down with the bo)'s in night-gowns } In the anguish of my soul I cry, " Would that I never had been born, for what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and not be able to dance to the candlcistic ritual.?" \ ___^ ^•^ 217 ^w Sy The regular service commenced by loud singing away in the rear of the big $10,000 altar. It soimded like the distant chorus in the Black Crook. Pretty soon the doors burst open, and a boy disguised as a girl in a black skirt and white night-gown, entercd^'carrying a pewter plate. He bowed to altar, put plate on table, bowed to altar again and slid out side door. Now twenty boys and seven men came in with great pomp all dressed in red, and white, and blue dresses, with night-gowns over them, and bearing a large cross. Boy lighted more candles with a long pole, then bowed to $10,000 altar, and slid to rear. Boy with big Son of Malta collar, carried Father Brown's dress train, as Father Brown stood with back to audience and addressed $ 10,000 altar. Man disguised in women's clotht-s and wearing big red masonic sash, now saluted $10,000 altar, kissed sash, and preached sermon. He abused the poor Jews, but didn't say a word about the wicked French Internationals who killed forty poor priests and a bishop. Boys now brought wine and napkin to Father Brown. Feather Brown made sign of cross to $10,000 altar, drank wine, wiped lips, and saluted altar again. More candles lighted by boys. More wine drank. Drank wine. Imbibed wine and saluted altar. Guzzled wine to glory of altar. Two men in night-gowns advanced and drank wine. Then bowed as in the lancers. Drank wine. .\11 nuirchod off stage. Sexton disguised in black alpacca dres><, put out lights. Audience left. Now, mother, 1 write }-ou just what I saw. 1 don't know the names of things, so I only call things just as they seem to me Then, dear mother, we all went home. We were much im- pressed by these services. The children don't get to sleep as they do in the country. Our brilliant fireworks are as good as fourth of July to amuse the children. Now, all this show didn't cost much. The forty gas jets co.st say $2.50 for the day. If they had been candles they would have cost $3. The washerwoman's bill for keeping the night 7iv —^ 7tN si/ \\^ \ _ gowns and women's dresses clean was about $1.3 5 — so $4 did the whole thing. Now, to hold an audience with smart men Hke Drs. Chapin and Heecher and Dr. Tyng costs, I suppo.se, $250 per day. Think, dear mother, what a saving it is. These intellectual preachers do cost so much, and when you can draw the crowd just as well with the cheap fireworks, isn't it better.^ Any darned fool of a mini.ster can run the gas works just as well as Dr. Bellows or such gifted divines as Dr. Morgan or Dr. Montgomery. Now, my dear mother, let me beg you again to dismiss our old preacher up in the country. Go into the candle business. Dress up the eighteen district school boys in girls' clothes and night-gowns. Have o/^rra boicffc, and you will crowd the church every Sunday and knock the Baptists and Methodists into a cocked hat. Dismiss Mr. Wood, the old leader of the choir, and sing, not " Jerusalem, my happy home," but " New York, my happy home," set to music by the middle fiddler of a German band. Ewer and Brown and Noyes are right. Their heads are le\cl. What if John preached in the altarless wilderness, and Christ promulgated Christianity from the barren sides of the Mount of Olives .■* They were old-fashioned. We have the new religion which comes through $10,000 marble altars, and the new forgive- ness for sin which comes, not from God, but from Ewer and Brown and Noyes. Wliat if St. Paul said, " Ye have built an altar to the unknown God," and Daniel in his sublime wrath overturned the brazen candlesticks of Babylon, and shouted : " So these be the Gods ye worship !" I tell you, mother, pure religion does not come in the simple sunlight — in the open fields, but it comes in the beautiful glare of Manhattan gas-light, in the sickly fumes and lovely stench of oxydized rottennes.s. Religion is no longer simple and child- like, but it comes with an army of banners, and with twent}- men and boys, disguised as women, dressed up in night-gowns, and 219 /_ >!/ — \ bespangled with the red sashes of heraldry. God is no longer the God of spirit, the invisible, but He exists in the mechanisms of men. They have made Him into wafers, into sour wine, and He lives in dingy pictures in the Greek Church, in mouldy images in the Romish, and in high altars, in scarlet night-gowns, and in Manhattan gas jets in the new Church of progressive Yankeedom. God is not the great invisible One, whom you imagine in the country. He is not the great all-seeing Spirit whom the blind man can worship in utter darkne-ss and without candles. He is not the Spirit whom the deaf man can worship without the songs of the opera looted out by the middle fiddler in an orchesta of imported Dutchmen. He who made the sun — who said " Let there be light " and there was light, sighs for the flickering candle, and He who thunders from Mount Sinai and plays upon the tree tops with the whirlwinds, sighs for the penny whistles and pewter bugles, yea, looks with admiration upon the new religion of the Manhattan Gas Works. Uncle Consider, who has just returned from Africa, sends love. He has been invited to accept the position of Chaplain to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Your affectionate son, Eli Perkins. This letter did a great deal of good. It converted my mother to the true faith. They dismissed the choir in the country, tore up the old hymn books of Dr. Watts, and did away with their cheap-without-money-and-without-price religion, and started out with the fireworks. The farm boys were disguised as girls, and looted high opera, and the girls who used to wear white muslin dresses, and whisper in Mr. Wood's choir, became serious, sensible nuns. The windows of the church were darkened, and now not a single ray of God's sv.nlight can get in to disturb the gorgeous flicker of the candle. They darken the church windows to God's sunlight, just as they darken the windows of the soul with the thick veil of dogma and superstition. ^i'^ TTo ^'"^ — » » — / SARATOGA AGAIN IN 1901. August 27th, 1901. This afternoon I walked around Saratoga again with the same old statician who used to furnish me figures thirty years ago. We found the park filled with cozy double seats, and the young people from the different hotels were enjoying themselves very nicely under the shady trees. The band played in the park, and it was such a relief, it seemed to me, from the dry, crowded hotel balconies of thirty years ago. The villagers started this custom of the band play- ing in the park, and soon they drew all the guests from the hotels, who liked it so much better in the park that they all left the hotels, and no one was left to listen to the balcony music. The one seat that used to command all the approaches on the hill is still there. My venerable statician says 5,968 people eventually exchanged hearts on that bench, but that now the heart business is going on all over the park. He says the double benches have facilitated the engagement business a good deal — that twenty times a many engagements are now consumated in Saratoga as there used to be — and all just on account of these benches. " Why," said the old man, " it was a hard thing to pen a young lady up in the corner of a hotel balcony long enough to get her ' on a string ;' and just as sure as you were on the point of pro- posing, some old fool of an uncle would come along and say : " ' O Fannie ! are you using my newspaper .-' I want to see the market reports.' "Confound it!" exclaimed the old statician, "the old fool didn't know we were using it, and that when he took it away he unmasked a battery and left poor Fannie's beautiful hands exposed to the vulgar gaze of the remorseless balcony trampers." The fact is, when they got those double seats in the park, "f: 221 xi/ ^^y / \ enLia-enicnts became so frequent that mothers brought their dau-hters long distances just to avail themselves of our superior opportunities. Saratoga became a grand matrimonial mart. and, as Mr. Saxe wrote in i88i : " Those who came before to dance and drink the waters, Now come again to many off their daughters." CONGRESS SPRING DRIES UP. " But how came it i*" I asked of my venerable " statician." " You see," said the old man, " everybody in Saratoga got to boring for private springs. The new Indian Spring set them crazy. They all wanted private Geysers for fountains in their gardens. During the year 1880, no less than seventeeil springs were bored in Saratoga door-yards. Of course there was an end to the water, and by-and-by, I think in 1884, the old springs began to dry up. First, the Columbian, then Congress Spring, then the Hathorn. It affected Saratoga a good deal, and caused good old Mr. Hathorn's death. People kept away for a little while, but they soon found that the water from the deep springs was fully as bad as the old water, and so they got to drinking it again. GROWTH OF SARATOGA. Saratoga now extends all along Lake Avenue to Saratoga Lake. There are four beautiful rows of elms all the way, and it is one of the most delightful drives in the world — so much better than when I saw it in 187 1 ! There is also the same kind of a Boulevard extending over to Ballston, past the Geyser, where they have a mammoth hotel. Moon died in 1892. His potato trade got to be immense. Moon was ambitious, and one day he heard Mr. Vanderbilt and Mr. Stewart talking about the " eclipse of the Moon." He made no inquiries as to facts, but took to heart. He died happy, and his last words to Mrs. Moon were, " Never let the Frank Wadel bottle get empty while Sam Duncan lives." \ „_____ „ c \l/ Mr. John R. Cecil, a most genial wit, who died numy }-cars ago, used to tell the venerable Charles Wall that " Moon took too many ' quarters ' and ' halves," and then got to be a ' full Moon ' too often. He was able, alas ! to make a good many changes, but he finally died broken hearted because he could have no ' new Moons." " Meyers continued to shoot "kilmaroos "' in August, and partridges in September for many years. When Commodore Vanderbilt died he bequeathed him $500,000 with which to build a monument to the woodcock and black bass, which had been eaten there by Inmself, Mr. Boody and Mr. Marvin. The monument stands on the shores of the lake, a warning beacon to black bass to keep away from the shoals of Cedar Bluff. Meyers many years afterwards was buried under the same monument LONGFELLOW AND UNCLE JOHN HARPER. "Do you remember the great Longfellow race in 1S71 .'''" I asked of my silver-haired statician. " Perfectly," he replied. "You know it came near breaking Uncle John's heart ! Well, he went back to Kentucky with his three-year-old pet^took good care of him, worked him every day, and in 1872 the old man brought him up to the Branch Old General Buford brought up Enquirer ; Babcock entered Helmbold ; and Belmont entered Kingfi.sher. The race was four miles — and such a race ! Old John had not smiled for twelve months — ever since Longfellow was beaten. He had not cut his hair or shaved. The burden of his mind and soul was to win the race. " The race came. Millions of people gathered to see it. I got close to old John. They started — the horses. Jupiter Tonans ! what a race !" 223 ^1/ " Who beat ?" I asked, unable to conceal my excitement. "Well, old John had it this time. A year had put bottom into * Old Long; and he came out just three lengths ahead of Kingfisher, Enquirer, and Helmbold, who were almost neck and neck." "And old John .'" " Lord, the old man threw up his cane and broke into a laugh —his hoarse voice sounded all over the track. He embraced his horse and laughed again. He laughed all day— the next da> — for a week. Nobody could stop him. It was a horse laugh. It gave everybody the nightmare to be with him. Finally, after the physicians gave him up, old John died— died laughing." — • — \ UNCLE JOH.N. THE BOYS. "W^hat became of the boys who with jokes and fun used to make everybody happy at Congress Hall ?" I enquired of my old statician. With tears in his eyes he continued : " You know, Greeley eventually became President, but he was impeached for using the regular army to drive people west. Senator Robertson and Mr. Sumner made a speech for Greeley, but both soon after died. Mrs. Traverse was converted, became an enthusiastic religionist, built a memorial church, and then went to that bourn from which no traveller returns. The Chesterfieldian Fernando Wood lived many years. He said when the forty thieves got reduced to four, his mission on earth was ended, and he was willing to die. Sam Tilden and John B. Harkins were ^I"^^ III ^'"^ — • "— \ with him on his death bed, and they only sur\ i\cd him a few- months. Hugh Hastings died in 1895. After Mr. Weed's death he became very sad and dejected. He even refused his regular meals. He finally died of a broken heart, and" was buried b\- the side of Thurlow Weed. B. F. Beakman and Mr. Bissell, and thirty-six other Christian gentlemen, succeeded in purchasing the Club House for a free library and reading-room, and it now stands a monument to their many virtues. Mr. B. spent most of his time there, engaged in reading and reflection, during the last years of his life He often said to his family chergyman : " You may break, you may shatter the vase if you choose to, The scent of the rose will hang where it used to." A -tiiit /\?e\ nil rS^ • \ / I leave Saratoga in a day, severing my connection with thou- sands of friends and Commercial readers. I cease writing with a feehng of regret. I commenced writing because I thought modern journaHsni had become entirely too serious an affair, and I wished to throw a little sunlight into the columns of the daily press, too dreary with an array of facts clothed in bony and funereal language. I cannot leave this charming watering-place without thanking my personal friends for their moral and intellectual support — I cannot leave without thanking the press generally for its many kind mentions and quotations from my letters — without saying a bon voyage to the Richmond and Troy Whigs^ to the New York Sun, to the Cincinnati Cojmfiercial, to the Albany Evening Journal and Times, and to Captain Ritchie of the Daily Sara- togian. They have been friends, alas ! whom I would always like to take home to supper with me ! I now go about other work, to write books and spin for the magazines, and may be for the daily press, I wish I could take everybody with me who has written me nice encouraging letters this summer — everybody who has shaken my hand, like those Christian gentlemen. Colonel Bridgeland, Colonel Heywood, Judge Mosely, Fernando Wood, Dr. Corey, Mr. Bissell, Mr. Wall, and Mr. Beekman ! May we meet again. As they say in the East : " May the Prophet take from my life and add to theirs." Melville D. Landon. Congress Hall, September 4th, 1871. si/ — • •— \ ■»^.»5S-vii^^i^sii^ '"f^r^-i"'' HOME AGAIN. Fifth Avenue Hotel, September loth. I am glad tc get back to the city again — glad to get back where they wear nice clothes and smoke good cigars. I am pleased to be where I can mingle in the festive crowd of devoted church-goers on Fifth Avenue, where young men keep the Sabbath religiously, and where beau- tiful young ladies are to be seen regu- larly going to and returnhtg frojn divine worship in India shawls, rich laces, and beautiful pungee. In the Park I meet the- same dashing tandems which used to " stun " everybody at the Springs, the same swell fellows, and the same beautiful ladies. The chronic old bachelors of the Clarendon still ride alouc, and young wives with old husbands, who used to flirt with natty beaux on the balconies, now meet their young lovers on the Park — the Realto of the lovers and the loved. \ 22'J — • — / — • — \ Many young ladies and gentlemen who used to wander in the Saratoga grave-yard, or leave the festive round dances to study astronomy a7id love in retired balcony nooks, now pass, arm in arm, to church. She has a quiet, submissive look, and he, alas ! is oblivious to the rest of the world. Engaged ! The sentimental young lady who gazed with ad- astronomy and love. miration upon the stars, never noticing what the sentimental young fellow was doing with her hands, is still gazing from her Fifth Avenue window. Her lover has gone away to Europe, and again her thoughts are sic itnr ad astra. Her only solace is Fido, the lovely little dog \yhich Eugene gave her when she returned from the Springs. As she sits and watches the spirit of her lover among the stars, so Fido watches with a sentimental rever- ence for his mistress. At the Fifth Avenue I meet the same old ladies — heads of "flirtation," "income" nt'"- and " pedigree " committees, who used to watch the Clarendon balconies. We spend many social hours talking over the romances of the summer — talking over the con- quests of love and, alas ! the scandal cases. They say several old husbands have committed suicide, and that Baron Flourens '!^ 228 ^1^ \l/ nI/ was finally killed by a jealous rival. Then they tell nic all about the engagements. The golden-haired blonde who flung her arms around mc that dark night when the gas went out, begging me with love's young tears not to dance with Lizzie Smith, is here with the rest. She is still flirting with Albert. Like the other Clarendon beaux, he still looks sweetly, but he does not propose. Sometimes he looks mournfully in her face, and murmurs — " Darling Julia, do you love me a little V " Yes, Albert — so much ! you know I do." " I am too happy," he says, " for I like to be loved," but he does not propose. Julia now plays and sings a sweet air in the little ante-room, with the door half-closed. Never wedding, ever wooing, Still a love-lorn heart pursuing ! Read you not the wrong 3'ou're doing In my cheek's pale hue ? All my life with sorrow strewing ? Wed, or cease to woo ! Rivals banished, bosoms plighted, Still our days are disunited : Now the lamp of hope is lighted, Now half-quenched appears, Damped, and wavering, and be- [njghted, 'Midst my sighs and tears ! Charms you call your dearest bless- Lips that thrill at your caressing, Eyes a mutual soul confessing — Soon you'll make them grow Dim, and worthless your possessing, WED OR CEASE TO WOO ! Not with age, but woe I It is a sweet plaintive melody, and, as Albert leans forward to turn the leaves, Julia's mother glances through the half-open door, as she promenades by with Colonel Knight. "Julia looks happy to-night," she remarks to the Colonel ; "I think Albert has proposed." But alas! Julia's mother had too much confidence in hum*n nature. Albert was a flirt. 229 As the frost touched the autumn leaves, and the trunks were packed for Philadelphia, Julia's mother called her aside. " My poor child," she sighed, " I fear we have lost our sum- mer. To-morrow wc go back to Philadelphia with ruined hopes. Fair hope is dead, and light I.s quenched in night. What sound can break the silence of despair? doubting heart ! The sky is overcast, Yet stars shall rise at last. Brighter for darkness past, And angels' silver voices stir the air. JULIAS rNREQUtTTEII LOVE. 2^0 ^1^ ffiBff YORK UNCLE CONSIDER AT BALL & BLACKS. Fifth Heaven ue Hotel. Yesterday my Uncle Consider Perkins arrived from Litchfield County, Connecticut. My Uncle Consider is not a college man, but he has got good square Perkins' blood into him. He says he has. He says he is proud of his " genlmnly " tastes. He says he was born a Litchfield County farmer, but that our ancestors came from a noble " origum." He says he is very glad to visit meat iho Fifth Heavenue and to see something of our fust societ}'. I take him round with great pleasure. Uncle Consider said he wanted to buy some holiday presents for Aunt Ruth and Aunt Patience, so we dropped into Ball, Black & Co.'s. Now there is a good deal of very nice and very cheap jcwelr)- made in Connecticut — some in Litchfield Count}', but it is not made by the Perkinses. Perkinses never go into any such thing. They all, except myself, follow the glorious pursuit of agricul- ture ; they can't tell an oroide watch from a genuine Tobias. As we entered Ball & Black's palatial store on Broadway. Mr. Black advanced to meet us. " What will you have, gentlemen ?" said Mr. B. very politely " Some jewelry, if you have some cheap," said my Uncle Con- sider, feeling in his trousers' pocket for his wallet. " What kind, Sir ? " asked Mr. Black. " I guess I'll take a cheap black Emanuel busum pin, for Mrs, Perkins," said Uncle Consider. Then he asked the price. " Well, plain enamels are 75." said Mr. Black. " All right," said Uncle Consider, " put this ere one up. It's cheap enough. And now, Mr. Ballandblack," he continued, " I want to get some antic jewlry — some ear-rings for Aunt Ruth, you know, Eli," he said, looking over his spectacles to me. Mr. Black handed out a tray o{ antique ear drops and asked : " How do you like ear-rings a la Pompeii, Mr. Perkins ? " " I don't like these old-fashioned antics,'" said my uncle, " I want new-fashioned antics. Hav'n't you some antics d, la Chicago } " Mr. Black smiled and handed out a pair of new-fashioned antiques, saying, " These are worth 90, Mr. Perkins." " They are thundering cheap," said my uncle, and then he asked : " Hev you got some more antics, Mr. Black .''" " No moire antiques, Mr. Perkins, they are not in the market." " Wal, put those up, then ; and now, Mr. Ballblack," said my uncle, holding onto Mr. Black's collar, " I want to get a real. No. I, gilt-banded, brass-hooped copy of the Holy Scriptures, for sister Patience. I want a good, substantial, polywog Bible, with the complete hypocracy in it." " Here is a good one, Mr. Perkins, and cheap at 80," said Mr, Black, showing a gilt-clasped Bible. " That is cheap, I swow," said my uncle ; " that is gol blasted cheap, Mr. Blackball," said he, with a wave of his hand, " send me up five of them, hypocracy, polywogs, and — " " What in the world do you want so many for, uncle .■'" I asked. " Why, Jerusalem crickets, Eli ! them polywogs is dog cheap •' Why, you can't buy a, Sander's spelling book up in Litchfield for less than 90." " Send 'em all up to the Fifth Heavenue with the bill," said Uncle Consider, and then we went around to Madame Gobare's, to see about some silk dresses. -). ^ ^ c ^'^ 232 ^(^ This morning the Fifth Heavcnue folks sent up my uncle's bill. The waiter knocked at the door, and as my Uncle Con- sider opened it, he stuck the bill into his hand. " Thunderation, Eli," my uncle commenced, " I'll be kust if—" " If what. Uncle Consider ?" I asked in amazement. " Why, the kuss Blackball said that busum pin for Betsey was to be 75 ; I thought he meant 75 cents, and, great guns ! he's gone and charged 75 dollars for it. And them 90 cents antic ear-rings are put down at 90 dollars and Lord bless Litchfield County, if he hasn't gone and sent up five of them miserable 80 cent brass-hooped polywog bibles with the hypo- cracy in them at 80 dollars apiece ! — Five hundred and sixty- five dollars — w^hen I thought the kuss was selling them to me for 565 cents ! " Ough !" ^f^ 233 ^1^ -.1 /* 0/ — » — \ ELI CONFESSES HIS SINS. I have joined the Rituahsts. I belong to Dr. Ewer, We have seceded from the 5th Avenue church, and now we've got a little Catholic-Protestant church on 7th Avenue. Bishop Potter is with us on the sly, and we are going to take our whole congre- gation straight over to Rome. O, what a time wc did have in our little 7th Avenue church last Sunday — the candles we lighted, the way we all confessed our sins, and the way we abused the old church on 5 th Avenue. We haven't got much money nor much religion, but we have got more pluck than you can imagine. We are bounu to do just what we have a mind to whether we want to or not. Gracious ! how it would have bothered those poky people over on Fifth Avenue if they had seen the lights we put up. We darkened the windows, blinded every ray of God's miserable sunlight, and burned two magnificent tallow candles and forty- four gas jets. On the altar we had a "'V'"''^^' blazing cross, four feet long, made of seventy-five blaz- ing streams of gas. It was glorious. It was hot and uncomfortable, to be sure, and made Dr. Ewer's face red ; but it was grand — yes, sublime — except when some blundering Christian opened the door and let in the miserable sunlight. W'e are going to build a church with no windows and a double door, so that God's miserable sunlight 234 \i/ . >k_ / \ can't get in to eclipse our beautiful candle lights. What is the use of sunlight when it is pretty light enough in the da)- time without it ? " What did we do ?" It is easier to tell what we didn't do. Why, in the early morning, at 8:30 A.M. — think of it, lazy Fifth Avenue Low Churchmen — we all got up and went to mass and confessional. The ladies had more talking thaa confessing to do, and I began to think that Dr. Ewer was holding a recep- tion. We would confess a little, then we would abuse the old church on Fifth Avenue. One lady confessed that Miss was fixed out by the committee to dance with the Grand Duke, but that she got hold of Catacazy, who introduced her to Alexis, and she stole a dance. She said she was sorry, but she did want to dance with the Grand Duke so much. Dr. Ewer said that was very bad, and that if Miss hadn't been a Low Church lady, he would never have forgiven it. " What will you confess this morning, Mr. Perkins ?" asked the Doctor, turning to me. " Well, your Worshipful," I said, " I confess that I went to the Navy Yard ball, that a miserable Low Churchman stole my overcoat and hat, and that when my driver got drunk, and I was compelled to get up on the box and drive home in the wind bare- headed, and in my swallow-tail coat, that I forgot myself and swore like the devil." " And you are sorry for it now, Mr. Perkins .'" " Yes, Fm sorry that I swore ; but when I think of my lost hat and overcoat, I think if I had the Low Church scoundrel who stole them Fd cut his da — darned ears off!" ^r- ^^3s — • — \ FIFTH HEAVENUE FLIRTING. Fifth Avenue Hotel, Feb. la Those flirting Fifth-avenue fellows ! Everywhere I go, the young ladies are furious at the way Brown's Boys are conducting themselves this winter. Their chief aim seems to be to get a young lady " on the string " and then trifle with her affections. They always talk, but they never propose. They fuss around three or four months with a young lady and then plead poverty and the I-don't-want-to-take-you- from-your-nice-home dodge. Nov, the girls are willing to go. They are willing to live in a garret with a brave, handsome, working fellow, with a heart big enough to kill them with manly love. They don't like these timid, calculating fellows. They like a man who will rush headlong wherever love beckons him, knowing that happiness and wealth will surely follow after. The young ladies begin to get mad. They are tired of waiting. I LIKE TO be loved. Last night I went home from Dr. Ewer's with Julia. Julia is visiting with her cousin who lives in a palatial residence on Fifth Avenue. The old folks had retired, and the gas in the front parlor was down. The back parlor, we noticed through the windows in the JULIA IN THE TWILIGHT. folding door, was brilliantly illuminated. We sat on the sofa. The darkness gave me confidence, and I took Julia's hand and was about to say some- thing confidential in the feeble gaslight, when we heard Julia's cousin Mary in the back parlor with Charley Brown. Charley 236 ^!/ — xU was taking advantage of the darkness, too. We saw llieir shadows on the glass-door. I heard him whisper : " Mary dear, I have something confidential to tell you."' " What is it, Charley ? " she lisped, in a sweet voice. Then we saw one arm of his shadow encircle her shadow, and somebody whispered : " I think, Mary — I think that — I love you ! " Then we heard a suppressed sigh, " Julia," continued the voice, " do you love me ? " " Yes, Charley, I do love you," she sobbed. " How much ? " " More than words can express." " I am very glad, Mary," continued the voice, '* for I do like to be loved." "Well, Charley.?" But Charley never said another word. Young fellows seldom get further than this now-a-days. This is as much as any reasonable young lady ought to ex- pect. Now, Charley is an honorable fellow, and he has gotten just so far with 386 different young ladies on Fifth Avenue. It is called by the fellows the " sticking point." One day I said, " Charley, did you never get any further than the 'sticking point i*'" " Pshaw, Eli, yes," he replied. " There are two other points still. We call them the 'awful oath dodge^' and the 'poverty dodge.' Why, I've come these dodges over the Fifth Avenue girls more than twenty times." " What is the ' awful oath dodge .-'" I inquired anxiously. " The ' awful oath dodge ' is where we ' get sweet ' on the girl, tell her that we love her, get her to say she loves us, then an- nounce with tremendous solemnity that we were compelled to take an awful oath at the bedside of our dying grandfather not nI._ >!" I asked, still opening my eyes at Charley's revelations. *' Never tell, my boy .?" " Never!" " Well, I always tell the girls that I love them." "Yes.?" " Ask them if they love me." "Yes.?" " Then they say 'Yes.'" " And you " *' Why, then I sigh, and say, ' Alas ! darling, I do love you, but I love you too much to ask you to marry me. You, Mary, are used to a life of luxury. I am poor and proud. I would not ask you to leave a home of comfort for a home such as I could give you.'" " Well, Charley, how does this generally work ?" ''Splendidly, old fellow! That's what we Fifth Avenue fellows call the ' poverty dodge ' — the very last jumping off place, you know." Oh, Charley is such an honorable fellow ! Now, the city is so full of Charleys that we good fellows, who really mean business, are completely in the shade. We are so diffident. We hold our hats deferentially in our hands, and when it comes to the question of proposing, we, non-professionals, stammer and back up, then go ahead, and finally get the cold shoulder, while Charley runs off with your sweetheart. No fellow can ever propose nicely till he has done it twenty or thirty times. JULIA'S IDEA. This morning I got a perfumed note from Julia. She says she is down on the " I-like-to-be-loved " fellows, who go around making girls connnit themselves, as Charley Brown and her _ . c ^h 23S ^W \i/ \l^ cousin Mary. She says she has got a new idea which she brought from Philadelphia, and so she writes it to me : — " Fifth Avenue, " Dear Eli : — " This is our new idea. All the girls have agreed to it. We call it the honorable dodge, and we are bound to put through every flirting fel- low in New York on it. The idea is — but I'll tell you how I practiced it last night and you'll un- JtJUA. derstand it better. But you know it is a secret, and of course you are to be" trusted. " Well, last night Fred Palmer called. You know he is an awful flirt. We sat on the same sofa where you and I sat before. The gas was low, and pretty quick Fred began to talk ' spooney.' I pretended to be affected. Then he said, ' What a pretty ring you have, Julia,' (The old dodge, you know.) " ' Yes, so — so, I replied. " ' Is that your crest engraved on it } he asked, taking my hand, (Another old dodge, you know.) It isn't half pretty enough for your hand, he continued. You should have a dia- mond solitaire. Would you like one } he asked, looking lov- ingly into my eyes. " ' Yes, I said, if it comes from the right one. " ' How would you like one from me, Julia .-' he asked, with a sigh, " ' Oh ! I should be delighted, if I thought you loved me, and then I looked down on his coat sleeve. '39 ^1^ / — • — " 'But, Julia, you know I do love you — I love you dearly, I .' " ' Do you love me enough to speak to father about it ? I asked, interrupting him. '* ' Yes, dear Julia, I will speak to him to-morrow, he said, BUT, JULIA, YOU KNOW I LOVE TOU! kissing my hand, * I 1 ' " ' No, Frederick, I remarked, removing my hand from his convulsive elasp, * I am glad you are willing, but I am engaged to Eli Perkins, you know, and I was only seeing how far you would go ! ' " So keep the idea a secret a little while, my dear Eli, and we girls will fool every fellow in New York. Mum is the word ! " Your own love, "Julia -." ^"^^ ^1^ 140 / FLIRTING. MOLLY BROWN. The following letter from a young lady is full of suggestion.s. It comes written in a patrician hand. The writing is graceful, sweeping, and dashy. It tells the .story so truly, and teaches a moral so keenly, that t cannot resist giving it to you. • Miss Mollie Brown, of Forty-.sixch street, writes : Dear Mr. Perkvis : I wish to ask your sympathy and advice on a subject that has long been weighing on my mind, and that fs — flirting. You see i have got the name of being that despicable thing — a flirt — simply because 1 look after my own interests. Par example : I am pretty — every one says so — and have plenty of admirers. Well, so soon as a young gentleman, whom I like pretty well, calls on me two ox three time.s, I am brought up for examination before my paternal. " Who is he .'' " my relative stern I3- inquires, " Mr. Smith, papa," I meekly respond, telling in ten words all I know about the man. \ 241 *' Where does he live ? What's his father's name ? What's his business ? How much does he make a year ? What are his habits ? " follow each other in quick succession, and, not being able to answer, I steadily set to work to discover these important facts, my father never thinking of doing it for me. Well, in two months, by continual pumping I discover his place of abode — quite stylish ! In three months I discover his father's name — John. In four his business — small broker in Wall street. In five, income — uncertain. In six, habits ditto ! ! Now, what is left for me to do .'* I have wasted three months finding out that it would be very foolish for me to marry Smith. I can't help it — I tried hard ; but in a big city like this, it is hard to find out about anybody, so I can do nothing but give the case of Smith up, and try again. Of course I've treated Mr. Smith kindly, because he looked like a solid fellow, and I didn't like to lose a good opportunity. Now, it happens that, having tried to look out for myself in this way some dozen times or so, I have drawn down on my devoted head the opprobrious epithet of — Flirt — and as a natural consequence, all your " Brown's boys," thinking me fair game for a flirtation, are overwhelming me with their detrimental attentions, to the disgust of all the eligibles. Now, dear Mr. Perkins, can't you advise me on this subject, or at least make Mrs. Grundy retract the unenviable riame she has bestowed upon me ? My only desire is to pursue my own way peacefully, and, before I die, marry some well-educated young man with a good family, good business, good habits, good income, good-looking, and good-natured enough to make me love him ; and surely no girl could ask less, could they ? Yours, imploringly, MoLLiE Brown. Forty-sixth street, March 17. '^2 ^'(^ No, Miss MoUie — no ! your experience I bclic\c to be the experience of almost every pretty young lady from Madison square to the Park. The mission of an accomplished j'ounj^ lady is to marry a brave yountj fellow with money enou-^di to support her, and love enough in his big, generous heart to make her happy. You are not a " flirt." You simply .show a little management. You are doing simply what your b\-^ brother and shrewd father ought to do for you — guarding against being deceived. You don't want to wreck your young life by marrj'ing a man whose pfe is purposeless, and who is penniless, reckless, and heartless ? " What is to be done ? " Why, there should be confidential relations between you and your father. I don't mean that he should be an old pepper-and- salt dromedary, who drives blooded fellows away by boring thcni to death with business questions the first night they call ; but as soon as Mr. Smith shows the least speck of devotion, you should go right and tell your father, and he in a gentle and Chcstcr- fieldian manner should make a quiet inquiry about Smith aforesaid. Finding Smith one of Brown's boys, he should tell you so, and the next time he called you could be out ; while if Smith was found to be a plucky, and aspiring young fellow, your papa could say that, and leave the rest to you and Smith aforesaid. " What is flirting, anyway .-' " It is simply making yourself agreeable. It is a compliment to be called a flirt. I never knew a flirt who wasn't pretty, accomplished, and whose heart, when once caught, wasn't big enough and warm enough to make a man worship her all his life. Such being the case, of course she was fixed out with velvet walking dresses, camel's hairs, six-button gloves, and boxes at the opera for the rest of her natural existence. If you call it flirting to become engaged to a fellow and then break such engagement, and with it an honest man's heart, alter \ 243 cabbaging a solitaire and a winter's supply of opera and big bouquets, I don't. If you call it flirting for a scamp to absorb a year of a young lady's life, to steal her confiding kisses of betrothed maidenhood, and then break an engagement and a confiding heart — if you call that flirting, I don't. I call such things criminal, and a man ought to be put in the Tombs for doing it, just the same as he ought to be put in the Tombs for any other swindling confidence game. Fhrting in the New York sense is when a young lady makes herself agreeable, and consequently has lots of admirers, whom she keeps " on a string " until she makes up her mind which one she loves best, and which one has the biggest and bravest heart. Flirting with blooded New York fellows is when a young fellow with a heart full of splendid boyishness loves all the pretty girls on the street, until, by-and-by, some sweet angel captures him, head, heart, Russian overcoat, and the thousand little flirting loves are concentrated through the focus of honest love upon the new object of his adoration. And there they both stand, Mollie Brown ! both caught, both true and together — one spirit, they travel down the happy highway of life ! 244 /i\ / NEW YEAR'S CALLS. rsCJ.E KI,l'9 1 25X11 CAJ.L. Fll'Ttl AVENUl' llnTKL, I A. M., Jan 2. I don't feel like wrltinc^ to-day, m)' head aches. I made calls yesterday — made 125 calls. I finished them about tuehc o'clock — an hour ago. I had my call list written off, and commenced at Sixtieth street, anci came down. My idea was to make 125 calls of five minutes each. This would take 625 minutes, or ten hours. I think I did it. I worked hard. I was an intermittent perpetual motion. I did all that anybod\- cv//^ii do. If any fellow sa}'s he made 126 calls, he — v.ell, he is guilty of li-bel. I tried it. I m-^^^ • Julia made "ii^t'^reply. She Ivad evidently forgotten me/" for her face sank gently on his shoHider, and then 1 saw him gently slip a solitaire upon her finger, while her face lit up ^v'ith ^^^' a flood of happiness. My Julia was gone ! 249 THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. Series 9482 O^ ^ 3 1205 02385 5271 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 001 040 531 4