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(Written for Dodge's Literary Museum.}
A BACHELOR NO MORE.
BY BUNG.
(Our readers can easily imagine the sensations of
the anthor, after coming out of bis nightmare of
single-wretchedness. Don’t it sound as though he
felt relieved?) :
Yzar after year I lived alone
As free as waters run—
At least, I thought so then; but now
. Since this new life’s begun,
I feel from thraldom Just escaped,
And laugh, and shout, and roar
In perfect glee, to think Iam
A bachelor no more,
Tr smiling face, and joyous eyes,
And soul so pure and good.
Can’t make a mana paradise,
I'd like to know what could! -
I used to rail at weded life,
T eneered, I lied, I swore,
But joy began when I was first
A bachelor no more.
Don’t talk to me about your clubs,
. About your social greeting, -
About your wine, your choice cigars,
Your free and jovial meeting; _
I wouldn’t have such trash around,
I'd stave it through the door,
I can’t be happier since I am
A bachelor no more.
I feel as if ra just escaped . :
From getting my neck broke,
* Or from some horrid, crazy dream, |
Afad only just awoke. . _ ..
_ A feel such bliss, such happiness,
I never felt before;
. Murra! by Jingo! if I a’n't ©
A bachelor no more! .'
* cwateen for Dodge's Literary Museum.) -
A BLOCKADE IN BROADWAY:
What Cama of It.
_ BY MIRIAM F. HAMILTON,
"Author of “Now-a-Days.”
64 {ean “Right off L”
away!” - “ Firststage up!” greet-
‘ed the ears of Kitty Wilmot, as the. crowd
of. people emerged from the ferry-way ona
“ Rignt -
Doge $ Niterary Buseum.
Kitty started and looked out the window.
The street was filled with vehicles of all
sorts; drivers swore, or patiently
speechless; while policemen, armed with
whips, sought to break up the jam’ by lead-
ing off carriages into by-streets; and hur-
ried business men stooped under. horses’
heads, and threaded their way amid the
mass of vehicles.
Meanwhile the stage still stood there, and
growing tired of gazing at the same sight,
of reading the same signs, Kitty looked
around upon her fellow-sufferers.
Several men, apparently in a hurry, left
the omnibus, and were lost in the crowd.
There remained now only a few passen-
gers. First, a woman, holding a baby,
which was evidently the baby; every arti-
cle of its clothing, from the jaunty little hat
down to the patent leather gaiters, proclaim-
ed it, and the anxious mother huddled it
close to her, lest the balmy June air should
hurt her darling. Kitty half smiled as she
obeyed the request to close the windows,
till the mother. spoke of croup; and as a
vision of a baby face distorted, and fair
arms flung up wildly in the vain struggle
for breath rose before her, summoned by
that fearful word, the smile died on her
lips, and she turned hastily away—it recall-
ed too vividly her own lost baby brother.
‘On the other side of Kitty sat two girls,
dressed in /all!‘sorts of. furbelows. and|-
flounces, who talked in a most affected man-
ner of some exquisite‘ Fwed,” who had a
most “splendid mustache,” and, “ polked
divinely.” ‘ Not. feeling particularly inter-
ested in “ Fwed’s”. attractions, Kitty began
to think of her, future—to make plans for
her ownand her mother’s support—and was
soon in a brown study. .
__ Opposite her sat an old gentleman, who
had listened to the chatter, of the two fash-
jonables with ill-disguised scorn, and’ now
a | glanced with a look of, relief on the fresh
Pleasant June morning...
A yery pretty girl she was, too, but no-
‘body noticed her as she lightly sprang into
a stage and quietly seated herself there.
Bang went. the door.“ Come! Go!”
shouted the starter, and off slowly moved -.
the unwieldy coach.
Kitty looked. out with interest on the
crowd of people that they passed, but her
eye rested with far greater pleasure on the
green, trees of the Battery and. Bowling
Green ;- and even after she; had passed
them, the pleasant pictures that their way-
ing branches had called up to her mind still
lingered there. She saw again. the dear
old brown homestead, where she had spent
so many happy years; the orchard, whose
crooked trees she had sometimes robbed of
blossoms, or in. whose branches she had sat
for hours, singing in rivalry of the birds
themselves ;
often searched for hens’ eggs, or talked to
the calves, or petted the colt; and the
beautiful pond, on whose beach she used s0
often to wander. :
-She had almost forgotten “that this: ‘home
was hers no longer; that she could never
again roam over the dear old farm, careless
and happy. She thought not now of the
changes that a few short months had made
in her life; that her home was now a ‘Poor
tenement in the city, her mother an inva-
lid, and she her only support—for she was
young and hopeful, and was quite, lost to
the sad present in the cheerful Picture. of
the past, when with one or two swayings to
and fro, and pitchings forward like a ship
in a storm, there came a violent jerk, and
the stage was at a stand-still.
the barn, where she. had so | -
young face of Kitty. He was evidently in-
terested in her; he prided himself on his
skill in reading character, and he was pleas-
ed with the varying expression of our little
Kate. . ; :
Mr. Harrison was a wealthy old gentle-
man, who, after making a fortune, unassist-
ed by, any one, as he was accustomed to
boast, had retired, leaving his business to
his- son. _ He. was a stern old man, but a
kindly one, and though disposed sometimes
to be a little tyrannical, had a heart yet un-
chilled. by worldliness...This his son Gil-
bert had said a thousand times; and though
of late he had retracted ..it, and called his
father all sorts of harsh names, yet we are
bound to believe the majority in statements
as in everything else, and his praises of his
parent had outnumbered his vituperations
a hundred-fold.
The truth was ‘this: “Gilbert | was in love,
He wished to marry ; his father was equal-
ly anxious that he should do so. -So far all
seemed right; but unfortunately each had
selected a “different lady, and as Gilbert was
no Mormon, there must be a choice, and
neither seemed disposed to yield his candi-
date. The lady selected by the father by
no means suited his son, and the father was
as little disposed to be pleased with his son’s
choice.
True, he had never seen the lady, but he
felt confident that an ill-bred country girl,
as he persisted in thinking her, was no
match for the elegant Miss Warner, whom
he saw in fancy his son’s bride. -
He called Gilbert obstinate. Gilbert re-
turned the compliment, and they seemed as
far from agrecing as ever.
sat} _
But while we have been stating these
facts, the stage moved on.
It had turned into Fifth Avenue, when
Kitty pulled the strap. Mr. Harrison pass-
ed up her sixpence, and followed her. He
wanted to watch her a little.
She ran up the steps of a handsome
building, rang, and was admitted, and Mr.
Harrison paced up and down the sidewalk.
He smiled to himself as he walked there,
waiting for her to retippear.
“Tm in pretty business,” he said to him-
self; “I wonder what Gilbert would say, to
see his father waiting fora girl like that?
But she’ interests me; she seems to be a
stranger in the city, and her dress shows
that she is poor. Poor child! she is too
pretty to be safe. I'll see that she gets safe
home.” - ,
Just then the subject of his meditations
passed him. Her tread was not so elastic
as it had been. Tears were in her eyes;
she pulled her handkerchief from her pock-
et and wiped them away.
Poor Kitty! she had reason to be sad.
Her hopes of money-making for her invalid
mother by teaching were blasted. She had
answered an advertisement for a daily gov-
ernness, and had not only been unsuccess-
ful, but told that she could not possibly get
|a situation elsewhere in a respectable fam-
ily.
“No references!” exclaimed the haugh-
ty lady; and the remembrance of her tone,
and suspicious looks, rendered only the
more so by Kitty’s blushes, made her cheeks
glow and eyes fill again. So the young
girl hurried on, sad, and well-nigh hope-
less.
‘Mr. Harrison followed. Suddenly he
stooped and picked up a letter, which she
pulled from her pocket in taking out her
handkerchief, and which fell” unnoticea* py
her to the sidewalk.
He glanced at it, and was about to give
it to her, when with a second look he sud-
denly changed his mind, and walked on,
looking at it ever and anon.
He ‘rubbed his eyes. Did he read the
address aright? Yes, there it was in black
and white:
Miss CATHARINE WILMOT,
‘arroll,
M
And worse than all, in his son’s well-known
hand-writing. He remembered the name
well. This, then, was the girl who had in-
terfered in his cherished plan of settling
Gilbert in marriage. But the last half hour
had smoothed the way a little for her. He
could not feel very bitter toward that sweet
young girl. -
“Well, well,” he répeated to himself,
“TI don’t blame the boy so much. Howey-
er, I'll follow her a little farther.”
Soon Kitty got into a stage. Ie did the
same, crossed the ferry. with her, and fol-
lowed her through a crooked by-street into
asmall house. The door was ajar, and he
followed her up stairs and listened at the
open door of. the room she entered, to the
sad tale, interrupted by sobs and tears, of
poor Kitty’s failure in getting a situation.
“Q! what shall we do? what shall we
do?” sobbed the child, laying her head on
her mother’s bed, and weeping violently.
The mother sighed.
“Ql! if Gilbert knew that you were
here,” she began, but Kitty interrupted
her.
“¥fush! mother, dear, that he shall not
know; I would starve first. He says he
cannot hope to win his father’s consent, and
I will never be the cause of estranging
father and gon. I have told him so; but,
mother, I dare not trust myself to see him.
Iam doing right, I know; but I love him
so dearly, I might forget everything but his
persuasions, if we were to meet.”
“O1 if his hard-hearted father could see
you, my Kitty,” said. the mother. “He
might not care so,much for money, if he
knew what a good daughter you were, and
how much you and Gilbert loved each oth-
er. How I wish you could see him!”
“Well, madam, here he is,” said Mr.
Harrison, stepping in; “the hard-hearted
fellow himself. I’ve been an old fool, and
T’'m willing to own it.”
And he wiped away two obstinate tears
that would keep coming into his eyes.
“Don’t cry, there’s a darling!” said the
old man, taking Kitty’s hand kindly, and
stroking her curls as if she were a kitten.
-. After the first surprise was over, Mr.
Harrison proceeded to explain his abrupt
appearance, and produced the letter. Be-
fore he left he had made as great a change
in the opinions of mother and daughter as
to his character, as his study of Kitty’ 's face
in the stage had effected in his mind.
Kitty Wilmot did not get.a situation as
governess; but not long after she was in-
stalled as housekeeper, in a beautiful resi-
dence in New York, Kitty Wilmot no long-
er—and neither she nor her father-in-law
ever had cause to regret the Blockade in
Broadway.
THE VENOM OF SERPENTS.
RECENT number of the St. Louis
Medical Journal contains one of the
most interesting articles which we have ever
read, concerning venomous serpents. The
article was written by Dr. S. Gilm: Pr. “
Gilman says that he has learned, by the dis.
section of great numbers of different species
of serpents, that the anatomical construction
of the poisoning apparatus is similar in all
the various varieties. It consists of a strong
framework of bone, resembling somewhat a
pair of jaws, but placed externally to the
jaws proper, and much stronger. To the
lower part of this framework is attached, on
either side, one or more movable fangs, ca-
pable of being erected at pleasure. . These
fangs are very hard, sharp and crooked,
like the claws of a cat, and hooked back-
wards, with a hollow extending from the
base to near the point.. Unless erected for
battle, they lie concealed in a sort of sheath
in the upper part of the mouth. At their
base is a small sack, containing two or three
drops of venom, which resembles thin honey.
The sack is so connected with the fang that
the motion of raising the latter forces the
venom into the cavity of the fang, and ejects
it with considerable force from a small slit
or opening near the point, so that it is in-
yariably carried to the bottom of any wound
made by the fang. There is no doubt that
these fangs are, as the head grows broader,
broken off, or shed. In the mouth of one
large rattlesnake, Dr. Gilman found no less
than five fangs on each side, in all the dif-
ferent stages of formation. Three fangs on
either side are frequently found in copper-
heads, vipers and others.
The process of robbing serpents of their
venom is easily accomplished by the aid of
chloroform. A few drops are sufficient to
stupefy them, and if they are then seized
carefully by the neck, the fang may be
gently pressed upwards and the venom ab-
sorbed in a bit of sponge, or caught in a
vial, as it issues forth. Several serpents
which had been robbed in this manner were
ys
“y
ay