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Howl followed howl, groan succeeded groan. I stood for lated rubbish of centuries, and raised under the supera moment paralyzed, and then made one leap toward intendence of M. Mora, the most skillful and erudite the door. There was a howling and tearing behind me. mosaist of Southern France, and now occupies & royal I threw open the door, and very possibly shrieked, as I position in the new museum of Nismes. rushed out into the wind-swept hall. Some huge object The city was a Roman colonia, founded by a legion was behind me. I bounded along the passage like a man- | which had served in Egypt under Augustus and Agrippa. iac. I felt the pursuer at my heels. His breath was upon The coins struck here recall all this. They have a palm. me. I had never known what terror was before. I uttered tree and crocodile on one side, and on the other heads of a cry, and stumbling over some object, fell prostrate, the Augustus and Agrippa, facing each other. The city had vampire, ghost, or whatever it was, flinging itself upon a fine amphitheatre, and must have been a place of no me. The light was extinguished in the fall. The creature's little prosperity. Many relics of value have been found huge, blood-sucking chops were upon my face. His breath, there, but this mosaic is the gem of the collection. The hot and fiery, filled my nostrils. I threw out my hands artist was fertile in designs, for, as the reader will obinstinctively toward the danger, when my arm closed serve, he never repeats a design. The squares are all difa huge, shaggy form, & palpable substance. L. grasped it ferent, and those which may be termed geometrical are by the throat and struggled with it. Whatever it might | intricate and effective. One with four crosses suggests a prove, I was desperate, and prepared to battle to the last. Christian motive, another has in its centre almost a.monoAt this instant a light flashed from the further end of the gram of Christ. These squares vie with each other in hall. A face appeared behind it. Then another light, originality and grace. At the top is a frieze of exquisite backed by another face. I could see a blunderbuss amid fineness, with lions, tigers, leopards, chimeras, partthe folds of the first comer's dress. It was old Joe. The ridges, a grasshopper, and other creatures. The central light flashed upon me and my antagonist. I looked subject has led to great controversy and discussion, and down, and saw myself rolling upon the floor in the em- even the learned Academy of Nismes has been unable to brace of a huge, shaggy Newfoundland dog. In an in- | give a decisive judgment in the case. According to some. stant the absurdity of my situation, and the groundless- it is the “Marriage of Acmedes," a subject found treated ness of my fears, flashed upon me. I scrambled to my somewhat similarly at Pompeii ; Acmedes being a charm feet as quickly as possible. I wrapped the loose mantle ing virgin who refused to marry a suitor who could not around me, which I had thrown upon my shoulder when bring to her feet as a wedding-present a live lion and a I rose to strike the light, and assumed all the importance live wild boar. Others think that it shows.“ Anthony of manner I could command.
and Clec patra Receiving the Homage of Conquered Na"Joe,” said I, “take this beast away. He's a perfect tions.” Others think it refers to the founding of the city savage.”
by the legion, which thus recalls its old-time connection Old Joe, trembling and white, and still confidently he- with Anthony and Cleopatra.. lieving that a ghost was in some way mixed up in the affair, approached, and led off the harmless creature, who stood looking on the scene complacently, wondering, no
HOW TO SETTLE THE ATTORNEYS. doubt, what all the ado was about.
It was with difficulty that I could maintain my impos DINGLE is a small town in the southwest of Ireland, on ing air until the servants were gone, and then, crestfallen the peninsula which forms one side of Dingle Bay. Lady and heartily ashamed, I crept off to bed.
Chatterton, in her travels in the south of Ireland, gives us I did not dare present myself to my Amanda the next the following amusing specimen of the primitive manners morning—nor even the next night. When I did at last of the people : venture into her presence, I thought she received me “Law, sir !" repeated the man of Dingle, with a look coolly, but at the same time with a disposition to laugh at of astonishment and affright" Law, sir! we never mind me. I felt exceedingly uncomfortable, and at half-past the law in our court. We judge by the honesty of the nine pleaded an engagement.
case that comes before us, and let me tell you, sir, that if As I said before, this is a ghost story, not a love story, every court were so conducted there would be but few and I really think it does not concern the reader to know attorneys, and the country would be quiet and happy." how my love suit flourished. I have inadvertently used | “But what would you do if any person brought an atthe wrong word. The suit did anything but flourish. It torney these twenty-two long miles and hilly road (from rather lost ground after my misadventure-in fact, I Tralee), and introduced him into your court, and that he never married Amanda after all. I now believe that she started some points of law, which required professional was an unseen auditor of my comical situation with the skill to reply to ?” dog, and being somewhat of a hero-worshiper, she never “I'll tell you what I did myself," was the reply to this could forgive the exhibition of pusillanimity and fear apparently perplexing question. “When I was deputy thus afforded her. All I can say about it is, wait until sovereign two fools in this town employed each of them she gets caught in a similar fix.
an attorney, whom they brought at great expense from But the lesson was enough for me. I have had no Tralee. When the attorneys went into court, and settled ghost-frights since.
themselves with their bags and papers, all done up with red bits of tape, and one of them was getting up to speak,
Crier,' said I, command silence.' 'Silence in the court !' A MOSAIC DISCOVERED AT NISMES, said he. So I stood up, and looking first at one attorney,
and then at the other, I said, with a solemn voice, 'I adFRANCE, IN DECEMBER, 1883.
journ this court for a month.' 'God save the Queen !' WHILE excavating the soil in this ancient Roman city said the crier ; and then I left them all. And I assure the workmen came upon a mosaic pavement of uncom- | you," he added, “that from that day to this no attorney mon beauty, nearly twenty-five feet long by twenty wide, ever appeared in our court; and, please God, we never and, except at the top of the design, in a remarkable will mind law in it, but go on judging by the honor and state of preservation. It was cleared from the accumu- I honesty of the cases that come before us."
ce | But what can a man do? I have a cousin at Bologna, THE TRIUMPH OF PERSEVERANCE.
and he has done some service to a painter there. I'll go One day, a long time ago, an olive-browed, gypsy-look- to Bologna. Pietro will take care of mother, and I'll send ing youth might be seen walking along the crowded her half my earnings. My time is out next week, and Toledo, a great thoroughfare in the gay City of Naples. then I'll go and see Theresa no more until I can paint as By his general appearance you would have guessed he well as Colantonio del Fiore.” was a traveling tinker, and you were made sure of the Į Bologna is some way from Naples, but what will not a fact when you noticed the well-blackened bit of iron- steadfast purpose do ? In a short time after Antonio was mongery which he swung to and fro in his hand. delivered from the pots he stood in that learned city.
There was something, however, in the young tinker His cousin, who was a silk-manufacturer, received him which seemed to savor of a soul above kettle-mending, most kindly, and promised to introduce him to Lippo useful as that art is. He looked sad and disappointed, Dalmasio, the great Madonna painter. Michele, the silkand held the old pan as if he would gladly have thrown spinner, had saved Lippo's life or limbs in a street row, it away.
and Lippo had never forgotten his preserver. When, Soon the gathering anger broke forth.
therefore, Michele took Antonio to Lippo's studio, the “Plague take these pots and pans !" said he ; " but my great artist readily promised to find out Antonio's powers, time is up in a year, and then we'll see. Ah, here is what and to encourage them if they seemed worth encourag. suits me!"
ing. So saying, the tinker stopped at the window of a shop When Antonio returned to his cousin's house in the where paint-brushes and colors were sold. A picture or evening his face was radiant with joy-Lippo had given two showed the passers-by what delightful effects could him something to copy, and he had done the task wellbe produced when those paint-brushes fell into clever so well that Lippo had praised him. artist hands.
Lippo was a painter of religions subjects, and bad got “Ah !" sighed the gypsy; “how long will it be ere I the name of Lippo del Madonne, from his many pictures can paint like that? Those trees—they are real ; that of the Virgin Mary. One of his pictures may yet be seer water—I could drink it; those mountains behind which in the Church of St.Procolo, and a great painter named the sun is setting-I have seen them. I cannot think I | Guido Reni, who lived long after him, used to say that shall ever be a painter good enough for a picture like no man in his time could draw so holy a face as that. that. But the prize is worth labor. Cheer up, Antonio.” Under the kind and patient Lippo our honest and
So saying, the tinker moved on, singing a blithe Italian painstaking gypsy friend made progress-slow at first, of air, and wondering how soon Hope could make the desert course, but no less sure. His dream of the nine steps Future look green.
was rather a slight thing to build upon ; but Antonio A year passed away, during which Antonio continued lived in a superstitious age, and was not coming back to to work for his master. All his spare time, however, was Naples to be defeated. spent in drawing and painting.
He would not return until he could fairly astonish Now and then he would go and stand near a certain Colantonio ; and his mother and Pietro could come to house where an artist named Colantonio dwelt. Some-Bologna and live with him. times Antonio would see a maiden come and look out of a Very frugal and quiet was Antonio Gay and spirited window, and then his heart would beat more quickly, and are the citizens of Bologna, and noisy in their merriment. he would feel a flush upon his face ; or she would come Pure is the mountain air, and bright are those Italian out, leaning upon her father's arm ; but, though Antonio skies; but Antonio's heart was in Naples, and his time knew them both, and longed to join them in their walk, was spent in prayer and work. he dared not.
Daily he rose in Lippo's esteem ; and at length, nine Never more was he to enter into that house--not one years having come to an end, he bade his good cousin word was he to speak to the artist or his daughter, until and his dear master farewell, and went southward by he could call himself an artist, and a good one, too. Florence and Rome.
It was a hard condition, but Antonio felt there was some One day, soon after, an artist, unknown by name, justice in it. It did not seem proper that a mender of craved permission to present a picture to the Queen of ngly oid pots should mate with one who lived all the Naples. No one knew who he was or whence he came. days of her life among things of beauty.
He called himself Antonio de Solario, and was our old It was not generous or lover-like to drag down Theresa friend the tinker. to a grimy workshop from a saloon full of elegance ; so It requires some management to present anything to a Antonio put a brave heart upon it, and resolved to rise to crowned head, for “divinity doth hedge a king "'; but fame in the road pointed out to him.
Antonio was not one to be easily daunted. Many times he might have spoken to Theresa, had he And his picture was worthy of any monarch's acceptchosen-many times was he tempted to do so ; but he was ance; it represented the Holy Child Jesus crowned by too honorable to break a promise or disobey a father. angels.
He went home on one occasion, after he had seen her Used as the Italians are to beautiful pictures, the Queen looking more sweet than ever, to dream of her on a high was breathless with pleasure when Antonio's lovely work precipice, and of himself hewing out steps in the rock on appeared. which she stood. He counted and the steps were nine. “What a wonderful picture ” said she. “What expres
"Must it, then, be nine years ere I can paint as well as sion in those heads! How rich the colors! What a charm Colantonio del Fiore ? Nine years! What a time! But, in every part !” wait a bit-perhaps the steps mean months ? No; that' Antonio bowed low at such praise, and again he bowed won't do. Nine months, indeed! I've been six months when the Queen requested him to paint a portrait of already trying to draw my mother, and she laughs at my herself. pictures, and says I make her squint like the old apple-1 This was success, indeed! The portrait was painted woman in our street; and my horses, she says, could not and exhibited to the public of Naples, together with the walk if they were alive. I fear I shall never be as artist. | sacred picture of the “Coronation."
Old Colantonio, in common with all his brother-artists, in the unknown artist which reminded her of the gypsy went to gaze and criticise. Antonio, ten years older than Antonio who disappeared so long ago, for she started and he was, and disguised, stood, utterly unknown, close to looked confused. the old artist and his daughter when they came to inspect “And where did you study ?” asked Colantonio ; "and the picture.
with whom.” Colantonio looked very old and broken in health.! “With Lippo Dalmasio, at Bologna," answered An.
THE TRIUMPH OF PERSEVERANCE.-" ANTONIO BOWED LOW AT SOCH PRAISE, AND AGAIN HE BOWED WHEN THE QUEEN REQUESTED
HIM TO PAINT A PORTRAIT OF HERSELF."- SEE PAGE 107.
Theresa's face was still as good and kind as it used to , tonio ; "and I sometimes call myself I Zingaro ; or, The be. She reminded Antonio of one of those saints Lippo Gypsy." was so fond of painting.
Again Theresa looked searchingly at the unknown Of course, Antonio said to himself : “I wonder whether artist, and wondered : 'Can it be?” she remembers me? I should have known her, I think, “But what is your real name ?" asked the old artist. had I met her anywhere."
"You don't mean to go down to posterity as Il Zingaro, While he was looking at her face, she suddenly looked do you ?” at him, and their eyes met ; perhaps there was something ! "My real name," said the painter, looking fixedly at
Theresa, “is Antonio de Solario. I left Naples ten years ago, because an artist named Colantonio”—here Colantonio looked in amazement at Antonio, who now faced him with his honest, fearless eye—“because an artist named Colantonio would not let me love (his daughter unless I could paint as well as he. For ten long years has Antonio been working. Has he succeeded, Colantonio, or not ?”
The astonishment of Colantonio and the happiness of Theresa formed a picture worth painting. The old man embraced Antonio, and vowed he had made him the happiest man alive.
Long had he regretted sending Antonio away, for he found it had preyed on his daughter's spirits; and often had he made inquiries among his painter friends, in Sienna, Umbria, Padua, Venice, and elsewhere, about the missing youth, but nothing had come of it; and now, when he was drooping, and thought he had doomed his daughter to live and die unprotected, her faithful Antonio appeared, to throw his manly arms about her, and be her protector—a worthy one, too !
Great was the rejoicing that night in the old artist's house, and sldom was a marriage more blest than that which soon after united Il Zingaro to Theresa Colantonio. The high reputation he had achieved was well sustained by steadfast toil, and many altar-pieces and wall-paintings remained after him, to speak of the talent of one who raised himself, by determined industry, from the mending of pots and saucepans to a place of honor among great men.
DUCK-SHOOTING IN NEBRASKA.
BY ORVILLE LEAN.E.
LET him doubt it who will, and yet I affirm, on my honor as a man, that what I am about to relate is a plain, unvarnished statement of facts. I know very well that the story will seem like an exaggeration to those who have never hunted in the Far West. Before I went there I often heard such things related, but I always supposed that the stories were very highly colored. I have now learned, however, that in these matters exaggeration is scarcely possible, and that most stories told of the great numbers of birds seen are, in fact, but very moderate statements. When I first entered the duck region of Nebraska, I did so in company with 2 gentleman who had been there several times before. As we rode across the prairie one day, and came within sight of a line of little ponds, or, as the Western people call them, “sloughs,” he pointed out a dark mass hanging in air a mile away, and remarked: “There are the ducks.”
“Where ?” said I. “I see clouds in abundance, but no birds.”
“Nay, but you see birds in abundance, and no clouds,” was his reply.
And I found it even as he had said. Ducks fly there in flocks of thousands—I do not know but by tens of thousands.
During the Summer they live in the Far North, where they breed, and they spend their Winters in the South ; but every Autumn they alight on the rivers and lakes and sloughs of the Western States, where they remain till the waters are frozen over.
They feed on the grain-fields of the great wheat-growing regions, and on a certain native product called “wild rice,” which grows in abundance about the sloughs and Watercourses.
As an article of food their flesh is much superior to that of the sea-duck, or our common domesticated bird—being less oily than either of these. In almost any region a tolerable hunter can bag twenty birds in a morning or evening shoot, while, if one cares to make a business of hunting them, he can secure a very large number. Let me recite an experience of mine during a single week in the Autumn of 1880. Several of us had been on a hunting excursion in the vicinity of the Dismal River, and h d been driven back by an untimely snowstorm, known in those regions as a “blizzard.” Snow fell in the middle of October to a depth of about eighteen inches, and the temperature was so low that the rivers were frozen sufficiently hard to bear up our teams. As we returned to the settlements, our route lay along the Elkhorn River, and we found that duck had gathered at the occasional open places in the stream in unheard of numbers. When within forty miles of the point whence we set out on the hunt, two of us determined to go back up the river for a few days' shooting. We stopped over night with a settler who lived near the river, and next day amused ourselves with shooting duck and hanging them up in his house, to be used by him for food. I do not know how many we killed, but I know we left a large number. It was easy, in the light snow, to creep up to a bend in the stream, and shoot into a flock as they rose, and we kept at it nearly all day. Toward night Iresolved to go further up the stream, and I arranged with my companion to meet me at the place where we were then stopping some three or four days later. Mounting my broncho pony, I started up the stream. My saddle was arranged with straps attached at every possible place for carrying game, and I threw a grainsack across the pony's back, with a little corn in one end and a large number of loaded cartridges in the other. I was not long in securing as many birds as I could conveniently carry about the saddle. Wherever there was an open place in the river the water was fairly covered with ducks. Fastening my pony a little distance off on the prairie, I crept up to the stream and shot into a large flock time and again. The birds were singularly easy of approach. I have never seen them as much so elsewhere. I had no difficulty in choosing my position, from which I fired one barrel as they rested on the water, and then gave them another as they rose. In this way I killed a great many. But what gave me an especial advantage was the fact that, after I had fired into the flocks on the water, and again as they rose, the great body of them would invariably return and expose themselves to my fire again, so that, in many instances, I shot four or five times into a flock at close range, with terrible effect. Igathered up dead birds by the dozen all that afternoon. In one instance, when I was distant from my pony, and had used up all except one of my shells, I fired into a flock and killed eleven birds with one barrel. I distinctly remember that, as I came to McClure's ranch, where I stopped that night, I left a saddle-load of birds for the use of his family. I further recall that, when I started out the next morning on my journey up the river, I soon had another saddle-load, which I sent back to Mr. McClure by-one of his herdsmen, whom I met ; that soon after I left another load at a herder's camp ; that at Graves's ranch, where I