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He was going a beggar and a wanderer to a strange land to earn his bread by daily labor.
“Is there any American gentleman staying at your house ?" he asked the laudlord of his hotel_“I am about to cross the water, and would like a letter to some person of influence in the New World."
The landlord hesitated for a moment, and then replied: “There is a gentleman up stairs, either from America oi Britain, but whether American or Englishman I cannot tell.”
He pointed the way, and Talleyrand—who in his life was Bishop, Prince, Prime Minister-ascended the stairs; a venerable supplicant, he stood before the stranger's door, knocked and entered.
In the far corner of a dimly lighted room sat a gentleman of some fifty years, his arms folded and his head bowed on his breast. From a window directly opposite, a flood of light poured over his forehead. His eyes, looking from beneath the downcast brows, gazed in Talleyrand's face with a peculiar and searching expression. His face was striking in its outline; the mouth and chin indicative of an iron will. His form, vigorous even with the snows of fifty winters, was clad in a dark but rich and distinguished costume. Talleyrand advanced-stated that he was a fugitive-and, under the impression that the gentleman before him was an American, he solicited his kind offices. He poured forth his story in eloquent French and broken English.
“I am a wanderer--an exile. I am forced to fly to the New World, without a friend or a hope. You are an American? Give me, then, I beseech you, a letter of introduction to some friend of yours, so that I may be enabled to earn my brcad. I am willing to toil in any manner-the scenes of Paris have filled me with such horror that a life of labor would be Paradise to a career of luxury in France-you will give me a letter to one of your friends? A gentleman, like you, has doubtless many friends."
The strange gentleman rose. With a look that Talleyrand never forgot, he retreated toward the door of the next chamber, still downcast, his eyes still looking from beneath his darkened brows. He spoke as he retreated back: ward: his voice was full of meaning.
I am the only man born in the Vew World that can raise hio hand to God, and say, I HAVE NOT ONE FRIEND-NOT ONE-IN ALL AMERICA."
Talleyrand never forgot the overwhelming sadness of the look which accompanied these words.
“Who are you ?” he cried, as the strange man retreated toward the next room_“Your name ?”
“My name --” with a smile that had more of mockery than joy in its convulsive expression—“My name is Benedict Arnold.”
He was gone. Talleyrand sank into a chair, gasping the words"
ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR." Thus, you see, he wandered over the earth, another Cain, with the murderer's mark upon his brow. Even in the secluded room of that inn at Havre his crime found him out and forced him to tell his name--that synonym of infamy.
The last twenty years of his life are covered with a cloud from whose darkness but a few gleams of light flash out upon the
page of history. The manner of his death is not distinctly known. But we cannot doubt that he died utterly friendless, that his cold brow was unmoistened by one farewell tear, that remorse pursued him to the grave, whispering “John Andrè !" in his ears, and that the memory of his course of glory gnawed like a canker at his heart, murmuring forever, " True to your country, what might you have been, 0 ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR !”
A ZOOLOGICAL ROMANCE.-CHAS. F. ADAMS.
Deer girl! I loved her as my life, And vowed to heifer for my wife. Alas! a sailor, on the sly, Had cast on her bis wether eyeHe said my love for her was bosh, And my affection I musquash, He'd dog her footsteps everywhere, Anteater in the easy chair; He'd setter round, this sailor chap, And pointer out upon the map Where once a pirate cruiser boar Him captive to a foreign shore. The cruel captain far outdid The yaks and crimes of Robert Kid. He oft would whale Jack with the cat, And say, “ My buck, doe you like that? “ What makes you stay around so, The catamounts to something, hey ?" Then he would seal it with an oath, And say, “ You are a lazy sloth! "I'll starve you down, my sailor fine, Until for beef and porcupine!" And, fairly horse with fiendish laughter, Would say, “Henceforth, mind what giraffe ter 1" In short, the many risks he ran Might well a llama braver man. Then he was wrecked and castor shore While feebly clinging to anoa ; Hyena cleft among the rocks He crept, sans shoes and minus ox. And when he fain would goat to bed, He had to lion leaves instead. Then Sue would say, with troubled face, "How koodoo live in such a place ?” And straightway into tears would melt, And say, “ Ilow badger must have felt!" While he, the brute, woodchuck her chin, And say, “Aye-aye, my lass !" and grin.
Excuse these steers * * * It's over now:
HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye,