佛山桑拿小姐电话

He is only twenty-two years old, but never once has been out of his Paradise, Shamboul. According to his opinion, he has no equals, consequently he has no associates. He is uneducated, because no one dare to instruct him. Such a man lives a Monarch and will die like a fool. If the Czar of Russia were to pay him a visit, he might smile with acknowledgement, but if Queen Victoria’s virtuous head would call, she could not stop in his seraglio as quick as Madame Rachel or Lolla Montez; and if General Zack Taylor called, his Pacha’s would receive him, and a General Jackson would scare him to death, as he is the most nervous man on a Throne.

As he is the descendant of Mahommed, it is admitted here that his authority to govern the people is received on all emergencies from God. He is incapable of fearing any nation on the earth, as he thinks that his is head of all. 佛山夜生活网 If some day, the news went to his palace that the Bosphorus was covered with a fleet, and that one ball had already struck the dome of the mosque St. Sophia, he would, through all his resolutions, break his haughty heart, and no doubt tremble off his divan. They are talking about a war with Russia, and I can find no man here that thinks Russia can begin to fight them.

The Sultan’s harems are numerous. While the occupants of the large are removed to two small ones, we have permission to pass through it, to see its magnificence, by paying the sum of five dollars a piece. It is a government of itself. It has a large bath room of water, and one of vapor. The girls are as pure as silvan nymphs, and some have remained in this harem until they become old, on account of the Sultan’s fancy to certain ones. They are carried to the baths 佛山桑拿一条龙多少钱 by black men, called eunuchs. They take their baths in all attitudes of pleasure, while these eunuchs lean over the large, stationary stone basins, and gaze at them in their Eve like costumes. But before these men are placed in this important position of servitude, they are privately handled to the disadvantage of displaying any demonstrations of manly pride, towards these vexed reflections that must naturally spring up in the reflective minds of virgins deprived of the luxuries of a life, built upon the confines of clandestine border thoughts of sexes.
GOING TO ATHENS WITH A PRIMA DONNA.
Having seen the Sultan’s great City, mosques, ambers, sponges, perfumeries and beads, I am now passing the Custom House, on my way back to Greece.

In the front part of this vessel the cabin is all one, and whoever gets any kind of a berth 佛山桑拿按摩qq is lucky, as the passengers are numerous. The beds or berths are one over the other, like our lake boats’ second class cabin. One berth is a little higher than the other, they are three stories, and one person has to climb over another to get in bed, and even then you are too close together. The second class passengers find their own bedding, and sleep upon deck, and we have some very rich Greecian families aboard, with their bedding and food, who sleep on deck. Yesterday we passed by Smyrna, and stopped and took aboard three beautiful Albanian girls. When you see a pile of old rubbish lying about on these Dardanelle boats, there is always some owner lying under it.

These Albanian girls were dressed very different from the Turkish girls, and the pretty ones are not veiled. They had on a very pretty costume, but over it they wore a very large and coarse cloak, composed of 佛山桑拿论坛网 either camel’s hair, or wool of some ugly animal. They have a bonnet attached to it, that they can either throw back, or wear on their heads, and this cloak drags the ground. On board of our vessel was two young gentlemen from New York, trying to attract the attention of these Albanian girls, though they had their beaux with them. These young gents are very rich, their wholesale oil establishment, in New York, is said to do a business of millions of dollars per annum, and their names were Bridgers. They were seen to follow these beauties wherever they promenaded the deck, still they received no encouragement. Sometimes these girls would hide themselves in their winding sheet, and throw the bonnet part over their heads, and fall down upon the deck as singular and as natural as an apple from a tree, and then they would appear as a pile of rubbish of old sacks. At last the gay Messrs. 佛山桑拿网 Bridgers lost them, and they hunted in all directions, but could not find these fairies. They got tired hunting, and seated themselves to talk on some old piles of blankets and quilts, but before he got seated. I mean only one, he was thrown flat on his face by one of these pretty girls. In choosing a comfortable seat, he picked the covered head of the prettiest girl. He felt very bad about the mistake he had made, and I felt ashamed for him, but worst of all, he could make no amends, as she spoke nothing but Greek. He said “I wish I could apologize,” but he could’nt. She did not seem to like it at all.

The first night out we had a good deal of contention about berths. We had more passengers than the law of this company allows; they are not allowed to take one passenger more than they can accommodate.

Among the passengers on board was the first dancer of Constantinople. Those who had spoken for berths went to bed soon for 佛山桑拿实名登记 fear disputes would arise about the right of them. I made sure of mine by sitting by it and watching it. After all the berthers had taken possession of their respective places, I discovered many persons taking berths on the sofas around the cabin; there were some curtains hanging about to make screens, to dress and undress behind, and the lights always burned dimly. These sofas were on a level with the lower berths, consequently, whoever took a sofa berth, was almost sleeping with the occupant of the lower berth.

There was some choice about them, inasmuch as some were wider than others. I could see through my thin curtain that some one had picked out X 31, my own doorway. I lay like a rock to find out who it was, until I saw that everybody was in a resting attitude, after which I quietly drew back my curtain, to see what my neighbor was like. I knew it was some respectable person from the sweet smell of roses and other eastern scents which I inhaled. I could dimly see a Madonna figure of considerable size, and the figure was nearly 佛山桑拿小姐电话 touching me. I did not get scared but lay as quiet as possible. I saw plainly that sleep had sent in a regret for that night, the lamp flickered up and went down, leaving a dark twilight perceptible around the cabin, and I put my hand slowly out to see what my neighbor felt like, and I felt the veritable prima donna of Constantinople, “qu est ce que vous voulez,“ said she, ”rien,” said I, and shut my eyes and went 佛山夜生活luntan to sleep in a hurry, and slept as sound as any man could, by the side of a live Prima Donna.

ATHENS, A SEPULCHRE.
When Rome had a C?sar and a Cicero, and a Cassius with a Brutus, Athens dictated the arts and sciences for her. Though she cannot claim the originality of them, she can the perfection of beautifying. The conquest of Alexander the Great, in Egypt, among the Africans, was considered the greatest triumph of conquest ever made by man, because it enabled the warlike people of Greece, to adorn their triumphs with the spoils of the vanquished. Egypt was a higher sphere of artistical science than any other nation on the earth. This will naturally convey an idea to the world that the black man was the first skillful animal on the earth, because Homer describes the Egyptians as men with wooly hair, thick lips, flat feet, and black, and we have no better authority than Homer. We know not the exact epoch of his time, but we know it was before any other authentic chronicler, save the sacred book of Moses, by the fact that he voyaged on the Nile before the pyramids were built, which we can trace three thousand years.

On the 29th of May, 1852, as the sun was going down the blue arch of the western sky, I reached the top of Mars Hill, in Athens, and seated myself in the seat where St. Paul rested from his display of power over a bigoted people, when he said, “I perceive that in all things you are too superstitious.”

When St. Paul stood on Mars Hill, Athens was a voluptuous city to look at. There was the white marble temple of Apollo, Jupiter, Minerva, Juno and Mars, besides temples to the sun and moon, and one to the “unknown god,” all of which were reared up in the most conspicuous reigns of those gods over the minds of all the inhabitants of Athens in a limited degree. As I descended Mars Hill, I turned to the right and entered the temple of Bacchus, who is described in the classical dictionary thus: “son of Jupiter and Semele, and god of wine and drunkards, nourished till a proper time of birth in his fathers thigh, after the death of his mother, whom Jupiter, at her request, visited in all his majesty. Semele, who was a mortal and unable to bear the presence of a god, was consumed to ashes.” An old man was in the temple to keep people from breaking pieces off from the beautiful temple’s treasure, which was the tomb of Bacchus, with the god carved on the sides, drinking his delight. I did not know what god’s temple this was, and enquired of the old man, he could not speak any European language, but was quite successful in conveying the information I wanted; he took an old gourd and scooped some water up from the bottom of a bucket, and drank it with great hilarity, at the same time pointing to Bacchus, as if he would say, “he drank!” I said, “You mean to say this is the temple of Bacchus, the god of wine and drunkards, do you?” he bowed towards his toes and then stood erect, and tried to make me understand that the rest of the tombs there were gods and goddesses, of which Apollo loved either sexually or valorously. There were no windows to the temple, the only inlet was the door, but though the door was shut, it was as light inside as one would wish. The marble was transparent, and when the sun shone upon its roof or walls, it forced its light through in a determined way.

As I left this veritable tomb and sepulchre of the great god of wine and drunkards, my guide pointed to an aperture from the heart of a hill, and said, that entrance goes to the cave where Socrates was poisoned. We then went up the most imposing ruins of Athens, the Acropolis. The temples there looked down upon the rest of the temples of Athens, like Jupiter would at the feast of gods, it was higher and more stupendous than all. There was the seats of solid blocks of white marble of the twelve judges. They were all in a row, and only one broke. They were solid blocks with scooping apertures, for a man to place his rotundity in comfortable quarters. Round about the ruins were balls and cannon, grape, and several bursted shells, but one half of this tremendous mass of splendid ruins stood upright, as when it first took its stand among the wonders of the world, as a temple of wisdom. This temple makes it impossible for us to pronounce ourselves the “light of all ages.”

The great god of this temple was the Ammon of the Africans, the Belus of the Babylonians and the Ossiris of the Egyptians; from him, mankind receives his blessings, and their blessings of miseries, and he is looked upon as one acquainted with everything, past, present and future. Saturn was Jupiter’s father, and conspired against his son and in consequence was banished from his kingdom. Now Jupiter became ruler of the universe and sole master of the Empire of the world, and divided with his brothers, reserving for himself the kingdom of heaven, and giving the Empires of the sea to Neptune, and that of the infernal regions to Pluto. The sea moved at his wrath, and hell burned his opposers, and he looked down from heaven at the commotion of his wrath till the men on earth considered their welfare only secured by worshipping his smile. Athens and all her superstition is gone now, and the godly man now laughs at the folly of the wisdom that all talent of old times craved for. On Mars hill where St. Paul thundered the decrees of God against gods, though nothing to designate the spot, there the Christian of to-day would rather stake his salvation than from the most sacred abode of Jupiter and Juno. But there is still weak minds in Athens, for as I descend I see on the side of a hill that celebrated stone where females used to come from all parts of Italy as well as Greece to slide down on it, as a true avoidance of barrenness. This stone is as slick as a piece of soap, so slick a lizzard could not run down it. For nearly three thousand years two and three thousand women per day have slid down it in a sitting posture. The guide books call it the “substitute rock for female barrenness.” Many a bruise has this rock given in receiving its polish. Hundreds of boys and young men are here at present, sliding down it for fun.

I see, seated about fifty feet away from it, the Tennessee negro I described at Constantinople, Frank Parish. A Scotchwoman is seated beside him, and seems to be proud of him as a beaux. She is a lady’s maid that came here yesterday from the Sublime Porte with her mistress and Frank. The Scotch lady insisted on Frank taking a slide with the young men, but for Frank it was no joke, as he was an extraordinary large man. But Frank, being as full of conspicuousness as any other man, it only required a little coaxing to get him started; at last he seated himself for a slide, but he did not much like to let go lest there would be a crash up. He anchored himself to the top and hesitated some, paused and looked like a fool. An Irish servant that was with the same family as the Scotchwoman, encouraged Frank, by saying, “be a marn,” Frank said, “if I am not a man there is none about here,” just to fill up the pause of suspense; but while Frank was looking and studying, the Irishman loosened his hands, and he went down like a colossus; seeing that he had broke no bones, he got up with a smile and felt himself all over to see if he was safe and sound. The Irishman said, “how did it feel my marn?” Frank pronounced it the most pleasant sensation he ever experienced. “Then ye never dreamed that ye were married,” said the Irishman. Frank said he had, but had forgot it. The Scotchwoman wished to know if that was a pleasant dream; the Irishman said, “it was the most pleasant dream a marn could have, and the most unpleasant was to find it a lie.”

Starting from the “female substitute for barrenness,” we met a man with a telescope, and we all wanted to take a fair view of Athens. The Irishman borrowed it from the man and took the first squint. He pointed to a fine house towards the Kings palace, and there he looked alone. When I obtained it I looked there too, and saw a beautiful Grecian maid combing her long black hair; gazing at her until she finished, I got a most ungentlemanly view of a lady, from which, in all due respect to her, I had to refrain, and took another direction in search of fair views. We went down the hill, and as we moved along the Grecian ladies’ and gentlemen’s walks, I, though mixed up in a crowd of different people, was determined to hear Frank talk to this Scotchwoman. He was telling her of his business, which was still going on in Nashville, Tennessee, and of how many improvements he intended to make in his bath house and barber shop, when he returned, with things that he had already bought in Paris. She believed it all, and Frank was in his glory. I noticed their actions particularly, and was upon the eve of hearing their loveliest words, when she stopped as if it was a great sacrifice to her to give up his company. They lingered some time, as they would fain go on, but as she was going to her mistress’ hotel, and Frank to his, they must part. Frank was well versed for the occasion, in Byron. He took her by the hand and looked her in the face affectionately, and said with emotion,
“Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh give me back my heart.”

As Frank was going to my hotel I thought it well to make his acquaintance; he said he saw me at Constantinople, but as I was an American, he did not deem it necessary to make my acquaintance, as I knew that he was a mere barber from Tennessee. He also told me he had been married several times, and was now engaged at home. The day after this, I was outside of Athens at what is called “the amusement grounds” of Athens, for the people repair there every evening to hear the national band play. This band comes from Bavaria, where Greece got her present king. King Otho is the son of the King of Bavaria. Here the king rides out every evening, and here Frank took another liberty with royalty. As the King and his wife rode up to the band, his horses stopped just at Frank’s elbow, and Frank walked to the carriage and offered his red hand to the king, and it was, through courtesy, accepted. Athens is to-day a small town, and the King lives here. The whole population of Greece is not quite a million. Our slaves would make four kingdoms as powerful in population as Greece. Oh, when will we be the “Freest government in the world?” We looked from the Acropolis down upon a village, but in old times we looked upon a town. “Ah! Greece, they love thee least who owe thee most.” The women are still pretty, and what is like a Grecian nose? Come, pilgrim, and see Athens in the days when it is not even a shadow of its former greatness, and ask yourself if power constitutes stability. Yes, go upon the Acropolis and gaze downward to the top of Mars’ hill, and look at the council stand of St. Paul; raise your eyes and turn them eastward, and if your imagination is as good as your sight, you will see the sea that in old times was covered over with the fleet of Alexander the Great. Further off from the shore, in the year of our Lord 1191, Richard I. of England, the lion-hearted, crusaded along with men, women, children, cattle and dogs, to put down infidelity on the sacred plains of Palestine, where Abraham, Isaac and Jacob walked as types of moral light for the salvation of mankind. Now, as you stand there on the Acropolis, as Cecrops himself has stood, be not disgusted at what you see below, of the so much written of towns, for though now you see Athens, it is true you do not see herself, but “Athens a sepulchre.”
BEAUTIFUL VENICE.
On a little slip of land between the gulf of Lepante and Athens, we come to Corinthe; we know it not, save a few immense pillars of marble pinnacling the site of Corinthe. Artists from all parts of the world come here and sit down at their base to sketch their dimensions; then away they go, with no regretful feelings for the great founders of arts stupendous, who, perhaps, three thousand years ago, were known far and near as men of the best faculties. The greatest gem that Rome ever put in its crown, was the one that was made by imagination of the Greecian dictator when listening to Cicero, he said, “Rome has robbed us of all we possess, but our eloquence, and it seems as if that is going towards Rome.” But Rome has since fallen as low as Athens!

In the Ionian sea, between Sicily and Greece, are the Ionian islands, seven in number, and Corfu is the principal one; they now all belong to the English. Out further the East Indias, where the queen of England has 150,000,000 subjects; on the coast of Africa, at the cape of Good Hope, the West Indias, and the Canadas, is her sceptral wand waving its ambrosial food of civilization. “The sun never sets on the Queen’s domain.”

Between Asia, Macedonia, and Greece is the most celebrated archipelago in the world. Six days along the Adriatic have brought me to Trieste, in Northern Italy. It now belongs to Austria. The Austrian sceptre is waving over nearly half of Italy. It is generally believed she cannot much longer hold her Italian possessions. The army of Austria, like its eagle’s wings, is stretched to its utmost extremity of space. She could not sustain 50,000 more troops, without breaking some of her internal machinery. Like an overflowing river, she is most too high to rise any higher without damaging her union. She seems to have taken the last drop of the Italian’s patience and forbearance, while Leghorn, Lucca, Trieste, Venice, and other Italian cities, and other foreign powers, are trying to overflow her channels of power; they are perfectly willing that these troubled waters should spread across the plain of the Hapsburg policy, and turn the institution of tyranny from Hungary, Bohemia, and Italy; but the beardless, blue-eyed Emperor seems to be as undisturbed as a god of liberty, and heedless of the consequences of a rebellion of these warlike people. Five hours’ ride from Trieste is Venice, a city in the sea. More lovely cities, perhaps, have been built, but I have never seen them. As our steamer threw out her anchor about fifty yards from the city, I could see on the other side of the city, a railroad in the sea, and cars running along as the sea spray washed their sides. On all sides gondolas were racing toward us, which we went ashore in. This magnificent city is built in the sea, and it costs more to drive down piles, in Venice, to build a house, than it costs in London or Paris to build the whole house.

There is one building in this city of the sea, more beautiful inside, in its old age, than most of the best buildings of its kind, in any kingdom in the world, are in when they are new. It is the church of St. Mark. The body of St. Mark is in its cloisters, resting in his magnificent tomb, like a sleeping giant that dare not be aroused. The floor of this old gothic building is precious stones; the pillars near the alters are alabaster. The Pope, in the Doge days of Venice, put his foot upon the Emperor Alexander’s head. All the magnificent displays of state, even in these times, cannot be worthy of the notice of the people of this part of the world, unless it be the will of the Pope; he is much feared by the monarch’s of to day. It has been proven that the Napoleon of to day has been seeking the smile of Pius IX. It seems very strange to some people, but not to me, that the kings of England and France, in the eleventh century, should hold the Pope’s horse for him to alight. While walking around the church of St. Mark, I saw a beautiful figure of a woman leaning gracefully from a stool downward. I watched her to see if any miracle was about to be performed. I saw the beautiful creature move with a blush upon her cheek. She was confessing to an old father, of whom, I saw, was more partial than moral worth sanctions, for as soon as she left the box, another made application, but the priest took no notice of it, but walked into his vestry. The applicant was an old woman, and homely as a bone, which, I have no doubt, was qualifications for religion not comporting with his reverence’s sensitive taste of moral obligation, to receive confessions from so ugly a source to fill up the ranks of his beautiful herds. This poor old woman waited some time for his return, but like gifts from lips that frequent promise, he never came.

This church is attached to the palace of the great Doge of Venice, and across a canal that runs between this palace and the prison, is a bridge. When a culprit was judged and sent across this bridge, he never saw again his 25th hour. All the instruments the ingenuity of man could invent, is here found to destroy the human body. I saw one machine to put a man in, and gradually break his bones; at the crush of each bone, he would be asked “if he would confess the crime?” Another was a steel covering for a man’s head, with seven holes in it; the culprit’s head would be firmly placed in this iron case, whilst he would be seated on an iron block, one nail would gradually be driven in at a time, until all the seven holes would be filled with long nails, meeting in the centre of the head, unless he confessed his guilt when some of the nails were hammered down. Another machine was something like a brace for the loins, and each end came curve like together and left it in the shape of a hoop; it had a lock and key, and old tyrannical lords used it when they left home, to protect their wives’ virtue. He would put it around below the loins, lock it, put the key in his pocket, and go out hunting. No man could unlock it, and in those times false keys were not so easily obtained as now. When he returned he would unlock it, as he could then keep guard over her to his own satisfaction.

From this horrid place, reader, come with me down the great canal that traverses the whole town, with its branches, to where, at from ten to one o’clock every day, would meet together the “merchants of Venice.” Here their financiering would daily rock thrones, but now you see a long row of decaying old walls whose bases are wrapt in sea-weed, like climbing serpents, that now dwell in those damp, old commercial halls, now rotting away. I asked the guide for the site of Desdemona’s father’s house, but that was forgotten.

Here we find no horses, carriages, or cars, but myriads of gondolas intercept the traveler at every turn of an alley or canal. On a beautiful moonlight night, I went through the city in my gondola, and as my oar struck the salty brine fiercely, I could see myriads of lights reflected from the various built palaces, and the sea looked like a diamond lawn.
VERONA AND BOLOGNA.
One morning, at sunrise, I was rapidly roaring towards the depot that was to carry me to Verona. All was lone and still, for the Venicians are no early risers. As still as the zephyr wind gondolas passed by me, and away the ripples flew. I left this city in the sea, and about ten o’clock arrived at Verona; a city so handsome in appearance—so magnificent in its ruins—so picturesquely situated in a plain, I felt as if I could dwell an age with it. Having obtained a cicerone we repaired to the old ruined walls of Julliete’s fathers’ house; afterwards the old man insisted on us going to see the half of her tomb, which is still preserved. No traces can be found of Romeo or his father’s house or tomb.

In Verona is many beautiful churches, the principal of which is San Zenone. San Zenone was a black man, and was the patron of Verona. He is represented as seated in a chair, with costly robes around him; his face is the picture of gloom, whilst his brow is stern and commanding. Preparations were going on for the reception of one of the oldest Bishops of Italy. The church was thrown wide open and workmen were employed in all parts of the inside of this edifice. Behind the altar, was preserved some holy water, brought from Rome for the occasion. The priest poured some out of the jug into a tin bucket and gave it to one of his boy aids to pour in the basin found at the entrance to all Catholic churches. This little priest boy returned to the vestry for more, received it, but when he returned to the basin where he had deposited the first bucket full, he discovered that the basin was minus the first bucket of water. His great amazement scared even the workmen. He returned to the priest and informed him that some unforeseen cause had deprived the church of the precious libation. The priest soon discovered the phenomenon, and pronounced it an omen unfavorable to the reception of the great bishop on his way here. It was talked about town that day, that the great bishop could not be received in the aisles of San Zenone. But I saw a thirsty boy looking in at the door, go up to the basin and drink his fill of the holy water, brought from Rome in a jug, and pronounced it not so good as he thought it was, by a jug full. I told the proprietor of the hotel that a boy drank the water, and he said, “I must be mistaken, as no one in Verona was so ignorant as to quench thirst on holy water.” Some said it was the devil thirsting for the protection of San Zenone, for no admirer that hoped for salvation by the intercession of this holy saint, would be guilty of such a rash act, as they could not expect him to intercede in behalf of the spoilers of his festivals, unless their admiration of him was so great that they felt it their duty to partake of his blessings beyond the power of their resistance, even of stealing them.

On my way to the railroad station, I passed the amphitheatre, that, in the gladiatorial days of Verona, held one hundred thousand persons in its arena, and where they saw the lion tear the man, and again where the man slew the lion. That same night I slept at Mantua, one of the most strongly fortified towns of Italy, and from here I went to Bologna and bought a sausage. This is a beautiful town so far as churches and graveyards add to the beauty of towns, and the latter is more extensive than the former. I informed the landlord of the hotel Europe that I needed a guide for at least

a day. He went in search of one and returned with a schoolmaster, who had closed his school of fifty scholars, to wait on us at the enormous sum of one ducat per day. This was a little pert man with a body twice as long as his legs. “Gentlemen,” said he, “let us be moving, there is a great deal to be seen before nightfall in Bologna.” I informed him that I wanted to see one of the sausage manufactories, but he seemed to be ignorant that Bologna was celebrated in the sausage line. He asked some wayfaring man through those old lonesome streets to tell him where sausage was made. After seeing the manufactory and the lean donkeys, he took me to see a gymnasium, and here I saw the insignia of every organized people on the earth except my own, and looking for our eagle, stars and stripes, without finding them, I asked him how it was

they could not be found. He said this institution was ten years old, to his certain knowledge, and as we were a new people and country, he supposed this was the reason. Bologna, like a candle, must soon be extinguished for want of fuel of such combustibles as will burn up the dark ignorant pile now hid from the bright light that ought to shine supreme from the temple of wisdom of the times.

Venice, with her sea bathed palaces, may survive it, as she is still in beauty the “pride of the sea,” more so than Bologna is the pride of graveyards, churches and sausage. The “Two Young Men of Verona” is better known to the world to-day than Verona or Bologna.
FIRENZA DE BELLA CITA.
When we were within two hours drive of Florence, the Capitol of Tuscany and as it is also called the “Italian Capitol of fine arts,” we stopped at a hotel

to dine and feed horses. The landlord having ascertained that we might probably feel like paying something for what he called dinner, came into the sitting room with a live chicken by the neck and wished to know if I would order something to eat; I answered in the affirmative, when he gave his arm a twist and off went the chicken from his head, fluttering into nonentity. I informed mine host that the stage would hardly wait so long as was necessary to prepare the fowl, and he said he knew more about that than I did. A few moments after this he returned with the crawling flesh of the chicken, some wine and bread, as if he had done something really worth mentioning, and said, “now sir, here is some as fresh chicken as you ever eat, I am not like those town hotels that allow every thing to rot and stink before they sell it.” A beautiful Italian girl that was a passenger in the dilligence with me, was waiting to get something, and she said to me “you sir, seem to be the lucky one.” I thought it proper to give some one a small piece of the fresh chicken, but if she had not been so pretty she might have been the “unlucky one.” Up over the door of this man’s house was written, these German words, Gasthof Zum New York. It not taking as much time to dine in the Gosthof as in the stable, we took a walk to see the extraordinary phenomena of a muddy place that one can set a blazing with a match. Having arrived at Florence and hoteled myself I ascertained where the races were, and was told they would commence in thirty minutes and that my hotel window was as good a seat at the races as I could get. I looked out of the window and saw the streets clean as a floor of a log cabin, and written upon the corner “Course.” That was the name of the street. A few minutes after the heralds proclaimed “that this course must be cleared” as round at the stand the horses were on the track. This street is circular, and the horses run round, till they come to where they start from, when the race is awarded to the first that comes. No riders are allowed, but the people which makes a paling round the track, hurry each horse on. The horses don’t seem to know they are running a race, because the shouts of the populace at every window, corner and alley is so frightening they are trying all the time to get out of the track.

Before the races commence, a carriage with four greys is conveying an old man and wife up a street that comes to the course and branches off, and after the race, himself and lady is the first to ride on the street called “la course;” and after his carriage every other person has a right to enter the promenade of this man and wife, the Grand Duke, of Tuscany. In the next carriage to his was a tall lady with a beaux by her side, who, I learned, was the Princess, his daughter. Next to her carriage, was a Mr. Bullion from California, trying to pass himself off for a real American gentleman. These are the times when men who make money in the Eldorado, come home to the States to show off. He certainly had more money than brains. He had a liveried carriage. The smoke curled up in little clouds behind him, his feet were on the fore cushion of the open Calashe, and a profusion of beard adorned all the lower extremity of his face. His beard reminded me of Col. May’s the captor of La Vega. The Duke halted a moment causing all in the train to halt also, when Mr. B. rose up in his carriage and looked round the Dukes carriage and told his driver to drive on. He was informed that he could not, and he looked up very wise as if he would like to know why. A few minutes after the train moved, and he said to his driver “wait a little, I don’t want them to think I want to follow them.” The driver stopped and got himself in trouble, for the vehicle behind him told him to drive on or get out of their way. Here the Police interfeared and ordered Mr. consequence Bullion Esq., of the El Dorado to get out of the way of gentlemen and ladies. He tried to pursuade the officers to bear in mind he was talking to an American citizen; but there was as much difference as space between the Torrid and Frigid Zone. The officer gave him to understand that he might be a Florentine, but he must get out of the way of other people. Mr. B. spit a mouthful of juice in the carriage, threw his feet on the front cushion and told the driver to go on. At first my national pride was somewhat lowered, but on second thought, I gloried in knowing that Americans are not responsible for every upstart that goes abroad and violates the rules and regulations of other communities because they were not made to suit his taste, for which no body ever cared but himself. The good people of Europe know full well that there is always thistles among roses and not all good among themselves.

American people are not as selfish as Italians. Italians will hate a man for ever for a Paul or Bioca. I got acquainted with an Italian at the work shop of Hiram Powers, and this young man volunteered to show me Florence, which would of course save me the expense of a lacquey; and my old lacquey told me he wished this man was dead, as he had deprived him of a Ducat. An English writer, tells a tale on Fontenelle thus: “He once ordered some asparagus cooked in oil for his dinner, for he was passionately fond of it; in five minutes afterwards, an abbey came to see him on some church politics, and as it is usual in France to ask ones friend how he wishes his dinner cooked and name what you have, Fontenelles told the old man what he had, and the old man said he would have half of the asparagus cooked in butter. Fontenelles thought it a great sacrafice, but said nothing. Thirty minutes afterward the abbey’s valet came down in the parlor and exclaimed in great sorrow that while the abbey was washing he was taken with an apilepic fit and was dead. Fontenelles struck the youth on the shoulders and said, “run to the kitchen and tell the cook, to cook all the asparagus in oil.” ” Now this was indeed a selfish man. Sam Slick asked a country beaux “why it was that such a fine looking gentleman as himself was not married where so many pretty ladies were?” His answer was “when I offer my hand to a lady, she will be a lady!” This is another selfish man. An Irishman once drinking his neighbors wine was too selfish to testify his approbation of its merrits, by drinking a toast of such good wine to his neighbor. At last he was compelled to drink one, and he said, “here is to my wifes husband.” The French is celebrated for eating, the Yankee for his pride, and Irishmen for their toddies.
“The lads and lasses blightly bent,
To mind both soul and body,
Set round the table weel content
And steer about the toddy.”

But I have never found even wit, to justify an Italian’s selfishness, only sublimity of meanness is an Italian’s selfishness.
BACK TO PARIS
On my departure from Florence, I luxuriated at Lucca, the bathing resort of the Tuscans. The city is old with stout walls around it. Three hours ride in a viturino will bring you to the baths. They are beautifully located, down in a valley with craggy and fertile mountains hanging over. It was quite a place in old times, and Counts, and Dukes and other nobles used to flock here to gamble, until so much murder was committed, Lucca broke up the resort of these monied men, and until very recently it was thought to be destroyed and dead, but the Austrians, who occupy all the important places in the government of this part of Italy, wishing to resurrect something that has already been in the Italians’ mind as a pleasant dream, hotels have been built, and livery stables erected, for the accommodation of the gay portion of Florence, Pisa, Genoa, Leghorn, and even Milan. On my way from Florence to Lucca I stopped at Pisa. Pisa is well known to the world as holding up one of the seven wonders of the world, to the world’s travelers and sight seers. I have reference to the “leaning tower.” In describing the “leaning tower,” I will merely say, that the first vast and solid layer of stone is heavy enough to hold all the others laid upon it. Each layer is fastened to the one under, and though it might protrude several feet on the layers protruding side, this few feet of reaching out stone can have no power over all the rest of that same layer around this immense tower. The next layer protrudes on the same perched side of the tower, and straight over the reaching edge of its under layer; as each layer is fastened with iron spikes to its under layer, there can be no chance of even the very top falling down on the side of the tower. It leans so much on each layer as to make the top of the tower reach away over the base on the leaning side, so much so that, were it to break loose, it would fall over to the earth without touching the base or foundation of the leaning side of the tower.

The City of Pisa is well known in Italian history, by the awful contentions that used to exist among next door neighbors. Men used to fight on the top of their own houses, and go on conquering, from house to house, until they would slay as many as twenty lords, whose property would be theirs as spoils of war. One hour and a quarter’s ride from Pisa is Leghorn, a city full of hats and bonnets. The bay is dotted over with little white houses, and some miles out in the sea; and I see hundreds of small boats rowing towards bath houses. The strongest merchants here are English, who ship Leghorn hats and bonnets to foreign ports, as well as their own, but the city belongs to the Hapsburg sceptre, and thousands of Austrian soldiers stand in the by ways of public places.

Twelve hours travel through the sea from here, brought me to the “City of Palaces,” Genoa. It is a city on the side of a hill, with eight story palaces looking down on the sea. Before the fifteenth century it had the inducement for traders that Lyons to-day has. Silk was manufactured here in a way that astonished that age of pride; but since the invention of steam, all those scientific arts that this trade called for is but as nothing, and Italians look at our steam power machines, and then at all their scientific arts, and like the proud fowl that gazed downward, their feathers fall.

I must now pass over many places and their accomplishments, and hasten back to France, to prepare myself for the roughest voyage yet—Egypt, Arabia and Palestine. Here is the Pyramids, Memphis, (now Cairo) Thebes, the Nile, the Red sea, the desert of Sahara, Mount Sinai, the tomb of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Joseph, at Hebron, the city of David; and to Jerusalem, down to Jericho where the Jordan’s muddy waters slip under the briny and sulphurous liquid of the grave God dug for Sodom and Gomorrah; and to Olives, Carmel, Tabor and Calvary; and to Damascus, the Cedars of Lebanon, Nazareth, Bethel, and the temple of Balbec or Baal.

Prussia, Bavaria, Sardinia and Saxony I will pass through without comment, more than to say that I found them separate nations of one people, save in language. However, I will say, that of all the German kingdoms the most despotic is Austria; but she hates slavery more than the “freest government in the world.” Austria tyrannizes over man, but she cannot tyrannize, chattelize, and prostrate their rights with impunity, any more than Washington, Jefferson, or Henry could.

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“I don’t want to have my performance picked to pieces in that knowing sort of way. I play for my own amusement, and I don’t want to be criticised, and applauded, and patronised.”

“But how can people help applauding when you play? Lady Seely says you play exquisitely.”

“Did she tell you to ask me to play?”

“Not exactly. But she said I might ask you.”

At this moment General Dormer came up, and said, with 佛山夜生活约炮 his most benevolent smile, “Won’t you give us a little music, Miss Kilfinane? Some Beethoven, now! I see a volume of his sonatas on the piano.”

“I hate Beethoven,” returned Miss Kilfinane.

“Hate Beethoven! No, no, you don’t. It’s quite impossible! A pianist like you! Oh no, Miss Kilfinane, it is out of the question.”

“Yes, I do. I hate all classical music, and the sort of stuff that people talk about it.”

The general smiled again, shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away.

“Miss Kilfinane, you are ferociously cruel!” said Algernon under his breath as General Dormer turned his back on them. The little fear he had had of Castalia’s chilly manner and ungracious tongue had quite vanished. Algernon was not apt to be in awe of anyone; and he certainly was not in awe of Castalia Kilfinane. “Why did you tell the 佛山桑拿qq群 general that you hated Beethoven?” he went on saucily. “I’m quite sure you don’t hate Beethoven!”

“I hate all the kind of professional jargon which the Dormers affect about music. Music is all very well, but it isn’t our business, any more than tailoring or millinery is our business. To hear the Dormers talk, you would think it the most important matter in the world to decide whether this fiddler is better than that fiddler, or what is the right time to play a fugue of Bach’s in.”

“I’m such an ignoramus that I’m afraid I don’t even know with any precision what a fugue of Bach’s is!” said Algernon, ingenuously. He thought he had learned to understand Miss Castalia. Nevertheless, when, later in the evening, Lady Harriet asked him in her pretty silver tones, “And do you, too, hate classical music, Mr. Errington?” he professed the 佛山桑拿0757 most unbounded love and reverence for the great masters. “I have had few opportunities of hearing fine music, Lady Harriet,” said he; “but it is the thing I have longed for all my life.” Whereupon Lady Harriet, much pleased at the prospect of such a disciple, invited him to go to her house every Saturday morning, when he would hear some of the best performers in London execute some of the best music. “I only ask real listeners,” said Lady Harriet. “We are just a few music-lovers who take the thing very much au sérieux.”

On the whole, when Algernon thought over his evening, sitting over the fire in his bedroom at the inn, he acknowledged to himself that he had been successful. “Lady Seely is the toughest customer, though! What a fish-wife she looks beside that elegant Lady Harriet! But she can put on airs of a great lady too, 佛山桑拿体验报告 when she likes. It’s a very fine line that divides dignity from impudence. Take her wig off, wash her face, and clothe her in a short cotton gown with a white apron, and how many people would know that Belinda, Lady Seely, had ever been anything but a cook, or the landlady of a public-house? Well, I think I am cleverer than any of ’em. And, after all, that’s a great point.” With which comfortable reflection Algernon Ancram Errington went to bed, and to sleep.
CHAPTER XVIII.
On the day following the dinner at Lord Seely’s, Algernon received a card, importing that Mrs. Machyn-Stubbs would be at home that evening.

Of the lady he knew nothing, except that she was an elder sister of young Pawkins, of Pudcombe Hall; and that her family, who were people of consideration in Whitford and its neighbourhood, thought Jemima to have made a good match in marrying Mr. Machyn-Stubbs. In giving him the letter of introduction, Orlando Pawkins had let fall a word or two as to the position his sister held in London society.

“I can’t send anybody and everybody to the Machyn-Stubbses,” said young Pawkins. “In their position, it wouldn’t be fair to inflict our bucolic magnates on them. But I’m sure Jemima will be very glad to make your acquaintance, old fellow.”

Algernon was quite free from arrogance. He would have been well enough contented to dine with Mr. Machyn-Stubbs, had that gentleman been a grocer or a cheesemonger. And, in that case, he would probably have

derived a good deal of amusement from any little vulgarities which might have marked the manners of his host, and would have entertained his genteeler friends by a humorous imitation of the same. But he was not in the least overawed by the prospect of meeting Mrs. Machyn-Stubbs, and was quite aware that he probably owed his introduction to her, to young Pawkins’s knowledge of the fact that he was Lady Seely’s relation.

Algernon betook himself to the house of Mrs. Machyn-Stubbs, in the fashionable neighbourhood before mentioned, about half-past ten o’clock, and found the small reception-rooms already fuller than was agreeable. Mrs. Machyn-Stubbs received him very graciously. She was a pretty woman, with a smooth fair face and light hair, and she was dressed with as much good taste as was compatible with the extreme of the prevailing fashion. She smiled a good deal, and was quite destitute of any sense of humour.

“So glad to see you, Mr. Errington,” said she, when Algernon had made his bow. “You and Orlando are great friends, are you not? You must let me make you acquainted with my husband.” Then she handed Algernon over to a stout, red-faced, white-haired gentleman, much older than herself, who shook hands with him, said, “How d’ye do?” and “How long have you been in town?” and then appeared to consider that he had done all that could be expected of him in the way of conversation.

“I suppose you don’t know many people here, Mr. Errington?” said Mrs. Machyn-Stubbs, seeing that Algernon was standing silent in the shadow of her husband.

“Not any. You know I have never been in London before.”

“Haven’t you, really? But perhaps we may have some mutual acquaintances notwithstanding. Let me see who is here!” said the lady, looking round her rooms.

“Are you acquainted with the Dormers, Mrs. Machyn-Stubbs?”

“The Dormers? Let me see——”

“General and Lady Harriet Dormer.”

“Oh! no; I don’t think I am. Of course I must have met them. In the course of the season, sooner or later, one meets everybody.”

“Do you know Miss Kilfinane?”

“Miss Kilfinane? I—I can’t recall at this moment——”

“She is a sort of connection of mine; not a relation, for she is Lord Seely’s niece, not my lady’s.”

“Oh, to be sure! You are a cousin of Lady Seely. Yes, yes; I had forgotten. But Orlando did mention it.”

In truth, the fact of Algernon’s relationship to 佛山桑拿0757n Lady Seely was the only one concerning him which had dwelt in Mrs. Machyn-Stubbs’s memory. Presently she resumed:

“I should like to introduce you to a great friend of ours—the most delightful creature! I hope he will come to-night, but he is very difficult to catch. He is a son of Lord Mullingar.”

“What, Jack Price?”

“Oh, you know him, do you?”

“Only by reputation. He was to have dined at Lord Seely’s last night, when I was there. But he didn’t show.”

“Oh, I know he’s dreadfully uncertain. But I must say, however, that he is generally very good about coming to me. It’s quite wonderful. I’m sure I don’t know why I am so favoured!”

Then Algernon was presented to a rather awful dowager, with two stiff daughters, to whom he talked as well as he could; and the nicest looking of whom he took into the tea-room, where there was 佛山桑拿按摩一条龙 a great crush, and where people trod on each other’s toes, and poked their elbows into each other’s ribs, to procure a cup of hay-coloured tea and a biscuit that had seen better days.

“Upon my word,” thought Algernon, “if this is London society, I think Whitford society better fun.” But then he reflected that Mrs. Machyn-Stubbs was not a real leader of fashionable society. She was not quite a rose herself, although she lived near enough to the roses for their scent to cling, more or less faintly, about her garments. He was not bored, for his quick powers of perception, and lively appreciation of the ludicrous, enabled him to gather considerable amusement from the scene. Especially did he feel amused and in his element when, on an allusion to his cousinship to Lady Seely, thrown out in the airiest, most haphazard way, the 佛山夜网狼女 awful dowager and the stiff daughters unbent, and became as gracious as temperament in the one case, and painfully tight stays in the other, permitted.

“He’s a very agreeable person, your young friend, Mr. Ancram Errington,” said the dowager, later on in the evening, to Mrs. Machyn-Stubbs.

“Oh yes; he’s very nice indeed. He is a great favourite with my people. He half lives at our place, I believe, when Orlando is at home.”

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The horse of the squawman had by this time been brought up, and he swung himself into the saddle, first making a motion to Carl to keep close by his side. As they got a little way out of 佛山桑拿洗浴中心 the camp Carl saw that the crier’s voice had been obeyed, for they fell in behind a long row of Indians who were already taking Page 132 their way toward the new camping-ground. They were mostly braves, the women having been left behind to strike the tepees. The squawman did not exchange a word with any of them, and neither did Harding converse with him as freely as he had done heretofore. He did not want to let the bucks see how familiar he was with a prisoner.

The boy was not accustomed to travelling so far on foot, and before their journey was ended he was about as tired as he could well be. At length, to his immense relief, he discovered the camp within plain sight of him. It was situated on a plain which seemed to have no end, with high rolling hills on three sides of it, and on the outskirts were several “sweat-houses” in which the braves purified themselves while making ready for the dance, and in the centre was perhaps a quarter of an acre of ground on which the grass was completely worn off. This had been done by the braves while learning the Ghost Dance from Kicking Bull. There were a large number of tepees scattered around the edge of the plain, but Carl had witnessed the sight Page 133 so often that he barely took a second look at them. What he wanted was to get somewhere and sit down.

“I’ll bet that the men who dance here will get dust enough in their mouths to keep them from telling the truth for months,” said Carl. “Five days! That’s a long time to keep it up.”

“It is sometimes called the ‘dragging dance,’” said the squawman. “The men get so tired after a while that they can’t lift their feet. Now we will pick out a good place for my tepee, and then we will sit down. You act as though you were tired.”

Harding kept on for half a mile farther, picked out a spot that would do him, dismounted, and pulled his never-failing pipe from his pocket. Carl thought he could enjoy a smoke and passed his tobacco-bag to the squawman. The latter ran the weed through his fingers and praised its purity.

“We don’t get any such tobacco out here,” said he. “We have to eke it out by smoking bark with it. Say, Carl, how much do you get for scouting for that fort?”

Page 134

“I don’t get anything,” said Carl.

“Do you get up at all hours of the night and run around for that man for nothing?” asked the squawman in astonishment.

“Oh, that’s no trouble. When I want money I can easily get it.”

“That is what comes of your having more money than you want,” said Harding; and it was plain that he was getting angry over it. “If I had one quarter of what you have got, I would leave this country altogether.”

It was useless for Carl to tell the squawman that the only way for him to get money was to go to work and earn it, for he had tried that plan on him while he was herding cattle for his father; so he said nothing. He leaned his elbows on his knees and watched the women as they came up and selected places for their tepees. When the squawman’s was put up, Carl found that he was in a position to see the Ghost Dance without going away from it. He would learn something more about it, then.

“Have your women got your tepee all fixed?” asked Carl. “Well, I am hungry.”

Page 135

The squawman was hungry himself, and he had ordered the fire to be built and the iron pot to be placed over it. By the time that Harding had smoked his pipe he arose to his feet with the remark that he guessed grub was about ready, and went into the tepee. Carl kept close at his heels, and found that the iron pot had been removed from the fire and set in the middle of the tepee, with two wooden spoons beside it. The squawman took one, while Carl took the other and began to fish what he liked best from out the pot. That was all they had. The meat had been fresh the day before, but it had been cooked so many times that there was scarcely anything left of it. But he made a pretty good meal after all, and when he had satisfied his appetite he filled his pipe, lighted it with a brand from the fire, and went outside to enjoy it.

“I wouldn’t be at all uneasy if I knew where Lieutenant Parker is at this moment,” thought he, seating himself on a grassy mound beside the tepee. “I wonder if that horse has sense enough to follow his own trail back to Page 136 the fort? And why didn’t they capture him, too, when they took me? I guess the squawman let him go.”

While he was busy thinking in this way Harding came out, followed by his wife.

“I am going up to sweat myself, to make myself ready for the Ghost Dance which will come off to-morrow,” said he. “Don’t attempt any nonsense now. These women will keep their eyes on you.”

“Why can’t you let me go with you?” asked Carl. “I want to see what you do in that sweat-box.”

“Well, I think on the whole that you had better stay here,” said Harding. “The bucks don’t like your kind any too well——”

“Why, that ought not to make any difference with them,” said Carl, who was evidently astonished at the squawman’s words. “I can see some of them here that have eaten more than one meal at my father’s house. They ought to think well of our family for that.”

“That does not make any difference. You belong to a class that has humbugged them Page 137 all the way through, and there are men here in the party who have sworn to kill every paleface they meet. So I guess you had better stay here.”

Carl had no idea of attempting to escape while the squawman was in the sweat-box. There were too many bucks all around him; and, besides, he had some preparations to make. 佛山桑拿按摩包吹 He wanted to get rid of his boots and borrow a blanket to conceal his moleskin suit. Thus equipped, he believed that when the Ghost Dance was at its height he could slip away, and those who met him on the road, seeing nothing but the moccasins he wore and the blanket wrapped around his head, would surely take him for one of their own number and say nothing to him. He believed that he would try it, anyway.

“The only question is in regard to these women,” soliloquized Carl. “If they get excited and go down there to see the dance, I can make it. If I once get over these hills they will never see me again. But suppose I am overtaken? Well,” he added, clutching his hands about his revolvers, “I won’t be Page 138 tied to the stake without some of them going with me.”

Carl glanced at the women and saw that they had seated themselves 佛山夜生活论坛 opposite to him, and, wrapped up in their blankets, appeared to take no notice of anything; but he knew better than to attempt anything while they were on watch. They sat side by side, but never exchanged words with each other. The day and night wore on until it was twelve o’clock, but still no sounds came from the camp. Finally Carl grew tired of doing nothing and went into the tepee. He picked out a bed, the most comfortable one in the lot and as far away from the others as he could

get it, and stretched himself out upon it. He thought of Lieutenant Parker, wondered what the Ghost Dance was going to be, and then passed off into the land of dreams.

Morning came at length, and Carl raised himself on his elbow to find the squawman fast asleep on a bed by his side. He got up and went to the door to examine things. He saw 佛山桑拿论坛有波推吗 that some changes had been made in the dancing-ground since he slept. A tree, denuded Page 139 of all its branches except near the top, had been erected near the centre, and there was a staff, with a polished buffalo-horn on one end and a plumed horse-tail on the other; a bow with its bone arrows and a gaming wheel with its accompanying sticks were made fast below it. But prominent among all was something that attracted Carl’s attention and drew from him a sneer of disgust. It was

the Star-Spangled Banner.

“I don’t see what the Government has done to be insulted in this way,” said he. “I think they had better leave that thing out.”

For want of something better to do Carl filled his pipe, and sat there and smoked it. There were a few braves stirring about with nothing on hand to do, and now and then one came out of his tepee and 佛山桑拿论坛网 started toward the sweat-boxes. He was going to prepare himself for the dance. For an hour Carl sat there waiting for something to happen, and during that time the camp became thoroughly awake. One of the women came to the door and motioned him to enter—a sign that his breakfast was ready. The squawman still lay Page 140 asleep on the bed, but the kettle had been taken off the fire and occupied its usual place in the centre of the tepee.

“This meat is not half done,” said Carl, trying to scoop up a piece from the middle of the pot. “You ought to be at our camp for a little while. They would show you how to cook a breakfast.”

While Carl was engaged in lighting his pipe at the fire, a commotion suddenly arose in the camp. It did not take the form of yells, as it usually did, but there were subdued growls and the scurrying of 佛山桑拿论坛 feet hurrying toward the dancing-ground. Carl wanted to see what was the matter, and so he hastened out. The dancing-ground was alive with Indians, all thoroughly armed, who stood watching the approach of three horsemen coming toward them. Carl felt for his binoculars, but they were away, keeping company with his horse and rifle.

“Those are Indian policemen, if I ever saw them,” said he. “What do they want here? If I could only make them see me. Eh? What do you want?” he added, turning fiercely Page 141 upon one of the Indian women who seized him by the arm and tried to draw him inside the tepee. “Get away.”

Carl abruptly thrust out his foot and tumbled the woman over backwards. She fell all in a heap, but at the same time she uttered a yell so loud and piercing that it straightway aroused the squawman, who came out with a 佛山桑拿会所上门服务 rush.
CHAPTER XII. More Couriers.
“If Tuttle was here now he would play smash with you for serving his woman in that way,” said Harding, laying a heavy hand upon Carl’s arm and jerking him toward the tepee. “Get inside, where you belong.”

Carl went because he could not help himself, and the door was closed behind him. He was alone in the tepee, the squawman and the women having stayed outside to see what was going to happen. Carl wanted to see, too, and by looking around the tepee he found a place where the skins of which it was formed had not been stitched as closely together as they ought to have been, or, if they had been, the constant moving of the tepee had drawn them apart. It did not take him long to make this hole larger than it was, and by placing his eyes close to it he found that he could see everything that happened 佛山南海桑拿休闲会所 on the Page 143 dancing-ground. The braves were still huddled together awaiting the approach of the three horsemen, and finally they began shouting at them and waving their guns; but the police did not stop. They were under orders which must be obeyed. When they came up with the braves the spokesman of the three began a speech to which the Indians paid no attention. They began yelling as soon as he began speaking, and for a few moments a great hubbub arose. In all his life on the plains Carl had never heard such a commotion before. Six or eight hundred Indians could easily drown out three men, and Carl could not hear a word they said. He expected every minute that some excitable young braves would shoot the policemen, but finally the latter gave it up and turned their horses toward the fort. Carl was greatly disappointed. 佛山桑拿按摩论坛0757 He left the side of the tepee and seated himself on the bed, and a moment later the door opened and the squawman came in.

“That was one time they did not make it,” said he, giving one of his hideous grins.

“What did they want?” said Carl.

Page 144

“They wanted to know if Kicking Bull had gone home yet, and when somebody told them that he had, they gave us the agent’s order to stop the Ghost Dance.”

“Well, are the Indians going to do it?”

“Not much, they ain’t. We did not come up here thirty-five miles for nothing. We have got the ground right here, we are away from everybody so that we can’t disturb them, and we intend to go on with it.”