Northern tribune. [volume] (Cheboygan, Mich.) 1875-1885, 1883-06-23

one vast picture OF loneliness and SUI
preme beauty. Seated on divan, and
surrounded by bevy of bewilderingly
beautiful minxes, whose angelic voices
and merry laughter made the brain
whirl, the writer prayed that he might
never again see the outside world, but
that he might live to eternity amid those
scenes. His every wish was gratified
on the instant. A request was scarcely
made but it was fulfilled. He hest
tating to give voice to his wishes lest
they might offend, his every thought
was interpreted even before it was ma
tured, and his desires were answered,
and the rare wine and costly jewels
were brought him and laid before him
before he had dared even hope for their
possession.
Below me was scene of dazzling
beauty. Fountains of golden waters
gladdened the eye at intervals about the
room, while the perfume of rare exotics
filled the atmosphere and enervated the
brain. Thousands upon thousands of
pretty girls in Oriental costumes fitted
here, there and everywhere, and came
and went at the writer's command. No
wish was unqualified, no desire I'M
fulfilled. 1t was paradise on earth.
There was no male present but himself.
The Chinaman had disappeared and the
writer was alone in his glory. Oh, for
the pen of Dante! Oh, for the de-
scriptive powers of Byron!
Suddenly shadow came across the
room, and the pretty girls disappeared
ha
withdrew. The Chinaman reappeared
and informed the writer that terrible
storm was approaching, and that they
must return at once. Even as he spoke,
the distant mutterings could be heard,
and then the lightning flashes darted
across the room. 1t was terrible storm.
The attendant tore the costly lace from
the writer's body, and at his command
a hundred or more hideous looking
creatures gathered around and aided
him in tormenting the writer. They
took off the top of his head with ham,
mers and chisels, and picked his brain
out piece by piece, grinning hideously
the while. Then they began to tear the
flesh from the bones, and one more
vicious than the rest grasped his
tongue and kept pulling it out inch by
inch, foot by foot, until he could feel
the very soles of his boots give way and
start on their upward journey through
his marrow. They then placed his head
between two large revolving stone cyl
inders, and he heard the skull being
crushed, as he was drawn into and be-
tween the grinding wheels that appeared
to be turning at the rate of one revolu-
ton in million years. Each inch of
diaphragm was subjected to years and
years of this crushing process, and the
prayers to be put to instant death
brought forth maniacal laughter and
jeers from the torturers. If the first
scene was paradise the second was
worse than Hades. Not for 100000
worlds would the writer pass through
the horrors of that torture again. Then
came noise like the bursting of an hun
dred thousand bombs.
"Look therer' said one of the mon
sters, pointing to corner of the room.
The writer slowly opened his eyes,
looked in the direction pointed out, and
saw-the man with the cross country
grin and the banjo head features, sit
ting by the fire, sewing button on his
trousers.
1t was not until after the expiration
of nearly half an hour that the writer
could find tongue to speak, and then
the words came thick and husky.
Upon asking how long he had been
there, the man pointed to the clock. 1t
was twenty minutes past ten. When he
began smoking it was few minutes
past eight. Rolling from the shelf, the
floor appeared to shelve upward, and
he became impressed with the idea that
he was in danger of being cut in twain
by the sharp corners of the room, which
whirled about him with dizzying
speed. 1t was some minutes before he
trusted himself on his feet, and then his
head panied, and the very blood in his
veins seemed boiling Bidding the pro-
prietor of the place good night, he left
the den, determined never again to par
ticipate in the luxuries of the BOWL
Cor. Detroit Free Press.