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AH Sorts of Paragraphs. The ulster covers a multitude of shins. Man expects everybody to be truo to him but himself. Soot imparts remarkably bright green to grass nud grain. When grapes are squeezed it makes them w(h;ine. If time is really money, any man ought to bo worth his wait in gold. Thr lire- weed seed remains in the ground for years without sprouting, and shows itself after tbo land is burned over. Stereotyping waa invented in 1780, almost simultaneously by W. Ged, of Edinburgh, and C. Coldin, of New York. A toast drunk with Highland honors involves throwing the wine glasses over the left shoulder, the idea being that the glasses should never be degraded by use for any other purpose. "Jaxe," said he, "if you would take your two feet from before the grate we might have a little warmth in the room !" They had been married only 6ix months ! A TorNO man who sneers at a girl's false teeth hasn't a well-balanced head. Let him marry a girl who has toothache and neuralgia and he will see where he was lame. He told me that he was now regular ly engaged as a writer for one of the leading dailies. His honest old moth er said, " Writing wrappers at $3 a week." A REroRT is made to the California Academy of Sciences that sulphate of iron (copperas) is a remedy for mildew and grape-rot. A mixture of four pounds to five of water is applied to the stems of the vine. Molasses Cake. — Onn cup molasses, one cup of sugar, one-half cup of but ter or fried meat grease, one-half cup of sour milk, cue teaspoonful of soda, two eggs, Hour enough to make as stiff as sponge cake. It was a temperance meeting. The speaker increased in eloquence and noise, and he cried: "Yes, my friends, we'll lift our temperance vessel out of the mire and mud onto hard, dry ground, and then sail beautifully along." Prior to the invention of paper making our Teutonic forefathers wrote their letters, calendars and accounts on wood. Tho "Boc," or beech, being close-grained, and plentiful in Northern Europe, was generally used for this pur pose; and lience the word book. She parsed just now in the fallinpr snow, And left the print of her daiuty shoe; From the edge of the had to the pointed toe The most 1 cau Hiait la a number two. Tet her brother showed me her morning slipper, A number seven, as I'm alive. And broad in tie sole hm a Portsmouth skipper. Now how the d— re do the t-'irlH contrive To squeeze a hoof nice a camel's foot Into a number two French kid boot: At a small country town thero once died a middie-aged man, leaving a widow of ."5. At the funeral the deacon of the village alluded to the good quali ties of the deceased, and among others his generosity. He said the deceased had lent him some money once. Upon which the weeping widow raised her head and Inquired how much, and whether he hud paid it back or not. A printer's devil was formerly the boy who took the printed sheets from the tympan of the press. Old Moxon says: "They do commonly so black and bedaub themselves that the work men do jocosely call them devils." The errand boy is now so called because he is the servus servorum of the estab lishment. The words at one time used to signify a wretched, poor, persecuted, or ill-used creature Make Your Own Paste. — A Ger man scientist gave the following recipe for making a good, durable paste : He takes twenty grammes of wheat starch and makes it into a stiff paste with a little cold water, then he pours 100 c. c. of boiling water all at onee — not gradu ally — into this paste and stirs it gradu ally ; a little carbolic acid or salicylic acid is then stirred in, and a paste is obtained which will keep until it dries np. Care must bo taken to have the best starch, as good paste cannot be made with inferior kinds. To Cleanse the Teeth.— A good way to cleanse the teeth m to dip the brush in water, rub it "ver genuine white castile soap, then dip in prepared chalk. A lady says : " I have been complimented upon the whiteness of my teeth, which wero originally any thing but white. I have used the soap constantly for two or three years, and the chalk for the last year. There is no danger of scratching the teeth, as the chalk is prejiared, but with a good stiff brush and the soap it is as effect ual as soap and sand on a floor." Cheap Ice HorsE3. — Cheap ones may be quickly constructed in the form of strong shanties with good, but not tight, iloor. Place a few inches of saw dust on the floor, pile up the ice com pactly in sqr.ii re blocks; leaving a space from eight to twelve inches all around, next to tho boards, to be filled with saw dust, bedded in as the structure of ice is built upward. Cover the whole v.ith eight or ten inches of luwdnst, and let plenty of fresh air blow through the shanty over tlie top. Ice will keep (jws way as well as in tho most costly md elaborate building. Chaff or finely-cut straw may be substituted for the saw dust; but being less perfect non-con ductors, should be in thicker layers. The Family Scrap-Book. — In many papers which you do not care to pre serve you will find items of interest ■which are ■worth saving. To meet this case, make a scrap-book. Ton can get, from a junk dealer, some old books with good bindings, us, for example, old blot ters, day-books, journals, etc., of de funct firms, or public reports of all des criptions. Always^ndex the contents of your book. Yon will find it tedious ■work, but it is worth a mine when done. It is not a bad plan to cut slips from political papers from time to time, which represent your views politically. A back look at these will give you an idea of how meu change, and will tend to make a man less partisan. On all ac counts a scrap-book is invaluable. A good workshopcontainingsuch tools as can be used to advantage by the far mers should be found on every farm. A room with a stove in it and large enough to permit of the construction of a hay rigging, a gate or portable fence, will furnish a place where many hours may be healthfully and profitably spent in the most inclement weather of winter. Here a great deal of repairing may be done that would otherwise find its may to the professional mechanic. New tools may be built, that will be needed on the farm, or harnesses may be oiled and repaired and a great many things that will suggest themselves may be done. In mild weather the thoughtful can find profitable out-door work, such as repairing outbuildings and cutting up falling branches from trees. A REPLY BS EMKLIE I'l.llK. Tig the motive, my friend, gives the color to friend ship; Hail you needed a tonic or stimulant wines, I should justify measures In dealing out? nostrums As safeguard 'gainst ills iv malarious clinivs. Yon afllrm that tho tone of your system is perfect. Your business successful* your politics true, Your fireside the center of peace and attraction — No }>laco iv the wide world so sunny for you. Then, why. I demand, should a creature inhuman Repeat all the scandal maliciously said. And dub himself friendly while Stirling up discord Where kindness once flourished bo gayly instead! I would Ray, though wtft license I make the sug gestion. For the world will plod on, though a seer might proclaim. When a friend condescends to barter contention He should lose your respect, whilo he forfeit the name. But my motive is not to estimate losses; Philosophy argues from cause and effect — Loot up and press onward ; Time's never a laggard: , The walk of the man shows you what to expect. It needs not a prophet to predict tiio tutors Of a babbler who feasts upon gossip and strife— A nondescript meddler, who fawns for a favor, Bewailing the ill that is heir to this life. Yet be not surprised : this affectionate creature Existed for ages and ages ago; Ilia mission seemed friendly— too well he suc ceeded Man's peace with his Maker and God to o'er throw. What I've said may prove useless in causing con viction ; You may give your old trust for the polished and new; Yet, remember one maxim, the friend who loves truly Is loth to hold up a world's mirror to yon. THE LOST CHILDREN. There wera three of them — Kitty, Mary and little Tommy — tV.e children of the station-master at IMack Eiver Junction, on the Great Southwestern railroad. The station stood alone on the open prairie, miles and miles away from anywhere in particular. Black river flowed through the mountains, a hundred miles away to the north, and on clear days the snowy mountains could be seen glimmering on the glassy horizon. The line leading to the Black river met the Southwestern here, and thus it was that the place was called Black Kiver Junction. The station-master and his wife and three children Lived in the little depot quite happily, but there was not anoth er family within ten miles in any direc tion. At times the children thought it rath er lonely. There was nothing in par ticular to be done, except to watch tho trains that stopped at tha junction sev eral times a day. Once in a while a freight car would be left on the side track, and the children soon found that an empty freight- car makes a capital playhouse. They could keep house in the corners and make visits, or sit by the open door and make believe they were having a ride. One morning they were awakened by a curious humming sound out of doors, and they all scrambled up and looked out of the window. How the wind did* blow! It whistled and roared round the house, and played upon the tele graph wires upon the roof as upon a huge harp. As the wires were fastened to the roof, tho house -became a huge music-box with the children inside. After breakfast tho morning trains ar rived, but the wind was so high the passengers were glad to hurry from one train to another as quickly as possi ble. Then tho trains went away, and tho great wind-harp on the roof sang louder than ever. The station-master said it blew a gale, and that the children must stay in the house, lest they be blown away into the prairie and lost. The station-mas ter's wife said that it was a pity the children must stay in the house all day. There wa3 an empty freight car on the side track ; peruaps they might play in that. The station-master thought this a good idea, and he took Kitty by the hand, and Tommy in his arms, while Mary took hold of his coat, and they all went out to the empty car. W T hew ! How it did blow! They certainly would be Lifted up by the wind and blown quite into the sky. The empty oar was warm and snug, and, once in side, they were quite out of the way of the wind. Mary thought the rear end would be a good place to keep house, but Tommy preferred the other end, so they agreed to keep house at both ends of tho empty car. This was a nice place, for it gave them a chance to visit each other, and the open part of the door made a prome nade to walk on. Louder urn! louder roared the gale. Safe and snug in the air they went on with their play, and thought nothing of the weather outside. Suddenly tho car seemed to shake, and they stopped in their housekeep ing, and ran to the door to see what h^d happened. "Why, it's moving! Somebody's pushing it," said Mary. " They're taking us away on the freight train. Come, we must get out." " I didn't hear the whistle," said Tommy. " I guess something is push ing the car." The girls leaned out of the door tc see what had happened. Why, where was the platform What "va3 the matter with the station? It was moving away. No, it was the car. It had left the sid ing and had rolled out upon the main line, and was moving faster and faster along the road. "O, we must get out. They are tak ing us away." "No, no," said Kitty, '"we must staj here till the brakeman comes round. 1 didn't hear them when they took us on the train." "Thoro isn't any train," said Tommy, looking -ap and down the line. "O, it's the wind! It's blowing the car away. We must put on the brakes and st^p it." This was a good plan, but how we« ihey to carry it out? The brake whe»i was on the top of the car, and they were inside. Faster and faster rolled the car. It began to roar and rattle, as if dragged along by a swift engine. In a moment Tommy began to cry. Mary tried to look brave, and Kitty stared fast at the level prairie flying past. It was no use. They all broko down together, and had a hearty cry alone in the empty car, as it rolled on and on before the gale. The station-master's wife rolled up her sleeves to put tho house in order, while the children were safely out of the way. Tho station-master, feeling sure the children were safe in the freight car, sat in his office nearly all the morning. 'At last the beds were made, the dinner put on the stove, and the mother wondered how the girls were getting on in their play-house on tho track. Sha threw a shawl over her head and went out on the platform. At once the wind blew the shawl over her face, and she could not see exactly where she stood. Turning her back to the wind, she began to call the chil dren. How loudly the wind roared through the telegraph wires! Per haps t hoy oould not hear her in all this din. Maybe they were inside the car, out of hearing. She walked on toward the siding. Not a thing to be seen. She wondered if there had been a mis take. Perhaps tho car was on the other side track. No. the mils were unoccu pied aa fur as sho could see in every di rection. What did it mean? What had happened? She staggered back into tho station and startled her hus baud with a cry of despair. " Tho car ! The children ! " The station-master ran out on the platform and lookod up and down the lino. Not a car in sight ! It had been blown nway by tho terrible wind, and perhaps at this instant was rolling swiftly ouward with its precious load to destruction. What would happen to it ? Would it meet a train, or run into a station? Would the children try to get out, or would they stay in' the car until it was wrecked? Ho sprang to the door of the depot to telegraph the terrible news down tho line, but, just as he opened the door, ho saw a faint white cloud on the western horizon. It was a train. Help was coming; At the same moment his wife appeared with a new grief and terror in her eyes. "I cannot get a call in either direc tion. The wires are blown down." This only added to the danger, for there was no means of sending word in advance of the runaway car. It must go on to its fate without help^or warn ing. «• " Help is coming, mother. Here's a tiain bound east." Nearer and nearei came the train, and the father and mother stood watch ing it as it crept along the rails. It seemed as if it would never come. At last it reached tho platform, and proved to be a passenger train bound up the Black Ptiver road, and not intended to go in tho direction in which the car had been blown away. The iastant it stopped the station-master ran to the engineer and told his terrible story. The mother, with quicker wit, found the conductor and demanded that the engine be taken off and sent after the children. The conductor was a man of regular habits, and such a bold request struck him as something extraordinary. Take the engine off, and leave the train and passengers waiting at this lonely sta tion! The idea was preposterous. Some of the passengers gathered near and asked what was the matter. "Three children lost; blown away in an empty car." Some one said, " Yes, go at once. We can wait here till the engine returns." The conductor said that he must telegraph for in structions; but some one said, " The wires are down," and the people only cried out the more, " Let the engine go!" so the mother ran to the tender and began to pull out the pin, that the engine might start. f "Hold on, mann," said a brakeman; "I'll cast her off. Yon jump aboard if you want to go, too. Fire up, Jack, and make her ham I" It was all done in a moment, and away flew tli9 engine, leaving the con ductor and station-master staring in surprise at this singular proceeding. The station-master did not feel very happy. He had half intended to go with the engine, but it would never do to leave his post. "Fire steady, Jack," said the engineer to the fireman. "It's no use to get ex cited, for we're in for a long race." "It's enough to make a fellow excited to see that woman," said the fireman. The engineer turned round, and there by his side stood the mother, her eyea straining ahead down the line in search of the missing ones. "Oh, sir! open the throttle wido. Don't try to save coal at such a time aa thie." "We must keep cool, mann, and go steady, or we shall run out of coal and water, and oome to a standstill on tho line." The woman said not a word, but nod ded mournfully, and leaned against the side of the cab for support, and the firoman gavo her his seat, where she could look out ahead over the line. How the engine shook and roared. The little ringer of the steam-gauge trembled and rose higher, as the steam pressure increased over the raging fire. The engine seemed to be eating up the track in front, and behind the railai spun out like shining nbbop% in the sun. Tho station and train had al ready sunk down out of sight, and the grassy horizon on either side seemed to fly away in a kind of gigantic waltz. The wind disd away to a dead calm, and in a few moments a little breeze sprang up, and blew in at the front win dows. "We aro beating the wind," said the en<piieer. "If we can keep up this pace, we shall coon overtake thenv' "How long have llioy been gone?" shouted the fireman, above the roar the engine. "I don't know," s^re:uDed the woman, without taking her eyes from the hori zon where the rails ui::fc too sky. "It may have been two hums or more. They were playing in (he empty car." "How did she get out- of the siding?" (Ha meant tho car.) "It's one of the new switches," said the engineer. " Cars can easily jump oat upon the main line." • Ah! something ahead. Was it the runaway car? No, the next sta tion. What a terrible pace! Twenty miles already. "O, don't stop," cried the woman, as she saw the engineer put his hand on the tlm>itie-valve. " 1 must, mann ; wo are getting out of water. And perhaps we can learn something of the runaway." The sudden arrival of a solitary en gine containing two men and a woman startled the station-master, and he came out to see what it meant. He seemed to guess at the truth, for he said : >v " After the runaway car ? i .' "Yes, yes. There aio three children inside." "O> mann, I'm sorry for ye. It went past here, going twenty miles an hour It came down grade all the waj, but the up grade begins about two miles out. I was inside when it passed, and didn't see it till it had gone past the door." How long it took to fill the tender ! The engine stood hot and smoking by the water-tank, and the water came out in a slender stream, while the poor mother stood looking on, 'tearful and impatient. "Good-by! I'll put up my pipe — Heaven help ye ! — the up grade — ;> The rest was iost, for the engine shot ahead on and on over the open prairie. The water-tank seemed to sink down into the earth, and the shin ing rails stretched longer and longer out behind. Ah I what was that ! A cloud of steam on tho horizon far ahead. The engineer took out hia time-book and studied it carefully. " Freight No. G, bound west, stopping on the two-mile siding." How swiitiy freight No. 6 rose abovo the grass and grew big along the way. Listen 1 A whistle! The engineer whistled a reply and shut off steam. Their engine slowed down, and they could »;eo men leaning out from the other engine as if to speak to them. "It's ten mumtes back. Running slow on main lffe — road — clear — " "Thank Heaven! 1 ' said the woman. The engineer said nothing; but, at that instant, the engine gave a great leap and shot ahead at the rato of fifty miles an hour up the easy grade. How long the minutes seemed, and yet each meant almost a mile. Ah ! a speck — a black dot on the hor? zonl The car? Yes, it was the car. Ii grew bigger and bigger. Now they could see it plainly. But tho children ! Where were they ? The fireman sprung out through the forward window and ran along the engine and down npon the cow-catcher. The monster began to slaken its terrible pace, and in a mo ment it struck the car with a gentle jar and stopped. The fireman thought himself a lively man, but tho woman was before him, and sprung up into the car. There they lay, safe and sound, in a corner of the car — Mary and Tommy fast asleep, and Kitty watching over them. "Oh, mother] I knew you would come. Mary and Tommy cried them selves to sleep, and I— I — " Nobody could say a word. The fire man tried to rub his eyes, and only marked his face with black streaks. The mother laughed and cried all at once. The engineer picked up the lit tle ones and quietly took them into the cab of the engine. 4i There, now, my hearties, you have had a risky ride; but it's all right. Come. We're more than thirty maen from home, and it won't do to be K&p for dinner. Fire up, Jack." REPARTEE. "To this night's masquerade," quoth Dick. " By this missive I am beckoned; I think 'twould be a pleasant trick 'Io go as Charles the. Second." Ton felt for repartee a thirst. And thus to l.ichard said; "You'd better go as Charles the First, For that requires no head." A Younjr Doctor Sacrificing His Life for Others. George Herbelin, 28 years old, was house surgeon at the Hospital of Sainte Eugenic in Paris, where croup and diphtheria were raging. M. Herbelin's devotion to his young charges was the subject of much remark among the vis iting physicians, and the sisters con nected with the hospital. While at the bedside of two children Buffering from diphtheria, symptoms of the disease were noticed in himself by another medical man, who insisted upon young M. Herbelin going home. He did so, and died in a few day 3. While M. Herbelin was on his deathbed, the cir cumstances were related to M. Grevy, who had an interview with Gen. Vinoy, Grand Chancellor of the Legion of Honor, at whose instance the cross of the order isflS awarded to tho youug surgeon. It was taken to the dying man, who, overjoyed at the news, ex claimed : "I am decorated 1 I wish to live — I will live. Cure me, my friends ! " He sank upon his bed exhausted, and died clasping the ribl>on attached to the crosf . The Hospital of Sainte Eu genic was founded by the Empress Eu genic under circumstances of a peculiar character. The Municipality of Paris had voted the sum of 000,000 francs to be spent in the purchase of a diamond necklace as a wedding present to the Empress in 1853. The money was pre ferred to the diamonds, and was devot ed to the foundation of this hospital for children, since become bo famous. M. Lepere, Minister of the Interior, M. Herold, the Prefect of the Seine, sev eral Municipal Councilors, and a num ber of leading physicians and medical students attended M. Herbelin's funer al. A detachment of infantry rendered him military honors. Several speeches by professors of the faculty were made over his grave. Deceased's father, who was a doctor, lost his life in the same way. A Story of flay. When Henry Clay ran for the first time for Congress, he was billed to ad dress an assembly in the open air. A vast crowd had convened to hear the young orator, and conspicuous abovo all arose the tali form of Jim Burnim, c. rough with an unenviable reputfuion, aud a great personal enemy of Clay'n, owing to repeated defeats sustained by him from Clay in bis political aspira tions. When Clay had commenced his ad dress Burnim placed himself directly opposite him in tbe crowd, and an noyed the speaker continually by in terruptions and personal remarks, but chieriy by losing every good point Clay produced. No matter how smooth and' lucid his stream of oratory might be, or how forcible his argument, Bnrn im v.~a.« ready at the finis with his in sulting hihi. This continued until Clay could stand ifc no longer, and when, after a particularly punpent thrust at the morality of the anti-Fed eralists, he was greeted with the indom itable siient howl of Burnim's, he turned Bavagely to him and, with flash ing eyes, delivered this cutting speech : *' Mr. Burnin.," said he, " when your last hour has come, and your cvii, sin ful soul has sought the dark shades of hell; when, standing there before its sulphurous gates, your spirit, charred with sin, awaits admittance, Satan, glowiDg in his crimson majesty, shall ask his vassals gathered around him who it is that stands outside his por tals, and, when he's told that you are there, he'll rise and, with a look of dark disgust, cry to his waiting menials: ' Go, take the slave and burn him till ho hiss!'" Culprit and Judge* Lord Chief Justice Holt in early life wae very dissipated, and belonged to a club of wild fellows, most of whom took an infamous course in life, One day, wnen his Lordship was engaged at the Old Bailey, a man was convicted of highway robbery whom the J udge re membered to have been one of his old companions. Moved by curiosity, Holt, thinning the prisoner did not know him, asked what had become of his old associates. The culprit, making a low bow and fetching a deep sigh, replied : "Ah, my Lord, they are all hanged but yonr Lordship and II" OUT IN TIIK COLD. BY B. n. LONG. Out in the cold now I'm wandering alone, . Far from niy friends and far from my homo; ' Par from the scenes of my childhood so dear, Shrinking before, the cold world's heartless jeer, Once I had friends X thought loving and true; Once, amid pleasure and rumor, I grew; Once. Oh! tan word has a sorrowful tone, For pleasure has lott me ami honor is gone. Children at ono time I fondled with glee: Where aro they now, with li*,ht hearts and free? Where arc the dear ones 1 once loved so well? Why have they left me, can any one tell? Ah 1 I remember my poor wife had died; Myself and my two ions stood clone by her side; Sbe took both their hands, and whispering said — Take care of thy father when mother is dead. The homestead I gave them; 'twas all I could Rive; Beneath its old roof they said I could live. But toon a change came, and I, poor and old, Was turned from its threshold out in the cold. Father, forgive them the deed they have done, Though they have plenty and I have none; Though thfir old father is left all alone. Far from tho ones he lovts. far from his home. Soon the cold waters of death rippling by Will waft my frail spirit to regions on bigh; There will I meet my dear children of old. That once turned their father out in the cold. ApruExoir, Ohio. MADELINE. All the girls ■who were leaving school carried with them anticipations of a gay winter, a round of parties, balls and operas. Not so with Madeline De launey. The dying arill of her father made her aunt's house her home for the years between 18 and 21 ; and, even if Madeline had been unwilling to com ply, she would still have gone, so great was her respect for her father's memory. Mrs. Chathard was an invalid, and her family consisted only of a son — a man over 30, and said to be eccentric — and the old family servants. Decid edly not a very brilliant prospect for Madeline. . , • . It was a sullen autumn day when Marleiine rode, for the first time, up the avenue leading to her aunt's house. Sho saw a gray sky, flying clouds, anil a white beach on which the sea beat heavily in, and, standing in the midst of a cluster of pines, was a low, massive building that might have been a prison, and possibly was a house. No one came to the door to welcome her. ' Mr. Chathard was not at home ; Mrs Chat hard was in the library, and begged that Madeline would come to her there. She found her lying on the sofa, busy with some sort of knitting — a sallow, delicate, fretful woman. "No," she said, shrinking back, as Madeline showed a disposition to kiss her ; "no one but Frederic has kissed me for years. Don't commence. I am a creature of habit ; I don't Like to be disturbed'in any of my regular habits. I only came down to-day on your ac count, and it has quite unnerved me. I shall not try it again. I mut;t have perfect repose. Frederic comes to see me morning and evening; that is aw much as I can bear." With that, Madeline was waved off to her room, where indignation supplanted a strong desire to cry, and curiosity gradually got the better of both. It was really, she decided, on looking about her, a pleasant room, with crim son curtains and furniture, and a deep window looking out on the sea. Thero was a bureau, with a great many little drawers that she pleased herself with arranging mentally. There was a vase of flowers that spoke of a conservatory ; Blie had seen that the library was well filled ; a pretty piano occupied a recess in her room. " I shall pass my time very tolerably," thought Madeline, resignedly. "I won der what my cousin is like." Perhaps this last thought had some influence in her toilat, else why should sho have braided her hair and put on her most becoming dress? It was hardly to be supposed that her charms \tould have much effect on the quiet parlor maid, who alone was in attendance. Madeline ate her supper with curling lip and stormy brow. "He is a barbarian 1 I know I shall hate him !" was her inward comment. " He must have known that I would be here. He might have been civil. How ever, I shall do very well without him !" And, getting a book from the library shelves, she sat herself down resolutely to read. But, try as she weuld, her thoughts wandered back to the pleasant room where she used to sit with her girl-friends, reading and talking — so different from this great, silent, hand some house. lam afraid the contrast was not too favorable, for her pillow was wet with tears that night. A week passed away. During that time Madeline saw Mrs. Chathard once — that was all. The rest of tho time she passed in solitude, till Saturday evening, when the prim old housekeep er entered tho parlor where Madeline was sitting, work-basket in hand. " Mr. Frederic is at home," eho said, "and Mrs. Chathard thinks it proper that I should sit in the room ;" with which explanation she walked over to the extremo end of the apartment and vanished behind the curtains of the bow-window. Madeline curled her lip slightly at these prudential preparations and went on with her reading, trying to convince herself that her heart was not beating fast. She heard a quick, mas culine step without in the hall — heard it come in the room and advance toward her, but did not raise her eyes until he stoos directly before her. She had hard work to suppress her surprise, he was so little like what she had imagined. Not old — for if ho was really 30 he by no means looked his age— not tall, thin and sallow ; on the contrary, small, though well formed, with en abundance of curling brown hair; large blue eyes that should have belonged to a woman, so evenly arched were the brows, so long the lashes, so soft, so almost suf fering, their expression; clear-cut feat ures; teeth that showed white and even through his thick mustache ; a gentle, quiet, assured manner, neither austere norfrownish. as Madeline had imag ined, but that of a gentleman and a man of the world. He apologized easily enough for the apparent incivility. "Important busi ness," that much-enduring scapegoat, had detained him — he was extremely sorry. But Madeline, who had do patience with his lame excuses, interrupted him, sharply : "Pray spare your regrets; it is quite evident that your sorrow is of the deepest dye. Your countenance be speaks it." Mr. Frederio opened his eyes wide and sat down. Hitherto he had seemed undecided on tho question. "So, then, you are really offended, and show it after a spirited fashion. Good ! I shall have to make my peace. It will give us something to talk about. r " Is there really any necessity of talk ing at all?" demanded Madeline, still more indignantly. "A lew minutes ago I thought not x intended to have gone through the necessary formalities, and, after that, to have sat occasionally with you, by way of keeping you in countenance; but now I nay yes ! There is something original about you ; it may bo only a spark, a glimmer; but, whutever it is, I will develop it. "You leave my individuality out of account, I think." " Not in the least. I count on it for my amusement." " Amusement ? We share the samo blood, Mr. Chathard. I think you should know some thing of the will which is among our heirlooms. I doubt if I shall choose to serve even a Chathard as amusement." "You wilt have no choice. You will go to church with me to-morrow. You will see and bo seen of all tho magnates. They will forthwith call upon you ; you will go to make a round of dreary visits; you will go to solemn tea-drinkings ; you will talk to Capt. Fanway and Sir Peter Farquhar, the two eligibles of the parish, and when you have talked over tho weather you will begin to fidget, and wish yourself homo with me. Even a bear like me will prove more endur able than those unmitigated young men. You will talk with me, and, in the na ture of things, you will amuse me. You cannot help yourself." "I have other resources," answered Madeline, loftily. " I have arranged a dramatic course of study." Mr. Chathard smiled. " Try it, my dear cousin, by all means. It is the most enchanting thing in tho world — in prospect. Try it, I say again, and remember, I shall be very happy to aid you if any difficulties occur — which, though, it is to be pre sumed, is not possible." * With which he took himself off, leav ing Madeline piqued and curious. She had ample time, however, to recover herself, and proceeded with her studies. It was three mortal weeks before ho presented himself again. Wnen 112 did come, it was in a ghostly fashion. She was bending oyer a book, and, looking up suddenly, found him standing be fore her, watching her keenly, looking weary and strangely dissatisfied. He gave her a cool nod, and threw himself into a chair near her. "Talk !" he said imperatively. "I am bored." Madeline's hot blood leaped up in re volt. Words hovered on her lips that, cool as he was, could not but have placed an effectual barrier between them. Something arrested them. A pained look was in his eye, anguish about his mouth, showing dimly through the mask of cynicism. A new impulse possessed her. "Cousin," she said, gently enough, "why should we be at war? We are of the same blood, and I think we are alike in this one thing, at least — that we are both alone. Why goad each other with bitter words? Would it not bo better to help each other? I don't ask nor offer any confidence; only if there could be a Liking and a friendship between us, let ifc develop itself. Let us not hinder it. lam so lonely ; and I think if you would let me that I should like you." Strange emotion glistened in his eyes and shook his voice. "1 swoio once," he said, "never to trust mankind, still less womankind, again." "Unsay the rash oath," she said, eagerly. "Ifc shuts you from all happi ness and goodness." "How dare you ask me! In whom shall I trust?" "In me." "A girl — a child, that doesn't even know the meaning of things about her, much less her own heart! " "I know one thing — the truth that I feel within me. That never dies, and never fails. Only try me, cousin. I long to bo good." "I believe you do," he said, much softened. "I believe, with all my nnocent fervor, you do wish it. I will trust till I see that you, too, are going to deceive me. Will you take the responsibility?" Madeline held out her hand, and so there was truce between them. Every night they studied and talked under the supervision of the prim housekeep er ; and at last he fell into a way of tak ing a morning walk with her in the garden and riding with her in the after noon. He even went v.ith her to sev eral parties, and always to church; and the neighborhood held up its hands in astonishment. Months passed away. Very peaceful, happy ones they were. But one even ing he failed to make hi.s appearance. All the next day Madeline watched for him, but in vain. "Ho has gone away," she thought, with a keen pang, "and did not ttll me." Ono week passed — two — three. Sus- pense grew unendurable. Sho vent ured an inquiry oi the prim house keeper. "Mr. Frederic is not away — ho is ill." "111! Why was I not told? I will go to him at once ! " "Ho !j.13 the typhus fever, miss; find Mrs. Chathard ordered that you should on no account be admitted, for feai of tho infection." Madeline left the housekeeper with out another word, and went straight to Frederic's room. b\ic was not very sure of its locality, for ifc v/p.s in the other wing of Iho house — a plar^e where sbo hud never ventured. Slia was, how ever, exceedingly doubtful of the pro priety of going at all; but, if he should die without her, would propriety con sole her? She went in trembling. ii» was alone and awake. Ho turned tow ard her hollow, reproachful eyes. " Are you better?" wa3 tho first ques tion. " Yes ; but why havo you left me alone so long? I thought you cared for me," " I do. I do! I never knew. I wait ed and wondered, and grew sick at. heart. No one told me, and to-day J asked. I was too proud to do it before I tbonght you had gone away, after the old fashion, without telling me The p they said I mustn't come to you for fear of the infection." " There is danger ! Go away at. once !" - I will not. Why should I not share danger with you? All the orders in the world shan't drive me from you !" He turned toward her with sudden animation, seized her hand, looked earnestly into her face, and said, "Iviy little darling, I really believe that you love me as I do you." And from that momrnt he mended, in spite of doctors and physic, and the eom'oer old house is gay enough under the blithe supervision of its young mi&tress, Mrs. Frederic Chathard, our Madeline. How Far Bells May be Heard. In a hilly locality a bell will not be heard half as far as if the land were level, or nearly ro. A bell will be heard agreat deal further lengthways of aval ley than over the hills at the sides. Ii is frequently the case that bell-rooms are lower than the surrounding b'aild ings and trees, and these obstructions break the sound and prevent its free passage to a distance. It is frequently the case, too, thai towers have small windows or openings, with the louvre boards bo closo together csi to almost box up the sound. In cities the noise of steam ano^iorse-cars, manufacturing establishments, carriages an'l carts rat tling over the pavement, etc., is so great that bells are not expected to be heard at any considerable di.sfniice, and this is the reason why, in all cities, sev eral bells are used for firo-ul ;rm pur poses, it being impossible for one bel!, no matter how large it may be, to be heard above the thousand-nnd-one noises incident to every-, mr^e place. The largest bell ever made iv this coun try weighed 22,000 pounds, ai:d, before it was fractnred. hung in the City Hall in New York. On one or two occasions this bell was heard up the Hudson rive ■ thirteen miles, in the night, when the city was comparatively quiet. Water is a good conductor of sound, and add ed materially in making the bell heard as above mentioned. It is a great mis take to suppose that bell* can be heard in proportion to their weight — that is, that a bell of 2,000 pounds will be heard twice as far as one of 1,000 pounds. This is not so, for Che reason that tho larger bell does not possess anything like twice the re&onaut surface of the smaller ore. What is gained and ad mired m the larger bell is its deep, ma jestic, dignified tone, which it ia impos sible to secure in the smaller one. tho weight of a bell invariably governing its tone. When hung stationary and struck, or tolled, bells will not be heard, as a rule, half as far as when Bwung. The swinging motion throws the mouth of the bell up, and not only carries the sound off, but imparts to it a richness that is always absent when the bell is at rest and struck. A. great deal is to be gained by ringing a bell properly, throwing the mouth well up, and not lazily jingling it. It is not physical strength that is required in ringing a bell so much as "getting the knack" of catching tho rope just right, particularly on the second "down pull." The windows in the tower should t>e as open as possible, p.nd the tower should be ceiled just above the windows. — Scientific American. A Strange Slory. In 1848 a chestnut tree, quite 300 years old, was blown down on the banks of a little creek near the church called "South Carolina,' 1 within a mile of the village of Yorkville. in Pickena county, Ala., and about seventeen miles south east of Columbus, Miss. Beneath the roots of the chestnut tree were found a pair of brass scales for weighing, with the brass weights having Spanish in scriptions and numerals on them. Two three-pound cannon-shot wer^ found v/ith the Bcales. The soil beneath the tree was very dry, drained as it was by the little stream hard by, and these relics of the Spanish adventurer were well preserved. But it does not follow booauso tlicac portable trticJeu wero found at that spot that De Soto visited it. He had little use for scales, aud may have left them at some distant place of encampment, or Jost them in some battle, and a curious red man, as signing little value to the "treasure trove," left it when ho drank on the bank of the stream. Indians had no wagons or wagon ways, and yet when Eastern Mississippi was first settled by the white people in 1830, and while the Choctaws still owned and occupied the country, there was a broad, deep wagon road following the course of the river some distance and deeply cut iv tho hillsides and into the river's banks. It crossed the river at the mounds, ten or twelve miles below Columbus, on Butler's plantation, of which I have spoken. The Choctaws said that this road was carved out by white men, who marched across the country, fighting and killing, long before their recollec tion. If this be the tradition, as 1 heard it stated long ngo, there can bo little doubt that De Boto made the road and crossed the Tombigbee at tho place indicated by the Spanish scales aud weights, and the old highway was certainly made by 120 race of modern Indians. But, if this be true, it does not follow that De Soto spent tte win ter preceding this passage of the Mis sispippi in the vicinity of Columbus or at Tupelo. — Nero York Herald. A Colored Brother's Philosophy. Hanner, dat was a pow'ftil sairnon we hearn Brudder Wilkerson disco'se f'om do pulpit ias' Sunday. De U'z' was dis : "Shall we know each odder dar?" but I'se kinder mixed in my 'pinion 'bout do 'elusion dat ho cum tex — dat we» would. All I got ter say is dis: Iso l>!>en er gwine wid you to Brudder WDkexson's mec-lin' 'ouse, an' a payim 1 as I go, now gwine on fo' long yeahs, mi' 1 ain't got 'quaiuted wid tno'o fo' or live o' do eongregashun yit, an' all I got ter say io dat, 'eozdin' ter Bruddez Wilkerson's ideer, if dey's as loiig git tin' 'quaintcd wid one 'nudder '"ober d&i; " as dey is in dat 'ar coiif.TcgnfjLun o' Liu'n all I got ter cay is, dat dey*d better begin to interdoo.'-in' one 'nudder w'en d< y'ift young, or uoy won't '"know i och odder ober dar." Hit'll be "ober dar"jcs'as 'tin down hyar— do upper urns' won't roix wid do common trash, an' turn dar noses up at one 'mulder je.'.' de same ns dey do in dat nieetin' 'ouse. Ef dey don't know one 'imdder down hyar, dey won't kno?/ one 'nudder " ober flar," an' Brudder WDkenan knowed he wuz a givin' dat 'ar cougre ga&hun "taffy an' pea-nuts " w'en lie wuz a disco'sin' f'om de pulpit. "The Greater the Truth the tHreater the Libel." Among lawyers and editors one of the sayings most frequently quoted is: " The greater tho truth the greater the libel." It is a misquotation from an epigram of Burns. When on a visit to Sterling, during tho time of his connec tion with the excise, the poet wrote some verses reflecting rather unfavora bly upon the reigning dynasty, as com pared with the exiled Stuarts. Upon being admonished ior his imprudence, he said: "Oh, but I mean to reprove myself for it!'" and thereupon wrote: " Ivush mortal and slanderous poet, thy name shall no loDger appeal in the records of fame! Dost not kuow that old Mansfield, who writes like tho Bible, says the more 'tis a truth, sir, the more 'tis a libel?" A SOLE-sTißi'.i.vr, inef dent— Treading on the point of a t°/j"v.