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E A N E A N
In a whisper, mind—in the gentlest,
the most sighing of whispers—I tell
you this. In fear and trembling, too,
all the time, for it, might hear me.
You observe, I say it for I cannot
apply actual distinction to the weird
little entity that torments me. At the
same time, though, I find that I have
often called it "him," and, in a misty,
wandering way, associated the thing
with the tricksy-looking sprite who
stands with his hands upon his hips in
the Landseer picture of «'Midsummer
The fact is, I have been haunted for
the past five years—I, the simple
minded, c.ilmly living, seventh-rate
literary man who pens those lines
and my innocent bachelor life has
been made a torment to me by some
thing, of which, as you see, only
dare speak in a whisper.
You are shaking your head Don't
sa ou »ive not, for I feel it mentally
and my perceptions are now those of
the most acute. Let me hasten, then
to 1 e.issure you—to enlighten you up
on 'xe point you are quietly discuss
theie has not been the slightest
nifviuostation of insanitv in mv fam
Again: my j/ulse gives with calm
regrlaiity the proper number of beats
to llie minute.
My blood is of the normal tempei
It -s not incipient delirium tremens,
for I was never inebriated but once in
my life, and then I was so dreadfully
ill the next day that I made a vow,
which I h^ve religiously kept, and am
always considered an abstemious man.
So. once more, in a calm whisper, I
declare to you that I am haunted—be
looked—or in some way suffering from
a spell. In fact, there must be some
thing in the matter not hitherto
dreamed of in my philosophy, and 1
tremble lest ill should come of it.
But let me explain—let me give you
a sample of the kind of annoyance to
which I am subjected, and during
which it always seems to me that I
can hear the silvery tinkle of a very
small kind of. laughter floating about
It was only yesterday that I required
my daily remembrancer—the diary in
which I record the trifles of my life
and note my engagements. It was
That book lies on my study table, and
I was put out by its loss. I searched
book-case, drawers, in folios, among
papei s, turned out my desk, got into a
violent perspiration, went and bullied
the servant, rose into a towering rage
and at last, quite exhausted ,«and fum
ing with annoyance, I threw myself
into my chair—and found that diary!
Where did I find it
I'll tell you that little book lay in
its itsual place upon the study table.
Now, you may argue for a week, and
you will not convince me that some
sprite had not hidden that book away
until it was tired of laughing at me,
when the book was replaced.
I have a custom, drilled into me in
childhood, of carefully folding my
clothes before retiring to rest. I nev
er kick one thing here and another
there, after the habitude of the reck
less, but place each garment ready to
be donned in the morning. Now, I am
ready to make affidavit that those
things are all right at night but when
I have left rising till the last moment,
just leaving myself sufficient time to
dress and catch the train by which I
am going with a friend, there is inva
riably something wrong. Now it is a
button off my trousers. If I get them
on, and find them all right, the tongue
is gone from my brace buckle. Or it
may be a stud dropped from my shirt
the button-hole split off my collar or,
more likely, a button grown over ripe
and ready to drop, swinging only by
one thread from the most prominent
portion of my coat.
At another time I hear the servant
come up with my boots, as I lie in bed.
She bumps them down, as servants will
bump boots down, and, in that pleas
ant, semi-unconscious way in which
one lies of a morning before rising, I
seem to see those boots, and I wonder
whether they have been carefully
dried, for the previous day was wet,
and I have had a horror of damp boots
ever since I read somewhere that they
were a pi olific cause of catarrh. Then
I wonder, too, why it is that servants
have such peculiar notions respecting
the anatomy of the human foot mas
culine, and credit it with abnormally
turned-out toes, from the way in which
they always reverse male boots—the
right on the left side, the left upon
the right. They never do so with
boots feminine. I lie, then, seeing
those misplaced boots there and
when I have made my plunge out, done
my tubbing, and have arrived at the
stage when I want those boots, I open
the door to get them, and they are not
Now, I am certain that they were
there I heard the girl bring them
but all the same, after a few minutes
interval, I ring sharply, and the maid
comes and knocks.
"My boots!—I'm waiting for them,"
"Plee, Sir, they're out here," says
the girl, in an ill-used tone.
Whereupon I go indignatly to the
door, with a brush in one hand, into
which I have savagely driven the fel
low brush, so that they adhere togeth
er, and my hair all down over my fore
Yes, there are the boots and put
wrong as to rights and lefts, as a mat
ter of course.
Now. how did these boots get away/*
Sir TH 1
and how did they come back For I'm
sure the girl did not bring them back
this time. '7,*-
I told you how particular I am about
folding my clothes at night. This ex
tends to garments that I do not/ wear
every day—dress coat,/for instance,
left in the drawer during a tour or
Now, it won't leave these garments
alone and whenever I take them
out after absence, they invariably look
as if they had been u|ed for the rais
ing of money, and suffered from the
pawnbroker's roll,- so evidently too
often in the British workman's Sunday
coat, which fa creased from top to bot
There is another way in which I am
terribly annoyed. Being a regular
'bus man—of course I don't mean a
driver or a conductor, but a traveler
by omnibus—from motives of econo
my, have noticed the nuisance that
the fair sex,—especially that fat fair
sex, which never tiavels without a
large bundle, which they plant on
somebody's knee when entering—
is to conductor, driver, and fellow pas
sengers, by keeping the vehicle wait
ing while money is dislodged from a
pocket somewhere in the folds, or from
the corner of handkerchief, in which
it is tightly tied in a knot which
won't be undone while one lady always
produces her cash wet—out of her
mouth. I have noticed all this, I say,
and in consequence I provide myself a
threepenny piece, a fourpenny, or six
pence, and place it in my waistcoat
pocket, ready for alighting and paying
without requiring change. Do you
think that I can find that coin when I
require it If you do you are mistak
en. I grope for it with my gloves on I
hunt for it with my gloves off a dodge
first in one corner, then in the other,
and each time along the intermediate
channel but no—there is no coin, and
then the conductor ironically asks me
if I want to keep the 'bus all day.
Of course I don't, and I feel very
much provoked as 1 produce my porte
mounaie, drop my umbrella in the
muddy street where we are standing,
fumble out a two-shilling piece, and
wait for change, with all the passeng
ers craning forward to look, and the
driver shouting to his mate to—
"Look alive, there!"
I get my change—I have already re
covered my umbrella—and I bound to
the pavement shore, out of the muddy
river after narrowly escaping a run
down lrom a hansom, when, to my an
nojance, I am minus a glove, and—yes
there it lies, ground into the mud by
the hansom wheel.
Of course I haye to go on, buy a new
pair, and as I pay for them, having
grown cold in the shop, 1 mentally say,
"I wonder what became of that four
penny piece," and my hand involunta
rily goes to the pocket of my vest, and
—yes, there it is—I can feel it plainly
enough through the cloth.
I merely say "Where was that little
I mentioned my loss, and that natur
ally brings me back to gloves—a cov
ering of the hands in which I had been
With my customary practice of neat
ness, I double my gloves together, the
white and lavender kids, which, be
tween ourselves, I always make last as
long as possible, and then send them
to be cleaned. Now, the home of my
light kid gloves is in my left-hand tail
coat pocket, and I fish them out just
as I am goinsfinto the theatre or "at
home and this is always the case
I put on one, get it buttoned, and am
about to put on its fellow when I find
that if it is a white kid on my hand, I
hold a lavender kid in my hand, or
vice versa. They are sure to be odd
ones, and I am certain that I put them
away in pairs.
Why don't I look before I start, you
Because I don't think to look, and
one does not feel it necessary after
regular preeations. And again I say.
How is this
If it be not the workings of some
sprite full of mischief, what is it
Again I find myself putting chloro
dyne on my handkerchief, because the
bottles have been changed and when,
in a fit of passion, I dash down the
nasty ethery, pepperminty pain-easer,
take a clean pocket handkerchief, and
scent that, I find I am doing it with
the tincture of myrrh, or the gummy
stuff the fellow bored me into buying
when last my hair was cut.
Only a week ago I had my breakfast
spoiled by a letter which came by post.
It was as follows, and there was an en
No. 12 JERMTN STREET, Fridav.
Sir: I am at a loss to understand 'the
meaning ot this note, and should be glad if
you would explain* for I am, a man who
makes it his rule neither to*borrow nbr fiend
money. If you had any ideas of the latter
kind in sending it, believe me that a frank
request would nave been better.
I am your obediant servant,
J. WELLLBY PCBNOW.
To T. WOOLLY, Esq.
I was amazed, and sat with the note
in my hand, unable to comprehend it.
I had asked Purnow to come and dine
with me at the Curacoa Club, and
wouldn't have asked him foi money
for the world., Besides, I didn't want
At last, by way of solving the mys
teay, I took up the inclosure to read,
in my own hand:
No. 143 BYE STBKET, Monday.
DEAR OLD BOY Let me have that ten
pounds, there's a good lellow. You prom
ised it before Christmas, and its now May.
Thine, T. WOOLLY.
Yes, I wrote that, but it was to Jack
Shorter, who owes me no end of bor
rowed money, which I get back a little
at a time. But how did Purnow get it
Stop—no—yes—no—no—to be sure I
did: I wrote to both at the same
time, and the notes must have been
put—yes, I deliberately say,4n awhis
fer, mind—put into the .wrong envel
I was aghast ftfrl* "time—it seemed
89 horriple butf at ,$s 't recovered
myself sufficiently to Uake my laf&andlI
M?-*P wlegsaph effice, tol$&d
message to Purnow, telling him llw
a mistake, and that hejjmust «co 8 d-,
rectlv, for I had ordered a a
ner at the cluV &]$$.T
I got that message very cleverly
within twenty words, got ojut a shil
ling, and was just going to hand both
to the pleasing-looking young tele
graph clerkess, when a horrible
thought ran through me like a chill,
and I stood as if transfixed. Jack
Shorter had got Purnow's note, and he
would come to the club to dinner!
Worse still, to me, as we sat together
with coffee and cigars, he would bor
row another ten-pound note of me, or
perhaps be kind enough to take it in
What was I to do I dare not bring
those two men together. I did not
want Jack. Oh! It was dreadful. But
the dinner was ordered, and might
just as well be eaten so I went aAvay
—making the pleasing-looking young
telegraph clerkess look upon me as
very strange in my ways and wrote an
explanatary letter to Purnow, appoint
ing another day for the dinner but
he declined to come,, and I feel sure he
believed my note was a try-on for
But Jack Shorter came, and ate my
dinner and as I said, so he did—he
borrowed to fives over our coffee,
which sum he will never pay.
It's an awful position for'a man to
be in, and I suffer from it at every
turn. I have found my gun unaccount
ably rusty my fishing lines horribly
Enough. I am the Haunted Man,
and my sprite will not leave me. He
puts fuel in my pockets, rubs my hat
nap the wrong way, blunts the edges
of my razors, breaks the teeth out of
my comb, and in one way and another
reduces me into the state of a hypoc
hondriacal dyspeptic. As before said
I tell it to you in a whisper, lest evil
should come upon me seven-fold for
mine is a malignant sprite, and to you,
good reader, I wish a happier fate.
Ha ha By Jove, what fun I've
just turned tins out of my desk, where
it's lam for six months. I meant to
send it to a magazine, and here it goes
at last, if any one will have it. But I
say the spirit's exorcised gone, van
ished—evert hing's in its place, and
there's a place for everything. Apple
pie order and sunshine unity, peace,
and concord.' E pluribus unum Honi
soit qui mal pense—Decus et tuta
men Excuse my high spirits it's all
due to St. Lydia, who took pity upon
my forlorn lot and manied me. chiv
ing all sprites away.
1 say, though, only think! Jack
Shorter lias come in for a plum, and
no sooner did he hear that I was
going to be married than he clapped a
check for a cool hundred into my
hand, saying that he didn't know how
we stood, but we'd cry quits, and that
would pay the trip.
This comes unknown to St. L.
3 I I I A N O S E
Two little boys of the street picked
up a bunch of Michigan roses, defaced,
bruised, trodden o-.i, soiled with dust
stains. Some country girl had dropped
them from her bosom, for they were
from a distance, and not seen in any
of the florists' shops. To the children
they were a miracle of brightness, a
revelation of another world, and they
stood together on the street as the
crowd surged by, earnestly and intent
ly examining the cluster of seven
small pink roses and a bud.
A girl passed by and attracted by the
eager and interested look on the chil
dren's faces, stopped to inquire what
they were talking about.
"What is this? It's a bunch of
Michigan roses," said the girl, with a
twinkle in her eyes "and it grows
tall, away up to the sky, and all the
bush is like this cluster pi lk, with
yards and yards of flowers."
"Sweet Michigan,'' said both Doys in
the same breath, as the girl went on
her way, but from that day forth, as
the quest of the Holy Grail possessed
Sir Galahad, so the search after Sweet
Michigan possessed these orphan boys.
By great perseverance in sweeping
street-crossings, blacking boots, sell
ing newspapers, and many other bleak
little contrivances known only to the
children of want and destitution, they
got together enough money a buy
themselves each a wnite ^traw 'fcaildr'
hat, with blue ribbon and a little gilt
picture of an anchor to one end of the
streamer, and a small picture of a sail
ing ship on the front. They bought
cheap shoes and lirien clothes also,
through anxious hoarding and saving
of pennies all summer* long.
They had picked tip all the informa
tion that they could about "Sweet
Michigan," asking big newsboys in
what direction that happy country
lay. "Oh, out oyer the Erie."
"Delaware and Lackawanna is just
as good," responded another.
"Central with Lake Shore is best of
all," shouted a third.
The children could not learn much,
but what the little newsboys told them
they remembered. to
'^Did you know," taid one bootblack
to another," that Johnny and Sammy
are goin' to emigrate
"No where they goin'?"
"Wall, they're goin' out west, where
have found my choice cigars moldy,
my soda-water without a fizz left in
the bottle, my tea disappear and the
number of umbrellas that have delib
erately gone away I dare not enumer
ate, for my sake—not yours.
I' o' that sort."
rhelffieMsaW kinder cracked, I
infc itVlikely.. -And 'taih't no won
ger as I knqws on. Last winter waa
on^big&er .Jcoves^than they,
rWere always clever creeturs
as the day was lonf/
and the littlest newsboys on
j' "They're agoin' tottart in the
mortiin' We must see *em off, Bill.'*
In the morning'jnore than twenty
newsboyi* and sweepers and bootblacks
went dowgi tp the Erie to see the boys
start on their journey.
"We must take a collection for 'em.
Pass round the hat. boys."
"No," answered Johnny and Sammy,
"we are going to sweet Michigan and
shan't need any money. Keep it your
^"Y0U get there before I do remem-.
berme I'm coming, too," sung Josh
The boys got aboard a western ex
press, their friends waved their hats
and gave them a cheerful farewell
the train was off, Johnny and Sammy
had started on their new lives.
"Tickets, boj's," said the conductor.
"Yes, sir," responded the children,
taking put a neatly-folded Itrown pa
per from each vest pocket and hand
ing it to the agent. The packages con
tained exactly 50 cents apiece. They
were the remnants of the earnings of
Johnny and Sammy. There were four
fUe-cent pieces, the rest was in pen
nies, two and three-cent coins. The
man looked down into those sun
burned, happy iaces. He read no sto
ry of misgiving there, but a confidence
and hope that was pleasant to see.
"Where did you say your were go
"Sweet Michigan," lisped the babies
"Is this all the money you have
"Put it back in your pockets. You
are running away, aren you ?".
"I shall have to send you home."
"We'reagoin' home, sir."
"Wheie are your father and moth
"Both dead, sir."
Then the boys told the conductor the
story of the rose, and the desire to go
into the country of that sweet flower
of the summer's toil accomplished in
this hope of the hats, shoes, and
linen clothes, and lastly of the money
saved so anxiously and carefully. "And
you had better take it, sir, lor we
shan't need it where we're agoin'."
The loneliness, innocence, and youth
of the boys touched the heart of the
"How do 1 know but God's a calling
them there," said he to himself. "I
am not agoing to do anything contrary
to him, or go agin him in any way."
So he took two tickets and wrote on
"EHIE Pass these boys along the line to
'Sweet Michigan,' and order Lake Shore to do
the same. SAM."
So Johnny and Sammy were passed
over the route, and their storv was
borne along with them. Travelers gave
them food from their baskets. At
night a motherly old lady folded shawls
to put under their heads, covered them
up, and made them go to sleep in seats
near her own. Sammy and Johnny
really had a glimpse of paradise as
they steamed along the Erie that day.
An old farmer and his wife sat in the
seat in front of the boys. There was a
small book-^ack with one book in it
between two seats. The children had
wanted to take it down all dav v,nd
look at it, but they would not, fo'r they
were afraid their kind friend the con
ductor would not like to have them,
and might think they were meddle
some. So along toward night Johnny
and Sammy touched the old farmer's
"Wall, lads," said the farmer kind
ly, "what do you want
"Will you please tell us what that
"Why, good'Lord, boys, that's a bi
ble didn't you know what it was?"'
"Can't you read
"Now, Maria, I call that a shame af
ter all the school tax I pay that them
air two babies can't read. Shall I
read something to you out of it?
"Yes, sir, if you please.",
The old man took out his spectacles
wiped them on his red silk handker
chief. took the bible from the rtck and
read on the Outside
The American Bible Society presents this
copy of the holy scriptures to the Erie Rail
Mighty polite, I call that Mariar.
Who can say after this that corpora
tions don't have any souls Thefi he
opened, and read the first verse on
wnich his eyes rested.
In as much as ye have done it unto one of
the least of these, ye have done it unto me.
Again he read.
When my father and mother forsake me
then the Lord will take me up.
"It's kind a affectin to me Mariar.
I can't read it to the boys. You take
the book and read 'em something they
will like to hear. When I was a boy I
liked the story of Jonah dreadfully
but I always kinder spleened agin him
after the whale swallowed him."
Then Mariar read several pleasant
stories, one about Joseph and his
brethren and one about the child who
.answered the wise men in the temple.
After the boys were asleep the old
farmer said to his wife: "Mariar, if
I&didn't think the Lord was^.takin' on
'em up I would do somethin' for 'em
but I believe he is agoin' to see to 'em
and I won't meddle with 'em."
In the night the boys" waked up and
"It's a very good place to be on the
J*J doi't knoTOMihere's some awful
goo*d on|^ hert Them's that girl
there's Josh and Jfche p^cemen was
always good to us^iEind could sleep
in the station, wh$n wevcouldn't sleep
at kind I mean the
I don't mean'
"Well, they were pretty good, too,
especially on Sunday, Sammy."
"Wall, conductor," said the farmer,
"me and Mariar must git off at the
next station our ways don't run no
"I'd like to know what becomes of
those boys two children agoin' to the
Lord knows where curus, now, ain't
it. Bound to go to sweet Michigan,
yet nothin' to go to there as anybody
knows on. I'd v-took 'em long to Kan.
sas, but Kansas won't do, I'm sure on't.
Mark my words, conductor, the Lord's
a takin on 'em up. And it's time if I
du say it. Good day, conductor if
you ever come our way, call. Boys,
when you git hum I want you to drop
a line to John Hedley Onion Creek,
Kan. Good day to all pn ye," nodded
farmer Hedley, to the passengers.
"Come along, Mariar, we must be aget
Along the level of the prairie the
sun burned red and warm. Acres of
wheat were cut and gathered into
ricks that looked like little old women
with their bonnets on. There also
were sweet ricks of pink buckwheat,
and the stubble land where the buck
wheat had grown was pink, too. A
very large orchard of young apple
trees was in full bearing. The sunshine
falling on the ripening fruit made
them seem yet yellowei, redder, and
riper. A little rill ran along the road
side for a short distance, then crossed
the highway and trickled down through
a meadow whose greenness showed
the second growth of the year. Great
flocks of hens, turkeys, ducks, gave
animation to the farm. The great
barn-doors were wide ouen, and out of
thein issued the scent of newly-cut
clover a fine flock of cows'waited to be
milked. They stood quietly chewing
the eud as Johny and Sammy eame to
the yard by the roadside where they
"Will they hurt us, Sammy
"Now, they are gentle things I
know by their pretty eyes."
The farm-house was a pleasant build
ing a stoi and a half high. The doors
and windows were open. The path
that led from the house to the gate
was borderedwith camomile and china
asters, with some bright nasturtiums.
But over the portico by the front dooi
there crept a magnificent vine of Mich
igan rose. Its time of blossoming was
long since past, but a few clusters
starred the green boughs. Both saw
it and recognized the flower at once.
"It is the place," said the boys
"Sweet Michigan," and opening the
gate they walked into the yard. They
rapped on the open door and a sad
looking woman advanced to meet
"Come children,"she said very gent
ly and sweetly.
"Is it the place inquired Sammy
"Yes, I think so."
"We are so glad to get here." Then
in answer to her questions, they told
her their oft repeated story "But
we were so glad when we "saw the
"Take off your hats and come to the
trough and 1 will brush your hair and
wash your faces, and when father
comes in from the field we will have
So when she washed their faces the
boys saw a pet lamb in the yard, and
wanted to play with it. Mr. Laly com
ing across the field saw the little lads
and wondered whose children they
were. His wife met him at the gate
and told him what they had told her.
"And I think, husbind, God has sent
us something to love. They can never
be like our own dear children, I know,
but it is so lonesome."
"They must be queer little fellows,
Sally. You say it was the rose that
brought them to the door
"Yes, the same slip that little Sally
brought from mother's, and you plant
ed it for her by the pertico."
"Well, let us go to supper now. Call
the children if we like them we will
Johnny and Sammy never before
saw real plenty.
"So boys," said Farmer Laly, after
supper, "you thought you would come
out here and live by the Michigan
"And you like it, do you
"Well, you can live here if you want
"Yes. You can call Aunt Sally there
mother, and if you like me for a fath
er you call me so. Now, boys, I am
going to milk the cows, come and see
The winter had been one of sickness
among the children diphtheria and
scarlet fever robbed many a home of
its little ones. Among those most af
flicted were Mr. and Mrs. Laly. Of
their three children not one survived.
This it was that made their hearts
so tender to the strangers who
came seeking sweet Michigan. From
this day forth they became Johnny
and Sammy Laly. Aunt Sally taught
them to read. In their sweet home we
leave them, thinking thereto they were
guided by some angel of the Lord, per
haps Uttle Sally herself and a crushed
cluster of withering Michigan roses.
A Silent Benefactor.
0 0 1 6 8
S O lt
good deal last
Winter from rheumatism in his breast,
and his wife was badly fri^htenpd*
Kbout it for fear it should endln con
sumption, Oootey could not be in
duced t#try any remedy for the trou
ghs, an8 Mrs, totey was nearly wor
ried to death about it. At last she de
termined to try strategy. She made
up a dry mustard plaster, and one
night while he was sound asleep she
sewed it upon the inside of his under-
iu*t about cover
S I Place. Cooley dressed
nimselt in the morning, wholly unsus
picious of the presence of the plaster,
and went down stairs. At the break
fast table, while he was talking to his
wife, he suddenly stopped, looked
cross-eyed, and a spasm of pain crossed
his face. Then he took up the thread
of the conversation again, and went
on. He was in the midst of an expla
nation of the political situation, when
all at once he ceased again, grew red in
the face, and exclaimed
"I wonder what in the—no, it can't
be anything wrong."
Mrs. Cooley asked hiio hat was the
matter, and Cooley said
"Oh, it's that infernal old rheuma
tism again—come back awful. But I
hever felt it exactly the same way be
fore. Kinder stings me."
?rI1rs- said she was sorry.
Then Mr. Cooley began again, and
was just showing how the ravages of
the grasshoppers in the West, last
Summer, and the potato bug in the
East, would affect the political result
next Fall by making the people dis
contented, and so likely to stnke at
the party in power, when he suddenly
dropped the subject, and, jumping up,
'Thunder and lightning, what's that*
Ouch! O Moses! I feel's if I had a
shovelful of hot coala inside my shirt."
"Must be that rheumatism, getting
worse," said Mrs. Cooley, ^mpathet
"Oh, gracious, no It's something
worse than rheumatism. Feels like
fire burning into my skin. Ouch Ow
wow-wow! It's awful. I can't stand it
a minute. I believe it's cholera, or
something, and I'm going to die."
"Do try to be calm, Mr. Cooley.*'
"Calm! How ean a man bo calm with
a volcano under his shiit. Get out of
the way, quick, while I go up stairs
and undress. Murder-i-i-r-r, but it
hurts. Let me get out quick."
Then he rushed up to the bedroom,
and stripped off his clothes. His chest
was the color of a boiled lobster but
he couldn't, for the life of him, tell
what was the matter. Then Lis eyes
rested upon something white on his
shirt. He picked up the garment and
examined it. Ten minutes later he
came slowly down stairs, with a dry
mustard plaster in hib hands while
thunder clothed his brow.
Going up to Mrs. Cooley, he shook
the plaster under her nose, and said, in
a suppressed voice
'•bid ou put that thing in my
"1 did it for the best, Mr. Coolej,*'
she said. I thought—"
"Oh, never mind what you thought,
you idiot! Never mind what you
thought! You've taken the skin clear
off my bosom, so that I'm as raw as a
sirioin steak, and I'll probablv never
be well again as long as I live*. That
lets you out. You play any more tricks
like that on me, and I'll put you in the
coal-bin, and keep you there till you
starve to death. Now mind me."
Then he slammed the door, and
went out. Mrs. Cooley doesn't know
to this day what effect the grasshop
pers are going to have on the Fall
A Eenmrkable Case ot Trance.
A very extraordinary case of sus
pendent animation was revealed at
No 137 Delancey street, New York a
few days ago. The victim of it is a
Swedish girl, aged 22. named Anna
Froben. She was taken suddenly,
while at work, with a stroke of what
was called paralysis, and fell derd to
the floor. The alarmed family called
in a physician, Dr Lindenborn, who
examined the bod£ and pronounced
the girl dead. Her relatives were sent
for, and a brother soon arrived. By
this time the girl's face had turned
blue, and there was every evidence
that she was a corpse. But to every
body's astonishment, the brother de
clined to believe it, and declared that
she was only in a trance and had been
subject to such tits for many years.
The friends of the girl were indignant
at this statement, and sent forthwith
for an undertaker to prepare the body
for interment. The man of coffins and
shrouds arrived and joined with the
physician in pronouncing the girl to
be dead beyond possibility of doubt.
He proved it by dropping hot sealing
wax upon the breast, and as the body
gave no sign of life it was concuded
that the undertaker was right, The
body was placed on ice for the night.
In the morning the undertaker re
turned to complete his preparations,
when to his horror the girl suddenly
started up and exclaimed I am so
cold,"—a natural -result of being on
ice all night. She was taken to a fire
and in a short time was able to con
verse. She said her brother was right
and once before she had been laid out
for burial. The physician was recall
ed and pronounced the case a very
A man rushes into a stamp-office.
Quick a postage stamp!" "Of what
denomination, sir?" "The cheapest
you have." "Where is the htter to go
to "It isn't for anjne**"'- I've cut
my fingsr."—New York World.